To Court a Cowgirl (9 page)

She headed toward the kitchen, pausing at the sideboard and studying the painting that hung above it. The painting Jason had commented on after cleaning up his scrape in her bathroom. Even though she'd created it during a dark time in her life, the painting of her garden was bright—brighter than the garden had actually been. The colors popped and seemed to convey a feeling of hope and happiness.

Where had that hope and happiness come from? Allie hugged her arms around herself as she studied the painting, trying to recall how—or even why—she'd produced such a positive statement when her world had been so damned dark. Dark enough that Kyle had seemed like a knight in shining armor.

Kyle, who'd resented the time she spent painting and had laughed when she'd said that maybe she could sell a few pieces and bring in some extra income. “You're good,” he'd said, looping an arm around her and pulling her close, “but be realistic. If you want to bring in extra income you need a real job.”

He'd been right.

She'd quit painting less than a year after they'd married and focused her energy elsewhere, feeling as if that phase of her life were over. She no longer needed to pour her feelings into her artwork as she dealt with grief—or create lies about what her world was like.

They weren't lies, per se
.

All right. Wishes. She was depicting the way she wanted her world to be. Again. The way it had been before she'd lost her dad.

Allie pulled her gaze away from the painting and headed into the kitchen, where she took a container of day-old pasta out of the fridge and set it in the microwave. While it heated, she went back to the painting, then studied its companion, another garden scene, done in the late summer.

How many more paintings were stored in the attic? Probably five or six. Maybe more.

And what if Jolie hung the rest of them when she came back? It was uncomfortable enough having these two on display.

She needed to get rid of the others while she had the chance.

* * *

M
AX
WAS
STRETCHED
out on the sofa instead of in the recliner when Jason got home. He didn't budge, and neither did Duke or Barney, when Jason went upstairs to his bedroom. And his dad was snoring softly when Jason came back down.

A day with Jimmy had worn him out. A day with Jimmy would wear anyone out.

He'd just settled at the table with a turkey sandwich and club soda when his phone buzzed. Coach's number came up and Jason's pulse jumped. Good news would be a nice change of pace.

“You aren't in the running for either coaching job,” Coach said immediately after his hello.

The coach never had been one to sugarcoat. Jason let his head drop back in defeat before he said, “Thanks for letting me know.” The form email would no doubt follow.

“There's an opening in the athletic department,” Coach blurted out in his gruff way. “An assistant to the assistant athletic director.”

“Assistant to the assistant?”

“You're not qualified for this job, either, but it would be a toe in the door and I put in a good word for you. Actually...I talked to them for half an hour, pulled in a favor, and I think I got you an interview.”

It had come to this? His former mentor having to pull in favors? It was strange to go from being on top of the world a few months ago, a starter in a playoff game, to this—unqualified for anything.

Humbling, to say the least.

“Lots of people want to coach for Brandt, Jason. You're an unknown entity off the field.”

“I know. And I appreciate what you did. Are doing. Thank you.”

“You have to go to the website and apply. Do it tonight, because the posting closes tomorrow.”

“I appreciate this, Coach.” He had a rock in his gut, but he did appreciate it.

“Yeah, yeah. Just don't screw it up.”

“I won't. Thanks.”

“No problem. I'll be in touch.”

Jason ended the call, then jerked guiltily as his father said, “Who was that?”

He put the phone down and turned to see his dad and the Dobes standing in the kitchen doorway. He hadn't realized that Max had gotten up from his nap—in fact, he'd considered himself lucky that the call had come while he was alone.

“Coach Whitmore. From Brandt.”

Max's expression clouded. “Brandt?”

Jason nodded then went to the fridge, where he reached for a beer, then, remembering Kate's comment about Pop turning them into alcoholics, grabbed another club soda instead. He twisted off the cap before turning back to his father.

“Yes. I wanted to apply for a coaching job there.”

“Wanted? Past tense.”

“They don't have anything that they would consider me for right now, but there's an opening in the athletic department itself. Kind of an assistant to the assistant athletic director.”

Max grimaced. “Sounds like a secretarial job.”

“It might be, but it's hell getting a toehold at Brandt and that's the place where I want to work.”

“It's seven hundred miles away.”

“It's no different than when I went to college there.”

“It's different.”

“How?”

“I wasn't on death's door then.”

Jason cocked an eyebrow. It was serious when his dad went for sympathy points on top of guilt points. “I can always find a place for you down there.”

An expression of horror crossed his father's face. He'd left California because he'd had enough of the state, with its high taxes and overcrowded cities, and on top of that, he truly loved the Eagle Valley. So, of course, he wanted his kids there. Where he could help them manage their lives.

“You'd do that to me? I really would conk out.”

“If I got the job, and that's still a big if—” which had been made very clear to him in the phone call “—I could come home fairly often.” That was what airplanes were for, after all—to visit family...and to escape from them when necessary.

“Why Brandt?”

“Top-notch football program. Progressive coaching. A way to stay in football. The place did me a lot of good, and I think I can return the favor.” Jason ticked the reasons off on one hand.

Max held up his hand and did some ticking of his own. “You don't have to work. You have family that wants you close. You could coach locally. Jimmy will be crushed.”

He would have been better off if he hadn't mentioned Jimmy, and Max seemed to realize that. His eyes narrowed and he asked, “What about Pat?”

“What about him?”

“Wasn't Brandt the school that did him in?”

“Pat did himself in.” Jason rubbed the back of his tight neck with his free hand. “Look, Dad. We'll work something out so that I see a lot of you, but I plan to have a career in athletics. It's what I always planned, and if I'm able to start at a primo school like Brandt—even if I have to work my way onto the coaching field—I'd consider myself blessed.”

“Good for you,” Max said sourly. He abruptly turned and stalked into the living room. Jason closed his eyes as he heard the distinctive sound of dead weight falling into the recliner and then the squeak of the footrest rising. A second later the television started blaring and Jason took a long drink of club soda. Not the same as beer, but Kate was right. If he drank every time he had a flare-up with his dad, his liver would be shot within a year.

* * *

W
HEN
A
LLIE
GOT
up the next morning, one of the cows was down, looking like she was ready to calve, but as soon as she saw Allie, she got back to her feet and ambled off toward the rest of the herd. Because of the cow, she was reluctant to head to work early as she'd planned and instead waited until Jason showed up.

“Would you keep an eye on that cow there? Number fifty-three?” The cows were identified by numbered tags in their ears. Even though Allie knew this particular cow as Lou, many of the cows were known simply by their numbers.

Jason squinted at the herd as Allie pointed. “The black one. Yeah.” Which made Allie smile because all of the cows were black. He sent her a cautious look. “This is one of the easy calvers, right?”

“She should just pop it out, but if there are any problems, call the vet.” She handed him a card. “Or call me first and then call the vet.”

“Will do.”

She pushed her hair back as she studied the herd. She really hated to leave. So many things could happen even with an easy calver.

“It'll be fine,” Jason said beside her.

There was something about his tone that was ridiculously reassuring. The guy had almost puked while helping her pull a calf, yet she felt like believing him when he said everything was going to be okay.

“I'll call if things start happening.” He pulled out his phone and handed it to her. “Put your number in, would you? Then I won't have to worry about finding the card.”

Allie took the phone and put in both her number and the vet's number. “The vet is under Vet.”

“Clever,” Jason said as he took the phone back. Their fingers touched and she was struck by how nice it felt to simply touch and be touched. When he'd settled his hands on her shoulders the night before, it had been the same. She liked being near another person...another person who wasn't Kyle.

“I'm going to be late,” she said.

‘Yes,” he said with that gentle smile.

Her face felt warm, as if she were blushing. Was she blushing?

She hoped not. Being fair-skinned, it was always a possibility.

She forced a smile and headed for her car, trying to focus on her workday instead of the guy she'd left standing near the pasture. She was going to do her best to find some positives in the day. Education was a good occupation. She'd trained for it, and paid a bundle for that training, and damn it, she was going to use her degree.

* * *

Z
ACH
SHOWED
UP
almost forty minutes after seven. He slapped his hard hat on his head as he swaggered toward what remained of the barn.

“Do you want to pry boards off today?” Jason asked, deciding to pick his battles. If the kid was late tomorrow, he'd address the issue. Right now he wanted the kid to work and not argue.

“Whatever,” Zach replied.

“Pull nails.”

The kid shot him a dark look, but headed to the stack of boards that Jason had already piled. They worked in silence, just as they had the day before. Jason spoke to the kid every now and again, testing the waters, expecting nothing in return. Yes, the boy was angry. He was also seventeen and needed to find a different way to deal with anger than punishing the world around him.

During lunch, Zach ate sitting on his tailgate while Jason ate sitting on his. He was determined not to let the kid's attitude get to him, but truth to tell, his patience was wearing thin. After lunch, he tried one more time to make some kind of peace.

“Why don't you tackle that frame over there,” he said, nodding at a section of the wall that was lying flat on the ground.

Zach practically sneered at him as he got off the tailgate and slammed it shut.

“And while you're at it, pull your head out of your ass.”

Zach stopped in his tracks, his color rising as he turned to face Jason. “What did you say?”

“I said you need to pull your head out of your ass.” Jason gave the kid a dead-eyed look. Zach knew exactly what he was talking about—he'd have to be pretty dense not to—so he didn't feel the need to explain. After a nice long stare-down, Zach shouldered past him, grabbed the cat's-paw up from where he'd been pulling nails and headed off to the section of wall that needed to be dismantled.

Jason watched him go, glad that the kid hadn't decided to chuck the cat's-paw at his head or something. The way the kid started ripping and prying boards, he figured that the thought had probably crossed his mind.

Jason went to work on his section of the building, far enough away from Zach that he was out of harm's way should something go flying. Finally, after thirty silent minutes, he set down his hammer and walked around the barn to where Zach was working.

“Look,” he said. “I might have been abrupt a while ago, but your attitude would get you fired from a normal job.”

“I have my reasons.”

“You're also almost an adult and you can't take them out on the world. There are other ways to deal.”

“Oh, yeah? How do you suggest I deal?”

“No easy answer there. But what you can't do is be rude and combative to other people. That solves nothing.”

“It makes me feel better.”

“Does it?”

Zach started to answer, then abruptly closed his mouth. He turned back to the frame and jammed the crowbar into a crack and started reefing. Jason also went back to work. He didn't know if he'd made things better or worse, but he firmly believed in what he said—rudeness didn't solve problems. It just made other people miserable, too.

“You know,” he finally ventured, “we're going to be together for a few weeks, so maybe we could talk. Like people do when they work together.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“General stuff. I don't know. The weather, women...whatever.”

“The three Ws,” Zach said with a smirk.

Jason shot him a quick look, but the kid wasn't smiling. He also wasn't flinging nails quite as far. Breakthrough?

Probably not quite.

“Why don't you tell me about women?” Zach said a few seconds later, his tone polite, yet with a hint of sarcasm.

Jason gave him a look that the kid met blandly. Too blandly.

Fine. He'd tell him about women. “Treat them with respect,” he said.

“That's it?”

“Treat everyone with respect. Life will be better.”

Zach shook his head and went back to work. Jason did the same while the air between them vibrated with sullen resentment.