What She'd Do for Love (7 page)

“Unfortunately, there are a lot of other capable people out there looking for jobs.” Many of them her former co-workers, with more experience than she had.

“But they aren’t you. Self-confidence. That’s what these companies want to see.”

Dad certainly sounded confident that he was right. But he had always been a man who could solve any problem, for himself, but also for his wife and daughter. Looking back, she could see how much she’d depended on him to do just that. But he couldn’t solve her job dilemma for her, no matter how much he might want to. “I’m not feeling very self-confident right now,” she confessed. “I mean, I loved my old job. I was good at it. I never saw the lay-off coming. I’m still trying to deal with that.”

“You know the saying about if a horse bucks you off you have to get right back on, don’t you?”

“I do, Dad.” She refrained from rolling her eyes like an exasperated teenager.

“I know you think it’s a cliché, but there’s a lot of truth there. Do you remember when you were little and you got your first real horse—not the pony you rode at first, but a full-grown gelding?”

“Paco.” She smiled, remembering the brown-and-white paint that had been her companion and friend well into high school, when he was finally retired from the saddle string and put out to pasture.

“Do you remember what happened the first time you tried to make him gallop?”

She winced. She remembered, all right. “He bucked me off and I broke my arm.”

“And I made you get back on the horse the very next day, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Even though she’d been wearing a pink plaster cast. Even Mom had been concerned about Dad’s plan, and Christa had shed more than a few tears, but her dad would have none of it, and in the end, he’d lifted her onto the back of the horse.

“I made you ride him again because if I hadn’t you would have been scared of him—and he’d have gotten the idea that he got the better of you.”

“No employer got the better of me, Dad. These things just happen.”

“You need to remember that. Instead of moping at home, you need to get out there and apply for a job.”

“I will.” As soon as she figured out what she wanted to do. Houston was a big city, and there were probably plenty of marketing firms there, but her conversation with Ryder the other evening had her thinking more about the goals she’d started out with—she wanted to help people, and the work she’d done with non-profits had been the most satisfying in her old job. That kind of work wasn’t the norm at most big marketing companies. What kind of work could she do that would combine her marketing skills and her desire to help others?

Her dad went back to staring into space and Christa pulled out her book and tried to read. She forced herself not to look at the time on her phone, so she didn’t know how much time had passed when the doctor—a silver-haired man in blue scrubs—emerged from the double doors at the end of the hall. “Adele is doing great,” he said.

Christa didn’t pay attention to anything else he said. She was too full of relief that Mom had survived this first big hurdle. Dad listened and nodded and asked questions, until he, too, seemed satisfied with the news. “When can we see her?” he asked.

“She’s in recovery now, but we’ve assigned her a room. You can go on up and wait for her there. But you have time to get some lunch first.”

Christa’s stomach growled. “Come on, Dad, let’s find the cafeteria,” she said.

“I don’t want Adi arriving to an empty room,” he said.

“I imagine they’ll keep her in recovery a little while longer. She has to come out of the anesthesia.” She took his arm. “We won’t take long. You need to eat.”

He let her lead him to the elevator, but when they stepped off on the ground floor he shook her off and led the way to the hospital cafeteria, which looked more like an upscale restaurant. They chose sandwiches and iced tea and ate in silence. Dad wolfed his food, then shifted in his chair and jingled his change, waiting for Christa to finish. She finally gave up. “I’m done. Let’s go see Mom.”

“All the rooms in this hospital are private,” Dad said as they boarded the elevator again. “Your mom liked that.”

Christa had trouble keeping up with her father’s long strides as he hurried toward the cubicle assigned to Mom. The sag of his shoulders told her the room was still empty. He sat on the end of a narrow vinyl sofa against the wall while she took the only chair. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” she said.

Squeaky wheels, then a knock on the door. Dad and Christa both stood. “Come in,” he called, though the door was already opening to admit an aide with a wheeled cart, on which sat a large vase of colorful flowers. “I have a delivery for Mrs. Montgomery,” the aide said.

“Who sent those?” Dad asked.

“There’s a card attached.” The aide moved the flowers to a table at the end of the bed and left.

“What a gorgeous arrangement,” Christa said. The orange birds of paradise, pink dahlias and purple lilies glowed against the dull sage walls of the room, like something out of a Van Gogh painting. She found the card among the lacy foliage and opened it. She blinked, unsure of the name on the card. It didn’t belong here, in this room so far from Cedar Grove. “They’re from Ryder.”

“Now he didn’t have to do that.” Dad joined her beside the flowers. “Adi will like them, though. That was really thoughtful of him.”

“Why is Ryder sending Mom flowers?” Christa asked.

“I saw him in town yesterday afternoon and told him Adi was having surgery.” He returned to the sofa.

Christa tried to push down the hurt. Her parents hadn’t even told
her
about her mom’s diagnosis until Wednesday, yet her father had apparently volunteered the information to a man he scarcely knew. A man who wasn’t part of their family or even a close friend.

She returned to her chair. “How did you and Ryder get to be such good buddies?” she asked, trying to keep her tone casual. As if she didn’t care about the answer.

“We’ve spent a lot of time talking.”

“About what?” What could her rancher father have in common with an itinerant engineer?

“The road project, for one thing.”

“Do you agree with him that the road project is worth the risk to the town?”

“I think we can’t predict the future. Things have already changed so much, what’s a little more?” He shrugged.

“I know everyone says change is inevitable, but aren’t some things worth holding on to and keeping the same?” Didn’t people need those touchstones the way the ranch was her touchstone?

“Ryder’s got a good head on his shoulders,” Dad said. “He’s traveled, seen a lot of the world. Maybe you should ask him for advice about your job search. He might know some people who could help you.”

Christa thought they’d been talking about the highway, not about Ryder Oakes. The man had no business intruding on her family’s problems this way. She was about to tell her father so when the door opened again and two aides wheeled in her mother.

Dad greeted Mom first, and kissed her cheek. She smiled weakly at Christa and squeezed her hand. “How do you feel, Mom?” Christa asked.

“I’m still pretty out of it.” Her gaze shifted to the flowers. “Oh, how pretty!”

“Ryder Oakes sent those,” Dad said. “The card says he hopes you’re back home soon.”

“How thoughtful of him.” Mom turned her attention to Christa. “Have you met him? Such a handsome man.”

“I was telling Christa she ought to talk to Ryder about her job search,” Dad said. “He might have some contacts.”

“Good idea,” Mom said. Her eyes drifted shut, so she didn’t see Christa’s frown. The last person she wanted to ask for advice was Ryder Oakes.

CHAPTER SIX

S
ATURDAY
MORNING
, R
YDER
was up early. He’d spent the previous evening cleaning his apartment, and had stocked the refrigerator with bottled water and the diet soda his mother liked to drink. He’d arranged the rugs, pillows and towels, along with two potted plants the florist had assured him would thrive with very little care. But short of painting and buying new furniture, he could do little else to improve the rooms.

Promptly at eleven-thirty, his mother’s car pulled into the driveway and parked beside his truck. He met her at the top of the stairs. “Come on in, Mom. Did you have any trouble finding the address?”

“Not at all. The town looks charming. Though I can’t say the same about this place.” She wrinkled her nose at the orange and brown plaid sofa set that filled the living room.

“It’s not fancy, but it’s clean and comfortable and that’s all I need.” He led her to a chair upholstered in brown-and-white stripes. “Why don’t you sit here? Can I get you anything?”

“Not right now.” She sat, ankles gracefully crossed, and looked up at him. At fifty, she appeared ten years younger, her hair colored a soft brown and styled in a shoulder-length bob. Her nails were neatly manicured, her jeans and jacket the latest fashion. She scarcely resembled the housewife who had cleaned his room and made peanut butter sandwiches and meatloaf for him all those years. “Sit down and tell me about the town,” she said. “Do you like it here? Have you made friends?”

She’d asked the same questions dozens of times when he was growing up, after school during chats over glasses of milk and store-bought cookies—she’d never been a baker. He gave the same answer now that he’d given then: “It’s a nice town. I get along fine.”

But this time, the answer didn’t smooth the lines on his mother’s forehead. “Getting along with people isn’t the same as having real friends,” she said. “People you can count on in a crisis. It’s only since I’ve moved to Dallas that I’ve made real friends like that.”

He seized on this opportunity to shift the focus of the conversation off of himself. “I’m glad to hear it, Mom. I’m glad to know you really like it there.”

“I love it. I have a job I enjoy. I’ve joined a book club and I take yoga classes—all the things I was never able to do before, moving around so much with your father.”

“But you got to see the world.” He had vivid memories of her in Japan, touring ornate temples and marveling at the landscaped gardens. Or in Germany, dancing at a local festival. She’d always seemed to be enjoying herself.

“That was exciting at first, but by the fifth time I had to pack everything we owned and start over a thousand miles or more away, the novelty was gone. About the time I felt I really knew a place and was beginning to settle in, we had to leave. But I was supposed to be a good army wife and not complain—your father never understood my feelings, anyway.”

Ryder fought the urge to defend his father. “I always liked seeing new places and new people,” he said.

Her expression softened, her lips curving in a fond smile. “You were the most adaptable of my children. You inherited your father’s wanderlust, and his easy charm,” she said. “Your sisters are more like me. They wanted marriage and children right away, and they were lucky enough to find men who know how to stay put. Sherry tells me Dale’s about to be promoted to vice president of his company in St. Louis, and Megan and Todd are planning to buy a bigger house, closer to his job in Chicago.”

“I’m glad you’re happy, Mom.” What else could he say? Though she didn’t look particularly happy at the moment. Her gaze bore into him, as if she were examining a potential purchase for flaws. He fought the urge to squirm and returned the look, gazing into eyes the same shade of blue as his own. “What is it, Mom?”

“I know the divorce upset you,” she said. “I’ve been doing some reading, about how divorce impacts even grown children. I’m sorry about that, but it couldn’t be helped.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.” He stood. “I’m going to have some iced tea. Would you like some? Or a soda?”

“Sit back down. I know I don’t need to justify my actions to you, but I came here prepared to say some things, so hear me out.”

He sat and forced himself to lean back against the sofa cushions, wanting to appear calm and relaxed, though he was anything but.

“I know your father blames me for ending our marriage,” she said. “And I was the one who filed for divorce—that’s true. But I also know I did the best I could for as long as I could. For a long time, I tried to be something I wasn’t, because I loved him, and because I love all of you. But in the end, that wasn’t enough. I couldn’t live that nomadic, unstable life anymore.”

“I had no idea.”

“I tried not to make everyone around me miserable, too.” She leaned over and put a hand on his knee. “I’m telling you this because I want you to think about the kind of life
you
want to live, while you’re still young and can more easily change things. All this traveling may seem exciting when you’re young and single, but who knows what may be in store for you in the future, what the picture might look like even a year or two from now?”

She sat back, hands folded in her lap once more. “You might get lucky and find a woman who shares your itchy feet. Or you could decide to settle down. After all, half your genes are mine.”

“I don’t think it’s right to have a long-term relationship as long as I’m moving around. Maybe later, when I’ve established myself in my career.” He had plenty of time.

“You certainly seem to be doing well here in Cedar Grove,” she said. “Overseeing a big project like this new highway.”

“I’m the youngest supervising engineer in the state.” He wasn’t one for bragging, but he couldn’t keep the pride from his voice.

“How much more established in your career do you have to be, then?”

“If I do a good job on this, I could move up to overseeing multiple projects.” Eventually, he might even head up the department.

“There’s always something more to aspire to.” She sighed. “For your father, it was always a higher rank or a better posting. He’s still doing that.”

“I talked to him the other night. He’s being transferred to Washington D.C.”

“He’ll like that—at the center of the action.”

“He seemed excited about it.”

“Not that he was ever one to show much emotion.” She shrugged. “It’s none of my business now. But do me a favor and don’t look to your father as the only example of how a man should live his life. There are more important things than titles and jobs.”

“I know that, Mom.”

“You do?” She leaned forward again. “Then what’s more important to you? What one thing do you spend more time on and think about more than work?”

All the answers he knew were supposed to be right died on his lips—family, friends, hobbies—none of those received the devotion he gave to his work. “I guess I’ll have to think about those things more,” he said.

“You do that, darling.” Her smile bloomed again, making her look younger, and more beautiful. “You really are so much like your father when we met. So handsome. Women swarmed around him like bees to honey. I felt so privileged to be singled out.”

“He probably felt the same way about you.”

She laughed at that. “Maybe so. But what about you? I know what you said about long-term, but still, do you have anyone special in your life?”

An image of Christa, leaning on the fence rail at the Rocking M, wind blowing back her hair, popped into his mind. But how special could she be when they’d only shared pie and coffee and a few conversations? He wasn’t even sure she really liked him. “No one special,” he said.

“I can’t believe you have trouble meeting women,” she said. “So it must be that you haven’t taken the time to look for Ms. Right.”

“
Ms. Right?
Mom, I’m happy with the way things are. I have plenty of time for that later.”

“For years, I told myself I had time to do all the things I wanted to do, and then I woke up one day fifty years old and realized I had better get busy.” She stood. “Why don’t you take me to lunch and I’ll see if I spot any likely candidates.”

“I don’t need you to manage my love life, Mom.” He stood also, and took his keys from his pocket.

“It sounds to me like you don’t have a love life.” She patted his arm. “Besides, one of the advantages of living closer to you is that I can keep tabs on you. I might even be in a position to fix you up with some likely young women.”

“Don’t do it, Mom.”

Her smile had turned sly. “Then you’d better find someone on your own, before I decide to take matters into my own hands.”

* * *

T
HE
COOL
,
AMMONIA
-
AND
-
PERFUME
-scented air of the Cedar Grove Salon washed over Christa as she stepped out of the bright heat of Saturday afternoon. Kelly and her mom were both cutting hair at their stations, and two other women waited under the dryers. At the sound of the door bells, Kelly turned to greet the newcomer. “Christa!” She set aside her scissors and picked up a comb. “Mrs. Lytle, you know Christa Montgomery, don’t you? Her folks own the Rocking M.”

Mary Jane Lytle, one of the owners of the Seed and Feed, peered over her glasses at Christa. “Last time I saw you, you were just a skinny little thing riding in the rodeo parade,” she said. “What have you been doing with yourself?”

“I lived in Houston a few years.” Christa walked over to stand beside the salon chair. “I’m home for a little while.”

“How is your mom?” Kelly deftly combed through Mrs. Lytle’s newly streaked locks. “Is she still in the hospital?”

“No, they sent her home today. I can’t believe they let her out so quickly, but she and Dad were both going crazy in there, so I guess it’s for the best.”

“I saw Adele’s name on the prayer list at church,” Mrs. Lytle said. “You tell her we’re thinking about her.”

“I know she’ll appreciate that,” Christa said.

“Is she doing okay?” Kelly asked.

“She seems to be.” She didn’t want to elaborate, with so many ears listening to every word. Janet had even turned off the blow dryer she’d been wielding in order to hear. “I just popped in for a minute to say hello. I dropped Mom’s prescription off at the pharmacy and I’m waiting for them to fill it.”

“You let us know if you need anything,” Janet said. “I can even come out to the house to do her hair if she likes.”

Kelly picked up a curling iron and began wrapping Mrs. Lytle’s hair around the barrel. “Do y’all need any food or anything out at the house?” she asked. “I could make some soup or a casserole.”

“Oh no, I think I’ve got that covered.” Christa hadn’t done much cooking in years, but between her and her dad, she was sure they could take care of the meals. “Mom really doesn’t want anyone fussing over her.” Including Christa. As soon as her parents were in the house, Adele had sent her daughter out to fetch the prescription. Not, Christa suspected, because she needed the pain medication so badly, but because she didn’t want her daughter to have any part of settling her into a sickbed.

“I think Etta Mae planned to send something out to your mom,” Mrs. Lytle said. “You might want to stop by the Blue Bell and check. She usually organizes volunteers to take meals to anyone who’s been under the weather.”

“We definitely don’t need that,” Christa said. Mom would be mortified if a bunch of women from town took turns stopping by to check on her. “I’ll certainly speak to her. Thanks.”

She took in the busy salon. She’d been hoping for a moment alone with Kelly, to unburden herself about the stress of the surgery, her worries for her mother, even her confused feelings about Ryder. He’d been so kind to her mother, and he’d accepted her stipulation that they limit their relationship to mere friendship—so why did she feel so unsettled around him?

But clearly, Kelly was too busy to talk. “I’d better get back to the pharmacy,” Christa said. “I just wanted to let you know Mom is home and doing well.”

“Come here and give me a hug before you go.” Kelly held out her arms and the two friends embraced. “Hang in there,” Kelly whispered. “I’ll call you later.”

“Thanks.” Christa hurried from the salon before she gave into the tears that threatened. On the sidewalk, she took a deep breath and pulled herself together, then walked back to the pharmacy.

“The doctors never give refills on these things,” the pharmacist, Liz Proctor, said. “So if your mom runs low, she needs to call a couple days ahead to get a new script approved.”

“It’s all Dad and I can do to get her to take one of these,” Christa said. “I doubt she’ll need a refill.”

“You want me to give her a call and talk to her? I might be able to set her mind at ease.”

“Not right now, but I really do appreciate the offer.”

Back in the car, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the seat. She felt like a football player, running interference between her mom and the line of well-wishers who wanted to descend on her to help. Life would be easier for all of them if they were able to accept the offered help graciously, but Christa understood her mom’s need to keep life as normal and drama free as possible. She needed to pretend that nothing had changed; she was still the strong, healthy person she’d always been, a woman who didn’t need anything from anyone.

She opened her eyes and started the car. She was almost out of town before she remembered Etta Mae’s plans to organize volunteers to bring meals. She turned the car around and went directly to the Blue Bell.

Inside the café, she scanned the dining room for Etta Mae. The little woman was nowhere to be found, but Ryder greeted her from a table by the window. “Christa, how is your mother?”

Given the choice of shouting at him across the room or walking to his table, she chose the latter. He sat with an attractive older woman who shared his blue eyes and dimples. “Hello,” the woman said. “I’m Ryder’s mother, Peggy Oakes.”

“Mom, this is Christa Montgomery. Her parents own a ranch near town, the Rocking M.”