12 Borrowing Trouble (27 page)

Save the spoon
.  Don’t use it for baking, unless you decide you’re never going to forgive me.  I read there are several other uses for it, and I’ll be glad to demonstrate for you if you’re interested.  As for the key—you’re the only woman who will ever hold that key.  Keep it safe and let me know if you ever want to use it too.  It can still be a casual thing if you want that, or more if you decide you want a broken down cowboy once I retire.  What the hell am I thinking?  By then you’ll have someone else, and I’ll just be a memory.  I hope it’s a good one.

Between her tear stains, and the shaky handwriting, it took her a good three minutes to decipher those last three sentences.
  She dropped her head to her arms on the table and gave into the storm raging inside of her.  Damn him.

A small hand dropped on her shoulder and Izzy asked, “Mommy, are you crying about daddy again?  Please don’t cry, he’s in heaven and dancing with the angels.  You said so…”

And Carrie was left in hell, dancing with the devil.  “I’m fine baby,” she said sucking in a shuddering breath as she sat up and wiped her eyes with the apron.  “I’m just a little sad today, but I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”  She noticed that her daughter was covered in dirt and who knew what else.  “Go take a bath and get some clean clothes on.  We’re going to the R & R later to deliver it and maybe you can ride Snowy.”

Izzy squealed, her face lit up and she spun to run out of the kitchen.   She wished it was that easy for her to be distracted.  That would make things a lot easier for sure.
  She gathered up the things on the table and put them all back in the envelope, then shoved it in the bottom drawer by the sink.  She’d take it to her room later, and hide it until she could throw it away.  Right now she had a cake to finish.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Zane canceled on
her for dinner last night when she went to the R & R.  Joel needed him to go on the weekend trail ride with some guests, because Rocky had pulled something in her leg and was out of commission for a few days. He’d taken a few minutes, though, to let Chris ride the mechanical bull, and gave Izzy a lesson on Snowy.   Both of the kids had been sullen on the way back home, and told her they had fun, but it just wasn’t the same without Dylan.

Carrie
had to agree.  The R & R had been too damned quiet, even though Fridays were the day when guests either checked out for the week or checked in for the weekend. There had been plenty of activity, but no excitement.  It seemed like everyone there missed Dylan.  He’d left a hole in their hearts too, and he probably didn’t even realize it. 

Because he had no idea what love was all about.  What family was about.
  And that was a damned shame.  How many times had she said that since she met the man?  Too many.

Carrie walked to the doorway of the kitchen, and yelled because she knew Chris would never hear her with the headphones on otherwise.  “It’s almost five o’clock, Chris!  Get in the tub, or you’re going to be late for the social!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grumbled with a glance back at her from the video game.  She’d let him play a little before he went to the social, because he had been working hard, doing good.  Instead of continuing to play like he used to do, he surprised her when he flicked off the game, and yanked off the headphones.  He stood and smiled.

“Wow, that was fast.  You excited about tonight or something?” she asked with a laugh.

Chris’s smile faded and his face turned red.  He dragged his eyes away and shrugged.  “I met this girl at the last youth group meeting.”

A girl?  Her son was old enough to be interested in girls?  Last year, he thought they were all dumb and prissy.  “What’s her name?”

His peeked back up at her.  “Amanda.”

“Tell me about her.”

His face got redder, and he shuffled his feet, then shoved his hands into his pockets.  “She’s fourteen, blonde hair, nice.”

“What’s her last name?  Maybe I know her parents.”
  Carrie wanted to know what kind of girl her son was interested in.  If she knew her parents, which she probably did.  She’d gone to school with all the people in the area, she would know.

“You won’t know them.  She just moved here a few months ago.”

“Tell me anyway.”  She would ask around about her to make sure she was a good girl.  Carrie wanted to know everyone her son was associating with.  She didn’t trust him yet to choose his friends wisely.  It would be a long time before she did again.

He huffed out a breath.  “Simpson, mom.  Her last name is Simpson.  Now, if the grilling is over, I’m going to take a bath and get ready.”

“It’s over,” Carrie said with a smile. 
For now
.

“I want to go to the social,” Izzy said standing at the end of the hallway.  Her face lit up.  “I’ll wear the pink dress grandma made me!”  She glanced at her brother and crossed her arms over her chest.  “And I can make sure Chris stays out of trouble.”

Chris’s hands made fists at his side.  “Move,” he growled, and she stepped aside to let him walk down the hall.

“You can’t go, honey.  You’re not old enough.  Next year you can go.”

Izzy stuck out her lower lip.  “They don’t know how old I am.”

“They know exactly how old you are.  You’re in the ten to twelve youth group,” Carrie said with a laugh.  Her daughter was small for her age too.  Just like she had been.  She was almost eleven, but she looked like she was seven or eight.  She carried enough attitude for sixteen
, though, when she stomped her foot, before she turned to go back to her room.

An hour later, Carrie dropped Chris off in front of the church hall, and kissed his cheek before he could dodge her.  He looked mortified as he scrubbed it off with his shirt sleeve, and groaned.  “Mom, please.”

“You’ll always be my baby boy, even when you’re a man.  Don’t forget that,” she said with a chuckle.  “Have fun, and I’ll pick you up at ten.”

“It’s not over until eleven,” he protested.

“Okay, ten-thirty,” she compromised.  “Be outside waiting, don’t make me come inside.”

He opened the truck door, and hopped down.  “Yes, ma’am,” he said sullenly as he slammed it shut.

Carrie stopped at the ancient burger joint on the edge of town and got herself and Izzy a burger for dinner.  It’s a good thing Izzy wasn’t old enough to go to the dance, because she must be worn out.  She was sleeping in the back seat, and didn’t even ask for her mandatory chocolate shake to go with the burger. 

Carrie
was glad for the quiet though.  It gave her time to think about the letter and gifts Dylan had left for her.  It had been on her mind all afternoon.  He had been on her mind.  If he called again, was she going to talk to him?  Should she take Chris to the rodeo next week to see him?  Would that just open things back up that had just started to heal over?

Carrie
was just damned confused by the time she pulled up in front of the house and shut off the truck.  Izzy was still sleeping in the back seat, and she hoped she didn’t have to carry her in.  “Izzy wake up,” she said as she leaned down to grab the sack of burgers and her purse off of the floorboard.

She fumbled for the door handle and opened, it. 
Carrie turned to get out and screamed when she came face to muzzle with a pistol.  Her bloodless fingers turned loose of her purse and the bag, and they fell to the ground as her whole body vibrated with fear.  Her pistol was in that purse, but it was useless.  Her shotgun was in the house, also useless.

“What do you want?” she asked, through her chattering teeth.  Please let Izzy keep quiet, she prayed, as she held perfectly still, hoping this very rough-looking man would take whatever he was here for then just leave.

“I want my damned money, and I want your son.  He owes me interest now, and I’m going to take it out of his ass.  He also owes me for what his old man did to us.”  Carrie’s head felt like it would explode, even if he didn’t pull the trigger his finger was twitching on.  The drug gang had found them.  And evidently he knew Chris was Sean’s son.  How?

Damn, they must’ve followed her or Zane from the R & R.

“Mommy who’s that?” Izzy asked sleepily from the back seat.

“Your worst nightmare
, little girl.  Now get out slow and easy, and I won’t hurt your mommy.”  He looked into Carrie’s eyes with his cold, hard stare and at that moment, Carrie knew better.  This man had every intention of killing Chris, killing all of them.  Even if he got his money back.  And it was also obvious he had no problem doing that. 

Her eyes tracked across the yard to the slick,
black car parked under a tree.  Why the hell hadn’t she noticed it when she pulled into the driveway?  Because it’s dark, and you had your head in the clouds, she thought.  And that just cost you and your kids your lives.

Carrie had to think fast.  Maybe she could at least save Chris.  If she didn’t pick him up at ten-thirty, someone from the dance would bring him home.  They’d be in danger too.  She had to figure out how to get these people away from the ranch, before that happened. 

“Um he’s going out of town with friends.  He doesn’t have the money, but Chris told me where he hid the, um stuff,” she said, glancing at Izzy, who was standing beside the man looking like she might cry at any minute.  Maybe she could save her too.  “I can take you there.” And maybe figure out a way out of this mess.   Carrie knew that wasn’t likely though.  “We can just leave Izzy here.”

Carrie flinched when the gun wobbled, as he threw back his head and laughed.  “I don’t think so,” he said when he finally looked back at her.  He waved the gun.  “Move, and don’t be stupid or you know who will be first.” 

Carrie’s heart took a plunge to her toes then shot back up to her throat.  She couldn’t speak, so she nodded and eased down to the ground.  He stepped back then shoved her as she started walking toward the car with the blacked out windows.  The damned thing looked almost like a newer cop car.  Undercover car.  Sean had driven an older model that was very similar.

Oh, good
God.  Was someone else from the department involved in this mess?  Is that how they found out Chris was Sean’s son?  Ice water flowed through her veins as they reached the car.  The thug pulled the handle and Carrie glanced at the black screen blocking the front from the back, then saw there weren’t any interior handles.

It was definitely a cop car, and she was in a world of trouble.

***

Dylan hopped up on the fence of the bull chute.  The announcer was making his usual bad jokes about how bad ass this bull was.  Dylan had ridden him before, and he was
rank, but definitely rideable.  The urge to do just that was so strong in his gut, he caught himself lifting his leg to hop on the animal’s back when the very young cowboy who pulled him sat on the top rail beside Dylan. 

“Thanks,
old man,” he said with a cocky grin, as he gingerly waited for the animal to settle, before sliding his leg down inside the chute and easing himself onto the bull’s back.  Dylan huffed out a breath, then helped the cowboy get rigged up for the ride. 

Dylan didn’t think he’d be so damned cocky when that bull pulled his signature move, a low dip out of the chute, followed by two thousand pounds of leap.  The bull wasn’t called Airtime for nothing.  He doubted this greenhorn would be ready for it.  He looked forward to seeing his face when he land
ed on his ass in the dirt. 

Old man
.  Anger shot through Dylan, but he got a handle on it.  He was an old man compared to most of the cowboys on this circuit.  But that meant he had experience.  Knew what he was doing, where they didn’t.  That counted for something right?

Next year, when he got to ride again, he’d be thirty-three.
  A year older, but no wiser.  Because he wasn’t riding.  He didn’t even have a mechanical bull to practice on here.  He was a nomad again, not exactly doing what he wanted, but around it.  But he wasn’t having fun.  It wasn’t the same anymore.  He was like a bird who’d been kept in captivity, hand fed for too long, and now turned out into the wild.  He just didn’t know what to do with himself.  He’d gotten used to the schedule at the R & R, the structure.  His wild ass friends, the nightly partying, and the women didn’t interest him.

It didn’t help that he was worried sick about Carrie and her kids.  He missed the fuck out of them.  He’d talked to Chris twice since he left, but hadn’t gotten more than they were doing okay.  And Chris wasn’t going back to New Hope.  He was working on the ranch with his mother.

That was a big mistake.  The kid needed Billy and Sharon, needed that ranch and needed to learn to rodeo.  It would keep him occupied and out of trouble.  Teach him how to be a responsible adult.  But Dylan wasn’t his daddy.  He had no say in the matter.  He just hoped that Carrie didn’t find that out the hard way, because Chris would be the one paying the price.

The clank of the pen opening woke him up, and he leaned back just in time to avoid the sharp hooves that flew close to his chest.  As expected, the bull squatted, almost going to his belly in the dirt.  Dylan held his breath when his powerful legs pushed him high into the air.  The cowboy grunted loudly and his feet flew upward.  The bull hung there for a second, then slammed into the ground.  The cowboy’s ass slammed into his back
, and he looked a little stunned. 

Dylan had to give it to him, the man hung on and recovered nicely, until Airtime took an unexpected left bucking turn.  He was positioned for a right turn, and flew off the bull’s back, landing in the dirt on his face.
  Two seconds. 

The buzzer sounded, and the bull kept bucking violently.  The young cowboy scrambled to his knees and had his ass in just the right position for the bull to plant his head there.  He flew into the air again like a ragdoll, and if not for the bullfighter who stepped in front of him to distract the animal, he would definitely have been gored.  Those guys saved lives.
  They were the heroes of the bull riding community.  Their job was more dangerous than riding, really.

Maybe that’s what he’d do when he couldn’t ride anymore.
  Or maybe he’d go back to Amarillo and look up Carrie Collins. She’d probably be remarried by then, and the kids would be grown.  Like he’d said in his letter, he’d be a memory.  That thought caused a pain to shoot through his chest.  He rubbed it, and hopped off the back of the chute. 

She wasn’t going to call him, hell she wouldn’t even talk to him now.  It was best they both moved on.
  Thank God this night was over, he thought, as he walked backstage.  He was tired and hot.  A shower and a beer were exactly what he needed.  He made it to his locker, and pulled out his duffle bag. Unzipping it he saw his cell phone laying on top.  There were two missed calls from an Amarillo number, he recognized well, one he had memorized as soon as Terri gave it to him. 

Dylan fought back his excitement as he hit redial, and put the phone to his ear. It could just be Chris wanting to talk.  Just because it was her number, didn’t mean it was her.   Before it rang even once, the line connected and Chris said, “Dylan?”