A Cowboy's Heart (5 page)

H
OW DO THEY LIVE FOR A YEAR WITHOUT THEIR MOM
? He sat down next to her, signing the words. “Will there come a time when it doesn't hurt so much, when they don't cry because they miss her?”

“I don't know. She's their mom. I can't imagine them not missing her all the time.”

Her voice broke and she brushed away a few tears, and he didn't know what to do. He couldn't fix them all. He was barely holding it together for his nephews, barely making life okay for his dad. He knew that they had to be his priority.

He had a bad habit of trying to take care of people, maybe because he'd been taking care of people his whole life.

Willow didn't want or need that from him. He had to remember
that, and not get confused about what he was feeling for a woman who was a strange mixture of strength and vulnerability.

The boys. He shook his head. “I can't get David to eat.”

“He's heartsick. Maybe ice cream? It's good for fixing a broken heart.”

The low rumble of a truck pulling up out front interrupted his thoughts and stopped him from asking about her broken heart. A
RE YOU EXPECTING COMPANY
? he signed.

She glanced out the window and groaned. “No, not really.”

“Looks like someone is here bright and early. Do you know who it is?” He spoke as he signed because he knew she read lips.

“Not a clue.”

She ran a hand through long, blond hair. Tall and slim, she looked strong. In faded jeans and a long-sleeved shirt tucked in, she looked like every other cowgirl that he knew.

And then again, she looked a lot like someone trying to pretend.

“It's probably the man interested in that gray bull. He e-mailed.” She admitted as she rummaged through papers on her desk, “I don't remember his name.”

“He called yesterday?”

“I asked him to e-mail.” She turned off the coffee pot on the desk. “Can you bring the bull up?”

“Do you need for me to talk to him?”

She bit down on her bottom lip and he hated that he had asked. But when she nodded, he no longer regretted. Sometimes accepting help made a person stronger. He wanted to tell her that, but she was walking away, and he couldn't say anything.

W
illow walked out of the house, ready to face the man with the truck, and whatever questions he had for her. Janie had smiled as she left, but she'd been too busy with Timmy and David to ask questions.

At the door to the barn, she paused, giving herself a minute to regain her strength and to feel composed. The shadowy interior of the barn, with the smell of hay and animals blending together, did that for her. She loved hiding here, and praying here.

She loved Oklahoma and its wide openness. Growing up in Frankfurt, Germany, where her father had worked for the government, she had been surrounded by buildings, concrete and the smell of exhaust. Cities were exciting and had an energy all their own.

But living here gave Willow energy. This was her home, and it had always felt like it was where she belonged.

Here she could be the person she wanted to be, not the person others expected her to be. This place wasn't about black-tie dinners, pearls and putting on a smile for society.

At the end of the barn she saw Clint and the owner of the truck. Their stances were casual, but the movement of their hands, the way they faced one another, warned of something less than casual.

Willow approached cautiously, trying to hear their conversation, but the words were lost. Clint turned in her direction, his eyes relayed a warning she didn't get.

“Hello, I'm Willow Michaels.” She held her hand out to the man who wasn't a rancher, not in his dark slacks and white button-down shirt.

“Ms. Michaels, I'm with the
Midwest Informer.
We're doing a feature on bulls used in bull riding. We're interested in a woman's point of view.”

“I'm not sure…” She shot a look in Clint's direction. His lips had narrowed, and he gave a short shake of his head.

“The article is going to run whether you talk to us or not. We just wanted to give you a fair opportunity to talk about your bulls, and the abuse these animals suffer.”

“Abuse?” She glanced again at Clint. His fingers signed for her to be careful.

And the reporter caught the gesture. She saw the light spark in his eyes and he smiled. “Ms. Michaels, you could be the feature of our article. A woman who raises bucking bulls. A disabled woman.”

“I'm
not
disabled. And I'm not a feature, Mr….”

“James Duncan.”

“Mr. Duncan, my bulls are not abused. My bulls receive excellent care, the best food and a home where they are prized for their abilities. I have nearly twenty animals that are actively used in bull riding, some in the top arenas, and some in smaller rodeos. Each month they work approximately ten minutes, ten minutes total, and yet they receive the best care. How can that be cruel?”

“They're forced to buck.”

“No, they're not forced. If I have a bull that doesn't buck, then I sell him, because bulls either buck or they don't. And my bulls are protected from abuse.” She ground out the words, no longer being careful. “The bull-riding community protects their animals, even at the events.”

Her hands were shaking, and she knew that her voice had reached a higher octave. The man in front of her continued to smile, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Clint straighten from his relaxed pose, leaning against the barn.

Willow shook her head at him, not wanting him to intervene. He backed up, but he remained tense, like a guard dog about to do damage, and her heart reacted. She nearly smiled at the reporter.

“Mr. Duncan, I believe this interview is over. If you really want the truth, and not a sensationalized spin on my sport, then attend an event with us. Watch how my bulls are treated, and then write the article.”

“That's a nice offer, Ms. Michaels, but I have my story.”

He walked away, his steps light, as if what he had done didn't matter, as if he was happy with the way things had gone. And Willow was shaking, unable to stop because it did matter. It mattered when someone took away your strength or made you feel like less than a whole person.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Strong arms pulled her close. She stiffened, but he didn't let go. And she didn't want to pull free. She wanted to melt into his embrace, and for just a minute, let herself be protected.

He bent and his cheek, rough and unshaved, brushed hers. His scent, mountain air and pine, teased her senses as his hands rubbed her arms and then slipped down to hold her hands.

“You were amazing.”

No, amazing was how it felt to be held by someone who thought she had been strong, when she had really felt like walking away.

Slowly, regrettably, she backed out of his arms. “Now what happens? What story does he think he has that is better than the story of my bulls?”

“The story of you. The story of bulls. Or maybe of us.”

“Us?”

He smiled, those gray eyes twinkling with amusement that she didn't get. “Us, because he thought there was an us.”

“There is no us. There is no story. He's going to target a sport that I love, and my personal life. And there's nothing I can do about it, or about the rumors that will fly once that magazine comes out.”

“No, Willow, there's nothing you can do about it.” He shook his head. “I have work to do.”

He walked away. A cowboy in faded jeans, scuffed boots, and calloused hands that had held her close. His expression as he turned from her had reflected his own pain, and something in his eyes she hadn't understood.

Willow walked into her office and closed the door. She yanked off her hearing aids and threw them in the box, because there were days when it didn't pay to hear.

And days when she feared she would lose her hearing completely.

She sat down in the leather office chair that swallowed her, wrapping around her, but feeling nothing like the arms of a cowboy.

Cowboys didn't understand how weakness felt, or fear. Maybe that wasn't fair. Clint had watched his sister leave for Iraq, leaving behind two little boys. He understood fear.

She bowed her head because God understood her fear. He understood forsaken. She whispered the words of Jesus on the cross, “My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me.”

Forsaken was how she had felt when her parents put her on a plane to Chicago. She had been ten years old, and frightened, but they had decided she needed to attend a private school for hearing-impaired children.

Forsaken was how she felt when her husband told her she couldn't be the wife he needed. He had ended it by telling her he needed a wife that would help his career. A wife who liked to socialize. A wife who didn't embarrass him.

He had picked her best friend to replace her.

Forsaken. But not. Even when she had felt alone, pushed aside, and rejected, God had been there, a prayer away. God hadn't forgotten her. He had a plan. Maybe not her plan, but His plan. And maybe it wouldn't be easy, but she had to convince herself there would be moments of beauty that would make all the pain worth it.

She reached into the box and withdrew the hearing aids, her life since age ten. It had started with meningitis she'd caught as a preschooler, and slowly progressed to severe hearing loss.

And now, now the slow progression was increasing. She slipped the pieces of plastic behind her ears and found the number of her doctor in Tulsa. The way to deal with fear was to confront it, head on.

When she walked out of the barn a short time later she had an appointment with her doctor. His nurse had told her that it was probably nothing.

Laughter carried across the lawn, soft and fluttery. Willow glanced in the direction of the driveway in front of the house. Clint was helping the boys into the truck. They were “three-of-a-kind,” and that brought a smile she hadn't felt five minutes ago.

Little David turned and waved his tiny, sun-browned hand. His smile was timid and sweet. Timmy's wave was big, and his smile consumed his face. Sunlight glinted from their silvery-blond hair, and she knew that someday they would be carbon copies of their uncle.

Their uncle, Clint. He turned, a grimace on his face as he tried to smile with Timmy tugging on his left arm, still held to his side in a sling. Two weeks, the doctor had told him. Maybe longer. Not good news for a guy that made his living on the back of a bull.

She walked in their direction, drawn by the boys. She wanted
to hug them. She wanted to promise them that their mother would come home. She wanted to apologize to Clint, but she didn't know what to say.

“Where are you three off to?” She smiled at the boys.

“We've gotta get in some kind of school.” Timmy answered as he always did, mimicking the last adult to give him information.

She laughed, knowing that his words were an echo of something Clint had said to them. He had mentioned to her that the twins needed to enroll now for kindergarten in the fall.

“That sounds like fun.” Her gaze lingered on David, because the look on his face told her he didn't agree that it would be fun.

“It will be fun.” Clint chucked David under the chin, smiling at the child. “And after we enroll, we're going to get ice cream. Want to go with us?”

Willow hadn't expected that. She hadn't expected to be included, and hadn't thought she would want to say yes. The boys were watching her with twin gazes that said they wanted her to go. She looked up, connecting with Clint, and not sure if he really felt the same as the boys.

But the boys wanted her to go. And David needed to eat. She smiled at the twins.

“I could probably use your help.” Clint shrugged the shoulder that was still healing. “Sometimes they're hard to hold on to.”

Did he really need her help? Maybe not as much as she needed to spend time with Timmy and David, eating ice cream and laughing over silly jokes that children told.

“I'd love to go. Let me tell Janie.”

“She isn't here. Her bridge group is meeting.”

“Okay, then let me get my purse. If you need me to drive, it might help if I have my license.”

“I can drive.”

No more arguments or excuses. Willow climbed into the passenger seat of the truck. The boys climbed into the backseat. And
then Clint was in the seat next to her, and she looked away. It was easier to glance in the backseat and smile at the boys, both jabbering about ice cream and school, childhood things that were easy and light.

 

Clint had watched Willow's smile disappear. He had seen the tears shimmering in her eyes. There could have been several reasons. The boys, maybe, or the reporter. Possibly the call he'd overheard her make. He hadn't listened to the entire conversation. He knew she'd called a doctor's office.

Seeing that soft shimmer of tears, and knowing her fear, helped him to push aside his anger with her, or whatever he had felt when she pulled away from him, saying things that made him think that she had her own thoughts about being out of his league. She didn't want rumors spread about the two of them.

“My aunt isn't really meeting with her bridge group.” She smiled now. He took his attention off the road for just a second, long enough to see that she'd pulled herself together.

“Really?” He didn't want to get in the middle of this mess.

“She wants to move to Florida with her friends.” Willow fiddled with a ring on her right hand. “She thinks I don't know. But a friend of hers was excited about the plan and let it slip.”

“Willow, she doesn't want to hurt you.”

“And I don't want to hurt her by keeping her here.”

He wanted to ignore this side of her that cared about the happiness of others. He had already learned too much about Willow Michaels. He had learned that she was easy to like, and easy to care about. And he had a dad in a nursing home, and two boys to raise for the next year. He didn't need more complications.

She could be that and more.

“I'll miss her, Clint. But she isn't hurting me by doing what she has always wanted to do. When I was a teenager, she talked about
retiring to Florida someday. She wants to go with friends. She wants to learn to play golf, and figure out what shuffleboard is all about.”

“Does anyone really understand shuffleboard?”

“Someone must.”

The day had started with a reporter ambushing her, and now they were talking about shuffleboard. She was a survivor. They had that in common.

“She's afraid you'll sell the bulls if she leaves.”

He glanced away from the road, to see how she took that news. She was smiling.

“She's always looking out for me. When my parents shipped me off to Chicago, Janie met me at the airport. They didn't ask her to. She found out what they'd done, and she showed up without telling them. She didn't want a little girl to get off the plane alone, in a strange city, to be met by strangers.”

“She bought our Christmas presents and put us through college.” Clint smiled at the memory. “She didn't believe in storing up, for herself, ‘treasure on earth, when there were little treasures down the road, needing so much.'”