A Cowboy's Heart (7 page)

How many times in life had she gone through moments like this alone, without someone to talk to? Too many to count. She had always handled things. She handled being a child and knowing the other students could hear the teacher. She had handled boarding school. She had handled her husband's rejection.

How would it feel to share her feelings with this man? She drew in a deep breath, because today wasn't the day. He was standing in front of her, but she couldn't let herself open up. She had to deal with it, figure it out, before she could share with someone else.

She couldn't get through this, trying to make sense of it, and worrying about how he would handle it.

“What are you doing here?”

“I couldn't let you do this alone.”

“How did you know?”

“I overheard your conversation.”

“Eavesdropping?” It was easier to smile than she would have imagined.

“Yeah, I guess. I meant to ignore it, to let it go. But I couldn't. I thought about it all day, about how you wanted to do everything alone, including this. But I couldn't let you.”

“The boys?”

“With Janie.”

Willow pushed the down button on the elevator. “Did you tell her where I am?”

“No, I didn't even tell her why I needed to come to Tulsa. I snooped and found the address in your office. Sorry about that.”

He held out a handkerchief. She took it and brushed at her eyes, wiping away tears that hadn't fallen. She even smiled, because she could picture him in her office, peeking through papers.

“Sorry for which, for eavesdropping, snooping or following me?” She looked up at him.

He took the handkerchief and gently wiped under her eyes before handing it back to her. She held it, staring at the mascara stains, and wishing her heart wasn't melting. The duct tape she'd used to put it back together was coming apart at the seams, and she wanted to give a little of herself to a man who carried handkerchiefs and took the time to snoop through her papers.

“Should I apologize for trying to be a friend?”

She shook her head, but she couldn't answer, not without crying. She didn't want to cry. A few tears had leaked out, but she could hold it together. She didn't want to be the woman he pitied.

He touched her back and guided her through the open doors of the elevator. Once inside they stood at the back, shoulders touching. She had needed a friend, God had sent one, and the one He had sent was willing to wait, to not push for answers

“Do you want to talk?” Clint looked straight ahead, that straw hat pulled down over his eyes.

Her hand slid into his. “I can't talk about it right now. But I'm glad you're here.”

She wasn't alone. Clint's hand squeezed lightly, and she didn't pull away. His hand holding hers convinced her that maybe, just maybe, he was someone she could let into her life.

The elevators touched the ground floor, and the doors slid open. They walked out together, no longer touching, and fingers no longer interlocked. Reality, a nice guy who knew she needed a friend.

“Would you like lunch before we drive home?” Clint asked as he walked by her side, into bright sunshine.

“I'm not hungry.”

He nodded and led her across the parking lot to her truck. As they stood at the door she realized he had asked her another question, more words she hadn't heard.

“I'm sorry, what?” She couldn't make eye contact, so she stared down at her purse and the handkerchief.

“Are you going to be able to drive?”

She nodded and looked up. “Of course. I'm fine.”

Always fine. But Clint didn't look like he believed her. As much as she wanted to tell him what the doctor had said, she couldn't, not yet. She wanted to hold on to hope for as long as possible.

She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for being here.”

“I haven't done much.”

“You were here, and you didn't have to be.” She filed that thought and knew she had to return to it later.

“I'll follow you.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket and stood, waiting, like he wanted her to say more.

She shook her head. “You go on. I have to pick up a few things here.”

As he started to turn, she caught hold of his arm. “Clint, thank you.”

He smiled and walked away. She hoped he believed her. She had needed him. Now she needed to be alone for a while.

 

Clint walked out of the barn the next morning, hearing laughter and Willow's husky, alto voice. She had both boys on the swing that hung from an old oak in Janie's front yard. It was the kind of swing kids used to love, just a board strung on thick rope and tied to a sturdy branch. It was the kind of swing that made a kid think he was flying.

It was wide enough for both boys. They were leaning back, legs out, as they soared into the air. Willow caught them as they came down and gave them another push.

“Swing your legs out.” She laughed as she coached them. “Make it go higher.”

Had she ever been a child like that, carefree, swinging into the air, pretending she was flying? He hadn't been that kid. Most of the time he'd spent worrying about his parents, or his sister.

Now he worried about the boys. And Jenna. Because when she called, just before leaving Missouri, she had sounded scared, but she hadn't admitted to fear. Willow and his sister were a lot alike.

He crossed the lawn, Willow's dog nipping at his boots, asking for attention. He took a minute to toss the stick the dog had picked up and then he moved on. The boys called out to him,
waving as they made another trip heavenward. Willow stepped back, smiling, but not at him.

She wasn't ready to talk about yesterday. He knew better than to push. Better to talk about the trip they were taking next week.

“When do we leave for Kansas City?” He leaned against the tree, out of the way of the swing.

“Next Thursday. I want to be there early enough for the bulls to settle in and settle down.”

“The boys?” He didn't want to ask that of her, didn't want to ask in front of them. “I can drive my own truck.”

“Nonsense, we can all ride together.” She nodded toward the big old diesel that she drove to larger events. How many women would drive a truck like that? “I have a DVD player in my truck. We can bring movies.”

“That sounds good. We can take turns driving.” He knew better than to tell her he would drive.

Her gaze remained on him as he spoke, and she didn't turn away until she thought the conversation was over. She nodded, and even smiled a little, because she had to know that he was being careful not to step on her toes.

For her sake he wanted to believe everything was okay, as she insisted. He didn't believe it, though, not with shadows lingering in her eyes and her smile melting away when she thought no one was watching.

She smiled at the boys as they came back to ground. The twins jumped off the swing and walked unsteadily as they adjusted to being on land again. She didn't hear them talking to her. Clint touched her arm, and signed, repeating their question about the pony in the field.

He wondered why she had a pony, but didn't ask, because her eyes narrowed, and she bit down on her bottom lip as her gaze studied the two little boys. They had turned and were waiting for an answer.

She should have kids, he thought. She should have five or six, and someone in her life taking care of her. He smiled at that, because he knew she didn't want to be taken care of, not in a coddling sort of way.

She was strong enough to hook a stock trailer to a truck and drive cross-country with a load of bulls. She was strong enough to start over after a marriage that had obviously hurt her.

What had happened yesterday at the doctor?

If he asked, she'd shut him out, so he didn't ask. And she was answering the boys, telling them they could ride the pony.

“Where did you get a pony?” He followed the woman and two boys to the barn.

“I bought him at an auction, half-starved and pitiful.”

“And you needed a pony?”

She headed for the tack room, next to her office. Music played, and a horse in one of the stalls whinnied a greeting to them. This was the kind of barn a cowboy dreamed about, the kind he dreamed of.

Willow, unaware of his mental wanderings, opened the door to the tack room and flipped on the light. Inside were several saddles, halters and bridles hung on the walls, and saddle blankets were lined up along a board that had been nailed along one side of the room.

She turned back to face him. He realized she hadn't heard the pony question.

“You needed a pony?”

“I couldn't let him be sold to the…” She smiled at the boys and didn't finish her explanation for why she bought the pony. But he knew what companies bought sick old ponies at auctions, and he would have done the same thing she had.

It was one more thing he knew about her. She rescued sad animals. And cowboys who had no place to go. He glanced down at his nephews. And she rescued little boys who had to say goodbye to their mother.

“Who rescues you, Willow?” The words were out before he could stop them. And she had heard.

She turned, her head tilted to the side. She had just pulled a tiny saddle out of the tack room and she set it on a rail, a miniature bridle hooked over the saddle horn.

“What does
that
mean?”

He shrugged and resisted the urge to be a coward and run. Instead he picked denial. “Nothing.”

“It meant something.”

“Okay, it meant something. I guess I don't want to talk about it any more than you want to talk about your doctor's appointment yesterday.”

She smiled, a little sad and a little proud.

“I rescue myself, Clint.”

The answer he had expected from her. “Fair enough.”

“Come on, guys. Let's go ride Tiny Boy. And then we can brush him and give him grain.”

Because riding was about learning responsibility. He smiled as he followed her to the end of the barn and through the double doors that led to the field. She carried the saddle and ignored him, sending an obvious message that he didn't fail to understand. He knew the most important thing about her.

She rescued herself.

T
he Kansas City event was one that Willow loved. It was huge. It was close to home. And people knew her. She had friends here. As she walked through the wide halls toward the arena and the area where the bulls were penned and waiting, she managed to push aside the fear that had reared its ugly head when her doctor left a message the previous day that she needed to call him.

She hadn't called. She'd do that when she got home. This weekend she would take care of business. She would watch her bulls perform, and she'd visit with friends. What she wouldn't do was let her peace be stolen away.

Next week she'd deal with reality.

Tonight's reality was a pen holding her bulls, bulls she'd raised and trained herself. She had earned the right to supply these animals to some of the biggest bull-riding and rodeo events in the country.

She wouldn't feel bad about her life and her accomplishments. She wouldn't lose faith.

Arms crossed over the top rail of the pen, she watched the bulls, thinking about the animals, her life here, and the life she'd left behind. It felt good to be happy, to be content. It felt good to be in control. No matter what.

“Feels good, doesn't it.” Clint was at her side. “You've done a great job with these bulls.”

“It does feel good. It's something I've done for myself. I'm not doing it for my dad, or for Brad. It hasn't been given to me.” She turned, smiling because she had given more of an answer than she'd planned to give. He was good at disarming her. “No one can take it away from me.”

“No one can.”

No one could take it away from her. But she could lose it all if her hearing loss continued to escalate. Eventually she would have to tell the people in her life. She would have to admit that she couldn't always hear the announcer calling the names of the bulls, or the riders. She couldn't hear when her name was called because her bull had won certain challenges.

She would have to admit to herself that she needed help. And then she would admit it to Janie, and to Clint.

“I'm going to talk to Bailey. Have you seen Janie?” She unhooked her arm from the fence and turned, facing him.

“She's with the boys. Cody Jacobs brought a horse with him, and they're taking turns riding.”

“Okay, then I'll catch up with you in a little while.”

He nodded and she walked away. Bailey was easy to find. She was at the edge of the arena, watching her husband give the twins a ride on his big buckskin gelding. His daughter, Meg, stood at his side. Willow approached her friend, remembering how they met and how hard it was for Bailey and Cody to let go of the past and find a future together.

And Willow had helped to bring them together. She had helped in their happy-ever-after, even though she hadn't believed in one for herself.

“Willow, you look gorgeous.” Bailey moved toward her, hands coming out to take Willow's.

And Bailey glowed. Willow's gaze lingered on the other
woman's belly. The rumors were true. “Oh, Bailey, you should have told me.”

“I wanted to wait until I saw you. I wanted to tell you in person.” Bailey's smile was soft. “Willow, I…”

“Please don't, Bailey. This is your moment. I'm your friend, and I want this for you.”

Willow hugged her, holding her tight. When they stepped away from one another, Willow smiled, wanting to prove her words. It wouldn't hurt.

“When are you due?”

“Six months.”

“I guess it's too soon to know if it's a boy or girl.”

Bailey laughed, “Yes, way too soon.”

“How is Meg taking this? Is she excited?”

“She's excited, and then she starts thinking about sharing her parents, and sharing her puppy. As quickly as she thinks of those things, she starts thinking of plans for what she's going to teach the baby.”

“Do you have names picked?”

Bailey laughed at that, a real laugh, the kind that made people turn to look at them. “Meg likes the name Dolly, after your bull. She thinks we should name her brother, if the baby's a boy,
Dolly.
Thank you for that.”

Willow laughed with her friend, and when the laughter ended, Bailey reached for her hand. “How did your doctor's appointment go? I wish you would have said something sooner. I would have gone with you.”

“I know you would have. But really, I'm used to it.” Used to being alone. She shook the thought from her mind.

A movement caught Willow's attention. She glanced up, making eye contact with Clint, standing near the gate. He smiled, and she felt it, almost as if he had reached out and touched her.

His fingers moved, asking if she was okay. And she was, of course she was. Why would he ask that? She ignored the question and he walked toward them, his walk a casual, cowboy swagger.

“Is there something going on that I should know about?” Bailey smiled, her eyes shifting from Clint to Willow.

“You know there isn't. He's helping me, and we're helping him with the boys.”

“He got hurt a couple of weeks ago, didn't he?” Bailey smiled at Clint, who was nearly to them.

“Yes, he dislocated his shoulder.”

Clint stopped in front of them. He smiled at Bailey and held out his hand. “Clint Cameron.”

“Bailey Jacobs. Nice to meet you, Clint.”

“Willow, that young bull is a little droopy, and he isn't drinking water.”

“He likes bottled water. I think the chlorine in city water makes him sick. I should have told you.” She stepped away, giving Bailey an apologetic smile. “I need to check on him. But we'll have dinner tomorrow night?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, then, I'd better go.” Willow walked away, knowing that Clint was on her heels. She felt him there, his arm brushing hers as he caught up.

“You okay?”

“Of course I'm okay. Why did you think I wasn't okay? And that bull had better be sick.” Not that she wanted the bull to be sick. “I mean, I hope you didn't make that up.”

He laughed and shook his head. “The bull is sick, and your face was pale. You looked like you were trying to be happy.”

“I
was
trying to be happy. Is there something wrong with trying to be happy for a friend?”

“Nothing at all. I just thought you looked upset.”

Willow sighed and turned to face him. It was crowded, and he moved her to the side. “Do you think she thought I was upset? I would never want her to think that I wasn't happy for her.”

“She didn't notice.”

Willow bit down on her bottom lip. “Bailey and Cody deserve to be happy.”

Willow's phone rang a few times as she approached the bull pen. It vibrated in her pocket, and she pulled it out and flipped it open. Her attention was on the sick bull, and the caller's voice faded in and out.

“I'm sorry, I didn't catch that.” She held the phone tight and blocked the sounds of the arena, where people milled, checking on bulls and talking about the event.

The caller repeated the question, but she only caught that he wanted information. Clint moved in front of her, signing that he could take the call.

Because she couldn't. And she knew it. She shouldn't be angry with him, it wasn't his fault. She didn't want him to think she needed him or anyone else to take over because she couldn't handle it. She didn't want to give up. Would he understand that she had to keep trying, and hoping it would work?

With Clint watching, she gave the caller her e-mail address and explained that her connection was bad and there was too much noise in the arena.

She hung up and slipped the phone back into her pocket.

“I could have taken that call for you.” Clint rested one foot on the bottom rail of the pen that held her bulls.

“Yes, you could have, but I didn't want you to. I handled it.”

“Yes, you handled it.”

She looked at the young bull, only his second time at an event this size. He didn't look good. She didn't like to think that he could really be sick.

“We should call the vet.”

“Do you want to do that?” Clint continued to stare at the bull. His hands moved deftly, and she nodded in answer.

Sign language was just easier sometimes. Signs didn't have to compete with the commotion of the arena. Signs weren't overheard. And he knew that. He couldn't know that there were times she couldn't hear him.

Or maybe he did.

“Willow, what's up?”

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the top rail of the pen. “I'm sorry. There's so much going on, and you're here, and you don't deserve to catch the brunt of it all.”

“I can handle it.”

She didn't know if
she
could handle it. “Thanks. I would appreciate it if you would call the vet. I need to see what Janie is up to. And I'll take the boys with me. If you want?”

“That would be great.”

Yes, it would. For the next few hours, until the event started, she could be distracted by Janie and the boys. She could keep her mind off babies, sick bulls and the competition.

Later tonight she would be alone, and then, in the privacy of her room, she could fall apart.

 

After Willow walked away, Clint went to the locker room to call the vet, and to get ready. He had wanted a last-minute prayer, a quick check of his equipment, and what he'd gotten instead was a conversation with Cody Jacobs.

Clint left the locker room and walked through the narrow hall leading to the arena, his bull rope dragging behind him with the bell clanking against the concrete floor. He needed his mind on the ride against a bull that should be a sure thing, and not on the magazine article that Cody had shown him, an article about a deaf woman raising bulls, and the abuse of the animals.

Cody had, for some reason, seen Clint as the person who
needed to know, the person to handle the problem. Like Willow was his to handle, or protect. Clint had wanted to explain to Cody about his dad, his sister in Iraq and the twins. He had almost asked Cody Jacobs if he understood what it meant to have a full plate.

Instead he had agreed that someone needed to break the news to Willow. And he was the guy. The guy who was going to have to hurt her, and he knew she was already hurting. He didn't look forward to telling her.

At least she had the good news that her bull wasn't sick, just cranky and in a bad mood. He sort of understood how that bull felt. He was a little cranky himself.

When his bull was in the chute and ready, someone called out to him. It was Jason Bradshaw. The two had never run in the same circles. But Bradshaw was a good guy and a good neighbor.

“I'll pull your rope, Clint.” Jason stood on the outside of the chute, ready to help.

They were in the same circle now. Bull riding had a way of breaking down social barriers. On the back of a bull, it wasn't about where you grew up or what your savings account looked like. The bull didn't care.

The crowd cheering from the stands didn't care.

“Thanks, Bradshaw.” Clint fastened his Kevlar vest and pulled his hat down tight. He climbed over the gate and settled on the broad back of the bull.

“Mammas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys” was the song blasting from the speakers, and over the snort of the bull and the steady stream of conversation around him, he could hear the crowds singing the chorus of the song. He could hear the heavy breathing of the bull and the clang of metal as the animal pushed into the gate.

A glance to the side, and he saw Willow talking to Bailey but watching him. Funny how life had thrown them together, the
princess and the pauper. He smiled as he slid his hand into the bull rope, because he knew they weren't a fairy tale, just two people who would have something in common for a short time.

Bull riding smudged lines and brought people together. But that didn't mean they were in each other's lives.

He found his seat on the back of the bull, distracted, and he knew better. The bull was steady, calm, he'd done this before. Clint bowed his head and said a quick prayer, wound the bull rope around his gloved riding hand and nodded for the gate to open.

A bull that was a sure thing, an easy ninety-point ride. Clint made all the right moves, doing his best to make a good ride even better. He used his free arm to keep in the center. He kept his gaze focused forward, on the bull's head, and he kept his toes pointing out. As the buzzer sounded the end of eight seconds, he jumped, but miscalculated and hit the gate, his head connecting first, and then his shoulder. Or maybe it was simultaneous.

Fire shot through his shoulder, and he slumped to the ground, not even caring that the bull raced past him. Jim Dandy wasn't a mean bull, had never been mean.

A bullfighter held a hand out, and Clint took it.