My True Cowboy (5 page)

With that, he turned his head away and closed his eyes.

Cal knew better than to reach out and touch his dad. But still, he felt that brush of acceptance as strong as if his father had gripped him in a bear hug. “I'll be back this evening.”

“Not necessary.”

“Don't worry. I won't stay for long.”

As his father grumbled, Cal directed Ginny out before he could say anything more. Once they were halfway down the hallway, he said, “Gin, what do you say we go eat some cheeseburgers?”

“Can I have a shake, too?”

“Always,” he said, taking her hand. As once again she skipped down the hallway by his side.

 

S
USAN'S WORK SCHEDULE
wasn't getting any easier. If anything, it seemed to double every week. Though Susan knew some of that stemmed from being new and unused to some computer procedures, some of the fault was of her own making, too. Time and again she'd feel her mind drift, and she'd start thinking about Hank and his unhappiness about Electra. Next thing she knew, the guilt she'd felt for moving him from his friends and family would settle in, hard.

No, the only thing that had sparked happiness in her son was Mr. Riddell—much to her dismay.

Cal Riddell.
No matter how much she tried to erase him from her thoughts, he seemed to turn up like that bad penny. First there was Hank talking about him. And then Betsy mentioning him.

And now, every few minutes, she kept finding her mind running his way. In spite of her best efforts, Susan kept thinking about his blue-gray eyes and his perpetually serious expression. And the way he sneaked glances her way…even the way he sparred with her about everything and nothing.

She couldn't recall the last person who seemed to take such pleasure in getting her back up.

Susan was sitting at her computer screen, wondering what, exactly, he did all day at his ranch, when—just her
luck—Paula appeared at her doorway and announced his arrival.

Susan snapped her head up. “What was that?”

“Oh, you heard me correctly,” Paula said with a cheeky smile. Lowering her voice, she added, “He said he wouldn't see anybody but you.”

Right there and then, the temperature of her body rose a good ten degrees. She'd just stood up when he appeared at her doorway, looking like her girlish dreams of the Marlboro Man—white felt Stetson, pale gray dress shirt, dark denims, silver buckle.

Gorgeous.

“Ms. Young,” he said, tipping his hat slightly. “Cal Riddell.”

Really? He'd really introduced himself again? As if she wouldn't have recognized him? Her mouth went dry. “How nice to see you again,” she said. Calmly. Professionally. Inside, though, she felt her nerves kick into high gear. “Please, have a seat.” She gestured to one of the chairs across from her desk.

“Ma'am?”

Belatedly, she realized he was waiting for her to take a chair first. “Oh.” She took the chair next to him, but forgot to straighten her skirt as she did so, so it lay crooked across her thighs. A little too high on her left.

In a fluid move, he sat down, his gaze straying across her legs before he looked directly at her face.

“What can I help you with?”

It took him a few seconds to answer, as though he was getting his thoughts together but having a difficult time doing it. Finally, he murmured, “Do you remember me talking about my dad? About how he just had heart surgery?”

“Of course.” She remembered that…and a whole bunch of other things about him. “How is he doing?”

A light flickered in those amazing eyes of his. “Grumpy as all get-out.”

“Obviously, heart surgery is tough on a person's body—”

He cut her off. “The doctors said he's going to need some extra help for quite a bit. At least a month.”

“I see.”

“I remembered you talking about this place.” He shifted, then looked around her office as if he was expecting more than the plain, utilitarian space that it was. “You made it seem nice.”

Susan bit her lip. Was he being ironic? “I think it is nice.”

A muscle in his cheek jumped. “Think y'all can take him in?”

The look in his eyes was dark and cool and…full of longing. As though he'd give anything if she'd just help him out.

Something inside her turned all languid and sweet. She knew at that moment she'd do anything she could to make his life better.

Now, where in the world did that come from?

Irritated with herself, she got to her feet and hid behind the safety of a giant cherry-veneer desk. “Let me see how things are looking.” She used her mouse to look over the latest numbers in their various wings. There were empty rooms in two of them. “We have space available, so I don't see why your father staying here would be a problem.”

He sighed. “That's good news. Real good.” Before she could say something completely inane, he fastened those eyes on her again. “Susan, would y'all be able to help with his physical therapy?”

“I don't think it would be a problem at all. We help with rehabilitation all the time.” She picked up her phone. “Phyllis Morton is in charge of that. I can call her up and see if she can meet with you right now—”

“That's not necessary.”

She paused. “Sorry?”

“I, um, don't have time to talk to everyone here today. Just you.”

Against her will, her insides turned all mushy. “How about I give you her phone number then? You can talk to her when you have time.”

“That would be fine.”

“I'll follow up on things, too.” She stood and walked around her desk, feeling the need to reassure him.

Or maybe she just wanted to stand a little closer?

He held out his hand. Immediately her hand was surrounded by callused warmth. “Susan, thank you for your time,” he murmured. “I'm obliged.”

“You're very welcome.”

One side of his mouth lifted before he turned away. After a tip of his hat in Paula's direction, he left the building.

And Susan finally exhaled.

When he was out of sight, Paula patted her heart. “Lord have mercy, but that is one fine-looking man.”

Wisely, Susan didn't say a word. But privately, well, she was almost glad she hadn't seen the last of Cal Riddell.

Too anxious and keyed up to get any more work done, she left her office and went on her daily rounds. Several residents were watching
Jeopardy
and good-naturedly calling out answers.

Another group of four were playing cards. Others were reading or doing crosswords. But Rosa Ventura was nowhere to be found. Curious, she walked up to Mrs. Olden,
one of Rosa's usual dining partners. “Where's Mrs. Ventura today?”

“We haven't seen her.” She shrugged. “I guess she wanted to be alone today.”

“Maybe so.” Susan kept her expression neutral, but she was growing concerned. Though it wasn't rare for the elderly lady not to be present, it was strange that she hadn't been seen by any of the residents. Usually, the woman made time for everyone and anyone. And was vocal about it, too.

She decided to go to her room and check up on her.

Rosa answered the door after two raps. “What do you want?”

“Nothing. I, uh, was just wondering where you were.”

“You found me. I've been here.”

Rosa's voice seemed more bitter than usual and her expression looked glum.

“Is anything the matter? Can I come in?”

Still holding the door almost closed, Rosa shook her head sadly. “I appreciate you stopping by, but I'm not in much of a visiting mood today.”

Susan didn't know much about the lady except that she liked trivia, cards and had a razor-sharp tongue. “Are you sick?”

For a moment, Rosa looked as though she was going to turn away without answering, but then she sighed. “It's just my anniversary. Some days I miss my husband, that's all.”

“I'm sorry. Has he been gone long?”

Rosa nodded. “Four years.” With a wave of her hand, she motioned for Susan to move on. “Don't worry, dear. It's just one of those days. I'll be more myself tomorrow.”

“I'll count on it,” Susan said with a smile.

With a sigh, she walked back to the main room and
played Yahtzee for a few moments, and helped one of the attendants organize the crafts room for a group of Girl Scouts who were stopping by. Finally it was five o'clock.

It had been a busy day.

But, she realized as she walked out to the parking lot, she hardly remembered a thing about it except for Cal Riddell's visit.

“Lord have mercy,” she murmured, stealing Paula's line. “What a man.”

“How much longer?”

“We're looking at movies, Hank. Pick one out.”

“There's nothing here I want to see. Plus, you've been looking at books, too.”

Her son said
books
as if she was looking at Uzis. Though, chances were he'd be way more interested in guns than anything in the library.

“You're just going to have to be patient, Henry,” she said as she tried to hold on to her own patience.

Hank turned away with an exaggerated sigh.

Susan felt like doing the same thing. Her boy's feelings about the library were the exact opposite of hers. Sometimes it was hard to come to terms with the fact that he wasn't a reader and had no interest in ever becoming one.

Whenever her mother had taken her to the library, she'd scampered off to the children's section and had gotten lost among the stacks. Without fail, her mother would have to ask her time and again to limit her stack of books to just five. She'd also practically dragged Susan out when it was time to leave.

Hank, however, had stayed by her side from the moment they'd entered. Furthermore, he seemed especially intent on claiming her attention every ten seconds, mainly to encourage her to leave.

“Mom? Mom! Did you see who's here?”

“No. And hush.”

Hank pulled on her sleeve. “Mom, it's that man from the hospital.”

“Shh,” she admonished.

“Mom. Mo-om. Are you listening? He's still there. He's comin' closer.”

“I'm listening to you talk too much,” she said as sternly as she was able. “We are in the library. You need to be quiet.”

“But it's
Mr. Riddell.
”

Just like that, her whole body went tingly. “Oh. Really?”

Funny, how when she was at the Lodge, the only Riddell she thought about was a sixty-two-year-old who could swear up a blue streak.

But when she wasn't working, well, a whole different Riddell man captured her thoughts, and he wore a white Stetson real well.

“Uh-huh. He's standing right over there. Want to go say hey?”

“No, I do not. Besides, we need to leave him alone. A person should be able to go to the library without being pestered.”

“Oh, Mom. How are you supposed to make friends if you're always too scared to say hello?”

She was not scared. She was just reserved. And there was nothing wrong with that…. “Hank, let me finish here, and then we'll go get something to eat.”

“In a sec. I'll be right back, Mom.” In a flash, he left her side and trotted across the aisle to where the new mysteries were shelved. “Hey, Mr. Riddell. Hi! I can't believe I just looked over, and there you were.” Without hardly taking a breath, he continued, “I told my mom I saw you, but she
said I should leave you alone. But I think she only said that 'cause she didn't want to come over here and say hello.”

Susan went from embarrassed to shocked to mortified. Right there in four seconds flat. Way too slowly, her brain caught up with Hank's motormouth and she stilled.

Feeling his icy-hot glare, she turned.

Yes. There he was. Gorgeous in faded jeans, a wrinkled plaid shirt and a pair of scuffed work boots. After reading the inside flap of the book he was holding, Cal leaned down to Hank and almost looked peppy. Well, as peppy as a man who didn't smile could look. “Hey, yourself.”

Hank lifted a foot out, almost kicking Cal's shin. “I got me some new boots.”

Susan held her breath, waiting for Cal to snap at him.

But instead, he crouched down and looked at the boots carefully. Hank's wide eyes were watching Cal's every movement and facial expression with hope…looking for acceptance.

Oh, her boy so ached for a man's attention!

Cal touched a bit of the embroidery on the leather. “They're very fine. Where'd you get them?”

Hank tucked his chin to his chest. “At the resale shop.”

“Ah.”

“Mr. Riddell, don't tell nobody. My mom said no one has to know.”

“I won't tell a soul,” Cal replied, looking as solemn as ever. “You were smart to get them there, I think. Breaking in boots is hard on a man's toes.” When he rose to his feet again, Cal looked over her way.

Oh, was she just imagining that his gaze softened?

She edged closer as Hank pulled on his sleeve. “We're runnin' errands today.”

“Are you? Like going to the library, huh?”

“Yep. But we gotta go to the grocery store after this.”

“You sound real busy.”

Worried that Cal was now stuck in a conversation he didn't really want to be in, Susan stepped a little closer. “Well, we'll let you go.”

He reached out and touched her arm. “Did you work today?”

“I did.”

“How's my dad doing?”

There was true concern in his eyes—and in the undertone of his voice. Cal wasn't just making conversation; he really was worried about his dad.

“He's good.” She met his eyes and smiled softly. “Swearing at the physical therapist and flirting with the ladies.”

Cal's eyes lit up with relief. “So, nothing new?”

“Nope. Try not to worry,” she said, injecting a touch of humor into her voice. “We've got him under control.”

“I'll stop by soon. I've been busy.” He looked at the book in his hand, and seemed vaguely embarrassed to be caught doing something besides working or looking after his father.

Almost against her will, her heart softened toward him. “Hey. Listen, I'm sorry we bothered you.”

“It's no problem.” Turning to Hank, his voice turned a shade warmer. “Glad you showed me your boots.”

That voice. So gravelly. So masculine. It got under her skin and curled her toes. “I wouldn't have thought you'd frequent the library.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

She stumbled for a reply. Now she felt stupid. “No reason.” When he still looked her over in confusion, Susan felt like the rudest woman ever. “I mean, I guess I would have thought you'd be the type of man to just go buy a book.”

He stared at her with those cool blue-gray eyes, which made her dig the hole she was in that much deeper. “I mean… Shoot. I mean, oh, never mind. I was trying to be cute, but it sounded like an insult—I don't know why.”

“Electra doesn't have a bookstore, beyond Walmart and such. Did you know that?”

“I did.”

“And I like to read.”

“I do, too.” As his gaze strayed to the four DVDs clutched in her hands, Susan felt her cheeks color. “Hank, not so much.”

Hank was staring up at Cal as if something earth-shattering was going to pop out of the cowboy's mouth any moment.

Cal glanced down at him and said, “Serena, Jarred's girlfriend, is the librarian here. Did you know that?” Hank shook his head. “She's great. You ought to get to know her.”

Instead of nodding politely, Hank just kicked at the carpet with the point of his boot. “Reading's boring. It sucks.”

Cal narrowed his eyes.

Half an aisle down, a woman gasped. Whether it was from Hank's continual chatter, or his words…Susan didn't know.

She felt her cheeks heat. “I think that's my cue to move on.”

To her embarrassment, Cal's silence seemed to make Hank think it was fine to keep on talking. “This place sucks, too,” he said a little bit louder, all full of masculine bravado.

“Gentlemen watch their mouths around ladies, son.”

A sheen of red tinted Hank's cheeks, but he didn't back down. “I'm not a gentleman. I'm just a kid.”

Susan laughed it off. “We'll just get out of your way.”

“You weren't in my way at all,” Cal corrected softly. And with that, he tipped his hat at Susan, turned and walked to a shelf of mysteries, obviously in no hurry to speak to her anymore.

Susan usually would have said something—anything—to defend herself and her son. But in truth, she wondered where Hank's sudden burst of mouthiness came from.

Trying to remember when it had started, she thought it might have been when his diabetes had been diagnosed. Had she begun to let him get away with more and more when she'd felt so bad for him?

“Come on, Hank. Let's go check these movies out.”

In an uncharacteristic move, Hank nodded silently and walked to the circulation desk. His lips were in full pout by the time she swiped their card and they strode out to her SUV.

When they were buckled in, he looked her way. “Do you think Mr. Riddell likes me?” he asked quietly.

Her first impulse was to say of course he did. But then maybe he didn't. “I think he does,” she replied finally, after she backed out of her parking space. “He's just not a real demonstrative guy.”

“He liked my boots. Don't you think?”

“I know he did.”

“Do you really think his father told him that stuff?”

“What stuff?”

“That stuff about ladies and gentlemen…”

“I imagine so. It's the kind of thing some dads teach their sons. Especially here in Texas, I suppose.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because people go through life trying not to hurt other people's feelings, that's why.” She shook her head. “You shouldn't have told him that the library and reading
sucks. Mr. Riddell obviously likes to read. There's a saying that goes, if you don't have anything nice to say, then you shouldn't say anything at all.” There, now she could teach manners, too.

Of course, she doubted her lessons were going to have the impact she'd been hoping for.

Hank was silent until they reached the grocery store. As they walked to the front door, he turned her way again. “Do you think you'll see him again soon?”

“I suppose so. I work where his dad is getting physical therapy. Don't worry about him anymore, honey.”

By her side, Hank didn't respond, though she noticed a tightening to his jaw. He was stewing.

Oh, but she wished it was already ten o'clock. Then she'd be getting ready to take a bath and put this day behind her. It had been a difficult one—Kay had been especially short-tempered and on her case. Rosa Ventura had been moody and had hurt two other ladies' feelings.

And Mr. Calvin Riddell was proving to make his son Cal seem like an angel. He was demanding and short-tempered and mean.

And because of all those things, she was having to step in all the time and smooth things over. And he'd only been there one day.

“When we get home, let's make mac and cheese,” Hank said.

All those carbs would wreak havoc with his blood sugar levels, but there was a chance they could make it work. “We'll do a test, and if things look good, then we'll get out that blue box.”

“'Kay,” he murmured, finally turning agreeable.

Susan tried to think of that as a positive thing—or
maybe it really wasn't. Maybe it was just that he was at the end of his rope, too. Tired and more than ready to take a break from life.