My True Cowboy (6 page)

Later that night, hours after fingers had been stuck, glucose meter read, insulin shot given, Hank's favorite TV shows had been watched, and he was in bed, Susan's neighbor came knocking on the door.

“Am I interrupting anything?” Betsy asked as soon as Susan greeted her at the door.

“Just an old rerun of
Law & Order
.”

Looking over her shoulder, Betsy grimaced at the television. “Oh, my word.”

Susan glanced at the screen. On TV were two detectives leaning over a particularly gruesome-looking dead body. “What?”

“If that doesn't turn your stomach, nothing will,” Betsy said as she walked on in and closed the door behind her. “Susan, you are completely incorrigible, girl. Turn that off.”

Dutifully, she did just that, then turned to her friend. “Is there a reason you came over? Or were you just needing someone to boss around for a while?”

“I needed some advice, actually. Do you mind listening to me for a little bit?”

Betsy looked younger than usual, with her outfit of black yoga pants, loose violet-gray tank top and worried
expression. Most of her makeup had been washed off, and her usually spiky hair was brushed back.

Getting to her feet, Susan walked to the kitchen. “I've got a bottle of wine. I'll open it.”

After pouring two glasses, they bypassed the living room and sat together on the padded window seat in the breakfast nook. It was the farthest sitting area from the bedrooms. Though it wasn't likely that they'd wake Hank up, Susan didn't want to chance it. Hank needed his sleep.

And she, well, she needed girl time like nobody's business. “So, what's up?”

Betsy leaned her head back against the window as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. After a sigh and a sip, however, a new resolution lit her eyes. “So, do you remember that night I went out clubbing while you stayed home?”

“I do. That's the night you went to the honky-tonk, right? The one where Cal Riddell was supposed to be at?”

“That's the very one.”

“And, did everything go okay?” Susan started thinking all about worst-case scenarios. Had Betsy danced with Cal and fallen in love?

“It went better than that. Susan, I think I fell in love.”

“With whom?” Even as she asked the question, her stomach knotted. Even though chances were slim that Betsy had even met Cal, Susan found herself bracing for the worst possible news.

“Gene Howard. Do you know him?”

“No.” She exhaled, feeling almost giddy. When Betsy's eyebrows rose, Susan said, “I mean, no, I've never heard of him. You know I don't know too many people under eighty.”

“He's dreamy.”

Betsy's comment teased a smile. “Dreamy, huh? Now,
that's a description I haven't heard in a while. How dreamy is he?”

Betsy fanned herself dramatically. “Dreamy enough to make me think of diamond rings and honeymoons.”

“After a meeting in a bar? Don't you think that's kind of sudden?”

“Of course. I know it's crazy, but he's just so great. Plus, he's from Amarillo.”

“From Amarillo, huh? What does he do?”

“Something to do with selling to supermarket chains. It's a good job. Marrying a guy like that would be perfect. I'd be set for life.”

Marrying a guy for his money seemed awfully cold, though Susan couldn't deny that a tiny part of her understood Betsy's motives. Bills and hunger did have a way of coming to the surface in every relationship. “Do you have plans to see him soon?”

“Actually, I do,” Betsy replied with a grin.

Susan sipped her wine and studied her friend some more. Maybe it was because she was so out of practice dating, but she couldn't fathom what had spurred the visit. “What's wrong?”

Setting her glass of wine down, Betsy looked directly at Susan. “See, the thing of it is…ol' Gene thinks I'm a lot more like you than, well…me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“See, the thing of it is…Gene doesn't know I've been around the block a time or two.” She bit her lip. “Or twenty. As soon as I started getting the idea that he's on the conservative side, I started telling him all about how I rarely go out to bars. How I usually stay home at night and watch old television shows.” She frowned. “Things kind of spun out of control after that.”

“There's nothing wrong with you, Betsy. I stay home
because I have Hank and because I like to watch TV on the couch. It's nothing to try to emulate.”

“I know that. But for some reason, there at the bar, I just started spouting half truths like nobody's business. Gene seems to really like the idea of me being able to cook.” Looking despondent, she added, “Gene can't wait to taste my pecan pie.”

“Pecan pie? Do you even bake?”

“Not yet. I'm going to have to practice baking all the time now.”

“Not if you tell him the truth.”

After pretty much gulping the rest of her wine, Betsy said, “I would. But, Susan, I'm so tired of being alone, you know?”

Unfortunately, she knew about that feeling all too well. “What are you going to do now?”

Betsy's eyes lit up. “I have a plan. Gene likes to double-date. Him and me and you and Steve.”

Full-fledged panic set in. “Who the heck is Steve?”

“His widowed neighbor.”

This was getting worse and worse. “Oh, Betsy.”

“Come on, it won't be so bad.”

“It won't be so good.” Susan imagined sitting at a restaurant with Betsy and two men, all the while Betsy pretending she was Betty Crocker and Susan pretending she still remembered how to talk about anything other than work.

“Susan, please say you will. If you go out with us, I can kind of follow your lead. When you talk about working with old people all day, I can act like that's interesting.”

This time it was Susan who was chugging her wine. Was that really how Betsy saw her? As a boring woman who watched reruns on TV, never went out and only hung
out with people old enough to be her parents…or grandparents?

“Listen, Betsy, if Gene asked you out again, he obviously likes you. And it's probably for a whole lot more reasons than him wanting a piece of pecan pie. Just be yourself. He'll be glad to know you.”

Betsy looked appalled. “Hell, no, he won't. He thinks I'm sweet, like you.” Mumbling under her breath, she added, “He thinks I'm almost virginal.”

“Um, I have Hank, Betsy. I really did give birth to him. I'm no virgin.”

“You're close, though.” She scratched her head. “Ever since you've moved in, you work and take care of Hank. That's it. What's more, you don't even act like you're sad about missing out on dating.”

“Hey, now—”

But Betsy just kept talking. “You don't even act like you're sad about not getting all hot and bothered between the sheets.”

“I don't…all that much,” she admitted.

“Why not? Do you not like sex?”

Oh, this was horrible. “I like it fine.” Well, she did…back when she
was
having sex. Seven years ago.

“But you don't miss it?”

Of course she did!
But, well, she missed a lot of things. She missed feeling pretty and having someone to get pretty for. She missed candlelight and sweet, suggestive smiles. She missed anticipation.

But all she ever got by “missing” was yet another bout of sadness and melancholy. “I can't afford to miss things,” she murmured. “I have a son.”

“But there's got to be more to it than that.”

Was there? Suddenly, all the reasons she'd shut down on
life didn't seem to make that much sense. Was she afraid of getting hurt again? Afraid to dream again?

Perhaps she was so twisted that she was even afraid to
want
to dream again. And that answer, of course, made her reply sharper than she meant to. “Not really. I don't have the money or the time to get dolled up and think about dating. More important, I don't have the emotional strength for it, either.”

Remembering how betrayed she'd felt by Greg, she muttered, “Sometimes I think there's just nothing left inside me for romance.”

Slowly Betsy put down her wineglass. “I'm sorry. You always sound so positive about your life. I guess I never really took the time to think that you don't really feel that way.”

“Don't make me into someone I'm not. I'm fine. And one day, I'm sure I'll meet somebody and everything will be all good. But right now, it's all on hold.”

“That could be years, Susan.”

“It doesn't matter.” Thinking about Greg, and the big mistake she'd made with him, Susan added, “It's not like I haven't lived. Obviously I've been around the block a time or two myself.”

“I have a feeling those blocks you've been around aren't all that big.”

“Maybe you're right.” For the first time in a long while, Susan gave herself permission to stop feeling so guilty about the choices she'd been making in life. “Maybe they weren't all that big at all.”

“So…do you think there's any chance I can get you to change your mind about this double date?”

“Nope.”

Betsy winked. “It might be good practice for Mr. Right.”

“I'm not up for practicing,” she said with a smile, though it felt strained.

Because all of a sudden, Cal Riddell flashed in her mind. He was the type of man women dreamed about. Correction. He was the man
she'd
been dreaming about. Steady, responsible.

Handsome.

Oh, they had their differences. And maybe that's all they would ever have. But his very being had made her think of…getting all hot and bothered between the sheets. And though she wasn't looking for an easy love like Betsy, Susan realized that sometime during the last few weeks she'd started thinking about living again.

Ever since she'd had Hank, she'd put everything about herself in a drawer. Keeping it shut away while she tried her best to do what was right for the two of them.

With force, she'd done her best to ignore feelings of desire. She'd looked away and coolly ignored flirtations with the few men she'd met. That wasn't who she was.

Actually, that wasn't who she was
now
.

But maybe one day she'd meet a man like Cal who would like her back. Then, she could become the woman she'd always dreamed of being but had never imagined was possible.

With a grunt, Cal lifted another bag of feed onto his shoulder and carried it to the empty stall at the end of the barn. Each bag was fifty pounds, and there were a dozen of them. After carrying four, he'd broken a sweat.

By the seventh, Cal had a pounding headache.

As he walked the feed to the stall and then laid it down neatly on the others, he turned around and stretched, wincing slightly as his head continued to pound.

Too much coffee and not enough sleep did that to a person, he supposed. That and the constant worrying about things he couldn't control.

With another grunt, he bent down and hefted another sack onto his shoulder. Dust and particles of straw blew up into his face. Balancing the bag on one shoulder, he wiped his eyes with his bandanna, then started walking. When he passed Jet, the old palomino whinnied softly.

“I know,” he told the horse. “I'm getting a little old for this, aren't I?”

Usually, he would've asked one of the hands to take care of the new feed they were adding to the horses' diet. But he'd needed something to take the edge off this morning. Unfortunately, the physical labor didn't seem to be doing the trick.

Back and forth he went, another two times. Thinking all the while about his conversation with Trent.

Last night, he'd spoken to his brother for almost half an hour, and it had been completely frustrating. Every time he'd asked Trent specifics about his injuries, his brother laughed him off.

Yet again.

So all Cal knew was that his little brother was going into surgery this morning. The doctors were worried that his fever had spiked, and some of his other tests weren't positive.

Trent—being Trent—had acted as if it was no big deal, but there was an edge to his voice that worried Cal. “How about I come out and visit with you for a bit? I can be on a plane in three hours.”

But his brother had only laughed. “What are you going to do when you get here? Watch me sleep?”

“Maybe. You probably need somebody there to check up on your progress, don't you think? To make sure you're doing what you're supposed to do.” But even to his ears, his words sounded awkward and stilted. His brother had been doing just fine on the rodeo circuit without an older brother's meddling.

“Junior, I don't need a keeper.”

“I know….”

“Uh-huh.”

“I'm just trying to help, that's all.”

“Oh, is that what it's called? You're acting like the only person who knows how to do things right is you. But that wasn't the case back when I was walking in your shadow on the ranch, and it sure as hell ain't the case now.”

Satisfied that his chore was done, Cal strode into the washroom, rinsed his face and hands, then finally retreated to his office in the barn.

And thought some more about that phone call.

After Trent had delivered that little zinger, he'd gripped the phone harder.

Why did Trent always bring up the past when he got pissed off? “I didn't say I was right and you were wrong.” Truly, all he was doing was trying to make his brother's life easier.

“You didn't need to. I heard it in your voice, plain as day. I tell you, I'm fine. Listen to me, will you?”

“I'm listening.” Oh, but he was so tired of fighting with everyone. With his dad. With Ginny. With Susan Young. Because he could practically smell the smoke coming out of Trent's ears, he'd swallowed his pride a bit more. “I'm sorry if I offended.”

Now that he'd gotten his way, Trent's voice had turned smooth. “No, it's okay. I know you mean well. And having a keeper probably wouldn't be that bad of an idea, actually. But if I do need one, I can find my own.”

“How so?”

Trent's voice had lifted. “Shoot, you know how. I'll get on the phone and call for help. There's plenty of ladies around here who'd love to hold my hand and whisper sweet things in my ear.”

Oh, that was what Trent needed, all right. “Wait a minute—”

“I'm not eight and I'm not eighty-eight, Cal. Don't make me into you.”

“Me?”

“Ever since Christy went and broke your heart, you've been living like a monk.”

Christy hadn't broken his heart. She'd just showed him that women changed their minds. Only taught him that
forever
didn't necessarily mean
forever with him.

No, sometimes it only meant
forever, until something better came along
.

But he didn't need his little brother bringing it up. “Hey, now—”

But Trent had just kept talking. “Now, living all clean and sober might be fine for you, but it's not for me. I'll be fine. I can talk to doctors without your help, and I can get a nice lady to help me with anything else I need, too. We both know you've got Dad to worry about, and that's enough for anyone.”

“I hear you. But you will call me if you need it?”

“Always. I always do.”

There was a surety in his brother's voice that had calmed Cal, and made him not eager to push things. Though Trent was as different from Cal as night from day, there was still that pecking order from childhood that couldn't be ignored.

Jarred was the most like their parents. Fun loving, easygoing.

Trent was the most like the family's dreams—larger than life, shiny and new.

And Cal? Well, for some reason he was like his grandfather. The man who made do with little. He'd been responsible. A worrier. Nowadays, it was Cal Jr. who balanced the checkbook, worked on investments and made sure the millions of dollars the Riddells now had wouldn't ever go away.

It was a lot of responsibility, and he took it seriously.

Someone had to do it.

But every once in a while, Cal couldn't help but envy his little brother. Envy Trent's celebrity status and his movie-star looks and his ease with the ladies.

And his ease with life. Trent Riddell didn't worry about a thing he didn't have to. Ever.

Cal wished he'd inherited even a smidge of that gump
tion. Somehow, he'd inherited too much responsibility. Too much caution. Duty seemed to be what he was all about. Duty and promises.

Which was why he couldn't sleep at night. It was why he carried feed bags at five in the morning and checked on all their financial holdings by six-thirty.

 

A
ND IT WAS ALSO WHY HE
was walking into the Electra Lodge bright and early at 8:00 a.m. with a head that was threatening to self-destruct in seconds, not minutes. Even though he was wishing he was somewhere else, someone had to sit in the rehab center and deal with their cantankerous father.

Even if that someone always seemed to be him.

Mrs. Lawson, the administrator, greeted him at the door. “Good morning, Mr. Riddell.”

From the moment they met, Cal had respected the woman. She was competent and polite and seemed to care for all the residents.

But though she was striking, and not much older than Susan, he knew he wasn't attracted to her in the slightest. “Please just call me Cal. Or Junior. Mr. Riddell is my dad.”

“I'll be happy to do that.” Her eyes sparkled. “Especially since I don't think I could ever confuse the two of you. I mean this in the best way when I say that you're nothing like your father.”

“Uh-oh. Has he been behaving himself?”

“He's nothing we can't handle,” Mrs. Lawson said evasively.

Looking over to the receptionist, she said, “Paula, would you mind walking Cal down to see his father?”

“Sure thing, Kay.” After standing up and walking around her desk, Paula gave him a friendly smile. “How you doing, Junior?”

“I'm good.”

“How's Trent doing?” Paula, all permed hair and blushing cheeks, had been hanging on to Trent's arm at Bob's last summer like a hooked catfish. No matter how hard Trent had tried to shake her, she hadn't seemed willing to be let go.

Though, maybe, Trent hadn't tried all that hard.

Anyway, Cal had been sure he was going to wake up and find Paula in their kitchen. Luckily, he hadn't. He never knew if Trent had gotten together with Paula, and he liked it that way.

“He's all right.”

“That's not what I heard. I heard from Betsy he was injured.”

“He was. A bull got the best of him in New Mexico.”

Her eyes widened. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yes. Well, he will when he gets out of surgery.”

“Maybe I should call him. You know, to see if he needs anything.”

“I don't think so, Paula. He's really not up for phone calls.”

Paula stopped, obviously waiting for more information, but he was in no mood to give her anything. His worries about his brother were personal, and he was in no hurry to discuss Trent with Paula in the middle of the hall. Clearing his throat, he said, “I stopped by to visit my dad. Ms. Lawson said he's settling in okay?”

“More or less.” With a slow smile, she said, “Some days are better than others.”

“That sounds about right.”

“Some things with your daddy never change. I remember before y'all struck oil. Your father was as scrappy as they came.”

“He still is.” He paused, wondering what else he could
say. He wasn't real fond of talking about his father's faults with Paula.

“Cal?”

He turned so fast, he almost got whiplash. “Susan.”

Paula stilled. “Hey, Susan. I was just going to take Junior here to see his father.”

“Ah.” Humor lit her eyes.

Cal narrowed his. Wordlessly, he sent out a plaintive SOS.

A second passed. Then Susan turned all calm, cool and professional. “Cal, would you mind if I walked the rest of the way with you? I had something I wanted to discuss.”

“I wouldn't mind at all.” Stepping to her side, he breathed a sigh of relief. After saying goodbye to Paula, they walked in silence until they turned the corner.

Then, when it was obvious no one else was around, he stopped for a moment and leaned against the cool tiles that covered the wall. “She was driving me crazy.”

“I could tell.” To his pleasure, Susan took a place next to him on the wall. The muscles in her neck visibly relaxed when she smiled his way. “You were looking like a cornered dog by her side.”

“She—like half the female population—has a crush on my brother. I get tired of fielding Trent questions.”

To his surprise, and pleasure, she giggled.

He almost smiled. “Is my pain amusing you, Ms. Young?”

“Definitely.” Turning her head so their eyes met, she smiled again. “I'm going to have to do this more often.”

“Do what?”

“Just lean against the wall and laugh. Relax for a second.”

“You should.” Letting his gaze settle on her, he drawled,
“I'm beginning to get the impression that you work too hard.”

“Oh, no harder than most everyone else. But leaning against the wall, out of everyone's sight, kind of feels good.” She shimmied a bit against the cool tiles for emphasis.

He made the mistake of watching those hips.

And
pow!
Just like that, his breath caught. She was really a pretty thing. And the way she was leaning up there against the wall, well, it brought to mind a whole wealth of ideas. None of which was appropriate.

But still, he couldn't stop looking. And wondering. Until Susan, he'd never had a thing for redheads. Now he was starting to think he'd completely underestimated the allure of long auburn hair. And those green eyes of hers never failed to show every single emotion she was feeling.

She glanced at him and caught him staring. “What?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking that I'm glad our paths crossed again.”

She smiled as she stepped away from the wall and straightened her skirt. “I am, too. The more we talk to each other, the more I'm glad we've met. Especially when we're not snapping at each other.”

He winced. “That's been my fault. I've been in a snappy mood. Everything with my dad—it's gotten under my skin. I hope I wasn't too hard on your son. I get used to correcting Ginny.”

Something in her eyes flickered. “He was fine. Hank's heard worse.” She stepped closer as they started walking again. “Ginny is just six, right?”

“Uh-huh.” He couldn't help but roll his eyes. “She's six going on sixteen.”

To his pleasure, Susan chuckled at that. “She's a handful?”

“That's putting it mildly.”

Her eyes softened. Almost hesitantly, she touched his elbow. “Don't worry. All little girls ache to be six going on sixteen at one time or another. Before you know it she'll be her regular self.”

“That's what I'm afraid of!”

She shared a smile with him as they continued toward his father's room. A little farther down, they passed two open doorways. One was a bedroom; a nurse or someone looked to be visiting. Another was a storage closet.

Two elderly women were inside, staring at the top shelf. When Susan and Cal approached, one of the women tagged Susan. “Just who we needed to see.”

“Yes?”

“Can you help us get this Monopoly game down?”

Before she could comply, Cal stepped in and easily pulled the board game off the top shelf. “Here you are, ladies. Where may I take it for you?”

“Junior! Look at you.” The women looked at him, and then at Susan. “You can just hand it to me,” the shorter of the two said. “We aren't so far gone that we can't carry games.”

“You two going to play Monopoly today, Mrs. Carriage?”

“Not by ourselves, dear. A few seventh graders are stopping by.” With a wink to Cal, she added, “They come here thinking they're doing good with community service. We take turns beating them at board games.”

“I'm impressed,” Cal said.

“We try,” Mrs. Carriage said lightly. “Have to show those kids we haven't lost our minds.” Stepping closer, she gave Cal a friendly perusal. “So…Junior…are you and Susan keeping company now?”