The Cowboy's Homecoming (2 page)

Man, she was summer sunshine. She was sweet, the way she'd been sweet at sixteen. A guy couldn't forget a kiss stolen along a creek bank on a summer night.

Time to think fast and get the kid he'd been back under the control of the man he now was. And she wasn't making that an easy thing to do.

“Let me ask you a question. How many times have you been to church in the last dozen years or so?”

She turned pink and glanced away from him. “We're not talking about me. And I do go to church.”

He smiled at that. “Yeah, we weren't talking about you. But now we are.”

Because there was a scar across her brow. It ran into her hairline. A matching scar ran jagged down her arm. She shifted, uneasy, and crossed her arms in front of herself. This church wasn't the only thing he'd like to
tear down. If he ever got hold of Chance Martin, he'd probably do the same to him.

But he doubted Chance would ever show his face in Dawson, not if he wanted to live. Because Jeremy figured he probably wasn't the only man in town that wanted to get hold of that coward.

Beth's arms dropped to her sides and she took a few steps toward the door, her eyes shifting from him to the exit. He got that she needed to breathe, and he let her have the space.

At the door she turned to face him again.

“Don't do this. Please.” A tear streaked down her cheek.

He let out a sigh and shook his head. “Bethlehem, I'm sorry. I know why this church means something to you. It means something different to me.”

“I know and I'm sorry.”

“Right.”

“I'll buy it from you.” She spoke with renewed determination, her dark eyes flashing. “You don't need this land. Do you even plan on staying here?”

“No, I'm not staying here, not full time. I have a home in Tulsa.”

“Then don't do it. What will it accomplish? Who do you want to hurt?”

He brushed a hand over the top of his head, over hair cut short, and moved it down to rub the back of his neck.

“I'm done with this conversation, Bethlehem.”

“It's a building. It didn't do anything to you.”

He looked around, remembering. She was wrong about that. This building tied into a lot of anger. That anger had pushed him to battle it out on the backs of
bulls. It had put him on a motorcycle, racing through the desert at speeds that would make most guys wet themselves like little girls.

When he looked at this building, there wasn't a good memory to hang on to. He glanced away from her, away from the second pew where her mother had sat, and he called himself a liar.

Good memories included potluck dinners when he got to sit with Bethlehem and her mother. He had other good memories, like the smile she gave him when she was fifteen and he'd just won a local bull-riding event. She'd smiled and then hurried away with her friends, giggling and shooting glances back at him. Hers had lingered longest and when he'd winked, she'd turned pink and nearly tripped.

“Bethlehem, I am going to tear this church down.”

“I feel sorry for you.”

“Yeah, lots of people do.” But he didn't want her to be one of them.

“I'll do what I can to stop you. I won't let you tear it down.”

“What would you do with it, Beth? Open it back up, sing songs on Sundays, serve potluck once a month? It's an old building. It should probably be condemned.”

She shrugged and smiled a soft smile. He knew he was in serious trouble then. He got a feeling she was about to pull a one-two punch on him.

She stepped close, her smile pulling him closer.

“Don't you feel it, Jeremy? After all these years, don't you feel it?”

Yeah, he'd seen it coming. No other woman had ever set him on his heels the way she could. Because he knew exactly what she meant and, yeah, he felt it. He felt the
past. He felt God. He felt faith. All the things he'd been ignoring and it hit him every single time he walked into this building. He felt hundreds of prayers that had been said, probably most of them for him, his little sister, and his mother.

He remembered Sunday school teachers who had brought him cookies. The pastor back then, Pastor Adkins, and his wife had bought Jeremy and his sister school clothes and Christmas presents.

But all of those good memories got lost, tied up with the bad, when he remembered Tim Cooper on the front pew with his family. Each Sunday they'd showed up in their van, wearing new clothes and happy smiles. When he'd been about six years old there were only a few Cooper kids. As the years went by, the clan grew. The Coopers had about a half dozen kids of their own. They added about a half dozen adopted children.

Jeremy had sat two pews back across the aisle, without a family to have Sunday lunch with, without a dad.

“Sorry, Bethlehem.”

He turned and walked away, knowing there would be tears streaking down her cheeks, knowing she'd nearly collapse with sadness and frustration over his stubbornness.

As he walked out the back door his phone rang. He shielded the display and shook his head. He really didn't want to deal with this today. Bethlehem had just about done him in.

But if he didn't answer she'd call again. And again. There was always a crisis in his mother's life.

“Hi, Mom, what do you need?” He held the phone
to his ear and walked across the overgrown lawn to the RV that he'd been living in.

Horse hooves on pavement caught his attention. He turned to watch Bethlehem ride down the road at an easy trot. Her hand came up and he knew she was wiping tears from her eyes.

That made him not much better than Chance Martin.

“Jeremy, this is Carl Duncan.” A county deputy on his mom's phone. Great.

“What can I do for you, Carl?”

“I'm sorry to bother you but we've got your mamma down here at the jail. Someone called her in for a disturbance.”

“Did she have clothes on this time?” He brushed a hand across his head and looked down at the ground, at his scuffed work boots and at a little black snake slithering a short distance away.

“Yeah, fully clothed but drunk enough we're considering sending her to the E.R.”

“Do what you have to do and I'll be there in about thirty minutes.”

He slid the phone back into his pocket and turned. His attention landing on the eyesore that used to be Back Street Church. The steeple still stood and a cross reached up, tarnished but intact.

It bothered him, that Bethlehem had made him remember more than he'd wanted to. She'd forced him to recognize other things about this building, this church. She'd made him think about the good things that had happened here.

But it didn't matter. He'd bought this land to raze a church and build a business. He wasn't going to give
up on his plans, his dreams, not for Bethlehem or anyone else.

Next week Back Street Church was going to be nothing but a memory.

T
he horse flew up the driveway, hooves pounding the ground and neck stretched forward. Beth leaned, reins in her hands, her legs tight around the horse's middle. They flew past the house, past the garden and the barn. She pulled the horse up at the fence and then just sat there on the gelding, both of them breathing hard.

“Take it easy on that colt.” The gruff voice didn't lecture, just made a statement.

Beth turned to smile at Lance, her dad's ranch foreman.

“He's barely winded.”

“He's needed a good ride, that's for sure. Where you been?”

“Riding.” She slid to the ground, the reins still in her hands. Lance took the horse and led the animal to the barn. She followed. The ranch foreman was getting older but he was still burly and fit. He hitched up his jeans with a piece of twine and his shirt was loose over a T-shirt. He glanced back, his weathered face so familiar she wanted to hug him just for being in her life.

“Your daddy has been looking for you. He said he called your phone three times.”

“I didn't have a signal.”

“The only place in Dawson with a weak cell signal is Back Street.” Lance turned, his gray eyes narrowed. “You weren't up at the church, were you?”

“I'm twenty-eight, not twelve.”

“I think I know that. I'm just saying, you don't need to mess around up there. And you aren't going to be able to stop Jeremy Hightree from doing what he plans on doing.”

“Someone has to stop him.”

“Well, the city of Dawson is trying to take care of that. Let them.”

“I'm afraid I'm just going to have to help them.”

She took the horse's reins from the ranch foreman and led the gelding down the center aisle of the barn. She grabbed a brush off a hook and crosstied the horse. Lance flipped the stirrup over the back of the saddle and loosened the girth strap.

“You can't stop him, Beth. He's got thirty years of mad built up in him.”

“He needs to get over it.”

“Right, and men always listen when a woman tells them to just ‘get over it.'” He said it in a girly voice and shook his head. It was funny, that voice and big old Lance with his craggy, weathered face. Lance had always been there for them. He'd always managed to make her smile. When she was a teenager and thought the world hated her, and she hated it back, Lance had been the one who teased her out of the bad moods.

The horse stomped and Beth ran a hand down the deep red neck. The animal turned and nibbled at her
arm before lowering his head to enjoy the loss of the saddle and the feel of the brush across his back.

“I think I'll ride him next weekend in Tulsa.”

“He isn't ready for barrels.”

She brushed across the horse's back and then down his back legs. “He'll be ready.”

“You're as stubborn as your dad. Maybe Jeremy has met his match.”

“What about Jeremy?” This voice boomed. The horse jumped a little to the side.

Beth bit down on her bottom lip and then flashed a smile, as if she hadn't been talking about anything important. “Nothing, Dad.”

“Right, nothing. I saw you racing up the drive on that horse. Where have you been?”

Her dad walked a little closer. She stood straight, the brush in her hand, and faced him. She'd been backing down all of her life and she couldn't be that person anymore.

“I went to talk to Jeremy Hightree about the church. I have to stop him from tearing it down.”

The harsh lines around her dad's mouth softened and he looked away, but not before she saw the sorrow. It still felt like yesterday. Shouldn't it be different? Shouldn't eighteen years soften the pain? She'd been without her mother longer than she'd been with her. There were times that her mother's smile was a vague memory. And more times that she couldn't remember at all.

But her dad missed Elena Bradshaw more than all of them. And missing her meant he disliked Back Street Church as much as Jeremy.

“Dad, she loved that church.” Beth had never been brave enough to say it, to put it out in the open. This was
the new Beth Bradshaw, the woman who took control. The woman who wasn't afraid. Much.

Her dad raised a hand and turned away, his profile a dark shadow against the bright, outside light. She'd always thought of him as the strongest man in the world. What little girl didn't think that way? As a child she'd tried to match her steps to his. She'd always tried to please him. She had never wanted to hurt him.

“Please, Dad, we have to stop him.”

He shook his head and walked out the door, away from her, away from memories. She took a step to follow him, to get him to help. Lance's hand on her arms stopped her.

“Let it go.” He released her arm. “Let him have his memories. That church has been empty for years. It isn't all you have of your mom.”

“I know it isn't. It's about more than her memory. It's about Jeremy's anger at a building. It's about…” She sighed. It was about her mom.

“Yeah, it's about that building. Everyone in town is talking about it. They all have a reason they think it shouldn't be torn down, Beth. The truth is, they could have done something to save it.”

Beth watched her dad walk across the driveway to the house and then she turned to face a man who had been a second father to her. Lance was her mother's second cousin somehow twice removed. He'd taught her to come home strong after the third barrel, to not be afraid as she rushed toward the gate. He'd taught her to rope a calf. He'd taught her to let go of pain. He'd tried to keep her in church, having faith.

“I don't have anything to remember her by, Lance. Everything is boxed up and hidden. Her pictures, her
jewelry, and even the quilts she made. He boxed it all up. I don't know if he burned it, gave it away or threw it in the Dumpster.”

“He shouldn't have done that. Sometimes a person hurts so bad they don't know what else to do. They box up the pain and I guess your daddy boxed up his memories right along with it.”

“She loved that church.”

“She sure did. And she loved her family. She'd want those memories unboxed.” Lance untied the horse and led him down the aisle of the barn. A horse whinnied from somewhere in the distance. The gelding, Bob, whinnied a reply.

It had been years since Beth thought about the day her dad had started packing everything into boxes. He'd been crazy with grief, pulling pictures off the walls, yanking quilts off beds. Everything that reminded him of Elena Bradshaw had been packed up and hauled off while Beth cried and Jason stoically helped their father.

Lance placed a strong hand on her shoulder.

“I'll feed this horse for you. I think it's about time you talked to Buck about the box she left you. It's yours, Beth. She'd want you to have it.” He put the horse in a stall and latched the gate. “And you know this horse isn't ready for Tulsa.”

She nodded, still fighting tears, still fighting mad that everyone else always seemed to have answers, to be in control, and she always seemed to be fighting to be strong.

It was a fight she planned to win.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Go talk to your dad.”

She walked out of the barn and across the dusty driveway toward the house. A lone figure in the garden bent over tomato plants that were just starting to flower. She stopped at the edge of the garden.

“I'm not going to help you save that church.” He bent to pick a few weeds.

“I'm not here to talk about the church. I'd like the box my mother left for me.” She shoved her hands in her pockets, no longer brave. The deep breath she took did nothing to calm nerves that were strung tight. “If you don't mind.”

Her dad turned. He stood straight, his hat tipped back. He was tall and broad, his skin weathered by sun and time but he was still strong.

“What brought that up?” her father asked.

Beth had imagined anger, not a question like that. She didn't really have an answer. “I think it's time. I want to have something to remember Mom by.”

“It's just a box of stuff.” He shrugged. “I'll bring it down from the attic.”

She wanted to rush forward and hug him, but he turned back to the tomato plants. She'd won the battle but it didn't feel like a victory. She whispered “thank you” and her dad nodded. After a few seconds she walked away.

As she entered the house, she remembered the day her mother had sat them down in the living room and explained that she had taken her last treatment. The memory was followed by one of the day they took Elena off life support.

Beth stood in the living room for several minutes and then she walked back out the front door. She pulled keys out of her pocket and headed across the yard to the
garage and her truck. It was starting to make sense, why Jeremy would want to do this. Even if she didn't want him to, maybe she understood. Her dad had shoved his pain into boxes and stored them in the attic. She'd run away. Jeremy needed to see that church gone.

As much as she understood, she still planned on finding a way to stop him.

 

The police station was a long, rectangular building with metal siding that looked more like a forgotten convenience store. In an area like this, they didn't need much for a police station. The occasional robbery, traffic violation or intoxicated driver, those were the extent of the crimes. His mom had probably committed each one, more than once.

Jeremy pulled his truck into a parking space next to a patrol car and he sat there for a long minute because he dreaded going inside. Why had he come back to Dawson? Oh, right, for revenge.

He'd been running from this life for years. He'd done a good job of putting it behind him. He had a successful business building customized motorcycles. He had two world championships. He'd done commercials for cologne and they'd made posters of his ugly mug to sell at rodeo events.

No matter how far he'd gone or what he thought he'd done right, one person knew how to pull him right back into the gutter. A shadow moved in front of the door. On the other side of the glass deputy Carl Duncan waved and motioned him inside.

He'd been fifteen when he bailed Jane out the first time. He'd used his money from lawn jobs and he'd borrowed a car from a neighbor. Back then Carl had been
his age, just a kid trying to make a better life for himself. The cop at the time had been Officer Mac. He'd retired years ago.

That was a memory that made him smile. Officer Mac had been a farmer who carried a badge for extra money. When he'd seen Jeremy in that car, he shook his head and told Jeremy he was going to pretend he didn't see an underage driver behind the wheel.

Jeremy pulled the truck keys from the ignition and shoved them into his pocket as he got out of the vehicle. At least he had his own car these days.

He walked across the parking lot, stopping to glance up at the sky, another way to kill time. There were a few dark clouds, nothing major.

Carl pushed the door open. A woman screamed from somewhere at the back of the building. That would be Jeremy's mother. He knew that awful sound and knew that her eyes would be red, her hair a wild mess. They'd been through this more than once.

“What did she do this time?” He grabbed a seat from behind one of the desks and sat down.

“She was in the convenience store trying to convince them you've stolen all of her hard-earned money.”

“That would get me a cup of coffee.”

They didn't laugh. Carl sat down on the edge of the desk and shrugged. “She's coherent. Sort of.”

“Right. So what do I do with her, Carl?”

“Take her home.” The cop shrugged. He didn't have answers, either. “Maybe put her in a home. I don't know, Jeremy. I'm real sorry, though.”

“Me, too.” Jeremy loosened his white cowboy hat and then pushed it back down on his head. “Yeah, maybe a home. She might actually get sober.”

“Right, that would be good. She looks a little yellow.”

Her liver. He didn't know how it had held up this long.

“Do I owe you anything?” He pulled the wallet out of his back pocket and Carl shook his head.

“No, there weren't any charges. I just brought her in to keep her from doing something crazy. Are you really going through with the church situation?”

It always came back to that. The people in this town ought to be thanking him for getting rid of that eyesore, not questioning his motives. Considering that the church had been one step away from being condemned, he didn't know why everyone had a problem with his plans.

His mother screamed again. “Get me out of here! I didn't break any laws. I'll get a lawyer.”

Jeremy laughed, shook his head and stood. “I'd better get her home before she hires a lawyer.”

Carl nodded and headed down the narrow hall. He stopped at the farthest door and pulled keys from his pocket. “Mrs. Hightree, I'm letting you out now. Can you settle down for me or do I need to keep you overnight?”

“You can't keep me overnight. I didn't do anything wrong.”

“Public intoxication.” Carl slid the key in the lock. “Or public nuisance.”

He unlocked the door and she stepped out of the room, a pitiful figure in a housedress, gray hair sticking out in all directions and a gaunt face. Her attention quickly turned to Jeremy. She frowned and stomped her foot.

“I'm not going with
him.”

“Mrs. Hightree, you don't have a choice.”

She flared her thin nostrils at them and shook her head. “I have choices. I can walk out of here. I can head on home without his help.”

Heat crawled up Jeremy's cheeks. After a lifetime of this, a guy should be used to it. It wasn't as if her behavior took people by surprise. What did surprise him was how old she looked, and how bad. He'd seen her less than a week ago and she hadn't looked this old.