Читать книгу: «His Little Cowgirl», страница 3

She couldn’t think of her dad not being in her life. He had always been there for her. He had been the one holding her hand when her mother died, and the one who drove her to the hospital when Meg was born.

Her dad had been the one who hadn’t condemned her for her mistake. He had loved her and shown mercy. He had insisted that everyone makes mistakes. Without those mistakes, why would a person need grace?

Those who are healthy aren’t in need of a physician. In those months after she had returned from Wyoming, she had really come to understand the words Jesus had spoken and the wonderful healing of forgiveness.

Her dad had taught her to bait a hook, and to train a horse. He had taught her how to have faith, and to smile even when smiling wasn’t easy.

“Please, God, don’t take him from me now.”

Roots, this all felt very much like putting down roots. Cody’s mind swirled as he waited for Bailey to arrive.

In the last few years he hadn’t stayed in one place longer than a month. He usually spent time between events parked at the farm of a friend where he kept his livestock.

With Bailey’s dad sick and Meg in his arms, thoughts of leaving fled. He had never known how to stick. Now he didn’t know how he could ever think of leaving.

He knew himself well enough to know that before long the lure of bull riding would tug on him. Between now and then he would pray, hoping that when the time came he would make the right choices.

He knew enough to know that there wouldn’t be any easy answers.

The door of the ER swished open, bringing a gust of warm air from the outside. Cody shifted the sleeping child in his lap and turned. Bailey stood on the threshold of the door, keeping it from closing. She watched him with a look of careful calculation, her gaze drifting from his face to her daughter.

Their daughter.

He couldn’t stand up to greet her, not with Meg curled like one of her kittens, snuggling against his chest. She felt good there, and he didn’t want to let go.

Cody didn’t want to hurt Bailey. It seemed a little too late for that. Her brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and if he could have held them both, he would have.

Bailey crossed to where he was sitting. She looked young, and alone. She looked more vulnerable than the twenty-two-year-old young woman he’d known in Wyoming.

“Is he…”

“He’s alive.” He answered the question she didn’t have the heart to ask. “He had an episode with his breathing. They’re running tests. That’s all they’ll tell me because I’m not family.”

Bailey sat down next to him. “I don’t know what I’ll do without him.”

“He isn’t gone, Bailey.”

She only nodded. Shifting, he pulled a hand free and reached to cover her arm. With a sigh she looked up, nodding as if she knew that he wanted to comfort her. Her lips were drawn in and her eyes melting with tears. The weight of the world was on her shoulders.

He wanted to take that weight from her. He wanted to ease the burden. He wanted to hold her. He moved his arm, circling her shoulders and drawing her close, ignoring the way she resisted, and then feeling when she chose to accept. Her shoulder moved and she leaned against him, crumbling into his side.

“I won’t leave you alone.” He whispered the words, unsure if she heard but feeling good about the promise.

Time to cowboy up, Cody. He could almost hear his grandfather say the words to a little boy who had fallen off his pony.

The door across from them opened. A doctor walked into the room, made a quick scan of the area and headed in their direction. He didn’t look like a man about to give the worst news a family could hear. Cody breathed a sigh of relief.

“Ms. Cross, I’m Dr. Ashford. Your dad is resting now. We’ve given him something to help him sleep and moved him to the second floor. You should be able to take him home in a day or two.” He reached for a chair and pulled it close to them. “I’m not going to lie—this isn’t going to be an easy time, and it might be better if you let us send him to a skilled-care facility.”

“I want him at home. He belongs at home.” Her stubborn chin went up and Cody shot the doctor a warning look.

“The family always wants that, but you have to consider yourself. How are you going to take care of him? You work, you go to town, and he’s there alone.”

Bailey’s eyes closed and she nodded. Her face paled and Cody knew what she was thinking. She was blaming herself for not being there when her dad collapsed. She was thinking of all the ways she’d let him down.

“Bailey, you aren’t to blame for today. I was there. I shouldn’t have left him alone.”

“He isn’t your responsibility—he’s mine.” She moved out of the circle of his arm. “I should have been there for him.”

The doctor cleared his throat. “Neither of you are to blame. Ms. Cross, your father has cancer. He isn’t going to get better. He’s going to get worse. You have to accept that you aren’t going to be able to give him the twenty-four-hour-a-day care that he needs.”

“But I want him home now, while he can be at home.”

“You have to think about…”

“He’s my responsibility,” Bailey insisted, cutting off the doctor’s objections. This time her tone was firm enough to stir Meg.

“Bailey, you have two choices.” Cody got her attention with that, and she glanced up at him. “You can either let me help or you can put your dad in a facility where he can be watched over while you’re at work.”

She shifted her gaze away, focusing on the windows that framed a hot August day and afternoon traffic. “I know. I just didn’t want it to be this way. I wanted him to get better.”

“He can’t, Bailey, not on this earth. I know that isn’t what you want to hear, but sometimes the way God heals is by bringing a person home to Him, to a new body and a new life.”

Shock and then relief flooded her expression as tears pooled in her eyes and then started to flow. Cody shifted Meg and reached to pull Bailey back into his arms.

Her head tucked under his chin and her body racked with grief, he held her close and let her cry. He wondered if she had cried at all before then, or if she had been so busy taking care of everyone else that she hadn’t allowed herself to grieve.

He glanced up, making eye contact with the doctor, who was looking at his watch and starting to move. Bailey’s sobs quieted and she leaned against his side. Meg had awoken and was touching her mother’s face, her sweet little hands stroking Bailey’s cheek.

How had he gotten himself into this? Last week he had been a guy with a new faith in God and in himself, trying to make changes and making amends. And now he was here, holding Bailey and knowing he couldn’t leave.

Adjusting to the wild buck of a bull was easy compared with this. A bull went one direction, and a countermove on his part put him back in control, back in center. No such luck with this situation.

On a bull they would have called the situation, “getting pulled down in the well.”

“Bailey, I won’t let you go through this alone.”

She moved from his embrace, as if his words were the catalyst she had needed to regain her strength. The strong Bailey was back, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.

“I appreciate your offer to help, Cody. I really do, but I know that you have a life and places you have to be.”

He shook his head at what she probably considered was a very logical statement. To him it meant that she still didn’t expect him to stay. And it probably meant that she didn’t want him in her life.

“Bailey, we’ll talk about the future, but for now I’m staying and I’m going to help you with your dad and with the farm.”

He meant it, and she would have to learn that his word was good.

Chapter Four

Bailey looked out of the kitchen window and breathed in the cool morning breeze. She used to love lazy summer mornings, the kind that promised a warm day and not too much humidity. Two years ago she would have spent the morning doing chores and then packed a picnic to take to the lake.

This was a new day. Her dad was home from the hospital, but the doctor was certain they wouldn’t have him for long. How did a person process that information?

By going on with life, as if nothing was wrong? Bailey was trying. She was making breakfast, thinking about work on her to-do list and planning for Meg’s first day of school in two weeks.

School—that meant letting go of her little girl, and it meant school supplies and new clothes. In the middle of all of the normal life thoughts was the reality. Her dad was in bed, and Cody was living in an RV outside her back door.

How could she pretend life was normal?

Eggs sizzled in the pan on the stove, and the aroma of fresh coffee drifted through the room, mixing with the sweet smell of a freshly mown lawn. Bailey glanced out the window again, eyeing the mower still sitting next to the shed, and then her gaze shifted to the man who had done the mowing. He walked out of the barn, his hat pushed back to expose a suntanned face.

It should have felt good, seeing the work he’d done in the two days since her dad had come home from the hospital. Eggs frying and coffee brewing should have been normal things, signaling a normal morning on a working farm. Instead these were signs of her weakening attempts at keeping things under control. Make breakfast, do the laundry, dust the furniture, which would only get dusty again, the little things that signified life was still moving forward.

She reached into the cabinet for a plate and slid the eggs out of the skillet. A light rap on the back door and her back instinctively stiffened.

“It’s open.”

The screen door creaked and booted footsteps clicked on the linoleum. And then he was there, next to her, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Had she actually dreamed of this, wanted this to be her life—Cody in her kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee, sitting across from her eating breakfast?

If so, the dream had faded. Now she dreamed of other things, of making it, and of a stable full of other people’s horses to be trained, and money in the bank. Romance was the last thing on her mind, especially when she hadn’t even brushed her teeth this morning and her hair was in a scraggly ponytail.

It didn’t help that he smelled good, like soap and leather. Maybe romance wasn’t the last thing on her mind. This opened the door for other thoughts, the kind she quickly brushed away, reminders of his hand on her cheek and the way it had felt to be in his arms.

“Are you going to work today?” He turned and leaned against the counter, his legs crossed at the ankles and the cup of coffee lifted to his lips.

“I can’t work.” She answered his question as she flipped a couple of eggs and a few slices of bacon on the plate with already buttered toast.

“Can’t work? Why?”

“Because my dad needs me here. I can’t leave him alone with Meg.” She handed him the plate.

Cody set his plate down on the counter. He turned to face her, his jaw muscle working. Bailey shifted her gaze from the storm brewing in his blue eyes. She picked up the dishrag and wiped crumbs from the toaster off the counter. A strong, tanned hand covered hers, stopping her efforts to distract herself. She slid her hand out from under his and looked up.

“I’m here, Bailey. I’m trying to help you.”

“Why, why are you here now?”

“I want to be here.” He sipped his coffee and then set the cup on the counter. “I know I can’t stay forever, but I’m here and I want to help.”

How many people had tried to help and had accepted her refusal, and her insistence that she could do it herself? How long had she been holding on to the reins, telling herself she could do it all, while everyone called her stubborn? It wasn’t stubbornness; it was determination, and maybe a survival instinct she hadn’t recognized until recently.

It was a mantra of sorts. Keep going, keep moving forward, don’t slow down or you might not make it. She had become a horse with blinders, able to only focus on the job at hand. She didn’t want to lose focus.

“I ordered supplies to fix that north fence.” His carelessly tossed-out words jerked her back to the present.

“I didn’t ask you to do that. I can’t afford it right now.”

“I’m paying for the materials.”

“Cody, you have a career. You can’t let go of your place standing.” She let her gaze drift away from his. “And really, I don’t expect you to foot the bill around here.”

He mumbled under his breath and walked away from her.

“What about your breakfast?” she called out after his retreating back, noticing the dark perspiration triangle between his shoulders. He’d been up for a while, working.

“I don’t think that cooking my breakfast is your problem.” He turned at the door. “Bailey, you push me further than any woman ever has. On so many levels. Get in there and get ready for work. If you don’t, I’ll load you up and drive you myself.”

And then he was gone. The sound of his retreating footsteps sent a shudder up her spine. When she glanced out the window, she saw him walk into his camper, the door banging shut behind him.

“Sis, you’re going to have to let someone help—it might as well be Cody.”

Bailey turned, fixing her gaze on her dad. He had hold of the back of a kitchen chair, his knuckles white with the effort. She turned back to the normal thing, fixing breakfast and pretending her dad would be around for another twenty years.

“I know, Dad. I know that I need help, we need help, but I don’t know…”

“How to accept help.” The chair scraped on the linoleum as he sat at the kitchen table, pushing aside yesterday’s paper and a pile of mail. “You learned that stubbornness from me. Now let me teach you something new: Let someone help you out. It’ll make the burden that much lighter.”

He paused for a long time. Bailey turned with his plate and a cup of coffee. His head was buried in his hands, and his shoulders were slumped forward. Bailey put the plate down on the table and touched his arm. His hand, no longer steady, came up to rest on hers.

“Sis, it would make my burden lighter if you’d let him help.”

And that was the way he shifted it, from her to him, no longer her problem. She knew he had planned it that way. He knew that she’d do it for him when she couldn’t do it for herself. She leaned and kissed the top of his head.

“For you, Dad.” But it wouldn’t be easy, not when the long-forgotten memories of a Wyoming summer were starting to resurface, reminding her of what dreams of forever had felt like.

The light rap on the thin metal door of the RV announced her arrival. He had seen Bailey crossing the yard, her mouth moving as she talked to herself, more than likely about him and the unpleasant things she’d like to do or say.

He opened the door and motioned her in. She stood firm on the first step and didn’t accept his offer. The hair that had been held in a ponytail was now free, blowing around her face, and the slightest hint of pink gloss shimmered on her lips.

“I’m going to work.”

“Okay.” He knew it couldn’t be easy for her, letting go of pride and having him be the one who stepped in to help.

She shoved her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “I need to show you his medication and how to give him the injections. Can you handle that?”

“Bailey, you know that I can.” He’d given more shots than a lot of veterinarians. Growing up on a ranch, he’d doctored his own livestock. There hadn’t always been a vet on duty, or one that could get to them fast enough.

“You’ll have to make lunch. I won’t be home until after two.”

“I know that.”

“Meg will need a nap.”

“I can handle it.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, her brown eyes luminous as she stared up at him. He reminded himself that he was here because he had a daughter, not because he meant to become a part of Bailey’s life.

Other than that summer in Wyoming, he’d never really been a part of any woman’s life. He hadn’t allowed himself those forever kinds of entanglements. He wasn’t about to find out he really was his father’s son. But then, hadn’t he already found that out? He had walked out on Bailey, and he hadn’t been there for Meg.

Neither of his parents had really taught him about being there for a person, or about sticking in someone’s life.

“Let me turn off my coffee pot and I’ll be right over.”

Bailey nodded and then she walked away. He watched her cross the lawn to the house, her shoulders too stiff and her head too high. He wondered if she was really that strong or if she was trying to convince herself. He thought the latter was probably the case.

Switching off the coffee pot and then the lights over the small kitchen, he walked out the door of the RV, ignoring the jangle of his cell phone. The ring tone was personalized and he knew that the caller was one of his corporate sponsors. They wanted to know when he’d be back on tour. He didn’t have an answer.

Unfortunately he had their money and he had signed a contract. That meant he had certain obligations to fulfill. He needed to be seen, on tour, on television and wearing the logos of the corporations on his clothing.

There weren’t any easy answers, and there was a whole lot of temptation trying to drag him back into a lifestyle he’d given up months ago. He wasn’t about to go there. He was going on seven months of sobriety, and with God’s help, he planned on making his sobriety last a lifetime.

When he walked into the house a few minutes later, Bailey was sitting at the kitchen table with a plastic container full of pills and individually wrapped needles.

“You don’t have to worry, Bailey, I can do this.”

She nodded, but she didn’t have words. When was the last time she had really smiled, or even laughed? He sat down across from her, pushing aside those thoughts.

“Show me what to do.”

She did. Her hands trembled as she explained about the pain meds and the pills. She explained that Meg wasn’t allowed to drink soda, and that she should have milk with her lunch.

He felt as if he should be taking notes. Shots, cattle and fixing fences were easy; being this involved in someone’s life was a whole new rodeo. He wasn’t about to ask what five-year-old girls ate for lunch.

“I have to go. What I just showed you, I also wrote on that tablet.” She nodded toward the legal pad on the table and stood, immediately shoving her hands into her front pockets. “If you have any problems…”

“We won’t.”

“If you do, call me. I can be home in ten minutes.” She headed for the door. “Oh, if you get any calls about horses, I put an ad in the Springfield paper for training. My rates are in the ad, and no, I can’t come down in price.”

He followed her to the door. “I’ll take messages.”

“Cody, I appreciate this.”

He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “I’m here as long as you need me.”

He waved as she got into the truck, and he tried to tell himself this would be easy. Staying would be easy. Helping would be easy. Rolling through his mind with the thoughts of staying were the other things he didn’t want to think about, such as his place at the top of the bull-riding standings, his obligation to his sponsors and the herd of cattle he was building in Oklahoma.

Bailey parked behind the Hash-It-Out Diner, the only diner, café or restaurant in Gibson, Missouri. No one seemed to mind that the tiny town nestled in the Ozarks had a shortage of businesses. They had a grocery store and a restaurant; of course they had a feed store.

And they had churches. In a town with fewer than three hundred people, they had four churches—and every one of them was full on Sunday. So the town obviously had an abundance of faith.

If the people in Gibson needed more than their small town had to offer, they drove to Springfield. Simple as that. And on the upside, since Gibson didn’t have a lot to offer, it didn’t draw a lot of newcomers.

What Bailey loved was the sense of community and the love the people had for one another. Gossip might come easily to a small town, where people didn’t have a lot to do, but so did generous hearts.

Not only that, how many people could say that on their way to work they passed by a grocery store with two horses hitched to the post out front? Bailey had waved at the two men out for a morning ride. She wished she could have gone along. She hadn’t ridden for pleasure in more than a year. These days riding was training, and training helped pay a few bills.

As Bailey got out of the truck, she didn’t lock the doors or even take the keys out. She did grab her purse. From across the street a friend she had gone to school with waved and called out her name, asking how Bailey’s dad was doing.

Bailey smiled and nodded. She didn’t have an answer about her dad, not today. She hurried down the sidewalk to the front door of the diner, opening it and shuddering at the clanging cowbell that had been hung to alert the waitresses to the arrival of new customers.

“We’re expecting the ladies’ group from the Community Church.” Lacey tossed a work shirt in Bailey’s direction as soon as she walked into the waitress station.

“Wonderful, quarter tips and plenty of refills on coffee.”

Bailey loved the darlings of the Community Church, but she would have liked a few tables that left real tips, especially today. Real tips would have helped her to forget the call from the mortgage company, letting her know that she was behind—again.

“They specifically asked for you,” Lacey informed her as she started toward the coffeemaker.

“Of course they did.” They liked to tell her how much they loved her and how they were praying for her.

Bailey closed her eyes and grabbed hold of the cynical thoughts that were dragging her down a dead-end road. She told herself to count her blessings, like the song said. Count her blessings; see what God has done.

So she did. She counted her dad, still in her life. She counted Meg, whose morning hugs made everything better. She counted Lacey and her church family.

Cody’s face flashed through her mind, as if God was trying to remind her of something. She squeezed her eyes tightly, but the mental image wouldn’t fade. “Okay, God, thank You for Cody.”

“What was that?” Lacey walked up behind her, carrying a full pot of coffee.

“Nothing.” Bailey washed her hands and reached for the nearly empty ketchup bottles, wondering how they went through so much ketchup during the breakfast rush. Who used ketchup at breakfast?

“You mentioned Cody.”

“I was thinking aloud.”

“Okeydoke, then, I guess this isn’t something you want to talk about.”

“No, it isn’t.”

The bells on the front door clanged, signaling the arrival of customers. Saved by the bell, Bailey flashed Lacey a smile and hurried to the tables that had been set up for the Golden Girls Bible Study.

The ladies—there were ten of them today—were especially chipper and talkative. They were the same ladies Bailey had known all her life, in pastel and floral dresses, cheeks powdered and hair styled twice a week at Ruth’s Beauty Shop. These women had been her teachers, librarians, neighbors and friends. These ladies had held a baby shower for her when others had been busy whispering behind their hands.

After bringing their food, Bailey hovered, listening to stories of grandchildren and bad-pet behavior. Every now and then one of the women would motion for her to take a plate or refill a coffee cup.

The diner had started to fill up, and Bailey slipped away to take the orders of her other customers, but she hurried back to the Golden Girls when they motioned for her.

Mrs. Lawrence, once the town librarian, reached for Bailey’s hand after the meal and Bible study were over. Her cool fingers wrapped around Bailey’s, and she wouldn’t let go. Her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head.

“Honey, I’ve been thinking about you and your daddy and praying for you night and day. You feel like family, I’ve known you all so long.”

Bailey leaned in and hugged the woman. “Thank you, Mrs. Lawrence. We appreciate your prayers.”

The other women started to add their condolences. Bailey’s eyes filled with tears as she listened to stories about her dad and even her mom when they were young kids.

Bessie Johnston laughed as she reached for her empty cup of coffee and then shot Bailey a hinting look. Bailey hurried to fill the cup.

“You all probably remember this as well as I,” Bessie started, “but one of my favorite memories of Jerry Cross is the pie he stole from my windowsill.”

Anna Brown was nodding her head so vehemently that Bailey was afraid the woman would lose the pins that held her nest of gray hair in place.

“Yes, I remember. It was Jerry and that Gordon boy. They were out riding horses and causing no end of trouble. They’d just ridden through the clean laundry hanging on my line when they headed toward your place.”

“They rode through my hen yard,” Jean Forester added. “My hens were scattered in all directions.”

“They rode right through my yard, past the window, and they grabbed that apple pie that I’d put on the sill to cool.” Bessie chuckled as she told the rest of the story. “I was frying chicken for supper and when I turned around, the pie was gone and those boys was riding as fast as they could down that dirt road.”

Jean Forester sighed, “Oh, honey, those were really the good ole days. Remember, we thought those boys was bad. But they weren’t bad—they were just boys.”

“I remember that when my Eddie got killed after that tractor rolled—” Elsbeth Jenkins wiped her eyes with a handkerchief she pulled out of her sleeve “—it was Jerry that took care of our place for nearly a month. He’d feed his animals and then he’d come and feed ours. And here I’ve been, sitting at my house wishing I could do the same.”

Bailey had been a bystander, listening to the memories unfold as the women of the Golden Girls Bible Study relived a past that Bailey hadn’t known about. She took back her mean thoughts about quarter tips and silently asked God to forgive her for her cynicism.

“I’m really glad you all came in today. I’m glad you shared your stories.”

“Sweetie, we came to do more than share stories.” Mrs. Lawrence reached for her hand again. “Honey, we came to share our hearts. We know that we’re not the best tippers in the world, and yet you always give us the best service. You always smile and ask how we’re doing, even when you’re going through so much.”

“I don’t mind.” Hadn’t she minded earlier? Her heart ached.

“Well, we’re right sorry about the trouble you all are having and we want to help. So here’s our tip, for today’s service and for the past when you’ve been so good to us.” Elsbeth Jenkins pushed an envelope into Bailey’s hand. “Don’t argue with us, Bailey Cross. We’re being faithful to God, and if you don’t take this, you’ll steal our blessing.”

Bailey nodded, but her throat tightened, restricting words. Her sweet ladies took turns standing and hugging her and then they gathered their purses and left. And at each of their plates was the customary two quarters that they always tipped.

Without looking in the envelope, Bailey shoved it into her pocket and started to clear the table. Lacey was nowhere to be found as Bailey headed toward the kitchen with the tub of dirty dishes and sloshing glasses of ice water.

“Wasn’t that the sweetest thing?” Lacey walked out of the employee’s restroom, her eyes red and tearstains on her cheeks.

“It was sweet.” It was God showing her something about the people in her life. And it was God showing her something about who He was in her life.

Bailey set the tub of dishes down for Joey, the teenager who came in every afternoon for cleanup. Jolynn and Harry, the owners of Hash-It-Out, had a soft spot for anyone in need and hired nearly anyone who asked for a job.

“I wish I could have grown up somewhere like this.”

Lacey had that wistful look on her face again, the one she wore when she thought about the idyllic life of her dreams. That life included growing up on a farm, not in the city—watching her parents fight until the fighting ended with the two going in separate directions and sixteen-year-old Lacey left to her own devices.

Bailey knew that Lacey was saving her tips and working two jobs to buy a place of her own. She wanted a few acres, “bottle calves” and chickens. And she had an absurd dream about finding a cowboy of her own.

“I wish you could have grown up here, too.” Bailey hugged her friend. “But if you had grown up here, you wouldn’t be you. And I really like you.”

“Oh, honey, you’re going to make me cry all over again.”

“It’s true, Lacey. You’re unique because of where you came from and what God has done in your life. I know it wasn’t easy to get here, but there’s a reason for all of it.”

Lacey’s smile melted. “Don’t forget that, Bailey. There’s a reason for all of this. There’s a reason for what those ladies did for you today. And you might as well accept that the church is having a fund-raiser to help cover some of your dad’s medication.”

“I know, Lacey. And I am thankful.” Bailey walked away, she was thankful, and she knew God had a plan.

It made her wonder if there was a reason for Cody in her life, just when she needed him. He had showed up for one reason, thinking it was for himself that he had to see her.

God had had another plan. Bailey wanted to count that as a blessing, but she didn’t know how. Instead it felt like a big test she hadn’t studied for.