A Path Less Traveled (18 page)

Trish stiffened.
“Why do you have to clean it?”

“’Cause I shoved
a boy.”

She forcefully
straightened her fingers to keep them from curling into fists. “I see.”

Andy glanced up
at her terse words. “Something wrong?”

“We’ll discuss it
when Bo goes for his snow cone.” And then some.

Bo attacked the
trash strewn around the dugout, and two minutes later the area sparkled.

Andy patted his
back and smiled. “Thanks, buddy. You did a great job. Better hustle after that
snow cone.” He faced Trish with crossed arms, his expression grim. “Ready for
that discussion?”

Trish waited
until Little Bo moved out of ear shot. “You had no right to jump on him
earlier. What he did was wrong, but you responded in anger. He trusted you, and
you hurt his feelings.”

“I wasn’t angry.
I was frustrated and probably came across a little harsher than I intended. I
already apologized.”

Like an apology
was enough. “And then you made him sit the bench
and
clean the dugout?”

He nodded, his
jaw muscle pulsing.

“Overkill, don’t
you think?”

“No, I don’t
think.” Andy hesitated, then released a sigh. “Look, I can’t let the guys get
away with that kind of behavior. I didn’t want to come down on him, but I had
no choice. I would’ve done the same with any of them, and I couldn’t show Bo
any favoritism.”

Trish shifted her
weight to her right leg. “In case you’ve forgotten, a few months ago he lost
his father. And you, of all people, should know how fragile he is right now.
Don’t you think you could’ve given him a little bit of a break?”

“Not when it
comes to his behavior.” He picked up the bat bag and swung it over his
shoulder. “Don’t make excuses for him, Trish. You’re not doing him any favors.”

“I’m not making
excuses for him. You have no idea what it’s like not to have a father.”

His expression
grew stone cold, and he moved close. Too close. In his eyes a storm brewed.
“You know nothin’ about me, lady. Nothin’.”

The chill in his
words pierced like icicles.

He stepped around
her and stalked off toward his car.

Chapter 15

T
rish padded from her
bedroom the next morning, bleary-eyed. That settled it. No more evening
arguments with Andy. Had she slept at all? She raised a hand to rub her
forehead while she traveled down the hall toward the sound of
way-too-cheery-for-this-early-in-the-morning music. Curled up with his blanket,
Bo lay on the couch entranced by a kid video. She lifted his shoulders and
eased down on the sofa, cradling his head on her lap. His eyes never left the
TV.

His
sleepy-little-boy look, complete with rosy cheeks and mussed hair, roused
motherly warmth inside her. If only she could keep him from growing up so fast.

“Did you sleep
okay, sweetie?”

“Uh-huh.” He
droned the words.

She could’ve
asked if he’d climbed Mount Everest and his answer would’ve been the same.
Trish picked up the remote and paused the DVD. “Good.”

Bo frowned up at
her, now fully alert. “What’d you do that for?” he groused.

Trish tweaked his
button nose. “’Cause we need to talk. I’ll turn it back on later.”

“’kay.” He
flopped on his back and peered up at her with trusting eyes.

“You know you
shouldn’t have pushed the first-baseman from the other team, right?”

“Yeah.” His
expression held remorse. “Andy told me that, too. I was just so mad.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I
just get sad and mad a lot.”

Her throat
cinched. “A lot?”

Bo nodded. “But I
don’t mean to feel mad.”

Trish understood
the anger and had felt it in herself more than she wanted to consider. “I get
angry, too, Bo. We all do. But we have to learn to control it.”

“Were you angry
at Brody’s mom last night when we left the game?”

“What do you mean?”
Trish thought back to the night before. She had been angry with Carla over her
mean-spirited comments. Obviously, Bo had sensed it.

“She smiled at
you, and you just walked right past. Were you mad?”

Trish sighed.
Nothing like having to admit your shortcomings to a five-year-old, especially
when you were calling
his
behavior into question. “Yes, I was mad, but I
was wrong to act that way.” She gazed into the dark eyes that reminded her so
much of her own. “Tell you what. From now on, let’s both remember to count to
ten before we act in ways we shouldn’t. We’ll count when we start feeling
angry.”

“’kay.” He
smiled, an impish grin that skewered her heart.

She tousled his
silky hair. “Want some cereal for breakfast?”

“Nope, I’m
waiting for donuts.”

Andy.
She’d
forgotten his promise to bring donuts. Would he still come after their
disagreement? “Mmm, sweetie, I don’t know if Andy will come or not.”

“Why?”

Trish searched
for words—words that would most likely ruin his day.  “I was a little angry
with Andy last night, too.”

Bo bolted upright
and glared at her. “Did you forget to count to ten?”

She tried to hide
a smile by pressing her lips together. “Yes, but I’ll call him later to
apologize.”

He flopped back
against her lap, his face sullen. “Great. No donuts, homework help, or horses.”

Pangs of guilt
swept over her as she clicked the DVD back to play mode. Why did everything
have to be so complicated? She eased up from her position, lowered Bo’s head to
the cushion, and wandered to the front room where she’d set up her easel to
take advantage of the morning light. An unfinished canvas adorned the easel,
one she’d started after the last visit to Dr. Wyse—the visit where her desire
to paint had experienced rebirth.

She strode to the
canvas, a sudden and strong longing to reconnect with Doc. Already the arms and
chest in the painting were complete. She closed her eyes to recapture the feel
of her face pressed to his chest, his arms holding her tight.

Nothing.

Trish opened her
eyes, the canvas in full view. His face. She needed to paint Doc’s face. Needed
to see him again. Needed to remember his loving gaze.

She prepped her
palette and fingered a brush, immediately lost in the joy of painting. Why had
she given this up? Hastily, she shaped the face and dabbed color for his eyes.
Blue. His eyes were blue. So why did they carry a greenish tint? She added more
paint to her brush and tried again.

Standing back to
view her work, she gasped. The face staring back wasn’t Doc at all, but Andy.
Fury spread throughout her body, faster than a Texas wildfire. An anguished sob
escaped. She grasped her largest brush, immersed it in paint, and attacked the
canvas. Angry red and black slashes appeared, then blurred as tears formed in
her eyes. Her shoulders shook and the paintbrush clattered to the hardwood
floor. She sank to her knees, grateful the TV volume overpowered her sobs.

How long she sat
there she didn’t know, tears streaming while she stared at the canvas, now a
study in rage. The ringing doorbell catapulted her to her feet. She hastily
wiped her face and smoothed her hair, then hurried to answer the door.

“I brought
donuts!” The fresh-baked smell hit at the same time Andy’s cheery voice rang
out. He searched her face and frowned, his eyes troubled.

“Donuts!” Little
Bo sprinted past and latched onto Andy’s legs. “I knew you’d come. Mom said you
might not ‘cause she forgot to count to ten, but I knew you’d come!”

Andy chuckled and
swung him up onto one shoulder. “When Andy says he’ll bring donuts, he’ll bring
donuts, even if Mom did forget to count to ten, whatever that means.” He winked
at Trish, his dimpled grin cutting through the gloom. His eyes moved past her
to the painting. When his gaze returned to her face, it held soft
understanding.

“Yay for donuts!”
yelled Bo as he punched a fist into the air.

“Yay for donuts
and
homework!” Andy stepped to the dining room and plopped Bo into a chair.

“Not yay for
homework.” A disgusted look replaced Bo’s smile. Uh-oh. Hopefully, Andy was
ready for a less-than-pleasant side of Bo—the side he showed when he didn’t get
his way.

Andy squatted
beside Bo, elbows on his knees. “Donuts first, then homework.”

Surprisingly, her
son grinned back. “’kay. Then horses.”

“Horses it is.”
Andy patted his shoulder and rose. His smile disappeared as he addressed her.
“Can I speak to you alone?”

Her pulse
ca-thumped in her throat. Oh, how she dreaded this. “S-sure.” She traipsed to
the family room out of Bo’s earshot, Andy right behind her. Trish faced him. “I
want to apologize for the way I acted last night.”

“No, I’m the one
who should apologize. Sorry if I came down too hard.” His tone and expression
were bathed in humility.

She shook her
head. “You didn’t. I over-reacted.”

“Friends?” He
held out a hand and also sent another award-winning grin.

Her heart lightened.
Even Attila the Hun couldn’t resist that smile. She took his hand. “Friends.”

“Want some
donuts?”

Trish giggled.
“If there are any left. Bo loves donuts.”

Andy poked out
his belly and patted it. “A man after my own heart.”

More laughter
rumbled from her throat. “The last I heard, that’s not where your heart is.”

His smile waned
and his eyes flickered. “So true.”

* *
* * *

Andy’s jaw
unhinged. Trish moseyed to the table where he and Bo worked on homework. In
jeans, t-shirt, boots, and hat in hand, her country girl roots showed through
stronger than ever. Seeing her like this made his head spin—a far cry from her
usual attire. He rose to his feet. “Looks like you’re ready to ride.” Why did
his mouth cotton like he’d spent all morning in Death Valley heat?

“Yes.” She
glanced over to where Bo painstakingly finished his handwriting assignment.
“Thanks for helping him with his homework. He responds to you so much better
than he does me.”

“Probably just a
guy thing.”

Bo hopped from
his seat. “I gotta change clothes. I can’t ride Domino in my pj’s.” He sped
past them to his room.

Trish faced him,
her smile bright against her olive complexion. “I know the horse riding will be
good for him, even if I was a bit bullheaded.”

“Bullheaded?
You?” He sent a teasing grin. “You have an old quilt we could take with us?”

“Yeah, why?” The
area between her eyes wrinkled.

“I, er, took the
liberty of picking up a few things for lunch, just in case. Thought we could
enjoy a picnic while we’re out, if that’s okay.”

Trish’s eyes lit.
“What a great idea. I’ll be right back.”

While she hurried
after the quilt, Andy headed out to get the food he’d brought for lunch. Good
thing he’d thought of the picnic idea, since it gave him another chance to
spend time with Trish and get to know her better. To prove he really did care
about Bo
and
her. As he sauntered past the front room, the easel and
painting stopped him in his tracks.

At least she’d
tried to paint again, but from the looks of it, things hadn’t gone well. He
took in the black and red slashes.
Anger.
Little Bo wasn’t the only one
dealing with it.

Lord, show me
how to help them.

A few minutes
later they all strolled toward the horse barn behind the main ranch house,
picnic essentials in hand, and Bo chattering happily.

Andy caught
Trish’s attention and hoisted his eyebrows. “Does he always talk this much?”

“Only when he’s
excited.” The happy lilt to her voice was accompanied by a smile. “I haven’t
seen him like this in forever. I have you to thank.”

“Yeah well, if he
keeps this racket up, you may change your mind about thanking me.”

The barn smelled
of fresh hay and instantly transported Andy to childhood—long summer days at
his grandparents’ farm—with plenty of hard work, great food, and priceless
memories. After they’d saddled the horses, Bo tugged on Andy’s hand, his eyes
full of fear. “I changed my mind. I don’t wanna ride anymore.”

Just what he’d
expected. Somehow he had to convince him to try, but without pressure. Andy
knelt beside him. “I know you’re afraid, Bo, but why don’t you at least go up
to Domino and hold out your hand?”

Bo cowered behind
Trish, anything but convinced. “Why?”

“So y’all can get
used to each other again. My guess is Domino missed you as much you’ve missed
him.”

Bo chewed his lip
for a moment, then tentatively approached Domino, his hand outstretched.

Trish inhaled
sharply, and Andy rested a hand in the small of her back to calm her doubts.
Hopefully, she wouldn’t say anything to ruin this chance for Bo to heal.

The paint horse
snorted, edged closer to Bo, and nuzzled his shoulder. “Hey, Domino, you missed
me?” Her son beamed as he stroked the horse’s velvet nose. “Mom, he missed me!”

“I can see that.”
Her words warbled.

Bo hugged
Domino’s lowered head and grabbed the reins. “Let’s walk first, Domino.” Amazing.
The kid knew instinctively what to do. He led the horse around the barn, then
back to where Trish and Andy waited. “I think I’m ready now.”

Andy patted his
shoulder, his heart about to burst out of his chest. “Yeah, I think you are,
too.” He helped him mount and then adjusted the stirrups. “You okay?”

Bo smiled down, a
calm confidence exuding from his face. “Yes, sir.” He turned a troubled gaze to
his mother before heading the horse outdoors.

Trish faced the
Palomino mare she called Sandy, her expression wavering.

Bo wasn’t the
only one walking wounded. Andy moved to her side. “You ready to give this a
try?” He tried to keep his tone calm and casual.