Cowgirl Come Home (15 page)

The poor woman’s tone sounded so bleak, Paul almost groaned. He looked at the door knob he’d just finished re-keying. A part of him wanted to lock up and walk away for good.

What did he have invested? A few hours of his time? And all for what? The vague, problematic, probably ridiculous chance of reconciliation with his first love? If he left now, who’d know? It wasn’t as if he’d broadcast his intention to the world.

Accept for the observant Sheri and his impossibly intuitive brother who’d both commented on Paul’s burgeoning relationship with Bailey.

At lunch today, Sheri had laid it out straight. “I can see why Austen called Bailey your Kryptonite. She’s beautiful and wounded. What man can resist that combination?”

Paul gathered up the packaging from his locks and walked inside. Sheri appeared to be packing up her briefcase.

“I take it Bailey’s not answering her phone?” he asked Louise. He’d tried Bailey’s number half a dozen times himself but his calls went straight to voicemail.

“No. I left a message, but she hasn’t called back. OC feels awful. But he doesn’t blame her for assuming the worst.”

The comment took Paul by surprise. The OC Jenkins he knew always blamed the other person for whatever fights or unpleasantness came his way.

“Has she reconnected with any old friends since she got back?”

“Only you.”

Neither spoke for a moment, then Louise asked, “Is there any hideout or special place you remember her running to back in high school?”

“She mentioned laying low in the haymow when her dad was on a rant. But surely she wouldn’t go to the ranch with Marla and Jack around?”

“Probably not. Unless she heard the same rumor I did. Taylor told me they were seen packing up a great big U-Haul truck last night. OC didn’t see what Jack was driving, but he remembered hearing a truck engine.” She let out a small choking sound. “Oh, my word. Of course. Jack’s last stop on the way out of town was to get Oscar drunk. I bet Marla put him up to it. She knows as well as anyone what would happen if Bailey came home and found her father drinking.”

Paul knew, too. The dirty trick made him change his mind about walking away. Paul didn’t care about OC, but Bailey didn’t deserve that kind of underhandedness.

“I’ll swing by the ranch on my way back from Bozeman.” He paused then added, “By the way, I re-keyed all the doors. You can cancel your locksmith. I’ll give the new keys to Bailey if I find her.”

“You’re a saint, Paul,” she said, her tone somber and filled with emotion. “I don’t know what our family would have done without you.”

A saint? Hardly. I’m the guy who put a curse on your daughter. Apparently, it extended to the whole family. Who knew?

*

Bailey pulled into
the long, beautifully paved driveway with a small squiggle of trepidation. You didn’t grow up the child of an alcoholic to willingly court discourse. But a line had been crossed. Jack and Marla knew how fragile her dad’s recovery was and one of them decided to help him screw up.

Nobody deserved those kinds of so-called friends.

She glanced at the black face of her cell phone on the bench seat beside her. Dead. Her car phone charger had burned up in the accident and when she bought a new phone she couldn’t afford the added expense. But, now, she regretted not replacing it. If Marla went cuckoo or Jack did something stupid, nobody would know where to find her—or her body.

Plus, she felt terrible about running off and abandoning Paul at Jenkins’s Fish and Game. Was he still there waiting for the locksmith? God, she hoped not. She owed him a huge apology.

Unfortunately, Bailey wasn’t her father’s daughter for nothing! The shock of finding OC drunk made her so infuriated—and hurt, she’d stormed out of the house and hopped in the truck. Her plan? To put as much distance between her and her father as possible.

She was nearly to the Montana border before her anger solidified into resolve.

“Am I going to let his demons chase me away again?” she’d asked aloud. “Hell, no.”

One of the things about seeing your dreams crushed and everything you worked so hard for disappear is you walked—or limped—away with perspective. She couldn’t fix her father and she was done trying. Just like she was done running away.

What she could do was help fix the mess Marla and Jack had created for them, and she planned to spell that out to the Sawyers in person. And as soon as Paul’s fancy accountant proved there were misdoings, she’d call the sheriff.

The moment she aimed the steering wheel toward the house, she realized she was too late. No car. No truck. Only a yard full of junk—a broken table, a faded umbrella, a riding lawn mower with grass growing in a crack on the seat.

She got out, pocketed the key—a habit from living anywhere
but
Montana—and walked to the house. The kitchen door was unlocked. Typical. She put her head in and looked around. A filthy, chaotic mess. Exactly what you’d expect if someone moved out in a hurry.

“Can you say guilty and soon to be charged?” she muttered under her breath.

She didn’t need to go inside. She might have walked in to use the phone but remembered her mother saying Marla had gone to cell phone only to save money.

She turned away and started back to the truck when she spotted the colt kicking up his heels in the pasture. The other horses had shown her little interest when she pulled in, but Skipper raced back and forth as if vying for her attention.

Her ankle felt surprisingly okay considering she’d been driving for two hours. In fact, she needed to move around, so instead of hopping back in the truck, she walked across the open staging area between the house and barn.

Many a night she’d been the one driving their truck and trailer home from an event. Her ribbons, belt buckles or trophies on the floor beside her father’s feet while he slumped passed out on the seat beside her.

She’d learned fast how to back up a horse trailer without taking out the power pole or a hunk of fence. She’d learned how to hose out the floorboards if OC threw up, too.

She walked to the side pasture where Paul put the colt the day before. From a plastic bin, she filled a two-cup measurer with oats and dumped the grain into the trough. Naturally, Skipper had disappeared as soon as she headed in his direction.
Typical teenage boy.

She pressed two fingers against her bottom lip and blew hard. The shrill whistle never failed to bring Daz running.

She closed her eyes and listened. Seconds later, the thunder of hooves made her smile. The horse rounded the corner of the barn as if his tail was on fire then slammed on the brakes when he saw her standing an arm’s length from the fence.

He tossed his head and did a little turf dance, but the flaring of his nostrils told her he smelled the grain.

“Yummy. Yummy,” she said, keeping her tone light. “No strings. I don’t want to ride you, groom you or give you a shot. Nothing. I just want to smell you. And maybe touch you. May I do that?”

She let him settle into the feed before extending her hand. She moved cautiously.

“So, how was your day? Mine kinda sucked.” His ear flickered but he didn’t lift his head. “My folks have been bled dry by a friend they trusted. I can’t set up shop to make jewelry until I unload a dumpster full of crap. And, oh yeah, my dad is drinking again.”

His eyes came level with hers. If Skipper had been Daz, she would have seen a hint of wisdom that may have given her some insight, or, at the very least, a bit of peace. Instead, she saw the dispassionate query of a stranger, asking, “Why are you telling me this, lady? I don’t even know you. Why should I care about your problems?”

“So, true,” Bailey said out loud, starting to laugh. “That’s it in a nutshell, isn’t it?”

She gave Skipper a quick scratch on his white blaze then headed back to her truck. She’d just reached for the door handle when the sound of a car engine caught her ear. Her heart rate sped up. Jack and Marla?

A second later, she caught sight of a familiar black SUV. It veered her way the moment the driver spotted her.

Paul.

An instant later, she made out two children in the back seat.

*

“Well, whattayaknow? She’s
here,” Paul murmured out loud.

“Whose truck?” Mark asked.

“Probably belongs to the lady standing beside it,” Chloe answered. “Duh.”

Paul heard Mark slug her bare arm. “I didn’t see her, okay?”

“Because you were playing your stupid game. That’s all you do anymore.”

“Kids. Please. Bailey’s an old friend. She’s back in town helping her parents. Her mother is Mrs. Jenkins, Chloe.”

“Really?” Chloe slipped out of her seatbelt to press her face to the window. “She’s pretty.”

She is.
And now was probably not the best time to introduce her to his children.

“Stay in the car, please. Louise asked me to find out why she’s not answering her phone. As soon as I’m done talking to her, we’re going to feed the horses and check out the house to see how big a mess the Sawyers left.” He’d already explained that part of their stop.

He put on the emergency brake but left the engine running. The day had heated up and his spoiled children would complain non-stop if he turned off the air-conditioning.

“Bailey,” he called hurrying toward her. “Are you okay? Your mom was worried when she couldn’t reach you.”

She brushed back a lock of hair that had slipped free of her fancy, pink and purple clip. He realized he was starting to be able to identify her B. Dazzled style and it wasn’t even on the market. Him—a man known for his discerning taste in screwdrivers.

“My phone died and I don’t have a car charger. I told you I’d be right back and then never showed. I’m really sorry.”

“No problem. Sheri held down the fort while I went to Big Z’s and got the stuff to change your locks. I couldn’t wait for your locksmith because I had to pick up my kids.” He handed her his phone. “Your mom’s worried.”

Their hands touched during the exchange. That stupid zing he tried his best to ignore shot straight up his arm and exploded through his body.
Damn.

He stuck his hand in the pocket of his jeans. “The kids and I are here to feed the animals and check on the house. Did you look inside?”

She answered him while punching in a number. “The door’s open. I think they’re gone.”

“Rumor has it they tossed everything they could carry into a U-Haul. Your mom thinks their last stop on their way out of town was to see OC.”

She put the phone to her ear. “I figured that’s where the booze came from.”

“Marla’s parting gift of nastiness.”

She hit end then said, “No answer at the house. Let me try her cell.”

Paul turned at the sound of his car door opening. “Dad, it’s boring in here. I’m hungry,” Chloe called.

“We’ll pick up pizza on the way home.”

“Not pizza,” she wailed. “Mom bought pizza last night for the babysitter to make. Frozen. Gag.”

He noticed Bailey’s grin before she pursed her lips and whispered another message into the phone. Apparently, her mother wasn’t picking up, either.

She handed him back the phone. “I have a sack of snacks in the truck. Had to stop for a bottle of water and they don’t take credit card charges for under ten dollars. I got all of OC’s favorites.”

A telling admission considering she was mad at him.

“Louise says he didn’t actually take a drink. He threw the bottle across the room and Jack tossed his glass in OC’s face after they argued.”

He saw the change in her face. Relief? Sadness? Skepticism? He couldn’t be sure. “Maybe they’re at the Sheriff’s office filing charges. Sheri said Marla left a very obvious paper trail and will be going to jail.”

“Dad.”

The three syllable variety.

“I need to use the bathroom.”

“Oh, crap,” he muttered, adding softly, “no pun intended.” To his daughter, he asked, “Number One or Number Two?”

“That is nobody’s business but my own. I just need to go. Now,” Chloe added in a tone that sounded exactly like Jen.

He didn’t need to look at Bailey to know she was stifling a grin. “Fine. I suppose technically the house has been abandoned, so… Bailey says the house is open. There’s a bathroom right off the kitchen.”