Loving A Cowboy (25 page)

Still, his mother was leaving. Might be the last time he’d see her, given he wasn’t planning on looking her up. “I imagine it took some courage on your part too.”

She smiled again. This time her gray eyes lit up, causing the warmth of recognition to fill him. He remembered that look. It was the look she’d given him when he’d done well in school or said something she thought was clever. “I’m glad I came and you gave me a chance to have my say. It’s more than I deserve. It means a lot to me.”

And then she was out the door. Chance watched her walk down the carpet, head down, a slight limp to her gait, until the elevator came and swallowed her up. She hadn’t looked back. And he hadn’t expected her to. Not really.

Chapter 20

Libby followed Chance’s progress as he walked across the gleaming lobby floor, filled with just a few people checking in, and toward the bar where she sat, waiting. She couldn’t tell from a distance whether he was mad or not. Shifting back around, she took a gulp of her beer.

When he texted her to come up and that
the coast was clear
, as he put it, she’d texted back and asked him to meet her at the bar. Silly, but her father’s words about Chance’s temper had drummed through her mind. She’d hoped that maybe Deidre would have stayed. They would have dinner together.
And everyone would live happily ever after.

Okay, life wasn’t a fairy tale. She got that. But she was almost afraid to find out what had happened. They hadn’t been up there all that long.

If he couldn’t at least try to see things from his mother’s perspective, what chance did she have? He’d never forgive either of them. Despite her helping him, being there for him, declaring she loved him, he only heard what he wanted to hear. When she’d challenged him about the rodeo, he only heard disrespect instead of caring. When she talked about her father, it was an either/or proposition. When they talked about the future, it was always separate futures—his rodeo, her job.

If there was any hope for them, she knew he’d have to forgive her for walking out and trust her enough to work things through. And then, maybe, she could forgive herself.

Unfortunately, Chance painted everything in black and white, and to her mind, the world was painted in shades of gray. Being there for her father didn’t mean she couldn’t be there for him. His being in the rodeo didn’t mean they couldn’t still have a life together. Many couples, most with children, made it work.

Having heard Deidre’s story, it was clear the woman had sacrificed being his mother so that Chance could find a better life with foster parents. Not that the foster parents had been so great, but Chance had grown up into a responsible, successful, hard-working person. And had been indisputably better off than if Deidre had stayed with her husband.

She twisted to face Chance as he settled on the stool beside her. A few older men sat at the far end, and a couple dined at one of the tables. That was the extent of the crowd other than the bartender, a young, handsome man who could have doubled as a bouncer.

“Coors,” Chance said as the barkeep looked his way.

Libby didn’t speak until the bartender had set the bottle down and turned his attention to the older men.

“Are you angry?” She tightened her grip on her beer and mentally prepared herself for the answer.

“Yes.”

Her stomach dipped like she was on a roller coaster ride. There would be no happily ever after.

“But I’m not sorry,” he said, surprising her. “Much as I didn’t want to see her, don’t want to see her, I think it gave
her
some peace.”

“But not you?”

“Not me.” He took a swig from the bottle and set it back on the bar with a clang. “Life is messy. It doesn’t tie up in a neat bow.” He hung his head and focused on the wood bar as if there was something written there. “I didn’t know what had happened to her. I thought my father had killed her and no one wanted to tell me, because I just couldn’t believe that the mother who had cared about me, at least when she was sober, could leave me behind. And then I learned she had done just that.”

He swung around to face her. Pain creased the fine lines around his eyes.

“You know we were dirt poor. My father allowed me only two glasses of milk a day, took two of the three pork chops on a plate for himself. My mother went without milk, without meat, so I could have a growing boy’s share. Took me until I was about eight to realize what she was doing. After that, I’d complain a lot of nights I had a stomachache so she’d have a decent supper. I had the school lunch program to feed me. She didn’t.”

Libby’s heart clenched. She’d never had to worry about having something to eat. The Brennan family pantry was always well stocked, overflowing in fact. But she understood a mother’s love and the loss of it.

“She may have made a choice you feel was wrong, Chance. But the choice she made was because she loved you. Not because she didn’t.”

Chance shook his head as if he couldn’t believe that. Or wouldn’t.

She had hoped he would have softened toward his mother. But it appeared too many layers of protection had been built up over the years to allow a simple explanation to undo it all. And then she had added to those layers.

“Did you go to where she lived?”

His question caught her off guard.

“Yes. I got the address and phone number from my dad. She had gotten in touch with him a few years ago to see if he knew where you were. Seems she’d known we’d dated. She’d gone to school with my mother, so they’d been acquainted at one time.”

“What kind of place was it?” Chance resumed looking at the bar top.

“Where your mom lives? It’s decent. It’s a small apartment in Portland, but cozy. Clean.”

And on the mantel were pictures of a young Chance. Happy. Smiling for the camera. And one with him sitting contentedly on his mother’s lap, another with his hand in an older man’s—the same picture she’d seen on Chance’s mantel in his great room.

“She said she didn’t need any money.”

“She looked comfortable enough, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“But you decided to interfere anyway.” He took a long sip from the bottle and stared after the bartender.

“I just thought…”

He swung his gaze in her direction again and assessed her with clear-eyed skepticism. “I know what you thought. If only I could see my mother’s side to things, all would be right.”

“I just felt you’d like to know about her.”

“No, you thought I
should
want to know about her.”

“Yes, all right?” Libby couldn’t hide her frustration. “Did you at least give her a chance to tell her side?”

He nodded, and she said a silent prayer of thanks for small favors.

“I’ll admit, things aren’t as clear cut as I thought, but all that means is that the prospect for getting hurt in this world is pretty much guaranteed.”

“A lot like bronc riding, then. Getting hurt being pretty much guaranteed, I mean.”

He snorted. “I guess so.”

“And still you get back on that saddle and ride, even after being hurt. Even knowing getting hurt is more a question of when than of if.”

He stared at her a minute, as if considering. “Only this hurt is deeper—and lasts longer.”

Libby could see it in his sad eyes. She’d opened up old wounds, wounds that went beyond his mother, wounds that led to her. She’d so wanted this to work. But he wouldn’t let it work, ever.

“I never thought you were scared of anything.” Had she thought about it, she wouldn’t have blurted out such a thing as soon as it popped into her head. But maybe he needed to hear it.

“I’m not.”

“You are. You’re scared of getting hurt. More than of being alone in this crazy world. But have you thought about when there are no more broncs to ride? No more events to enter? When you truly are alone. I know you think you’re cut out to be a loner, but I know you. You need someone in your life. Someone who loves you. Someone you can love. I want to be that person.”

He stood up. “I need to go, Libby. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.”

With that, he walked away and took her hopes with him.

Chapter 21

The announcer at the Pendleton Rodeo called out Chance’s name, and he settled onto the bronc. With music blaring, the gate opened, and the thunder of hooves mingled with the roar of the crowd. Five seconds, six seconds, twist, turn, the buzzer. Chance hung on, waited for the pick-up man to close in as the horse continued whirling and bucking.

“Let me down easy,” he told the rider as he was lifted off the bronc. They all knew about his injury, but it didn’t hurt to remind them. Some days the thing throbbed and swelled up so that he could hardly put a boot on. But each time slightly less.

When he felt the hard turf under his soles, he settled his legs and looked up into the crowd. What he was looking for, he wouldn’t admit, not even to himself. But as he scanned the seats closest to the rail, his eye caught a flutter of blue, a head of brassy blonde hair, and a face he could never forget even if he tried—and he’d given up trying. Deidre Cochran was staring right at him. She waved as she realized he’d spotted her.

Without waving back, he lumbered off, lifting his hat to the audience before he slipped behind the iron-bar gate and headed down the cinderblock alleyway. What was Deidre doing at the rodeo? Why was she turning up in his life? What would he do if she showed up at the locker room?

He’d be polite, of course. But he had to make it clear he didn’t want to be part of her life. But the question of what she wanted gnawed at him like a beaver working wood.

These last few weeks, since Libby had shown up with Deidre and the subsequent aftermath, he’d felt lost, like he didn’t know who he was anymore. Or who he could be.

He thought rodeo had settled that. He was the guy on the bronc who could be a world champ. But Libby had unsettled it. Had given him a glimpse of a bleaker reality. Because one day he could be nothing but an
ex
–world champ and wondering if that was all there was.

He didn’t want to be that guy—the guy who relived glory days ad nauseam. He’d met enough of them at rodeo confabs and among the trailers. Guys who’d had a decent run—and then nothing. And now, alone and forgotten, they traveled the circuits looking for answers, looking for another chance to grab the brass ring.

He reached the end of the walk. This was when the throbbing usually started. Only not today, not yet. He nodded to the sports doctor in attendance to signal he was okay and drew back the curtain to the locker room.

“You stayed on,” JT announced as if surprised.

Chance moved to his bag in the corner. “Better believe it. And don’t go looking any prettier up on those horses, JT. I need this win.”

JT smirked. “You’re closing in on the top fifteen, so what are you jawing about?”

“I need to be
in
the top fifteen.”

JT shook his head, then popped his hat on. “Keep going like this and you will be,” he said as he walked out the door.

If he could just shake off his feelings for Libby, maybe he could keep going. She said she wanted to be his wife, the mother of his children, the support he’d never had. Libby had a habit of jumping into things without thinking. Their marriage had been proof of that.

She’d met his mother and hadn’t gone running. But she’d never met his father. Never knew, thank God, the beast that lay within that man’s chest—and might be lying inside of his. Did she really know who he was?

Hell, he didn’t even know who he was anymore.

Libby had called him a few times and left messages. He’d texted her to say he was doing all right. She’d text back asking him to call. He hadn’t.

At least this time he hadn’t fallen apart, and his scores these last few rides attested to that. But, despite using those meditation techniques that had once worked so well, he hadn’t been able to turn off his mind as easily as he avoided her calls. After every rodeo, he had wondered if she’d be waiting for him again, surprising him. He imagined her running into his arms, but his imagination never moved beyond that point. His dreaming had never flash-forwarded to the home they would make together or the children they would have.

He had to face facts. When he left her at the bar, he’d effectively closed the door on any future with her. And besides, she had her hands full, no doubt, with nursing her father.

He’d just have to come to terms with that solitary existence she had warned him about. He was never meant to be the object of someone’s love. Not a mother’s, not a wife’s, not a child’s. Some men were made to be family men. He was destined to be a loner.

Looking around the nearly empty locker room, a question drummed through his head—why had his mother come, and why hadn’t she tried to see him?

* * *

Chance’s heart was pounding like he’d been running a race instead of walking up a few stairs to her apartment. It hadn’t taken more than an Internet search and a check through the phone book to find out where his mother lived. As he stood outside the door marked 205, he looked around at the small complex tucked between a convenience store and a gas station.

The place contained about thirty units. Paint was peeling from the sides of the clapboard building where the Portland rains beat on it. White railing was strung along the outside, defining the second-floor porch-like walkway, which no one would mistake for a balcony. Still, there was no litter strewn across the parking lot, which had been recently paved, if the tar smell was any indication. And the neighborhood seemed reasonably safe and well tended, with bigger condo complexes dotting the sides of the two-lane highway.

Chance took a deep breath as he asked himself what he was doing there. Or, more importantly, what he hoped to gain by being there. His mother had already told him her story. He’d been thinking a lot about what she had said. And whether her version mattered to him.

She hadn’t wanted to leave him. Or so she said. She’d tried to protect him. Or so she told herself. Did he believe her? Or did he just want to believe her? Was that why he’d come?