Loving A Cowboy (26 page)

Never one to run, Chance tapped on the door. Maybe she was at work that Monday afternoon. He could tell himself he tried.

The thud of footsteps told him someone was home. He braced himself.

The door flung open.

“Chance!” It was more of a scream than a heralding. The tears in his mother’s eyes that mingled with pure joy said it was more from surprise than fear as she cradled her head in her hands.

“Deidre.” He stood at the door, not knowing whether he should go in or what he would say if he did. “I saw you at the rodeo.” It sounded like an excuse.

“Come in. Come in.” She practically squealed the invitation.

Chance squared his shoulders and stepped into the tiny apartment. The door opened right into a small space that contained a well-worn plaid sofa that most would have called a loveseat. There was a rocking chair covered in the same red-and-brown plaid as the sofa, with a skirt around the edge, and a pine coffee table that had seen better days. But the place was neat. As he scanned the room, he lit on a shelf, above the newer TV, that was jammed with photos in brass frames. He turned his gaze back to the small woman in a black uniform. She stared up at him with eyes that held too much emotion. Too much emotion to handle.

He’d made a mistake coming there. He’d no plan, and worse, no exit strategy.

“Can I get you something? Coffee? I’ve some crumb cake that still should be good. Are you hurting from your ride? Do you need something?” The words tumbled out of her in a big whoosh. She was trembling too.

This was a bad idea.

“Are you getting ready to leave for work?” Maybe that was his exit strategy.

“Not for another hour. I’ve the supper shift at the cafe near Route 30.” She was rubbing her hands one over the other. “It pays pretty good,” she added.

He nodded. “Coffee would be good.”

“Great. Have a seat,” she said, eyeing him as if she was afraid he’d bolt. She might have been right on another day. But, he’d come this far…

She hustled off to the kitchen, and he heard cabinets opening and cups clattering. Chance strode over to the collection of photos. A lump caught in his throat as he looked across the frames. Every one held a picture of him. Chance on his mother’s lap. Chance in his high chair. Chance riding a pony. Chance in his cowboy hat. Chance standing with his grandfather—the same picture he had on his mantel in his living room. There was even his official PRCA website photo printed on copy paper and framed, the only one of him as a man.

Chance’s legs felt wobbly. He needed to sit.

The plaid sofa felt soft as he plunked down. He could imagine Deidre sitting there night after night, alone, watching her TV. Maybe she wasn’t alone. Maybe she had a man in her life. Or friends. He knew nothing about her. And had never cared to know.

“Here we are.” She bustled in, easily balancing a tray of coffee cups, plates, and half a crumb cake cut into squares. She set it on the coffee table with ease.

“I didn’t know how you liked your coffee,” she said, sounding a little anxious, “so I brought cream and sugar.”

“Black is good for me.”

She nodded and, still smiling, sat on the edge of the rocker.

Chance took a sip of the coffee. It was hot, strong, and smooth, just the way he liked it. “Good coffee.”

Her smile widened. “I wouldn’t be worth anything as a waitress if I couldn’t make a good cup of coffee.”

Chance fumbled a piece of coffee cake onto one of the blue-and-white patterned plates and took a bite.

“You were at the rodeo today,” he said after a swallow of the sugary sweet.

Deidre lowered her eyes as if he’d rebuked her. “Yes. I’d never seen you ride. Live, that is. I’ve watched you on TV, of course. During the NFR. I’ve always wanted to go to that. To see you. But the tickets…”

“You didn’t stop back.”

“I thought about it. But then, I didn’t think you’d see me. Not after…” The sadness in her voice shot straight to his heart. Hell.

He shifted in his seat. “I’m not sure why I’m here.”

“You don’t need to give a reason. I’m just glad you are.”

He glanced up at the pictures of his young self. Behind that little boy’s smiling face was a lot of fear for the man standing off in the shadows. Except with his grandfather. Granddaddy Winslow had been a good man. A kind man. But tough if he needed to be. The beatings of his mother didn’t start until after his granddaddy had died. Because Granddaddy Winslow would have killed Jess Cochran if he’d touched his daughter or his grandbaby. The drinking hadn’t started until after Granddaddy’s death either. But his father’s temper had always been there. Lurking. Waiting.

Deidre followed his gaze. “You remember riding Stan Sherrington’s ponies when your father worked for him? You loved horses and riding. When your father had been working ranches, you got a lot of opportunities to ride. You were a natural.”

“I’ve a lot of memories from growing up. Can’t seem to get rid of them.”

Deidre’s mouth pulled in as she gazed down at her hands. She looked small, frail, vulnerable.

Okay. He shouldn’t have said it. But it was hard to remember the good among all the ugly.

Deidre lifted her head, stared straight at him, though her eyes were moist. “I don’t suppose either of us will ever be free of those demons. But we can’t let them keep us from living in this world—or the demons will have won.”

“Not going to let that happen.” He wondered how well she was living. By the looks of things, she was getting by—barely. Was she happy? Or just existing? And why did he care?

“Libby called me after that day. That’s how I knew you were going to be at Pendleton.” She cocked her head to look at him, and he was again struck by how small and frail she seemed. Sparrow-like. “She says she loves you. She wants to marry you.”

A yearning tingled through Chance at the news. He tamped it down. “Deidre, no offense, but this isn’t any of your business.”

She straightened in her chair. “Offense taken. Despite everything and your feelings to the contrary, I’m still your mother. I never stopped caring. You don’t believe that. You’ll never forgive me, I know. But you’ve got to at least forgive yourself.”

Forgive? Himself? Was she addled?

“I’ve got nothing to forgive. All my life, I’ve tried to do the right thing. Worked like a dog. Married the girl I loved. And when she walked away, I let her be. Found a way to make something of myself. I’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

“All that’s true. And I’m mighty proud of you, though I recognize it was in spite of me, in spite of our circumstances.”

“Damn right.”

Deidre pursed her lips as if in distaste. Maybe he shouldn’t have cursed. But he didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking.

“But I think…I always thought you felt, as a boy, that you should have taken on your father. You couldn’t, of course. He’d have hurt you, maybe killed you. He wasn’t rational when he drank. He was filled with rage that came from…I don’t know where. But the fact you couldn’t do anything about him I think filled you with anger, and maybe despair.”

Chance felt like someone had hit him in the solar plexus, like the air had whooshed out of him, leaving him breathless.

“You don’t know what you are talking about,” he finally said when he could pump oxygen again.

“None of it was your fault. Much as you don’t want to hear it, you were a victim then, just like me. But you’ve grown up. And someone needs you. Someone who loves you very much.”

“She’s got Brennan Motors. She’s got her family. She’ll be better off without me.” It was time for him to leave. So why wasn’t he getting up, going?

“She loves you.”

“Libby and I have been down this path before. As I said, this is between her and me. She did me a favor walking out on me. Made me realize I’m not cut out for family life.”

“What are you afraid of?”

He leaned forward, checking the door for his exit route. “I am not afraid of anything. I’m just not cut out to be a family man. That’s what Libby wants. That’s what she needs.”

“You’re nothing like him, you know. You’ve just rattled off a litany of all the things you’ve done right. You’re nothing like him.” She shook her head. “Nothing. In fact, you remind me a lot of my own father. You remember Granddaddy?” she glanced toward the picture. “You put the light in his eyes. You would trail after him as he went around shoeing horses. The day that horse kicked him in the head and killed him was the worst day of my life. That is, until I had to leave you.”

Chance felt the memories prodding his heart. “I haven’t thought about Granddaddy for a long time.”

She leaned forward. “I think about him every day. That’s who you take after. You look like him too.”

“I take that as a compliment. He was a good man.” Chance took a deep breath, more to center himself than anything.

“And so are you. And worthy of a girl like Libby. And she’s worthy of a good man like you.”

Chance didn’t know whether to shoot out the door and escape, or settle back in the sofa, looking for comfort. For some reason, he chose the sofa. “She walked out on me once already.” There was no changing the facts.

“And haven’t you walked away from her? Are either of you happy about it? You both have had your reasons. Time to find a reason to be together.”

“We’ve got too much history, too much of it painful.”

“Emotional hurt is painful, and long lasting, I’ll grant, but love can bring happiness and can be just as long lasting. Look at Libby’s father. I know you don’t much care for his high-handedness, but he loved his wife, loves his family.”

“And hates me.”

“Well, he has a funny way of showing it then. When I called looking for you, he’s the one who told me how proud I should be of you. Told me that you reminded him of hisself at your age.”

“Never said that to me.”

“Libby is his baby girl. She was way too young for marriage back then, and deep in your heart, I think you’ve known that. She’s grown up now. Seems like she’s got her head on straight and knows what she wants. She’ll make you a fine wife. And you’ll make a fine husband. It’s the truth.”

“I’ve been looking a long time for the truth. What I get is everyone’s version of it.”

“Isn’t it past time to reconcile those versions? It takes courage to see the other side, look at things in a different light, change your mind. Like the courage it takes to get back in the saddle and ride the same horse that just bucked you off. One thing I’m convinced you’ve got, son, is courage. Put it to good use.” She gave a clipped nod of her head.

“I’m sure she told you that Sam had a heart attack. She’s staying with Brennan Motors, just like her old man always wanted. Wants me to live in Wyoming.”

“And you want to stay with the rodeo. Nothing there says you can’t have both. It will take some working out. Some compromising. But you know it can be done. Rodeo doesn’t require your home base to be in…where’s your ranch? Colorado? Horses like Wyoming prairie grass as much as Colorado mountain grazing.”

“Sounds like I’m doing all the compromising. That ranch means a lot to me. Means I’ll always have a place to call mine.”

“Maybe you need a place to call yours and hers. After all, she’ll be alone a lot, raising your children. Helps to have family nearby.”

“Children? I’m not cut out to be a father. I didn’t have a very good role model, remember.”

“He surely taught you what not to be. That’s a start. You’ve enough of my daddy in you to build on. She told me what you’ve done for your neighbor’s son. Give yourself a chance. Everyone deserves a second chance…”

This wasn’t what he expected when he stood outside the apartment door. But maybe this is why he had come. To find out if he was good enough. If he could let the past be and move forward. He looked at the small, thin, worried woman before him, and something softened in his heart.

“Even you, Mom?” He hadn’t said the word Mom in reference to anyone in over a decade. It should sound strange to his ear. It didn’t.

Her smile could have lit up half of Oregon. But as quick as it came, her expression turned serious.

“I’m not asking for a second chance for myself. I don’t deserve it. She does. And you deserve the happiness she’ll bring you. Because if she does anything to hurt you, son, she’ll have me to answer to.” Her smile was back.

“Spoken like a mother-in-law.”

“Well, now I’m going to speak like a mother. You’ve got to trust her, but you’ve also got to trust yourself again. Trust your judgment of Libby, your judgment of her sincerity, her love. That takes courage, son.”

Chapter 22

Libby curled up on the large sectional with Cowboy snuggled at her side and a tub of Ben and Jerry’s Hazed and Confused ice cream in hand. The flavor’s name perfectly matched her state of mind. How could she have been so wrong about what Chance needed? Even now, the look on his face when he came back from the hotel room haunted her.

How could she have been so…so Pollyannaish?

To think that it would all work out simply because she liked his mother, believed her story, and thought Chance would feel the same. But he hadn’t. He’d been seething underneath that controlled veneer of his. Seething at her meddling. Seething at what he viewed as her betrayal, again. Seething about confronting what he wasn’t ready to confront—would never be ready to confront.

If the circumstances with her dad and her plea to keep their relationship going even if it meant seeing her in Wyoming had driven him away, why had she thought seeing his mother would have brought him back to her?

Because she believed in happy endings. Because down to her deepest core, she felt Chance needed to understand the ties that bound people to one another.

At least she had tried. Just as she had attempted to give him a happy ending years ago by marrying him. Both had been mistakes. Mistakes it was high time she forgave herself for making.

“You should be going out tonight with Doug. Heard he’s headed to the Cattleman’s Club.” Her father walked to the sofa, looking like his former self, almost.

It had been weeks since his heart attack, and she’d been gratified to watch him get stronger with each passing day. He’d been keeping, mostly, to healthier foods. He continued to drink decaf coffee, though he drank just as much. He’d been attending cardiac recovery therapy and was talking about enrolling in a gym downtown.