The Cowboy's Sweetheart

That had been a long time ago, almost twenty years. He shrugged it off, the way he’d been trying to shrug it off since the day it happened. He walked down the hall and met his brother at the back door, coming in through the utility room. It had rained during the night and Wyatt’s boots were muddy. He leaned against the dryer to kick them off.

Ryder reached for three-year-old Molly but she held tight to Wyatt. It was Kat, a year younger, who held her arms out, smiling the way little girls should smile. With one less child, Wyatt could hold the door and kick off his boots.

They would never know their mom. They wouldn’t even remember her. But then, even in her life, Wendy hadn’t been there for the girls. She had changed after having them. She had lost something and before any of them had figured it out, it had been too late to get her back.

“Long trip?” Ryder settled Kat on his hip and walked into the kitchen. The two-year-old smiled because his cheek brushed hers and he imagined it was rough.

“The longest.” A year. That’s what Ryder figured. His brother had been on a journey that had taken the last year of his life, and brought him back to Dawson.

“You girls hungry?”

“We ate an hour ago, just outside of Tulsa,” Wyatt said. “I think they’re probably ready to get down and play for a while. Maybe take a nap.”

Ryder glanced at the little girl holding tight to his neck as he filled the coffeepot with water. “You want down, Chick?”

She shook her head and giggled.

“Want cookies?” he asked. When she nodded, he glanced at Molly. “You want cookies?”

She shook her head. She had big eyes that looked like the faucet was about to get turned on. She’d be okay, though. Kids had a way of bouncing back. Or at least that’s what he thought. He didn’t have a lot of experience.

“They don’t need cookies this early,” Wyatt interjected.

Older, wiser, Wyatt. Ryder shook his head, because he’d never wanted to grow up like Wyatt. He’d never wanted to be that mature.

“Well, I don’t have much else around here.” Ryder looked in the fridge. “Spoiled milk and pudding. I think the lunch meat went bad two days ago. It didn’t taste real good on that last sandwich.”

“Did it make you sick?” Molly whispered, arms still around Wyatt’s neck in what looked like a death grip. He hadn’t been around a lot of kids, but she was the timid kind. That was fine, he was a little afraid of her, too.

He’d had enough experience to know that kids could be loud and destroy much if left to their own devices.

“Nah, I don’t get sick.” He bounced Kat a little and she laughed.

“I guess I’ll have to go to the store.” Wyatt sat down at the dining room table.

“No, I’ll get ready and go.” Anything to get out of the house, away from this. He flipped on the dining room light. “Make a list and I’ll drive into Grove. When I get home, we can run down to the Mad Cow before the church crowd gets there.”

“I need to have the girls back in church. They like going.”

“Yeah, kids do.” They liked the crafts, the stories. He got that. He had liked it, too. “I need to feed the horses and then I’ll get cleaned up and run to the store.”

He brushed a hand through his hair and for the first time, Wyatt smiled. “Yeah, you might want to get a haircut.”

“Probably.” He slid his feet into boots and finished buttoning his shirt. “I guess just help yourself to anything you can find. The coffee’s ready.”

A brother and two kids, living in his house. Now that just about beat all. It was really going to put a kink in his life.

But then, hadn’t Andie already done that? No, not Andie, not really.

When he walked out the back door, his dog, Bear, was waiting for him.

“Bear, this is not our life.” But it was. He could look around, at the ranch his dad had built. He could smell rain in the air and hear geese on a nearby pond.

It was his life. But something had shaken it all up, leaving it nearly unrecognizable. Like a snow globe, shaken by some unseen hand. He looked up, because it was Sunday and a good day for thinking about God, about faith. He didn’t go to church, but that didn’t mean he had forgotten faith.

So now he had questions. How did he do this? His brother was home—with two kids, no less. His best friend was now his one-night stand. He had more guilt rolling around in his stomach than a bottle of antacid could ever cure.

Did this have something to do with his crazy prayers before he got on the back of a bull a month or so earlier. Did the words God help me count as a prayer? Or maybe it was payback for the bad things he’d done in his life?

Whatever had happened, he had to fix it—because he didn’t like having his life turned upside down. But first he had to go to town and get groceries, something to feed two little girls.

Church had ended ten minutes ago and Andie had seen Ryder’s truck driving past on his way to the farm. But they’d been stalled by people wanting to talk with she and her grandmother. Caroline had managed to smile and hang at the periphery of the crowds.

“We need to check on Ryder and Wyatt.” Etta started her old Caddy, smiling with a certain pride that Andie recognized. Her granny loved that car. She’d loved it for more than twenty years, refusing to part with it for something new.

What could be more dependable, Etta always said, than a car that she’d taken care of since the day she drove it off the lot?

Dependable wasn’t a word Andie really wanted to dwell on, not at that moment. Not when her grandmother was talking about Ryder.

“I think Ryder and Wyatt are able to take care of themselves.” After her mother climbed into the front seat beside Etta, Andie slid into the back and buckled her seat belt. Etta eased through the church parking lot.

It hadn’t been such a bad first Sunday back in church. The members of Dawson Community Church were friends, neighbors and sometimes a distant relative. They all knew her. Most of them knew that she’d gone on strike from church when Ryder stopped going. Because they’d been best friends, and a girl had to do something when her best friend cried angry tears over what his father had done, and over a moment in church that changed their lives. A girl had to take a stand when her best friend threw rocks into the creek with a fury she couldn’t understand because life had never been that cruel to her.

Her strike had been more imaginary than real. Most of the time Etta managed to drag her along. But Andie had let her feelings be known. At ten she’d been pretty outspoken.

“How long have you known Ryder and Wyatt?” Caroline asked, and Andie wanted to tell her that she should know that. A mother should know the answer to that question.

“Forever.” Andie leaned back in the seat and looked out the window, remembering being a kid in this very car, this very backseat. Her dad had driven and Etta had sat in the passenger side. The car had been new then. She’d been more innocent.

She’d heard them whispering about what Ryder’s dad had done. She’d been too young to really get it. When she got home from church that day she’d run down the road and Ryder had met her in the field.

“Forever?” Caroline asked, glancing back over her shoulder.

“We’ve known each other since Ryder was five, and I was three. That’s when they moved to Dawson. I guess about the time you left.”

Silence hung over the car, crackling with tension and recrimination. Okay, maybe she’d gone too far. Andie sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Etta cleared her throat and turned the old radio on low. “We’ll stop by the Mad Cow and get takeout chicken. Knowing Ryder, he doesn’t have a thing in that house for Wyatt and the girls to eat.”

“What happened to Wyatt’s wife?” Caroline asked.

Stop asking questions. Andie closed her eyes and leaned back into the leather seat. She wouldn’t answer. She wouldn’t say something that would hurt. She was working on forgiving. God had to know that wasn’t easy. Shouldn’t God cut her a little slack?

Etta answered Caroline’s question. “She committed suicide last year. Postpartum depression.”

It still hurt. Andie hadn’t really known Wendy, but it hurt, because it was about Ryder, Wyatt and two little girls.

“I’m so sorry.” Caroline glanced out the window. “It isn’t easy to deal with depression.”