The Cowboy's Healing Ways

After a few rings a woman answered.

“Mrs. Duncan, this is Laura White.” She coughed a little and then cleared her throat. “I’m so sorry.”

“Laura, you sound terrible. Are you okay?”

“I think I have the flu, but I’m good. Things are good.” She hated the lie, but she couldn’t admit that her life was falling apart. She wasn’t even close to where she needed to be.

“Did you find a place in Dawson?” Mrs. Duncan hesitated, then cleared her throat. “Do you have a job?”

“Not yet.” She glanced out the window at the grocery store. “I’m getting a place to stay, but it isn’t permanent.”

“Oh, I had hoped this would work out for you.”

Laura closed her eyes. “Me, too.”

“Okay, let me get Abigail.”

And then there were shouts, laughter, her daughter. “Mommy.”

“Abigail, I miss you.” She swallowed the tight lump in her throat and fought the burning sting of tears.

“I miss you, too.”

“What have you been doing?” Laura closed her eyes, remembering her daughter’s face, how it felt to hold her. Abigail had dark brown hair and gray eyes. Laura held the memories tightly. “How’s school?”

“I made all As and Gina gave me money and we ate pizza. I made cookies last night with the other kids.”

Normal moments. A normal life. Her daughter should always have those things. “That sounds like fun. And I’m proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you, too, Mommy. Okay, I have to go. When do I get to see you?”

“Soon. Very soon.” Promises she hoped she could keep.

“I pray for you, Mommy.”

Laura nodded and her throat ached. “I know. Me, too, sugarplum. Bye.” She whispered the words as her daughter rushed through another “I love you” and hung up.

She cried. Holding the school picture she kept in her purse, she cried. Abigail prayed for her. She thought back to childhood stories of faith and God. She hadn’t thought much about either since her mother died. Her stepfather had been abusive and Laura had left and taken to the streets, believing life on her own had to be better than under his control.

A string of boyfriends, a marriage that hadn’t lasted long enough to change anything, a stepbrother who put her in prison and now this. She’d had plans and dreams for her life. She’d wanted more than this, more than barely getting by. She’d wanted more for Abigail. She still wanted more for her daughter.

She shivered in the cool truck and closed her eyes against the bright sky. Nothing was the way she’d planned. She’d really thought her aunt Sally, a woman she remembered from childhood, would be here to help pick up the pieces of her life, to help her believe again. She’d prayed that she would find something here, a way to get Abigail back.

Instead she had the kindness of a stranger and little more than she’d had the day before. She rested her forehead against the cool glass of the window and thought through the list of things she had lost. She used to believe in people. She used to believe in herself. A long time ago she’d had faith.

She closed her eyes and prayed to get all three back. She had never been a quitter. She wouldn’t quit now, not on life or herself. She wouldn’t quit because of Abigail.

Chapter Three

Jesse walked across the parking lot and watched as the woman in the passenger seat of his truck wiped at tears streaming down her cheeks. He didn’t know how to help her. He shook his head and shifted the paper bag to his other arm. The last thing she needed from him was a promise he couldn’t keep. He knew he couldn’t fix her life.

He walked up to the passenger side of his truck and peeked in. Laura didn’t look up. In her hand she held a school photo of a little girl. He stepped away from the window and walked to the back of the truck to store the groceries in the metal toolbox in the bed of the truck. When he opened the door, Laura wiped the last of her tears. She smiled at him, a watery smile.

“How do you feel?” He shifted into Reverse and then looked her way for a quick moment.

“A little better.”

“I bought cold medicine.” He didn’t know what else to say. “Who’s the little girl in the picture?”

She closed her eyes and shrugged. When she looked at him, the pain in her gray eyes was tangible. He drew in a quick breath before he looked away, focusing on the road.

“She’s my daughter.”

The words hit him hard. He shook his head and kept driving.

“Where is she?” None of his business, but he had to ask.

“They took her. When I was in jail. Of course they took her.” She sniffed and when he looked, her face was buried in her hands, auburn hair falling forward. “She’s in a foster home.”

“You’ll get her back?”

She pushed her hair back with pale hands that trembled and nodded as she looked at him.

“Yes. When I get a job and a permanent home. I didn’t think it would be this hard. Trying to get her back. Trying to find a normal life again.”

“It isn’t easy.”

“No, it isn’t. Someone else is taking her for pizza, praying with her, tucking her in. It should be me. If I hadn’t let my stepbrother...” She shook her head. “I have to stop blaming him. I let him move in. I knew it would be a mistake, but I felt sorry for him.”

He nodded and kept driving.

Laura continued to talk. “Which is why I don’t blame you for not wanting me in your grandmother’s house. You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve done, what is or isn’t true. People lie.”

“Sometimes we have to trust people.” He cleared his throat and looked at her. “Sometimes we have to give them a chance to prove they can be trusted.”

He pulled into the parking lot of a motel with a sign that said they rented by the day, week or month.

“Sometimes,” she said in a soft voice that told him trust was hard for her.

He parked, sighing because he couldn’t leave her here. She had a daughter she didn’t want to let go of. She had gray eyes that didn’t beg him to give her a chance but begged him to trust her. Believe her.

“I could use someone to help me at my place,” he said as he stared at the little motel that had been around longer than either of them had been alive. He switched his attention to look at the woman sitting next to him.

“I’m not looking for a handout. I need a job. I’m willing to work.”

“It isn’t a handout.” He turned in his seat to face her. “I work odd hours and sometimes take shifts at a hospital in Tulsa. I’m also the doctor on call for the local residential care facility. On top of that I might be going out of the country.”

“A vacation?”