His Kind Of Cowgirl

His shoulders drooped when Claire shook her head. “You know the rules. Take a last bite and scoot.”

The child shoved a fourth of the slice into his mouth and bolted from the chair, cheeks bulging as he chewed. When he neared Tanner, he skidded to a halt. “Cool belt buckle.”

“Upstairs, please.” Claire pointed. “I’ll sing you a song, too.”

The jittering boy froze, his eyes widening. “Do you have to?”

Claire’s dimples appeared, deep parentheses around her lovely mouth. Tanner forced his eyes away. Shoved back the memories of kissing her tenderly, passionately... He hadn’t come here to rekindle an old flame.

“Only if you don’t hustle. I’ve been dying to sing more lullabies.”

The boy made a gagging sound and clutched his stomach. “I’m going!”

She gathered him close and squeezed. “I’ll be up soon, buster.” The motherly gesture did something funny to Tanner’s gut. Made him regret something he couldn’t name.

Released, Jonathan returned Tanner’s smile. Roxy barked madly as they dashed up the stairs.

“’Night.” Tanner grinned after the kid. When he glanced at Claire, her features looked pinched, her eyes pained.

Martin cleared his throat. “I want to hear more about this accident.”

Claire dropped to a seat and propped her elbows on the table. “I’ll fill you in later, okay? First, Tanner can’t stay. He’s reconsidered.”

Her father pinned Tanner with a sharp look. “That true, son?”

He pulled out a chair and sat. “Claire would rather I leave.” The smell of strong coffee permeated the tiled room and suddenly he wished for a cup. His knee jittered until he clamped a firm hand on it. He and caffeine didn’t mix so well this late at night. It’d been a heck of a day and seeing Claire again had unnerved him more than he’d expected.

Martin patted his daughter’s arm, his clumsy movement tough to watch. He’d always been Tanner’s idol. A father-figure to a boy without one. He owed Martin more than he could repay, though he’d sure try. Sweat equity for starters, and changes that’d get the ranch back in the black. With luck, he’d find a way to save his own future, too.

“That’s for me to decide, Claire Belle. Not saying I shouldn’t have told you first. Maybe I got confused at the date.” The man peered at a Barns across America wall calendar beside an encased, folded flag—for a brother lost in Vietnam, Tanner recalled. “Looks like I did. Sorry about that, Tanner. I promised you I’d warn her.”

Tanner nodded. “Not a problem, sir.”

Claire pointed a spoon at her father. “It is a problem. You agreed to sell Mr. Ruddell the ranch and his offer expires in sixty days. We don’t have time to mess around with Tanner and his risky ideas, whatever they are.”

Her father’s palm thudded on the table, making the milk in the glass slosh. Tanner echoed the frustrated sentiment. Martin needed help and Claire shouldn’t interfere.

“I was born here, Claire. Planned on living out my days here, too, then passing it down to you and Jonathan. Thought I’d lost the chance until Tanner offered to help. Plan on him being our guest for a few weeks.”

“Weeks?” she gasped. Her fingers flew as she wound her damp hair into some kind of bun. The back of her neck looked burned and for a moment the crazy urge to rest his cheek against it seized him. To see if her skin felt as soft as he remembered.

“What have you two planned? If we miss the sale deadline, the foreclosure happens only a month after that. Then you’ll lose everything, including the money you need to pay for a spot alongside Uncle Bob at the assisted living facility. Dani’s going to chip in, but she can’t come close to covering it all.”

Tanner looked out the dark window. Yes, the stakes were high, but didn’t she see how much her father needed this shot?

Martin wiped his mouth after another bite of cake. “Tanner’s got contacts to improve our sales and ideas to strengthen our stock. Plus, he’s got plans to make some money here for himself, too. Seems like a win for us both.”

Tanner met Martin’s eye, silently acknowledging Tanner’s proposed business venture. Martin had said he could count on Tanner and that confidence felt good. Honest. Earned. Or it would be...because no matter what Claire said, he wasn’t leaving when he was needed so badly. When he needed to be here, too.

“Dr. Ogden said not to let you get worked up. And the assisted living facility has the rehab you need to make a full recovery. Don’t you care about getting better?” Claire picked up her son’s plate and strode to the kitchen sink.

“I’d rather go all in than fold, darlin’.” When Martin reached for the pitcher of coffee, Tanner grabbed it and filled a cup.

Claire jerked around. Her eyes locked with Tanner’s and he read the emotions washing through them. Hurt. Resentment. Concern. Most of all...love for her father.

“What about how I feel?” she asked, returning to her father’s side. “What Jonathan wants? He’s already lost a father and you’re all he’s got. You mean more than saving the ranch. A million times more.”

The stricken look on Claire’s face made Tanner knot his hands under the table to keep from going to her. She wanted nothing to do with him. She’d made that clear enough.

Her father patted her cheek, his weathered face gray under the yellow overhead light. “I want to provide better for you and Jonathan. Restore the ranch to what it used to be while I still have the strength to try. Give me that peace of mind before I meet my Maker.”

Tanner nodded at Martin. That was exactly what he aimed to do. They both had to succeed.

“Stop talking that way, Dad.” Claire twisted a napkin and the shredded paper snowed on the oak table.

Her father lowered his chin and two more appeared. “Most times I think you’d be happier off the ranch.”

“That’s not true.” Yet her denial rang false. Tanner knew how uncomfortable she’d become around large, untrained, unpredictable animals after her accident. How she’d pleaded with him to stop riding bulls. It’d been the sticking point in their relationship, the issue they couldn’t get past, until it’d broken them apart.

“If you want more advice, we could hire a consultant.” Her insistent voice rose and her skin flushed a dull red. “Tanner doesn’t need to stay here.”

He didn’t flinch when her eyes swerved in his direction. There was a snip of silence. She wasn’t running him off.

“With what money?” Her father sipped his coffee through a straw, then continued. “We can’t afford what it’d cost to hire someone with Tanner’s knowledge to turn things around, and Dani can’t get time off from work now that she just got promoted.”

“I’ll do my best,” Tanner affirmed. He’d promised her father and would see this through.

“Your best?” Claire pushed back her chair and paced before the brick wall-oven. “How many concussions have you had, Tanner?”

“Four. No. Five,” he admitted, recalling the doctor’s warning that one more serious spill could cause permanent brain damage. Maybe kill him.

But to envision another career? Impossible. He didn’t focus or follow rules well in regular jobs. Only rodeo’s wild rides gave his nonstop energy an outlet. Ironic that controlling a bucking bull felt more manageable than anything else. Still, soon he’d be thirty and getting old for bull riding. He had to figure out next steps or end up an aging rodeo clown, hanging out at the local honkytonks, swapping stories of glory years no one cared about or remembered clearly...not even him.

“Five? You should have stopped after your second, or third. You don’t care about danger, Tanner. I don’t know what you’ll come up with for the ranch, but I’m guessing it won’t be safe. Could scare my...” A grim layer stamped on her voice as it trailed off, a hint of desperation a sliver below it. She glanced toward the stairwell then looked down at her hands, hiding behind her eyelids.

Jonathan.

She thought his actions might endanger her child. The thought startled him more than it should have, a shock like a splinter jamming under a nail. He didn’t worry about danger. Couldn’t perform at his job if he did. But he’d never put a kid at risk. When he stood, his head brushed the dangling light fixture, making it swing.

“I’m going to make the ranch solvent again with no harm done. I swear it. ’Night, Martin.” He put on his hat and tipped its brim. “Claire.”

He strode outside to grab his bags, letting the porch door bang behind him. The rain had stopped and water dripped from every surface. His boots sloshed through puddles on the way to his pickup. He’d take it in tomorrow and see about getting it fixed. As for Claire’s truck... He’d find a way to repair that, too.

At the door, he turned and glanced up to see Claire standing in a window watching him. She whirled when he spied her, but not quickly enough to hide her tortured expression.

Like so many from his past, she didn’t believe in him. Funny how once she’d been his biggest supporter. He leaned against his truck and squinted at the glow behind Claire’s curtains. He pulled out a cinnamon stick and clamped it between his teeth. Times like this made him wish for the cigarettes he’d quit six months ago. But he was twenty-nine now. Old enough to know better. About lots of things.

So why, when it came to Claire and him, couldn’t he understand a single one?