Tomas: Cowboy Homecoming Page 6

  “Did you get big enough?”

  “You bet.” He looked into her bright eyes. “When someone runs away from home, they’re usually running from something or to something.” He paused. “What are you running to, Sadie?”

  She shrugged.

  “No.” He shook his head. “Don’t do that. Tell me. It’s just you and me.”

  She scooted closer and whispered, “I have to find my daddy so he can come home and tell my mom he’s sorry for hitting her.”

  Cheyenne gasped behind them. She sat by Sadie and gathered her into her arms. “Baby, I told you Daddy died. He’s not coming back.”

  “But…but…you only said that ’cause he was mean to you,” Sadie blubbered.

  “No, baby, Daddy died.”

  Sammie whimpered behind her, and Cheyenne enfolded both girls as close to her as she could get them. Again, turmoil was etched across her beautiful face. He felt his heart contract. So much pain and they were still suffering. He should get up and walk away. This was none of his business, but something held him there.

  He cleared his throat. “Where is your husband buried?”

  “Uh…” Her watery green eyes stared at him. “In Billings. The aunt who raised him lives there and it was her wish.”

  “Have the girls been to his grave?” He didn’t know why he was persisting. He should be halfway home by now.

  “No,” she replied, her frosty voice signaling for him to butt out.

  He ignored the warning. “It might help.”

  She glared at him.

  Sadie raised her head. “Does Daddy have a grave like Grandma?”

  “Baby…”

  “Is his name on it like Grandma’s?”

  Cheyenne swallowed, clearly torn by the questions.

  “It might help,” he repeated.

  “Mr. Hart, don’t you have to leave?”

  “No, Mommy. He has to go with us to Daddy’s grave.”

  That threw him, but he knew one thing: Sadie was searching for answers, and she’d somehow connected getting those answers to him. It was about time to start his day and he should be at the ranch. Yet, he stayed.

  “Sadie, calm down and we’ll talk about this.”

  But Sadie wouldn’t be deterred. “Where’s Daddy’s grave, Mommy?”

  Cheyenne sighed, giving in to the inevitable. “I’ll get my jacket.”

  Sadie and Sammie huddled together, their arms locked around each other. They looked so sad and once again his heart contracted. He got to his feet, not sure whether to go or to stay.

  Cheyenne came out the door shrugging into a brown wool jacket, a purse in her hand. “Let’s go.”

  Sadie jumped to her feet and took his hand.

  Cheyenne frowned. “Mr. Hart has work to do.”

  “He has to go,” Sadie insisted.

  He reached for his cell in his jacket pocket. “I’ll let Ace know I’ll be late.”

  Cheyenne didn’t say anything. She walked to a dark blue Jeep Durango parked in the driveway and opened a back door. He noticed two car seats. The girls hurried and climbed into their seats. Cheyenne buckled Sammie in, and he went around to the passenger side and did the same for Sadie. Crawling into the front passenger seat, he realized he had a problem. The SUV was small, and he had to adjust the seat as far back as it would go to fit his long frame inside.

  The interior was small, too. Only the console was between them. He could have actually reached out and touched the angry lines of Cheyenne’s face. She was upset with him. That was obvious.

  He removed his wool cap and gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. He felt out of place in sweats. A hat and boots would do a lot for his confidence. As she drove out of the driveway, he noticed her white-knuckling the steering wheel. She was nervous and afraid. He was sure she had her reasons for not taking the girls to their father’s funeral. He should have respected that and kept his mouth shut. But he would see this through to the end, hoping she wouldn’t hate him forever.

  * * *

  CHEYENNE DROVE STEADILY toward Billings, trying to ignore the man sitting next to her. The SUV was small, though she never realized how small until Tuf’s six-foot-plus frame was within touching distance. His outdoorsy, masculine scent was appealing, but she wasn’t in a mood to be tempted.

  She was in a mood to smack him.

  How did this happen? One minute she was frantically searching for Sadie and the next she was taking her girls to see their father’s grave. When Ryan had committed suicide, she’d been devastated. After the horror and the grief, her only thought was to protect her girls.

  Sadie and Sammie chatted to each other like they always did, and she tried to relax.

  Tuf leaned over and whispered, “It will be okay.”

  She glanced at him briefly. “You don’t know that.”

  “Evidently they didn’t attend their father’s funeral.”

  “No. They were three years old and I thought it was best. I didn’t want them to have those kinds of memories of Ryan.”

  “Kids are very resilient.”

  “How many kids do you have?” she asked, not bothering to hide her annoyance at his interference.

  “None. But it doesn’t take someone with kids to see something is bothering Sadie.”

  She clenched her hands on the steering wheel and forced herself to relax, which was almost impossible. Why couldn’t Tuf stay out of her life? “I’ve done everything to protect them,” she found herself saying and didn’t understand why she was explaining anything to him. “But it hasn’t helped. Sadie keeps running away, and Sammie is clingy and cries all the time. I had no idea Sadie was trying to find her father.”

  “That’s why seeing his grave will help.”

  “You don’t know that. It could make it worse, and if it does, I’m going to blame you.”

  “I have broad shoulders.”

  “I’ve noticed.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

  His brown eyes caught hers, and her heart raced as traitorous feminine emotions blindsided her. Damn!

  “Mommy,” Sadie called. “Can we get flowers like we get for Grandma’s grave?”

  “Sure, baby.”

  She negotiated traffic and pulled into a grocery store she knew carried flowers. Her hand shook as she reached for her purse. Damn him!

  Tuf stretched his legs while they went inside. The girls argued over the flowers. Sadie wanted red tulips and Sammie wanted yellow. She bought both colors to save time. They ran outside to show Tuf their treasures. He seemed genuinely interested as he helped to buckle them into their seats.

  Nothing was said as she drove to the cemetery, and she liked it that way. She drove through the double arcs and parked to the side as she neared the grave. Her stomach formed into a knot like it always did when she came here, reminding her of the hopes and the dreams that had died with Ryan.

  Tuf stood by the car as they made their way to the site. Sadie and Sammie clutched their flowers. The dry winter lawn was neatly kept, some lingering snow nestled against the bottom of the headstone, and the flowers Cheyenne had put there at Christmas looked faded. She didn’t visit the grave much because the girls, mostly Sammie, became upset if Cheyenne was out of their sight. But they’d fallen asleep while Christmas shopping in Billings, and Cheyenne had hurriedly bought and put the flowers on the grave. She felt she needed to at the holidays.

  She squatted and had to swallow before she could speak. “This is where your daddy is buried. See—” she pointed to the headstone “—there’s his name.”

  Both girls leaned in close to her, not saying anything, and she feared this was a bad idea. She had to swallow again. “Go ahead, put your flowers by the red ones.”

  To Cheyenne’s surprise, Sammie was the first to act as she gently laid her yellow tulips by the poinsettias. Sadie was always the leader, but today she held back. Cheyenne waited, not wanting to push her. Slowly Sadie moved forward and placed her flowers by Sammie’s.

  “Do y
ou have any questions?” she asked once Sadie was back in her arms.

  Sadie twisted her hands. “Daddy’s dead?”

  Cheyenne tightened her arm around her. “Yes, baby.”

  “Did he love us?”

  “Oh, yes. You were the light in his eyes.”

  “Did he love you, Mommy?”

  Her throat went dry and words were now an effort. For her girls, though, she had to answer. “Yes, but Daddy was sick, and he said and did things he didn’t mean.”

  “He’s not sick no more?”

  “No, baby, Daddy is at peace.”

  Tears rolled from Sadie’s eyes and she started to cry. Sammie joined in and Cheyenne held them close. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” she cooed.

  Suddenly Sadie tore away from her and ran to Tuf, who was leaning against the car with his sneakers crossed at the ankles, observing the whole scene. Sadie took his hand and led him to the grave.

  Looking up at Tuf, Sadie asked, “What’s your name?”

  “Tuf,” he replied.

  Sadie pointed to the headstone. “My daddy is dead.”

  Tuf squatted beside Sadie. “I know. Now you don’t have to search for him anymore. You know where he is.”

  “Right there.” Sadie pointed again.

  “Yep. Do you want to say something to him?”

  Sadie twisted her hands again. “L-like what?”

  “I love Daddy,” Sammie said.

  “I love Daddy, too,” Sadie added.

  Tuf stood. “Tell him goodbye and we’ll go get ice cream.”

  “Goodbye, Daddy,” they chorused, and ran to the car.

  Cheyenne got to her feet and Tuf reached out to help her. She didn’t pull away or act insulted. “Thank you,” she said. “I just never realized they needed to see their father’s grave. I thought I made the right decision at the time but…”

  “Don’t try to second-guess yourself. Let’s just hope Sadie doesn’t run away anymore. Now, let’s get ice cream.”

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “When you do something out of the ordinary, ice cream makes it that much more fun.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  As they walked to the car, Cheyenne knew that Tuf Hart was a very nice man. She’d probably known that from the first day she’d met him—back in school many years ago.

  But he was a man who took control—like he had today, not giving her much choice in the situation. That brought back painful memories of Ryan. He had controlled every facet of their lives, even choosing the color scheme and the furniture for their home. Her opinions didn’t count.

  If she’d learned anything from her disastrous marriage, it was that she’d never let another man control her.

  And that included Tuf Hart.

  Chapter Six

  It was after ten when Tuf hurried through the back door. He heard a vacuum cleaner in another part of the house and darted up the stairs for a shower and a change of clothes. As the warm water ran over his body, his thoughts turned to Cheyenne and the hell she was going through and the hell she’d lived through.

  PTSD was common among the soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan. Killing and watching people being killed was a nightmare in itself. His counselor had encouraged him to talk about the nightmares, his feelings, and to get them out into the open. Keeping the horrific details of battle bottled up inside was a recipe for disaster. Soon they would bubble to the surface and destroy and disable a man more than the war. That’s the reason Tuf had opened up to his family. He had to get all the pain and anguish out of his system, as his counselor had advised.

  But it would never truly be out of his system. It was there lurking beneath his thoughts of family and home, making an appearance like a coward in the dead of night when his defenses were down. Then moments of horror would vividly flash before his eyes, and he’d bolt awake screaming, fighting for a way to survive.

  He picked up his Silver Star from the dresser and tucked it into his jeans. He never understood his need to keep the medal close. The counselor had said there was nothing wrong with that as long as he talked about it. He wished his mother had taken it, then he wouldn’t cling to it like a baby to a pacifier. Or some such crap.

  With a sigh, he jerked on his boots and wondered about Ryan. Was he one of the marines who couldn’t share or talk about his experiences and in the end they had destroyed him? He’d taken his frustration out on Cheyenne. How often did he hit her? A shudder ran through Tuf as he slipped into a clean shirt. He prayed he never slid that far into the nightmare. Cheyenne and the girls deserved better. They deserved happiness.

  And, once again, he was getting in too deep. Concerned. Caring. Worried. When he himself was loaded down like a U-Haul truck with life’s problems.

  In the hospital in Maryland, the counselor kept throwing the same question at him. “Your family is waiting in Montana, yet you’re here helping a fellow marine. How does that make you feel?”

  “Like hell,” he’d muttered.

  Honor and loyalty had kept him there. Didn’t mean he didn’t want to leave. He’d made it to the front door several times. He’d always turned back. Those two years had taken a toll on his emotions, but in other ways it had helped. He’d been forced to see a counselor, forced to talk, forced to open up. If he hadn’t, he probably would have turned out like Ryan, keeping all the garbage inside.

  But he could never see himself taking his life. He’d never do that to his mother or his family. Life to him was living, and he planned to do that the best he could manage. And if he could see Cheyenne occasionally, well, life would be like winning a gold buckle every day.

  He dreamed big.

  * * *

  TUF STROLLED TO THE OFFICE. Hearing voices, he made his way to a corral on the other side of the main barn. Colt, Beau and Royce leaned on the pipe fence, watching Ace with a brown-and-white paint. Ace was well-known for his horse-whispering skills.

  He had a bridle on the young gelding and was speaking softly to him. Every now and then the horse would rear his head, resisting.

  Tuf leaned on the fence next to Colt.

  “You keeping banking hours these days?” Colt asked.

  “Yeah,” Beau added, “I’ve already fed the bulls and the cows.”

  “Sorry, I got hung up.” Tuf was glad his family wasn’t treating him differently. That day in the barn when he’d spilled his guts was probably on their minds, but they never let it show.

  “How do you get hung up on a run?” Colt asked.

  “Someone needed help.”

  Beau looked at him. “Was that someone a woman?”

  “Yep.”

  Colt slapped him on the back. “Every single woman within a hundred-mile radius is going to be after you.”

  “I can handle that.” He grinned. But there was only one woman he wanted. Yet Cheyenne seemed a little distant on the return to Roundup. The girls chatted incessantly, and he wasn’t sure if Cheyenne was still upset with him or not. Seeing Cheyenne might not be as easy as he’d like.

  He turned his attention to his older brother. “Ace trying to break the horse?”

  “Yeah, but the horse is nervous and temperamental. Ace is working his magic.”

  Just then the horse flung his head and jerked away from Ace, trotting to a corner of the corral. Ace walked over to them.

  “I left this one too long. I should have been working with him months ago, but I had too much to do.”

  “No worry, big brother,” Tuf said. “I’ll break him the old-fashioned way.”

  “You need to save that vim and vigor for the rodeo,” Ace told him.

  “What better way than to start now?”

  Ace narrowed his eyes. “You serious?”

  “Yep.”

  Ace looked from the horse to Tuf. “Well, I need to be in my office, so go right ahead.”

  “Hot damn. It’s rodeo time.” Colt sailed over the fence and Beau followed. They managed to herd the horse into a
chute, but the horse was frightened, nervous, jumping, throwing up his head, desperately trying to get out.

  Tuf climbed the chute. “Easy, boy, easy.”

  Royce reached for the reins that were hanging to the ground. “Okay, Tuf. When you’re ready.”

  Tuf eased over the railing and slid onto the horse’s back. Powerful muscles rippled beneath him. He anchored his hat and reached for the reins. “Okay,” he shouted. “Open the chute.”

  Colt and Beau swung it wide, and the horse leaped out and bucked with a force Tuf had forgotten. He found himself on the ground, staring up at a blue, blue sky.

  “Damn, Tuf.” He heard Colt’s amused voice. “If you can’t do any better than that, you’re not going to make a dime.”

  Tuf staggered to his feet and picked up his hat lying in the dirt. He dusted it off and slapped it onto his head. “Get him back in the chute. This isn’t over.”

  “You’re a glutton for punishment,” Ace said from the sidelines.

  Colt and Beau hurried the horse into the chute before he could break free. Tuf crawled onto the fence and eased onto the horse’s back again. Royce handed him the reins.

  “Open the chute.”

  The gate banged against the chute and the horse burst out like a rocket from a launchpad. Tuf held on for about two seconds before he found himself in the dirt again.

  Laughter echoed on the sidelines. Leah, Flynn and his mother had joined the group.

  “Tomas Hart, what are you doing?”

  For the first time in his life, he ignored his mother. Well, maybe not the first. There were a couple of other times he pretended not to hear. He signaled to Colt and Beau to put the horse back in the chute. They shook their heads but did as he requested.

  His body felt tight and achy, but he climbed onto that horse one more time. He was ready for the surge of power and stayed on as the horse bucked, twisted and did everything he could to get Tuf off his back. Finally, the horse galloped around the pen.

  “Open the paddock gate,” he yelled.

  Colt ran and swung it wide. The horse bolted through with Tuf on his back. Sensing freedom, the paint’s hooves slammed against the dirt and charged full speed ahead. Wet and sweaty, the horse’s flowing mane slung droplets against Tuf’s face. Just as Tuf decided to pull the reins, the horse stopped along Thunder Creek, breathing deeply.