Tomas: Cowboy Homecoming Page 7
Tuf stroked the wet neck. “Easy, boy, easy. We can either be friends or enemies. I prefer friends.” The paint snorted and trotted to the creek to suck in water.
Tuf gave him time, talking soothingly to him, something he’d learned from Ace. After a few minutes, the horse raised his head and Tuf turned him from the creek. “Let’s go home, boy.”
Slowly the paint picked his way through the winter grasses and spruces. Tuf liked the horse. He had speed like Tuf had never seen. Maybe he came from racing stock. Since Sundance was getting older, he’d talk to Ace about making the horse his own.
Tuf guided the paint into the corral without incident. The guys must have been watching for him because they came out. Beau closed the gate and Tuf slid to the ground. The horse didn’t move.
Colt climbed onto the fence. “I thought he’d come back alone and we’d have to go looking for you.”
“I was worried about that, too,” Tuf replied. “That’s why I didn’t get off of him in the pasture.” He stroked the paint’s face. “What are your plans for him, Ace?”
“He came with a group of mares Mom and I bought. I just wanted to get him broke before too much more time passed.”
“I’d like him.”
“Sure. He doesn’t come from bucking stock, so we don’t plan to use him for rodeos.”
“He’s fast and I like that. I’m calling him Ready to Run. I’ll rub him down and feed him. Later this afternoon I’ll try to put a saddle on him.”
Tuf worked with the horse the rest of the day, and by the end of the week, he had Ready trained to a saddle. The more he worked with the animal, the more he felt Ready came from quarter-horse stock. He instinctively responded around cattle and he wasn’t frightened of a rope.
After Ready was fully broken, Tuf turned his attention to the rodeo. They were headed to Bozeman, Montana, in a week with a load of stock for a rodeo. Tuf, Colt and Beau were scheduled to ride. They’d be away overnight, so they were taking Colt’s Airstream trailer.
Tuf continued to run every morning, but he hadn’t seen Cheyenne or the girls. The place was always dark when he passed by. This morning there was a light on, and since he had more nerve than common sense, he jogged down the driveway, up the steps and knocked on the door.
* * *
CHEYENNE WAS BUSY GLUING stones onto a cuff bracelet. She could get a lot done before the girl’s woke up. Designing and making cowgirl jewelry was her livelihood now. She had her own website and advertised at rodeos and craft stores. Clunky bling was in, and she had several orders to fill before the twins demanded her attention.
She jumped at the knock at the door. Who could that be? It wasn’t even six yet. Her dad had gone out to check on a mare that was about to foal. The knock came again. She got to her feet and tightened the belt of her green chenille robe. She hadn’t combed her hair, so she tucked it behind her ears and trudged to the door in the bright psychedelic-green fuzzy slippers the girls had gotten her for Christmas. They actually glowed in the dark.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Tuf.”
Tuf? What was he doing here? She was a mess, with no makeup and her ever-present nemesis, the dreaded freckles, skimming across her nose and cheeks. She couldn’t see him like this.
“It’s Tuf,” he called as if she hadn’t heard him.
She sighed, knowing she had no choice. She smoothed her flyaway curls. He might as well see the real Cheyenne: the anxious, stressed mother of two active, fatherless little girls. Most days she didn’t have time to put on lipstick, so what did she care if Tuf saw her looking less than her best? Oh, yeah, that might get her a time-out in her daughters’ tell-no-lies world.
“Cheyenne.”
Leaning her head against the door, she counted to ten. Maybe he’d go away. Austin had told her about Tuf’s bravery in Afghanistan and it hadn’t surprised her. She already knew he was that kind of man. She hoped he was seeing someone to talk about his experiences. PTSD would destroy him otherwise.
“Cheyenne.”
Good grief! The man was tenacious. She opened the door, trying to hide behind it as much as she could.
His eyes slid over her disheveled appearance. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“No, I was working. Is there a reason you stopped by?”
“I wanted to check on Sadie.”
“She’s fine, and she hasn’t run away again.”
The cold air wafted through the door, and he looked beyond her to the fire in the living area. “May I come in?”
No. No. No! But she realized that reaction was a little insane. She stepped aside. “Would you like some coffee?” She marched into the kitchen, uncaring of what she looked like. Almost.
“Love the slippers,” he said, following her.
She poured him a mug. “They were a gift from the girls. Let’s just say they like bright.”
As she turned around, she saw he was staring at her jewelry-making supplies on the table. “I make cowgirl jewelry,” she explained.
“Oh.” He took a seat and removed his cap and gloves.
Suddenly the kitchen was too small, too hot and way too intimate. Strong male vibes seemed to close in on her, reminding her that she was young and not immune to the male species. And Tuf Hart was all male.
She placed the mug in front of him with a shaky hand and slid into her chair. Picking up the leather cuff, she continued to glue the flat rhinestones around the edges.
“What is that?” he asked.
“It’s a cuff made out of leather, conchas and rhinestones. I also make a light metal cuff and add whatever a woman wants.”
“And women wear this?”
“Yes.”
He fingered a reddish necklace lying on the table. It had five rows of red coral teardrop beads interwoven with silver spacers and pink feathers. A rhinestone boot decorated with the teardrop beads hung from it. “And this?”
“Yes.”
“It looks big.”
“Women like big and bold.” She turned the laptop on the table so he could see her website. “The bigger pieces are my most popular items.”
“Cheyenne Designs. Nice. Do you sell mostly online?”
“At Austin’s store, a couple more stores in Billings and at rodeos.”
He picked up a pair of round-nose pliers. ’What do you do with these?
“I use them to bend jewelry wire, make eye loops, P loops, wrapped loops and all sorts of things.” She pointed to other tools on the table. “That’s a cup bur for rounding the end of cut wire, and that’s a flush cutter for cutting wire and—”
“Okay. I get it.” He wrapped his hand around the mug, and she marveled how the mug seemed to disappear in his strong grasp. “Did you do this when Ryan was alive?”
His question startled her and she paused, laying the cuff carefully on the table. That was really none of his business, but she supposed he was only curious and didn’t mean anything by it. And she could be a little touchy about the subject. She was willing to admit that.
She folded her hands in her lap. “Not at first. Both of us were eager to start a family, and Ryan wanted me to be a stay-at-home mom. I couldn’t get pregnant, and Ryan…”
“Blamed you.”
She caught his brown gaze, and a shiver ran through her. Was he psychic? “Yes. But we both saw a doctor and were told we were fine and we had to be patient. It wasn’t long after that I became pregnant but I…I miscarried at three months.”
“And Ryan blamed you for that, too?”
She balled her hands into fists and wanted to reach across the table and smack him with one. “I’m not discussing my marriage.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “They say talking is good. I’ve had every snippet of my life pulled out of me by a compassionate psychologist with the insights of Dr. Phil and the patience of Mother Teresa.”
“I’m glad you got help. Ryan resisted every step of the way.”
“It’s not easy opening up and revealing painful things.”
She reached for a loose rhinestone on the table. Something in the way he said that made her curious. “You know what happened to Ryan?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t look at him. She kept playing with the shiny stone.
“And you know what happened to me?” he asked so low she almost didn’t catch the words.
“Yes. It’s hard to keep secrets when our families are now so closely entwined.”
His eyes caught hers and she couldn’t look away. “I’m sorry for what you had to go through.”
“And I’m sorry you had to witness so much carnage.” She glimpsed a shadow of pain, which was quickly replaced by a teasing glimmer.
“So why don’t you take pity on this cowboy/marine and go out with him sometime?”
She melted into his warm gaze for a second but was quickly slammed against the hard facts of reality. Ryan’s suicide had crippled her emotionally. At times she felt dead all the way to her soul, and she fought that feeling for her girls. For them she went through the motions of everyday life. For them she smiled and pretended she was happy because they needed to see that. For them she would do anything to ensure their happiness.
How did she explain that to Tuf? And why did she feel she had to explain it?
“Don’t say you don’t like me. We both know you’d be lying.”
She shrugged. “That was just a way to protect my pride,” she admitted. “Our families didn’t get along, and our dating would have only caused more problems.”
“Problem solved. Our families have united in a way no one would have ever expected.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why isn’t it?”
“Because everything I do is for my girls. They’re my focus, my life. I don’t have time or energy for anything else.”
“I understand that, but I’ve learned one thing from counseling—you can’t keep all those emotions inside. You have to share, open up and live life. Otherwise you live in a vacuum, and that’s not good for you or the girls.” He blew out a breath. “And that’s the longest speech you’ll ever get from me.”
“Tuf…”
He held up a hand. “Okay. Can we be friends? Can I stop by here every now and then and have a cup of coffee? No strings. No attachment. No making out. Just friendship.”
She stared into his stubborn brown eyes. “You’re very persistent.”
He grinned and her heart hammered wildly. Oh, he was good.
“My dad used to say I was like an old hound dog with a juicy bone. I could never let go of anything.”
“I hope I’m not a juicy bone.” She tried very hard not to smile, but she felt the corners of her mouth twitch.
“The very best.”
As tempting as he was, she had to say no. Even though it had been more than ten years, their situation hadn’t changed much. They still weren’t right for each other. They had too much baggage and heartache to deal with. They had to conquer their demons alone.
Then he did something unexpected. He reached across the table and ran one long finger across her freckles. His touch was light and gentle. He’d never touched her before, and a sea of emotions swamped her, emotions she’d just sworn she didn’t have. Why was she suddenly hot all over and had the urge to giggle?
“In grade school, I thought your freckles were cute. I actually tried to count them one time when we sat across from each other in the cafeteria. You frowned at me, so I had to stop counting. In high school you covered them with makeup, but I like the freckles.”
Was he for real? Ryan never cared for her freckles. He preferred her in makeup.
“I’d like it if we could be friends. Do you think that’s possible?”
No. No. No!
But the word that slipped from her dry mouth was “Yes.”
Chapter Seven
Tuf watched the startled expression on her pretty face and wondered if she was confused by her decision to see him or guilty she’d agreed to see someone other than her deceased husband. Before she could change her mind, he said, “I’ve got to run. Busy day at the ra…” His words trailed away as he heard childish chatter.
“The girls are awake,” Cheyenne murmured.
Two whirlwinds blew into the kitchen and abruptly stopped when they saw him. They stopped so fast Sammie ran into Sadie. They both wore one-piece pajamas. Green frogs danced on Sadie’s purple ones and Sammie’s were pink Barbie all the way.
Sadie’s eyes opened wide. “You came to see me?”
“Sure did, munchkin. How you doing?”
“Good. Sammie’s good, too.”
Their red hair was everywhere, and Sammie kept brushing hers out of her eyes. Sammie whispered something in Sadie’s ear.
“Sammie wants to know why you call me munchkin.”
“Because you’re cute and small.”
Sammie whispered in Sadie’s ear again.
“Sammie wants to know what you call her.”
He studied Sammie’s face, the same as Sadie’s. “Well, I think I have two munchkins here. You’re identical.”
They giggled and Tuf felt like laughing, too. They were so darn cute.
Sammie whispered to Sadie again.
“Stop it, Sammie,” Cheyenne said. “You can talk. Sadie doesn’t need to speak for you. Now, what do you want for breakfast?”
The whispering started again as the two debated this in their own twinlike language. Finally, Sadie said, “We want pancakes.”
“Go wash your hands and comb your hair,” Cheyenne instructed. They darted off, but Sadie turned back. “Bye, Tuf.” Their heads were together again and they could hear Sadie. “You better say it.”
“Bye, Tuf,” Sammie said.
“Bye,” he called and then looked at Cheyenne. “Are they always like that?”
“Yes, and it gets annoying. Sadie’s the dominant one and Sammie relies on her for everything.”
Tuf drained his mug. “Are they in school?”
“They should be in pre-K, but after Ryan’s death they were very clingy and cried all day in class so I took them out and I’m homeschooling them. When they start kindergarten, I want to separate them, but I don’t know if they’re ready. Sammie has to find her own identity, though.”
“Since Sadie has accepted her father’s death, maybe they’ll both grow stronger in the months ahead.”
“That’s my hope.”
He stood and pulled his hat and gloves out of his jacket pocket. Slipping his cap over his head, he said, “I’ll see you later.”
“Tuf…”
He could hear the hesitation, the fear in her voice, and he wasn’t letting her go back on her word. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Later.” A flowery, feminine scent weakened his knees and he had trouble moving away. “Tell that to the other Cheyenne who is scared to death of life.” He walked toward the door, shoving his hands into his gloves.
“I’m not scared.” Her words followed him.
“Good.”
“Tuf Hart…”
He closed the door and smiled as he went down the steps and all the way to Thunder Ranch. He didn’t know what he expected from their friendship. All he knew was that he liked Cheyenne. He always had and he wanted to get to know her better.
She was right about one thing: they both had a lot of emotional baggage. Maybe they could work on lightening the load together or whatever. So far things were going good and he wanted to keep it that way. Friendship was a good start, but he knew and she knew that he wanted a lot more.
* * *
AS TUF HURRIED THROUGH the back door, he met his mom in her customary jeans and flannel shirt.
“Tomas.” She glanced at her watch. “You’re running late. We have a business meeting in ten minutes.”
“I was talking to Cheyenne and…”
“Cheyenne.” A sharp note ran through her otherwise calm voice. “She wouldn’t go out with you in high school. The nerve! Who wouldn’t want to go out with my handsome son?”
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He tried not to smile at her offended expression. “Well, Mom, your handsome son’s father was John Hart, and Dad didn’t like Buddy’s thieving ways. Do you see the conflict?”
“Yes.” She shook her head. “Things sure have changed. Not sure how your father would take that, but I like Austin and I’ve always liked Buddy.”
His mom liked everybody. That’s why he was startled by her reaction to Cheyenne’s name.
She looked up at him, her eyes worried. “Are you and Cheyenne friends now?”
“Yeah, we’re friends.”
Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged. “I don’t want anyone to hurt you ever again.”
“Mom, you can’t always protect me. I’m old enough to handle anything life throws at me.”
She pulled back and brushed away a tear. Sharp, needlelike pains shot through his stomach.
“We can talk about Afghanistan if you want to.” Since that day in the barn, she hadn’t mentioned it, and she seemed to purposefully avoid the subject.
“Why would I bring up that subject? I do not want you to relive any of it.”
But I do. In the darkest of night.
“I’m fine, Mom.” He felt he needed to reassure her. “I’ve checked in with the VA in Billings, and I can see a counselor anytime I feel the walls closing in.”
“You can talk to me, too.”
“I know, Mom.”
She patted his chest. “You’re home now and safe. That’s what matters.” She reached for her Carhartt jacket on the wooden coatrack. “Do you ever hear from Michael Dobbins?”
He fished his phone out of his pocket. “I got a text from him yesterday. See.” He punched a couple of buttons and showed her the message: Farmer again. Never felt so good. “Here’s a picture.” He brought up a photo of Michael on a tractor. “His family are farmers in Kansas.”
“He looks quite normal.”
“He is, except for the artificial leg and eye and numerous other scars, but he’s living life again.”
“All because of you.”
Tuf swallowed, not really wanting to talk about that heartbreaking time or take credit for it, but he’d encouraged her to talk. Luckily, her cell buzzed.