The Cowboy's Unexpected Family

“He hasn’t even let me into his room, honey.”

“You wanted to leave…remember? One more week.”

“He’s going to have that air cast on for at least three.”

“Jack’s not poor, Mom. They can hire someone to take care of him.”

“And how will that work? Walter—”

“I don’t think Walter gets a vote on the subject anymore.”

“Everyone is allowed their pride, sweetheart.”

Lucy put her head down on the counter. Lifted it and thunked it against the Formica. “Mom, he’s a drunk. He will always be a drunk. Caring for that man will bleed you dry.”

“Not if he quits.”

“And you honestly think that will happen?”

“I pray for it.”

Like a true sinner, Lucy wondered what prayer’s success rate was against alcoholism, but she kept her mouth shut. One did not argue with Sandra about prayer.

There was no arguing with her mother when she was all hopped up on playing the nursemaid. There was nothing Mom liked better than caring for someone. And Walter was like an amusement park of need.

“Have you forgotten what he did to us after Dad died?” Lucy hated saying the words, bringing the memory up front like this. It made her stomach hurt. It made her want to do over last night and let Walter sit in pain on the kitchen floor for another couple of hours.

“I have forgotten nothing.” Sandra’s tone of voice made her seem a foot taller. “But the man has a sprained ankle, Lucy. When did you get so hard-hearted?”

“Me?” Lucy gaped at her mother. “It’s not like I’m saying let’s leave him in the mountains to die. I’m saying you’ve done enough, Mom.”

“How about this,” Sandra said. “We stay until they hire someone Walter can live with to take care of him.”

“That will be forever.”

And that suits your purposes just fine, a dark, slimy voice said. Three more weeks of not having to face up to the mess you made in Los Angeles. Why are you fighting this?

Sandra licked her lips. “I’ll…I’ll do what I can to hurry it along.”

“What does that mean?”

“Walter doesn’t want me here, not really. And when reminded of that, he’ll—” she shrugged “—he’ll agree to someone else helping him.”

Lucy wasn’t going to ask. She had enough problems of her own without digging into Walter’s issues with Sandra.

“Okay, three weeks. That’s as long as we’re staying. I swear, Mom, if I have to drag you—”

Mom lifted a hand, her face unsmiling.

Right, Lucy thought, Mom didn’t get dragged. She went willingly or not at all.

“Three weeks should be sufficient,” Sandra said.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” Lucy said. “And then I’ll talk to Mia and Jack about getting a nurse.” She grabbed her bag and headed out into the sweet, sunny morning.

In town she used what money she had left in her wallet to get gas. She was going to have to get a job soon. Or sell the condo, but she needed to talk to Sandra about that first, and that was a conversation she wasn’t quite ready to have.

Then she drove by her Civic at the bar, just to make sure it was still there. It was. Dusty and red and old.

She stared at it for a while, stalling for time, reluctant to go up to Stone’s Hollow and pretend that sad desperate kiss had never happened with Jeremiah. Because that was really the only thing to do.

Life sure had gotten complicated in the last twenty-four hours.

Reese could drop her off here after she returned his car.

She headed out of town, opening the engine up over the pass in a fond goodbye.

A car like this she could use to outrun all the problems after her. Hell, a car like this she could sell and solve most of her problems.

The parking area in front of Jeremiah’s house was empty and she nearly sang a little song of relief. No brooding cowboy. Huzzah.

Once out of the car, she knocked on the door to the house and waited. A long time. She cupped her hands around her eyes and peered through the glass, trying to see signs of life.

Suddenly, a thump shook the door. Wary, she stepped back, and a small face covered in what looked like grape jelly appeared in the window. A little boy with brown curly hair. His blue eyes not unlike Jeremiah’s.

“It’s a girl!” the boy yelled over his shoulder, the sound muffled by the door. Someone over the boy’s shoulder must have said something because he nodded and turned back to face her.

“Do we know you?” he asked.

“I’m your neighbor.”

“No you’re not. Mia is our neighbor.”

“I’m Mia’s sister.”

The boy seemed to process that and he turned back to yell something.

“What’s your name?” he asked when he turned back around.

“Lucy.”

His face split in a wide grape jelly smile and Lucy felt herself smile in return.

Heartbreaker.

“My friend Willow has a dog named Lucy,” he yelled through the glass.