The Cowboy's Unexpected Family

He laughed before he thought better of it. “Three weeks without a drink?” There was no way. No point.

She lifted her chin, her eyes sparkling with a challenge. “There’s an AA meeting at the church on Sunday nights.” She slipped a piece of paper onto his dresser. “I’ve written down the information.”

“You’re wasting your time, Sandra.”

“If you love me like you think you do, stop drinking.”

His heart stopped, blood pooled in his brain.

She knew. Oh God. She knew.

5

If there was any ease in Jeremiah’s life, it arrived every Saturday afternoon in the shape of his dead brother-in-law’s parents. Cynthia and Larry Bilkhead were going to be seventy this year, too old to care for the boys full time. They never contested Annie and Connor’s will, even when it was obvious that Jeremiah had no freaking clue what he was doing.

But they came when he needed them and every Saturday afternoon, like clockwork. Like angels.

“Hi, Jeremiah, how are you doing?” Cynthia asked, stepping into foyer to wrap him in her arms. She was small and round and smelled like cookies and pie. And there were times when he could have stood in her hug for a day.

“We’re good,” he lied, because really, what could they do with the truth? He kissed her papery, powdery cheek. “Some trouble with Ben—”

“What did that boy do now?” Larry Bilkhead, a six-foot-four-inch cowboy who still carried himself like a man who’d won some rodeo in his day, stepped in behind his wife. His words might sound stern, but Larry could not keep the love he had for his grandsons out of his eyes.

“I’ll let him tell you,” Jeremiah said, shaking Larry’s hand. Jeremiah had always liked the raw-boned man, who wore his age and his time in a saddle with pride. Now Jeremiah loved him like family.

“The cooler is in the van.” Cynthia put down her purse and kicked off her shoes to step into the family room. “Where are my boys?”

Upstairs there was a wild scream of “Grandma!” and the thundering of a herd of elephants running for the stairs. Casey was the first one down, followed by Aaron who, at eleven, was too cool for a lot of things but, thank God, not for Cynthia and Larry. Probably because Larry wasn’t like other grandpas. And Cynthia was exactly what a grandmother should be.

Jeremiah eased out the front door to grab the cooler from the back of their minivan. Every week she showed up with some casseroles for the freezer and enough cookies and cakes and brownies for a hockey team. And bags of fresh fruit and vegetables from their garden.

“Ben,” he said, once he was back inside with the cooler. “You can unpack this.”

The nine-year-old had the good grace not to argue, but followed him into the kitchen with his tail appropriately tucked between his legs. Jeremiah cleaned off the kitchen table while the boy put things away and then Ben took the cooler back out to the minivan.

“He smashed up a car?” Larry asked, filling the doorframe between the kitchen and the living room.

Jeremiah nodded, carefully stacking some clean glasses in the cupboard.

“What’s his punishment going to be?” Larry asked and Jeremiah shook his head.

“I’m not sure.”

“In my day—”

“I’m not going to spank him.” Jeremiah turned to face the older man. “I know how you feel about this, but I can’t hurt that kid any more than he’s been hurt.”

Larry nodded, his cheeks red under the edges of his glasses. It was grief, not anger. Jeremiah knew Larry was as lost as he was about what to do with Ben.

“I know,” he murmured. “But what are you going to do?”

“I can make him muck stalls until he’s eighty—but what good is that going to do? He’s already working hard around here. Hell, I have the five-year-old doing fence work.”

Larry just stared at him, his white hair lying smooth against his head, his blue eyes runny beneath his glasses. Larry was an old-world kind of guy. If Ben had been his child, Jeremiah had no doubt that Ben would have been switched after this last stunt. Hell, maybe before then. But Jeremiah just couldn’t.

Already Jeremiah had made Casey swear not to tell Grandpa Larry that he spent half the night sleeping in Jeremiah’s bed, plagued by nightmares. He let Aaron sleep with his parents’ wedding picture under his pillow. Despite his tough words, Jeremiah was a total softie.

What these boys had been through couldn’t be fixed by work. Or more violence.

They needed help, they all needed help. He ran a thumb over the chip out of the Formica counter. He’d put that chip there as a kid, trying to get the Pop Tarts on the top shelf.

This isn’t going to go well, he thought.

“I think Ben needs someone to talk to,” Jeremiah said anyway.