Reunited with the Cowboy (7 page)

Heather felt the pastor's words flow through her. Her life had been a mess, had fallen apart, but as she listened to Pastor Dykstra, she felt the first rays of hope in a long time.

A feeling that things could come together. That God was watching over her, taking care of her.

A faint prickle teased her neck. Unbidden, her head twisted and she caught John's eye. There was a curious expression on his face, as if he could read her mind.

She gave him a careful smile, and when he returned it, the hope that had made itself known grew. Just a bit.

* * *

“Thanks for giving me your cold,” John said to Adana as he buttoned up her coat. His ears hurt. “I guess working the cows in the rain Saturday didn't help much.”

Yesterday, after church, he would normally have gone to his in-laws for dinner, but they were still away on their cruise. So when they'd come home, while Adana napped, so had he. First time he'd done that in years.

He'd also forgotten to turn on his alarm clock, and was woken up by a text from Monty this morning, saying goodbye. By the time John finally dragged himself out of bed, the Bannisters were gone. He'd taken some cold medication, which was only now slowly starting to kick in.

Somewhat.

“I've got to figure out how to feed the cows and fix the rest of the corrals by myself, feeling like a truck ran over me,” he complained as he tossed her diaper bag over his shoulder.

Adana just giggled.

Monty, Ellen, Keira and Tanner weren't supposed to be back until Wednesday afternoon. John just hoped he could get through the next few days on his own. Lousy time to get sick, he thought.

He stepped out of the house and took a moment to enjoy the growing warmth of the sun. “Spring is here, sweetie,” he told Adana as he headed toward the Bannister house.

Inside it was eerily quiet. Then, from upstairs, he heard the sound of someone singing slightly off-key, then footsteps hurrying down the stairs.

“Hello,” he called out, hanging Adana's diaper bag on a hook on the porch and toeing his boots off. “Anybody home?”

He stepped into the kitchen, still holding his daughter, just as Heather came into the dining room, pail in one hand, mop in the other.

Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She wore a blue, filmy shirt tucked into blue jeans and, to his surprise, bare feet.

Her song came to an abrupt halt when she saw him.

“Hey...I was just cleaning...I didn't know when you were coming.” Her voice faltered, as if she'd been caught doing something wrong.

“Would you have been singing?” he teased her.

A flush brightened her cheeks, making the mark on her face stand out even more. “Probably not.”

John laughed again, which triggered a bout of coughing.

“I may not sound too good, but neither do you,” she said, setting the pail down and the mop aside. She walked over and took Adana from his arms.

Her spontaneous move surprised him, but he could still see a stiffness when she handled his daughter. A reserve. What was it about Adana that bothered her so?

He coughed again, covering his mouth with his elbow. “Sorry,” he said, when he was done. “Just got this cold yesterday.”

“How's Adana?”

“She's fine. So you don't have to worry about catching anything from her.”

“That's not what I meant,” Heather protested, and he quickly realized he had misinterpreted her again. “I just want to make sure she doesn't need any special care.”

“Isn't Alice coming?”

Heather shook her head. “Because Mom will be away the next few days, Alice decided to go visit her aunt.” She shifted Adana on her hip, glancing from her to John. “I can take care of your daughter, you know.”

“I know.”

“You don't sound convinced.”

“Sorry. I just want to make sure that things will go well.” He felt bad that he'd doubted her, but couldn't help remembering her comment about his daughter reminding her of...something? Someone? He wanted to ask, but knew it wasn't his place.

“I'll take good care of her. She'll be easier to deal with than a couple hundred cows.” Heather gave him a grin, which in turn made him smile.

“I wouldn't say that too quick,” he said. “Cows you can usually convince to get moving, one way or another. If Adana has a notion to do something, she's pretty determined.”

“I'm guessing that's more Argall than Panko.”

John laughed. “A bit of both.” He bent closer and pressed a kiss on Adana's cheek. “Be good for Miss Bannister,” he told her, brushing his hand over her head and cupping her cheek. “Daddy will be back for lunch.” Then he shot a quick look at Heather. “I mean, I don't have to.”

“No. Of course you'll come. Mom and I made soup for lunch and a casserole for supper. If you want to eat supper here, too, that is.”

“You always did like to cook,” John said. “I remember that time you cooked a full-course meal for the family all by yourself. Appetizers, soup, salad, the works.”

“Don't forget dessert.”

“How could I? Dad, Mom and I had to come over to help the family finish it off.”

“That was a fun day,” she said, her smile penetrating the small corner of his heart that he hadn't been completely able to surrender to anyone else. Memories that would always belong to Heather. First dance. First kiss. First love.

Their eyes held a moment longer than necessary.

“It's good to see you around here again,” he said.

“It's good to be here,” she said, her quiet response surprising him. “And in spite of ruining a very expensive pair of blue jeans, it was good helping you with the cows the other day. I enjoyed doing an honest day's work.”

Her smile created an answering warmth in him. “As opposed to a dishonest day's work?” he quipped.

“Like modeling?”

“I wasn't trying to slam what you used to do,” he answered, wishing he could be more tactful around Heather. Something about her always made him feel as if he was forever off balance. “I was just trying to make a joke.”

“No. I'm sorry. I'm overly defensive about it.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then he looked directly at her, suddenly tired of the dancing around they had been doing since they'd met.

“Why is that?” he asked. “That you're defensive about it?”

Heather set a squirming Adana on the floor. The child toddled away, and as Heather's eyes followed, John caught a glimpse of some emotion he couldn't place.

“Before Mitch and I split up,” she said, wrapping her arms around her midsection in what seemed like a protective gesture, “I was working for a company I didn't enjoy very much.”

Fear clutched his heart. “Doing what?”

“Nothing really bad,” she hastened to say, her eyes flying to his. “I mean, nothing explicit. It was just work for a catalog. Bathing suits, swimwear, that kind of thing. It paid well, but...the people I worked for...” She paused, and once again he felt a sense of impending dread.

“Needless to say, they weren't exactly the crème de la crème of the fashion industry,” she continued. “They treated me and the other girls horribly. Like we were objects instead of people. I wanted to quit, but Mitch convinced me to stay. Then, when the catalogs came out, they made us look way more provocative than we were. They edited elements into the pictures that weren't there during the shoot. It wasn't pleasant to see the end result. That was the last modeling job I ever did for them. Mitch was furious, but I wasn't going to be treated that way again.”

Her comment about Mitch's anger disturbed John. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask more, but another fit of coughing seized him, followed by a sudden wave of dizziness. He swayed, reaching out for the counter.

“Are you okay? You don't look so good.” Heather caught his shoulder, as if to steady him.

Her hand felt warm and he reached up to cover it with his.

The action was impulsive, and when her eyes widened, he sensed that it was as surprising to her as it was to him.

He blinked and shook his head, as if to settle thoughts that suddenly seemed less clear. This was Heather, he reminded himself. He couldn't let himself get caught up in her life.

And yet, as one part of his mind told him to leave, another part revisited older emotions. Once upon a time, they had been so happy together.

Then the phone rang and the moment was broken.

He gave her a quick nod, looked over at Adana and blew her a kiss, reminding himself of his priorities.

But as he left the kitchen, left his daughter in the care of his old girlfriend, he couldn't help but glance over his shoulder once more.

Heather wasn't looking at him this time. She was staring down at Adana, an expression of utter sorrow on her face.

He wanted to ask her, yet again, what it was about his daughter that caused this sadness.

But he didn't dare. Doing so would create a connection that would be broken when she left. He didn't think he had the strength to deal with that again.

Chapter Seven

“S
o, miss, why do you think your father hasn't come to join us?” Heather asked Adana, who was sitting on the floor by the kitchen cupboard, banging on a pot with a wooden spoon. She looked up at Heather and grinned, then returned to her banging. It was already one o'clock and John hadn't come in for lunch yet. Heather and Adana had already eaten, however.

The little girl banged again, as if waiting for a reaction. Heather crouched down to her level and Adana grinned. Once again, Heather had to fight the unwelcome surge of sorrow she felt around the toddler.

“I know it's not your fault, munchkin,” she said softly. “But it's hard to be around you.”

Adana just smiled at her and Heather felt the walls she'd erected slowly erode. Sorrow scrabbled at her heart, and she took a breath, trying to contain it.

What would her life have been like if she'd carried her baby to term?

With that question came another surge of anger at Mitch.

She pushed the memories down, but it was like trying to put spilled water back in a cup. Along with the images came the emotions that had overwhelmed her after she and Mitch had separated.

Please help me, Lord
, she prayed as she fought for control.
You said that my walls are ever before You. Help me to keep those walls sturdy and solid. Help me not let Mitch take over my life again and break them down.

She heard a cough from the porch and turned. John sat on the blanket box, pulling his boots off. He paused a moment to cough again, then pushed his boots into a corner. As she watched, he pressed his hands to his temples, as if holding something in, then straightened. Their eyes met again.

Heather felt the kick of her heart, frustrated that in spite of everything, a mere glance from John could resurrect feelings she thought she'd put well behind her.

“I've got soup ready,” she said, walking over to check on the simmering pot.

“I'm not hungry,” he said quietly, as he came into the kitchen. “Has Adana had her nap?”

“No. She doesn't seem very tired.”

“Good. I'll take her out with me.” John stopped as another fit of coughing took over. He hurried to the sink, poured a glass of water and chugged it down. He took another breath, coughed again, then shook his head. “Wish I could get rid of this cold.”

Heather was growing concerned about how flushed he appeared. “You look awful.”

“I'm fine. I just have to feed the cows. Adana can sit in the tractor cab with me.”

“Is that safe?” Why did he want to take her outside when he was obviously not feeling well?

“Your dad rigged up a car seat for her behind the driver's chair. It's plenty safe. The tractor doesn't go that fast.”

One look at his red cheeks and watery eyes and Heather's concern was as much for John as it was for Adana. “Maybe not, but I don't think you should be working. You should be in bed. I told you, I can take care of Adana.”

“I don't want someone taking care of my daughter who tells her that it's hard to be around her,” he muttered.

Heather heard the anger in his voice, saw the puzzled, hurt expression on his face.

Her heart crumpled. He had overheard her comment to his daughter.

She wanted to explain, but how could she do so without revealing everything? She was here for only a short while. She couldn't allow herself to make more than a superficial connection with him.

But as she held his steely gaze, she felt the need to give him something. Some small justification. Anything to take away the judgment she saw on his face, which cut her more deeply than she wanted to admit.

Please help me, Lord
, she prayed.

She thought of Sandy, and for a moment hesitated.

Just tell him what he needs to know.

“You did hear me say that it's hard to be around Adana. There's a good reason.” Heather paused, hoping she could do this without breaking down. “I...I was pregnant. Two and half years ago, when Mitch and I were married,” she said, her voice hesitant.

“What happened?”

“I lost the baby. She would have been Adana's age.” In spite of the time that had passed, saying the words out loud was still painful. “My parents and Keira know, but I asked them not to tell anyone. Even now...it hurts to talk about it.”

Heather bit her lip and looked down at Adana again, frustrated at the unwelcome tears that welled up, fighting the emotions that washed over her. “I tried to tell you, that morning when you were working on the fence,” she said, her voice breaking. “But I was afraid I would do this.” She grabbed a tissue out of the box on the counter, dabbing at her eyes, inhaling deeply as she struggled for control.

“I wish you would have told me,” John said, resting his hand on her shoulder. “It would have explained a lot.”

His gesture was light, the commiseration of a friend, but the warmth of his fingers, the weight of his palm found the cracks in the barriers Heather had erected to keep her heart safe.

“Sorry. I guess I should have,” she said quietly, wiping at tears that, thankfully, seemed to have eased off. “I just didn't want you feeling sorry for me.”

“But I do feel sorry for you,” he admitted, tightening his grasp on her shoulder. “I know how much I love Adana. To think of losing her...”

His words resurrected the unwelcome tangle of guilt and sorrow that Heather had felt after she'd lost her little girl. She'd wanted a child so badly, but at the same time wanted a better life for her daughter. Something she would never have been able to give any baby she and Mitch might have.

“It was hard, but at the same time...” She faltered. Caught herself. She had to keep some things unvoiced.

Then the phone rang and she rushed to pick it up, grateful for the reprieve. She didn't recognize the caller.

“This is Lisa Abernathy from Fashion Solutions. I'm calling about the application you put in for the job we'd advertised online,” the voice on the other end of the line said.

“Good to hear from you, Lisa.”

“I'll be in Florida for the next week. I'll give you my number and we can arrange an interview for when I'm back.”

Heather grabbed a pen out of the jar her mother always kept handy, and pulled a sticky note off the pad beside it. She wrote down Lisa's number, surprised to see her hands were shaking. She needed this, she realized. A positive step in the right direction.

She and Lisa spoke a bit more about the job and then, with a promise to call, Heather hung up the phone. She put the sticky note on the refrigerator. A solid reminder.

She drew in a deep breath, reminding herself that this was only an interview.

But still...

She turned back to John, who was sitting at the table, Adana on his lap. “That sounded promising,” he said.

“It's just an interview. But at least it's not a modeling job.”

“Where is it?”

“Atlanta.”

“Wow. That's not around the corner.”

“I know it would mean moving far away again, but for steady work, I'll go anywhere. Do anything that's an honest day's work.”

John nodded.

“You look like you don't approve,” she said, folding her arms over her chest.

“It's just that your family misses you,” he stated quietly. “I know they would like to have you close by.”

“And I'd like to be,” she said. “But it's hard to find a decent job in a place like Saddlebank.”

“If you could, would you stay?”

She let the idea of living here, close to the ranch, settle in. At the same time, she wondered why John had asked the question. “I might. If I could find a job I liked. Anyhow, that's for tomorrow. Did you want me to put Adana down for a nap?”

“She's not tired. I doubt she'll lie down. Maybe you could take her out for a walk?”

“Good idea.” Heather pushed away from the counter just as John got up. He swayed, and she hurried to take Adana from him. “You look horrible,” she said, concerned. “Are you sure you don't want to eat, and rest for a bit?”

“I'm not hungry and I can't really rest.” He held the back of the chair for a moment. “I should go feed the cows.”

“I can help you.”

“No. I'll manage.”

He didn't look as if he could, but Heather knew better than to try to convince him that he needed help. From past experience, she knew John could be more stubborn than any mule.

So she kept her comments to herself as he walked to the porch, pulled on his boots and left. He paused a moment just outside the house and she saw him bend over and cough.

Then he straightened and glanced behind him, as if he sensed her watching him.

In spite of the fact that the sun was shining on the window and he probably couldn't see inside, she felt suddenly self-conscious.

She shouldn't be staring at him, especially not after she had given him a glimpse into a private part of her life she had hoped to keep secret.

But at the same time, her concern for him overrode her sense of self-preservation. He really looked ill.

* * *

John climbed up into the cab of the tractor, pulled the door shut and took a moment to catch his breath. He felt weak and tired. Feeding the cows would take him a lot longer than the hour it usually did, he realized.

Another wave of coughing overtook him. He rode it out, then carefully popped a couple of the cold-and-flu pills he had brought from his house. They usually made him fuzzy-headed, but he didn't care. He needed to get his work done.

When he coughed again, he knew he should have grabbed some of the throat lozenges he'd packed in Adana's diaper bag. He'd been in too much of a rush to leave, because of the moment he and Heather had shared.

He crossed his arms on the steering wheel and laid his head on them.
Help me stay centered, Lord
, he prayed.
Help me to not get dragged into Heather's life. I'm staying, she's leaving. I have other priorities right now.

Hadn't he learned from past mistakes?

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. But then he remembered when she'd cried over the baby she had lost. Such a tragedy, he thought, feeling a burst of sympathy. Why hadn't she told him earlier?

It was then that he realized why she hadn't sent him anything after Sandy died. Heather had been dealing with her own loss. Her own heart-wrenching sorrow.

He closed his eyes, his head ringing, his thoughts spinning. Eyes meeting, hands touching... So easily, he recalled the first time he had held hands with her. Their first date. Their first kiss up on the bleachers at a football game.

Then a tapping on the window of the tractor pulled him back to reality.

He looked down from the cab and there she was. Wearing the same old cowboy hat she'd worn when she was helping him with the cows, only now she had Adana on one hip and a travel mug in the other. John rubbed his eyes, trying to get his head back where it should be, then opened the door and leaned down.

Heather held up the mug, its top closed tight. “I made you some tea with honey,” she said. “You didn't have any lunch and I thought it might help your cold.”

“Thanks so much,” he said, moved by her consideration as he took it from her. “Appreciate it.” He set it in the cup holder, then was surprised to see her climb up on the first step leading to the cab.

“Take Adana,” she said, handing him his daughter.

“Of course.” Disappointment coursed through him, surprising in its intensity. He carefully set Adana in the car seat Monty had rigged up, and buckled her in.

She gurgled in appreciation. “Wide in the tractor. So fun,” she babbled.

“Thanks for bringing her,” John said, trying not to let his disillusionment seep into his voice.

“Now give me that knife that you use to cut the strings for the bales,” Heather said, staying where she was.

He had to shake his head to figure out what she meant.

“It's that orange-handled thing, sitting in that sheath Dad made for it,” she said, pointing to a leather holder that Monty had riveted to the opposite door of the tractor.

“What are you...what do you...”

“You're in no condition to do this all by yourself. I'm going to help you.”

“What?”

“I know your brain is probably not working at full capacity right now,” she said with a teasing smile. “And I'm sure getting in and out of that tractor is going to be exhausting. So if you dump the bales, I'll cut the strings. That way you can stay in the tractor.”

“But I can cut the strings.”

“I'm sure you can, but I'm not driving the tractor. Especially not with the added responsibility of Adana.” Then Heather's eyes grew wide. “And I'm not saying I don't want to be with her. I'm just saying I'm not comfortable with the responsibility. I mean, if something were to happen—”

“It's okay,” he said, touching her shoulder to stop her. “I get what you meant.”

Her features relaxed. “Okay. Good. So give me that knife and we can get going.”

He pulled the knife out of the sheaf, then handed it to her. “I still don't like the idea.”

“Well, Adana is all buckled in, which means I've got nothing to do,” Heather said with a grin. “So I may as well be productive. Besides, I enjoyed helping you the other day. I'm hoping for another round of adventures and fun.”

“If that's what you want to call it.”

She grinned again, then slowly climbed down the stairs of the tractor.

Her faithful dog waited, tongue hanging out, obviously looking forward to helping, as well.

John put the tractor in gear but couldn't help watching as Heather walked away from him.

His mind told him to be careful.

But his heart, the one part of him that had never truly stopped loving her, wondered if she would think about staying.