The Trouble With Cowboys (30 page)

“Dylan, good to hear from you. What’s up? Finally ran into a mechanical problem you couldn’t fix yourself?”

“No, I need your help with something else. Friend of mine might be in trouble. She took off with a guy in an old blue Dodge, probably early ’90s. You work on anything like that? We think the owner is an MSU student.”

“Let me check with my mechanics. Hold on a sec.”

Dylan pulled onto I-90, heading toward Bozeman. “He’s checking.”

Luke squirmed in his seat.

The campus community wasn’t that big. If he was on campus, maybe they could check on Sierra and get Luke to the airport before his plane left.

Several long minutes later, Matt came back on the line. “You might be in luck. Eddie remembers a truck like that. Guy comes in regular for oil changes. Can’t be sure it’s him though.”

“Can I get an address?”

“Only for you, buddy. You didn’t get it here though.”

“You have my word.”

It took awhile for Matt to look up the address. Once he found it, he rambled it off, along with directions. Luke took it down on the back of an old receipt.

“Thanks, man. Owe you one.”

He glanced at the clock. They weren’t far from Bozeman now.

“Can’t you go faster?”

“I’m already topping the speed limit. Relax. I’m sure she’s fine. You wanna tell me what’s going on between you two?”

Luke looked out the window where the August brown buttes rolled by. “Not really.”

“Suit yourself. But I’m getting you to your flight on time. I know you don’t have the money to waste.”

The rest of the ride was tense and quiet. When he reached the campus exit, he took the ramp and followed Luke’s directions to a neighborhood not far from MSU. He pulled down the street, looking for the right address. The streetlights hadn’t come on yet, making the numbers difficult to read in the twilight.

“There’s the truck!” Luke said, leaning forward.

It was parked in front of a brown two-story. Dylan pulled up behind it. The house squatted on a corner lot close to the street. A few trees shaded the withered grass, and a set of crumbling porch steps led to the front door.

Luke’s seat belt was already off, his door open.

Dylan grabbed his arm. “Let me handle this.”

Dylan proceeded up the short walk and onto the porch with Luke following. The front door was open, the sound of a TV commercial leaking out. A window air conditioner hummed from an upstairs window.

A small sign beside the door read
Claybourne Portrait Studio. Use side door
.

Dylan knocked on the screen door. He looked at Luke, whose feet danced beneath him. He was asking for trouble. “Settle down and step aside.” He wasn’t sure what had gotten into his easygoing brother.

A young man appeared on the other side of the screen. He had a slim build, wore a T-shirt and jeans. His short hair was artfully tousled. “Yeah?”

“Hey,” Dylan said. “We’re friends of Sierra’s. Need to talk to her, if you don’t mind.”

The guy eyed them. “She know you’re coming?”

It was the right place. Dylan smiled, did his best to look harmless, especially with Luke strung tight as a wire beside him. “No, but she won’t mind.”

Without looking away, the man called over his shoulder. “Sierra . . . some friends here to see you.”

A moment later Sierra came into view. She looked perfectly healthy, her auburn hair swept into a ponytail.

She tilted her head, no doubt confused, when she spotted Dylan. She smiled anyway, opening the door. “Hey, Dylan, come on in.”

Dylan moved into the living room.

When Sierra saw Luke, she stopped short. Her eyes widened, her jaw went slack. “Luke.” She looked between them. “What are you doing here?”

“Who’s this guy?” Luke nodded his head toward the guy as he stepped through the door. “Did he hurt you?”

“What do
you
think, dude?” the man said.

Luke was on him before Dylan could move, had him pinned to the wall in one second flat. “You better not have laid a hand on her, that’s what I think.”

“Stop it, Luke,” Sierra said.

Dylan reached for his brother.

Ryder flew into the room. “Look, Mommy!” he said, waving a paper.

Luke’s eyes swung toward the boy, the guy’s shirt still in his fists.

Sierra’s eyes went wide as silver dollars. She looked at Luke, frozen in place. For reasons Dylan didn’t understand, the air thickened with tension.

“You have a kid?” Luke said. He loosened his hold on the punk. He moved back, his shoulders drooping.

Sierra’s mouth opened. Closed.

Ryder clung to her leg, holding up a drawing. “Look, Mommy.”

But she didn’t look. Couldn’t seem to look at anyone but Luke.

“You have a kid with
him
?” Luke nodded toward the other man, his pain-filled eyes fastened on Sierra’s.

The guy pushed Luke away belatedly and straightened his shirt. “He’s not mine, dude . . . he’s yours.”

Dear Muddled,

    
The messes we make with our lives are like knots of yarn. With enough time, enough patience, most of them can be untangled.

35

D
ylan looked between his brother and Sierra as the guy’s words registered. It made no sense. How could Luke be Ryder’s father?

But Luke had gone still as an August afternoon, and Sierra wasn’t denying the crazy words.

“What’s going on?” Dylan asked.

“Sierra?” Luke said. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

Sierra’s mouth worked. Her arm found Ryder and wrapped protectively around his shoulder.

The boy seemed to realize something more important than his picture was going on. He lowered the paper, looking at them.

“Ryder . . . ?” Sierra’s voice quavered. “Can you go draw Mommy another picture?”

Dylan looked at the boy closely. Looked at the dark curls at his nape. His wide-set green eyes.

“Come on, buddy,” the other man said. “Let’s go color. I’ll let you have the markers this time.”

“Yippee!” Ryder followed him into the next room.

Sierra watched him go. A beat of silence stretched into a long pause. Her face had gone as white as the wall behind her.

“I—I guess we need to talk,” Sierra said.

“What’s going on, Sierra?” Luke asked.

Dylan stepped toward the door. “I’ll just wait in the truck.”

He left the house in a daze. Was it possible? He didn’t see how. Luke hadn’t visited him since he’d moved to Moose Creek, except the one time, and it
had
been several years ago. But he’d only been at his place a few days before leaving for the summer mission trip up in Missoula . . .

He got in the truck and propped his elbow on the windowsill. Was it possible he’d met Sierra there? That they’d fallen in love that summer? But why hadn’t she told Luke about the pregnancy? And if Luke cared as much as he seemed to, why hadn’t he married her?

The screen door creaked as Luke and Sierra left the house. Sierra folded onto a chair, but Luke remained standing.

Dylan slouched in the seat, trying to make himself inconspicuous. He couldn’t help overhearing bits of their conversation.

“Is it true?”

A long pause ensued, and Dylan thought he’d missed the answer.

“Yes,” she said finally, her voice wobbling on the word.

Unbelievable. Luke had a son. Dylan was an uncle. He let that thought sink in, wash over him. He felt so much. Affection at the thought of Ryder. A sudden affinity with the little guy he’d taught
to rope. No wonder it had come so naturally. It was in the kid’s blood.

But he was also angry and frustrated. How could Sierra have kept this from Luke?

Dylan glanced at the clock. The airline ticket was going to go unused. No way would Luke leave now, and Dylan couldn’t blame him.

When he glanced toward the porch a few minutes later, Sierra’s arms were wrapped around her waist.

She swiped away tears. “I don’t blame you for hating me,” she was saying. “I’d hate me too.”

Luke rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t hate you, Sierra, not even close. I’m just frustrated. I have a son, and I lost the first four years of his life.”

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

Luke paced to the other side of the porch, tension in the straight line of his back, in the set of his jaw. He returned to her seconds later. “What now? I want to know Ryder. I want to be his father.”

“You’re leaving . . .”

He shook his head. “Not now. No way am I leaving him.” He reached for her. “Or you. I want you back, Sierra. You know it’s true. I never felt about any woman the way I feel about you. I’d marry you tomorrow, God as my witness.”

Tears poured down her face. She held herself rigid. “I can’t, Luke.”

“Why not? Don’t you remember how it was with us? I haven’t forgotten. Those memories keep me awake at night. Tell me I’m not the only one.”

“I’m just—I’m so afraid. You make me—” She covered her mouth with her fingers.

“What, Sierra?”

“You make me feel too much.”

At her words Dylan’s frustration began to drain. Fear was something he understood. Hadn’t his own fear consumed him? It had been a high wall around his heart, keeping out any hope of love.

Until Annie.

Luke was brushing Sierra’s tears away. “Have faith, sweetheart. We’ll take it slow. I won’t rush you.”

Sierra gave a wry laugh. “I’m not fit to be your wife, Luke.”

Dylan couldn’t hear his response. He looked out the front windshield. He was sure his brother was reminding her of his own unworthiness and God’s unmerited grace.

Funny how Luke’s words about taking it slow echoed his own words to Annie the night before. He hoped Luke had better luck convincing Sierra of their future than Dylan had had with her sister.

Annie’s words came back to him now, the ones that had haunted him all day.
“It’s impossible between us.”

Impossible.

He’d turned those words every which way all day, but they hadn’t made sense. Now, though, something clicked into place.

Impossible . . .

Of course. She’d known about Ryder. She’d been keeping Sierra’s secret. Protecting her sister . . . it was what Annie did. His heart rate kicked up a notch. Could he be right? Was Sierra’s secret the only thing standing between him and Annie?

His breath caught in his lungs.
Please, God. Let it be true
.

Dylan glanced at the porch as Luke opened his arms. Sierra went into his embrace.

God had somehow brought the two of them—the three of them—back together. Couldn’t He break down any remaining walls around Annie? Dylan was suddenly eager to leave. Eager to tell her he knew. That it was all going to work out somehow.

Luke lowered his head for a kiss, and Dylan looked away. He wondered what would happen next. When they’d tell Ryder, and whether their relationship could survive the rocky start. One thing was sure, his brother seemed determined. And when Luke was determined, there was little he couldn’t accomplish.

They went back in the house and returned several minutes later with Ryder and two small suitcases.

Ryder hopped in the truck as Luke stored their bags in the back.

“Scooch all the way over,” Sierra said, climbing in next, then buckling Ryder.

“Hey, buddy,” Dylan said.

Luke got in behind Sierra, a determined look on his face.

“Where to?” Dylan asked.

“Home, please.” Sierra sounded like she had the world’s worst cold. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face pale, but there was a brave smile playing on her lips that reminded him of Annie.

Annie. She was worried sick.

He frowned at Sierra. “Call your sister.”

She gave a wobbly smile as she retrieved her phone and dialed.

Dylan started the truck and pulled onto the street.

“Hey, Annie . . . No, I’m fine . . . I know, I’m sorry.”

Dylan relaxed just knowing Annie’s mind was put to rest. He couldn’t wait to get there. Couldn’t wait to get this straightened out. If he was right.

Please, God
.
I love her so much
.

Sierra took Ryder’s hand. “Well . . . I’ll explain later . . . Okay.”

Dylan held out his hand for the phone.

“Hang on a sec,” Sierra said, then handed over the phone. “She’s at your place, with Braveheart,” she told Dylan.

Dylan took the phone. “Stay put, Annie. I’m coming home.”

Dear Troubled,

    
Love is often fraught with obstacles. The question is, which ones are worth moving?

36

A
nnie had been so relieved to hear Sierra’s voice. To know they were okay. She’d sounded a little odd, but at least they were coming home.