Читать книгу Man From Montana - Brenda Mott - Страница 10

Late May

DERRICK OPENED the curtains near the foot of Connor’s bed to let the sunlight stream in. Today was the last day of school, and Connor would be home at Shelly’s in less than an hour, ready for Derrick to pick him up. He wanted everything perfect for his son at their new house.

He raised the window, letting the fresh air blow through the long-closed bedroom. Taz promptly jumped up on the windowsill and stared through the screen at the birds on the lawn, flicking the end of his orange tail.

Derrick laughed. “Bird buffet, huh, Taz?” He scratched the kitten’s ears, enjoying the view himself. An apple tree grew near the window, its branches loaded with pinkish-white flowers. Their fragrance drifted in, mingling with the scent of damp soil and dust. A comforting, earthy smell. Home. So much better than that damned cramped apartment, where the neighbors constantly complained about his guitar playing.

Whistling, Derrick snapped open a fitted sheet he’d taken from the dryer a moment ago, and set about making up Connor’s twin bed. He’d wanted to buy something better, a double bed for sure, but money was tight. Connor’s medical bills and physical therapy had been an ongoing expense, and a not-so-famous country singer/bartender didn’t make the sort of money Toby Keith and Brad Paisley likely brought home.

With the bedsheets and a dark blue comforter in place, Derrick surveyed the room. He hadn’t hung a lot of stuff on the walls—he wanted Connor to make the place his own. Just a couple of things he thought the boy might like, including an autographed poster of Shania Twain one of the guys in his band had gotten for Connor at a recent concert.

The room looked kind of plain, with only the twin bed, a secondhand chest of drawers and a computer stand for Connor’s laptop in the corner. Derrick had paid for Internet service, even though he didn’t have any use for it himself, didn’t even own a computer. But he couldn’t expect the kid to spend every waking minute with him, even though Derrick would’ve preferred it that way.

His time with his son was precious. The days between his weekend visits seemed an eternity, while the two or three days he had with Connor sped by. Even the longer summer visitations seemed far too short. But it beat the hell out of the supervised, three-hour visits he’d once had.

Satisfied the room was as good as it was going to get, Derrick got the keys to his truck, and his guitar and headed out the door. He couldn’t wait to pick Connor up. Their every-other-Friday-night ritual of stopping by the local burger joint was something he looked forward to. And tonight, he had band practice. Since a love for country music and double cheeseburgers seemed to be two of the few things he and his son shared these days, Derrick intended to make the most of it.

As he neared his pickup, he spotted Kara, struggling out her front door with an armload of tack, including a heavy-looking western saddle and thick saddle pad. The pretty strawberry-blonde had bumped the screen open with one hip, and now attempted to pull the door shut behind her, her collie at her heels.

Derrick was across the street in a few loping strides.

“Hang on. Let me help you.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him and grimaced. “Thanks, but I’ve got it. I’m used to doing this.” But she let him hold the screen and finish closing the door for her. “Make sure it’s locked, please.” She watched as he jiggled the knob. “Thanks.”

“Going riding?” Then he laughed, bending to pat the dog. “Well, I guess that’s obvious. Taking advantage of the longer daylight hours, huh?”

Her freckled nose crinkled as she smiled. “Yep. I go every chance I get.”

“Really? Maybe I ought to get myself a horse.”

Immediately, Kara stopped smiling.

“I hate to be rude, but I’m in a hurry.” She swung the saddle and blanket into the back of her pickup—a sharp-looking, black Ford. “I’m meeting some friends.”

“Yeah. Sure.” She didn’t have to knock him over the head with a riding crop. He leaned against the truck bed, and glanced at the bridle and grooming tools she’d already loaded. “Don’t they have a tack room at your stable?”

“Yes. But things tend to grow legs and wander off. Or so I’ve heard. I prefer keeping my stuff at home.”

“Ah. I can understand that.”

“You’d better get your guitar,” she said, softening her words with a half smile. “Before it grows legs.”

He’d forgotten he’d set it down in the middle of his driveway. “Yeah. I’ve got practice with the guys tonight. We’re playing tomorrow.” He hesitated. She hadn’t taken him up on his invite last weekend…should he ask her again?

“Have fun.” She opened the truck door, and the collie jumped in.

“You, too.”

He watched Kara drive away.

Going riding?

Hell.

Maybe instead of band practice, he ought to relearn how to ask a woman out.

KARA PULLED AWAY from the curb, her eyes drawn to Derrick Mertz in the rearview mirror. He waved, and she immediately averted her gaze, embarrassed he’d caught her looking. Twice. What the hell was wrong with her? I’m sorry, Evan.

She leaned back in her seat, steering the Ford with one hand, resting her other wrist lightly on top of the wheel.

Evan had fixed up the truck himself, painting it gloss black, redoing the engine…the interior. He’d washed and waxed the Ford regularly, and she’d loved helping him.

They’d done everything together. On the weekends, they often went cruising, Kara snuggled next to Evan, his arm around her as though they were still dating. Six years of marriage had changed nothing in terms of romance. For them, the honeymoon hadn’t ended once they’d fallen into the everyday aspects of married life, the way it had for many of their friends.

Friends who’d drifted away after Evan’s death. A single woman—a widow—did not fit neatly into the group. Thank God for Danita, and even Liz, who had lost a husband and a son, and depended heavily on her. Liz had always been like a second mother to Kara. She and Evan had even moved to Sage Bend to be near her when Evan’s dad died.

But at times she wished Liz would lend her a shoulder for a change. With Kara’s own parents living back in Colorado, she often felt homesick. She’d lost so much when she’d lost Evan.

And now, here she was ogling a good-looking cowboy singer in the rearview mirror of her husband’s pickup.

Guilt-ridden, Kara slipped on her sunglasses to shield her eyes from the glare of the late afternoon sun, then placed both hands firmly on the steering wheel. She’d ride her troubles away, just like she always did.

At the stable, Kara led Indio to a hitching post and began to brush her, while Lady nosed around the area. Her informal riding group had decided to take an early evening trail ride, since rain was predicted for Saturday. Within minutes, Danita arrived and got busy saddling her mount, soon followed by Beth Murphy, another of the Ride Away members.

“Hi,” Kara greeted her.

“Hey,” Beth said, blowing a strand of her short blond hair out of her eyes and giving Lady a pat. Beth was forty-three, but she looked much younger. “How was work today?”

“Busy. Fridays are always crazy. Thank God I didn’t have to stay to work the drive-up window.” She saddled her Appaloosa, waving to Hannah Williamson, the fourth—and final—Ride Awayer, as she pulled up, horse trailer in tow. The local large animal vet, Hannah took care of the horses at the boarding stable, and owned a twenty-five-acre ranch not far from there.

While Beth went into the barn to get her horse and Hannah unloaded Ricochet, Kara seized the opportunity to question Danita. “Are you doing okay, hon?” She’d been worried about her friend, keeping tabs on her all week by phone.

“I’m hanging in.” Danita shrugged. “Trying to focus on repainting the house. I might as well make a few changes, now that Phillip has officially moved out. He picked up the last of his stuff yesterday.” She set her jaw. “The rat. He’s already got a new place with a swimming pool. I hope he gets skin cancer.”

Kara couldn’t help but chuckle. “I didn’t know rats liked water.”

“Sure they do. That’s why the ones in New York hang out in the sewers.” Danita laughed, too. “Speaking of men, I passed by your house on my way home from the store before I came out here, and I saw Derrick Mertz in your yard.”

“You know him?”

“Sort of. Phillip and I used to go to the Silver Spur once in a while.”

“I didn’t know that.” Personally, she’d never paid much attention to the band when she’d gone with Evan. She’d only had eyes for her husband.

“So what was he doing at your place?” Danita arched an eyebrow.

Kara squirmed. “He’s my new neighbor. He helped me load my tack into the truck.”

“Uh-huh.” Danita licked her lips and smiled. “I waved at you as I passed, but you drove right by me. I think you were too busy looking in your rearview mirror to notice.”

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?”

“Lusted after another man.”

“Mi hija.” Danita laid a soothing hand on her arm. “Evan’s gone. You can only be alone for so long.”

Kara knew her friend meant well, but didn’t want to ever replace Evan in her heart. “I miss him so much.” She bit her lip.

“Of course you do. But you’re young, and so pretty.” Danita gave her a hug. “You’ll find happiness again. Unlike me, a middle-aged janitor with wrinkles and gray hair.”

“I heard that,” Beth said, as she led her chestnut mare, Sundance, toward the hitching rail. She elbowed Danita in the ribs. “I’m older than you, and you do not have gray hair.”

“Thanks to my hairdresser.” Danita grimaced. “Too bad he’s gay. He’s really good-looking.”

Hannah walked over, leading her saddled gelding. “That’s always the way it goes,” she said. “But you stop putting yourself down.” She frowned at Danita, tossing her brown ponytail over one shoulder. “You run your own cleaning business, woman. And you’re smart, beautiful and in the prime of your life. To hell with Phillip.”

“That’s right,” Beth said. “As soon as the men in this town find out you’re single, they’ll be flocking around like ants at a picnic.” She tightened her cinch. “And you might as well start tonight. Hannah and I are going to the Silver Spur. Come with us. You, too, Kara.”

Kara shook her head, gathering Indio’s reins. “I’m not much for the bar scene.”

“All right, I’ll go,” Danita said. “But I’m not cruising for guys. I need another man like I need another twenty pounds of fat on my ass.”

Kara laughed.

Horses tacked up, the four women set off along the bridle path. Hannah moved Ricochet up beside Indio, as Danita and Beth rode ahead. “I wish you’d change your mind about coming tonight.”

Kara wished her friends would quit pressuring her. “I don’t think so.”

Hannah’s hazel eyes held compassion. “I know you’re still grieving, and that you need time. But be careful not to let it consume you, either. Life’s too short, kiddo.”

“Tell me about it,” Kara snapped. She couldn’t help but resent Hannah’s comment. What did she know about losing a husband? Twenty-nine—the only single woman in the group—Hannah had her whole life ahead of her. Evan hadn’t even been around to celebrate Kara’s thirtieth birthday. “My time with Evan flew by. Like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“I’m sorry,” Hannah said. Her gaze held Kara’s, full of such sympathy, Kara felt like a bitch.

“It’s okay.” She fought the familiar, choking ache in the back of her throat. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back.

Hannah’s words had hit home.

Kara’s biggest fear was being exactly like her mother-in-law…grieving forever.

Never getting over the loss of the man she’d loved with all her heart and soul.

SATURDAY BROUGHT some cloud cover, but the rain held off, the temperature hovering in the mid-fifties. Kara opted to do some yard work midmorning, determined to get the soil along the front wall of her house turned, so she could plant some bachelor buttons and Shasta daisies. As she went to work with a shovel, the sound of guitar music floated her way. Pausing, she listened, then smiled. Someone was singing a popular country tune. But it didn’t sound like Derrick. Maybe one of his band?

Puzzled, Kara leaned the shovel against the wall. The voice sounded young, more like a kid’s. She started across the lawn, then hesitated. What was she doing? She should mind her own business and tend to her flower bed. Kara picked up the shovel again and turned over another section of dirt.

But the guitar music lifted her spirits—a rare thing these days. She simply couldn’t resist seeing who the player was.

A few minutes later, Kara paused on Derrick’s front walkway. Near the open door, a porch swing and two chairs stood empty, the orange tabby kitten dozing beneath one of them. The wraparound porch hid the guitar player from view, the music coming from the side of the house.

What the heck. She was already here.

Kara climbed the steps and called out as she rounded the corner of the porch. “Hello?”

For a moment, the boy didn’t see or hear her. And Kara didn’t realize he was sitting in a wheelchair. Her eyes darted to the chair a split second later, then back up just as the kid’s gaze met hers. He blushed, breaking off midtune, his hand resting across the top of the guitar, a pick in his fingers. “Can I help you with something?”

She felt awkward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” Kara gestured over her shoulder. “I live across the street. I heard the guitar….”

“Sorry about that.” The boy’s face reddened deeper beneath his light-brown hair. “Dad thought guitar music wouldn’t bother the neighbors anymore, since he moved out of his apartment.”

Dad.

Wow. She’d assumed Derrick was a single man, living alone. Somehow she hadn’t expected a guitar-picking, bartending cowboy to have a half-grown son.

“You weren’t bothering me at all,” Kara hastened to explain, as the boy fumbled to put the instrument back in its case. “I came over because I liked what I heard. I wanted to see who was playing.”

He paused, looking skeptically at her. “Really?”

“You bet. I’m a big country music fan.” She held out her hand. “I’m Kara Tillman.”

He shook hands briefly. “Connor.”

“Well, Connor, I can see you’re following in your dad’s footsteps. He must be proud.”

“Don’t tell him.”

The boy’s hasty comment took her by surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t tell my dad I was playing his guitar. Please.”

She didn’t know what to say. “All right.” Was Derrick touchy about his guitar? To the point that he wouldn’t let his own son play it?

Before she could say anything else, they heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.

“Damn!” Connor hastened to wheel his chair through the sliding doors off the side porch, guitar case in his lap. He bumped the case into the doorjamb, and cursed again.

Kara wasn’t sure why she moved to help him, but she did. “Here.” She didn’t even know the boy, but the thought of Derrick getting angry at him for something that seemed harmless to her, somehow made her want to protect Connor. She righted the case and, reaching over his shoulders, balanced it on his lap as he wheeled into the house. Her adrenaline surged, and she felt silly.

Once Connor was safely inside, Kara hurried around to the front porch again. She spotted Derrick gathering a double handful of plastic grocery sacks from the camper shell on his pickup.

“Hi,” she called.

He looked up, surprised. “Hi, yourself.” He frowned curiously as he walked toward her. “So, what’s up?”

Suddenly Kara realized that in helping Connor hide his secret, she no longer had an excuse to be at Derrick’s house. She fumbled for an answer. “Oh—nothing really. I, uh—” Crud! “—was doing a little yard work, and I made too much lemonade, and I wondered if you’d like some.” She smiled, hoping her expression didn’t look as lame as her excuse felt. “But Connor said you weren’t here.”

“Oh, you met him then?” He smiled, not at all like the sort of dad who would mind his son playing his guitar.

“Yes. He’s a nice kid.”

They reached the sliding doors that opened off the kitchen, just as Connor came back outside. He held a glass of water between his knees, and Kara nearly laughed out loud. They’d thought of similar excuses for their odd behavior.

Derrick didn’t seem to notice. “Hey, buddy, you want to take these and I’ll go back for the rest?” He handed the grocery bags off to the boy.

“Yeah, sure.” Connor set his water glass on a small, round table near the door, then took the bags, set them in his lap and wheeled back inside.

“Need another hand?” Kara asked.

“If you want. One more trip ought to do it.”

Kara lifted a couple of the bags from the truck. Inside the kitchen, she looked around, appreciating the fact that it was fairly neat. Only a glass and a sandwich plate sat in the sink. A dish drainer on the countertop held a few items, things that looked as though they might not fit in the dishwasher. The entire room was sparsely furnished and decorated, but somehow homey, the walls painted a cheerful yellow. But no woman’s touch, and Kara wondered where Connor’s mother was.

“So, where’s the lemonade?” Derrick asked.

“What?”

“The lemonade you made too much of?” The corner of his mouth quirked. “Isn’t that what Connor had in his glass?” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the table on the porch.

“No, that’s just water,” Connor said. He looked at her, puzzled.

Crap! “I guess you got thirsty, what with all our yakking.” Kara smiled, then looked at Derrick. “The lemonade’s at my place. I didn’t want to bring it over until I was sure you wanted it, but I’ll go get it now.” Stop babbling. “See you in a bit.” She headed for the door.

Back across the street, she hurried to her cupboard, glad she’d bought a can of powdered, pink-lemonade mix at the store last week. She felt like an idiot. Derrick probably thought she’d made up some lame story so she could barge over to his house. With his good looks, combined with that sexy cowboy image and the fact that he sang and played the guitar, he probably had women lining up on his doorstep. Probably not bearing pink lemonade, but she could only imagine what the others brought him.

She’d make sure Derrick knew she wasn’t that type.

Plastic pitcher in hand, Kara headed back across the street. She’d drop the lemonade off and leave.

This time it was Derrick who had the guitar out when she reached the porch. He sat in a chair near the table. In his wheelchair, Connor munched on a stick of beef jerky. Derrick laid the guitar down and reached for one of three plastic tumblers he’d set out.

“It’s mighty nice of you to bring the lemonade. Have a seat.” He gestured to an empty chair, then poured her some of the drink before she could refuse.

“No problem. Like I said, I made too much.”

“Well, it was still nice.” He took a sip, his long, strong fingers curled around the tumbler. Connor had poured himself some lemonade, and he took a big gulp, not saying anything. But he cast her a grateful look.

They sat in silence for a while. Kara began to feel awkward. She should leave.

“Are you busy tonight?” Derrick asked.

Kara tensed. “I’m not sure what I’m doing yet.”

“It’s family night at the Silver Spur. They have it the first and last Saturday of every month. They open up the dining area, and serve soft drinks and appetizers from six until eight, or dinner if you want it. That way the kids can listen to the band for a while—maybe dance a little—before things get kicking in the bar.”

During the week, the Spur doubled as the local steakhouse. After dinner hours, a sliding partition closed the dining room off from the bar. She and Evan had eaten there a few times.

“Why don’t you come?” Derrick suggested. “You can sit with Connor so he won’t feel bored and alone.”

“I’m not a baby, Dad,” Connor said. “I don’t care if I sit by myself.”

Didn’t the boy have friends from school?

“Thanks,” Kara said, “but really, I don’t usually go to bars.” Not anymore.

“So you said.” He nodded. “But it’s not like it’s a rowdy honky-tonk—well, not from six to eight anyway.” He smiled. “I think the wildest person in the dinner crowd is usually Lily Tate. She loves the all-you-can-eat ribs, and if the cook runs out, she gets hostile.”

Kara laughed. Lily Tate was a regular customer at the bank, still feisty at seventy-eight. “Well, when you put it that way. I suppose I could come for a little while.”

“Great.”

Kara reached to set her lemonade glass on the table and, as she did, Derrick’s gaze fell on her wedding band.

He looked like someone had knocked the air out of him.

“That is,” he added, “if your husband won’t mind.”