Читать книгу Man From Montana - Brenda Mott - Страница 11

KARA DIDN’T ANSWER for a long, drawn-out minute. Derrick waited. How could he have missed the ring on her left hand? Maybe because it was just a simple, white-gold band.

“My husband was killed eight months ago.”

Her quiet answer almost didn’t register. Shit. “Kara, I’m sorry.” Derrick wished he could wind the clock back five minutes and start over. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the look Connor gave him and felt even worse. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. It’s just that—”

She held up her hand. “Don’t worry about it. I can imagine you get all sorts of women falling all over you at the bar.”

That made him sound like a womanizer. “Well, not exactly, but I have had married women ask me out before.”

“I wasn’t the one doing the asking.”

She bit her lip, and he could see she was trying not to cry. He felt like the dirt under a worm’s belly.

“Kara—”

“Derrick, it’s okay.” She stood. “I’d better get back to my flower bed.”

“Then you’ll still come?”

She nodded. “Connor, it was real nice meeting you. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Derrick watched her walk away, still feeling awful.

“Way to go, Dad.”

“Hey, how did I know?”

Connor merely shrugged.

Derrick strummed his guitar, playing but not singing. The image of Kara’s sad expression kept running through his mind. He’d be sure to do his best to make her smile tonight. Music was the best way he knew to ease sorrow.

“Connor, are you sure you don’t have any friends you want to invite to the Spur tonight?” It worried him that his son was a loner, the majority of his friends e-pals.

“I’m sure.”

“What about Kevin?” Connor’s classmate was the only kid he ever hung out with. Most of the others couldn’t see past Connor’s wheelchair.

“He’s got soccer practice today. His mom takes the team out for pizza afterward, and then he’ll probably spend the night at John Brody’s house.”

“Oh.” It hurt Derrick more than words could say that his son wasn’t able to take part in sports. It was yet another thing he’d taken from the boy.

“I’m gonna go check my e-mail,” Connor said.

“All right.” Derrick watched him wheel away, wishing there was something he could do for him. He’d give anything if Connor could join his school-mates on the soccer team, or the rodeo team next year, or whatever else he cared to do.

He just wanted his son to be happy.

The phone rang, and Derrick grabbed it off the hook. “Hello?”

There was no answer, and he nearly hung up, thinking it was a computerized telemarketer.

“Hello, son. How are you?”

“Mom?” His heart raced. His mother never called, even waited to talk to Connor when he was at Shelly’s. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I—” Her voice cracked and she began to cry.

“What is it? Did something happen to Dad?” He hadn’t spoken two words to his father since the accident, and not much more than that to his mom. Connor spent time with them, but Derrick had lost contact after they’d moved to Miles City—more than two hundred miles away.

“Mom?”

“No, it’s not your father. I, uh, just got out of the hospital a few days ago. I had to have some surgery.”

Fear gripped him. “For what?”

“The doctor found tumors on my ovaries. And boy, did that scare the hell out of me.” She sniffed. “You don’t know how many times I’ve started to pick up the phone to call you.”

“Why didn’t you?” But he knew why.

“Well, you know how your father is.”

“So, why are you calling now? You’re all right, aren’t you?”

“I’m fine. I had to have a hysterectomy, but there’s no sign of cancer, thank God.”

Derrick let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Anyway, all this got me thinking about how life really is too short. Son, I want to make things right between us. I’m so sorry for the way I’ve treated you. I—”

“Carolyn!” In the background, Derrick heard his father’s booming voice. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Her reply was muffled.

“She’s hanging up now, Derrick—” Vernon spoke into the phone, his voice as cold as steel “—and don’t try calling her back. She’s out of her mind on painkillers. That’s all.”

The line went dead. Derrick stared at the phone for a long moment before hanging it up.

He’d nearly killed their only grandchild.

His dad would never forgive him.

THE SILVER SPUR looked more like a barn than a bar, painted a faded gray-brown to give it a weathered appearance. Three miles outside of town, the honky-tonk stood in the middle of a field near the intersection of two dirt roads.

Kara had decided to drive to the Spur early, to avoid arriving in the midst of a huge crowd. She needed to ease her way into this evening. She’d nurse a beer while she waited for Connor and Derrick, and hopefully get a grip on her nerves. The only reason she’d accepted Derrick’s invitation was because she’d decided Hannah was right. She needed to get out and do something for herself, before her grief drowned her.

And she planned to make it clear to Derrick that she hadn’t come here tonight for him. But when Kara pulled into the parking lot, Derrick’s truck was already there. Parked beside a van and another pickup, Derrick was busy unloading band equipment along with three other guys. Connor hovered nearby, watching. He raised his hand in greeting, and Kara took a step backward. Of course Wild Country would arrive early to set up before the crowd.

Derrick spotted her, too, and she let out a groan. He probably thought she’d arrived early because she couldn’t wait. This, on top of the lemonade fiasco, was too much.

Not knowing what else to do, Kara got out of the Ford and walked over to say hi.

“You’re here early,” Derrick said. He looked way too fine in his black cowboy hat, teal-blue western shirt and tight jeans.

“Yep. I plan to get a good table.”

“Smart. Just let me haul some of this stuff in and I’ll be right with you.”

“No worries. Connor can walk me in.” She turned and smiled at the boy, who was dressed in boots, faded jeans and a T-shirt with the picture of country singer Gretchen Wilson. “Is that all right with you, Connor?”

He shrugged. “Sure.” Deftly, he maneuvered his wheelchair across the dirt-and-gravel parking lot.

Kara walked beside him, wondering not for the first time what had caused the boy to be confined to the chair. Kara couldn’t imagine being in his situation.

“So, would you like to sit with me?” she asked. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here, and I hate sitting alone.”

“Sure.”

Drawing conversation out of the kid was like trying to coax a mule along with a piece of twine.

Farther on, the parking lot’s hard-packed surface became rutted, making the going somewhat difficult for Connor. He seemed to have a fair amount of upper body strength, his arms thin yet wiry. But it couldn’t be easy to wheel across this. Should she offer to help? Kara fought the urge to take hold of the wheelchair’s handles, sensing her gesture would not be welcomed.

At that moment, she heard the sound of teenaged laughter. She looked up to see a group of three boys and two girls, somewhere close to Connor’s age, walking through the nearby field. They stared at Connor as they passed. One of the boys said something, and the others laughed.

Connor shot the boy a look that would’ve stripped varnish off furniture. Kara’s heart ached for him. She remembered adolescence all too well, getting teased for being too skinny and wearing braces.

Only Evan had seen her in a different light.

Lost in thought, Kara barely noticed the huge pothole, stepping around it at the last minute. And Connor, wheeling the chair too hard in his anger, wasn’t really watching where he was going. Kara gasped as the wheel on one side of his chair dropped into the hole.

Before she could call out a warning, the boy tilted at a precarious angle, then tipped sideways. He thrust out his right arm and awkwardly caught himself, barely managing to keep the wheelchair from tipping completely over. But he couldn’t hold that position long and, wiry or not, he wasn’t strong enough to right himself.

Kara moved to help, but Derrick beat her to it.

With seemingly little effort, he righted his son’s chair and steadied the boy to keep him from sliding out onto the ground. “You okay, bud?”

Connor’s face turned red. “I’m fine! Jeez!” The kids were still staring and snickering, and his face turned an even deeper shade. “What are you looking at?”

“Not much, you little queer,” the tallest boy sneered.

“Screw off, asshole!”

“Connor!” Derrick frowned. “Watch your language.”

But the anger on his face matched Kara’s own. She wanted to race over and give them a piece of her mind—and a swift kick to their bratty butts.

It didn’t help that Derrick’s reprimand embarrassed Connor even more. He thrust his palms against the wheels of his chair, sending it flying across the parking lot in a way Kara was afraid would cause him to crash again.

Calling out a final round of taunts, the teens hurried away across the field, then turned down the dirt road.

Kara rushed to catch up with Connor, Derrick on her heels.

“Looks like you could use some peroxide,” she said. Connor’s palm was skinned, and his elbow scraped.

“I said I’m fine. You guys don’t need to make such a big deal out of it.”

Derrick grunted. “Yeah, well, if it’s not a big deal, then pour some peroxide on your road rash.” He rested one hand on his hip. “I’ll bet Tina has some in her first-aid kit in the back. Why don’t you go on in and ask her?” He looked at Kara. “Tina owns the Spur.”

“Oh—yes, I think I met her once.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really? I thought you didn’t hang out in bars.”

“I don’t.” She shrugged. “But Evan and I used to come here to dance once in a while.”

Derrick nodded. “Guess I’d better haul in my stuff. See you later.” He clamped his hand on Connor’s shoulder, then headed back to his pickup.

“Come on,” Kara said. “Let’s get your elbow cleaned up.”

“I can do it,” Connor said. Then, as if he remembered Kara wasn’t the enemy, he added, “Thanks.”

“I know you can,” she said. “Actually, I’m only sticking to you like glue because I’m nervous.”

He looked at her, puzzled. “Why?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Like I told your dad, I haven’t been here since my husband died. It’s sort of hard to deal with, you know?”

The boy’s expression softened. “Yeah, I guess it would be. What happened to him anyway?” He began wheeling his chair along at a more reasonable pace as they talked.

“Evan was a construction worker—he built houses. He fell off a scaffold.” She took a deep breath. “The impact caused severe internal injuries. Nothing could be done to save him.”

“Damn.” Connor frowned. “That’s gotta be tough.” He was silent a moment. “I don’t remember the accident that put me in this chair.”

Kara watched as he navigated around another rut, was careful to keep her tone casual. “No?”

“Uh-uh. I was only two when it happened.”

How hard that must’ve been for Derrick—and Connor’s mother. Connor said he didn’t remember the accident, but surely Derrick had told him the details. Kara started to press the boy for more information, then decided it wasn’t her place. She wanted to ask him where his mother was, and who she was. She remembered he’d said something about his dad having moved out of his apartment.

Did Connor live with his mom?

“By the way, that’s a sweet-looking Ford you’ve got.”

“Thanks,” Kara murmured. “It was my husband’s.”

“And you’ve got a horse?”

“Yeah, an Appaloosa.”

“Cool. I like horses.”

“Well, maybe you can come to my boarding stable and see her sometime.”

They’d reached the side entrance and, deftly, Connor bumped his wheelchair up and over the threshold into the bar.

“I’ll grab us a table,” Kara said. “You can join me after you get your elbow cleaned up.”

“Okay.” Connor wheeled across the hardwood toward a hallway near the bar.

The room looked about the same as she remembered. The bandstand along the far wall, a scuffed but polished dance floor in a horseshoe in front of it, tables barely big enough to hold drinks—with as many chairs crammed around them as possible—scattered everywhere. Off to one side, the divider that opened up into the dining area stood open, and Kara could see bigger tables over there. She sat at one, then decided it was too far away.

Shouldering her purse, she chose a table with four chairs, close enough to get a view of the band, yet far enough from the dance floor and bar to avoid traffic.

“Hey there. What can I get you to drink, hon?”

Kara looked up at a familiar face. The waitress—a woman about her own age—smiled at her. She wore a sparkly western shirt, short, denim cutoffs and red cowboy boots. Kara couldn’t remember the woman’s name, but her dark red hair—sprayed and teased into a wild mane—was hard to forget.

“I’ll have a Coke,” Kara said. “Actually, make it two. I’ve got a friend joining me.” Then she added as an afterthought, “And maybe an order of super nachos, if you still serve them.” Connor might like some. The kid deserved a treat after what had happened outside.

“We do.” The waitress scratched her order on a notepad, and Kara saw the gold heart pinned to her shirt with her name on it—Tori. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

“Thanks.”

Tori brought the Cokes just as Connor got to the table. “I ordered some nachos,” Kara told him, “but I wasn’t sure what you’d like to drink. Is Coke okay?”

“Sure. Man, I love the super nachos.” He gave her a crooked smile, dimples in his cheeks.

“So do I.” Connor was a cute kid, and he looked a lot like his dad.

They sat in companionable silence, watching Derrick and his band set up. He looked their way once, and Kara quickly turned away. She was about to ask Connor what grade he’d be going into next fall, when she heard a voice she knew well.

“My, my. Look what the proverbial cat dragged in,” Danita said.

Kara turned and groaned as she saw Beth and Hannah as well. All three were dressed in their country-western finest.

“I thought you didn’t do the bar scene,” Beth accused her.

“And I thought you were all coming here last night,” Kara replied.

“We were,” Beth said, “but Hannah had an emergency call, so we postponed until tonight.”

“And I’m glad we did.” Danita leaned over, squeezing Kara’s shoulders from behind. “We’re happy you could make it, girlfriend, but isn’t your date a little young?”

The boy looked embarrassed.

“Ignore her, Connor,” Kara said. “She’s old and senile.” She laughed as Danita lightly punched her in the arm. “Danita, meet my neighbor, Connor Mertz. Connor, this is Danita—my former best friend.”

“Mertz…are you Derrick’s son?” She gestured toward the stage.

“Yeah.” Connor glanced at his dad.

“Well, no wonder you’re so handsome.”

The boy took a long pull on his straw, red in the face.

Danita and Beth sat down, and Hannah pulled up an extra chair and squeezed in as well.

“Hope you don’t mind sitting with girls,” Hannah said.

Connor shrugged. “I guess not.” He kept his eyes down on the napkin he was shredding into ever smaller pieces.

“Just wait a few years,” Beth said. “You’ll be ecstatic to have so much female attention.”

Connor’s face clouded over. “I don’t think so.”

But before Kara could ponder his reaction, Hannah said, “So, Kara, what made you decide to come here after you told us no?”

Kara fingered the cuff of her lacy Western blouse and hoped she wasn’t blushing as much as Connor. “I changed my mind, that’s all.”

“And you didn’t call to tell us?” Hannah pretended to pout. “I’m crushed.”

“Me, too.” Beth waved over at the bar for service.

“I would have, but I thought you’d be partied out.” She squirmed. For her, this was a big step, one she’d needed to take solo. “I just decided you all were right. I should get out more.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Danita said. “Now if we can get you drunk and dancing, my night will be complete.”

“It’s family night, remember?” Kara said. “And besides, I don’t get drunk.”

“It’s family night until eight,” Danita emphasized. “Cover your ears, kid. We’re about to be a bad influence.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “You haven’t met the guys in my dad’s band.”

Hannah stared wistfully at the group of cowboys in tight jeans and Western hats, setting up their equipment on stage. “No, I haven’t.”

The women laughed.

As the barroom began to fill with patrons, Kara kept her eyes on Derrick. After introducing himself and his band, he looked her way and began to sing an upbeat song.

Beneath the table, Kara held her hands in her lap, twisting her wedding band.

Don’t even think about it.

Quickly, she turned toward the generous serving of nachos Tori set down in the middle of the table. But even the melted cheese and rich sour cream couldn’t distract her from the longing that overwhelmed her.

She’d lost something precious. Something she’d never have again.

The song ended, and the crowd applauded and whistled.

“Thank you,” Derrick said. “This next song is one I wrote myself. It’s called ‘Heaven.’”

Kara watched Derrick’s fingers move across the guitar strings, expecting him to croon a sentimental love song. Instead, he sang something far different.

“As we flew out of Denver

My little boy said to me,

‘Daddy, how high up is heaven?

Are we gonna get to see

Jesus and His angels?

Will they wave at me?’

“I smiled and said ‘son,

We’ll just wait and see,

But I think that Heaven’s higher

Than we’re gonna be.’

“A few years later at the rodeo,

My son was now thirteen,

He sat down in the chute, just like his heroes on TV…”

Kara listened closely to the words…the story of how the father watched his son grow up riding bulls. When the boy—now a young man—was challenged to ride a bull no cowboy had ever been able to ride before, she felt the father’s trepidation.

And her heart broke as Derrick sang about the young cowboy’s fatal injuries, and the father’s grief.

“Days later at his graveside, a memory came to me.

Of my little boy’s first airplane ride,

And what he’d asked of me.

He said, ‘Daddy how high up is heaven?

Will I get to see

Jesus and His angels?

Will they wave at me?’

“And that’s when I knew he’d found his way,

For when I looked on high

There was Jesus and his angels,

And my son stood by his side.

“‘Daddy, how high up is hea—ven?’”

Derrick held the last note on the guitar, and the crowd erupted in whistles and cheers. In the dim light, Kara saw she wasn’t the only one who had to wipe her eyes. It was easy to see where Connor had gotten his singing voice.

She glanced at the boy and wondered if he were the inspiration behind Derrick’s song. Had he come close to death in whatever accident had caused his injuries?

If Derrick wanted her to know his personal business, he’d tell her. Yet she couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to be held by this man. To wake up in his arms, not in an empty bed.

She told herself she ached for Evan, that it was Derrick’s song that brought out her emotions. But deep down, Kara knew it wasn’t just the song. It was Derrick who stirred something in her.

Something that scared her, and made her wish she hadn’t come to the Silver Spur.

CONNOR MUNCHED on the nachos and the women’s conversation faded to so much white noise. He’d always found it easier to talk to adults than kids, but he felt kind of stupid sitting here with four chicks. Especially since they had to be as old as his dad, or older. But then, Kara had been nice to him, and she hadn’t ratted him out for playing his dad’s guitar.

He watched his father up on stage, entertaining the crowd. What would it be like to be up there? To have everyone in the room focused on you? Connor had often wondered. It was exactly why he didn’t want his dad to know he could play. Connor knew he’d fall short of his father’s accomplishments.

After having saved his allowance for what felt like forever, he’d bought a secondhand acoustic guitar from the pawnshop, and sworn his mom to secrecy. Between video tapes, books, and trying things on his own, he’d learned to play a decent tune. He spent a lot of time picking that old guitar, and when he’d gotten the chance to play his dad’s Gibson this afternoon, the temptation was too much to resist.

Playing on the side of the wraparound porch was fun. It felt almost like a stage, and yet he was blocked from anyone’s view by the thick shrubbery that grew along the perimeter of the acre lot the house sat on. Plus the nearby sawmill often created a distant whine, keeping him from drawing anyone’s attention. Of course, Kara had still caught him. He’d have to be more careful about playing when someone might walk up on the porch like that. He didn’t want an audience, not until—and unless—he could pick the way his dad did.

Maybe one day he’d come close to being that good, if he practiced hard enough. But he could never let him know how he felt.

He sure as hell didn’t want to admit how much he wished he could be like his dad. It would be so rad to play in a band and have girls falling all over him. In his daydreams, Connor was the star; the lead singer. Women went wild over him. They swooned, and threw their underwear at the stage, the way he’d heard women often did when things got rowdy at a concert.

But that’s all his thoughts were. Stupid dreams.

Everyone knew women didn’t fall for some guy in a wheelchair.

And if dumb-ass Bart Denson and his loser friends knew he fancied himself a guitar player—a country one at that—he’d never live it down.

Connor recalled how the girls who’d been with ol’ Fart-Bart earlier had stared at him when he’d tipped his chair. God, he’d wanted to die right then and there, humiliated. And that made him furious. It seemed to be the only way girls ever looked at him—with pity or morbid curiosity.

Nope. He’d never be like his dad.

And he’d be damned if he’d ever let anyone know how much that bothered him.