A Cowboy's Heart. Brenda MintonЧитать онлайн книгу.
store. She kicked off her boots and slid them under the seat. Standing across from her, Clint held on to the door frame and pulled off his boots.
“The foreman’s house is in good shape. Janie even keeps it clean. The furniture isn’t the best…”
“I’m not worried about the furniture.”
Janie smiled. “There, it’s all settled.”
“Right.” Willow smiled, hoping that was a good enough answer. But it changed everything. It put Clint Cameron firmly in her life.
She followed her aunt into the kitchen, lured by the smell of coffee and something baking in the oven. Clint followed.
Janie continued to talk as she washed a few dishes. Willow poured herself a cup of coffee and listened, but she knew she was missing pieces of the conversation. The plan included Clint at the ranch in the foreman’s house, and Willow letting him help with the bulls, and with the driving when they went out of town.
Clint, his stance casual as he leaned against the kitchen counter, shot Willow an apologetic smile. When Janie turned away for a brief moment, he signed that he was sorry. And she didn’t know what to do with that gesture, that moment.
It wasn’t easy, to smile, to let it go. After all of this time, building a new life, his presence made her feel vulnerable, weak.
Weak in a way that settled in her knees and made her want to tell him secrets on a summer night. She sighed and walked out of the room, away from gray eyes that distracted and away from the memories of long-forgotten dreams.
Clint set his tea glass on the table. He didn’t want to follow Willow Michaels out the door, but he couldn’t let her walk away. This was the pattern of his life. There had been the cheerleader in high school who had been hiding abuse with a smile, and he’d found her crying. The girl down the road who had been planning to run away from home when she found out she was pregnant.
He followed Willow to the hall where she was putting her boots back on. She looked up, mascara smeared from the rain and her hair hanging over her shoulders, still damp. She smiled as he sat down next to her.
“I’m not trying to hijack your life.” He signed as he whispered, because he didn’t want Janie to overhear and misinterpret.
“I know.” She pulled on her second boot and sat back. “I just need for you to know that I’m not incapable of doing this by myself. I don’t mind you living here, or even helping out.”
“I know that.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to visit my dad. But I need to talk to you about something.”
“Follow me out to the barn. I need to check on a young bull that I have there. He has a cut on his leg. I think he got into some old barbed wire.”
He nodded and reached for his boots. As he put them on, Willow walked into the kitchen. He could hear her telling Janie that she was going to check on a bull, and then she’d drive him back to his place to get his truck.
A few minutes later they walked out the door. The sun was peeking out from behind clouds, and the rain had slowed to a mist. The breeze caught the sweet scent of wild roses, and it felt good to be home.
The dog, Bell, ran from the barn and circled them, stopping right in front of Willow before rolling over to have her belly rubbed. Willow leaned to pet the animal and then she turned her attention back to him.
“So, what did you need to talk about?”
“My nephews.”
“You have nephews?”
“Twins, they’re four years old.” He stopped, rubbing a shoulder that hurt like crazy, thanks to the rain and sleeping on the floor. “My sister is being sent to Iraq.”
“Clint, I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft, her accent something indiscernible with only a hint of Oklahoma.
“She wants me to take them while she’s gone.”
Her gaze drifted away from him, and she nodded. Shadows flickered in her eyes and he wondered what put them there? Him? The boys? Something from her own life? What made a woman like her give up everything and move to Oklahoma?
Maybe she’d found what she was looking for here, with Janie, and cattle? He could understand that. He’d lived in cities, small towns, and here, on land that had been in his family for nearly one hundred years. He preferred this place to any other.
“It won’t be easy,” she spoke in quiet tones, “for any of you.”
“No, it won’t. But I wanted to make sure it’s okay with you. Now there will be me and two little boys underfoot.”
She smiled. “Of course it’s okay. We’ll do whatever we can to help you out.”
“I appreciate that.” He headed for the barn, following her, and still wondering what had put the shadows in her eyes.
But he didn’t have time to think about it, to worry about it. He had to think about his dad, and now about Jenna and the boys.
Chapter Three
Clint walked through the halls of the nursing home, not at all soothed by the green walls that were probably meant to keep people calm. Even with his dad here and in bad health, Clint still felt like the kid that never knew what to expect. That came from years of conditioning. His dad had been the kind of drunk that could be happy and boisterous one minute, and angry enough to hurt someone the next.
As much as he wanted to convince himself that the past didn’t matter, it did. And forgiving mattered, too. Forgiving was something a person decided to do.
He’d made his decision a long time ago. He’d made his decision on his knees at the front of the little country church he’d gone to as a kid. He’d found faith, grabbing hold of promises that made sense when nothing else had.
But being back here brought back a ton of feelings, memories of being the kid in school who never had a new pair of jeans or a pair of shoes without holes. He’d always been the kid whose parents didn’t show up for programs or games.
He reminded himself that he wasn’t that kid. Not now. He had moved on. He had finished college. He had worked his way up in the sport of bull riding. He hadn’t made a lot of money, but at least he had something to show for his life.
His attention returned to the halls of the nursing home, sweet old people sitting in chairs next to the doors to their rooms, hoping that someone would stop and say hello. A few of them spoke, remembering him from a long time ago, or from his visit last week.
His own father sometimes remembered him, and sometimes didn’t.
“Well, there you are.” Today was a day his dad remembered.
“Dad, how are you?” Clint grabbed the handles of the wheel-chair and pushed his dad into the room.
“I didn’t say I wanted to come in here.”
“I don’t want to stand in the hall.” Clint sat on the bed with the quilted bedspread and raggedy stuffed elephant that one of Jenna’s boys had left for their granddad, even though their granddad rarely acknowledged their presence.
“So, did you find a job?” his dad quizzed as his trembling hand reached for a glass of water.
Clint picked up the glass and filled it from the pitcher on the table. He eased it into his dad’s hand. It was full and a little sloshed out. Clint wiped it up with a napkin and sat back down on the bed.
“I have a job. I’m a bull rider. And I’m going to work for Janie.”
“That old woman? Why would you work for her?”
Clint glanced out the small window that let in dim afternoon light shadowed by the dark clouds of another storm. He had to shrug off his dad’s comments, the same comments he’d always made about Janie.
There