One Less Lonely Cowboy

“Isn’t that for horses?”

“Part of it is.” Mike folded his arms across his narrow chest. “He’s a gypsy, Jack is. That’s his wagon.”

Iris smiled, casting a wistful glance toward the open barn door. “So that’s what Gypsies look like.”

“Jack’s part Chippewa, Cree, something like that. Métis, he calls himself. Mixed-blood. Gotta admit, I never paid much attention to the different tribes around here until Jack came along.”

“I had Native American friends in Minnesota,” Iris said. “That’s not the same as Gypsy.”

“All I know for sure is Jack McKenzie is one hell of a cowboy. Without him, I don’t know … I’d’a been in deep trouble this winter.”

“Is he married or anything?” Iris persisted.

“He ain’t married. Don’t know about anything. He’s got a couple kids up around Wolf Point. Goes up there to visit pretty regular.” Mike’s eyes narrowed in amusement. “You writin’ a book or somethin’?”

“He’s a hottie.” Iris gave her grandfather her recently perfected bug eyes. “Duh.”

“That’s it, Iris. No duh,” Lily said.

“Sorry, Grandpa.” Iris hung her head. Like the blush that followed, the hangdog posture was rare. “It just means, like, obviously,” she explained quietly.

“Hottie, huh?” Mike chuckled. “Like I said, it’s gonna take some getting used to, havin’ girls around.”

Mike helped them carry luggage and a few boxes through the kitchen, down the hall and into the bedrooms. Lily said more was being shipped—she hadn’t been able to fit everything in the car—but what she didn’t say was that she’d sold everything she could. She wasn’t looking forward to the day when the boxes arrived and Iris started missing things. Among other things, her bike had been sold, and all but three of her stuffed animals had gone to the Salvation Army.

Iris had left the apartment each time Lily asked for help sorting their stuff out. She’d been warned. If you leave it to me, you might be sorry later. Lily had been grateful for Iris’s silence on the matter, but she knew her daughter’s denial had been considerably deeper than her own. Sooner or later there would be tears.

It felt strange to haul her suitcase full of women’s clothes to their temporary quarters in the bedroom she’d painted pink and green when she was a teenager. Stranger still, the room hadn’t changed. Her father hadn’t been kidding about that. As much as he’d hated her music, he hadn’t taken her posters down. The Dave Matthews Band, Hootie and the Blowfish, beautiful Gloria Estefan, whose dress was the same shade of pink she’d chosen for her walls. The quilt her grandmother had made—the one she regretted not taking with her—the Breyer horses, the ruffled café curtains, everything looked the same as the day she’d hauled her pregnant self out to Molly’s pickup.

“Wow, Mom, this was you?”

Lily turned to find her daughter standing next to the chest of drawers and holding a silver picture frame. There were more frames on top of the chest. They hadn’t been there before, so she had to step up and take a look. With a nod she acknowledged her high school portrait, even though it was hard for her to recognize the carefree smile on the girl in the picture. Not the way she remembered the time the picture was taken. What had she been doing that day to put that look in her eyes?

“Wow. You were hot.”

Lily laughed. “Duh.”

“Nope. No duh.” Iris set the picture back on the bureau and picked up another one. Lily standing beside Juniper. “Whose horse is this?”

“Mine. Well …” Could she really say that? She’d left the horse, along with everything else in the room. “She was mine then.”

“Beautiful.” Iris set the picture back in its place and turned her attention to the rest of the array. “It’s almost worth it, coming here, just to see what you looked like when you were young.”

“When I was young?” Aloud Lily chuckled, but in her mind she puzzled over the mere fact that the pictures were on display, neatly framed.

“Okay, young-ger. How old were you here?” Iris pointed to a picture of Lily wearing a dress. A rare image for those days.

“About fifteen.”

“I hope I look this good when I’m …” Iris rested her hand on top of a small album. Lily recognized the flowered cover. “Are there any of my father?”

“I don’t know what’s still here, sweetie.” She knew she’d bought that album herself, but she couldn’t remember what she’d put in it.

Iris tapped her fingers on the cover. “You’re gonna let me find out for myself?”

“It’s your room. I didn’t take much with me when I moved out, so it’ll be fun to see what you dig up.”

Fun? Maybe that was pushing it. But oddly enough, the word wasn’t hard to say. It could be fun. The girl in the pictures looked surprisingly happy.

Iris turned to one of two sets of wall shelves her father had put up—grudgingly, as Lily remembered—for her books and other treasures. He’d complained about putting holes in the wall. “What’s all this about?” Iris asked.

“I was in 4-H. State fair competitions, mostly. Different kinds of …” Iris picked up a small silver horse. A big blue ribbon was looped around the base. “That’s for Western Pleasure.”

“‘Grand champion,’” Iris read aloud from the ribbon. She examined more ribbons, all dusty, mostly faded, but the recognition stamped in gold still shown. “First place. Second place. First place.” Grinning broadly, she looked up at her mother. “You got first place in rabbits?”

Lily couldn’t help smiling. “I raised rabbits one summer. Hoppsie and Poppsie.”

“For pets?”

“Well, that’s just it. There’s an auction at the end of the show, and you never know what the buyer will do with your prize animal. Maybe use it for breeding. Maybe for eating.”

“Really?” No more grin.

No “duh.”

“I raised a shoat the next year. You know, a little pig. Grew to be a big pig.” There was probably a picture around somewhere. Lily had half a mind to go looking for it. That was the half that made her smile. “Made a good profit on that guy.”

“What was his name?”

“I learned my lesson about naming 4-H projects. I called him Pig. Grandpa called him Bacon. Said that was a 4-H project he could really sink his teeth into. Threatened to bid on him.”

“Did he?”

“I didn’t stay around for the auction that year. I learned lots of good lessons in 4-H.” She was still smiling as she watched Iris reach for a black case on one of the other shelves. “That’s my clarinet. I was in band. When we get you enrolled in school, you can—”

Iris opened the case and lifted the instrument from its blue nest. “I’m not gonna join any Lowdown school band, Mom.”

“You’ll be going to Hilo Consolidated. Two districts merged—High Water and Lowdown. Let me see that.” Lily welcomed the familiar weight of the instrument. “You’ll be a Hilo Hawk. You soar high up.” She put the mouthpiece to her lips and actually got the thing to tweedle. “You dive low down.” Yes, she remembered how to sound a low note. The sound made her laugh. “It’s poetry in motion.”

“You never told me you could play the clarinet.”

“It’s not my best talent. I’m more of a …” Lily put the instrument back in the case. She was feeling a little cocky now. “Your mama’s not a playuh.”

“Then why do I have to be?”

“You don’t.” Lily sat down on the single bed. “If I could’ve kept one piece of furniture, it would have been the piano. You’re getting to be so good.” With a forefinger she traced a rose on the coverlet. “We used to have one here, but I’m sure your grandfather got rid of it. He’s not a music lover.”

“Why haven’t I seen any pictures of you as a kid until now, Mom?” Iris had taken one of the yearbooks down from the bookshelf. “I was starting to think there aren’t any. Like maybe cell phones didn’t have cameras back in your day.”

“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t have a cell phone until, I don’t know, after you were born.”

“But you did have cameras, right?”

“Your grandfather wasn’t much of a photographer.”

“Well, somebody took pictures of you, and you didn’t even take any of them with you when you left home.” Iris scanned the room. “And here they are, like some kind of ode to Lily Reardon.”

“An ode is a—”

“Poem, I know. And this all seems very poetic—your father keeping this room the way you left it. Are you surprised?”

Lily shook her head and shrugged, one gesture cancelling the other out. Surprised? Maybe a little. Did it mean anything? “I guess he had no use for the room. No need to clear it out.”

But you didn’t frame the pictures, Lily. Who do you suppose did?

“You sure you don’t want to keep your room?” Iris asked. “I can use the guest room.”

“You just want the double bed.” Lily smiled affectionately. “And it’s the spare room. For spare people.”

“Who would be guests. Seems like he’d let Jack use the extra room.”

Lily shrugged. “Jack isn’t a guest. He’s an employee, and he has his own place.”

“Yeah, but it’s a horse trailer.”

“Which is clearly what works for him.”

Iris spread her arms dramatically. “Omigod, he is such a hottie.”

“Iris!” Good Lord, where has my child gone?

“Just sayin’. It doesn’t hurt to look, does it?”

“It’s just that your last hottie was a baby-faced singer with a moppet haircut.”

“He spikes his hair now.”

“Cowboys don’t spike their hair.”

“I’m not looking at hair anymore. I’ve moved on. Speaking of which …” Iris glanced toward the open door. “Hey, Grandpa, is it okay if I change the posters?”

“That’s up to you and your mom.” Mike braced his forearm against the door frame. “We’ve got some supper out here, girls. Care to join us?”

“Dad, you don’t have to—”

“Mostly cold cuts and leftovers,” he said.

“Us, Mom,” Iris whispered to her mother, flashing a smile. “He said us. There’s a guest.”

“Just Jack and me. Room for two more.” He dropped his arm to his side. He looked uneasy, as though he were the visitor. “I cleared off the dining room table and set four places.”

“I’m totally famished,” Iris said, all breathless teenager.

“Famished,” Lily echoed quietly, slipping her daughter a skeptical glance.

Iris answered her mother with a perfunctory smile. “Totally.”

The table wasn’t quite clear, but it was long enough to accommodate stacks of magazines and paperwork at the far end and still give them plenty of room to eat. Lily recognized the red vinyl place mats with the bandanna pattern, and the plates with the apples on them hadn’t changed, either. She doubted he put them out every day. The little table in the kitchen was only big enough for two, but that was the one she and her father had always used after her mother left. That and the plastic plates and whatever utensils happened to be in the drainer.

“Cold drinks in the fridge. Everything else is …” Mike gestured toward the kitchen. “Pop and iced tea. Pretty much all we carry this time of day. But I can make coffee.”

“So can I, Dad. Iced tea sounds good.”

“Jack’s getting cleaned up.” He waved his hand toward the table. “Have a seat and dig in.”

“Oh, no, we’ll wait for Jack,” Iris said, even as she followed the first half of the invitation.

Lily offered her daughter a smile, props for minding her manners. Her father had always been a stickler for good manners.

Tense silence took over, disrupted only by the sounds of Mike drinking. Water. He gulped it down—always had—three thunderous gulps, just so you knew he was there at the head of the table. Lily adjusted the position of the fork her dad had placed beside her plate as she glanced furtively across at Iris, who was fooling with something beneath the edge of the table. No toys at the table. Who would say it first?

The sound of booted footsteps brought three heads up in unison.

Jack stopped short of the table, swept off his cowboy hat and bowed his head. And yes, he was a hottie. Black hair—watered down a bit, if Lily wasn’t mistaken—square chin, full lips, broad shoulders, working man’s hands gripping the brim of what some women might say was the best kind of hat a man could wear.

Mike laughed. “Hell, man, take a seat.”

Jack glanced over at Lily. Hard to tell, but she was pretty sure he was blushing. Iris had been so right. The man was easy on the eyes.

And the innocent look in his eyes right now was utterly charming. “Thought I was interrupting a prayer or something.”

“More like you answered it,” Mike said. “Nobody wants to start without you.”

“I thought you said cowboys didn’t spike their hair, Mom.” Iris, Iris, Iris. She slipped her phone—what else could it be?—into the pocket of her jeans. “What do you use? Gel or spray?”

“Water. It’s called hat hair, and I was trying to …” Jack raked his hand through his thick wet hair. He glanced at Lily and smiled. “Should I go out and come in again?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “We’re glad you’re here.”

Chapter Two

Jack studied the back side of the barn roof, mentally calculating the square footage of the section that had yet to be resurfaced. Mike was strictly a do-it-yourselfer, but there was no way Jack was letting him get up there. It had been at least two years since the front and nearly two-thirds of the back had been covered with galvanized steel roofing. Jack remembered feeling relieved when Mike hadn’t asked if he was available to add the roofing job to his schedule. He would have had to say no, and back then it might not have been too hard. Mike had two whole lungs back then.

It probably wouldn’t take Jack too long to finish the job if Mike would get him the supplies. Since Mike’s surgery, Jack had offered more than once. Hinted, more like. Jack didn’t have to go looking for work. If there were thirty hours in a day he could easily fill every one of them with jobs he would enjoy, which didn’t include roofing. Mike was the only person on God’s green earth he would even consider doing that kind of work for. But you didn’t offer to help Mike do anything he hadn’t hired you for. You might get away with quietly doing something he hadn’t asked for, but if he noticed, he would for sure try to pay you for your time. Jack had half a mind to buy the materials himself—sure would be nice to plug up the leaks—but he hadn’t figured out a way to apply sheets of metal to a roof without making any noise.

On the ground, sitting close to his right boot, Hula roused herself, pricking her envelope-flap ears. The dog’s nose was like an arrow, and Jack’s glance followed her direction. It was a moment before he heard footsteps, another before Mike rounded the corner of the barn. He looked tired, and he was clearly trying hard to hide some new pain that had him gimping lately.

He gave Hula a leathery hand to sniff, patted her head, hitched up jeans that were already riding too high, looked up at the roof and folded his arms over his withering chest. “I’m gonna get to that this spring for sure.”

“After we finish calving.” Jack followed Mike’s lead, and the two men stood side by side, arms folded, eyeing the barn roof.

“Absolutely. I’ll have plenty of time then. Before it gets too hot. I’m countin’ on you to help me with calving.”

“You’ve got me. First on my list. Whenever things get slow here, I’ve got Jensen and Corey on there, too, but you know you come first.”

“You ever thought about taking on a partner?”

“You lookin’ for work?” Jack grinned as he adjusted the brim of his hat against the sun. “If I ever thought about it, which I haven’t, I don’t know too many other men I’d take on.”

“How about women?” Mike slid him a straight-faced glance. “Just kidding.”

“You got one in mind?”

“If you ever decided to expand, you’d want to go equal opportunity.” Mike was back to studying the roof. He lifted a shoulder. “A woman can cowboy as good as a man.”

“She’s trained for teaching. That’s about as good as it gets, I’d say. Lots of schools out here have trouble hangin’ on to good teachers. But cowboy like a man?” Jack shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“I didn’t say like. I said just as good. Tell you what, Jack, my girl can ride.”

“When was the last time you said that to her?”

“I don’t know. Maybe never.” Mike slid one hand down the side of his left thigh and rubbed. “She didn’t need to be told. She knew what she could do, and she did it.”

“What’s going on with your leg?”

“It’s gettin’ old, just like the rest of me.”

Jack adjusted his hat again. “Did you skip your checkup again?”

“No. I did not. And if I needed a secretary I wouldn’t hire a cowboy.”

“So you finally kept an appointment.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got it done.”

“And?”

“They tell me I’m gettin’ old.” Mike turned, hands on his nonexistent hips, a scowl on his leathery face. “Patch, patch, patch. You just wait, boy. It ain’t pretty.”

“Trying to imagine you looking pretty,” Jack said after a moment’s study.

“I never turned female heads the way you do, but I did all right. Lily’s mother was a real beauty. You can tell, can’t you, just lookin’ at my two girls?”

“Sure can. Just so I don’t put my foot in it, did you ever tell Lily about your surgery?”

“Hell, no. The docs took care of it. Chopped that sucker out, sewed me up, good to go.” Mike gave a flat-handed wipe-away gesture, folded his arms and turned away again. “So now you’ve got your answers. Yes, I saw the doctor, and no, I don’t talk to nobody but her about my innards. If you hadn’t hung around the hospital that time like you were waitin’ for spare parts, I wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation with you, neither.”

“Her?” Jack grinned. “I never met your doctor. Man, you are equal opportunity.”

“She’s gentle. The one who took the knife to my lung was a man. I told him, leave no stone unturned, take no prisoners, just kill the bastard. And he did. And I don’t plan on ever seein’ that man again.” His thin lips stretched into a wistful smile, momentarily erasing the creases around his mouth. “My regular doctor’s a woman. Early forties, nice voice, good hands, laughs easy.”

“Surprised you’d ever put off going to see her.”

“You maybe haven’t noticed, but my charm is limited. I gotta save it up.” Mike grinned, raising his eyebrows. “I know what I’m doin’.”

“Knowing and doing are two different things.” Jack lifted his gaze. “I could finish this roof in a day if I knew how you wanted it done.”

“Take you three days at least. We could do it together in a day.”

“All right. Order up the materials.” Jack looked down at his boss. “Today, Mike. Those calves start dropping, we need a dry barn.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make work for yourself.”

“And if you said it I’d take offense, so it’s a good thing you know better.” Jack tapped Mike’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Have we got a plan? ’Cause I’ve got things to do.”

“You’re not on my clock today.”

“What clock? I didn’t say I had work to do. I said things.”

“Messin’ with horses?”

“Messin’ with your daughter.” He allowed a two-count hush. “And horses.”

Jack grinned, and Mike gave him a watch-it-kid look, which was just what Jack was aiming for. He wasn’t messing with anybody except Mike, who needed a little poking every so often. He was the kind of guy who thrived when push came to shove, and Jack wanted him to thrive. Wanted him to keep on shoving until it was time to shove off. If Mike felt better keeping people in the dark, so be it. Jack had eyes like a cat.

“So you’re taking Lily for a ride?”

“Might be the other way around. She asked me.”

“Did she, now.”

“Asked what kind of horses you’re keeping around these days. Did I know of any she could start Iris on? Did I have time to take a ride with her and show her where the rest of the horses are?” He chuckled. “Shouldn’t’ve said that in front of Iris. They were heading out to get her enrolled in school, and the girl was already looking to put it off. Her mom was having none of that, so off they went.”

“Did Lily ask about her mare?”

Jack frowned.

“Pretty little palomino.” Mike glanced away, guiltylike. “I sold her. Lily left, and I just closed all the doors.”

“Water under the bridge, Mike. You can always get her another horse.”

“Not like that one. Lily raised her, trained her, showed her.”

“She can do that again.”

“They won’t be here that long. She’ll get things straightened around real quick. That’s the way she is. No grass growing under that girl’s feet.” Mike stepped back. The plan for the roof had been made. He gazed off in the direction of his pastures. “You’d better get a move on, check those cows.”

“Did that first thing. Nothin’ yet. Thought I’d head over to the Corey place. Calves are startin’ to drop over there.”

“I was thinkin’ I might need you here.” Mike nodded toward a distant ridge. “Bring them cows in closer.”

“I did that last week. They’re right over the hill, Mike. You want me to move them into the horse paddock?” The question was meant to make a point, not call for an answer. The two-acre horse paddock was in close but far out of the question. The cows needed space. They were fine where they were for now. “What else you got? I ain’t gonna stand around.”

“Not even if I pay you for it?” Jack returned a level stare. Mike knew better, so he sighed, surrendering with a chuckle. “Okay, I need you here because I’m … gonna order up the roofing materials.” He lifted one shoulder. “And go to a meeting.”

“Fair enough.”

“Hell, you don’t need me to tell you what to do, Jack. You know this operation as well as I do. I don’t worry about you standing around.”

“Get the hell going, then.”

Jack turned away smiling. Mike was big on meetings. The grass-fed cattle co-op he’d started kept him pretty busy these days, and keeping his mind busy was good for Mike’s health. That and staying off the bottle. Mike was still a step ahead of the devil in that regard. Jack would know if he wasn’t. He knew all the signs. To each his own struggle, Jack figured, but if Mike went down, Jack would know the reason why. And he would return Mike’s many favors, try to be his good neighbor. If it hadn’t been for Mike, Jack wouldn’t even know what that meant.

With his morning chores done, Jack had already put in what most people would call a day’s work, but he would have more work and another paycheck coming if he went over later and spent the afternoon at the Corey ranch. Corey was a friend of Mike’s. It was a neighborly friendship, but it was also a business association. Jack didn’t know much about either kind. He knew cousins and pals, and he’d walked away from some of each. Had to. It was the only way he could make any sense of who he really was or could become.

He remembered turning off the road the first time he’d followed the arrow on the sign. Lowdown, Montana. Population: 352, Give or Take a Few. He’d figured on taking a few. Up to that point, sobriety hadn’t been all it was cracked up to be. He’d been out of work for three months and sober the whole damn time. So he’d taken that good turn, then done another for a lonely old man, and he’d been rewarded with steady work, a secure place to park and a new kind of friend.

Jack upended the wheelbarrow at the edge of the compost pile and caught himself checking the approach as he reversed the wheel. He was looking for a little red Chevy.

Didn’t mean anything. People who lived out in the country always looked for cars. It was a rare enough sight. He could still hear his grandfather calling out Car comin’! from the yard. Footer, he would hollered if someone walked into sight, or two-footer if it was a couple, rider for a horseman. But the approach of a vehicle brought curious faces to windows and opened doors. Footers and riders didn’t take you anywhere. Drivers just might.