Second-Chance Cowboy

He knew Nathan was grieving and confused and upset, and that it would take time. Morgan tried hard to understand but each rebuff was like a blow.

“When do I get to see Gramma again?” Nathan asked.

“In a couple of weeks.” Donna had asked if Morgan would be willing to drive down to Idaho for her fiftieth birthday and he had agreed. The counselor he talked to had underlined the importance of maintaining contact with the one constant in Nathan’s life. “But for now, let’s see about making this room cozier.” Morgan pulled out his jackknife to cut the tape on one of the few boxes of personal items Nathan had.

Nathan charged to life and yanked the box away from Morgan. “Don’t touch my stuff,” he cried.

“I was trying to help,” Morgan said.

“Don’t need your help.” Nathan pushed the box under his bed, grabbed the other two larger ones and pulled them closer.

Morgan was too taken aback at the fury in his son’s voice to reprimand him.

“Okay. You can put what you want in the dresser. There are hangers in the closet for your other clothes. Any toys you have can go in the toy box.”

“Toys are for babies” was all Nathan said, shoving his hands in his pockets as he turned away from him.

His rejection was like a hit to the stomach. Morgan waited but Nathan didn’t turn around.

So he left, closing the door behind him. He leaned against the wall, dragged his hand over his face and uttered a prayer for strength and patience. He simply had to give him time.

For now, Morgan had his own unpacking to do.

He was fortunate that his father owned this house, giving Morgan a place to stay. The house had been part of a ranch that Boyce and Cord had purchased a few years ago and his father was willing to subdivide the acreage and sell it to him.

And thanks to his share of Gillian’s life insurance policy and his own savings, he had a down payment to put on the place. The irony of it all hadn’t escaped him. Gillian had given him more in death than she had in life.

Morgan pushed away from the wall and headed down the hall to finish setting up his bedroom. The bed, dresser and the bedside table his father and Cord had picked up at a yard sale were the only pieces of furniture in a room that looked like it could house a small family.

While he worked, Morgan listened for any sounds coming from Nathan’s room.

Nothing.

He was finished putting his own clothes away when his cell phone rang. It was his father.

“So, does the place feel like home yet?” Boyce Walsh asked.

Morgan looked around the bare room and chuckled. “Let’s just say I’m unpacked.”

“It’s a start. Do you want to go out for supper?” his father asked. “I don’t feel like cooking and I’m sure you don’t either. We could meet at the Brand and Grill.”

He hesitated. “What about the pizza place?” He wasn’t so sure he wanted to meet in the same place he knew Tabitha worked.

“I hate pizza. Ate too much of that in my bull-riding days.”

Morgan had to smile. His father often used his bull-riding days as a convenient excuse.

“Isn’t there another place we could go?” Morgan said.

“We could do Angelo’s but it’s too quiet.”

“Guess it’s the Brand and Grill, then.”

His father was quiet as if acknowledging how difficult going there could be for him.

“May as well get it over with,” Boyce said. “You’re going to run into Tabitha sooner or later.”

“I suppose.”

“Good. I’ll see you and Nathan then.” His father hung up and Morgan tucked his phone into his pocket, blowing out a sigh.

He certainly hadn’t figured on seeing Tabitha twice in one day.

He would see her at the clinic tomorrow as well. Maybe the more often he saw her, the quicker he would get used to seeing her around.

And the quicker he could relegate any feelings he still had for her to the past, where they belonged.

Chapter Two

There they were again.

Tabitha hung back, hiding behind the wall of the kitchen as she watched Boyce, Morgan and Morgan’s son, Nathan, walk into the café.

Seriously? Twice in one day?

She rolled her eyes heavenward as if asking God what He was trying to tell her.

“You going to just stand here daydreaming?” Sepp Muraski growled at her. “We got customers and supper rush is starting.”

Tabitha gave her boss a forced smile. Sepp glared back at her, his dark eyebrows pulled tight together, a few curls of brown hair slipping out from under the chef’s hat he wore over his hairnet.

Some might consider him good-looking. Tabitha didn’t, and she suspected that was the reason he was always so grouchy with her. She had turned him down twice and he hadn’t seemed to have forgiven her.

“On it,” she said, straightening her shoulders and sending up a quick prayer for strength, the right words and attitude.

She would need all that and more after her encounter with Morgan and his son this afternoon.

The Walsh men were already seated when she approached them, coffeepot in one hand, menus in the other.

“Coffee?” she asked as she set the menus down in front of them.

“I’d love a cup,” Boyce said with a grin, pushing his cup her way. “Pretty quiet in here,” he said, making casual conversation.

Boyce stopped in at the Brand and Grill from time to time, as did Cord, Morgan’s brother, so Tabitha was accustomed to seeing Walshes around. But she still had to fight a sense of shame every time she saw Boyce. She felt like she had a huge L written on her forehead because of the money her father had cheated Boyce out of.

I’m working on repaying it, she reminded herself, thinking of the renovations she was doing to the house she’d inherited from her father. Each new cabinet, each piece of flooring, each lick of paint made the house more sellable, which would mean more money to give to Boyce to repay him for what her father had done.

Then she could tackle the yard, a job that seemed so daunting she avoided thinking of it most of the time.

“It will get busier,” Tabitha said as she turned to Morgan. “Coffee?”

He just nodded, looking at the menu.

Okay. She could do the avoiding thing too. She glanced over at Nathan, who was looking at her. “Can I get you anything?” she asked him.

“You’re the lady that almost ran over Brandy,” Nathan said, his tone faintly accusing.

“Not quite,” she said, her ribs still sore from hitting the steering wheel of her truck. “How is your dog?” she asked.

“She’s fine.” Nathan just held her gaze. “I got the dog from my gramma and soon I’m getting a horse too.” His eyes brightened for a moment.

That was some generous gramma, Tabitha thought.

“What horse is this?” Boyce asked as Tabitha poured Morgan his coffee.

“Gillian’s horse,” Morgan put in. “She was training it before...” He paused, glancing over at Nathan.

She quickly spoke up with forced cheer. “So, Nathan, we have chocolate milk, orange juice and pop. What can I get you to drink?”

“Chocolate milk,” he said, looking down at the menu again.

“Be right back.” She scurried off to take care of that. She snagged a coloring book and a pack of crayons, wondering if he was too old for that, but she figured it was worth a try.

When she came back, Boyce and Morgan appeared to still be talking about the horse Nathan was expecting.

“You could get the horse trained?” Boyce said.

“But who could do it?” Morgan asked.

“My mommy was training it already.” As he spoke Nathan looked more animated than he had in the past few minutes. “She loved that horse. Said it would be a real goer.”

“Here’s your chocolate milk,” Tabitha said to Nathan. “And I thought you might enjoy this.”

She set the crayons and coloring book in front of him. To her surprise, he grabbed them and opened up the book.

“Tabitha knows about horses and horse training,” Boyce said suddenly, looking up at her. “She could help you out.”

Tabitha shot him a horrified look. What was he trying to do? Surely he knew the history between her and his son?

“Would you be able to train my mom’s horse?” Nathan chimed in, looking suddenly eager as he leaned past his father. “I so want to be able to ride Stormy.”

Tabitha felt distinctly put on the spot. And from the glower on Morgan’s face, she suspected he felt the same.

“I’m pretty busy,” Tabitha said, and that wasn’t too much of a stretch to say. “Two jobs, and I’m renovating the house.”

“We can find someone else,” Morgan said, giving his father a knowing look.

“Tabitha is capable.”

“She said she was busy.”

Morgan’s dismissive tone shouldn’t bother her. It was better for everyone if they kept their distance. Though his mother, with her relentless disapproval of Tabitha, had passed away many years ago, the shame of what her father had done to his hadn’t.

When Floyd Rennie left town three years ago, he had also left a number of citizens of Cedar Ridge high and dry when he decamped with money they had invested with him for the building of a new arena. It was all part of Cedar Ridge’s great hope to become part of the Milk River Rodeo Association circuit, thereby raising the profile of their local rodeo.

The arena was only half completed when her father left, taking the investors’ money with him.

The most prominent of whom was Boyce Walsh. Morgan’s father.

Her father died a year later, leaving Tabitha the house she was working on now. She had hoped to sell it but the real-estate agent said she could get double for it if she fixed it up.

So she began working on it in her off-hours. But it was taking much longer than she’d hoped.

“There’s not many people close by who can do horse training,” Boyce put in, clearly unwilling to let either Morgan or Tabitha off the hook.

“Amber could,” Morgan said.

“And you know your twin sister is busy with her own life,” Boyce said. “Nor is she living in Cedar Ridge.”

“So, are you ready to order?” Tabitha said, pulling a pad of paper and pen out of her apron. She really needed to change the topic of conversation. Morgan clearly didn’t want her around and she had no intention of spending more time with any member of the Walsh family than she needed to.

They gave her their orders and she hurried off to give them to Sepp.

“You sure were hanging around that table a long time,” he grumbled. “We got other customers, you know.”

She ignored him as she set up the coffeemaker to make a fresh pot of coffee. She knew well enough not to engage with Sepp.

“I don’t pay you to hang around and bug the customers.” He had to get one more jab in before she left.

She wished she could quit, she thought as she cleared a table, trying not to take her anger out on the hapless dishes. She wished she could walk away from Cedar Ridge. Leave it and everything it represented behind her.

But she needed the job to pay for her house renovations. She was going to finish what she had started, and she knew she couldn’t leave town with her father’s debt hanging over her head.

She shot a glance over at the Walsh table just as she caught Morgan looking at her. She flushed and spun away carrying the dirty dishes back to the kitchen. Adana had finally shown up and she was flirting with Sepp, who didn’t seem to be in any rush to get the Walshes’ orders done.

“My last order ready yet?” she asked.

“It’s ready when it’s ready” was all he said. “Scared I’m going to make you look bad in front of your old boyfriend?”

She knew not to say anything more. Sepp was the most passive-aggressive person she knew and the more she pushed him, the worse he would get.

A few more customers came in and Adana took their orders. Finally Sepp was done with Boyce and Morgan and Nathan’s food.

“Service is getting kind of slow around here,” Boyce said as she set their food on the table.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, knowing she couldn’t shift the blame.

“I’d say Sepp needs to hire more waitresses but I know he already has enough,” Boyce continued.

Again, she could only nod as she put Nathan’s burger and fries in front of him.

“Is there anything else I can get you? More coffee? Chocolate milk?”

She looked over at Nathan, who was staring at her. “Grandpa Boyce says that there’s not too many people who can train horses here and that you can. Are you sure you can’t?”

Were they still on that topic?

Tabitha’s resolve wavered as the boy’s eyes pleaded silently with her.

“Miss Rennie has other things she’s busy with,” Morgan said, looking at Nathan, his voice gentle. But she heard a warning in the words.

Stay away from my son.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she said, giving him a look of regret. “Working here and at the clinic and fixing up my house keeps me very busy.”

Then she walked away. She couldn’t get involved though she felt very sorry for the little boy. She only knew snippets of the boy’s story. His mother spent most of her time chasing her rodeo dreams and dragged him along. He didn’t seem connected to Morgan, which made her wonder what had happened between Morgan and his wife.

Not that it mattered to her. Morgan was part of her past. She had her own plans for the future. And they didn’t include sticking around a town that was such a source of pain and humiliation to her.

She couldn’t afford any distractions and Morgan and his son were a huge one.

* * *

“Will you be okay?” Morgan knelt in front of Nathan on the floor of the school’s hallway, handing him the backpack he had painstakingly packed this morning. Young kids ran past them, calling out to each other, their voices echoing in the busy hallway, bumping them in their rush to get to their own classes.

Yesterday morning he and Nathan had visited the school to see about enrolling him for the last few weeks of Grade Two. Though he still had his concerns, he had to think of what the counselor had told them after Gillian’s death. That it was important that Morgan and Nathan find their new normal as soon as possible.

Thankfully Nathan hadn’t objected to going to school, and if Morgan was honest with himself, it gave both of them a break from each other. Taking care of a seven-year-old was way out of his comfort zone. Especially a sullen young boy who rejected any advances Morgan made to him.

“This is a good school,” Morgan said, injecting a bright note of enthusiasm in his voice. “I used to go here when I was a kid.”

Nathan took the backpack without looking at Morgan, saying nothing.

Morgan reached out to lay his hand on his son’s shoulder but Nathan pulled away, then walked into the schoolroom and went directly to his designated locker.

“You can come in with him, if you like,” the perky young woman encouraged with a bright smile. “I know it’s his first day here.”

Just then Morgan caught Nathan looking at him, eyes wide, shaking his head a vehement “No.”

Really? He couldn’t even do this for his son?

He wished it didn’t hurt so much.

“I think I’ll stay here to see him settle in,” Morgan said.

“Of course.” He could tell the teacher was puzzled, but he was fairly sure she dealt with a variety of parents, so he tried not to take Nathan’s clear-cut rejection to heart.

He watched a few more moments as Nathan trudged to his desk, then sat down, holding his pencil case that they had bought yesterday, looking down.

Morgan’s heart broke at the sight but he felt stuck. Nathan didn’t want to spend time with him, and Morgan wanted to get started at the vet clinic as soon as possible.

Wednesday, at the Brand and Grill, was the last time he’d seen Nathan act with any kind of animation when he was talking to Tabitha. Which made him nervous, especially because ever since then, the only thing Nathan would actually talk with him about was training his mother’s horse so he could ride it.

And getting Tabitha to do it.

There was no way he could allow that. He didn’t think he could be around Tabitha that much and, more important for his son, he didn’t want him to build a connection to someone who was leaving soon.

As he drove to the clinic he found himself praying. Again. Something he’d been doing a lot lately.

Gillian’s death, gaining custody of Nathan, moving back here had all taken a toll on him. Never mind working with his ex-girlfriend, whom he would be seeing again in a few minutes.

Help me to stay focused on what I need to, he prayed. I need to be emotionally available for Nathan and protect him.

As for his own heart, he could take care of that. The grief he had felt after Tabitha broke up with him had morphed into fury, which had settled into a dull resignation. Then Gillian came into his life and things took an entirely different twist.

His heart would be okay, he told himself. It had to be.

He checked his watch, once again thankful that Dr. Waters kept such strange hours. 9:30 seemed late to open a vet clinic but he wasn’t complaining. It meant he could bring Nathan to school and still arrive on time at work. And maybe cover the occasional emergency that came up before opening hours.

He turned the corner to the vet clinic and saw Tabitha’s truck parked out front.

When Dr. Waters gave him the key to the clinic yesterday, he had planned to come early. Though Dr. Waters had assured him that Tabitha, Cass and Jenny mostly manned the front desk and took care of dispensing, Morgan preferred to know where everything was himself.

He had also planned to establish his territory, so to speak, before Tabitha came in. Make the clinic his.

And now here she was already.

He sighed, sent up another prayer and headed to the back door. It was locked, so he used the key Dr. Waters had given him. He stepped inside the large open room where they worked on horses and cows. It smelled like disinfectant, and though the metal dividers for the various pens were rusted, he could see they were clean.

The rubber floor matting was also hosed down, water still trickling into the floor drain.

His footsteps echoed in the large empty space as he made his way down the concrete hallway and then through another door into the clinic proper.

He paused in the hallway, getting his bearings, then heard humming coming from one of the rooms farther down.

Tabitha, he guessed, feeling an unwelcome tightening in his chest.

He was surprised at the flicker of annoyance her obvious good mood created. Clearly she was in a good place in her life. Why that bothered him he didn’t want to analyze.

She was the one who walked away from you, he reminded himself. Of course she wouldn’t pine after me.

Like you are for her?

Not likely. She had taught him a hard lesson. He had to take care of himself and those who belonged to him.

Like Nathan.

The thought of his son was a good reminder of where his priorities now lay. And sending up another prayer for strength, he strode down the hallway.

Tabitha was working in the supply room, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, the early-morning sun from the window behind it creating a halo of light around her head. She was making notes on a clipboard, her lips pursed, her forehead wrinkled in a frown.

He wanted to make a joke but found himself momentarily tongue-tied, which, in turn, created a low-level frustration. Even after all these years and after all his tough self-talk, why did she still have this effect on him?

She turned around and saw him. The humming stopped as her mouth fell open and her hand clutched her chest.

“My goodness. You scared me,” she gasped. “I wasn’t expecting anyone this early.”

“I thought...” His voice faltered and he cleared his throat. “I thought I would come in early. Get myself acquainted with the place.”

“Sure. Of course. I understand.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’m doing some inventory.”

“Okay. That’s good.” He wanted to say “carry on,” but that would sound patronizing.

“Would you like me to show you around?” she asked, her gaze flicking from her clipboard to him.

“I guess that would be helpful.”

“I can bring you up to speed on some of the animals we have staying here. Let you know what kind of work we do. In case some of it might be new to you.” She stopped there, flushing.

“Sure.”

She nodded and he waited, an awkward silence falling over them. “Right. I should do that now,” she finally said, dropping her clipboard onto the counter in front of her. It fell and she bent over to pick it up exactly the same time he did. Their heads hit and pain jolted through him.

“Sorry,” she muttered, rubbing her head just as he rubbed his.

Morgan sighed as she carefully set the clipboard on the shelf. This was getting more and more awkward. He was about to say something but she was already swishing past him, her lab coat flaring out behind her.

“The treatment rooms are here and here,” she said, pointing left and right, like a flight attendant indicating escape routes, as she scurried down the hall ahead of him. “There’s only two. We should have more but Dr. Waters is thrifty. Supply room you’ve already seen. And here’s where we house the animals we’ve treated.” Tabitha opened the door to the large back room and stepped back.

Morgan frowned as he stepped inside the dark room with its crates stacked one on top of the other.

“Looks kind of depressing.” Morgan couldn’t believe that there wasn’t even a window or a skylight.

And it didn’t smell very good.

“Do the cages get cleaned?” he asked, stopping by one of the crates, which held a Labrador pup with a plastic cone on its head. The puppy was asleep and Morgan reached between the bars and laid his hand on the dog’s stomach. It was not overly warm and breathing properly.

“Of course they do. Every day.”

From the defensive tone of Tabitha’s voice, Morgan guessed she was the one who did the cleaning.

“The building is old and the smell tends to linger,” she continued.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you’re neglectful.” He looked back at Tabitha, who stood in the doorway, her arms folded over her chest, her chin up, gaze challenging.

“So what’s with this little guy?” he asked, pointing to the Lab.

“Hernia operation. He’s due to go back today.”

“And this one?” He pointed to a cat who lay on its side, one leg extended out in front of it, bandaged.

“Severed tendon on his foreleg. Got on the wrong side of a grain auger. He’s lucky to be alive.”

“How much small-animal work does Dr. Waters do?” Morgan glanced around the rest of the crates but they were all empty.

“Not as much as he’d like. He prefers the small animals to the large ones. I guess that’s why he hired you.”

Morgan nodded, remembering the conversation he and Dr. Waters had had. “And what’s the large-animal patients consist of?”

“It used to be mainly cattle, but with more people moving in and more acreages sprouting up around town and people getting horses, he’s doing more equine. That’s my specialty but he prefers to do that on his own.”

Her comment puzzled him as did the faintly bitter tone in her voice. “What do you mean, your specialty?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m just the vet assistant,” she said, with a bright smile as if trying to show him she was making a joke. “We don’t have specialties.”

“But clearly you do,” he said. He found himself suddenly curious. The last he’d heard, she had quit high school. When he found out she was working at the clinic, he had assumed it was only as a general helper.

“I went back to school a few years after I dropped out of high school. Got my high school diploma, then went to college and graduated as a veterinary assistant and equine specialist. I’m not such a dummy.” She flashed a bright smile, but behind it he sensed an air of defensiveness.

“I never said you were,” he returned, holding his hands up.