Jenna's Cowboy Hero (11 page)

Wouldn't they be surprised if they knew that he couldn't stop thinking about Jenna Cameron? The reality of that surprised him more than a little.

He replaced thoughts of her with thoughts of his dad, and the home he'd grown up in. He kept driving. Thirty minutes later he was slowing down in front of that house, a white stucco, set back from the road and flanked by a barn. He drove past it, going the few miles to the church where his father had been the pastor.

Those people had loved his dad, really loved him.

What had Adam been missing? Or maybe it wasn't what he was missing, but what he knew. His dad wasn't perfect. His dad had pushed Adam, and then pushed him more, insisting that he be the best. Even at church Adam had been set apart, by his dad, by teachers. The pastor's son, the football star, the charming kid who had gotten away with too much.

He slowed in front of the church and pulled in the driveway. His dad was still pastor here. Twenty-five years of being the pastor of the same church, the same group of people. Twenty-five years of preaching a message that Adam had accepted as a child, and then he'd walked away. Because he'd gotten tired of trying to be perfect.

And now, when he didn't know what to do next, he was here, trying to find direction for his life. He parked his truck and got out, remembering a childhood in this
building, being taught by ladies who had hugged him tight and fed him cookies.

Memories he shouldn't have forgotten had returned. He remembered playing baseball in the field behind the church and his dad cheering him on.

A car pulled in the driveway. The automobile was familiar; Adam had seen pictures after he'd sent the check that purchased it from a dealer in Tulsa. He watched his dad pull into the designated parking space and get out, a little older, a little less hair.

“Son.”

Adam took a few steps to separate the distance between them.

“Dad, I didn't expect to see you here.”

“No, I guess you didn't. I came down to make sure the air conditioner is on for this evening's service. You going to stay?”

“No, I have to get back to Dawson.”

“Yes, I heard you've been there.” The older Mackenzie rubbed the bald area of his forehead. He pulled off wire-framed glasses and cleaned them with the tail of his shirt. “We thought you might come by the house.”

“I've been planning on it.” Which wasn't a lie. He had planned on seeing them at least once before he left.

“Adam, life is too short to go on this way.” His dad looked away. “I've done funerals lately, burying people that were my friends. It makes a man think about what he's missed out on.”

“Yeah, that does make a guy think.”

Adam pushed his hat back on his head and made eye contact with an older version of himself. Except the hair. His dad had started balding in his twenties. It was genetic, just like the two of them always believing they were right was genetic. That was the trait they shared.

They'd been butting heads since Adam learned to walk, his mom said. Adam had been the kid that if his dad said it was snowing, Adam would insist it was rain. And when it came to football, sometimes the teenaged Adam had stopped trying because he knew that no matter what, his dad would push him when they got home, push him to rethink, to replay, and to do better.

“Boy, it's hot out here.”

“Yeah, it is.” Adam walked up the sidewalk and sat down on the steps that led to the front entrance of the church. His dad followed. The church sat on the edge of town, surrounded by farmland.

“How's the camp going?” His dad sat down next to him.

“I hope it's good. The first group of campers shows up tomorrow.”

“Are you going to stay and run this thing?”

“No, you know I'm not qualified for that. I'm just the lucky guy that inherited this mess.”

“It isn't such a mess. Billy meant well.”

“I know he did.” A normal conversation. Adam sighed and tipped his hat a little lower. “It really is hot out here.”

“Yeah, you're just not as tough as you used to be. You used to practice for hours in weather like this.”

“Not my best memories, Dad.”

“I know. Adam, I'm sorry if I pushed you too hard. Your sister and I have talked about this. I don't know why I didn't see. She said we never took a family vacation. I guess I thought football was what our family did together.”

“Yeah, I know.” Adam glanced sideways, shrugging a little, trying to brush it off.

He had meant to come home, put the camp up for sale and leave. Instead it was turning into a bad episode of
Dr. Phil
, and everyone was feeling better but him.

Because he wondered how it would feel to leave, and at one time he could think of nothing but leaving.

“It wasn't such a bad life, was it?” His dad stared out the parking lot, but he shot Adam a quick look. “I mean, look at where you got.”

“It got me where I am. But sometimes I wonder where I'd be if it had been my choice. If you hadn't pushed, where would I have gone and what would I have been?”

“I pushed you because I knew you wouldn't push yourself.”

“So what? What if I hadn't pushed myself? What if I hadn't succeeded in football? Maybe I could have made decisions about my life, my future.” Maybe he wouldn't resent his father, if it had been about something more than success.

“What would you have picked, Adam?”

“I don't know, Dad. Maybe I would have been…” A fireman? He smiled, because every boy probably wanted to be a fireman. “I don't know what I would have done. But I don't think I would have been a failure.”

“You can still make decisions for yourself. I pushed you and now you have opportunities you wouldn't have had.”

“Yeah, I guess.” But he could only remember nights with floodlights on in the backyard, running drills as his dad yelled, coaching him to do better, to not give up.

And he remembered two little boys playing football in the backyard, thinking it was the greatest thing in the world. And he hadn't tossed the football for them, hadn't shown them a better way, because he didn't want to take away the fun of just playing, of being boys.

He should have played with them. Next time—if there was a next time—he would.

“I need to go.” He stood and his dad pushed himself
up, nearly Adam's height, not quite. A long time ago Adam had thought his dad was a giant. “Tell Mom I'll stop by the house in a few days.”

“She'd like to see you. We both would.”

“Maybe we can have a family dinner, with Elizabeth and her family.”

“That would be good.” His dad crossed the parking lot at his side. “Adam, I hope someday you'll forgive me.”

Adam stopped walking. “It isn't about forgiving you, Dad. I think it's about trying to understand you. I'd like for us—would have liked for us—to have a relationship that included something other than football.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket. “I would have liked to have gone fishing, or camping.”

“I get that.” His dad stepped back as Adam opened his truck door. “I'll see you soon. Maybe I'll come down and take a look at that camp.”

Adam nodded and shifted into Reverse. “That would be good.”

A
dam drove for hours after leaving his dad. The sun was setting when he drove back to Dawson and turned on the road that led to his temporary home. He slowed as he passed Jenna's drive on the way back to Camp Hope. The little farmhouse, white siding and covered front porch, was aglow with lights. He could see the dog on the front porch and a shadow as one of the boys walked in front of the window.

He stopped and backed up to turn into her drive, rather than going on up the road to the drive that led to his new home, a single-wide trailer at the edge of a field. What would his friends think of this new life, of Jenna?

When he stopped in the driveway next to her house, the dog got up and barked, but then his tail wagged and he ran down to greet Adam.

He hadn't had a pet in years. Morgan's son, Rob, had had a kitten that they picked up in a parking lot, a stray with greasy gray fur and big ears. Rob had loved that kitten. Adam had really cared about Rob. Too bad Morgan had only wanted invitations to certain parties, and then she'd dumped him.

He didn't get out of his truck, because a single mom was inside that house and she had two boys who needed a dad. That was the talk around town. He'd overheard it in the grocery store, what a pair the two of them would be. How Jenna needed someone like him.

He'd had a lifetime of being used.

The front door opened and Jenna stepped out, still on crutches, looking smaller than ever, and fragile. But she wasn't.

She moved to the edge of the porch but didn't come down the ramp. He lowered his window. “I was driving by.”

“It looks to me like you stopped driving. Driving by would mean going on down the road, not stopping.”

He smiled. “Yeah, you got me there. Do you have iced tea?”

“I'm from Oklahoma, of course I have iced tea. The boys are getting into the tub. Do you want to come in, or are you going to stay in your truck?”

“I'll get out.” The dog met him, tail wagging. He reached down to ruffle the thick fur around his neck and then the dog followed him to the house.

“Come in. Let me check on their bathwater, and you put ice in the glasses.”

As if he'd always been here, always been in her world.

He walked through the living room, aware of his boots on the hardwood floor that glowed like warm honey. The house was small but, man, it made him feel at home. It was the kind of place a guy didn't want to leave.

This house had overstuffed furniture with throw pillows embroidered by hand, curtains that lifted in the early-evening breeze, and candles that scented the air with the aroma of baked apples. It also had two boys who needed a dad. And he wasn't the best candidate for that job.

He opened the freezer and pulled out ice cube trays, listening as Jenna talked to the boys about how to wash, and then told them that if they made a mess, they had to clean it up. Her voice was soft with laughter and the twins jabbered nonstop.

The sounds were as foreign to him as Atlanta had once been, and yet, somehow it was all familiar, as if it had always been a part of his life.

Warning signs were going off, telling him to retreat, to get out of her world before he got pulled into something that hurt them all. But he couldn't walk away.

Jenna walked into the kitchen as he was filling up two glasses and she pulled a container out of the cabinet. “Willow made chocolate chip cookies. Want one?”

“Can I have two?”

“Have as many as you want.” She took two and nodded to the table. “We can sit in here. Or on the porch.”

“The porch would be great.” Without asking, he grabbed her tea. She smiled and didn't protest.

He followed her out the door onto the small porch with the two metal chairs and a swing. Lamplight glowed from the living room and he could hear the boys playing in the bathroom, just off the living room.

“I love nights like this.” Jenna sat down and reached for her glass. “I love it here.”

“It is a good place,” he admitted. He looked out at the lawn, at the sky that had turned deep twilight-blue. The stars were amazing, maybe because he hadn't seen them like this in so many years. In Atlanta, he never looked up.

“Where'd you go today?” She sighed. “Sorry, that's none of my business.”

He smiled at her. “I went home. I saw my dad.”

“Good. A guy should always be able to go home.” She made it sound so easy.

He wished it was. Maybe it was, for other people. He had come to the conclusion that the water under the bridge had washed him downstream a little too far, taking him too far from his family, too far from where he'd grown up. And too far from faith.

Now none of it felt as far away as he'd once thought.

“Are you always such an optimist?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.

“Not always. I know what it's like to have to forgive someone. I had to forgive my dad for hurting me, for hurting us, and for spending so much of my childhood drunk.”

“I'm sorry, Jenna.”

“I've worked through it. He's in the nursing home now, suffering from dementia. Sometimes he doesn't even know who I am. The past doesn't seem as important as it used to.”

“Yeah, my dad told me that he's had to do the funerals of friends his age. It does make you stop and think. I also realize I've spent too many years angry with him for pushing me the way he did.”

“You would have played anyway.” She smiled in the dim light on the porch, and her hand moved, like she meant to reach for his, but she didn't. “You could have walked away. You went to college. If you hadn't wanted this…”

“I could have done something else.” He laughed a little, because she never gave him any slack. “You're right, I guess I could have. And now I
am
going to do something else. The job with the sports network.”

“See, doors opened because your dad pushed you.”

“Yes, he pushed.” Adam leaned back, thinking about those ladies and their whispered comments about the two of them. “Jenna, I'm not a good person.”

“Have you been reading too many stories about yourself and believing what other people say?” She winked, teasing with her smile.

“Don't you believe those stories?”

“No, I don't believe them. I think you've done things you regret. But I don't believe that's who you are.” She cocked her head to the side and he didn't talk. He knew she was listening to her boys. They were still chattering, still splashing in the tub.

“The kids show up tomorrow for the first day of Camp Hope.”

“I know.” She shifted in the chair. “I might not be around for a day or two. I need to take some time with my horses.”

“You don't have to explain that to me. I know you have a life.”

“I'm not explaining.” She laughed a little. “Okay, maybe I am. But the horses are important to me. When I was little, this is what I dreamed of.”

“Didn't you have other dreams?” He turned in his chair, watching her in the soft light that glowed from the living room window.

She sighed a little. “I wanted to run away from home. I wanted to show horses on the national circuit and never come back to Dawson. Kind of like you. But my dream changed. Now it's about this farm and raising my boys. What was your dream?”

His dream? The likely answer, the one he'd always given to reporters, was that he'd always wanted to play pro football. But there had to be other dreams, other things he wanted in life. He smiled, not looking at her, because he knew what she'd think.

“I wanted to be a fireman.”

Her laughter filled the night air. “Of course you did.
Every little boy wants to be a fireman. But what else? What did you really want to be?”

“I'm serious. I wanted to be a fireman.”

“So, volunteer for the Dawson Rural Fire District. They can always use help.”

“I won't be here long enough.” The words plunked into the night, having the opposite effect of her laughter. He wouldn't be here long at all.

“No, I guess you won't.”

He glanced at his watch, and then out at the dark sky. No streetlights, no traffic, no sirens. He had forgotten that this type of silence existed. He had forgotten, or maybe never known, what it was like to sit and talk to a woman like Jenna Cameron.

“I should go home.”

She stood when he stood. “Yes, it is getting late.”

And her smile was gone, and he knew that it was because he was leaving. Did she wonder if he would sell the camp? He wished he had an answer for her.

He picked up both their glasses. “I'll take these in first.”

“Thank you.”

 

Jenna didn't follow Adam into the house. She could hear the boys playing in the bath, fighting with toy men and splashing water, probably all over the floor. Adam came back, his face in shadows with the living room light behind him. She waited on the porch to tell him goodbye.

He stepped onto the porch and the dog came up, rolling over in front of Adam so he could scratch its belly. Adam gave the dog the attention it wanted and then straightened, reaching for his hat that he'd left on the table.

Jenna knew that he should go. For her sake and for
the boys'. They didn't need to get attached to him, or get used to him in their lives.

Adam still stood on her porch, though. He smelled like mountains and cedar. And when he was this close, she could hardly breathe.

She needed to breathe.

She took a step back, taking in a deep breath of humid June air. Adam backed up a step in the other direction. He had to know as well as she did that this—whatever
this
was—couldn't be real. It was moonlight and missing something they'd never had, would never have. She had two kids. He had career plans that included Atlanta, not Dawson.

“Adam, you should go now.”

She had a list of reasons why he should go. She had a five-year plan that didn't include dating. Her boys were in the bathroom splashing, playing and needing for her to be there for them.

If she closed her eyes she could remember how it felt when Jeff looked at her that day that he said goodbye. She could remember how his gaze had lingered on her leg. She would never open herself up that way again, to feel that way, with a man looking at her as if she was less than beautiful.

She was past the anger, past the hurt. She had worked through so many stages of grief. She couldn't remember them all, but she knew that it had left something raw and painful inside her, an unwillingness to ever be hurt that way again.

“I'll see you tomorrow. Or in a few days.” Adam's voice, reminding her of this night, and her life here.

She opened her eyes and nodded. “I'll be around.”

“Okay then.” He didn't walk away. “Jenna, people are talking about us.”

“Oh?” What was she supposed to say? “I haven't heard, but I can imagine.”

“It's just that I know how you feel, about the boys.”

“Don't worry, I know you're going back to Atlanta. The boys know it, too.”

The boys yelled that they were finished, saving her from saying more, or doing something stupid, something she would regret.

“See you later.” He tipped his hat, pivoted and walked off the porch, a dark figure in the night. Her dog followed him.

Jenna walked back into the house, knowing that Adam wasn't a superstar, or a man who'd dated more women than Dawson had people. He was really just a cowboy who had dreamed of being a fireman.

And before long, he would be a memory.

 

Jenna had always dreamed of training horses. But the morning after Adam's visit, with the sun barely up, she was trying to remember why that dream had been important—especially on a morning when she would have liked to sleep late, a morning after a sleepless night.

She cinched the saddle on the gray gelding she was hoping to sell, talking to him, distracting him because he had a tendency to hold his breath and once she got the girth strap tight, he'd let his air out and the strap would be loose, causing the saddle to slide.

But she knew a few tricks, too. She moved him forward, slapped his belly and gave the strap a yank. The horse sidestepped and nodded his head a few times, his ears back to let her know that he didn't like losing.

“Oh, you poor baby.” She led him to the mounting block Clint had made for her, to help her mount without
the stirrups. There were challenges. Each day she faced something new, but horses she knew how to handle. She felt free when she rode, as if nothing could stop her, not even her injury.

Amputation
. She could say it. Her life didn't need a man to be complete. It was complete because she was alive and she was content.

As she settled into the saddle, Jack moved a little, adjusting to the weight in the saddle. He reached back, nipping at her booted foot. She nudged his head away and urged him forward.