Jenna's Cowboy Hero (8 page)

“You're always a chicken.”

“Buddy, doing the right thing doesn't make a guy a chicken.” Adam put the boys down and took them by the hand to finish the walk. Timmy tried to get loose. Adam kept hold of his little hand.

And Jenna was walking toward them, looking like he might be her favorite person in the world—for the moment. She didn't know him that well, and he planned on keeping it that way. Let her think he was a hero, not a jaded athlete who wouldn't stay long enough for her to really get to know him.

“I'm taking the two of you home. Adam, I hate to leave, but you have plenty of help and these guys are going to be spending time in their room, not playing.”

“I understand. Do you need help getting them in the truck?”

She shook her head. “I can manage. Besides, I think that's Jess driving down the road. Probably with more complaints about the camp.”

He thought she was probably right, but as she walked away, Jess wasn't on his mind. She was.

 

“Bologna sandwiches for supper tonight, guys.” Jenna walked through the back door and the boys looked up. They were sitting at the kitchen table, looking at books, because she wouldn't let them play.

For the last two hours, since she'd left the camp with them, they'd been confined to the house and only allowed to do what she approved. While she'd gone out
to feed her horses, the selected activity had been looking at books.

Her poor horses. Monday she really had to stay at home and do some work with them. She had a gelding that she needed to sell at the end of the month. He was nearly ready to be used in reigning competitions.

“Bologna sandwiches?” Timmy wrinkled his nose at her dinner suggestion and brought her mind back to the kitchen and her dinner preparations. “Can I have cheese and crackers?”

“You can. And grapes.” At least if they ate grapes she'd feel like they were eating something healthy.

David wrinkled his nose when she said grapes. She sighed.

“What is it, buddy?”

“Do I have to eat grapes?”

“Carrots?” she offered as she poured herself a glass of tea. “Or an apple.”

He bit down on his bottom lip and stared at the floor. When he looked up, his eyes were watery. “There aren't any apples.”

“I had a whole bag.” She really needed to sit down. Pain was shooting up her leg, biting sharp, and her back ached.

“I kinda fed them to Charlie.”

Jenna sat down. “Kinda? You fed them to your horse? All of them?”

He nodded. “He liked 'em a lot.”

“Oh, David, honey, we need to check and make sure you didn't make him sick. You guys go clean up before we eat and I'll check on Charlie.”

“Sorry, Mom.” David kissed her cheek. “I can check on him.”

She hugged him and she didn't sigh. “It's okay. I'll check on him.”

He sounded so big, and she knew someday he would be a good man. She was raising good men. It meant everything to her. Protecting them meant everything. They had been left by too many people. They had almost lost her.

She tried to block the image of that moment earlier in the day when Adam had held both of her boys, and they had clung to him. He would leave them. After the camp was off the ground and running, he would go back to his life. The life that was so far removed from theirs, she couldn't imagine all of the differences. Once he returned, he would never think of them again.

Not that he needed to think of her. He was a blip on the radar screen of her life. She had two main priorities: Timmy and David. She had watched them cry when their dad left after his last visit, telling her he would send child support, but his life wasn't about her or the boys.

They hadn't seen him for three years. He was remarried, living in California. Someday she knew they'd want to know him. Maybe someday he'd want to see them again.

Six months ago she had seen the confusion on their faces when they asked about Jeff, the man she'd planned to marry. She'd had to explain that he wasn't going to be seeing them anymore.

Her life, her recovery, was too much reality for a guy that wanted to stay young a little while longer. Sometimes she wished she could have stayed young longer. There were days that she felt twenty years older than her twenty-seven years. She felt like she'd lived a lifetime in the last seven of those years.

She remembered what it was like to feel pretty. She hadn't felt pretty in a long, long time. She couldn't remember getting dressed up for a date, or the way it
felt to put on something other than flat-heeled cowboy boots or tennis shoes.

But she didn't have time to feel sorry for herself.

“Be right back, guys.” She stopped at the door and looked back at them. They were on a stool at the sink, washing their hands. “Don't get into anything.”

Wishful thinking on her part.

“J
enna, are you out here?” Adam walked into the barn, peering into the dark shadows. He'd been in the house for five minutes, waiting for her to come in, to feed the boys.

“Jen?”

“Jenna. No one calls me Jen but Clint.” She was sitting outside a stall, looking inside the darkened cubicle. He peeked around the corner of the gate and saw the pony, bloated belly and head hanging.

“What's up?” He leaned against the post, looking at her, and then at the pony. They both—her and the pony—looked pretty miserable. He knew enough about women to know that the word
miserable
wasn't one that she wanted attached to her appearance.

“David fed his pony a bag of apples. I think Charlie is going to be okay, but I wanted to make sure. He's pretty uncomfortable, the little pig.”

“How about you? You okay?”

She looked up, eyes dark, shadowy. Her nose was pink and her face was a little puffy. He wouldn't ask. He didn't want to go there. He had a rule about women,
nothing personal. Go out to dinner, take a walk in the park, go to a show, but never ask personal questions.

Too late, he realized that his question was personal. He hadn't asked about her tears, but he'd gone far enough. Her eyes watered a little and she shrugged. But then she didn't answer.

“I'm fine, just a little tired.”

“That's my fault.” He reached for a bucket and turned it over to use it as a seat.

“Not really. I've just been pushing myself a little too much lately.”

“The boys told me they're having bologna sandwiches for supper.”

“Tattletales.” She smiled.

“Yeah, I called from town.” He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. It was getting shaggy. “I brought food from The Mad Cow.”

“You didn't have to do that. Bologna sandwiches won't hurt them.”

“Too late, it's done. So why don't we go inside and eat before the food gets cold. I can come back out before I leave.”

“Okay.” She stood, wobbling a little. She reached for the gate and held it a minute before pushing it closed.

Her first step was tentative, and he didn't know what to do, or how to offer help.

“You going to make it to the house?”

“Of course I am.” She took another step, this one looking more painful than the last. A single tear trickled down her cheek but she looked up at him, smiling. “It might take a while.”

“I'll be back in a minute.”

“Where are you…”

“Right back.”

He jogged to the house and found what he was looking for in a corner of the laundry room. When he returned, she was sitting on the stool. Charlie was still moping in a corner of the stall.

Adam opened the wheelchair and pointed. She glanced up, her cheeks pink.

“I assume this is yours?” He waited, holding the handles. “Come on, I'm a football player, I know how to drive one of these.”

“I know.” She sniffed a little as she stood up. “I want this in my past, not here, today.”

“I could carry you.” He winked, and she smiled a little, another tear trickling down her cheek. Tears were not his thing, especially soft tears that someone fought, trying to be strong. Hers weren't the wailing, I-want-my-way kind of tears. Hers were about being strong, but feeling weak.

And he didn't have a handkerchief.

“No, I think I can do without you carrying me.” She moved to the seat and hunched forward a little. And he didn't want her to feel weak. “This isn't the past, is it? It's my life. One moment and everything changed forever.”

He pushed her out of the barn. The sun was setting and the sky was pink. The trees were dark green silhouettes against the twilight sky. He maneuvered over rough ground, big rocks and clumps of grass.

“Moments do that to us.” He pushed the chair over a rut. “Moments can change everything. That's life. A moment and my cousin was gone and I'm here. I know that isn't a moment on a dusty road in Iraq, but it's the moment that brought me home.”

“With me,” she whispered. “I'm sorry, that isn't what I meant. I'm just saying, this probably isn't where you expected to be, either. If you weren't here, where would you be tonight?”

“Saturday night in Atlanta?” He laughed because he didn't want to answer. “Probably not somewhere I'd be proud of.”

“Life has taken you a long way from Oklahoma, hasn't it?”

“Life does that. This wasn't what I wanted—this land, the farms, the country. I worked my entire life to be where I am, doing what I've done, going where I'm going in my career.”

“I'm not sure what I wanted before.”

“What do you want now?”

She looked back, her hair brushing the back of the seat. “I want to raise my boys. I want to be a good mom. I want to survive this and be strong. That's about it.”

“I think you're achieving your goals. You have great kids. You are strong.” He was staring at the back of her head and he could see her hands clasped together in her lap.

The back door opened and Timmy pushed it wide, stepping out to hold it for them to enter. The kid didn't even look worried. Her boys had accepted their lives, too.

Adam respected that. He'd never been good at accepting. Sometimes it felt like he'd been fighting his entire life.

Today wasn't any different. Today he was fighting the urge to kiss a woman from Oklahoma. He was fighting the urge to promise her things would get better. Those weren't his promises to make. The best he could do was provide a meal.

He parked her at the table and left her to get the tea he'd already poured for them. The boys raced out of the room, obviously relieved from their punishment.

Adam watched them go, shaking his head because
they were all about life, playing and loving their mom. That probably wasn't hard for them to do, the loving Jenna part.

 

Jenna looked at her kitchen. The boys had already eaten. The takeout containers were open on the table, and mostly empty. The dog had run into the kitchen and was trying to nose his way onto the table, like he thought no one would notice.

“Dog, get.” Jenna shooed him away, wheeling closer to the table and smelling fried chicken from The Mad Cow.

“Do you want tea?”

She turned. Adam had two glasses. One for him, one for her. Or that was her guess. He was staying? She felt weak inside, and he was staying.

“You know, I can take it from here. If you have somewhere you need to go.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” He set two glasses on the table and opened a container.

“No, I just know that you have a lot to get done in the next few days.”

“The help I got today made a big dent in that.”

“It's all coming together.” She dug her fork into the chicken and took a bite. Adam was watching, his own meal in front of him.

“Yeah, it is.” He leaned back in his chair, watching her, and she wasn't hungry. “But then what? Let it run its course for the summer, and then put it up for sale?”

“Or you could keep it going. You could be really good for the camp and the kids. Even if you ran it from Atlanta.”

“I don't think so. I'm not a role model or a camp director.”

“You're not so bad.”

His brows went up. “Yes, I am.”

She smiled, shaking her head in disagreement with him, because she thought he had a kind heart that he'd been keeping tucked away, protected.

“Oh, what did Jess want?”

“Same as before. He wanted to give me a second chance to back out on this camp. Pastor Todd tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't listen. He said Pastor Todd has a history of bringing in strays, so why would Jess trust his judgment.”

“I wouldn't worry. Jess will give it up.”

“He's going to talk to the county planning and zoning committee.”

“We'll have to pray.”

“Right.”

Jenna pushed her plate away, because she wasn't really hungry. “What happened to you?”

He looked up, no smile, just a look in his eyes that was soft, a little wounded. “What does that mean?”

“You know what I mean. What turned you against God?”

“I don't have anything against God. I attended church my entire childhood.”

“And now?”

“I don't think anything happened. I left home.” He shrugged and looked away. “I think I enjoyed the freedom of college a little too much. I was busy with football, busy with my social life.”

“And no one to tell you to slow down.”

“For the first time in my life. That kind of freedom can be a dangerous thing.” He grinned a little. “I can't say that I'm proud of that, or how far I've gone from my roots.”

“I guess I don't know your roots.”

“Pastor's kid. And a dad who almost made the pros, but didn't.”

She had missed that part of his bio.

But now she got it. She knew the secret to who he was, the look she'd seen in his eyes. “You thought you weren't good enough.”

“I didn't say that.”

“No, you didn't, but I'm right. You were a hero, from a good family, and you didn't feel any better about yourself than I did as a kid.”

“Maybe. Why does it matter so much to you?”

Heat crawled up her neck and she looked down, at the napkin scrunched up in her hand. “I've watched you and I've wondered what your story was.”

“Now you know.” He stood, and after standing next to her for a minute, he leaned and kissed her cheek, his beard brushing her skin and his scent lingering with her as he moved away. “You're better than most people I know.”

“You are, too.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Jenna, you're not seeing things clearly. I'm going to run out and check on the pony. Do you think we should call a veterinarian?”

“I can do it.” She stood and followed him to the door, fighting the urge to bite down on her lip, fighting past the pain that her own stubbornness had caused. She should have been more careful. The heat had caused her leg to sweat, irritating skin that was still tender. She knew better. Or at least she was learning.

“I can. You stay here with the boys. I'll come back and give you an update on his condition.” He stood at the door. He was Oklahoma again, in jeans and a button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hat was
pulled low over his eyes. The neatly trimmed goatee framed his smile, making it soft, tender.

“Thank you. Could you tell the boys to come inside?”

Jenna watched the boys run across the lawn with the dog. They had water guns and were shooting each other, soaking their clothes. Water dripped from their hair.

“Sure. You sit down and take it easy.” He smiled down at her, and then he touched her hand, his fingers resting against hers.

Jenna nodded, because she couldn't talk, because he was near and she hadn't felt like someone who needed to be kissed in a long time. And he looked like a man about to kiss a woman, like he might be thinking about it, or even fighting it.

“Adam?”

He looked down, leaning a little with one hand on the door frame, and then he let out a sigh. His hand moved to the small of her back, holding her in a way that made her feel safe. He moved a little closer, his head dipping, closer to hers, closer, and then pausing. She thought he might move away. She wanted him to move away. She held her breath, waiting. And then their lips touched.

The kiss was tender, but strong. His hand on her back kept her close. She held on to his arms, needing to be steady, needing to be near him. She needed to feel like a woman a man might want to kiss, even if it only lasted a few seconds.

Thoughts played through her mind and she pushed them back, letting herself feel the moment in his arms, with his lips on hers and his hand on her back. And then she moved away, turning her head a little to break the connection.

Her boys were playing in the yard. Adam Mackenzie was passing through. He wouldn't stay in Dawson, or in her life. They were both temporary for him, this town and her. She made him feel strong. She knew that. And she didn't want to be his strength, not that way, as if she was the weak woman that needed him.

He had brought them dinner. She reminded herself of that fact and so she didn't say something she might regret. There was enough to regret without adding to it.

“I'll go check on the pony.” And then he leaned again, kissing her one last time before he walked out the door.

She sat down, watching him go. He was checking on Charlie. And then he was walking back to the house, across the lawn where the boys were playing under one of the big trees that she had played under as a kid. He stopped to talk to them, to her boys. They stood up, showing him what they'd found.