The Maverick Returns

Chapter Three

Coop’s mind jolted, then went into free fall as he tried to process what Willow had just said. Would telling her he was sorry sound too trivial? Man, he hurt for her. Hurt also for the shy child who looked perfect, though petite for her age. Some part of that initial jolt came from hearing the child’s name. Lilybelle. It was a name Willow had talked about when she and Cooper were serious. What she’d wanted to name their daughter if they ever had one. Lily for Coop’s mother, and Belle for Willow’s.

Coop was quite sure Willow named her daughter without informing Tate of the name’s origins. Tate had no doubt left it up to her, as his own parents had separated in a bitter divorce before Willow moved to Hondo. But Coop let all of those issues pass without comment. Instead, he focused on the child’s condition.

“Lord, Willow, it must be extra-difficult for you, knowing how hard it was to care for your dad all those years,” he managed, his sympathetic gaze resting on the child. “I noticed she was shy with strangers, but I figured it was because you were protective of her, since you live way out of town and have no close neighbors.”

“About the work that needs doing around here,” Willow said, crossing her arms and getting back to business. “I can afford to pay you for two days’ labor. The fence is probably the most important. I thought maybe you could set some of the posts deeper?”

Coop shifted his attention back to Willow. “With our history, I can’t in good conscience charge you a dime.”

She stiffened. It was plain at the outset that she intended to refuse. Coop wasn’t surprised when she said, “I pay my way. I don’t need your charity.”

“Okay.” He held up his hands. “I won’t argue with you. I’ve got the time. You need a few things done. Pay me for fixing the fence. Then we’ll see about doing the rest for room and board.”

A wide range of emotions flitted across Willow’s face before her too-thin shoulders sagged. “I’ll agree to those terms provided you’re okay with mine. You’ll bunk in the barn, and I’ll set breakfast and a sack lunch out on the porch. And the same with supper. If you want the night meal hot, be here to pick it up by seven. I have a hard-and-fast rule that no ranch hands are allowed inside my home. Ever.”

“So I heard,” Coop drawled, mentally kicking himself for not going with his first impulse of hightailing it out of there the moment he discovered who the widow was. It irked him that there was no trust between them, despite the fact that they’d once shared every intimacy. He wondered when she’d grown so hard and closed off. Granted, her life had never been a cakewalk, what with having an invalid father, and a mother who was never at home because she worked two jobs. But, hell, they’d been lovers, and now she was leery of letting him step inside her ramshackle house. Telling himself the sooner he blew through the chores and left her place, the better, Coop slapped his hat against his leg, bounded down the steps and scooped up the reins.

“Tonight’s supper will be macaroni and cheese,” Willow called. “We have that a lot because it’s Lilybelle’s favorite. I’ll set out a covered plate in about an hour.”

He gave a curt nod, then led his horse, Legend, away. He found it hard to be curt. Willow talked big, but she looked defenseless, standing there hunched, one bare foot tucked beneath the other. Willow and her delicate child, who’d stared at Coop out of big, wounded eyes.

In the barn, he asked himself again what he was getting into as he jerkily unsaddled his horse, but he shook off the thought, and set to work shoveling out two stalls for his animals. The barn was a mess he’d wait until morning to fully deal with.

He decided to sleep out under the stars that night, where it smelled better. And speaking of smelling better… He dragged the partially repaired hose behind the barn and did his best to fix up a makeshift shower, glad there wasn’t anyone around to see him hop around or hear him curse the icy water. At least the shocking cold neutralized his lingering anger over Willow’s standoffishness.

The shower made him late to pick up his dinner. It was nearly eight o’clock, but he was hungry enough to scarf down the congealed cheesy macaroni, and be thankful for it. The vegetable—zucchini—was less appetizing, but it helped fill the hole in his stomach. After he finished, he rinsed his plate and left it where he’d found it.

In the morning, he saw Willow and Lilybelle crossing the field that flanked the house. They disappeared over a rise, making no effort to contact him. No big surprise there.

Coop scavenged through the toolshed that sat adjacent to the barn, searching for what he’d need to mend the fences and shovel out the barn. He was astounded that the shed and tack room were both devoid of any of the tools one would expect to find on a ranch.

* * *

NOT CATCHING WILLOW at the house or elsewhere on the property for two days, Coop made do with the hammers, pliers and crowbar he carried in his pickup.

Like clockwork, his meals appeared on the porch outside the door. They proved to be as meager as the grain boxes Willow should have filled to begin fattening her steers for market. Coop didn’t want to track her down and complain about the lack of anything resembling meat in any of his meals when it was clear that times were tough. Breakfast was usually pancakes, lunch was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and supper, a noodle dish with tomato sauce or white gravy.

Cooper was fed up by day three. By then it was readily apparent that Willow intended to pull out all the stops to avoid him, or send him away completely. At breakfast she’d set out an envelope with two days’ pay in it and a note thanking him for his help. With that, he fired up his pickup and headed into town to hunt up a good restaurant and a feed store. He left the envelope full of cash where it was.

Not caring that it was barely ten o’clock in the morning, Coop went into a busy local café and ordered a steak with all the trimmings. Satisfied, he paid and gave the waitress a good tip. “Can you direct me to the closest feed store?” Coop asked her.

“Hank Jordan’s is the only feed store serving our area,” she said, drawing him a rough map on a napkin.

Coop arrived at the feed store to find Hank himself behind the counter.

“I’m doing some work for Willow Walker,” Coop said. “I need twenty sacks of grain, two hundred-foot hoses and rye seed for a couple of fifty-acre fields. I assume Mrs. Walker runs a tab for essentials?”

“You assume wrong,” Hank said, peering at Coop over a pair of wire-rimmed half-glasses. “You the latest of her part-timers? Last two guys came in and bought mash for their horses. Don’t see much of the widow. Now, her husband was a piece of work. Had an excessive taste for gambling and booze, but he never seemed short of money. The missus rarely came to town, but when she did, she paid cash.”

Coop frowned. “I’m actually an old friend of Mrs. Walkers. I haven’t seen her since before she married Tate, but her ranch is a little the worse for wear, and I want to help her out.”

“If you ask me, she shoulda left that no-good husband of hers a long time ago, but she stuck it out. You know how people in small towns talk. Well, I’ve heard from more than one source that while she was pregnant, she was seen with bruises. My wife, who sometimes cashiers here, said she noticed, and asked, but was told they came from working cattle. No one bought that story. And no one held any liking for her man, who bragged that his dad, supposedly a wealthy rancher up north, bought him this ranch and stocked it with prime steers. If you and the widow go back a ways, you probably know more about the family than I do. One thing I thought was odd—after the big brawl where Walker was accidentally shot, his father swooped into town, claimed his son’s body, and took him elsewhere to be buried. I figured he hasn’t been providing for Mrs. Walker ’cause she’s been selling furniture and tools for grocery money and to replenish her kettle ever since the funeral. I hope you’re what you say—a friend—and it don’t make things worse for her that I’m telling tales out of school.”

“No, no,” Coop stammered. “I appreciate the information. I’ll pay for the stuff I ordered. While you’re at it, if there’s room in my pickup out there to add six bales of hay, pile it on.”

After his pickup was loaded, Coop backtracked to the area’s big-box store, which sold a little of everything. He was frustrated to think that, given their history, Willow hadn’t come clean with him about her true circumstances.

Forty minutes later, he came out with enough bags of groceries to fill the passenger side of his Ram. He fumed all the way back to Willow’s ranch, telling himself it was no wonder she looked as skinny as the branches on the tree for which she was named.

On pulling into the driveway, he saw that her front door was open, except for the screen. Coop jumped out and quickly unloaded the many bags of groceries, transferring them to the porch. When he finished, he knocked loudly on the screen door casing, making a racket that brought Willow running.

“Cooper, what on earth?” She wiped her hands on a dish towel and unlatched the screen. “I thought you’d taken off without the pay I set out for you, but then I realized you’d left your horses and trailer behind. What’s all this?” She swept a hand over the sacks of groceries, bending to pull Lilybelle back when she wriggled through the narrow opening.

Coop stood there holding two more large sacks. Pushing open the screen with one foot, he thrust them into Willow’s arms. “I went to the feed store and tried to put a few items on your tab. Imagine my surprise,” he said tightly, “when the owner said you don’t run a tab, and only buy supplies when you have the cash. Seeing as how you’ve been feeding me the equivalent of rice and beans all week, I suggest it’s time you were candid with me about what’s really going on here.” He didn’t mean to sound gruff but couldn’t help it. He grabbed up two of the heavier boxes and steamrolled into the house, stomping on into the kitchen ahead of her.

Coop let her stew silently while he brought in the remaining groceries. “Well,” he said, opening the almost-empty fridge to shove in three gallons of milk and a variety of other perishables. “Start spilling your guts.”

Willow braced her hands on the grocery-covered countertop. Appearing anxious, she sputtered and ended by saying defensively, “I never lied to you, Cooper. Everything I said was the truth. I told you Tate died last year, but I assumed you already knew. I admitted the ranch is too much work. And I do have it listed for sale. But what’s to be gained by airing Tate’s and my dirty laundry to you, of all people?”

“Why me of all people?” Coop asked, barely pausing as he opened cupboard doors and filled the shelves with cereal, bread, rice and various staples.

“Because of…oh, just because,” she said, throwing up her hands. “Like you’ve never made a mistake in your life.”

He laughed. “According to my brother I’ve made plenty. I sold my quarter horses, and I pissed away almost all of what I earned on the rodeo circuit.”

“But you didn’t—you don’t—have a family to support. It’s different for you, Coop,” she said, her lips in a tight line.

“Tell me how.” He merely stared at her, waiting.

Willow sank down on a kitchen chair and laced her hands together in front of her. Faking interest in her fingernails, she whispered, “With what you’ve been privy to these past few days, I’m reasonably sure you’ve guessed that while Tate liked being seen as a ranch owner, he disliked the work required to actually run a ranch.”

“And…he lost valuable ranch profits playing poker?”

Willow opened her clasped hands to let Lilybelle climb onto her lap. Heaving a sigh, she mumbled into her daughter’s hair, “Yes. Tate fancied himself a gambler. The truth is, he lost far more than he ever won. Money was always tight.”

“Did you do all the work around here so he could gamble?”

She shook her head. “The bulk of what I’ve done was after his death. Before, his dad bought into Tate’s lies about hardships. Rustlers. Sick cattle. Endless droughts. Bart got into the habit of sending a check the first of every month.”

“He didn’t come to evaluate things for himself?”

“No. Bart doesn’t deal well with women. He didn’t want Tate to marry me. They spoke on the phone…when his son was sober. Tate’s other weakness was booze. The last two years, he drank a lot. I made sure I beat him to the mailbox so I could bank Bart’s checks and pay Lily’s doctor bills, pay for her tests and buy food before Tate emptied our account. I don’t think he knew how much his dad sent, or that I forged his name on the checks to deposit them.” She lowered her eyes to avoid Coop’s laser stare, and reluctantly gave up the last bit of information. “It’s been harder since Tate’s death. Bart quit sending money.”

“What did he expect you to do? How did he expect you to clothe and feed his grandchild?”

“Bart ignores the fact that Lily and I exist. His wife ran off, so he thinks the worst of all women. And Tate lied to him a lot.”

“Bart’s a jerk. He can afford to help you.”

“Yes, well, I applied for Aid for Families with Dependent Children, and for food stamps,” she said. “But because I had the ranch and still owned cattle, we didn’t qualify—not even for farm subsidy because I wasn’t growing crops to sell. But we got by,” she said, squaring her shoulders.

“Right,” Coop said huffily. “Selling the tools necessary for a working ranch. And furniture out of your house, I hear,” he said, taking a brisk survey of the kitchen before stepping over to the doorway to check the living room. “And as if that wasn’t bad enough, I heard he hit you.”

“Great! So the town busybodies shared every crappy detail of my life. Well, I didn’t ask you to ride in here on a white charger and save us, Cooper Drummond. We aren’t your problem,” she said coolly. “I put out two days’ wages for you. So now you can take off. If you give me an address when you land at your next job, I’ll send you repayment money for the groceries. I don’t want you concerning yourself with us any longer.”

“Bull! That was a nice little speech, Willow. Do you by any chance remember what you said to me right before I went to rodeo?”

She rolled her eyes. “Can it be repeated in front of a child?” She moved to place her hands over her daughter’s ears. “I probably said a lot of mean things, Cooper. I didn’t want you to go. I felt…cut adrift, and I couldn’t understand why you’d choose to go off and ride in rodeos.”

“You never asked me to stay. What you said as I left, was that I was the most stubborn, pigheaded guy you’d ever had the misfortune to meet.”

“I didn’t want to…hold you back,” she persisted. Then, noticing he’d pulled a large box of graham crackers out of a sack, she met his eyes. “Graham crackers? How did you know they’re Lily’s favorite snack? We’d run out of them,” she added, biting her lip.

“I had no idea, Willow. I figured all kids like them.” For the first time since barging into her house, Coop felt self-conscious. “Hey, I bought Miss Lilybelle something else. I almost forgot.” He snapped his fingers. “If you think it’s okay for her to have these.” He pulled out a cloth bag tied closed with a drawstring. “Blocks,” he said. “They’re big, bright colorful ones. You can use them to teach her numbers and letters.” He tumbled several blocks onto the table.

“Oh, Coop.” Willow choked up, unable to manage anything else for a moment. She drew her chair closer to the table and started to hand a block to Lilybelle, then saw that the child had beaten her to it, grabbing one in each hand. In the blink of an eye, Lily sorted and stacked all the blocks lying on the table by color.

“Look at that, will you?” Coop grinned as he dumped out the rest of them.

“I’m amazed.” Willow gaped at the girl. “I hadn’t tried blocks. I… Coop, thank you. I’ve been really rude to you and you’re nothing but nice to me.”

“I want to stay here and finish some of the other things on your to-do list. Don’t make a big deal out of it, Willow. I saw the blocks while I was out and thought of the kid. I bought the groceries because I’d like to eat something besides the same old pasta disguised in a variety of thin sauces.”

Willow stood Lily on her feet, then rose to glare at Coop. “Those meals weren’t that bad. And my sauces aren’t thin.”

“But you are. So I rest my case.”

Willow tossed her head. “Back when you took off for the rodeo, did I also tell you that you’re the bossiest person I’d ever met?”

“Not that I recall. I think I’m very reasonable.”

“Bossy! I’m not going to be your short-order cook, Coop. But since you were so kind as to fill my fridge and cupboards, pray tell me what your heart desires for your evening meal,” she said saucily.

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t buy this stuff to make your life more difficult, Willow. You choose something out of what I bought. But please, put a little meat in whatever you fix.” He headed for the door, then stopped. “Uh, you haven’t become a vegetarian, have you? The way I remember it, you used to make a tasty pot roast. Oh, and burgers. Nice, fat ones.” He gathered up the empty grocery sacks and carried them to the screen door. Calling back over his shoulder, he said, “And meat loaf. You made a damn fine meat loaf, Willow.”

Willow wasn’t quick enough with a retort, though he probably wouldn’t have heard, anyway, as the screen door banged shut in his wake. She leaned a shoulder against the edge of the kitchen doorway. For several minutes she did nothing. It wasn’t until she shook herself alert that she realized she’d been smiling. Something she hadn’t done much of over the past several years. It felt unfamiliar. But good, too, she thought as she turned and saw that Lily had stacked the blocks in neat rows, not only by color, but with the letters all facing the refrigerator. Willow’s heart nearly burst with hope and pride and gratitude to Coop. Lord, he was a good man.

So, why did she want him to leave? Why did she feel such guilt over his landing on her doorstep? She had plenty of answers, but she needed to keep them to herself. Anything else would be unfair to the man she’d pushed out of her life five years ago.

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