- -
- 100%
- +
“Did you vacuum?”
Craig looked up from the book. “Yeah. The place needed it.”
No argument there. The cleaning lady had bailed on him last week and wasn’t due again until next Thursday.
Matt gave a small shrug. “Thanks.”
“No problem. The hardest part was finding the vacuum.”
“Where was it?” Matt asked as he pulled off his hat.
A look of surprise flitted across the kid’s face. “In the garage.”
“Ah.” Matt was about to toss the hat onto the nearest table when he noticed that the top had been dusted. The old ropes he’d been collecting in the far corner of the living room were coiled and stacked.
“I have a cleaning lady,” he said as he crossed to the rarely used hat rack and hooked his ball cap over the spurs hanging there. “She complained about too much stuff in the hall closet, so I told her to put the vacuum wherever she liked. I never asked her where she kept it.”
“You never use it?”
“Not if I can help it. I take it you do some of the cleaning at home?”
A quick shrug. “Someone has to. Mom works. A lot.”
“You don’t have to do this to earn your keep or anything.”
“My mom told me to help out where I could.” The kid spoke with a hint of challenge. Okay, he needed to make himself useful. Matt wouldn’t fight him.
“Well, I appreciate it.” Matt glanced again around his now-tidy living room, then walked down the hall to his room—right across from the extra bedroom. He paused, then nudged open the door. The bed was made, the blankets taut, and all of the kid’s clothing was folded and packed in his suitcase, which lay open against the far wall. Ready for a quick getaway?
More likely the boy was used to living out of a suitcase.
Matt rubbed a hand over his forehead. How rough was Willa’s life? He had a suspicion that she was getting no child support, but how bad off was she? Or was he reading more into the packed suitcase than he needed to? Maybe Craig was just a neat freak. The evidence seemed to point that way.
Matt pulled the door almost shut and went into his own room, where he sat on the bed and took off his brace, wincing as he pulled the Velcro tabs. If anything the joint hurt worse than usual. Not the promising sign he was hoping for.
Once the brace was off he put on sweatpants and a black T-shirt, then went into the living room, trying to walk normally.
“Are you okay?” Craig asked.
“Fine.” So much for walking normally. He sat down in the chair opposite the kid and stretched his knee out. “Hear from your mom?”
“No.” Craig shut his book, leaving his index finger inside to mark his place. “I tried to text her, but it never delivered. She must not have service there.”
“I think the area is pretty spotty. When I called her she kept cutting out.”
“Maybe that’s part of being a pretend cowboy,” Craig said before focusing back on his book. “No cell service.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
For a moment the silence hung heavy between them. Then Craig said in a matter-of-fact voice, “I know it’s weird having me around.”
“It’s not a problem.” To Matt’s surprise, he meant it. “But I confess that I haven’t had a roommate for a while.”
The kid’s lips curved up slightly. “And probably weren’t expecting one.”
“No, I wasn’t. But we’re family.” Matt’s experience with family, with the exception of his mom and Willa, wasn’t stellar, but there was no reason it couldn’t improve a little.
“Yeah?”
Matt sensed the need to tread carefully. “Yeah. Of course we are.”
Craig put his book down. “My mom is doing the best that she can.”
“I know she is.” Craig seemed to be pretty together, so Willa had to be doing something right. “And I also know that life has a way of throwing curveballs.” He rubbed a hand over his knee. “People have helped me out. I’m happy to help out you and your mom.”
Craig focused on something behind Matt for a moment, then cleared his throat and said, “I have a feeling that I might need a place to stay for longer than a week.”
“Your mom said—”
“I think it’s only fair to tell you that she always says that. She means it, too, but Mom...Mom’s kind of, I don’t know...optimistic?”
“I don’t care how long you have to stay.” Matt’s gut tightened as he said the words. What was he getting himself into? And what if he needed to get out?
Craig snorted. “We’ll see.”
“It doesn’t bother me,” Matt reiterated. Really, what did it matter? So he didn’t have as much privacy as he was used to. Big deal. He had a clean house and someone to talk to. All he had to do now was to find common ground so they could have a conversation. Maybe he’d have to watch that Star Crusher show the kid kept talking about.
* * *
“MONTOYA HAS BRASS, I’ll give him that.” Andie checked her cinch before dropping the stirrup back into place. “I can’t believe he gave it another shot.”
“I’d love to think that he got the message this time,” Liv said, slipping the bit into Beckett’s mouth, “but somehow I don’t think so.” She pulled the headstall up over the horse’s ears and buckled the throatlatch, her fingers clumsy because of nerves. Tonight was her first high-speed practice and she hoped she survived. She’d studied the drill on paper, had practiced alone in the pasture, but felt less than prepared all the same.
“Then to top off a grand day,” she continued, refusing to let the nerves get to her, “Mom called and we’re all meeting in Missoula this Saturday to look for bridesmaid dresses.” Liv had long known the day was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier to face.
“Shopping with Shae. How fun.”
“Yes,” Liv said, her voice straining as she tightened the cinch, “I’m so looking forward to it.” She sighed. “It’s not that I hate shopping with Shae or anything. It’s just that I—”
“Hate Shae. I know.”
Liv laughed in spite of herself as she dropped the stirrup. “You know I don’t hate Shae. We’ve had a few close moments.”
“Like when?”
Liv considered. They had never been enemies—just residents of different planets forced to live as sisters. “Once she needed help with a class.” And Liv had helped her, because she’d known how hard it’d been for Shae to ask. She’d helped Shae, helped Matt. Then they’d dumped her and started dating. No one, not even Andie, knew how much that had hurt.
At the time, Liv had simply pretended that, after working closely with Matt, she’d come to realize that he didn’t have much substance. “Not crush-worthy” had been her exact words to Andie. She hadn’t mentioned that she’d cried into her pillow the first time Matt and Shae had gone out.
Wasted time. Wasted tears.
Even though she could look back and shake her head at what had seemed like the end of the world, she also felt vestiges of anger at being so damned used.
Shake it off.
“To be honest,” Liv said, putting a foot in the stirrup and mounting, “I never hated Shae. I was just jealous of her. She seemed so...perfect.” And Liv had felt so far from perfect when they’d lived together. Shae was confident and bossy and on the occasions when she and Liv argued, Liv inevitably backed down—mainly because her mother would insist that she did.
“Shae is perfect,” Andie said airily. “Just ask her.”
Liv smiled fleetingly before saying in a flat, adamant voice, “I don’t want to go tomorrow.” What’s more, she didn’t want to go into the arena right now. “I don’t know why I’m even invited. Shae will pick what she wants whether I’m there or not.”
“Your mother probably insisted.” Andie mounted as she spoke.
“My mother never insists on anything from anyone except me.”
“Then your mother manipulated.”
“That’s probably closer to the truth. Frankly, I wish she hadn’t wasted the effort. Shae’s having a small wedding, but I don’t doubt for one minute that she’s going to bully me into buying the most expensive dress on the rack.”
“But it will be in impeccable taste.”
“No doubt. Am I being too much of a bitch?”
“You’re probably just tired of Shae walking over the top of you.”
“Could be, could be.”
Andie laughed as she gathered her reins. “Well, there’s nothing like an evening thundering around an arena to work out your aggressions.”
The knot in Liv’s stomach, the one she’d been trying to ignore by focusing on the other stresses in her life—Matt, bridal shopping, her father—tightened. “I’ve never done a drill faster than a trot.”
Andie’s eyebrows went up. “That will not happen often with this crew.”
“But—”
“You’ll learn the drills in no time. I did.”
“You were a barrel racer.”
She and Andie turned their horses to follow the other riders to the arena gate. Linda called for attention once all twelve riders were there, and then Andie leaned close to say, “You will screw up. Everyone does. If someone yells at you, ignore it.”
“They’re going to yell at me?” Liv whispered back.
“Oh, yeah.”
“I didn’t sign on for—”
“Ladies!” the woman on the buckskin barked. Liv jumped as if she’d been caught talking during a test.
Get a grip.
Yes, she could do this. It was just different than what she and Beckett were used to. She’d joined the sedate drill team in Billings as a way to meet other horsewomen and to get Beckett back into the arena in a way that didn’t stress him out. They’d both loved the easy-paced practices and leaving the Billings drill team behind had been one of Liv’s regrets. Those easy practices were obviously a thing of the past.
Andie’s eyes were straight ahead, focused on Linda, but she wore that small I’m-not-taking-this-serious smile that made Liv wish she wasn’t, either. Drilling with this bunch would be a great way for her to learn to lighten up. Make some mistakes.
Linda described the strategy for the practice, and Liv had little to no idea what she was talking about. “We’ll do the first run-through at a trot to bring Livvy up to speed.”
Liv send up a silent prayer of thanks and nudged Beckett forward. His ears pricked at the gate, as always, and his eyes rolled a little, but he went in quietly. Linda immediately bellowed at Liv to turn to the left and circle the arena at a fast trot behind Susie, who’d entered just before her. Liv urged Beckett into a trot and did as she was told. Linda continued to yell instructions: follow Andie, pair up with Margo, cut to the center, roll back—roll back? really?—reverse and head to the center. Slide to a stop....
By the time she finished, the back of her shirt was damp and her jaw was tense...but she’d done okay. A couple more times at a trot and she’d be good to go.
“Okay, ready to do it at a canter?” Linda asked.
“No!” Liv ignored the fact that it was a rhetorical question as her survival mechanism kicked in. “Not even close.”
“You’ll do fine,” Susie said.
“Define fine,” Liv muttered, turning Beckett to join the rest of the women as they left the arena.
Liv did not do fine on the next run, but she did survive. Her knee hurt from making a wrong turn and finding herself on a near collision course with Becca. They banged knees as they passed, but at least the horses hadn’t crashed together.
As the practice continued, there was lots of yelling, but none of it, she realized, malicious. Just loud attempts to get her back on course before she creamed someone—again—which wouldn’t have happened if they were trotting.
“Well done,” Linda said as she rode up next to Beckett.
“Really?” Liv asked flatly. “I almost killed Becca.”
Linda waved a dismissive hand as if killing Becca was not a major concern. “But you didn’t. And you catch on fast. You did good for the first time.”
“You didn’t do that good,” Andie said as Linda rode away, making Liv smile.
“Thanks for the reality check.” But actually, now that it was over, Liv did feel a sense of accomplishment. She and Beckett could do this and Beckett seemed to enjoy it more than the slow parade drills—probably because he was born to run. Charging after a calf wasn’t all that different than charging after a teammate who was opening up a gap in the pattern.
“Anytime, my friend. But you know what?”
“Mmm?”
“It’s good to see you stepping out of your comfort zone.”
“You like to watch me suffer?” Andie might be her closest friend, but she had no idea just how much time Liv had spent out of her comfort zone over the past year. Some things Liv just didn’t talk about.
“If I wanted to watch you suffer,” Andie said as they joined the group riding out of the arena, “I’d come along on the shopping trip tomorrow and watch you try to hold your own against Hurricane Shae.”
“Hey,” Susie Barnes said, catching up to Liv and Andie. “Isn’t that Matt Montoya’s horse?”
“My horse,” Liv said automatically.
Susie’s forehead creased. “But...he used to be Matt’s, right? I recognize that spot on his belly, but it took me a while to remember why I knew him.”
“Matt once owned him,” Liv admitted.
Susie smiled. “I knew it. He and Pete rope together sometimes when Matt’s home.” She frowned. “Isn’t this the horse that disappeared?”
Tread lightly. Liv did not want to alienate a team member with a snarky reply. Thankfully she had years of experience repressing true thoughts.
“You know, I don’t really know the history,” she said pleasantly. “He was for sale last year and I bought him.”
“Oh,” Susie said. “I see.” Although she didn’t. “Well, the two of you did great for the first drill.”
“Thanks,” Liv said. “Can’t wait for the next practice.” She might be a little sore and mentally exhausted, but it was going to be a lot more fun than shopping with Shae.
* * *
DINNER AT MATT’S parents’ ranch was canceled on Friday due to an unexpected storm that delayed his mother’s flight home from Las Vegas, where she’d been visiting her best friend from college. Matt was beyond grateful.
Not only was he avoiding an uncomfortable family dinner, but Craig also wouldn’t have to watch Matt and his father stiffly interact. Craig was an astute kid, and Matt was certain he’d key in on the dynamic between him and his dad—and he’d also ask questions. Questions Matt didn’t feel like hearing or dealing with.
“So what are we going to eat?” Craig asked upon receiving word that they would be staying home for supper.
Craig might be a fourteen-year-old cleaning wonder, but he wasn’t much of a cook. Unfortunately, neither was Matt, but one of them had to put food on the table. When he was alone, Matt usually grazed or ate out. When he did cook for himself, he fried up steaks or burgers, dumped some lettuce out of a bag and called it a salad. On special occasions he might bake a potato.
Right now, though, he was out of steak, burgers and potatoes.
“I think we should go out for a pizza,” Craig announced. “I’ll buy.”
Matt didn’t think that was a bad idea—the pizza part, not Craig buying.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“We’re going out for pizza?” Craig asked, springing up off the sofa. Matt remembered when he used to be able to move like that. Hell, he’d give just about anything to be able to move like that again. Almost thirty-one years old and he felt like he was sixty-one. Or older.
But he’d get it back. Soon.
“We’re going to the grocery store. We’ll stock up on some frozen pizza and whatever else you like to eat.”
“Mom gave you money, right?”
Matt grunted and hoped it sounded like an affirmative. He was in a lot better shape financially than Willa. “Can I drive?” Craig asked as they walked to the truck.
“Sure. In about a year and a half.”
“Mom lets me drive all the time.”
“I’m sure she does.”
“Once I was the designated driver when her designated driver failed in his designated task.”
Matt smiled without looking at the kid. Craig’s use of vocabulary slayed him.
“So what shall we get?” he asked a half hour later as Craig pulled a cart out of the line.
“We start with some real cereal.”
“Wheaties aren’t real?”
Craig shook his head and grabbed a box of Cap’n Crunch.
“Would your mother approve?”
“She practically has stock in the company. Check her purse. You’ll find a plastic bag full of the Cap’n.” Craig looked over his glasses. “For emergencies, of course.”
“Of course,” Matt said, adding a box of Wheaties to the cart. “What else?”
Craig led him through the aisles. In addition to his usual staples—steak, hamburger, salami, bread, eggs, milk, cheese, Pop-Tarts—Matt bought crackers and peanut butter, chocolate milk, frozen pizzas...lots of frozen pizzas...Hot Pockets, frozen dinners and a watermelon. Willa was allergic and never bought watermelon, so Matt gave in and bought a melon that the two of them would never get eaten. Not alone anyway.
“Is this everything?” Matt asked before they got to the checkout stand, a bit in awe of the sheer amount of food in the cart—most of it of the snack variety.
Craig’s expression changed. “Did Mom give you enough money?”
“More than I need,” Matt said. “I was being literal. I hate shopping and don’t want to come back.”
“If you let me drive—”
Matt just shook his head and started for the nearest checkout stand, wishing he’d seen that Dirk Benson, the assistant manager of the store, was behind the register before he’d pushed the cart to the stand.
“Hey, Dirk,” he said, pulling out the wallet he wouldn’t be needing for a while, what with the amount of food Dirk was going to ring up.
Dirk called for backup, aka a courtesy clerk, and started sliding items over the scanner. He was almost done when he asked, “So what’s going on with you and Ryan Madison?”
And just when Matt thought he was going to get out of there without an inquisition. He should have known better. Dirk’s son had rodeoed with Matt and Dirk and took local rodeo very seriously.
“In what way?” Matt asked, knowing full well in what way, but not wanting to talk about it in front of the kid.
“In the way that he did a lot better than you did at the NFR last year, what with him qualifying and all.”
Matt nodded congenially, determined not to let the guy get to him. Dirk had never forgiven Matt for being a better athlete than his own son. Add to that the fact that Dirk’s kid and Ryan had buddied up in college and, yeah, Dirk was no Matt Montoya fan.
“And now he’s pretty close to qualifying again and even though you’ve got a lot more earnings, doesn’t look like you’ll be adding to them.”
Matt smiled tightly, then swiped his card with a quick motion that he hoped conveyed his feelings, as in...shut up, Dirk.
“There’s a big purse for the challenge,” Dirk continued. “And Madison will probably win.” He blinked innocently at Matt. “What with you being injured and all.”
“Don’t write me off.” Matt shoved his wallet deep into his back pocket and rearranged two of the bags that were balanced precariously on top of the load in the cart.
“You saying you’ll be able to come back in time?”
“Take it however you want,” Matt said as he loaded the last bag—the one Dirk had missed because he’d been so busy talking. And yes, he’d be back. He had a month and a half.
“What’s he talking about?” Craig asked as they walked through the automatic doors and he tried to keep up with Matt, who was moving pretty good despite his knee.
“Nothing.”
“Sounded like something.”
“Sounding like something and being something are not the same thing,” Matt muttered.
“You don’t want to talk about it.”
Matt hit the unlock button on his keys. “Who’s cooking tonight?”
“I cooked last night.”
“Pop-Tarts don’t count.”
“I can’t cook.”
“As I see it, you have all day to learn. Maybe a little internet research. We got a lot to work with here.”
“What are you going to do while I research recipes?”
“Practice.” He spent hours every day roping a dummy from both the ground and horseback. Next week he’d start roping calves again.
“For your big comeback?”
Matt exhaled. “Yeah. For my big comeback.”
* * *
“I DIDN’T EXPECT you to get home so late.” Tim slowly got up from his chair as Liv walked through the front door. He was trying hard to look normal, but wasn’t quite succeeding. Pain pinched his features.
Liv hadn’t had a chance to talk to him before she’d left for practice, since he’d still been on the baler proving himself to be hale and hearty, so she’d made dinner and left it in the warming oven, loaded Beckett and left. It had taken everything she had not to march across the hayfield and rap on the tractor door to tell her father that he’d made his point—he was getting better—and he didn’t need to kill himself to prove it.
But she hadn’t. Maybe once he got the hay knocked down, he’d set a more reasonable pace. One thing she knew for certain was that if she made a big deal, or continued to make a big deal, then her father’s stubbornness would kick into overdrive.
“Did you eat?” Liv asked, walking past him and into the kitchen. The dishes were done and the food was put away. She turned back to find her father standing in the doorway, looking pale. “Don’t do the kitchen stuff,” she said sternly. “That’s my job.”
“I’m used to doing the kitchen stuff.”
“Well, then there’s no reason we can’t switch off for the day. I’ll handle the hay and you can take care of the cooking.”
Haying wasn’t rocket science, but Tim had always insisted on doing it himself. When she was younger, Liv had thought Tim did everything around the ranch because he had an old-fashioned notion of men’s and women’s work, but now she suspected it was because he didn’t like to delegate. He was a man who depended on himself and only himself—end of story. He’d let her work by his side, which he had done while she’d stayed with him, finding it a way they could spend time together but not have to talk. But he flat out refused to let her take over operations.
“I’ll do the field work.”
Liv leaned back against the counter, folding her arms over her chest as she studied the closed-off man standing near the table.
“How’re you feeling?” she asked flatly. Liv was not a fan of direct confrontation, thanks to all those years of training from her mother, but she’d just spent an entire evening out of her comfort zone, so a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.
“How am I feeling?” Tim asked stonily. Liv couldn’t say his barriers went up, because with her father they were never truly down, but he wasn’t in any hurry to answer. It was as if he hoped that if he stared her down long enough, she’d say, “Oh, never mind.” She didn’t, even though it was tempting, and he finally said, “Tired, after a day on the tractor. I think that’s understandable.”
Liv sighed, but before she could clarify that she meant overall, not just today, Tim said, “What did Matt want yesterday?”
The sudden change of topic had the exact effect that Tim had no doubt been hoping for. “How’d you know he stopped by?” she asked. She certainly hadn’t told him.
“Walter told me when he came to borrow the auger.”
Walter lived directly across the county road from the Bailey Ranch and filled his hours watching the coming and goings of his neighbors—when he wasn’t borrowing stuff from them or doing odd jobs.
Liv gave a small shrug. “He wanted the same thing as last time and I think he got the point this time.”
“Well, if he didn’t—”
Liv pushed off from the counter. “I can handle Matt. It isn’t like he can do much about the Beckett situation.”
“I don’t want him harassing you, like that other guy that you didn’t want to tell me about.”
“Two visits are not exactly harassment.” And she wished Tim didn’t know about “that other guy.” The only reason he did know was because Greg had the chutzpah to call Tim looking for her after she’d stopped answering his calls.
Her father raised one eyebrow and she took his point. After Matt’s first visit, during which she’d taken a firm stand, there was little call for a second. At least not in person. Phoning would have done just as well, but Matt had probably figured he’d be more persuasive in person. And he was, but Liv was not falling for it.