Susan Hornick - More Than a Cowboy

Don’t live in darkness. Let God have it.

Anger burned through her. God had abandoned her behind a vacant booth that night, holding a basket full of destroyed dreams. God had left her nurturing a life she hadn’t asked for and wouldn’t destroy.

The wounds God had allowed denied her all that she dreamed of, leaving her fearful of intimacy, unable to shed the shackles of the past, unable to give Sarah or herself the kind of life they wanted.

And now God had allowed this man back into her life. To what purpose? If God had forgiven Mitch Jessup after what he’d done, she wanted no part of God. There was no way she could ever forgive Mitch.

“Forgive me,” he pleaded.

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“I’m sorry.” Anguish rang in his whispered words.

Haley hardened her heart. “It isn’t enough.”

She pivoted and rushed down the hall, away from his pleading eyes and wasting body. Someone called to her, but she didn’t answer. She shoved the emergency door open and gulped in a cleansing breath, but the tepid air couldn’t erase the smell of death any more than the night’s darkness could hide what her mind held.

Hap’s battered truck waited by the curb, empty. She yanked the door open and slid inside, resting her head against the worn upholstery. A few minutes later, he slid into the seat beside her.

“Somebody light yer tail on fire?” he said softly.

Haley jerked upright. Pain shot through her neck and sides. She wanted to leave this place and all of its memories behind and never look back. But now and forever, they would follow. Sarah was all that mattered. She must protect Sarah.

“Where were you?” she asked.

Hap handed her a steaming cup of coffee. “Looking for you. Didn’t you hear me call to you? Ya scared that nice nurse right outta her shoes takin’ off like that.”

Haley took a big gulp, scalding her tongue, welcoming the pain that drew her back from the past. “I didn’t see her.”

Hap slanted a look her way and started the engine. His gray eyes filled with sympathy. “Saw the doc. He said you’re going to be sore but okay. Not so sure about the other fella.” Hap pulled out of the parking lot. “Thought about what you plan to tell Sarah?”

Haley glanced back at the hospital entrance. “That I’m battered but okay.”

Hap eased into a turn with the same quiet manner he did everything. Even in the darkness, she could almost picture the well-oiled wheels in his mind rewinding the video, viewing and analyzing each event in detail. A street light illuminated his face. He glanced her way. In a flash she saw his hurt, not for himself, but for her and Sarah. Tears stung her eyes.

“You don’t have to shade the facts no more. Your Pop ain’t here for you to protect, Haley. Even if he was, he’d understand. Do you plan to tell Sarah the truth about her father?” he asked without reproof or absolution.

“The truth, Hap? What is the truth?”

He turned the truck again, bringing the fair-grounds into view. “Wasn’t sure until I saw you leaving that young man’s room. Things never did set right with your story. Didn’t happen the way you said, did it?” He reached a hand out and patted her arm. “What do you plan to do about it?”

His face turned toward her, his compassion covered by darkness. Haley’s pulse hammered against her throat.

“Nothing. I can’t, Hap. And for Sarah’s sake, you won’t either.”

Jared raced into Mitch’s room as the nurse injected something into Mitch’s IV and unlocked the bed wheels. Tubes and needles poked from Mitch’s body. Jared slid to a stop, too stunned to move.

“Jared?” the nurse asked, rolling Mitch’s bed toward the elevator.

“Yes.”

“He’s been asking for you. You can go part of the way to surgery with us.”

“How bad?” Jared said.

The nurse poked the elevator button, but didn’t look up. “I’ve seen worse,” she said, checking the IV flow.

Jared took Mitch’s hand and felt a weak squeeze. “I’m here, Mitch. I understand you rode Resurrection.”

“Yeah.” Mitch’s voice faded. “Rode him. Bull still won. You should’ve seen it.”

“Guess that means you’ll have to retire for a while on your winnings until you get better.”

Mitch’s hand went slack. Jared held on as the elevator ascended to the second floor.

“Won’t get…better. Your meeting…” Mitch whispered.

“Went well,” Jared said, shutting out the fear gnawing at his throat. “I should have been here.”

Mitch’s heavy lids opened, revealing eyes that seemed to see into another dimension. “We didn’t know my ride would be rescheduled. God did. As it should be…” His voice faded. “Where is she?”

Jared glanced at the nurse. “Who?”

Mitch gulped in a breath. “Haley. She was here.”

“There was a young woman here earlier but I think she left,” the nurse explained. “She said she was family.”

“Who’s Haley, Mitch?” Jared asked.

Mitch struggled to stay awake. “I…. Don’t let her go…” He swallowed. “I…need to forgive…”

The words slurred together, not making sense. Jared bent closer. The connection with Mitch faded.

“You hang on, Mitch.” Jared gripped the bed rail. “You hear me? Hang on. I need you.”

“Promise,” Mitch said.

“Anything. What?”

Mitch’s fingers circled Jared’s hand. “Haley gets the money.” His eyes closed. “I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

The elevator doors opened. A male attendant scrambled in to assist the nurse. Jared trotted to keep up as they pulled the gurney toward the surgery’s double doors.

“Wait here,” the attendant said. “Someone will check in with you later.”

Jared’s heart pounded against his chest.

Mitch’s lips parted. “It’s okay. I’m ready to go. Remember…promise.”

Jared’s gut clamped. “I’ll remember, Mitch. But you’re going to be all right.”

The doors banged shut, cutting off Jared’s words. He winced and stared through the glass until Mitch disappeared behind another set of doors. The hall was quiet, dark and empty. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and headed back to the waiting room.

Memories burned his mind—high school rodeos, football games, prom. Their parents had married when Jared was in the fifth grade and Mitch a year behind. Every important event in their lives had been shared. He raked a hand through his hair and glanced around the room. Empty paper cups and wadded tissues lay scattered in the waiting room, remnants from the last occupants. A hardback Bible sat isolated on a table.

Jared sank into the chair and ran his fingers over the gold lettering. For eight years Mitch had been out of his reach. He’d searched and prayed, desperate to keep Mitch out of trouble, but Jared hadn’t been able to protect him. He couldn’t protect him now. He squeezed the Bible between his hands. He couldn’t lose his brother. Mitch had to live.

Jared bowed his head. Please, God, don’t let Mitch die.

He passed the hours pleading to God on Mitch’s behalf. Then the hospital paging system crackled.

“Code blue.”

Six days later, Jared parked behind the Fellowship Booth and headed down the midway. The memory of Walt Jessup’s crumpled form at Mitch’s gravesite was too raw to revisit. He’d do anything to ease his stepfather’s pain. Focusing on the truth about Mitch’s accident was a welcome diversion. He’d reviewed the playback tapes and asked Sam McIntosh, the association president, for an investigation, hoping what he believed he’d seen on the tapes was wrong. He paused beside an empty booth and watched the milling people.

“Clarabelle,” he murmured to himself. The violet-eyed clown he’d spoken to the day Mitch died formed clearly in his mind. Clarabelle and Mitch’s Haley were one and the same. An odd feeling of disappointment punched his gut. “Who are you?” he whispered. “And why would Mitch leave you his winnings without telling his family anything about you?”