Silver James - Cowgirls Don't Cry

Armed with the information he needed, Chance started his car and headed home. He had plenty of time to get the legal papers filed. First, he wanted a shower and a change of clothes because he felt slimy all of a sudden. Like a royal SOB. He had plenty of time to get the legal papers filed.

He was about to act the world’s biggest bully, all under the orders of the bastard who sired him. At a stoplight, he glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “You are a complete slimeball, you know that, right?” He didn’t blink at the accusation. He always told the truth, at least to himself.

Lost in thought, the light turned green, but he didn’t notice until someone honked. He waved a hand hoping the car behind saw the gesture as an apology, and wondered why the hell that mattered. He was a Barron. If he wanted to sit through a whole light, he would. He accelerated through the intersection and put his thoughts on hold until he arrived at his condo. Thinking about stealing the ranch from Cassidy Morgan would only make things worse. He barked a wry laugh. As if. He wasn’t sure how they could get any worse.

* * *

Cassie wore black—suit jacket, matching skirt and heels—and felt out of place. Colorful Western clothes abounded, the room resembling a patchwork quilt—homey and warm, like the people who wore them. The small chapel was bursting at the seams with an array of folks—old rodeo hands, neighbors, the friends garnered from a lifetime of living. Death was just another part of all that living. Her dad once commented that suits were for marryin’ and buryin’, but nobody said they had to be black. She should have remembered that.

The front of the room looked like a field of wildflowers. No fussy formal arrangements. She didn’t know the minister, but he seemed to know all about her dad. While short, his eulogy painted a vivid picture of the man. When he finished, he invited any who wished to share a few words or a memory.

Near the back, a man cleared his throat. Chairs scraped and creaked on the wooden floor, followed by the sound of heavy boots marching up the aisle. A big bear of a man, with a scraggly beard, a paunch overhanging the huge rodeo buckle on his belt and a chaw of tobacco in his cheek stepped forward.

“Ben Morgan saved my life some forty years ago. We were dang sure dumb back in our twenties. At the Fort Worth rodeo, I got hung up on a bull named Red Devil. Ol’ Boots here was working the arena as a clown, and Ben rode the pickup horse. While Boots kept Devil occupied, Ben jumped off his horse, grabbed that bull by the ear and rode him down to his knees so the other boys could cut me free. Next thing I knew, I’m sitting on my ass in the dirt, and Ben is flyin’ across the arena. That dang bull broke three of Ben’s ribs but he got right up, dusted off his britches and went on with his job. He was a helluva man, and he’ll be missed.”

A chorus of yesses and amens followed the man back down the aisle. A woman approached the microphone next. She paused to offer her hand to Cassie and gave Boots’s shoulder a pat. At the lectern, she turned a 100-watt smile on the congregation. “Most of y’all know me. For those who don’t, I’m Nadine Jackson, and I own the Four Corners Diner. Ben came in most every day before he got sick. But all the regulars kept up with him through Boots. Ben’d give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. He didn’t have deep pockets, but if a cowboy was down on his luck, Ben always had a few bucks to spare and dinner to share. My granddaughter called him the Louis L’Amour Cowboy.”

She paused to let the chuckles from the crowd die down. “She’s only eight, so I’m pleased the little darlin’ even knows who Mr. L’Amour is. But she’s right. Ben could’ve been a hero in one of those books. He was tall, rugged and believed in doin’ the right thing no matter what. He was the kind of man a body would be proud to call friend.”

Nadine turned her smile toward Cassie. “And you, honey? You was his pride and joy. He couldn’t stop talkin’ about you. Your buckles and trophies from back when you were a champion cowgirl, your report cards and your college graduation. ‘My little girl is a college graduate, Nadine,’ he told me. ‘She’s made somethin’ of herself.’”

Cassie’s ribs seemed to constrict around her lungs, and she couldn’t breathe. Pain. There was so much pain in her heart. She gripped her hands together until her knuckles turned white. Tears prickled behind her eyelids, and she swallowed around the lump clogging her throat. Oh, Daddy, I’m so sorry. She sent the prayer winging into the cosmos, hoping her father would catch a whisper of it.

“I just have one more thing to say,” Nadine continued. “The Four Corners is closed to the public today. I figure poor Cassie ain’t in any shape to be hosting this herd at home, so I’m throwin’ open the doors. Y’all come on by, grab a bite t’eat and reminisce some about Ben.”

When no one else came forward, the minister speared Cassie with a long look. She sat for a moment to gather her thoughts and steel her emotions. Boots gave her clenched hands a little squeeze. She leaned over, kissed his cheek and stood. From the podium, she gazed out over the room and was struck once more by the bright colors and the kind, honest faces of her father’s friends. They knew him so much better than she. He wouldn’t want her wearing black on this day, wouldn’t want her tears or her remorse.

Movement in the doorway caught her attention, and her breath froze for a moment when she thought she recognized the figure ducking out. Impossible. There was no way that man could have been the same one at the hotel in Chicago. The hair prickled on the back of her neck and she got a shivery feeling. Her dad would have said someone was walking across her grave. She shivered again, doing her best to ignore the premonition.

“Daddy...” Her voice broke, and she coughed to clear the frog in her throat. Feeling a bit stronger now, she tried again. “Daddy was full of sayings, most of them taken from Louis L’Amour books.” She offered Nadine a tentative smile. “We have a whole wall of them at the house, and I grew up on their truisms. Dad also had a tendency to tell me, ‘Shoulda, coulda, woulda, honey, just opens the door to regrets. That’s the worst thing a person can do—live a life full of regrets.’”

She bit her lip and stared out the door where that mysterious figure seemed to be waiting in the shadows. “I should have been a better daughter. And I could have. Would I if circumstances had been different? I don’t know. But I do believe Daddy wouldn’t want me worrying about the past. He lived and loved life to the absolute fullest. We can honor him best by doing the same.” She glanced over at Boots and was puzzled by the look on his face. Something was going on, something he didn’t want to tell her. She’d pin him down soon.

“Thank you all for coming, for being my dad’s friends. And thank you, Nadine, for your gracious offer of Four Corners. I never did learn to cook.” She glanced down at the speckled gray-and-black box that held her father’s ashes. “Hard to believe that a man bigger than life can be reduced to a little box like that. What’s left of his body might be in there, but his spirit is riding free. Nothing could ever contain it. Not a hardscrabble life and certainly not death.”

Cass stepped away from the microphone and was immediately enveloped in a big hug from Boots. Within moments, they were surrounded by well-wishers, despite her resolve to get to the lobby area to see if her imagination was playing tricks on her. The hairs on her neck rose again, and she could have sworn someone was staring at her. As surreptitiously as she could, she scanned the room, but no one triggered the sense of her being...hunted. She shivered.