Patricia Forsythe - Her Lone Cowboy

For the first time his eyes met hers. She saw that they were dark gray like the sky before a summer rainstorm. Sadness and regret lurked in them. She’d been angry at him because he’d been rude to her and Sam, but the torment she thought she’d seen in his eyes at their first encounter and again now told her his moodiness came from deep pain. His expression was wary and guarded. As she looked at him, really seeing his features for the first time, she noticed the scar that ran down the side of his face and ended at the right corner of his mouth. What had happened to this man? Her heart filled with compassion.

He must have sensed what she was thinking because he glanced away. “I’ll try that,” he said. “Like I said, I’m not much of a cook.”

He set his plate down, grabbed a potato from a bin beneath the sink, scrubbed and sliced it and put it in the chili pot, along with a can of diced tomatoes.

Laney placed small slices of cake on two other plates and called Sam in to join them. He came, bent at an awkward angle, half dragging, half walking with Bertie, his arms still wrapped around the long-suffering animal’s neck. “Can Bertie have cake, too?”

“No, dogs can’t eat chocolate,” Laney said. “It’s bad for them.”

“Can I have his piece?”

“No.”

Sam’s arms fell away from Bertie’s neck and dropped stiffly to his sides. “Why can’t I have two pieces?”

“It’s not your cake. Mr. Ransom is kindly sharing it with us. You can have one piece.” She waved the plate gently in the air. “Or you can have none.” She hid the plate behind her back.

His bottom lip started to jut out but Laney gave him a steady look that helped his decision. “One,” he said as if he’d thought of it himself.

“Good choice. Wash your hands.”

“Where’s the bathroom?”

She looked questioningly at Caleb, who pointed the way, and Sam skipped off in that direction.

Laney considered following and assisting him, but knew she needed to give him a little bit of leeway without hovering. When she heard the sound of water running, she turned back to the kitchen table.

As soon as she did, Sam broke into a loud, off-key rendition of the alphabet song.

She winced. “Sorry. There’s something about running water that always makes him want to sing. I taught him the ABC song and told him he had to sing it all the way through while washing his hands. That made him love water, I guess. He would live in the shower if I’d let him.” She pressed her lips together as she realized she’d shared way more than he could possibly want to know.

Caleb’s eyes were steady on her face. “He’s quite a kid.”

She rolled her eyes. “You have no idea. I sometimes have the horrible feeling that he’s already smarter than I am.”

Caleb smiled; a lift of the lips that curled up more on the left. Laney realized that the scar must have changed the way he smiled, stiffening the right side of his mouth. It was crooked and endearing. Her heart gave an unaccustomed flutter.

Disconcerted, she turned away. Sam shut off the water and quit his song in midsyllable. He dashed into the kitchen and clambered onto a chair. “I’m ready!” he sang out as if the world had been waiting breathlessly for his return. “Can I have some of that?” he asked, pointing to the beer. “Uh, please?”

Taken aback, Caleb said, “No.”

“Samuel John!” Laney said.

The little boy divided a confused look between them at what he clearly considered to be an overreaction. “What can I have to drink?”

“I’ve got lemonade. It’s powdered.” Caleb gave Laney a questioning look.

“Lemonade would be great,” she said, not able to imagine having beer with cake.

Caleb took two tall glasses from the cabinet, looked at Sam’s small hands, put one glass back and removed a plastic juice glass. After filling both glasses with ice and lemonade, he brought them to the table, stopping to give his chili a stir.

When Caleb joined them, Sam picked up his fork and said, “My mom makes cake real good. But you have to use a napkin to wipe your face. It’s rude to lick off the frosting. I used to do that when I was a little kid.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at Caleb. “You’re not gonna lick off the frosting, are you? ’Cause that’ll make my mom mad. You don’t wanna see her get mad.”

“Sam...” Laney said in a warning tone.

He gave her another questioning look, wondering what he’d said wrong this time.

“I’ll remember that,” Caleb said, his eyes meeting Laney’s. He picked up his fork and took a bite of cake. “He’s right. It’s good.”

Pleased, Laney ate her own piece. The three of them sat in companionable silence. She thought this was a very domestic scene for three people who had been at odds a couple of hours ago.

“Are you settling into your house okay?” Caleb asked awkwardly. Small talk was clearly not his forte.

He reminded her of one of her freshmen students, giving a presentation in front of the entire class for the first time. She decided to take pity on him since teachers are accustomed to taking charge of a conversation.

“Yes. We lived in a small apartment before, so we didn’t have much to move in and it was easy to get settled. There are still some things I want to do.” She launched into a description of her plans for her house, which she realized couldn’t possibly interest anyone but her, but as she talked, she saw him relax.

“We’re gonna put pictures of cowboys on my wall in my new room,” Sam announced. “Can I put your picture on my wall? You and Bertie?” He glanced down at his new best friend, so he missed the look of consternation that flashed across Caleb’s face.

Laney couldn’t imagine what had caused their new neighbor to look like that. She felt as if she was picking her way through booby traps, careful not to get caught by one or to let her son get hurt. And yet there was something about the way Caleb looked at Sam that told her he would never hurt the boy—a sort of sad longing mixed with regret. And it clutched at her heart to see that Caleb could only look at Sam for a few seconds before glancing away.

“We’ve got plenty of cowboy pictures, Sammy,” she said. “If you’ve finished your cake, why don’t you take your plate to the sink so I can wash it before we go?”

Sam hopped down to do as she asked, then hurried back to Bertie, who had pulled himself to his feet. The dog walked into the living room with Sam trotting along behind.

She turned back to their host, whose haunted eyes followed her son. This was a troubled man. It was clear to her that coming here had been a mistake. She had done the neighborly thing, but it was over now. From this point on, she and Sam would keep their distance.

She stood and said brightly, “Sam and I had better be on our way. I’ll wash these dishes up before we go.”

“No, that isn’t necessary. I’ll take care of it.” Caleb surged to his feet, his right leg twisting awkwardly. His breath hissed from between his teeth and he reached out to grab the back of his chair, but it skidded away from his grasping fingers. He would have fallen if Laney hadn’t leaped to his side, wrapped her arm around his waist and braced herself against him.

There was nothing for Caleb to do except put his arm around her shoulders. She heard his ragged breath rasp in his throat as he tried to gain control over the surge of pain she knew must be racking his body. His arm spasmed and his hand gripped her shoulder. When she looked up, she saw that sweat had popped out on his face.

Turning carefully, she reached for his chair and pulled it close so he could sit. It took him a minute, though, because he had to rest all his weight on his left leg as he stretched out his right. A tight, pale line appeared around his mouth when he clamped his lips together—probably to keep from crying out in pain.