Roz Fox - The Maverick Returns

“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.

Chapter Four

The back of Cooper’s pickup still needed to be unloaded. Feeling he’d made some headway in dealing with Willow, Coop whistled a decent rendition of Jimmy Buffett’s “Margaritaville.” It was a catchy tune he liked to pick out on his guitar—which was stashed behind the Ram’s backseat. Maybe he’d take it up to the porch tonight and play a little after supper. Willow and Lilybelle might like that.

While he was at the big-box store, he’d cruised through the book and magazine department, and spotted a health magazine containing a couple of articles on autism. He’d skimmed one to see if it’d give him any insight into Willow’s daughter. One article, written by a parent of an autistic boy, mentioned that he responded positively to piano tunes. The kid was quite a bit older than Lily; he owned a CD player and an iPod, on which his parents downloaded music for him. Coop bought the magazine, since he wanted to do more than just skim both articles. The other one was written by a neurologist, and it looked informative. He was trying to understand more about the illness. Or was it called a condition? A disorder? He wasn’t even sure what to call it. Not that Willow would welcome him sticking his nose into her family business. She used to be so open and talkative. Now she kept anything personal to herself. He’d had to drag the story on Tate out of her, even though it was common knowledge in town.

Thinking about Tate ruined Coop’s mood. Physical labor was the best for flushing any thoughts of that jerk right out of his mind.

He unloaded the hay bales, breaking a couple open and spreading them around the stalls in the barn where he’d stabled his horses. He filled a third one, where he’d bed down now that the old barn smelled better. Fresher.

Too bad he didn’t have access to a tractor so he could haul the feed sacks out to the feed troughs. Hoisting one up onto his shoulder and jogging it over to where the majority of the steers milled about, it occurred to him that when he’d finished this chore he might be too tired to eat. The work took him until late afternoon. The thought of having to repeat this every day until Willow’s cattle fattened up was almost enough to make him rethink staying around. No wonder Willow looked like a toothpick if she was the one who hauled hay to her herd. He had to hand it to her. She had grit.

Back at the pickup, he dusted off and eyed the sacks of seed he’d bought to resow the two main fields for fall. Was it even worth doing? A closer inspection of what passed for an irrigation system was discouraging. All the sprinkler heads were rusted or corroded, and a few were missing. And the job of spreading the seed, which—given the size of her fields—ought to take a matter of hours, would probably take days, thanks to the absence of a tractor and spreader. He’d seen a hand-broadcaster in the barn. Standing with his forearms draped on the side of the pickup bed, he recalled all the up-to-date equipment owned by the Triple D. Coop calculated the unlikelihood of Sully’s lending him a tractor, plow, spreader and harrow for a few days. Plus he’d need one of the Triple D’s flatbed trucks and trailers to bring it down here from Hondo. About a hundred miles each way. He slapped his hat against his thigh and snorted in disgust. It was a pipe dream. He’d have to apologize for socking Sullivan, if not actually grovel for leaving their ranch in the lurch for five years. Groveling didn’t come easy to him. And that punch to Sully’s jaw had been a long time coming.

Coop squinted into the waning sun. He wasn’t ready to swallow his pride and kiss Sully’s boots yet. It’d take more than a few days of backbreaking work to get him in that frame of mind.

He stacked the bags of seed outside the barn, rinsed out the bed of his truck, then took the hose around back, where he washed off the day’s grime and sweat. He had only two more clean sets of clothes in his duffel. He should have taken his laundry to town when he went. He’d seen Willow hanging their clothes on a line out back, so she must not own a dryer. He’d hunt up a Laundromat in the next day or so.

The smell of the evening meal wafting down to the barn reached Coop half an hour prior to the time Willow had told him his meals would be waiting for him. He knew before he tucked in his shirt, pulled on his boots and retrieved his guitar for the trek to the house that she was fixing her signature meat loaf… .

Coop had shared enough of the meals Willow had fixed for her father to identify the aroma. He’d hung out after school sometimes, talking rodeo with her dad. She almost never came to his house. They were three men living alone and her mom didn’t think it was proper.

Coop’s mouth was watering long before he bounded up the steps of Willow’s porch.

She was just setting out the covered plate on an orange crate next to the door.

“Oh, Cooper, here you are. I saw you packing a lot of feed out to the cattle. I was worried you’d be late and would have to eat reheated supper. Hey, let me bring out a chair so you can take a load off while you eat. You must be exhausted from everything you did today. Those feed sacks weigh a ton. It’s why I haven’t tried to fatten up the steers.”