Karen Templeton - Welcome Home, Cowboy

To stare at her.

He lowered himself onto a dry patch in the dirt underneath one of the bigger apple trees, chomping off a huge bite of ham sandwich. Even through the tart burst of mustard, he could taste the sweet-smoky, thickly sliced ham. Damned if that didn’t take him back, too. But not to the bad times, to a place before that. A place he’d missed.

Emma twisted around, a soft smile on her lips. A piece of hair had worked loose, curling lazily around her cheek. She shoved it behind her ear. “Looks good.”

“Thanks. Should be finished by the end of the day. Figured I’d get to those fences tomorrow, then start on the raised beds the day after, if that’s okay.”

“That’ll be fine. I’ve already started hardening off the greenhouse plants, so they’ll be ready to go in the ground in a few days.”

“What all you planting?”

“Bit of everything. Broccoli, beans, several kinds of squash. Melons. A lot of lettuces. Those sell really well, especially to a couple of local restaurants that buy from us. Our CSA clients really like ‘em, too.”

“CSA?”

“Community Supported Agriculture. Otherwise known as farmers’ angels.”

Emma moved to a small stone bench nearby, slowly easing herself onto it with a soft groan. The dog roused himself and trotted over, nudging her hand until she shoved her fingers into his thick fur.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, fine. But … as much as I love being a mama, the last month of pregnancy is the pits. Cramps my style. And this one clearly thinks he’s in a lap pool.” She hesitated, then said, “I think this is what you call irony. Lee and I wanted a batch of kids. But we’d figured, when only two showed up in nearly thirteen years of marriage … I honestly thought we were done.” She shrugged. “Surprise.”

“You regret the timing?”

“That Lee won’t get to see this one? That my baby won’t ever know his daddy? Of course I do,” she said, shifting. “Every single day. Lee’s dying was definitely not part of the plan. But having this little guy to look forward to …” He saw her eyes glitter before she lowered them to the dog, now prone on the ground beside her. “It’s definitely taken some of the sting out for Hunter and Zoey. For me, too. Silver linings and all that.”

“You know it’s a boy?”

“Yeah. The kids and Annie and I argued about a name for months.” She smiled. “Finally settled on Skye.”

“Skye Manning. Good name.” Cash lowered his eyes to the half-eaten sandwich, waiting for the unidentified feeling to pass. “Bet Lee was a great father.”

Emma laughed again. “Oh, he stumbled around in the dark about parenthood like any other human being. Loving your kids doesn’t mean you know what you’re doing. But yeah. He was. The kids were crazy about him. Hunter, especially … he simply couldn’t make sense of Lee’s death. And he’s pretty philosophical about most stuff. But he was so angry . . .” Biting her lip, she averted her gaze.

“Like his mama,” Cash ventured, and a tight smile curved her mouth. She heaved herself around to get up, startling the dog to his feet, too.

She regarded the orchard for a moment before asking, “Did you know about Lee’s heart condition?”

“No,” he said around the rest of the ham sandwich, then scooped up the piece of pie. “I remember him being out of school a lot, always having doctors’ appointments. But that was when we were still pretty little. Elementary school. I don’t recall any problems past that point. Other than the usual, I mean. Colds, the flu, stuff like that. So you’re saying this wasn’t sudden?”

“For me, it was,” she said, then sighed. “I’ll spare you the medical terminology—which I could never pronounce right, anyway—but something about his heart made proteins slowly build up in his organs. The upshot was, by the time he had his little ‘episode,’ his kidneys were basically gone, which meant he wasn’t even a candidate for a heart transplant. I think he knew his days were numbered. He just didn’t know what that number was. And for some reason he didn’t feel I was on the need-to-know list.”

“It wasn’t right, him not telling you.”

Cash wasn’t sure which one of them his vehemence startled more. But it all seemed so stupid. And wrong, and unfair. Lee’s misguided belief that hiding the truth was somehow kinder than being honest, his dying so young, all of it.

“At the time,” Emma said, “I would’ve agreed with you. And I’ll admit it still rankles, sometimes. Then I think … what if I had known? Would I have still married him? Absolutely. But would I have said okay to having kids? To taking on this farm?”

A few more pieces of hair escaped when she slowly shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m pretty good about taking things as they come, but I’m also practical. Not a big fan of starting things I can’t finish. Then again, I can’t imagine life without my kids. Without this place,” she said, sweeping out one hand. “Any more than I can imagine what my life would’ve been like without Lee in it.”

The pie gone, Cash wiped his hand on his jeans. “Even though—”

“Yes, even though he kept secrets from me. Even though he never cleaned off his boots when he came inside the house, or put the top back on the peanut butter, or that he played a certain country singer’s CDs over and over to the point I thought I’d lose my mind,” she added with a devilish glint in her eyes. “Human beings drive each other nuts sometimes. So what? Lee loved me, and his kids, and the life we’d made together. And he was a good man, the kind of man a woman’s proud to have by her side. So no real regrets. Except for the selfish part of me that wishes he’d stuck around a little longer.”

A flush of something akin to envy washed over Cash as he picked up the PB&J. Envy, and a dull, reawakened sense of hopelessness he hadn’t indulged in a long time. Not about Emma, but for what she and Lee had obviously had. Although to be truthful, considering how badly he’d botched his own relationships, it all sounded like far too much work, if you asked him.

Besides, women like Emma—the kind of woman who saw her man’s imperfections but still loved him anyway—were pretty damn rare, in his experience. Then it hit him, how his mother had stuck by his father, no matter what, and look how that had turned out.

He bit into the sandwich; a burst of sweet fireworks went off in his mouth. Chewing, he peeled up the top layer of bread to see generous chunks of fruit embedded in ruby-red goo.

“This homemade?”

“Yep. Strawberry preserves. Annie’s specialty. We sell a lot of those, too. Especially to a couple of the local B and Bs. Peach, raspberry, blueberry. Cherry. Hot-pepper jelly, too.”

“Lord, I haven’t had that in years.”

“Doesn’t work real well with peanut butter, though,” she said, and Cash felt a grin shove at his cheeks. Then he frowned again. “How the hell are you so calm? I know how hard it is to work a farm,” he said, dodging the inevitable platitude. “Even with help. And you’ve got two other kids, and Annie—”

“I’m well aware of my obligations without you listing them for me,” she said in that maddeningly even tone. “I’m not in denial. Never have been. But like I said, I’m good at taking things as they come—”

“And what would’ve happened if I hadn’t shown up?”

“But you did.”

Keeping the apple for later, Cash got to his feet and handed her the empty plate. “Okay, then what about when I leave? What then?”

The plate clutched in one hand, Emma crossed her arms over her belly. “If you walked away right now and we never saw you again, I’d still be ahead of where I was yesterday. You pruned my fruit trees,” she said, nodding toward the orchard. “One less thing for me to worry about. Look, I’m grateful for any help I can get. Whatever your motives, I’m not proud. Well, I am, but not too proud to accept assistance—”