Man From Montana. Brenda Mott
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to right himself.
Kara moved to help, but Derrick beat her to it.
With seemingly little effort, he righted his son’s chair and steadied the boy to keep him from sliding out onto the ground. “You okay, bud?”
Connor’s face turned red. “I’m fine! Jeez!” The kids were still staring and snickering, and his face turned an even deeper shade. “What are you looking at?”
“Not much, you little queer,” the tallest boy sneered.
“Screw off, asshole!”
“Connor!” Derrick frowned. “Watch your language.”
But the anger on his face matched Kara’s own. She wanted to race over and give them a piece of her mind—and a swift kick to their bratty butts.
It didn’t help that Derrick’s reprimand embarrassed Connor even more. He thrust his palms against the wheels of his chair, sending it flying across the parking lot in a way Kara was afraid would cause him to crash again.
Calling out a final round of taunts, the teens hurried away across the field, then turned down the dirt road.
Kara rushed to catch up with Connor, Derrick on her heels.
“Looks like you could use some peroxide,” she said. Connor’s palm was skinned, and his elbow scraped.
“I said I’m fine. You guys don’t need to make such a big deal out of it.”
Derrick grunted. “Yeah, well, if it’s not a big deal, then pour some peroxide on your road rash.” He rested one hand on his hip. “I’ll bet Tina has some in her first-aid kit in the back. Why don’t you go on in and ask her?” He looked at Kara. “Tina owns the Spur.”
“Oh—yes, I think I met her once.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Really? I thought you didn’t hang out in bars.”
“I don’t.” She shrugged. “But Evan and I used to come here to dance once in a while.”
Derrick nodded. “Guess I’d better haul in my stuff. See you later.” He clamped his hand on Connor’s shoulder, then headed back to his pickup.
“Come on,” Kara said. “Let’s get your elbow cleaned up.”
“I can do it,” Connor said. Then, as if he remembered Kara wasn’t the enemy, he added, “Thanks.”
“I know you can,” she said. “Actually, I’m only sticking to you like glue because I’m nervous.”
He looked at her, puzzled. “Why?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Like I told your dad, I haven’t been here since my husband died. It’s sort of hard to deal with, you know?”
The boy’s expression softened. “Yeah, I guess it would be. What happened to him anyway?” He began wheeling his chair along at a more reasonable pace as they talked.
“Evan was a construction worker—he built houses. He fell off a scaffold.” She took a deep breath. “The impact caused severe internal injuries. Nothing could be done to save him.”
“Damn.” Connor frowned. “That’s gotta be tough.” He was silent a moment. “I don’t remember the accident that put me in this chair.”
Kara watched as he navigated around another rut, was careful to keep her tone casual. “No?”
“Uh-uh. I was only two when it happened.”
How hard that must’ve been for Derrick—and Connor’s mother. Connor said he didn’t remember the accident, but surely Derrick had told him the details. Kara started to press the boy for more information, then decided it wasn’t her place. She wanted to ask him where his mother was, and who she was. She remembered he’d said something about his dad having moved out of his apartment.
Did Connor live with his mom?
“By the way, that’s a sweet-looking Ford you’ve got.”
“Thanks,” Kara murmured. “It was my husband’s.”
“And you’ve got a horse?”
“Yeah, an Appaloosa.”
“Cool. I like horses.”
“Well, maybe you can come to my boarding stable and see her sometime.”
They’d reached the side entrance and, deftly, Connor bumped his wheelchair up and over the threshold into the bar.
“I’ll grab us a table,” Kara said. “You can join me after you get your elbow cleaned up.”
“Okay.” Connor wheeled across the hardwood toward a hallway near the bar.
The room looked about the same as she remembered. The bandstand along the far wall, a scuffed but polished dance floor in a horseshoe in front of it, tables barely big enough to hold drinks—with as many chairs crammed around them as possible—scattered everywhere. Off to one side, the divider that opened up into the dining area stood open, and Kara could see bigger tables over there. She sat at one, then decided it was too far away.
Shouldering her purse, she chose a table with four chairs, close enough to get a view of the band, yet far enough from the dance floor and bar to avoid traffic.
“Hey there. What can I get you to drink, hon?”
Kara looked up at a familiar face. The waitress—a woman about her own age—smiled at her. She wore a sparkly western shirt, short, denim cutoffs and red cowboy boots. Kara couldn’t remember the woman’s name, but her dark red hair—sprayed and teased into a wild mane—was hard to forget.
“I’ll have a Coke,” Kara said. “Actually, make it two. I’ve got a friend joining me.” Then she added as an afterthought, “And maybe an order of super nachos, if you still serve them.” Connor might like some. The kid deserved a treat after what had happened outside.
“We do.” The waitress scratched her order on a notepad, and Kara saw the gold heart pinned to her shirt with her name on it—Tori. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
“Thanks.”
Tori brought the Cokes just as Connor got to the table. “I ordered some nachos,” Kara told him, “but I wasn’t sure what you’d like to drink. Is Coke okay?”
“Sure. Man, I love the super nachos.” He gave her a crooked smile, dimples in his cheeks.
“So do I.” Connor was a cute kid, and he looked a lot like his dad.
They sat in companionable silence, watching Derrick and his band set up. He looked their way once, and Kara quickly turned away. She was about to ask Connor what grade he’d be going into next fall, when she heard a voice she knew well.
“My, my. Look what the proverbial cat dragged in,” Danita said.
Kara turned and groaned as she saw Beth and Hannah as well. All three were dressed in their country-western finest.
“I thought you didn’t do the bar scene,” Beth accused her.
“And I thought you were all coming here last night,” Kara replied.
“We were,” Beth said, “but Hannah had an emergency call, so we postponed until tonight.”
“And I’m glad we did.” Danita leaned over, squeezing Kara’s shoulders from behind. “We’re happy you could make it, girlfriend, but isn’t your date a little young?”
The boy looked embarrassed.
“Ignore her, Connor,” Kara said. “She’s old and senile.” She laughed as Danita lightly punched her in the arm. “Danita, meet my neighbor, Connor Mertz. Connor, this is Danita—my former best friend.”
“Mertz…are you Derrick’s