A Cowboy's Heart. Brenda Minton
Читать онлайн книгу.
Six months since his last visit home and two years since he’d been in this house. It looked like the dust had been there since then, or before. Not to mention his dad’s old truck, tires flat and the frame rusting, growing weeds at the side of the house.
His dad had moved to a house in town two years earlier, and then to the nursing home. It hadn’t been easy, putting him there, knowing he needed full-time care.
Clint’s phone rang, and he reached for it, dragging it to his ear as he flipped it open. His sister said a soft hello.
“You sound bad. Do you look bad?” She laughed when he groaned an answer.
“Other than a dislocated shoulder, I had a great night.”
“Sounds like fun. I’m sorry I missed it.”
“Wait until you come down for a visit. Janie is still Janie. And her niece is living here.”
“The one that used to visit in the summer?”
“The one and only.”
“Is she still beautiful?” She was determined to see him married off.
“If you like tall, blond and gorgeous, she’s okay.” He rubbed his hand across his face, trying to rub the sleep away. “She isn’t my type.”
“Have you ever found your type?”
“Nope. I’m happily single.”
“I don’t think so, brother dear. I think you need a woman to soften your rough edges. You need someone who will take care of you, the way you’ve taken care of everyone else.”
“I don’t have rough edges. So, what’s up, Sis?”
He knew there was more to this call. He thought he might need to sit up, because the tone of her voice, even with the laughter, hinted at bad news. Holding the phone with his ear, he pushed himself up with his right hand and then slid back against the box of supplies he left here yesterday.
“What’s up, Jen?”
A long pause and he thought he heard her sob. He didn’t hear the boys, his twin nephews, in the background. His stomach tightened.
“Time to put our Family Action Plan into place. I’m going to Iraq.”
Not that. He could have prepared himself for almost anything, but not the thought of his kid sister in Iraq. And the boys, just four years old, without a mom. He couldn’t think about that, either. They had discussed it some. He had just convinced himself it wouldn’t come to this—to her leaving and the boys in his care.
“Clint, I need for you to take the boys.”
“You know I will. But there has to be someone better for them than me, an uncle who rides bulls for a living and who’s camping in a house without electricity.” For the moment.
“You’re it. You’re my only family, their only family. You knew this could happen.”
“I want to make sure this is the best thing for them, that I’m the best thing.”
“You were the best for me.”
He closed his eyes, wishing he had been the best for her, and that he’d been able to give her more. He’d done his best. They both knew that.
“When?”
“I have to leave for Texas in five days. I’ve known for a while, but I guess I was hoping that something would happen and I wouldn’t have to leave them.” She sobbed into the phone. “Clint, they’re my babies.”
“I know, Jen. And you know I’ll take care of them.”
“If something happens…”
“We’re not going to discuss that. But you know I love them and I’m going to take care of them until you get home.”
She was crying, hundreds of miles away at a base in Missouri. She was crying, and he couldn’t make it better. Sleeping under this roof, in this room, he remembered the other nights she had cried, when they had been kids, and he’d sneaked in to comfort her, to promise he’d make it better.
He had prayed, and she had doubted God even existed.
“I can’t make this better, Jen.”
“You do make it better.” She sniffled, her tears obviously over. “Clint, the Army has been good for me, you know that. And I’m ready to go. I know that I have to go.”
“But it won’t be easy.”
“It’s easier knowing that you’ll have Timmy and David.”
“Do you want to bring them here, or should I come to you?”
A long pause, and he heard the sob she tried to swallow. “I want to see Dad before I go.”
He looked out the dirt-covered window at the tree branch scraping against the glass, forced into movement by the wind. “Yes, you should see him. And it would probably be better for them if you got them settled here.”
“I’ll be down in two days,” she whispered, and he knew she was crying. And he felt a lot like he might cry, too.
How was he going to let his little sister go to war, and how was he going to take care of two four-year-old boys? And then there was Willow, added by Janie to the list of people who needed his help.
Covered with dust and bits of hay, Willow walked to the door of the barn to see what the dog, Bell, was barking at. Of course it was Clint Cameron walking down the drive, a tall figure in faded jeans and a blue-gray T-shirt. A baseball cap shaded his face and his arm was still in a sling. She shook her head. Cowboys.
She brushed her hands through her hair and shook the hem of her shirt to rid herself of the hay that had dropped down her neck. Clint didn’t spot her. As he walked up the steps to the house, Willow turned back into the barn.
She tossed a few more bales of hay into the back of her truck and cut the wires that held them together. A quick glance at the sky confirmed her suspicions that a spring storm was heading their way. The temperature had dropped ten degrees, dark clouds loomed on the horizon and the leaves of the trees had turned, exposing the underside. A sure sign of rain.
Before the rain hit, she needed to feed her animals. Cattle and horses were waiting and the bulls were bellowing from their pens because they knew it was breakfast time. She opened the feed-room door and stepped inside. The tabby cat that lived in the barn scooted inside and sniffed around in the corners of the room, looking for mice.
Willow grabbed a fifty-pound bag of grain off the pile and carried it out of the room. As she lifted, preparing to drop it into the back of the truck, Clint stepped through the open double doors of the barn and walked toward her.
She dropped the bag of grain into the back and returned to the feed room. When she stepped out with another bag, he was leaning against the side of her truck.
“Need some help?”
Willow tossed the second bag of grain. “I’ve got it. And I think it’s probably better if you give your shoulder a couple of weeks to heal.”
“Yeah, probably.” He moved away from her truck. “Willow, I’m not trying to take over or anything. Janie told me you might need some help around here, and I’m a pretty good hand. If you don’t need help…”
He tilted his head to one side, a soft look in eyes that were more the color of the ocean—gray with a hint of green—rather than just a shade of gray.
She shrugged. “A kid from down the road helps out sometimes. There are times when I can use more help.”
“Hey, that’s cool. I need to get work done on my own place, so I don’t want full-time work right now.” He moved away from her truck. “I wanted to see if you had some tools I could borrow.”