The Cowboy's Homecoming. Brenda Minton
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say or do. The nurse continued to stare at him. She finally lowered her gaze to the papers she’d been reading.
He guessed that was his cue to move on. So he did. Wyatt moved with him. When they got to the door Jeremy punched in the code and pushed the door open.
“Wyatt, I don’t want to talk about the church. Not now.”
“I hadn’t planned on bringing it up.”
An alarm sounded. Wyatt reached past him and pulled the door closed. He pushed other buttons on the keypad.
Jeremy stared at the closed door, at his truck in the parking lot and then shifted his attention back to Wyatt. He couldn’t be mad at a guy who’d gone through the things Wyatt had gone through; losing his wife, raising two little girls on his own. And then falling in love with a preacher’s daughter. At least Wyatt’s situation had a decent ending.
The single life was good enough for Jeremy. He dated women who wanted nothing more from him than a decent meal and a dozen roses to end things. That philosophy kept his life from being complicated.
He hadn’t seen too many happy relationships in his life and figured he was a lot better off than the friends who’d started believing they needed to settle down and have a family. Wyatt didn’t look too worse for wear, though.
“Looks like it might storm.” Jeremy nodded toward the southern sky. It was Oklahoma, so there was always a pretty good chance it might storm.
“Yeah, looks that way. We’re under a tornado watch until this evening. No warnings, yet.” Wyatt pulled keys out of his pocket.
“Yeah.” Jeremy ran out of things to say about the weather.
Wyatt grinned and tipped his hat back. “I know you don’t want to talk about the church, but you bought it and you had to know that’d stir up a hornet’s nest. I’ve known you a long time and you’ve always been fond of a hornet’s nest if you could find one.”
Jeremy told himself not to respond to his friend’s baiting. He smiled and kicked his toe at the ground. Yeah, he wasn’t going to ignore it.
“Wyatt, the church was for sale and I bought it. If people in Dawson are suddenly attached to a building they’ve neglected for years, that’s their problem. Someone else could have bought it.”
“Someone else could have,” Wyatt said. “No one did.”
“Right. I bought it and I plan on building a business that might give a few people in Dawson the jobs they need.”
“That’s a decent idea. But you have two hundred acres across from the church. Why not build your business over there?”
“I’m building a house on that side of the road and I’m buying cattle.”
“Yeah, I saw that they finished framing the house yesterday. It’s pretty huge for one guy. Are you actually going to live in Dawson?”
Jeremy stopped at the edge of the sidewalk. “I’m going to be here part of the time.”
“The church means a lot to a lot of people. I know it doesn’t seem that way.”
“No, it doesn’t and I kind of wonder why everyone suddenly realizes the church means something to them.” Jeremy glanced at Wyatt.
“Pastor Adkins kept me in church after my dad’s big indiscretion. I guess Back Street is what got me where I am today.”
“Gotcha.” Jeremy processed the story with the others he had been told. “Sorry, Wyatt, I have to get back and get back to work.”
“Work?”
“Business doesn’t stop because the boss is out of town.” He gave Wyatt a tight smile. “I’m managing my business from a laptop in the RV and trying to help Dane with a flaw in a bike we’re designing.”
Jeremy had partnered with Dane Scott in team roping years ago. And more recently in the custom bike business.
“I’d like to come by.”
“If you want a cup of coffee or you’d like to see the bike we’re building, stop by anytime.”
“And don’t bother hitting my brakes if I’m there to talk to you about the church,” Wyatt added for him.
“Sounds about right.” Jeremy touched the brim of his hat and walked across the drive to his truck.
When he pulled up the drive of Back Street Church, Beth Bradshaw was sitting in front of his RV. He hadn’t expected her to be the one pounding his door down trying to save this church. But why wouldn’t she be the one?
Maybe, more than anyone, Beth needed to fight this battle.
He joined her on the glider bench outside his RV. She scooted to the edge, as far from him as possible. He tried real hard not to let that hurt his ego. He figured she had a lot of reasons. One might be that she hated his guts.
That didn’t sit well with him, the idea of her hating him.
He pushed the ground and the glider slid back and forth. Sitting there on the glider with her kind of felt like courting the old-fashioned way. The only thing missing was lemonade. She probably wouldn’t see the humor in that, but he did. The two of them as nervous as cats sitting on a glider, what else could he think?
He had to lead the conversation in another direction, away from courting Bethlehem.
“I kind of thought you might thank me for tearing this church down, Bethlehem.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“It’s your name.”
“No one calls me Bethlehem and you know it.”
He started to remind her that her mother had called her Bethlehem. Neither of them needed that memory. He glanced at the box on her lap. She had her hands around it, like a little girl holding on to a treasure.
She glanced at him, a cowgirl face with straight brown hair in twin braids and eyes that pinned him to the spot. She’d have him questioning everything about himself if she didn’t stop looking at him like that.
“Why would you ever think I’d want this church torn down?” Her words were soft, matching the look in her dark eyes.
He shook his head and reined in the part of him that wanted to give her everything.
“I don’t know, I guess I thought it was tied to a lot of memories that you’d want to be rid of, not memories you’d want to hang on to.” He eyed that box again, wondering why in the world she’d brought it here and what it would mean to him.
Jeremy’s words played through Beth’s mind. She settled her gaze on the church. It was weathered and beaten down, forgotten. She’d been riding past this church her whole life, and since she’d come home from California those rides had resumed. Sometimes she even stopped and sat on the front steps.
As a teenager, when she’d felt the most alone, she’d found peace here. He wouldn’t understand. He would think she was weak if she told him that she’d hidden here, trying to find answers, to find a way past the pain of losing her mom.
She cleared her throat.
“I brought you something.” She reached into the box and handed him her mother’s Bible. She had no idea why she wasn’t keeping it for herself.
He needed it more? Maybe because she hoped something in there would stop him. He wasn’t going to listen to her or anyone else.
Maybe he would listen to her mom. Her heart trembled a little, afraid of his reaction, afraid of her own reaction. He took the Bible from her hands.
“Beth, this isn’t fair.”
“It was my mother’s.”
“I can’t take this.”
“She