The Heart of a Cowboy. Trish Milburn
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the rest of the way up to the house. As her lights cut across the front, revealing two basset hounds lying at the top of the steps, she remembered sitting on those same steps with Chloe playing Go Fish as Chloe’s mom sat in the rocking chair shucking corn from her garden.
But even knowing that she had to get the revelation over with, she still sat in the truck for a couple of minutes after parking and cutting the engine. She’d spent more than nine hours on the road. That should have been enough time to prep herself. Still, as she looked toward the front door she’d walked through countless times, she had to corral every speck of willpower she possessed to finally slip out of the truck.
Her feet moved slowly, the sound of her shoes on the walkway magnified by her anxiety. She found she barely had the strength to climb the steps, pausing halfway up them to pet the two hounds. When they sniffed then licked her hand, a wholly unexpected smile lifted her lips. It faded quickly when she pushed herself up the rest of the steps.
When she stood in front of the door, she had to take a few moments to catch her breath. It wasn’t too late. She could still turn around, leave, not drag the painful past back into the Brodys’ lives. But then she thought of her father, of how he’d suffered because he’d been weak. So that he could truly rest, she had to be strong for him and hope that her childhood best friend didn’t hate her for it.
She lifted her hand and knocked on the front door. The wait for someone to answer grew to an excruciating length. When no one appeared, she knocked again, harder this time. Still no answer, or in response to a third even louder knocking.
Natalie leaned her head against the door, suddenly so tired she could barely stand. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to cry that the inevitable was being drawn out even more, or if she was thankful for the temporary reprieve. She considered sitting in one of the chairs on the porch to wait for the Brodys to return home, but she was more likely than not to fall asleep there. And it only added to her sadness that the rocking chair she remembered Karen Brody sitting in had been replaced with a newer one. The old one could have broken during the intervening years, but some deep instinct told her that its absence was deliberate.
Deciding that the fact no one was home was the universe telling her she needed some sleep between now and when she faced the Brodys, she headed back to her truck. As she retraced the miles back to Blue Falls, her thoughts narrowed in on falling into bed, into oblivion.
By the time she checked into her room at the Country Vista Inn, she was dead on her feet, barely able to drag her bag into the room. She dropped it just inside the door and headed straight for the bed, not even bothering to change into pajamas.
Despite the fatigue, sleep proved elusive. She tossed and turned, on the verge of tears. All she wanted was a full night of good, solid rest so she could be better equipped to face the Brodys the next day. But as she stared at the ceiling, she remained wide-awake. To make matters worse, her stomach growled like a bear. Well, no wonder. What little she’d consumed that day was lying on the side of the road.
Unable to get comfortable, she sat up on the edge of the bed. Maybe if she got something to eat, the fact that she didn’t have to face the Brodys tonight would allow her to keep a meal down. She continued to sit, letting her mind and stomach adjust to the idea of food. When she didn’t feel as if she’d be sick again, she stood, grabbed her purse and went out in search of food.
She drove through downtown Blue Falls, snippets of childhood memories seeming to float in through her open window. Enjoying a cookie at the Mehlerhaus Bakery, watching the annual Christmas parade and tree lighting, sitting by the lake watching the sailboats glide across its shiny surface. As she rolled into the main part of the downtown business district, she saw that the Primrose Café was closed for the evening, as was the bakery. She spotted a Mexican place, but she didn’t trust her stomach enough to risk that.
As she continued down Main Street, the sound of music drew her attention. While most of the town seemed to be closed up for the night, the Blue Falls Music Hall was still hopping, if the full parking lot was any indication. The memory was hazy, but she seemed to remember the place having a limited menu from the few times her family had gone on family night, the one night each week when they didn’t serve alcohol and thus could admit children. Surely anything they had would beat the vending machine at the motel.
Natalie pulled into one of the few empty parking spots then headed inside. The twangy strands of a country song and the din of conversation hit her as soon as she opened the door. Though she was tired and not particularly in a social mood, losing herself in the crowd held more appeal than staring at the ceiling of her room while the ball of anxiety in the pit of her stomach did its best to consume her.
She weaved a path through the crowd and finally made her way to the bar. The sight of all the people drinking threatened to cause her nausea to return, but she shook it off. She knew there was nothing wrong with having an occasional drink, but she’d just seen how it could take over and ruin a person’s life and damage those around him.
After a deep breath that smelled like equal parts beer, fried food and woodsy aftershave from some nearby cowboy, she crossed the rest of the distance to the bar, arriving just in time to take possession of a bar stool vacated by a woman who’d been asked to dance.
The bartender, a middle-aged guy who wasn’t bad-looking, stepped in front of her. “What can I get you?”
She spotted a plate of cheese fries a few seats down from her and realized how long it had been since she’d had one of her favorite guilty pleasures. “I’ll take a water and some cheese fries.” She just hoped her stomach behaved itself when her own food arrived.
“Coming right up.”
Out of all the conversations surrounding her, Natalie’s hearing zeroed in on that of two women a couple of stools down from where she sat.
“I can’t believe he dumped me,” one said, then sniffed.
“He doesn’t deserve you,” the other replied. “Hey, my friend needs another drink.” Obviously, the last was directed at the bartender because he headed that way, dropping off Natalie’s water as he passed.
The first woman sounded so brokenhearted, and for a moment Natalie could understand her need to push the real world away with a drink. How much more powerful had the need been for her father considering what he’d done?
She closed her eyes briefly, doing her best to push away those thoughts or she wouldn’t be keeping the fries down long.
“Crowded tonight, isn’t it?”
It took Natalie a moment to realize the blond guy in the neatly pressed shirt was talking to her. “Um, yeah.”
He glanced back toward the dance floor. “Good song. Would you like to dance?”
She managed a small smile. “Sorry, not tonight.”
He grinned back. “Well, at least that leaves the door open for another night.”
The guy couldn’t know that she wouldn’t be in Blue Falls any other night, but she didn’t enlighten him, either. Letting him think he had a chance in the future had probably just bought her peace for the one night she was in town.
Or so she thought. By the time her cheese fries arrived, she was beginning to feel like a piece of meat and the only single female in the county. Hoping the heaping plate of fries would keep well-meaning potential dance partners at bay, she took a steadying breath then a bite of a gooey, cheesy fry. As she chewed, she paid close attention to her stomach. But thankfully it seemed to have decided it had done enough damage for the evening.
When the older woman sitting next to Natalie vacated her stool, someone else immediately took her place. Seats at the bar seemed to be a hot commodity.
“You must be new in town,” the new bar-stool resident said.
This time Natalie hoped he was talking to her, because he had one of those voices that rumbled from deep within his chest and made a woman go all warm and puddly. Sure, it wouldn’t make any difference in how long she planned to stay in town, but she wouldn’t