The Cowboy's Homecoming

He remembered Sunday school teachers who had brought him cookies. The pastor back then, Pastor Adkins, and his wife had bought Jeremy and his sister school clothes and Christmas presents.

But all of those good memories got lost, tied up with the bad, when he remembered Tim Cooper on the front pew with his family. Each Sunday they’d showed up in their van, wearing new clothes and happy smiles. When he’d been about six years old there were only a few Cooper kids. As the years went by, the clan grew. The Coopers had about a half dozen kids of their own. They added about a half dozen adopted children.

Jeremy had sat two pews back across the aisle, without a family to have Sunday lunch with, without a dad.

“Sorry, Bethlehem.”

He turned and walked away, knowing there would be tears streaking down her cheeks, knowing she’d nearly collapse with sadness and frustration over his stubbornness.

As he walked out the back door his phone rang. He shielded the display and shook his head. He really didn’t want to deal with this today. Bethlehem had just about done him in.

But if he didn’t answer she’d call again. And again. There was always a crisis in his mother’s life.

“Hi, Mom, what do you need?” He held the phone to his ear and walked across the overgrown lawn to the RV that he’d been living in.

Horse hooves on pavement caught his attention. He turned to watch Bethlehem ride down the road at an easy trot. Her hand came up and he knew she was wiping tears from her eyes.

That made him not much better than Chance Martin.

“Jeremy, this is Carl Duncan.” A county deputy on his mom’s phone. Great.

“What can I do for you, Carl?”

“I’m sorry to bother you but we’ve got your mamma down here at the jail. Someone called her in for a disturbance.”

“Did she have clothes on this time?” He brushed a hand across his head and looked down at the ground, at his scuffed work boots and at a little black snake slithering a short distance away.

“Yeah, fully clothed but drunk enough we’re considering sending her to the E.R.”

“Do what you have to do and I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”

He slid the phone back into his pocket and turned. His attention landing on the eyesore that used to be Back Street Church. The steeple still stood and a cross reached up, tarnished but intact.

It bothered him, that Bethlehem had made him remember more than he’d wanted to. She’d forced him to recognize other things about this building, this church. She’d made him think about the good things that had happened here.

But it didn’t matter. He’d bought this land to raze a church and build a business. He wasn’t going to give up on his plans, his dreams, not for Bethlehem or anyone else.

Next week Back Street Church was going to be nothing but a memory.

Chapter Two

The horse flew up the driveway, hooves pounding the ground and neck stretched forward. Beth leaned, reins in her hands, her legs tight around the horse’s middle. They flew past the house, past the garden and the barn. She pulled the horse up at the fence and then just sat there on the gelding, both of them breathing hard.

“Take it easy on that colt.” The gruff voice didn’t lecture, just made a statement.

Beth turned to smile at Lance, her dad’s ranch foreman.

“He’s barely winded.”

“He’s needed a good ride, that’s for sure. Where you been?”

“Riding.” She slid to the ground, the reins still in her hands. Lance took the horse and led the animal to the barn. She followed. The ranch foreman was getting older but he was still burly and fit. He hitched up his jeans with a piece of twine and his shirt was loose over a T-shirt. He glanced back, his weathered face so familiar she wanted to hug him just for being in her life.

“Your daddy has been looking for you. He said he called your phone three times.”

“I didn’t have a signal.”

“The only place in Dawson with a weak cell signal is Back Street.” Lance turned, his gray eyes narrowed. “You weren’t up at the church, were you?”

“I’m twenty-eight, not twelve.”

“I think I know that. I’m just saying, you don’t need to mess around up there. And you aren’t going to be able to stop Jeremy Hightree from doing what he plans on doing.”

“Someone has to stop him.”

“Well, the city of Dawson is trying to take care of that. Let them.”

“I’m afraid I’m just going to have to help them.”

She took the horse’s reins from the ranch foreman and led the gelding down the center aisle of the barn. She grabbed a brush off a hook and crosstied the horse. Lance flipped the stirrup over the back of the saddle and loosened the girth strap.

“You can’t stop him, Beth. He’s got thirty years of mad built up in him.”

“He needs to get over it.”

“Right, and men always listen when a woman tells them to just ‘get over it.’” He said it in a girly voice and shook his head. It was funny, that voice and big old Lance with his craggy, weathered face. Lance had always been there for them. He’d always managed to make her smile. When she was a teenager and thought the world hated her, and she hated it back, Lance had been the one who teased her out of the bad moods.

The horse stomped and Beth ran a hand down the deep red neck. The animal turned and nibbled at her arm before lowering his head to enjoy the loss of the saddle and the feel of the brush across his back.

“I think I’ll ride him next weekend in Tulsa.”

“He isn’t ready for barrels.”

She brushed across the horse’s back and then down his back legs. “He’ll be ready.”

“You’re as stubborn as your dad. Maybe Jeremy has met his match.”

“What about Jeremy?” This voice boomed. The horse jumped a little to the side.

Beth bit down on her bottom lip and then flashed a smile, as if she hadn’t been talking about anything important. “Nothing, Dad.”

“Right, nothing. I saw you racing up the drive on that horse. Where have you been?”

Her dad walked a little closer. She stood straight, the brush in her hand, and faced him. She’d been backing down all of her life and she couldn’t be that person anymore.

“I went to talk to Jeremy Hightree about the church. I have to stop him from tearing it down.”

The harsh lines around her dad’s mouth softened and he looked away, but not before she saw the sorrow. It still felt like yesterday. Shouldn’t it be different? Shouldn’t eighteen years soften the pain? She’d been without her mother longer than she’d been with her. There were times that her mother’s smile was a vague memory. And more times that she couldn’t remember at all.