Her Rodeo Man

Five years was a long time to go without seeing one’s mother. They’d spoken on the phone, but only occasionally when he happened to call his sisters. Mostly on birthdays and Christmas. One or the other insisted he talk to their mother, too. He usually relented, solely for his sisters’ sakes. Ryder simply couldn’t get past what he saw as his mother’s betrayal.

His father always defended his mother, saying she was right to divorce him. Ryder didn’t see it that way. She cared only about herself and hadn’t once considered the effect losing their father would have on her children.

Her selfishness, however, wasn’t the only reason his return was difficult. She’d lied. For twenty-five years. To everyone. And like the divorce, the lies had stolen parts of their lives they could never get back.

“The girls can’t wait to see you.” His father talked about Ryder’s grown sisters as if they were young. Then again, Cassidy had been only ten when their parents divorced, to Ryder’s twelve, and Liberty not even born yet. His father probably did think of Ryder’s sisters as “girls.” “Cassidy’s volunteering at Benjie’s school this morning,” he continued, “and Liberty’s in Globe, picking up lumber. That young man of hers is coming to lunch, too.”

“You like him?”

“If you’re asking me, is he good enough for her, the answer is yes. I like him. Hell, I fixed ’em up.”

“That’s not the story I heard. You darn near ruined their relationship.”

“Water under the bridge.”

Ryder’s sister obviously possessed a forgiving heart. “What’s the lumber for? Fences?”

“Building jumps. We teach English hunter classes now, if you can believe that. Part of our outreach program with the school. We offer riding instruction to students for a discount price. Your mother’s on the school board and spearheaded the whole thing.”

“I had no idea.” What else would Ryder learn about his mother during his stay? Did he care?

“It’s good for the arena, and it’s good for the community. Gives the students something to do in the afternoons and on weekends. Reckless is a small town without funding for local sports programs. But you know that as well as anyone.”

Ryder did. He’d grown up in Reckless until he was fourteen and legally old enough to choose which of his parents he wanted to live with. On the day after his birthday, he’d packed his suitcase. A week later, when nothing his mother said or did and no amount of tears she cried made a difference, Ryder boarded a bus to Kingman where his father had moved.

For a few weeks each summer, he came back. That ended once Ryder graduated high school and left for college, allowing the rift between him and his mother to widen.

Then, a few months ago, Liberty discovered she shared the same biological father as her siblings and made contact, inviting him to Reckless for the purpose of getting acquainted. He did that, along with exercising his right to half ownership of the arena. When Ryder’s mother objected, he threatened her with legal action. Having little choice, she eventually caved.

The result, the Becketts were now all in one place, though not reunited. Perhaps that was too much to ask.

His father led Ryder through the spacious backyard with its well-tended lawn. The swings and slide from Ryder’s youth were gone, replaced by one of those multicolored modular play sets, he assumed for his nephew, Benjie. Just as well. Ryder sported a three-inch scar on his forearm, proof that the swings and slide had been old and dilapidated even in his day.

His father opened the kitchen door without knocking and called, “Sunny, you here?”

Though his father didn’t live at the arena—he rented a small place in town—Ryder suspected he was a frequent visitor to the house. Apparently his mother really was softening toward him.

Her response drifted to them from down the hall. “Be right out.”

Ryder paused inside the door.

“Don’t just stand there.” His father beckoned him with a wave. “It’s not like you’re a stranger.”

Wrong. Ryder was a stranger. He’d lived many more years in Phoenix than Reckless—a mere seventy miles away, yet it might as well have been a million.

He advanced three whole feet before coming to another halt. That was all the distance required to walk from the present straight into the past, and the sensation knocked him off-kilter.

While he stood there, his father went to the fridge and helped himself to a chilled bottled water, further confirming Ryder’s suspicions that he was a regular visitor.

“You want one?” He held out a second bottle.

“Thanks.” Funny how Ryder’s throat had gone completely dry. He accepted the bottle, twisted off the cap and took a long swallow. The cold water restored his balance.

Footsteps warned him of his mother’s approach. He had but a few seconds to replace the bottle cap and prepare himself before she appeared.

“Ryder!” Cheeks flushed, she hurried toward him.

He tried to form his mouth into something resembling a smile. He must have succeeded, for she beamed.

“I’m so happy you came.”

“It’s good to see you, Mom.” He uttered the words automatically.

They hugged, his mother clinging to him while Ryder gave her shoulders a perfunctory squeeze. He’d accepted his father and Liberty’s invitation, it was his responsibility to deal with the consequences. Beside them, his father grunted with approval.

“Are you hungry?” His mother released him and brushed self-consciously at her hair, which was styled perfectly and in no need of tidying. “I made chili and corn bread.”

His favorite meal as a boy. All right, it was still one of his favorite meals. Maybe because it reminded him of the good times, before their lives had imploded.

“Great. Thanks.”

After an awkward moment of silence, she said, “I see you got a water.”

“I did.”

She skimmed her palms down the sides of her jeans. “We could sit in the living room. If you want. Until your sisters get here. Or outside. Though it’s hot.”

“Anywhere’s fine with me,” Ryder said. He’d be on edge and defensive regardless of his surroundings.

His father must have taken pity on his mother, for he said, “Let’s sit at the kitchen table. Like the old days.”

Ryder wasn’t sure about the old days, but he reached for a chair. The same one he’d sat in as a child.

Abruptly, he moved his hand to the next chair over. He refused to slip into former habits just because he was back in Reckless, even habits as seemingly harmless as which chair he occupied.

An awkward silence descended. For no reason really, Ryder attempted to fill it with small talk. “How have you been, Mom?”

“All right. Busy. We now have weekly team penning competitions and bull-riding jackpots, monthly roping clinics and have almost doubled the number of riding classes offered. The Wild West Days Rodeo is in a couple of weeks.”

As a kid, Ryder had loved Wild West Days. The week-long, town-wide event included a parade, an outdoor arts-and-crafts festival, food vendors, square dancing and mock gunfights. Cowfolk and tourists alike traveled halfway across the country to participate in both the rodeo at the Easy Money and the other activities.

Ryder’s mind went in the direction it always did. “Have you done any promotion?”

“The usual,” his mother answered.

“Which is?”

“Tatum updated the website a couple months ago. We’ve sent out notices, both email and postcards. There are posters and flyers in town.”