Cowboy for Keeps

The bohemian style of dress was much like the woman herself, free-spirited and uninhibited.

Dallas grabbed the casserole dish off the passenger seat, fussing with the loose foil covering it. Purse in tow and dinner contribution secure, she climbed out of her Prius Hybrid and headed toward the house.

“You’re early.” Marina Camponella stood waiting with open arms.

Dallas leaned in and let her mother hug her, the most she could manage with the load she carried. “Mom, you look great.”

“Thank you, dear.” Marina accepted the compliment as she did most things in life: graciously and humbly. “How are you feeling? Any morning sickness?”

“It comes and goes, generally without me having to run to the nearest bathroom. For which I’m grateful.”

“Be happy. Morning sickness is the sign of a healthy baby.” She gave Dallas’s stomach a quick pat and relieved her of the casserole dish.

They went through the tastefully appointed living room on their way to the kitchen. Many of the exquisite pieces on display had been crafted by her mother. A talented sculptress, she’d abandoned a promising artistic career to marry Dallas’s stepfather, Hank, and raise her two children.

She still sculpted for personal enjoyment, completing only two or three pieces a year. Teaching at the Horizon School of Art in Tempe took up most of her time.

Glimpsing her newest piece reminded Dallas that her mother wasn’t enjoying the fulfilling life she might have if Hank had encouraged rather than discouraged her dreams.

Speaking of which...

“Where’s Hank?” Dallas asked, draping her jacket over a kitchen chair and stowing her purse on the counter.

“In the den. Watching the presidential address on TV.”

“Ah.” Dallas rolled her eyes. “I should have guessed.”

“You know Hank and his politics.” Her mother opened the oven, and the aroma of baking chicken immediately filled the air.

Curry chicken, Dallas could tell. So could her stomach, which roiled at the prospect of any spicy food.

“I do know Hank,” she mused aloud.

How could she not? She’d spent twelve years living under the same roof with him. Arguing with him, disobeying him, rebelling against him and finally just tolerating him until the day she could move out. It wasn’t that she hated Hank. Not at all. They were simply polar opposites.

Dallas took after her unconventional mother, something her conservative financial-advisor stepfather didn’t understand. If he had, he wouldn’t have established such strict rules for two teenagers simply eager to get their feet wet in a big, wide world.

Real-life blended families, Dallas had concluded, weren’t like the ones portrayed on TV. They didn’t always, well, blend. Dallas’s younger brother held a similar opinion and had left home the year after she did.

“Heard from Liam recently?” she asked.

“He’s in Colorado. Mapping a remote part of the national forest.”

“Sounds exciting.”

Liam had also inherited their mother’s free-spiritedness. Dallas wasn’t sure he’d ever trade his job as a surveyor for a permanent address.

Like her brother, Dallas valued her independence, but she also longed for stability. A husband and children. She believed all things were possible with the right person.

For the last two years, she had assumed that person was Richard. Except then they’d called it quits.

Dallas’s mother handed her a stack of plates from the cupboard. “You mind setting the table?”

“Of course not.”

She didn’t wait for the next item, fetching glasses and flatware while her mom sliced a loaf of freshly baked bread.

“Hank,” Marina called, then sighed with exasperation. “He can’t hear me over the TV.”

“I’ll get him.” Dallas made her way to the den, following the sound of what had to be a news commentator recapping the address. “Hi, Hank,” she said, stepping into the decidedly masculine room, the only one not decorated by her mother. “Mom sent me to tell you dinner’s ready.”

“Hey.” He pushed himself up from the recliner, turned off the TV with the remote control. “I didn’t hear the doorbell ring.”

“Mom met me outside.”

“She loves it when you come to dinner.”

Dallas detected a hint of reproach in his voice. As if she didn’t already know her visits were too infrequent.

“Work’s piled up lately.”

“You need your rest.” Hank placed a large hand on her shoulder, the gesture more stilted than affectionate.

It was, Dallas had long ago accepted, the best he could manage.

“Have you heard from Richard lately?” Hank asked as they entered the kitchen.

He was fit and tall, and the gray at his temples gave him a distinguished appearance. Dallas could see how her mother had become enamored with him.

“He called Tuesday.”

“Today’s Friday.”

“And?”

“I just thought he might check on you more often.”

Dallas automatically tensed. “Why would he?”

Her mother sent Hank a let-it-go warning.

He didn’t heed it. “You’re pregnant.”

Dallas poured iced herbal tea from a pitcher. “I’m only in my first trimester. It’s not like there’s much change day to day.”

“I’d think, as the father, he’d be more concerned.”

“Richard’s plenty concerned,”