The Cowboy's Pride

A woman’s singsong voice coming from the entry broke the moment. “Hello, Clay. Are you in here?” They turned their heads at the same time toward the doorway. The voice grew louder as the woman neared the room. “I made sugar cookies for Penny’s Song and thought you’d like some.”

Suzy Johnson walked through the doorway, a bright smile on her face, wearing a summery sundress with big yellow and blue flowers. The minute she glided inside and spotted Trish with Clay, she froze. “Oh! S-sorry if I’m interrupting. Helen didn’t answer the door and … well, it was open. I didn’t know you had—”

“It’s okay, Suzy,” Clay said. “Thanks for the cookies.”

She nodded, but the moment she took notice of the blond-haired, blue-eyed baby in Trish’s arms, her cheeks paled in color and she nearly dropped her cookie platter.

Clay’s family friend had been forever stopping by, bringing over cherry pies, asking Clay for favors or reminiscing about their childhood in Red Ridge. Whenever the hometown girl was around, Trish felt like an outsider, so seeing her discomfort now gave her no small measure of satisfaction.

The baby let out a little cry, interrupting the deafening silence. Trish rocked Meggie gently and met the dark-haired woman’s silver-dollar-sized stare.

Another moment ticked by. Trish wouldn’t engage in conversation with her, and Clay wasn’t uttering a word.

“I’ll … I guess I’ll leave these with Helen in the kitchen,” she stammered, wielding her cookie dish and backing out of the room.

Finally.

Once she was gone, Trish turned to Clay, cutting off anything he might say and managing to keep the pain from her voice. “I see nothing has changed around here.”

Two

A tick worked in Clay’s jaw as he strode silently beside her. Every so often his gaze would shift to the baby Trish held in her arms, otherwise he kept his focus toward the guesthouse that lay fifty yards away from the main house. Trish was too tired to deal with his sour mood right now.

Granted, she hadn’t been his wife in the real sense in over a year, but you’d think he’d inform Suzy Johnson to stay the hell away until the ink on the final divorce decree was dry. But that was Suzy, always cheery, always showing up uninvited and always bearing treats.

Trish bristled. The sooner she signed those divorce papers the better.

She turned her thoughts to more pressing matters. Getting Meggie settled and comfortable was her first priority. Trish was an avid planner. She banked her livelihood on her organizational skills. She made lists. She set goals. She could plot out her future months in advance. It was the main reason she’d been successful as a publicist. She had a knack for scoping out musicians’ careers long-range and took great pleasure in seeing them come to fruition.

But she had no plan for motherhood. None. She was learning the hard way that babies didn’t do schedules. They couldn’t be predicted. Their needs were ever-changing and she would be the one adapting, not the other way around.

Every day brought a new challenge. Every day was different, unplanned and unorganized. It was a whole new learning curve for her.

When they reached the entrance, Clay unlocked the door and allowed her entry first. He stepped inside behind her. “Your luggage is in the master bedroom.”

She turned to him. “Thank you.”

He nodded and moved into the living area, tossing the diaper bag down on the light tan leather sofa.

Trish followed him into the room. Once upon a time, Trish had fallen in love with the small cottage and had asked Clay if she could make a few changes, put her stamp on it, so to speak. She gazed into the room with a sense of pride. A combination of soft leather and suede in cream tones marked the Southwest contemporary feel of the house. Delicate copper and brass sculptures sat on glass tables and masterful metal artwork hung on the walls. She’d created a cozy atmosphere in keeping with the flavor of Red Ridge for their one-time guests.

But it looked as if no one had ever stepped foot in it. Everything was in its place, not a stick of furniture or a fruit bowl had been moved. The place was perfect and pristine. That would change in the blink of an eye.

Babies caused chaos, even four-month-olds who weren’t at the crawling stage yet. Meggie did her fair share of rolling, though, and Trish knew she had to give the baby a wide berth when she set her down on the floor.

“If the baby needs anything, Helen will be around. She’s got three grandchildren.”

“Three now? She had only two when I was living, uh, here,” she finished awkwardly.

Clay waited a beat, probably deciding whether to enter into a conversation with her. The tick in his jaw did an intermittent dance. “Jillie had another, a boy this time.”

“So Helen has two grandsons and a granddaughter. I bet they keep her busy.”

“When she’s not here, she’s usually with them.”

Trish often wondered if her own mother would take to Meggie like that, love her unconditionally and accept her in their family. It seemed Trish’s mother had given everything she had to give to Blake in those earlier years. Once he’d recovered, her mother had never really been the same. Maybe it was the pressure, the constant tension or the drain his illness had taken on her, but her mother hadn’t really been thrilled at the prospect of a grandchild. Not the way Trish had hoped.

The baby squirmed in her arms, wiggling and making her presence known. Clay watched her interact with the baby with curious eyes. “I’d better set her down for a few seconds.”

She bent to put Meggie down on her butt, propping her against the sofa on the floor. The baby waved her arms and cackled, happy for the time being. “There you go, sweet baby. Much better, huh?” Straightening, she turned to Clay. “She likes a change of scenery sometimes. I’ve got to learn not to hold her all the time.”

His gaze stayed on Meggie sitting quite contentedly on the floor. “You need help unpacking?”

He was being polite. Clay had always been a gentleman, even when he was hopping mad. She shook her head. “No. We’ll be fine, Clay.”

His mouth pinched tight and he lifted his eyes to her. “Doesn’t the baby need a crib?”

At least Trish had that much under control. “I’ll call the rental company and have a few things delivered tomorrow.”

“What about tonight? Where will she sleep?”

Trish let out a pent-up breath. “She’ll be with me. The truth is, I don’t get much sleep. I check on her most of the night. She sleeps so soundly, sometimes I wonder if she’s breathing at all. I guess most new moms go through the same kind of panic.”

Clay nodded as if he understood it all, but she noted the question in his eyes. No one knew what parenthood was like until they experienced it themselves. Trish’s emotions this past month were all over the map, from highs when Meggie would take a full bottle and fall asleep, to lows when she was fussy and Trish couldn’t figure out what the heck was wrong. Half the time, she second-guessed herself and questioned if she was doing anything right. But Meggie was thriving and safe, so she clung to those positive thoughts.

“Helen stocked the refrigerator. You should have everything you need in there,” Clay said.

“Okay. And I’d like to see Penny’s Song as soon as possible.”

The divorce wasn’t the only reason she’d come back to Red Ridge. She’d promised to play a key role in fundraising for Penny’s Song, even though that hadn’t been the original plan. That plan, to be there for its development and construction, had gone by the wayside when her marriage fell apart.

“Tomorrow morning soon enough?”

“Yes, I can hardly wait. I’ve been thinking about it. Wondering. Is it … all that we imagined?”

Clay’s unyielding expression softened. “It’s all that and more. Seeing the kids there, well, it makes all the difference.”

Young Penny Martin, the charity’s namesake, a Red Ridge local and a big fan of Clayton Worth, hadn’t been as lucky as Trish’s brother, Blake. Even though she’d put up a valiant fight and had been so brave, she’d lost her life to leukemia at the age of ten. Her death sparked the idea in Clay to use Worth land and resources for the charity and Trish had been behind it one-hundred percent. Penny’s Song would go a long way in helping kids robbed of their childhood assimilate back into society after their recovery by making them feel normal again. Trish couldn’t wait to see how the facility had come to life.

“We’ll be ready.”

“I can drive you over at nine, if that’s not too early?”

“Early? I wish. Meggie’s up at the crack of dawn. By 9:00 a.m. I’ve already put in half a day.”

Clay wasn’t really paying attention to her, though. She caught him watching Meggie, who had plunked down onto her tummy and begun to roll toward the fireplace. “Looks like you’ve got a runaway.”

“Meggie!” By the time the words were out of her mouth, Clay was there, picking her up before she pulled the fireplace tools on top of her.