Welcome Home, Cowboy

“Ma-ma?”

Emma tore her gaze away from Cash’s to look into her son’s soft brown eyes, his beaming smile. “What, honey?”

“You were right, huh? You said … God wouldn’t let us down, that He … al-ways gives us what we need, as … long as we don’t tell Him how to do that.” Her son’s grin broadening, he pointed to Cash. “And look!”

Biting her lip, Emma looked, thinking it would take a whole lot of humility to see Cash Cochran as the answer to her prayers. Because while she had cause to feel bad for the man, she had even more cause to be wary. For her children’s sake, if not for her own.

Although she knew better than to trust what you read in the tabloids, it’d broken Lee’s heart when he’d seen Cash’s photo alongside some sensational headline slapped across the cover of this or that rag in the Walmart checkout, about the stints in rehab, the failed marriages. True, it’d been a while since she’d read or heard anything untoward. But for all she knew, his “people” had simply gotten better at keeping that stuff from getting out. Or, more likely, that Cash had slipped off the paparazzi’s radar.

Still, she thought as Cash stood with his arms crossed over his chest, the picture of patience, if she truly believed everything happened for a reason, maybe now wasn’t the time to start picking and choosing. A realization that provoked a deep sigh.

“Guess there’s no point in pretending I’m not in a bind,” she said. “Normally I’d have more help, but this was the spring everybody picked to move or retire or find other work or join the army … It would’ve been a trick to get everything done, even if Lee was still here. The kids do what they can, but … they’re kids. And the midwife more or less ordered me to take it easy for the next couple of weeks. But you don’t owe us anything, not your labor and certainly not your money—”

“And maybe I think I do,” Cash said, his eyes locked in hers. Then he glanced away, blowing out a half laugh. “God knows, nothing’s happening here the way I expected, but … it’s been a long time since I’ve had the opportunity to be of any real use to anybody. And maybe for old times’ sake …”

He looked back at her. “It nearly killed me, watching this place die under my father’s hand. And I can see what you and Lee started here. How you salvaged whatever was left. I don’t know why, but I can’t stand the idea of it going under a second time. Any more than you can, I’m sure.”

She blinked back the sudden scald of tears. But when they cleared, she caught a glimpse of at least part of what was going on inside his head. Not in any detail, certainly, but enough to sweep aside what few shreds of useless pride she had left.

“You two need to go on,” she said to the kids, “or you’ll miss the bus. Zoey, no, get your coat, it’s still cold. I know, it’ll warm up, but I don’t want the nurse calling me to come get you in an hour ‘cause your nose starts running again. So go on.”

While Zoey fetched her jacket, Hunter solemnly marched down the porch steps toward Cash. He extended his hand; Cash took it, the wordless handshake apparently cementing something Emma couldn’t begin to understand. Then, grinning, her son trooped back to the porch to pick up his backpack; a second later Zoey streaked from the house and slipped her hand into Hunter’s to walk to the bus.

Not until the kids were out of sight, however, did Emma face Cash again. “Why do I get the feeling you want to do this as some sort of penance or something?”

The muscles around his eyes twitched before he crunched across the dead grass to the sagging wire fence edging the neglected flower garden. “I think what I’m aiming to do,” he said quietly, skimming one palm over the top, “is erase the bad memories. Or at least exchange some of them for new ones. I don’t want the land back, don’t even give that a second thought. But I want …”

Turning, he pushed out a sigh. “For twenty years I’ve been running, from this place, from all the bad stuff in my head. Didn’t do me a lick of good. For twenty years I’ve thought about nobody but myself. That hasn’t done me any good, either. Apparently. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a real human being, Emma.” Another dry laugh. “If I ever knew. So helping you … it would kill a couple of birds with one stone. You need the help, and I need to get back to basics. To somehow return to that time before everything went wrong. To maybe find the kid I once was. Because deep down, I think that kid wasn’t so bad, you know?”

His honesty shot straight to her heart. But the hard set to his mouth, the challenge in his eyes, made it more than clear her sympathy would be unwelcome. After a moment, she nodded.

“So what, exactly, are you proposing?”

“My services for …” He rubbed his chin. “Let’s say six weeks. Or until you’re on your feet again after the baby comes. Sunup to sundown, if you need it.”

If history was anything to go by, she’d be on her feet within twenty-four hours of the birth. She’d often imagined herself as one of those pioneer women who pushed out a baby a year with no sweat. “What about your career?”

He let out a little hunh. “I imagine the music world will get along just fine without me for a few weeks.”

The baby shifted; Emma rubbed his spine. “If you’re sure …”

“I am.”

“Then, all right. I can at least offer you three meals a day—”

“No! I mean, thanks, but this isn’t about …” Cash looked away. “This isn’t about getting close. Nothing personal, but that’s part of the deal. You tell me what needs doing, and I’ll do it. But that’s it.”

Emma was tempted to point out that if part of his goal was to rejoin the human race, staying aloof from the family might not be the best way to go about that. Then again, maybe it was just as well, for many reasons. Like, oh, for instance, the kids getting too close. Especially Hunter, who glommed onto everyone he met. Who’d cried for a week solid after his father’s death.

“One thing, though,” Emma said. “First time you show up drunk or high, you’re gone. I absolutely will not tolerate any of that tomfoolery around my children. Understood?”

Cash’s jaw dropped for a second before he let out a laugh. “Emma … I swear I’ve been squeaky clean for more than seven years. Ever since I wrapped my car around a tree on a back road in North Carolina and realized how bad off I was. You’ve got nothing to worry about on that score, I swear. So … I was thinking you probably want some of these fences repaired first so the critters can’t get at the plantings. Or maybe get those fruit trees pruned?”

“You know how to prune fruit trees?”

“Yes, ma’am. First winter after I left, I ended up at a ranch in east Texas. Small operation, everybody did everything. Aside from the cattle, they also had a decent-size orchard. Peaches and pecans, mostly. So I know my way around a pair of loppers.” He grinned, and Emma’s chest clutched. Seeing that smile on video was nothing compared with seeing it in person. “You can watch me do the first tree, how’s that?”

Finally she laughed. She couldn’t help it. There were a quadrillion reasons why his being here was a bad idea, but none of them trumped her relief that the cavalry had apparently arrived.

“When can you start?” she asked, and the grin brightened to the point where it nearly sparkled. Oh, dear.

“I take it there’s tools around here somewhere?”

“In the shed behind the greenhouse. Mr. Cochran—”

“And you can forget that ‘Mr. Cochran’ stuff,” he said softly. “Name’s Cash.”

“Cash, then,” Emma said, having no idea why she was blushing. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said with a short salute, then strode off, leaving Emma to wonder what she’d gotten herself into. Not to mention what on earth had gotten into Cash. She went back inside to find Annie, dressed now, feeding cats in the kitchen. The old woman looked up from the writhing, furry mass meowing at her feet as she dumped something stinky into a large, flat bowl.

“I take it we’ve got us some help?”

“How do you know that?”

“Turned my ears on high,” Annie said, tapping one hearing aid as Emma lowered herself onto a kitchen chair. “Heard everything clear as a bell. Especially through that pathetic excuse for a window. Wind leaked through my bedroom window so bad last night I thought I’d freeze.” Carefully she bent over to set the plate on the floor, dodging the feline swarm attacking it. Much hissing and swatting ensued. That, Annie ignored. Emma’s conflicted expression, however, she didn’t. “You havin’ second thoughts?”

“Heh. God knows we need the help, but I don’t need the complications. And trust me, Cash Cochran is the definition of complicated.”

Annie poured herself a cup of coffee, poured in a hefty helping of cream and three spoonfuls of sugar, then shuffled over to sit across from her. The Red One immediately jumped up into her lap, giving Emma a smug kitty grin.

“Honey,” Annie said, over the cat’s slit-eyed, Ohmigodyes! purring when she started scratching his head, “God made humans complicated to keep himself amused.” At Emma’s groan, the old woman leaned over to grasp her hand, her expression earnest. “That young man needs us, Emmaline. Probably a lot more than we need him.”

Yeah, Emma thought on a sigh. Exactly what she was afraid of.

Another few days, Cash thought, squinting at the fruit trees as he yanked on a pair of heavy-duty work gloves, and it would’ve been too late to prune them. Waiting until April was pushing it as it was; any farther south, they would’ve already bloomed by now. But the stubborn winter had actually worked in Emma’s favor, keeping the trees dormant.

Almost like they’d been waiting for him.

Oh, hell, no, Cash thought as he hefted the pole saw and trudged across the muddy field to the first tree. Destiny, fate, divine intervention, whatever you wanted to call it … nothing but people’s ways of trying to find purpose in coincidence.

“I could die a happy man,” he said to the giant dog, who’d tagged along—out of boredom, Cash supposed, “if I never heard ‘It was meant to be’ ever again.”

The dog seemed to shrug, then plunked down in the dirt where he could keep one eye on the goats. Or ear, maybe, since his eyes closed almost immediately.

The high, bright sun quickly burned off the morning’s chill; by ten Cash had shucked both his jacket and long-sleeved shirt. By noon sweat plastered his T-shirt to his back and chest, even though it was probably barely above sixty degrees. But at seven thousand feet there was a lot less atmosphere to buffer the sun’s rays.

And absolutely nothing to buffer his thoughts as he cut out the dead wood, opening up the trees to coax a better yield. It’d been ages since he’d worked this hard. No doubt he’d be paying for it tomorrow, he thought as he took a break for another swallow of now-warm water from a liter-size bottle, in time to see Emma headed his way with a towel-covered plate and a thermos.