A Certain Kind of Hero (33 page)

“We're a team, right, Jody?”

“Uh-huh.” Jody climbed up on a chair and handed Tate a bottle of liquid baby soap and a soft hooded towel. “This is the stuff we have to use. She sure has messy hair.”

“And a lot of it.”

Mrs. Massey was right. The water seemed to soothe the infant. Tate ladled it over her with one hand as he cradled her head in his other palm. He didn't want to mess too much with her face, and he figured the white, waxy stuff was probably nature's cold cream, so he left it alone. But he knew a lady didn't like having sticky stuff in her hair. That had to go.

“Your next job is to find the hair dryer, partner.”

“I know where it is!” And Jody was off like a shot.

 

“She's all cleaned up now,” Tate announced as he lowered the fussy little one into her mother's arms. “She's just as pretty as a Thoroughbred filly, and she wants her mama right now.”

“Oh, yes, come here, sweetie.”

“Before I go, I have a few instructions for you menfolk,” Mrs. Massey said. “Starting with taking care of Mom. After she rests, we want her to get up and walk a little, but we don't want her to overdo. It's up to you boys to do the cooking and the cleaning up for a few days, you got that? Because if you leave a mess in the kitchen, she's not going to rest until she gets it cleaned up.”

“I'm not an invalid, Mrs. Massey.”

“She's been using that line on me ever since I started to work for her,” Tate said. “I'll snub her to the bedpost if I have to.”

“You're the—” the older woman glanced at Amy, then back
to Tate “—hired hand?” He affirmed the title with a humble shrug, and she laughed. “Well, now you can
really
claim to be a jack-of-all-trades. I'll be stopping by daily for a while, but you call me if you need anything.” She turned to Amy. “You know what kind of bleeding to expect. Anything heavy, any dizziness or fainting—” The finger was pointed Amy's way, but the final charge was given to Tate. “—she goes to the hospital.”

“Got it.”

“Don't let that baby keep her from getting her rest. Got a name for her yet?”

“Karen,” Amy said—reverently, because it was the first time. “Karen Marie Becker.”

It was a nice name, Tate thought. He had an aunt named Karen, but she lived in Texas. And his mother's name had been Mary. He liked it. Karen Marie…Becker.

Of course it was Becker. She was Kenny's daughter. He'd just helped to bring his best friend's daughter into the world, given her her first bath and dressed her for the first time. And now she had a name. Nothing wrong with Karen Marie Becker…except that when Amy had said that last part out loud, it had felt like a pinprick in his euphoric bubble.

Mrs. Massey gave him a colleague's pat on the back before she left, declaring that more duty called her. “The stork's having a field day in Overo. Now that you've got your feet wet, how about—”

“Not a chance,” Tate demurred with palms raised in self-defense. “I don't care to press my luck.”

“Luck, schmuck. The Lord doesn't always give us what we think we want, but most times He gives us what we need.” She punctuated her homily with a nod and a smile. “He gave you stork wings last night, Mister Hired Hand.”

Stork wings?
Tate flexed the muscles in his back as he
watched Mrs. Massey back her Blazer down the driveway. He did feel a pinch right above the shoulder blades.

He stuck his head in the door of Amy's bedroom. “Can I get you anything? A glass of milk maybe—whoa!” A short-armed tackle pinned him around the knees. He looked down, and Jody looked up, pleading to be noticed.

“Jody…” Amy applied the universal mother's warning tone.

“You got a steer wrestler's grip, there, partner.” Tate lifted the boy into his arms. “We got our instructions, and we're at your service, ma'am.”

“Karen might take you up on that glass of milk. It's slim pickings until mine comes in.”

The baby was asleep in her mother's arms. Tate and Jody looked on like shepherds in a crèche.

“Is there colostrum?” Tate asked absently. He glanced up and caught her eyes laughing at him. Hell, he didn't know. He was just curious.

“Like with cows and sheep? Yes, for the first few days. We mammal mamas are all the same.”

“So, you want some kind of oat—” he winked at Jody and teased Amy with a grin “—meal?”

“I want you to sit with us. You and Jody.” She nodded toward the wicker rocker next to the bed.

“C'mon, cowboy,” Tate said. “Come take a ride on your partner's knee.”

“We couldn't have managed this without you two.” Amy touched the baby's cheek. “She came a lot quicker than Jody did. She didn't give me much warning at all.”

“Women are like that. You never know what to expect.” Tate jiggled his knee, and Jody bobbled happily. “You remember that, partner. Every woman's got her own timing, and there's no point in a man tryin' to set his watch by it.”

“I can't think of a single comeback, so I guess we'll let that one stand.” She smiled at the sleeping infant. “For now. Right, Karen? When they're good, they're very, very good. And today they were incredible.”

“And whenever you're willin' to give in that easy, you have to be very, very tired,” Tate observed. “We've already put in a big day, and there's still about sixteen hours to go. You're one of those bosses that doesn't give a guy time to sleep it off.”

“I think we'll all be napping today.” She couldn't take her eyes off the tiny, tranquil face. “One of us has already started.”

“And one more is on her way.” Time for the boys to take their leave. “That's you, so if you've got any other surprises, lay them on me before I head out to the barn to get started on the chores. I've got another load of hay coming today.”

“No more surprises. Just gratitude.”

“Just doin' my job, ma'am.”

“You need rest, too,” she told him.

“I'll get it eventually.” Tate grinned. “Now, if I was a sheepherder, I could lie around on the hillsides all day and do all kinds of cloud-dreamin', but a cowboy's work is never done.”

But it didn't matter. Today he had adrenaline to spare.

 

He'd never imagined himself holding a baby, much less delivering one. Thinking about it made him feel a little weak in the knees. When he told Myron Olson about it, he couldn't help grinning like a sailor on shore leave. Myron was so tickled, he offered to throw in another load of hay. Tate told him he could bring over another horse, too.

He climbed into the driver's seat of Amy's big John Deere 4020. He was beginning to feel the effects of lack of sleep.
Once he got Myron's flatbed unloaded and fed all his charges, he figured he would be ready to hit the hay himself.

He didn't know how the dogs had gotten out, but they were making fools of themselves again, chasing a damn tumbleweed. As he started backing the tractor he took a quick check over his shoulder. For a split second he saw Jody's face looking up at him just beyond the rolling ridges of one big black tire. Then it was just the tire.

The whole sky toppled over on him. He heard a piercing scream, and for a moment the world went black. His legs wouldn't work, nor would his arms, and his head wouldn't turn. He was surrounded by shouting, and the scream rose in terror, pitched so high it was beyond the reach of his ears. It was infinite, soundless, nameless and timeless.

When the scream plummeted back to the present, it was lodged in his own throat. He whirled and spat it out as he dropped to the ground. And there stood Jody, looking up at him, wide-eyed, trusting and innocent as always.

Trembling terror overrode reality as Tate towered over the child. He leaned down, his big hands laying claim to slight shoulders, making sure they were real. Sweet Lord, he hadn't been touched, had he? He was still in one—

“I damn near ran over you, boy!”

“I f-found my horse's ear.” Shyly, Jody displayed a scrap of leather, as if such an offering might assuage the big man's anger.

“Jody, I just barely saw you. I almost…” Tate sputtered, his heart racing. He pointed a gloved finger and commanded with all the fervor of Moses, “You go in the house now. I'll look at that later. You go inside and stay out of the way.”

He saw Jody's lip quiver, saw the tears welling in the little boy's eyes as he turned and ran toward the house. The same tears burned deep in his own brain. Remembered tears. God,
it could happen all over again, so easily, in the blink of an eye. He turned and stared the damn tractor down, its bucket-loader lifted skyward as if to say, “Don't blame me. It's Tate Harrison again.”

Damn, he hated operating farm equipment. He would rather buck out a horse any day. At least then the only neck he was likely to break was his own.

 

The house was quiet when he went back inside. He thought about looking for Jody first thing, but he felt so bad about the way he'd barked at him that he decided to make supper instead. He wondered what a person who'd just had a baby would feel like eating. He wondered whether a little person who'd just had his butt chewed out by a big person with a thick head would feel like eating anything at all. Down at the end of the hallway, behind the closed bedroom door, he could hear the baby, bleating like a hungry lamb. The crying ceased abruptly, and Tate wondered whether little Karen was getting real milk yet.

Too soon, he thought, but obviously Amy was able to give the baby what she needed. He wished he had something like that to give Jody right now. Something warm and nourishing, something that would flow easily, without worthless apologies or asinine explanations. Hell, Jody was just a little boy. Tate was the one who had a history of being careless.
Tate
was the one.

He stood awkwardly outside Amy's door, flexed his hand a couple of times before he rapped his knuckles on the wood and quietly announced himself. “Are you girls decent? Can I bring in some food?”

“Come in.” Amy braced herself and slid up gingerly, reaching around to adjust her pillows. “Oh, my, we've just
been sleeping and nursing, nursing and sleeping. Karen's sleeping again.”

“Figured you'd fed her.” He handed her a mug of chicken soup, then stuffed an extra pillow behind her. “Figured
I'd
feed
you.
”

“Thank you.” She smiled sleepily. “Just for today. You won't have to do this tomorrow.”

“I want to.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “I'm not real great at it, but I can open a can.”

“Have you and Jody eaten?”

“We will in a minute. I wasn't sure where…I mean, I thought he might be in here with you. Guess he must be in his room.” He glanced at the bassinet he'd brought in earlier and set next to the bed, within Amy's reach. It hadn't been too long since Jody had slept in that little straw bed. “Did he tell you…that I acted like a jerk a while ago?”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn't know he was outside. I was backing up the tractor. He was standing pretty close.” He closed his eyes and gave his head a quick shake. “I…I made him go in the house.”

“There's nothing wrong with that, Tate.”

“Yeah, but I yelled at him. I haven't been around kids much. All I know is when a calf tries to get himself into a bad place, you put a scare into him, send him packing.” He couldn't look at her, but he could feel her looking at him. He could feel her waiting. “I scared Jody. I scared him worse than—” he swallowed hard “—worse than he scared me.”

“You yelled at him? Is that all?” she asked quietly, and he heard the fear in her voice.

“I grabbed him by the shoulders. I was so glad he was still standing there, I don't know if I held him too tight, but I shouted right in his face and I…I told him to stay out of the way. Like I was tellin' him it was his fault, when it was mine.”
He turned to her, his voice as doleful as autumn rain. “I didn't hit him. I wouldn't do that, I swear.”

“I didn't think you would, Tate.” Wearily he rose to his feet. She caught his hand. “What are you going to do?”

“See if he's awake. Ask him if he's hungry.” He squeezed her hand, then let it go as he stepped back from the bed.

“Tell him why you shouted at him.”

“What difference does it make why?” Her eyes held his until he knew he needed the answer for himself. “I was scared stupid, that's why.”

“Tell him that.”

“What if he doesn't want me…”
Around him. Close to him. Breathing his air.
“…want to look at me or anything?”

“Give him the benefit of the doubt, Tate. He's a very mature four-year-old. He knows about safety and responsibility. I've taught him that.” She nodded encouragingly. “Just ask him if he's hungry. That'll be a start.”

He found Jody sprawled on his stomach, driving his toy cars down the parallel roads in the hardwood floor in his bedroom. He looked up, surprised, but he lowered his chin quickly and went back to his cars.

“Don't mean to interrupt, but I've got some supper ready.”

“Not hungry.”

“Your mom said you liked those little baby hot dogs in the can. I fixed you some with biscuits and soup.” Jody looked up again. “And some chocolate milk,” Tate added, encouraged. “You like chocolate milk?”

Jody rolled his toes against the wood and wagged his heels back and forth. But his belly seemed glued to the floor.

Tate noticed the broomstick horse lying on the bed, along with the detached leather ear. Moving like old molasses, he made himself walk over to the bed. He picked up the broken
toy as he seated himself. He felt like a giant in a dollhouse sitting on the youth bed, which hadn't been made that day. The sheets were printed with teddy bear cowboys riding rocking horses and spinning perfect loops above their ten-gallon hats.