Along Came a Cowboy (15 page)

The dogs meet me at the front door when I get home then follow me down the hall to Jenn's open door. She's sound asleep, and the guard light outside the window casts a golden glow across her face. Her eyelashes are so long they almost touch her cheeks, and her bow mouth is slightly open. Has it really been eight years since I made the second hardest decision of my life?

As soon as the baby was born, I'd gotten my own apartment five miles down the road from Tammy and Russ, closer to the chiropractic college. In spite of Tammy's protests, we both knew it was for the best. Every day I stopped in, just to watch Jenn grow.

Jenn shifts and I freeze. What teenager wants her loony aunt watching her sleep? I can hear her now—“That's just creepy.” Her left foot peeks out from under the blanket. I smile. I was blessed to witness that little foot—well, that foot that used to be little—take its first step, to hear her first word. And my sweet sister asked my opinion on everything from preschools to Jenn's sleep habits.

She'll be going into tenth grade when school starts. Her first day of high school. I shake my head. Seems like yesterday was her first day of kindergarten. Tammy and Russ invited me to go, but that momentous event was one for parents, not an aunt, no matter how doting. I'd tried to stay busy all day, but
I cried that night for the first time in years. I knew right away what I needed to do. In one of those things that must surely be God, my childhood chiropractor called to tell me he was selling his clinic. I made him an offer and moved back to Shady Grove.

A longing tightens inside me. What would it be like to truly be her mother?

I push the longing away. Not my path. My path is to keep the promises I've made. Promises to my sister, to myself, and most of all to my baby Jenn, whose life will turn upside down when she finds out the truth.

Lord, what do I do?

I don't linger for an answer, because, really, I'm not ready for it.

“You made it back, huh?”

I jump and look into Jenn's green eyes, open wide. “Um, yeah. I was just checking to see if you were okay.”

“I made it fine. Barely knew you were gone.” She smiles sleepily. “But it's good to have you back.”

“Thanks, kid. Night.” I drop a kiss on her forehead and walk quickly from the room.

T
he next morning, as I slip into my clothes, my gaze falls on the concert tickets sitting next to my jewelry box. I freeze as I remember a wild thought I had as I was drifting off to sleep. Surely in the light of day, there has to be a different person to invite.

Not Jenn. She's barely heard of the Beatles. And Allie is too busy making last-minute preparations for her wedding. Victoria has a standing Friday night thing with her parents. I could ask Lark. That might get her mind off babies for a few minutes. And get me off the mental hook my crazy idea has put me on. I reach for the phone then draw my hand back. Lark isn't a Beatles fan, and I know it. She was country when country wasn't cool.

I pace on the Oriental rug in front of my dresser. Cocoa and Shadow pace beside me, both looking puzzled. Only a few minutes before I have to go to work. If I'm going to call and ask, now's the time. I close my eyes and pray. This could be a first step. A bridge. Not a huge steel interstate one, admittedly. Maybe just a shaky rope job hanging over a deep precipice, but a bridge nonetheless. And God expects me to build bridges
when I can. I snatch the phone up before I lose my nerve, then punch in the number and wait.

“Hello?” Mom answers, in her energetic morning voice. When we lived at home, Tammy and I used to laugh at the way Mom could wake from a deep sleep with a perky hello if the phone rang.

“Hey, how's it going today?” I scratch Shadow behind the ears and try to relax.

“Rachel?” The incredulous note in her voice makes me want to slam the phone down. It's not like I
never
call. Rarely, I'll admit, but not never.

“Yes, it's me.”

“Is Jennifer okay?”

“She's fine.”

“Oh. Well. That's good.”

Silence. A part of me—probably the very childish part—wants to just let her wonder why I called, but I can't stand the silence.

“Have you ever heard of the Liverpool Legends?”

“The Beatles?”

“Not exactly. They're impersonators, I guess you'd say. A tribute band. George Harrison's sister put the group together.”

“I've never heard of them.”

“The reason I asked—a patient gave me two tickets to their concert tonight in the Village.” I love saying that. It sounds so New York. Of course I'm talking about Cherokee Village, a community right down the road from Shady Grove, but still, it
could
be Greenwich.

“Oh? And you can't go?” Mom sounds genuinely puzzled.

This is harder than asking a man out, I think. Not that I know for sure.

“I can, but I wanted to know if you wanted to go, too.”

“With you?”

Is this how Jack felt that day he asked me out and I acted like such a goose?

“Yes, with me. I'm sorry it's so last minute. They just gave me the tickets.”

“I'd love to,” Mom said, her voice quivering slightly. “But wouldn't you rather take a date? Or Jennifer?”

“Jenn might enjoy it,” I say, ignoring the “date” comment, “but not as much as you would. She's happy staying with Allie's girls. And it's only fair you should have to go with me. After all, you're the one who played me all those albums when I was sick with the chicken pox.”

“I was desperate to get your mind off the itching.”

“And to get that ‘inane boy band' off my boom box, if I remember correctly.” I say, relaxing a little. “You wanted to show me what a real boy band sounded like. And from that moment on, it was Paul, John, George, and Ringo for me.”

“You had good taste for an eleven-year-old.”

“No doubt I inherited it from you.” How's that for bridge building? At least a four-lane with concrete posts.

“Oh”—she clears her throat—“that's very sweet.”

“Great. I'll pick you up at seven.”

She laughs. “It's a date.”

As I'm tearing off the face paper after the last patient leaves, Norma comes in, grinning. “You sure are humming a lot today.”

“I'm going to a concert tonight.” I wad the paper into a ball and toss it through the little basketball hoop over my trash can.

She puts her hands on her hips. “You sound excited. Big date?”

“I wouldn't say so. At least not where she or my dad can hear you.”

Her brows draw together, and she shakes her head. “You feeling okay?”

I just nod. “Fine and dandy.”

As soon as she's gone, I go back to humming “She Loves You.” I hurry home and change into jeans and a green top. But when I pick up the brush to give my hair one last going over, I clutch it like a microphone and blast out, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Good thing Jennifer's already at Allie's. She'd fall on the floor laughing.

When I get to the ranch, Mom meets me on the porch, and I smile. As we settle ourselves in my car, I look over at her. It must have killed her to leave her blouse untucked so that it hangs out beneath her vest. But the stylish effect is worth it. “Nobody would believe you're old enough to be my mother,” I say after she's buckled in.

She blushes.

I pop in my Beatles CD, and the opening notes of “I Saw Her Standing There” fill the interior of the car. When they sing about her just being seventeen, Mom clears her throat. And I fumble with the forward button. Unfortunate choice. “The Long and Winding Road” starts. Much better.

Mom smiles. “Great mood setter.”

We ride without talking. By the time we reach the Omaha Center, the knot in my stomach is gone.

We enter the auditorium early and find seats in the fourth row. Most of our fellow audience members are roughly twice my age, with a few teenagers and tweens scattered throughout the arena. I probably should have offered the other ticket to Dad. He's not a fan, but at least he's from the right era.

When the curtains open, I quickly forget second-guessing myself. The fast-paced show keeps me on the edge of my seat.
The performers may not look exactly as I remember John, Paul, George, and Ringo looking on my parents' album covers, but they sound much as I remember the voices on the albums sounding. And they encourage audience participation. At first I don't look at Mom as I sing softly, but soon we're leaning together, belting the familiar tunes out like we did that rainy chicken pox summer.

At intermission, Mom heads to the bathroom while I wait out in the foyer examining some archaeological finds in a display.

“You a fan of the Fab Four?” a deep voice behind me asks.

I spin around to find Jack, his brown eyes twinkling.

I nod. “Yes. You too?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“I had no idea.” As soon as I say the words, I realize how silly they sound. Even though we lived next door to each other through grade school, junior high, and high school, I found out more about him during our little crash course in “getting to know you” at Coffee Central than all the years before. I'm sure there's much I still don't know. Intriguing thought.

He flashes his dimple. “That's understandable. We didn't cover our favorite '60s' bands the other night.”

“Oh, Jack. . .”

I jerk my head around to see Blair waving. Jack seems ready to ignore her, but I know from past experience that doesn't work. “Better wave at her so she'll go away.”

Jack ducks his head, and his face reddens. He raises one hand. “Be right there.”

“Be right there?” I blurt out before I think.

“I ran into her this morning, and she had these tickets. She said if I wanted to go, we'd discuss rodeo publicity on the way over here.”

“Your noble sacrifice on behalf of the rodeo amazes me.”
Okay, I will not stoop to sarcasm again. He might think I'm jealous.

He frowns. “It was better than allowing her at another committee meeting. Who are you here with?”

I raise my eyebrow. “Someone who is probably wondering where I am. I'd better get back in.”

“Rachel, this. . .” He waves his hand toward Blair. “She knows. . .it isn't a date.”

I just shrug. “Like Lark's granny always said, ‘There's no accountin' for taste.' It's a free country. Enjoy the show.”

If only I could take my own advice. The second half is another incredible performance, complete with Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band costumes, but no matter how much I know I shouldn't care, I find myself scanning the crowd for Jack and Blair.

“I had so much fun,” Mom says as we walk out to my car.

“Me, too.”

“Really?” She leans forward and peers at my expression under the glare of the parking lot lights. “You seem distracted.”

“No. I had fun.” I hit the clicker and unlock the car, then slide into the driver's seat. When I turn the key in the ignition, the motor turns over but refuses to start. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh what?” Mom says, her brow furrowing.

“It's been acting funny lately, but I haven't had time to get it down to Buddy's for a new battery.”

“Your dad would've been glad to put a new battery in for you. All you had to do was ask.”

I pound out a rhythm on the steering wheel and try to relax my shoulders. “Buddy doesn't mind doing it.” For a much lower price than the cost of depending on my parents for everything.

“Well, at least you should have said something. We could have brought my car.”

“I know. But I didn't think it would actually give up the ghost.” I try again, and we listen in tense silence to the
rrr
,
rrr
,
rrr
of the uncooperative motor.

“If only you'd said something.” She sighs and gets her cell phone out of her purse. “I'll call your dad.”

“No!”