Jenna's Cowboy Hero (4 page)

“He's fine. And Dolly has gone ten outs without being ridden.”

“That's great. I bet Willow is proud.”

“She is. They're considering him for the finals at the end of the year.”

“Great.”

“And then we flew home in the pickup.”

“I'm so glad.”

“And you're not listening to me.”

Jenna stared out the door at the boys, watching them play in the grassy area near the barn. The dog was sitting nearby, watching, the way he watched cattle in the field. If he had to, he'd round the boys up and drive them to her. They loved it when he did that. Sometimes they wandered away from her just to see if the dog would circle and move them back to Jenna. The nature of a cow dog was to herd. Jenna was glad she'd brought home the black-and-white border collie. It had been a cute, fluffy puppy, and was now a great dog.

“Jenna, is everything okay?”

“Of course it is. I'm just tired.” She smiled back at her brother. “Let's get this horse out of here and bring Jinx in.”

“Who is that?” Clint walked to the door as the low rumble of an engine and crunch of tires on gravel gave an advance warning that they had company. And then the dog barked.

Dog. She really needed to name that poor animal. It was probably too late. The boys called him Puppy and Jenna called him Dog. He came to either name so it seemed wrong to call him something like Fluffy or Blue.

“I don't know.” Jenna tossed the used needle into the trash.

“Big, blue truck.”

She groaned and Clint shot her a look. “You know who it is? Did you sell that roan gelding?”

“Jenna?”

“It's Adam Mackenzie.” She untied the horse, rubbing her neck. “Come on, girl.”

“That's it? Adam Mackenzie is pulling up to the barn and you act like you expected him?”

“He's the mystery owner of the camp.”

“Adam is building a youth camp?” Clint followed her to the barn door with the mare. “The mystery deepens.”

Jenna laughed. “It isn't a mystery. Billy was his cousin and he convinced Adam to buy the land and start this camp.”

“Sis, you know he's trouble, right?”

“I don't think he's trouble. I think he's confused.”

Clint shook his head. “Remember when you thought a baby skunk would be a good pet because it didn't spray you?”

“I remember.”

She laughed at the memory. Because eventually the skunk did spray her. She gave it to a zoo and missed school for a week. She really did learn by her mistakes. Sometimes it just took a few tries before the lesson sank in.

Men were included in the list of mistakes she'd learned her lesson from. The father of her boys had walked out on her. He went back to California, and she let him go because she knew she couldn't force him to stay and love them. The soldier she'd fallen in love with, he'd written her a Dear Jane letter after her surgery.

She would never again own a pet skunk. She would
never again fall for a pretty face and perfect words. She had a five-year plan that didn't include falling in love.

“He's getting out of his truck,” Clint warned as he took the halter off the mare and slapped her rump to send her back to the field with the rest of the horses.

Jenna nodded. “He wants to talk to you about buying horses. And since he's here to see you, I'm going to the house.”

“Are you running?” Clint followed her to the front of the barn. And the twins were no longer sitting in the grassy area with their toy cars.

“Nope, just leaving.”

“Are you afraid of him?” Clint caught hold of her arm. “Jenna, did he say something to you?”

“No, and I'm not afraid.”
Much
. “I have to check on the boys. They've abandoned the road they were building for their toy trucks. I need to see where they went.”

“That's because they're showing Adam something.” He nodded in the direction of the blue truck that was parked a short distance from her house.

“Great.” She watched the boys open their hands. Two blond-headed miniatures with sneaky grins on their faces, and dirt. They needed baths.

The giant in front of them jumped back from their open hands, either feigning fear or truly afraid. The boys laughed, belly laughs, and then they ran off.

Adam Mackenzie turned toward the barn, his smile a little frazzled. He wasn't used to kids. She had to give him points for trying. And she wasn't going to escape because he was heading their way.

Who could escape that moment when they felt as if their insides had jelled and their breath caught somewhere midway between lungs and heart?

All due to a cowboy in faded jeans and a T-shirt. Not
a cowboy, she reminded herself. A football player with a life so far removed from this small community that she couldn't imagine what it was like to live in his world.

“Adam.” She greeted him with a wavering smile.

“Jenna.” He held his hand out to her brother, his white hat tipped down, shading the smooth planes of his suntanned face. “Clint Cameron. I haven't seen you since we played against each other our senior year.”

“Fifteen years.” Clint shook Adam's hand. Jenna waited, wondering what came next. “Jenna said you're back to take care of the youth camp.”

This time Adam smiled at her, that slightly boyish yet wicked grin that made his blue eyes dance. “Yeah, something like that. It looks as if I'm in charge, and I need horses. Maybe a dozen or so, with tack.”

“Got it. I think I can round them up. It might take a few weeks.”

“I don't have a few weeks.” The edge was back in this voice.

Jenna looked up. She watched as her brother considered the words of the other man. And she made a way to escape.

“I need to get supper started. I'll let the two of you take care of business.”

A
dam watched Jenna go, surprised that she was leaving. Let down? No, of course not. He wanted space, time out from relationships. He wasn't let down by her walking away.

He was surprised, and a little bruised by her lack of interest. Typically she was the kind of woman he ran from. The kind that was looking for a husband and a father to her kids. She didn't seem to be looking, though.

Horses
. Clint's one word brought Adam back to his surroundings, and his gaze shifted back to the man standing in front of him, away from the retreating back of a cowgirl.

“A dozen, at least.” He followed Clint into the barn. “She runs this place by herself?”

“She does.”

“Impressive.”

Clint shrugged and walked into the tack room. He hung up halters and lead ropes that were tossed on a shelf. “She's always been strong.”

“It has to be tough, raising two boys alone.”

“It is, but she has family and friends who help.”

Adam picked up a currycomb and ran the sharp metal over his hand. “High school was a long time ago, Clint. If you're still holding a grudge about Amy, I'm sorry. I didn't know she was playing a game with the two of us.”

Clint turned, smiling in a way that felt a lot like a warning snarl from a dog. “Amy is fifteen years of water under the bridge and I have no regrets. I have a wife that I love and a baby that we adopted a few months ago. My concern now is for my sister.”

“You don't have to be concerned on my account. I'm here to get this camp mess cleared up, and then I'll be leaving. I'm not here looking for a relationship.”

Clint shook his head and walked out of the room, switching the light off as he went, leaving Adam with just the light from outside. When he stepped out of the tack room, Clint was waiting.

“Adam, Jenna's an adult. She's also my sister. Don't use her. Don't mislead her. Don't hurt her.”

“She's not a kid.”

Clint took a step closer. “She's my kid sister.”

Adam lifted his hands in surrender. “I don't plan on hurting your sister. I don't plan on getting involved with her at all. She's offered to help me get this camp off the ground so I can leave. Believe me, my only goal is to get this done and get out of Oklahoma.”

“Okay, as long as we understand each other.” Clint grabbed a box and walked out of the barn. “I'll get back to you on the horses.”

“Thanks.” Adam watched Clint Cameron drive away and then he turned toward the two-story farmhouse, a small square of a house with a steep, pitched roof. The boys were playing in the front yard and a sprinkler sprayed a small patch of garden. The few trees were tall
and branched out, shading the house, a few branches brushing the roof.

The boys. He couldn't remember their names, and he'd had dinner with them yesterday. He walked in the direction of the house, thinking about their names, and not thinking about why he was still here. Timmy and David. He remembered as he walked up to them.

He smiled when the bigger boy looked up, a suspicious look on a dirt-smudged face and gray eyes like his uncle Clint's. The little boy, wearing shorts, T-shirt and flip-flops, sat back on his heels. He picked up his toy soldiers and nudged his other brother.

Adam knew their names, but couldn't remember which was which. “One of you is Timmy, the other is David.”

“I'm David.” The one who sucked his thumb. The little guy wouldn't look up.

“I'm Timmy.” The bolder of the two. “And we still don't talk to strangers.”

It was a long way down to the ground. Adam sighed and then he squatted. “I'm not really a stranger now. Aren't we sort of friends?”

David looked up, gray eyes curious. “Are you friends with my mom?”

“I guess.”

“Did you know her in the army?” The little guy pushed his soldiers through the dirt. “Were you there?”

“No, I wasn't in the army.”

He hadn't known Jenna was in the army. But did he ask little boys about their mother, and about the military? He didn't think so.

“She was in Iraq.” Timmy solved the problem of Adam asking for more information.

“That's pretty amazing.” More amazing than he could imagine. She wasn't much bigger than her boys,
but he had pegged her right. She was tough. She had something that so many women he'd met lately didn't have. She had something…

“Boys, time to come in for supper.”

She had two boys and no interest in him.

Adam stood and turned. She was standing on the porch, leaning on a cane. He didn't know what to do. Had she heard their conversation? Her face was a little pink and she avoided looking at him.

He should go. He shouldn't get involved. He didn't ask the women in his life if they were okay. He didn't worry that they looked more wounded emotionally than physically. He didn't delve into their private lives.

He had easy relationships without connecting because if he didn't connect, he didn't get used. The girl in high school, Amy, had used him against Clint. She had used them both for her own games that he still didn't understand. As much as he had lived life, he still didn't always get it. Maybe because his childhood and teen years had been spent on the football field guided by his dad, and without a lot of social interaction off the field.

“Do you want to stay for supper?” It was Timmy, holding a hand out to him, not Jenna offering the invitation.

“I should go.” He looked down at the little guy and tried to remember when he'd last had supper cooked in a farmhouse and eaten at an oak table.

“You can stay.” Jenna walked onto the porch, her brown hair pulled back in an unruly ponytail. “I have plenty. It's nothing fancy.”

He pushed his hat back and stared up at her, a country girl in jeans and sneakers. He resented Billy for putting him in this position and Will for telling him to stay.
Because this felt like home. And he hadn't been home in a long time.

It had been so long that he'd forgotten how it felt, that it felt good here, and safe.

“Adam?”

“I shouldn't…”

“What, shouldn't eat? Are you afraid it'll ruin your boyish figure to eat fried chicken?”

“Fried chicken, you say?” His stomach growled. “I think I might have to stay.”

He couldn't remember the last time he'd had fried chicken. Or the last time he'd known a woman that cooked fried chicken.

Timmy pulled his hand, leading him up the stairs. Jenna limped back into the house. He followed her slow pace, telling himself that questions weren't allowed.

He had rules about women, rules that included not asking questions, not getting personal. Because he knew how much it hurt to be used, to be fooled. But he couldn't admit that, because he was Adam Mackenzie, he could take a hit and keep going.

“What can I do?” He pulled off his hat and hung it on a nail next to the back door.

Jenna turned, her face flushed. “Pour the tea? I have glasses with ice waiting in the fridge.”

“I can do that.” He opened the fridge. Four glasses. She had expected him to stay. Did she think she was going to have to take care of him while he stayed in Oklahoma? He'd have to make sure she understood that he didn't need that from her.

But not today. Today there were shadows in her eyes. Today his heart felt a lot like that grassy field behind his trailer—a little empty, kind of dusty.

And Jenna Cameron looked like the person that needed to be taken care of.

He poured the tea and carried the glasses to the table. The boys were setting out the plates and flatware. He smiled down at them. They, unlike their mother, smiled back.

As Jenna came to the table with the chicken, the boys dropped into their seats. Jenna sat down, sighing like it was the biggest relief in the world to sit.

“David, pray please.”

Pray? Adam watched as the boys bowed their heads. He followed their example, remembering back to his childhood and meals like this one.

The prayer was sweet, really sweet. The way only a kid can pray—from the heart. The little boy had prayed for their meal, and for soldiers and for the new baby that Willow said wouldn't let her sleep. And he prayed for Adam because he was a new neighbor.

Adam smiled at Jenna as she stood again, going for something on the counter. He should have offered. Before he could, she stumbled, catching herself on the counter.

He started to stand, but Timmy shook his head.

“Are you okay?” He scooted his chair back.

“I'm fine.”

“My mom got injured in the war,” David whispered. “But she's good now. We take care of each other.”

A warning if ever he'd heard one.

“Maybe you need to take a few days off. I can find other help.”

She put a basket of rolls on the table. “I don't need a day off, Adam. There are no days off from life.”

She was one tough lady. He had to give her that. And when he left that night, he knew that she was different than anyone he'd ever met. He drove away from her
house, relieved that his stay here was temporary. And he ignored the call from his sister, a call that would have required explanations.

 

Jenna awoke with a start, her heart hammering in her chest and perspiration beading across her forehead. It took her a minute to place this dark room—her room in the farmhouse she'd grown up in, not the dark room in Iraq that had been her hiding place. As the fear ebbed, she became more aware of the knife-sharp pain in her leg. It throbbed, and she couldn't close her eyes without remembering the sweet lady who had tried so desperately to fight the infection and save the limb.

Jenna had survived, though. Her prayers that she would live, that she would come home to her boys, had been answered. Every day she remembered those prayers and she was thankful. Even on nights when she couldn't sleep.

Fear and pain tangled inside her, both fighting to be the thing that took over, that consumed her thoughts, forcing her to focus on them, not on the good things in her life.

She could control it. She had learned ways to deal with it, even on nights like tonight when it hurt so much she didn't know if she would ever be okay again.

She closed her eyes, breathing deep, thinking about being home, and her boys, and God. The pain lessened, but her heart still ached because the dream tonight had gotten mixed in with the memory of Jeff, the last time she'd seen him. He hadn't been able to look at her.

He had sent her a letter to say goodbye.

The next day the counselor had asked her to write a five-year plan. She hadn't included love or marriage. Nor had she included them in her fifteen-year plan. Her plan included raising her boys, dedicating herself to
making them young men that she could be proud of. Her plan included being at home, alive and healthy with her family. And her plan included thanking God every day for giving her a second chance at life and faith.

The list had included never having a man look at her like that again, that look that wavered between pity and horror, as if he couldn't get out the door fast enough.

The throbbing pain continued, bringing an end to the trip into the past and the return of her convictions. She reached for crutches and pulled herself out of bed. Slow, steady and quiet, she left her bedroom and eased through the house.

At the front door she stopped, looking out at what was left of the night, and watching as the eastern horizon started to glow with the early-morning light of sunrise. The trees and fields were still dark, making a perfect silhouette against the sky as it lightened into pewter and lavender.

She walked out the door, easing it closed so it didn't bang against the frame and wake the boys. Outside the air was cool, but damp with morning dew. Horses whinnied and somewhere in the distance dairy cows bellowed in the morning as they stood in line at the barn to be milked.

She hobbled down off the ramp and across the lawn, greeting the day and praying as she went. The pain faded to a less intense throb, rather than the breathtaking pain that had kept her awake.

She stopped, letting the world come into focus. Unafraid.

As she walked, the dog joined her. She reached down, petting his dark head. He froze, whining and then snarling low.

“Stop that, silly Dog.” Jenna spoke with a lightness she didn't feel at the moment. Her heart picked up speed,
because she heard it, too. Footsteps on the road, coming fast, much faster than she could run.

“Shhh, Dog, quiet.” Jenna patted the dog's head, calming him, wishing she could calm herself as easily. The footsteps were closer. And then she spotted the figure of a man. The dog barked at the shadow standing at the end of her drive.

“Jenna?”

Adam Mackenzie. Her heart was pounding and cold chased up her arms. She froze, knowing she couldn't escape. She waited, the dog no longer snarling at her side.