Along Came a Cowboy by Christine Lynxwiler Page B

straight in the eye. “Don’t let her get on a bull.”
    â€œDon’t worry.” He flashes me a grin. “She won’t be the one getting on the bull.”
    â€œYou still ride bulls? I heard you retired.”
    â€œYou heard right. But I’m doing this as a favor. And Alton rarely asks for those.”
    â€œYou spend a lot of time with my dad?” I ask, hoping for a casual tone.
    He shrugs. “Define ‘a lot.’ He’s a good friend.”
    Call me suspicious, but he’s also a man with “a lot” of premium property. And he makes no secret of the fact that he and Mom are planning on selling in a few years to get something smaller. What better way to get the prize than to bump the estranged daughter out of line and take her place. Okay, now you can call me paranoid. “I guess I was surprised because he’s never mentioned you.”
    He lowers his eyebrows. “He mentions you often, but I don’t get the impression he sees you much.”
    Maybe I started it, but we’ve crossed over into way-too-personal territory, and I’m not willing to go there. Since his words feel like a reprimand, though, I can’t resist one little retort before I walk over to join Jennifer and Dad. “That must be why he forgot that this same psychological ploy backfired on him when I was fourteen and determined to tame a wild filly. Against Mom’s protests, Dad let me try. Instead of breaking the horse, I broke my collarbone.”
    â€œActually,” he calls softly enough for my ears only, “I remember that was the summer you ended up barrel racing with your arm in a sling.”
    I pause. He remembers that? Unfortunately, it’s in the past. One more place I can’t go with him. I just keep walking.
    â€œBut you riding that wild filly is also one of the first things your dad reminded me about when I moved back here.”
    I spin around. “Really?”
    He nods.
    Curiosity draws me the two steps back toward him. I want to ask what else Dad “reminded” him about me. Instead I say, “I know he and your dad were friends, but how did you two get to be. . .close?”
    He shrugs. “We’re neighbors. We go to church together.”
    I knew Alma attended with Mom and Dad at the little congregation I grew up in, but I didn’t realize Jack did. That explains part of the closeness. With fewer than fifty members, everyone is close.
    â€œAnd he’s been patient with a greenhorn like me.”
    â€œThe great Jack Westwood, a greenhorn?”
    â€œNobody’s good at everything.” He shoots me a wry grin. “I know rodeos, but ranching is a completely different story. I left home for the circuit before I really learned the ranching business. Your dad’s help has been immeasurable.”
    I look across the barn lot at my dad, noting for the first time that his once auburn hair is spattered with gray. “He knows a lot about cattle.”
    â€œHe knows more than cattle,” Jack says and walks slowly over to Jennifer and Dad.
    I stand there for a minute and stare after him, thinking about his last words. Dad does know more than cattle, I’m sure. But unfortunately, he doesn’t know me.
    Or maybe he just doesn’t want to.

    I don’t know how I ended up by myself with Mom. I guess subconsciously, when faced with the choice of watching Jack climb onto the back of a bull up close and personal or this, I considered leaving Jennifer with Dad at the Lazy W and driving the half mile to my parents’ house the lesser of two evils. Now that I’m here on the doorstep, staring into Mom’s startled face, I’m not so sure this was the best decision.
    â€œI thought I’d go ahead and get that box out of your way,” I say with a nervous shrug. “I’m sorry I didn’t find it when I got everything else.” When I moved back from Georgia eight years ago,