leaving after Ryder was asleep and returning late. Each time her sister left the house, Annie bit her tongue. Then she called Shay and whined until she got it out of her system.
On Tuesday night she lay in bed flipping through the copy of Montana Living she’d snagged from Pappy’s Market. “Dear Annie” was on page eight. She read it for the fourth time, then looked at the title again. It felt good to have her own name in print. Folks in town had waved her down today, telling her they’d read her new column. Maybe this was going to work out after all. It had better since Sierra seemed in no hurry to get a job.
She closed the magazine and turned out the lamp but lay awakeawhile. It was hard to sleep when Sierra wasn’t safe and sound in her bed.
For what seemed like forever she watched the glow-in-the-dark hands on her clock slowly pivot around the face. What if Sierra fell for the guy? What if she got pregnant again? It was all they could do to keep their heads above water now. And she knew better than to count on a cowboy for child support or anything else, despite Dylan’s glowing reference. Hadn’t all her mom’s cowboys proven that? Hadn’t their own father?
She’d been watching the clock on that long-ago night when he’d left them. Watching the clock and listening to her mom’s sniffles from the next room. She was glad when the rain started. The pattering on the metal roof covered the sounds.
She’d been five years old. Sierra was still a baby—Annie checked on her on the way to her mom’s bedroom.
The light in Mom’s room was off, her door pulled almost shut. It squeaked on the hinges when Annie pushed it open and the sniffling stopped. The smell of her mom’s paints filled her nostrils, a comforting smell.
“Mom?”
“What is it, honey?” She sounded like she had an awful cold.
Thunder cracked, rattling the windows. Annie didn’t like storms. They were loud and scary. She crept closer to the bed. The wood floor was cold on the bare balls of her feet, and her toes felt like ice cubes.
When she reached the bed, she climbed in, and her mom pulled her close, tucking her into her soft belly. Annie’s head sank into her dad’s pillow, and his musky smell filled her nose. The words she’d heard earlier echoed in her head.
“He didn’t mean it, Mom.” She’d closed her bedroom door, but she could still hear her father’s cruel, calm words. Then the frontdoor had slammed, and the crying had started. Annie’s tummy had been aching ever since.
“Oh, honey, I’m afraid he did.” Her mom smoothed her hair, sniffled again.
Annie was sure her mom was wrong. Daddies weren’t supposed to leave. They were supposed to come home from work and call you princess and feed the horses. They were supposed to tickle your belly and help you with the hard puzzles and put you on their shoulders so you could see the parade.
But what if Mom was right? What if he didn’t come back? What if . . . “Doesn’t he love us anymore?”
The ache in Annie’s tummy spread all through her body.
“He does love you, sweetie, very much.”
“See? He’ll come back. He was just mad.” But he hadn’t sounded mad. Just flat and empty.
Her mother’s breath was a shuddery sigh. “Don’t go getting your hopes up, honey. It only hurts when you’re wrong.”
Sometimes grown-ups didn’t make sense. “If Daddy loves us, then he has to come back.” She was sure of it.
“Oh, Annie, it doesn’t always work that way.”
“Why, Mom? Why would he leave us if he loves us?”
Her mom pulled Annie tighter, wrapped her arms around her middle. “Because, baby. That’s the trouble with cowboys. They’re always leaving.”
Annie let the words sink in, frowning. Her daddy was the best cowboy ever. Was that why he’d left? She said no more but sank into her mom’s arms and eventually drifted off to sleep.
Her mom must’ve been right, because her dad had never returned, not even to say good-bye. There were a
On Tuesday night she lay in bed flipping through the copy of Montana Living she’d snagged from Pappy’s Market. “Dear Annie” was on page eight. She read it for the fourth time, then looked at the title again. It felt good to have her own name in print. Folks in town had waved her down today, telling her they’d read her new column. Maybe this was going to work out after all. It had better since Sierra seemed in no hurry to get a job.
She closed the magazine and turned out the lamp but lay awakeawhile. It was hard to sleep when Sierra wasn’t safe and sound in her bed.
For what seemed like forever she watched the glow-in-the-dark hands on her clock slowly pivot around the face. What if Sierra fell for the guy? What if she got pregnant again? It was all they could do to keep their heads above water now. And she knew better than to count on a cowboy for child support or anything else, despite Dylan’s glowing reference. Hadn’t all her mom’s cowboys proven that? Hadn’t their own father?
She’d been watching the clock on that long-ago night when he’d left them. Watching the clock and listening to her mom’s sniffles from the next room. She was glad when the rain started. The pattering on the metal roof covered the sounds.
She’d been five years old. Sierra was still a baby—Annie checked on her on the way to her mom’s bedroom.
The light in Mom’s room was off, her door pulled almost shut. It squeaked on the hinges when Annie pushed it open and the sniffling stopped. The smell of her mom’s paints filled her nostrils, a comforting smell.
“Mom?”
“What is it, honey?” She sounded like she had an awful cold.
Thunder cracked, rattling the windows. Annie didn’t like storms. They were loud and scary. She crept closer to the bed. The wood floor was cold on the bare balls of her feet, and her toes felt like ice cubes.
When she reached the bed, she climbed in, and her mom pulled her close, tucking her into her soft belly. Annie’s head sank into her dad’s pillow, and his musky smell filled her nose. The words she’d heard earlier echoed in her head.
“He didn’t mean it, Mom.” She’d closed her bedroom door, but she could still hear her father’s cruel, calm words. Then the frontdoor had slammed, and the crying had started. Annie’s tummy had been aching ever since.
“Oh, honey, I’m afraid he did.” Her mom smoothed her hair, sniffled again.
Annie was sure her mom was wrong. Daddies weren’t supposed to leave. They were supposed to come home from work and call you princess and feed the horses. They were supposed to tickle your belly and help you with the hard puzzles and put you on their shoulders so you could see the parade.
But what if Mom was right? What if he didn’t come back? What if . . . “Doesn’t he love us anymore?”
The ache in Annie’s tummy spread all through her body.
“He does love you, sweetie, very much.”
“See? He’ll come back. He was just mad.” But he hadn’t sounded mad. Just flat and empty.
Her mother’s breath was a shuddery sigh. “Don’t go getting your hopes up, honey. It only hurts when you’re wrong.”
Sometimes grown-ups didn’t make sense. “If Daddy loves us, then he has to come back.” She was sure of it.
“Oh, Annie, it doesn’t always work that way.”
“Why, Mom? Why would he leave us if he loves us?”
Her mom pulled Annie tighter, wrapped her arms around her middle. “Because, baby. That’s the trouble with cowboys. They’re always leaving.”
Annie let the words sink in, frowning. Her daddy was the best cowboy ever. Was that why he’d left? She said no more but sank into her mom’s arms and eventually drifted off to sleep.
Her mom must’ve been right, because her dad had never returned, not even to say good-bye. There were a
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