Книга - Man From Montana

Man From Montana
Brenda Mott


Tragedy strikes without warning. Just like love.Nothing, not even the beauty of Montana' s big-sky country, can make up for the one reckless mistake Derrick made twelve years ago. And so he buries himself in raising his son, his only outlet the poignant country songs he writes and plays at the local bar.Until he meets Kara Tillman. Widowed at just twentynine and caring for her mother-in-law, Kara teaches him that grief doesn' t have to be all-consuming. That tragedy can be overcome and wounds healed. That life is about risk…and happiness is worth the stakes. Too bad Kara hasn' t learned that lesson herself.So maybe it' s time for the pupil to become the teacher. Or, in this case, the sexy country singer to show the young widow that love can strike the same person twice.









“Are you busy tonight?”


“Thanks,” Kara said, “but really, I don’t go to bars.” Not anymore.

“So you said. But it’s not like it’s a rowdy honky-tonk—well, not from six to eight, anyway.” Derrick smiled. “I think the wildest person in the dinner crowd is usually Lily Tate. She loves the all-you-can-eat ribs, and if the cook runs out, she gets hostile.”

Kara laughed. Lily Tate was a regular customer at the bank, still feisty at seventy-eight. “Well, when you put it like that…I suppose I could come for a little while.”

“Great.”

Kara reached to set her glass on the table, and Derrick’s gaze fell on her wedding band.

He looked as if someone had knocked the air out of him.

“That is,” he added, “if your husband won’t mind.”


Dear Reader,

Where would I be without you? I truly appreciate each and every one of you who reads the books I write. Oftentimes the characters I create pull me into the story so deeply, I feel as though they’re real people. This was definitely the case with Kara and Derrick.

As a huge fan of country music, I had a lot of fun writing a hero who plays the guitar and sings country love songs. And the fact that he’s just an average guy next door made me fall in love with Derrick. (I hope you will, too!) Of course, Kara is exactly the sort of person I’d like to have for a best friend, especially since she loves horses and dogs.

Friendship is all Kara can afford when Derrick first knocks on her door. But she’s soon caught up in an inner battle—trying to move forward but afraid to let go of her past. Derrick faces a similar dilemma except, like a lot of men, he hides from his problems. He soon finds out that “ignore it and it’ll go away” doesn’t apply here.

I hope you enjoy Derrick and Kara’s story as they travel a rocky road in their search for happiness.

Please come visit my Web pages at smrw.org or superauthors.com or e-mail me at BrendaMott@hotmail.com. I love hearing from my readers.

Brenda Mott




Man from Montana

Brenda Mott





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


When Brenda isn’t writing or rescuing animals—she has about thirty dogs at any given time—she enjoys curling up with a good book (naturally!), riding her horses or walking the German shepherds along the riverbank. Brenda can trace her family roots back to the Cherokees who walked the Trail of Tears, and her ranch, deep in the Tennessee woods, is located on part of what used to be the Cherokee Nation.


This book is dedicated to my Cherokee family,

especially my dad’s great-great-grandma Dancer,

who was brave enough and tough enough to walk from

the Eastern Cherokee Nation all the way to Oklahoma.




(#litres_trial_promo)Nv-wa-do-hi-ya-dv, e-ni-si. Peace, Grandmother. We got ten acres back.




CONTENTS


PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE




PROLOGUE


Summer 1993

DERRICK WAS IN THE MOOD TO PLAY. He pulled his ’68 Gran Torino to a halt at the only stoplight in town. Beside him, Nick Taylor smirked and revved the engine of his Chevelle.

“Hey, loser!” Nick challenged through the car’s open window. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

From the Chevelle’s passenger seat, Jason Fremont sneered at him. “Your Torino sucks, Mertz, you drop-out hick!”

Nick and Jason had graduated last year and gone on to college, while he’d stayed right here in Sage Bend, Montana. Being the father of a two-year-old and holding down a full-time job didn’t leave much time for anything else.

But tonight Derrick felt like the boy he used to be—the boy he sometimes wished he still was. Just a guy out celebrating his nineteenth birthday. Even if Shelly had tried to ruin it by dropping Connor off on his doorstep unannounced. It wasn’t his weekend to take care of their son. He had planned to party with his friends, and she’d known that.

Derrick glanced into the back seat where his son sat strapped into the car seat. The little guy loved riding in the Gran Torino. They’d make their own fun.

The thud against his car door made Derrick’s head snap around. He saw raw egg running down the side of the Torino and choked back a curse.

Nick and Jason howled with laughter, then took off with a squeal of tires as the light turned green.

Assholes!

Derrick put the Torino in gear. “What do you think, Connor? Want to show those jerks what for?”

“What for!” Connor replied, his dimpled cheeks reflected in the rearview mirror as he giggled.

Derrick let out the clutch, and the Gran Torino leapt forward like a big cat on the run. He’d gotten the car from his grandfather, and while it didn’t look like much on the outside, he and Grandpa Mertz had made everything under the hood purr.

No way could that piece of crap Chevelle outrun him.

Rapidly shifting gears, he caught up with Nick and Jason, passing them by a half length as they sped away from town out onto the county road. Country music blared through his stereo speakers—a song about fast cars and faster women—as Derrick watched his speedometer needle arc higher.

“Yeah!” He let out a whoop and shifted into high gear. The Torino’s engine no longer purred—it roared.

Ahead, the paved road curved and narrowed down to dirt and gravel. Derrick gripped the wheel, prepared for the rough transition. Nick’s Chevelle edged up beside him on the curve, crowding him as Nick tried to pass.

Derrick floored it. “Eat my dust!”

The Torino gave what he asked, leaping ahead as they came out of the curve. Derrick whooped again and glanced in his rearview mirror. Nick had dropped behind, and Derrick could see him cursing. He wasn’t so smart now.

Derrick felt on top of the world.

Not somebody’s father.

Not somebody’s meal ticket.

Just a kid in a fast car.

The Charolais bull came out of nowhere, its off-white coat blending into the gray dusk. It stopped in the middle of the road and turned its head and, for a moment, Derrick looked right into the animal’s eyes.

“Crap!” He jerked the wheel.

With a spray of dust and gravel, the Torino skidded onto the shoulder of the road, missing the bull by inches. The car fishtailed, and Derrick cranked the wheel in a desperate attempt to regain control. The right rear tire slid, then the front end whipped around—too far. And everything seemed to move in slow motion.

Grass and rock scraped the undercarriage. The fender struck a wooden post as the Torino rocketed across the shallow ditch, through a barbed wire fence. And rolled down the incline of the cow pasture.

Derrick couldn’t get his bearings. Couldn’t even tell which end was up. His head smacked the steering wheel, and his vision swam, then went black.

He awoke to silence. Disoriented.

Where was he? He blinked, then looked around as he remembered.

Nick’s Chevelle was nowhere in sight. He and Jason had taken off, leaving Derrick in the middle of a pasture? Amazingly, the Torino had landed upright after rolling.

His prized possession—the car—had meant so much to him. But suddenly it meant nothing at all as the significance of the silence hit him.

“Connor?”

His heart leapt in his chest as he twisted around to look into the back.

Connor sat slumped in the twisted safety seat, a streak of blood darkening his brown curls. Glass from the shattered windshield lay everywhere. It covered Connor’s T-shirt, his jeans….

Dear God! Derrick fumbled with his seat belt. How could he have been so stupid? The buckle gave, and he clambered over the seat to reach his little boy.

“Connor? Hey, buddy.” Hands shaking, he touched his son’s neck and felt the faint flutter of a pulse. “Conner, wake up. Please?” He muttered a prayer.

What had he done?

He wanted to pull his son into his lap. But should he move him? Why the hell wasn’t anybody coming down the road?

Frantically, he looked up. He thought he heard an approaching car…. Relief coursed through him when he saw the minivan. Derrick pushed against the door of the car, but it was caved in—jammed shut.

“Help me!” He beat it with his fist, glass shards cutting his hand. “Somebody help me—help my son!”

It took him a moment to hear the man. The Good Samaritan who’d rushed from the minivan. “Are you okay, kid?”

“Yeah—I—” He looked at Connor.

“I called 911.”

Three numbers that had meant little to Derrick before now.

Three numbers that held his only hope that Connor would be all right.

He stared at Connor and prayed.




CHAPTER ONE


May 2005

KARA WOKE UP IN THE GRIP of a nightmare. Heart racing, she sat up in bed, covered in sweat. She switched on the bedside lamp as she looked at the clock. 3:00 a.m. She pushed her damp hair away from her eyes and swung her feet to the floor. Ever watchful, Lady looked up at Kara with intelligent brown eyes.

“Hey, Lady. Good girl.” She stroked the collie’s ruff, taking comfort in her presence. In the kitchen, she poured a glass of water and leaned against the sink while she drank. Would the nightmares never stop?

In her wildest imagination, Kara never would have seen herself as a widow at thirty. In her nightmares, she relived over and over again the knock on her door.

Every night it was the same. Evan’s best friend and construction partner stood on the porch. Tom looked at her with such agony, she knew something awful had happened before he even spoke. Evan was never coming home again.

Kara forced herself to go back to bed. But she left the lamp on and tuned the radio to her favorite country station. Grateful it was Saturday, which meant the bank was closed and she didn’t have to work, she slept fitfully. Sunlight woke her the second time. Streaming through the window, it gave the false impression everything was right and wonderful. Like a thousand other times in the past eight months, Kara only wanted to pull the drapes, crawl back in bed and sleep.

But she got up. She had to. Having Lady helped. The dog depended on her for everything. Kara let her out, then fed her.

She had quickly learned that exercise was one of the best ways to help lift herself out of depression. So after a shower and a light breakfast, she phoned Danita. No answer. Odd. Weather permitting, Danita rode with her almost every Saturday, even when it wasn’t a Ride Away weekend. No matter; she’d stop at her house on her way to the stable. It was the warmest day this May so far, and she wasn’t about to waste a moment of it.

From the spare bedroom that served as her tack room, Kara retrieved her saddle and carried it outside. She swung it into the back of the ’78 Ford pickup that had been Evan’s pride and joy, feeling his presence the way she always did…in everything he’d touched…. Lady tagged at her heels, waiting eagerly for Kara to open the passenger door.

“You wanna ride shotgun, hey, girl?” Kara laughed and let the collie in.

As she neared Danita’s house on the corner, Kara spotted her best friend in the backyard, by the barbecue grill. She waved, but Danita didn’t respond; didn’t even seem to see her. Kara rounded the corner and parked in the driveway.

“Hey, you,” she called as she opened the backyard gate. “What’s up?” Then Danita turned and Kara realized her eyes were red-rimmed, her expression furious.

“I’m having a ritual burning, that’s what.” She flung lighter fluid in a wild arc, soaking a pile of photographs and the torn remains of an album, then lit a match. Flames shot up with a whoosh.

Kara gasped. “Danita—my God, those are your wedding photos! What are you doing?” She laid a hand on her friend’s arm.

“I’m burning every last trace of that cheating bastard out of my life, that’s what,” Danita said with a sniff. She tossed another stack of photos onto the fire.

“What?” She couldn’t have heard right. Childhood sweethearts, Danita and Phillip had been happily married for twenty-two years. They had a grown daughter…a beautiful home. But then, she knew all too well that change and tragedy struck without warning. Kara tugged on Danita’s arm. “Come sit down and tell me what happened.”

The older woman allowed herself to be led to the patio table, where the two sat on her cushioned, wrought-iron chairs. “I caught him red-handed,” Danita said without preamble. “I came home from work early last night because I wasn’t feeling well. And there he was—in our bed, damn it! With one of his clients. Guess he took the massage therapy thing to a whole new level.” Danita’s dark eyes flooded and she blinked back tears, then blew her nose into a tissue. “Happy frickin’ anniversary to me, huh?” She sniffed loudly. “We were supposed to go out to dinner this weekend to celebrate. How could that bastard do this?” She slammed her fist onto the table, causing the terra-cotta flowerpot to jump on its plate.

Kara tried not to let her mouth gape. “I don’t even know what to say. My God! You should have called me. You could’ve stayed the night at my place.” She shook her head. “I never, ever would’ve thought Phillip would cheat on you.”

“That makes two of us.” Danita honked into the tissue again. “What a fool I was. All those late evenings at work and the hang-up calls…I didn’t think a thing about them. How stupid could I be?”

“You’re not stupid.” Kara squeezed Danita’s hand. “You’re a loving, trusting wife, and Phillip ought to be horsewhipped. As a matter of fact, I’ll do it for you. Where is the slimeball?”

Danita managed a small laugh. “I kicked his ass to the curb. He’s probably with the bimbo as we speak. The puta!”

Kara opened her mouth to add a snappy comment, but froze. “Oh, hell! Your porch—it’s on fire!”

“What?” Danita spun in her chair, then stood so fast it tipped over. “Oh my God!”

The barbecue grill stood a short distance from the old-fashioned, shingle-roofed porch, and the breeze had caught the flames, sending them skyward. From there, they must’ve enveloped a hanging wicker flower basket suspended from the porch beam before the beam itself caught fire.

Kara dived for the water faucet, turning the handle on full blast as Danita pointed the hose at the porch. But the charcoal fluid must’ve splashed the porch. The accelerant gave the fire enough of a boost to quickly climb the beam toward the shingles. And like that, the roof was on fire.

“Call 911!” Danita shouted.

Kara was already scrambling for the cell phone in her purse.

The volunteer fire department arrived within minutes. Siren blaring, the old-but-still-reliable truck ground to a halt at the curb. Kara stood out of the way with Danita, and watched the men battle the flames. Local police officers arrived to help keep the crowding neighbors back. And because there generally wasn’t a lot of excitement in Sage Bend, population eight hundred seventy-five, it took five officers arriving in three police cars to do the job.

The fire chief, Shawn Rutherford, came over to speak with Danita and Kara, and take down a report of what had happened. Tall, with thick hair that was more black than silver, Shawn had the sexiest dark eyes Kara had ever seen. And those eyes seemed fastened on Danita.

When he walked away, Kara nudged Danita in the ribs. “Hey, I think he likes you.” She grinned, wanting to take her friend’s mind off her troubles. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Danita scoffed. “He was only looking at me because we were talking.”

“Mmm-hmm. He talked to me, too, but he didn’t look at me like that.”

“After what my swine of a husband did, a man is the last person I want near me—ever again.” Danita clutched her hair with both hands and stared at the smoldering porch roof. “Argh! Thank you, Phillip, for turning me into an arsonist!”

Kara draped her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “When Phillip sees you out on the town with a hot fireman on your arm, he’ll wish he’d never cheated on you.”

Danita snorted. “Sorry to disappoint you, girlfriend, but Chief Rutherford stands a better chance of putting out the fires of Hades than he does of getting me out on a date.” She crossed her arms. “And may Phillip rot in hell while he tries.”



THAT NIGHT, Kara lay against her pillows on the bed she’d shared with Evan, and stared at his picture. Here she was, out of her mind missing her husband, while Danita was cursing hers and wishing him dead. Life sure didn’t seem fair.

Oh, Evan, how can you be gone? Please, God, let me wake up tomorrow morning and find it’s all been a bad dream. She lifted the five-by-seven photograph from the nightstand and clutched it to her breast, letting the tears come. She’d loved Evan since junior high, and they’d had a good life—a great life—together.

Kara closed her eyes, and images of Evan’s funeral came back as clearly as if it had been yesterday. Snow falling from a lifeless, gray sky…Evan’s friends acting as pallbearers. Big, macho construction workers who’d broken down and wept like babies over their friend’s coffin. And Evan’s mother, Liz—a widow herself… The poor woman needed tranquilizers.

Why? The question was one Kara still had no answer to.

She visited Evan’s grave every week, often with Liz. But somehow she felt foolish, sitting beside a cold, marble stone. Evan wasn’t there. His spirit was here, with her—always.

But tonight the bedroom felt empty.

The knock on her front door startled her. Lady barked and raced for the living room. Quickly, Kara dried her eyes, and placed Evan’s picture back on the nightstand. Who would be knocking at this hour? It was nearly nine-thirty. She hurried after the collie.

Kara peered through one of the glass rectangles on either side of the door. A man stood on her porch.

Leaving the safety chain in place, she flicked on the porch light and opened the door a few inches. Her gaze immediately met his. He was good-looking beyond reason, his sandy-brown hair just long enough to touch the collar of the denim jacket he wore over a fancy western shirt. Tall, he looked down at her.

“Hi.” He smiled. “I’m sorry to bother you at this hour, but I saw your lights on and thought you might not be asleep.”

Kara stared at him through the crack. “Can I help you with something?” she asked.

“Actually, yes. I’m Derrick Mertz. I live over there.” He gestured toward the mint-green house diagonally across the street from her. “And I’m afraid my kitten is stuck in the tree in your backyard.”

Didn’t serial killers often use the ruse of a missing pet to lure their victims? Later, the body turns up in the woods, bones scattered by wild animals. The news reporters always marveled that a crime like that could happen in such a quiet, close-knit community.

“I wasn’t aware the house had sold,” Kara said, preparing to slam the door in his face. She couldn’t remember if the realtor’s sign had still been there when she’d driven past today.

His smile disarmed her. “Actually, I haven’t got much of my stuff moved in yet. But I brought my cat over, and he got out the back door. He’s going to make me late getting to work if I don’t catch him quick. Mind if I go into your yard?”

What could she say? “I guess that would be fine. I mean, sure. The gate’s on the other side of the house.”

“Thanks.” He turned and hurried down the steps.

Kara closed and locked the door, including the dead bolt. “Some watchdog you are,” she said to Lady as the collie merely wagged her tail. “You could’ve at least growled at him.”

Kara hurried to the kitchen and peeked through the curtains at the well-lit yard, spotting a dark orange, half-grown kitten in the branches of her cottonwood tree.

Kara pulled on her Tony Lamas and stepped outside, Lady at her heels. Derrick stood at the base of the tree, speaking in a gentle, coaxing tone. His voice gave Kara goose bumps, but she told herself it was only the chilly night air.

“He’s cute,” she said, nearing the tree. “Hey, kitty.”

The cat meowed, the bell on his collar jingling as he stretched hesitantly toward the next lower branch.

“Come on, Taz,” Derrick coaxed. “I’ve got to go back to work, buddy.”

“Where do you work?” Kara asked, folding her arms against her chest for warmth. She should’ve grabbed a jacket.

“The Silver Spur,” he said. “I’m a bartender and aspiring country singer.”

Kara couldn’t help but smile. “You play in the band?”

“Every other Saturday, and most Fridays. Tonight I’m just bartending. I’m on my dinner break. Wasn’t really hungry, so I thought I’d run out here and finish unloading a few things…check on Taz.” He turned back to the kitten. At about six foot one or so, Derrick was able to stretch his long arms up and finally grab the wayward Taz.

The tabby yowled and dug its claws into the front of Derrick’s shirt, hissing and spitting as it caught sight of Lady. “Ouch, you little varmint.” Derrick cradled Taz against his chest. “Thanks again.” He held out his free hand. “I didn’t catch your name.”

Hesitantly, she took it. “Kara Tillman.” His hand was strong, his fingers callused from playing the guitar.

“Nice to meet you, Kara.” He eyed her boots and jeans. “A cowgirl, huh?”

“Well, a wanna-be anyway.” She smiled again. “I’ve got a horse, though.”

“Do you like country music?”

“Sure.”

“Why don’t you come on down to the Silver Spur? The band that’s playing tonight is good.” He winked. “Of course, next weekend when Wild Country is playing, the music will be even better.”

Suddenly she felt sick to her stomach. How many nights had she spent dancing with Evan to the beat of some country tune? “Thanks, but I’m not really into the whole bar scene.”

“Well, if you change your mind, the invitation’s always open.” He patted Lady’s head, then scrambled to clutch the kitten once more as it nearly got away from him. “Nice meeting you, Kara. Take it easy.”

“You, too.”

He disappeared into the shadows on the far side of the house, and Kara heard the gate swing open, then click shut as he latched it.

She stood for a moment, listening to the wind stir through the trees. Then, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, Kara called Lady back into the house and closed the door.




CHAPTER TWO


Late May

DERRICK OPENED the curtains near the foot of Connor’s bed to let the sunlight stream in. Today was the last day of school, and Connor would be home at Shelly’s in less than an hour, ready for Derrick to pick him up. He wanted everything perfect for his son at their new house.

He raised the window, letting the fresh air blow through the long-closed bedroom. Taz promptly jumped up on the windowsill and stared through the screen at the birds on the lawn, flicking the end of his orange tail.

Derrick laughed. “Bird buffet, huh, Taz?” He scratched the kitten’s ears, enjoying the view himself. An apple tree grew near the window, its branches loaded with pinkish-white flowers. Their fragrance drifted in, mingling with the scent of damp soil and dust. A comforting, earthy smell. Home. So much better than that damned cramped apartment, where the neighbors constantly complained about his guitar playing.

Whistling, Derrick snapped open a fitted sheet he’d taken from the dryer a moment ago, and set about making up Connor’s twin bed. He’d wanted to buy something better, a double bed for sure, but money was tight. Connor’s medical bills and physical therapy had been an ongoing expense, and a not-so-famous country singer/bartender didn’t make the sort of money Toby Keith and Brad Paisley likely brought home.

With the bedsheets and a dark blue comforter in place, Derrick surveyed the room. He hadn’t hung a lot of stuff on the walls—he wanted Connor to make the place his own. Just a couple of things he thought the boy might like, including an autographed poster of Shania Twain one of the guys in his band had gotten for Connor at a recent concert.

The room looked kind of plain, with only the twin bed, a secondhand chest of drawers and a computer stand for Connor’s laptop in the corner. Derrick had paid for Internet service, even though he didn’t have any use for it himself, didn’t even own a computer. But he couldn’t expect the kid to spend every waking minute with him, even though Derrick would’ve preferred it that way.

His time with his son was precious. The days between his weekend visits seemed an eternity, while the two or three days he had with Connor sped by. Even the longer summer visitations seemed far too short. But it beat the hell out of the supervised, three-hour visits he’d once had.

Satisfied the room was as good as it was going to get, Derrick got the keys to his truck, and his guitar and headed out the door. He couldn’t wait to pick Connor up. Their every-other-Friday-night ritual of stopping by the local burger joint was something he looked forward to. And tonight, he had band practice. Since a love for country music and double cheeseburgers seemed to be two of the few things he and his son shared these days, Derrick intended to make the most of it.

As he neared his pickup, he spotted Kara, struggling out her front door with an armload of tack, including a heavy-looking western saddle and thick saddle pad. The pretty strawberry-blonde had bumped the screen open with one hip, and now attempted to pull the door shut behind her, her collie at her heels.

Derrick was across the street in a few loping strides.

“Hang on. Let me help you.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him and grimaced. “Thanks, but I’ve got it. I’m used to doing this.” But she let him hold the screen and finish closing the door for her. “Make sure it’s locked, please.” She watched as he jiggled the knob. “Thanks.”

“Going riding?” Then he laughed, bending to pat the dog. “Well, I guess that’s obvious. Taking advantage of the longer daylight hours, huh?”

Her freckled nose crinkled as she smiled. “Yep. I go every chance I get.”

“Really? Maybe I ought to get myself a horse.”

Immediately, Kara stopped smiling.

“I hate to be rude, but I’m in a hurry.” She swung the saddle and blanket into the back of her pickup—a sharp-looking, black Ford. “I’m meeting some friends.”

“Yeah. Sure.” She didn’t have to knock him over the head with a riding crop. He leaned against the truck bed, and glanced at the bridle and grooming tools she’d already loaded. “Don’t they have a tack room at your stable?”

“Yes. But things tend to grow legs and wander off. Or so I’ve heard. I prefer keeping my stuff at home.”

“Ah. I can understand that.”

“You’d better get your guitar,” she said, softening her words with a half smile. “Before it grows legs.”

He’d forgotten he’d set it down in the middle of his driveway. “Yeah. I’ve got practice with the guys tonight. We’re playing tomorrow.” He hesitated. She hadn’t taken him up on his invite last weekend…should he ask her again?

“Have fun.” She opened the truck door, and the collie jumped in.

“You, too.”

He watched Kara drive away.

Going riding?

Hell.

Maybe instead of band practice, he ought to relearn how to ask a woman out.



KARA PULLED AWAY from the curb, her eyes drawn to Derrick Mertz in the rearview mirror. He waved, and she immediately averted her gaze, embarrassed he’d caught her looking. Twice. What the hell was wrong with her? I’m sorry, Evan.

She leaned back in her seat, steering the Ford with one hand, resting her other wrist lightly on top of the wheel.

Evan had fixed up the truck himself, painting it gloss black, redoing the engine…the interior. He’d washed and waxed the Ford regularly, and she’d loved helping him.

They’d done everything together. On the weekends, they often went cruising, Kara snuggled next to Evan, his arm around her as though they were still dating. Six years of marriage had changed nothing in terms of romance. For them, the honeymoon hadn’t ended once they’d fallen into the everyday aspects of married life, the way it had for many of their friends.

Friends who’d drifted away after Evan’s death. A single woman—a widow—did not fit neatly into the group. Thank God for Danita, and even Liz, who had lost a husband and a son, and depended heavily on her. Liz had always been like a second mother to Kara. She and Evan had even moved to Sage Bend to be near her when Evan’s dad died.

But at times she wished Liz would lend her a shoulder for a change. With Kara’s own parents living back in Colorado, she often felt homesick. She’d lost so much when she’d lost Evan.

And now, here she was ogling a good-looking cowboy singer in the rearview mirror of her husband’s pickup.

Guilt-ridden, Kara slipped on her sunglasses to shield her eyes from the glare of the late afternoon sun, then placed both hands firmly on the steering wheel. She’d ride her troubles away, just like she always did.

At the stable, Kara led Indio to a hitching post and began to brush her, while Lady nosed around the area. Her informal riding group had decided to take an early evening trail ride, since rain was predicted for Saturday. Within minutes, Danita arrived and got busy saddling her mount, soon followed by Beth Murphy, another of the Ride Away members.

“Hi,” Kara greeted her.

“Hey,” Beth said, blowing a strand of her short blond hair out of her eyes and giving Lady a pat. Beth was forty-three, but she looked much younger. “How was work today?”

“Busy. Fridays are always crazy. Thank God I didn’t have to stay to work the drive-up window.” She saddled her Appaloosa, waving to Hannah Williamson, the fourth—and final—Ride Awayer, as she pulled up, horse trailer in tow. The local large animal vet, Hannah took care of the horses at the boarding stable, and owned a twenty-five-acre ranch not far from there.

While Beth went into the barn to get her horse and Hannah unloaded Ricochet, Kara seized the opportunity to question Danita. “Are you doing okay, hon?” She’d been worried about her friend, keeping tabs on her all week by phone.

“I’m hanging in.” Danita shrugged. “Trying to focus on repainting the house. I might as well make a few changes, now that Phillip has officially moved out. He picked up the last of his stuff yesterday.” She set her jaw. “The rat. He’s already got a new place with a swimming pool. I hope he gets skin cancer.”

Kara couldn’t help but chuckle. “I didn’t know rats liked water.”

“Sure they do. That’s why the ones in New York hang out in the sewers.” Danita laughed, too. “Speaking of men, I passed by your house on my way home from the store before I came out here, and I saw Derrick Mertz in your yard.”

“You know him?”

“Sort of. Phillip and I used to go to the Silver Spur once in a while.”

“I didn’t know that.” Personally, she’d never paid much attention to the band when she’d gone with Evan. She’d only had eyes for her husband.

“So what was he doing at your place?” Danita arched an eyebrow.

Kara squirmed. “He’s my new neighbor. He helped me load my tack into the truck.”

“Uh-huh.” Danita licked her lips and smiled. “I waved at you as I passed, but you drove right by me. I think you were too busy looking in your rearview mirror to notice.”

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?”

“Lusted after another man.”

“Mi hija.” Danita laid a soothing hand on her arm. “Evan’s gone. You can only be alone for so long.”

Kara knew her friend meant well, but didn’t want to ever replace Evan in her heart. “I miss him so much.” She bit her lip.

“Of course you do. But you’re young, and so pretty.” Danita gave her a hug. “You’ll find happiness again. Unlike me, a middle-aged janitor with wrinkles and gray hair.”

“I heard that,” Beth said, as she led her chestnut mare, Sundance, toward the hitching rail. She elbowed Danita in the ribs. “I’m older than you, and you do not have gray hair.”

“Thanks to my hairdresser.” Danita grimaced. “Too bad he’s gay. He’s really good-looking.”

Hannah walked over, leading her saddled gelding. “That’s always the way it goes,” she said. “But you stop putting yourself down.” She frowned at Danita, tossing her brown ponytail over one shoulder. “You run your own cleaning business, woman. And you’re smart, beautiful and in the prime of your life. To hell with Phillip.”

“That’s right,” Beth said. “As soon as the men in this town find out you’re single, they’ll be flocking around like ants at a picnic.” She tightened her cinch. “And you might as well start tonight. Hannah and I are going to the Silver Spur. Come with us. You, too, Kara.”

Kara shook her head, gathering Indio’s reins. “I’m not much for the bar scene.”

“All right, I’ll go,” Danita said. “But I’m not cruising for guys. I need another man like I need another twenty pounds of fat on my ass.”

Kara laughed.

Horses tacked up, the four women set off along the bridle path. Hannah moved Ricochet up beside Indio, as Danita and Beth rode ahead. “I wish you’d change your mind about coming tonight.”

Kara wished her friends would quit pressuring her. “I don’t think so.”

Hannah’s hazel eyes held compassion. “I know you’re still grieving, and that you need time. But be careful not to let it consume you, either. Life’s too short, kiddo.”

“Tell me about it,” Kara snapped. She couldn’t help but resent Hannah’s comment. What did she know about losing a husband? Twenty-nine—the only single woman in the group—Hannah had her whole life ahead of her. Evan hadn’t even been around to celebrate Kara’s thirtieth birthday. “My time with Evan flew by. Like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“I’m sorry,” Hannah said. Her gaze held Kara’s, full of such sympathy, Kara felt like a bitch.

“It’s okay.” She fought the familiar, choking ache in the back of her throat. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back.

Hannah’s words had hit home.

Kara’s biggest fear was being exactly like her mother-in-law…grieving forever.

Never getting over the loss of the man she’d loved with all her heart and soul.



SATURDAY BROUGHT some cloud cover, but the rain held off, the temperature hovering in the mid-fifties. Kara opted to do some yard work midmorning, determined to get the soil along the front wall of her house turned, so she could plant some bachelor buttons and Shasta daisies. As she went to work with a shovel, the sound of guitar music floated her way. Pausing, she listened, then smiled. Someone was singing a popular country tune. But it didn’t sound like Derrick. Maybe one of his band?

Puzzled, Kara leaned the shovel against the wall. The voice sounded young, more like a kid’s. She started across the lawn, then hesitated. What was she doing? She should mind her own business and tend to her flower bed. Kara picked up the shovel again and turned over another section of dirt.

But the guitar music lifted her spirits—a rare thing these days. She simply couldn’t resist seeing who the player was.

A few minutes later, Kara paused on Derrick’s front walkway. Near the open door, a porch swing and two chairs stood empty, the orange tabby kitten dozing beneath one of them. The wraparound porch hid the guitar player from view, the music coming from the side of the house.

What the heck. She was already here.

Kara climbed the steps and called out as she rounded the corner of the porch. “Hello?”

For a moment, the boy didn’t see or hear her. And Kara didn’t realize he was sitting in a wheelchair. Her eyes darted to the chair a split second later, then back up just as the kid’s gaze met hers. He blushed, breaking off midtune, his hand resting across the top of the guitar, a pick in his fingers. “Can I help you with something?”

She felt awkward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” Kara gestured over her shoulder. “I live across the street. I heard the guitar….”

“Sorry about that.” The boy’s face reddened deeper beneath his light-brown hair. “Dad thought guitar music wouldn’t bother the neighbors anymore, since he moved out of his apartment.”

Dad.

Wow. She’d assumed Derrick was a single man, living alone. Somehow she hadn’t expected a guitar-picking, bartending cowboy to have a half-grown son.

“You weren’t bothering me at all,” Kara hastened to explain, as the boy fumbled to put the instrument back in its case. “I came over because I liked what I heard. I wanted to see who was playing.”

He paused, looking skeptically at her. “Really?”

“You bet. I’m a big country music fan.” She held out her hand. “I’m Kara Tillman.”

He shook hands briefly. “Connor.”

“Well, Connor, I can see you’re following in your dad’s footsteps. He must be proud.”

“Don’t tell him.”

The boy’s hasty comment took her by surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t tell my dad I was playing his guitar. Please.”

She didn’t know what to say. “All right.” Was Derrick touchy about his guitar? To the point that he wouldn’t let his own son play it?

Before she could say anything else, they heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.

“Damn!” Connor hastened to wheel his chair through the sliding doors off the side porch, guitar case in his lap. He bumped the case into the doorjamb, and cursed again.

Kara wasn’t sure why she moved to help him, but she did. “Here.” She didn’t even know the boy, but the thought of Derrick getting angry at him for something that seemed harmless to her, somehow made her want to protect Connor. She righted the case and, reaching over his shoulders, balanced it on his lap as he wheeled into the house. Her adrenaline surged, and she felt silly.

Once Connor was safely inside, Kara hurried around to the front porch again. She spotted Derrick gathering a double handful of plastic grocery sacks from the camper shell on his pickup.

“Hi,” she called.

He looked up, surprised. “Hi, yourself.” He frowned curiously as he walked toward her. “So, what’s up?”

Suddenly Kara realized that in helping Connor hide his secret, she no longer had an excuse to be at Derrick’s house. She fumbled for an answer. “Oh—nothing really. I, uh—” Crud! “—was doing a little yard work, and I made too much lemonade, and I wondered if you’d like some.” She smiled, hoping her expression didn’t look as lame as her excuse felt. “But Connor said you weren’t here.”

“Oh, you met him then?” He smiled, not at all like the sort of dad who would mind his son playing his guitar.

“Yes. He’s a nice kid.”

They reached the sliding doors that opened off the kitchen, just as Connor came back outside. He held a glass of water between his knees, and Kara nearly laughed out loud. They’d thought of similar excuses for their odd behavior.

Derrick didn’t seem to notice. “Hey, buddy, you want to take these and I’ll go back for the rest?” He handed the grocery bags off to the boy.

“Yeah, sure.” Connor set his water glass on a small, round table near the door, then took the bags, set them in his lap and wheeled back inside.

“Need another hand?” Kara asked.

“If you want. One more trip ought to do it.”

Kara lifted a couple of the bags from the truck. Inside the kitchen, she looked around, appreciating the fact that it was fairly neat. Only a glass and a sandwich plate sat in the sink. A dish drainer on the countertop held a few items, things that looked as though they might not fit in the dishwasher. The entire room was sparsely furnished and decorated, but somehow homey, the walls painted a cheerful yellow. But no woman’s touch, and Kara wondered where Connor’s mother was.

“So, where’s the lemonade?” Derrick asked.

“What?”

“The lemonade you made too much of?” The corner of his mouth quirked. “Isn’t that what Connor had in his glass?” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the table on the porch.

“No, that’s just water,” Connor said. He looked at her, puzzled.

Crap! “I guess you got thirsty, what with all our yakking.” Kara smiled, then looked at Derrick. “The lemonade’s at my place. I didn’t want to bring it over until I was sure you wanted it, but I’ll go get it now.” Stop babbling. “See you in a bit.” She headed for the door.

Back across the street, she hurried to her cupboard, glad she’d bought a can of powdered, pink-lemonade mix at the store last week. She felt like an idiot. Derrick probably thought she’d made up some lame story so she could barge over to his house. With his good looks, combined with that sexy cowboy image and the fact that he sang and played the guitar, he probably had women lining up on his doorstep. Probably not bearing pink lemonade, but she could only imagine what the others brought him.

She’d make sure Derrick knew she wasn’t that type.

Plastic pitcher in hand, Kara headed back across the street. She’d drop the lemonade off and leave.

This time it was Derrick who had the guitar out when she reached the porch. He sat in a chair near the table. In his wheelchair, Connor munched on a stick of beef jerky. Derrick laid the guitar down and reached for one of three plastic tumblers he’d set out.

“It’s mighty nice of you to bring the lemonade. Have a seat.” He gestured to an empty chair, then poured her some of the drink before she could refuse.

“No problem. Like I said, I made too much.”

“Well, it was still nice.” He took a sip, his long, strong fingers curled around the tumbler. Connor had poured himself some lemonade, and he took a big gulp, not saying anything. But he cast her a grateful look.

They sat in silence for a while. Kara began to feel awkward. She should leave.

“Are you busy tonight?” Derrick asked.

Kara tensed. “I’m not sure what I’m doing yet.”

“It’s family night at the Silver Spur. They have it the first and last Saturday of every month. They open up the dining area, and serve soft drinks and appetizers from six until eight, or dinner if you want it. That way the kids can listen to the band for a while—maybe dance a little—before things get kicking in the bar.”

During the week, the Spur doubled as the local steakhouse. After dinner hours, a sliding partition closed the dining room off from the bar. She and Evan had eaten there a few times.

“Why don’t you come?” Derrick suggested. “You can sit with Connor so he won’t feel bored and alone.”

“I’m not a baby, Dad,” Connor said. “I don’t care if I sit by myself.”

Didn’t the boy have friends from school?

“Thanks,” Kara said, “but really, I don’t usually go to bars.” Not anymore.

“So you said.” He nodded. “But it’s not like it’s a rowdy honky-tonk—well, not from six to eight anyway.” He smiled. “I think the wildest person in the dinner crowd is usually Lily Tate. She loves the all-you-can-eat ribs, and if the cook runs out, she gets hostile.”

Kara laughed. Lily Tate was a regular customer at the bank, still feisty at seventy-eight. “Well, when you put it that way. I suppose I could come for a little while.”

“Great.”

Kara reached to set her lemonade glass on the table and, as she did, Derrick’s gaze fell on her wedding band.

He looked like someone had knocked the air out of him.

“That is,” he added, “if your husband won’t mind.”




CHAPTER THREE


KARA DIDN’T ANSWER for a long, drawn-out minute. Derrick waited. How could he have missed the ring on her left hand? Maybe because it was just a simple, white-gold band.

“My husband was killed eight months ago.”

Her quiet answer almost didn’t register. Shit. “Kara, I’m sorry.” Derrick wished he could wind the clock back five minutes and start over. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the look Connor gave him and felt even worse. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. It’s just that—”

She held up her hand. “Don’t worry about it. I can imagine you get all sorts of women falling all over you at the bar.”

That made him sound like a womanizer. “Well, not exactly, but I have had married women ask me out before.”

“I wasn’t the one doing the asking.”

She bit her lip, and he could see she was trying not to cry. He felt like the dirt under a worm’s belly.

“Kara—”

“Derrick, it’s okay.” She stood. “I’d better get back to my flower bed.”

“Then you’ll still come?”

She nodded. “Connor, it was real nice meeting you. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Derrick watched her walk away, still feeling awful.

“Way to go, Dad.”

“Hey, how did I know?”

Connor merely shrugged.

Derrick strummed his guitar, playing but not singing. The image of Kara’s sad expression kept running through his mind. He’d be sure to do his best to make her smile tonight. Music was the best way he knew to ease sorrow.

“Connor, are you sure you don’t have any friends you want to invite to the Spur tonight?” It worried him that his son was a loner, the majority of his friends e-pals.

“I’m sure.”

“What about Kevin?” Connor’s classmate was the only kid he ever hung out with. Most of the others couldn’t see past Connor’s wheelchair.

“He’s got soccer practice today. His mom takes the team out for pizza afterward, and then he’ll probably spend the night at John Brody’s house.”

“Oh.” It hurt Derrick more than words could say that his son wasn’t able to take part in sports. It was yet another thing he’d taken from the boy.

“I’m gonna go check my e-mail,” Connor said.

“All right.” Derrick watched him wheel away, wishing there was something he could do for him. He’d give anything if Connor could join his school-mates on the soccer team, or the rodeo team next year, or whatever else he cared to do.

He just wanted his son to be happy.

The phone rang, and Derrick grabbed it off the hook. “Hello?”

There was no answer, and he nearly hung up, thinking it was a computerized telemarketer.

“Hello, son. How are you?”

“Mom?” His heart raced. His mother never called, even waited to talk to Connor when he was at Shelly’s. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I—” Her voice cracked and she began to cry.

“What is it? Did something happen to Dad?” He hadn’t spoken two words to his father since the accident, and not much more than that to his mom. Connor spent time with them, but Derrick had lost contact after they’d moved to Miles City—more than two hundred miles away.

“Mom?”

“No, it’s not your father. I, uh, just got out of the hospital a few days ago. I had to have some surgery.”

Fear gripped him. “For what?”

“The doctor found tumors on my ovaries. And boy, did that scare the hell out of me.” She sniffed. “You don’t know how many times I’ve started to pick up the phone to call you.”

“Why didn’t you?” But he knew why.

“Well, you know how your father is.”

“So, why are you calling now? You’re all right, aren’t you?”

“I’m fine. I had to have a hysterectomy, but there’s no sign of cancer, thank God.”

Derrick let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Anyway, all this got me thinking about how life really is too short. Son, I want to make things right between us. I’m so sorry for the way I’ve treated you. I—”

“Carolyn!” In the background, Derrick heard his father’s booming voice. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Her reply was muffled.

“She’s hanging up now, Derrick—” Vernon spoke into the phone, his voice as cold as steel “—and don’t try calling her back. She’s out of her mind on painkillers. That’s all.”

The line went dead. Derrick stared at the phone for a long moment before hanging it up.

He’d nearly killed their only grandchild.

His dad would never forgive him.



THE SILVER SPUR looked more like a barn than a bar, painted a faded gray-brown to give it a weathered appearance. Three miles outside of town, the honky-tonk stood in the middle of a field near the intersection of two dirt roads.

Kara had decided to drive to the Spur early, to avoid arriving in the midst of a huge crowd. She needed to ease her way into this evening. She’d nurse a beer while she waited for Connor and Derrick, and hopefully get a grip on her nerves. The only reason she’d accepted Derrick’s invitation was because she’d decided Hannah was right. She needed to get out and do something for herself, before her grief drowned her.

And she planned to make it clear to Derrick that she hadn’t come here tonight for him. But when Kara pulled into the parking lot, Derrick’s truck was already there. Parked beside a van and another pickup, Derrick was busy unloading band equipment along with three other guys. Connor hovered nearby, watching. He raised his hand in greeting, and Kara took a step backward. Of course Wild Country would arrive early to set up before the crowd.

Derrick spotted her, too, and she let out a groan. He probably thought she’d arrived early because she couldn’t wait. This, on top of the lemonade fiasco, was too much.

Not knowing what else to do, Kara got out of the Ford and walked over to say hi.

“You’re here early,” Derrick said. He looked way too fine in his black cowboy hat, teal-blue western shirt and tight jeans.

“Yep. I plan to get a good table.”

“Smart. Just let me haul some of this stuff in and I’ll be right with you.”

“No worries. Connor can walk me in.” She turned and smiled at the boy, who was dressed in boots, faded jeans and a T-shirt with the picture of country singer Gretchen Wilson. “Is that all right with you, Connor?”

He shrugged. “Sure.” Deftly, he maneuvered his wheelchair across the dirt-and-gravel parking lot.

Kara walked beside him, wondering not for the first time what had caused the boy to be confined to the chair. Kara couldn’t imagine being in his situation.

“So, would you like to sit with me?” she asked. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here, and I hate sitting alone.”

“Sure.”

Drawing conversation out of the kid was like trying to coax a mule along with a piece of twine.

Farther on, the parking lot’s hard-packed surface became rutted, making the going somewhat difficult for Connor. He seemed to have a fair amount of upper body strength, his arms thin yet wiry. But it couldn’t be easy to wheel across this. Should she offer to help? Kara fought the urge to take hold of the wheelchair’s handles, sensing her gesture would not be welcomed.

At that moment, she heard the sound of teenaged laughter. She looked up to see a group of three boys and two girls, somewhere close to Connor’s age, walking through the nearby field. They stared at Connor as they passed. One of the boys said something, and the others laughed.

Connor shot the boy a look that would’ve stripped varnish off furniture. Kara’s heart ached for him. She remembered adolescence all too well, getting teased for being too skinny and wearing braces.

Only Evan had seen her in a different light.

Lost in thought, Kara barely noticed the huge pothole, stepping around it at the last minute. And Connor, wheeling the chair too hard in his anger, wasn’t really watching where he was going. Kara gasped as the wheel on one side of his chair dropped into the hole.

Before she could call out a warning, the boy tilted at a precarious angle, then tipped sideways. He thrust out his right arm and awkwardly caught himself, barely managing to keep the wheelchair from tipping completely over. But he couldn’t hold that position long and, wiry or not, he wasn’t strong enough to right himself.

Kara moved to help, but Derrick beat her to it.

With seemingly little effort, he righted his son’s chair and steadied the boy to keep him from sliding out onto the ground. “You okay, bud?”

Connor’s face turned red. “I’m fine! Jeez!” The kids were still staring and snickering, and his face turned an even deeper shade. “What are you looking at?”

“Not much, you little queer,” the tallest boy sneered.

“Screw off, asshole!”

“Connor!” Derrick frowned. “Watch your language.”

But the anger on his face matched Kara’s own. She wanted to race over and give them a piece of her mind—and a swift kick to their bratty butts.

It didn’t help that Derrick’s reprimand embarrassed Connor even more. He thrust his palms against the wheels of his chair, sending it flying across the parking lot in a way Kara was afraid would cause him to crash again.

Calling out a final round of taunts, the teens hurried away across the field, then turned down the dirt road.

Kara rushed to catch up with Connor, Derrick on her heels.

“Looks like you could use some peroxide,” she said. Connor’s palm was skinned, and his elbow scraped.

“I said I’m fine. You guys don’t need to make such a big deal out of it.”

Derrick grunted. “Yeah, well, if it’s not a big deal, then pour some peroxide on your road rash.” He rested one hand on his hip. “I’ll bet Tina has some in her first-aid kit in the back. Why don’t you go on in and ask her?” He looked at Kara. “Tina owns the Spur.”

“Oh—yes, I think I met her once.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really? I thought you didn’t hang out in bars.”

“I don’t.” She shrugged. “But Evan and I used to come here to dance once in a while.”

Derrick nodded. “Guess I’d better haul in my stuff. See you later.” He clamped his hand on Connor’s shoulder, then headed back to his pickup.

“Come on,” Kara said. “Let’s get your elbow cleaned up.”

“I can do it,” Connor said. Then, as if he remembered Kara wasn’t the enemy, he added, “Thanks.”

“I know you can,” she said. “Actually, I’m only sticking to you like glue because I’m nervous.”

He looked at her, puzzled. “Why?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Like I told your dad, I haven’t been here since my husband died. It’s sort of hard to deal with, you know?”

The boy’s expression softened. “Yeah, I guess it would be. What happened to him anyway?” He began wheeling his chair along at a more reasonable pace as they talked.

“Evan was a construction worker—he built houses. He fell off a scaffold.” She took a deep breath. “The impact caused severe internal injuries. Nothing could be done to save him.”

“Damn.” Connor frowned. “That’s gotta be tough.” He was silent a moment. “I don’t remember the accident that put me in this chair.”

Kara watched as he navigated around another rut, was careful to keep her tone casual. “No?”

“Uh-uh. I was only two when it happened.”

How hard that must’ve been for Derrick—and Connor’s mother. Connor said he didn’t remember the accident, but surely Derrick had told him the details. Kara started to press the boy for more information, then decided it wasn’t her place. She wanted to ask him where his mother was, and who she was. She remembered he’d said something about his dad having moved out of his apartment.

Did Connor live with his mom?

“By the way, that’s a sweet-looking Ford you’ve got.”

“Thanks,” Kara murmured. “It was my husband’s.”

“And you’ve got a horse?”

“Yeah, an Appaloosa.”

“Cool. I like horses.”

“Well, maybe you can come to my boarding stable and see her sometime.”

They’d reached the side entrance and, deftly, Connor bumped his wheelchair up and over the threshold into the bar.

“I’ll grab us a table,” Kara said. “You can join me after you get your elbow cleaned up.”

“Okay.” Connor wheeled across the hardwood toward a hallway near the bar.

The room looked about the same as she remembered. The bandstand along the far wall, a scuffed but polished dance floor in a horseshoe in front of it, tables barely big enough to hold drinks—with as many chairs crammed around them as possible—scattered everywhere. Off to one side, the divider that opened up into the dining area stood open, and Kara could see bigger tables over there. She sat at one, then decided it was too far away.

Shouldering her purse, she chose a table with four chairs, close enough to get a view of the band, yet far enough from the dance floor and bar to avoid traffic.

“Hey there. What can I get you to drink, hon?”

Kara looked up at a familiar face. The waitress—a woman about her own age—smiled at her. She wore a sparkly western shirt, short, denim cutoffs and red cowboy boots. Kara couldn’t remember the woman’s name, but her dark red hair—sprayed and teased into a wild mane—was hard to forget.

“I’ll have a Coke,” Kara said. “Actually, make it two. I’ve got a friend joining me.” Then she added as an afterthought, “And maybe an order of super nachos, if you still serve them.” Connor might like some. The kid deserved a treat after what had happened outside.

“We do.” The waitress scratched her order on a notepad, and Kara saw the gold heart pinned to her shirt with her name on it—Tori. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

“Thanks.”

Tori brought the Cokes just as Connor got to the table. “I ordered some nachos,” Kara told him, “but I wasn’t sure what you’d like to drink. Is Coke okay?”

“Sure. Man, I love the super nachos.” He gave her a crooked smile, dimples in his cheeks.

“So do I.” Connor was a cute kid, and he looked a lot like his dad.

They sat in companionable silence, watching Derrick and his band set up. He looked their way once, and Kara quickly turned away. She was about to ask Connor what grade he’d be going into next fall, when she heard a voice she knew well.

“My, my. Look what the proverbial cat dragged in,” Danita said.

Kara turned and groaned as she saw Beth and Hannah as well. All three were dressed in their country-western finest.

“I thought you didn’t do the bar scene,” Beth accused her.

“And I thought you were all coming here last night,” Kara replied.

“We were,” Beth said, “but Hannah had an emergency call, so we postponed until tonight.”

“And I’m glad we did.” Danita leaned over, squeezing Kara’s shoulders from behind. “We’re happy you could make it, girlfriend, but isn’t your date a little young?”

The boy looked embarrassed.

“Ignore her, Connor,” Kara said. “She’s old and senile.” She laughed as Danita lightly punched her in the arm. “Danita, meet my neighbor, Connor Mertz. Connor, this is Danita—my former best friend.”

“Mertz…are you Derrick’s son?” She gestured toward the stage.

“Yeah.” Connor glanced at his dad.

“Well, no wonder you’re so handsome.”

The boy took a long pull on his straw, red in the face.

Danita and Beth sat down, and Hannah pulled up an extra chair and squeezed in as well.

“Hope you don’t mind sitting with girls,” Hannah said.

Connor shrugged. “I guess not.” He kept his eyes down on the napkin he was shredding into ever smaller pieces.

“Just wait a few years,” Beth said. “You’ll be ecstatic to have so much female attention.”

Connor’s face clouded over. “I don’t think so.”

But before Kara could ponder his reaction, Hannah said, “So, Kara, what made you decide to come here after you told us no?”

Kara fingered the cuff of her lacy Western blouse and hoped she wasn’t blushing as much as Connor. “I changed my mind, that’s all.”

“And you didn’t call to tell us?” Hannah pretended to pout. “I’m crushed.”

“Me, too.” Beth waved over at the bar for service.

“I would have, but I thought you’d be partied out.” She squirmed. For her, this was a big step, one she’d needed to take solo. “I just decided you all were right. I should get out more.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Danita said. “Now if we can get you drunk and dancing, my night will be complete.”

“It’s family night, remember?” Kara said. “And besides, I don’t get drunk.”

“It’s family night until eight,” Danita emphasized. “Cover your ears, kid. We’re about to be a bad influence.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “You haven’t met the guys in my dad’s band.”

Hannah stared wistfully at the group of cowboys in tight jeans and Western hats, setting up their equipment on stage. “No, I haven’t.”

The women laughed.

As the barroom began to fill with patrons, Kara kept her eyes on Derrick. After introducing himself and his band, he looked her way and began to sing an upbeat song.

Beneath the table, Kara held her hands in her lap, twisting her wedding band.

Don’t even think about it.

Quickly, she turned toward the generous serving of nachos Tori set down in the middle of the table. But even the melted cheese and rich sour cream couldn’t distract her from the longing that overwhelmed her.

She’d lost something precious. Something she’d never have again.

The song ended, and the crowd applauded and whistled.

“Thank you,” Derrick said. “This next song is one I wrote myself. It’s called ‘Heaven.’”

Kara watched Derrick’s fingers move across the guitar strings, expecting him to croon a sentimental love song. Instead, he sang something far different.

“As we flew out of Denver

My little boy said to me,

‘Daddy, how high up is heaven?

Are we gonna get to see

Jesus and His angels?

Will they wave at me?’

“I smiled and said ‘son,

We’ll just wait and see,

But I think that Heaven’s higher

Than we’re gonna be.’

“A few years later at the rodeo,

My son was now thirteen,

He sat down in the chute, just like his heroes on TV…”

Kara listened closely to the words…the story of how the father watched his son grow up riding bulls. When the boy—now a young man—was challenged to ride a bull no cowboy had ever been able to ride before, she felt the father’s trepidation.

And her heart broke as Derrick sang about the young cowboy’s fatal injuries, and the father’s grief.

“Days later at his graveside, a memory came to me.

Of my little boy’s first airplane ride,

And what he’d asked of me.

He said, ‘Daddy how high up is heaven?

Will I get to see

Jesus and His angels?

Will they wave at me?’

“And that’s when I knew he’d found his way,

For when I looked on high

There was Jesus and his angels,

And my son stood by his side.

“‘Daddy, how high up is hea—ven?’”

Derrick held the last note on the guitar, and the crowd erupted in whistles and cheers. In the dim light, Kara saw she wasn’t the only one who had to wipe her eyes. It was easy to see where Connor had gotten his singing voice.

She glanced at the boy and wondered if he were the inspiration behind Derrick’s song. Had he come close to death in whatever accident had caused his injuries?

If Derrick wanted her to know his personal business, he’d tell her. Yet she couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to be held by this man. To wake up in his arms, not in an empty bed.

She told herself she ached for Evan, that it was Derrick’s song that brought out her emotions. But deep down, Kara knew it wasn’t just the song. It was Derrick who stirred something in her.

Something that scared her, and made her wish she hadn’t come to the Silver Spur.



CONNOR MUNCHED on the nachos and the women’s conversation faded to so much white noise. He’d always found it easier to talk to adults than kids, but he felt kind of stupid sitting here with four chicks. Especially since they had to be as old as his dad, or older. But then, Kara had been nice to him, and she hadn’t ratted him out for playing his dad’s guitar.

He watched his father up on stage, entertaining the crowd. What would it be like to be up there? To have everyone in the room focused on you? Connor had often wondered. It was exactly why he didn’t want his dad to know he could play. Connor knew he’d fall short of his father’s accomplishments.

After having saved his allowance for what felt like forever, he’d bought a secondhand acoustic guitar from the pawnshop, and sworn his mom to secrecy. Between video tapes, books, and trying things on his own, he’d learned to play a decent tune. He spent a lot of time picking that old guitar, and when he’d gotten the chance to play his dad’s Gibson this afternoon, the temptation was too much to resist.

Playing on the side of the wraparound porch was fun. It felt almost like a stage, and yet he was blocked from anyone’s view by the thick shrubbery that grew along the perimeter of the acre lot the house sat on. Plus the nearby sawmill often created a distant whine, keeping him from drawing anyone’s attention. Of course, Kara had still caught him. He’d have to be more careful about playing when someone might walk up on the porch like that. He didn’t want an audience, not until—and unless—he could pick the way his dad did.

Maybe one day he’d come close to being that good, if he practiced hard enough. But he could never let him know how he felt.

He sure as hell didn’t want to admit how much he wished he could be like his dad. It would be so rad to play in a band and have girls falling all over him. In his daydreams, Connor was the star; the lead singer. Women went wild over him. They swooned, and threw their underwear at the stage, the way he’d heard women often did when things got rowdy at a concert.

But that’s all his thoughts were. Stupid dreams.

Everyone knew women didn’t fall for some guy in a wheelchair.

And if dumb-ass Bart Denson and his loser friends knew he fancied himself a guitar player—a country one at that—he’d never live it down.

Connor recalled how the girls who’d been with ol’ Fart-Bart earlier had stared at him when he’d tipped his chair. God, he’d wanted to die right then and there, humiliated. And that made him furious. It seemed to be the only way girls ever looked at him—with pity or morbid curiosity.

Nope. He’d never be like his dad.

And he’d be damned if he’d ever let anyone know how much that bothered him.




CHAPTER FOUR


DERRICK FINISHED his first set and announced a break to the audience. He shrugged out of his guitar strap, and carefully leaned the Gibson on a stand. He hadn’t missed the way Kara had focused on him as he sang.

With a cloth, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. Two women were sitting at the table with her and Connor. The blonde looked familiar, and he’d possibly seen the dark-haired one here once or twice as well. Hannah Williamson had arrived earlier but must’ve left already.

Feeling a natural high that stemmed from his music, Derrick headed their way, bottled water in hand. The atmosphere of the Silver Spur surrounded him like an old friend.

“Still here, I see.” He grinned and pulled out a chair between Kara and Connor.

“Of course,” she said. “Your band’s great.”

“So we didn’t run you off, then?”

“Are you kidding?” said the blond woman. “You guys ought to be in Nashville.”

Derrick laughed. “I don’t know about that.” He took a swig of water just as Dr. Williamson rejoined the group, coming from the direction of the ladies room. She was his vet’s partner and sometimes took care of Taz.

“Well, hello, Derrick,” she said.

“How’s it going?”

“Ah, you know Hannah,” Kara said, over the noise of the jukebox. “This is Danita Sanchez and Beth Murphy.”

“Looks like you’re in good company, son,” Derrick said, after nodding a greeting to the others.

Connor blushed.

“I’d say we’re the ones in good company,” Kara said. “As a matter of fact, I was just about to ask Connor to dance.”

“Yeah, right,” the boy muttered.

“Come on. Please?”

Connor started to protest more, but Kara overrode him. “No excuses. I’m dying to take a spin on the floor, but I’m sort of rusty.” She stood and held out her hand. “You’ll have to go slow.”

“Like that’ll be a problem.” Connor wheeled his chair onto the dance floor with as much enthusiasm as an acrophobic who’d been invited to go base jumping.

Fascinated, Derrick kept his gaze locked on Kara. A Lee Ann Womack song about choosing to dance through life played on the jukebox, and Kara leaned over Connor’s wheelchair, one hand on his right shoulder, and whispered in his ear. With the other, she took hold of the chair’s armrest. Looking sheepish, Connor laced one arm through hers in a way that enabled him to still maneuver the wheelchair.

Kara stepped and twisted slowly to the music, helping Connor spin the chair, guiding it in a circle. Moving with the beat, she stepped forward, then back, keeping Connor beside her at all times in their own modified version of a two-step. To Derrick’s delight, Connor said something that made her laugh.

I’ll be damned.

It was the first time in—how long?—since he’d seen Connor enjoying himself.

“Pretty good, huh?” Danita said into Derrick’s ear.

“Yeah.” He wasn’t sure if she meant Kara or Connor. Either way, he was impressed.

“Come on,” Hannah said. “Let’s join them.” She grabbed Derrick’s hand and tugged him out onto the floor.

He slipped one hand into hers and put the other on her waist, taking the lead. He made sure to keep enough distance from Kara and Connor so as not to embarrass his son. God forbid.

But he was so proud of Connor. Thank you, Kara.

As the song ended, a rancher he knew cut in. Derrick handed Hannah over and tipped his hat, before going to sit down again. Beth and Danita had ordered another round of soft drinks.

A moment later, Kara accompanied Connor back to the table. She gave him a quick bow.

“Thanks, kiddo. You’re the best dance partner I’ve had in a long time.”

“Yeah, sure,” Connor said. He took a sip of his Coke, hiding his pleasure. “Hey, how about you, Dad?”

“Naw, I don’t want to dance with you.”

Connor threw a straw at him. “Dork.”

“Excuse me, ma’am.” A tall, blond cowboy wearing a pair of tight Wranglers and a belt buckle big enough to kill two ducks with one swing tipped his hat to Kara. “Would you care to dance?”

Derrick glared at the guy. To his surprise, Kara shook her head.

“Thanks, anyway,” she said. “But I’m taking a breather.”

“No problem.” The guy turned to Beth. “How about you, pretty lady?”

“Sloppy seconds, huh?”

The man’s face reddened. “No, ma’am, I—”

“I’m kidding,” Beth said, standing. “Let’s go, cowboy.”

The guy whirled her out onto the floor. Derrick wished he could have a few minutes alone with Kara, to thank her. “You’re a mighty fine dancer,” he said, hoping his eyes communicated his gratitude.

“Why, thank you.” Her smile said she got it.

Derrick glanced at his watch. Less than ten minutes left of his break. Before he could ask her to dance, the jukebox rang out a popular line dancing song, and Danita grabbed Kara by the hand.

“Come on. You’re not sitting this one out. You, too, Hannah.”

Kara gave him a “What’s a girl to do?” shrug.

“You can join us, Derrick,” Danita said.

“Naw, thanks. I’ve gotta get ready to go back on stage shortly.”

He watched as Kara moved out onto the floor, her hands tucked against her trim waist. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she wriggled her cute butt in time to the music. He’d never much cared for line dancing, but maybe there was something to it after all. Kara looked sexy in her jeans, western-cut blouse and boots. With her hair in a French braid, she looked young enough to be carded.

Derrick still had a hard time grasping the fact she was a widow. Widows were supposed to be gray-haired senior citizens. He wondered what her husband had been like. Was he the reason Kara didn’t seem interested in dancing with any of the cowboys in the bar? The skinny guy in the spray-on jeans hadn’t been the first to ask her.

The line dance ended, and he stood. “You doing all right, son?”

“Yeah.”

“Need any more money?”

“I’m good.”

“See you next break, then.” Derrick paused beside Kara just before she reached the table.

He spoke into her ear. “Thanks for dancing with Connor.”

“Are you kidding? He’s a great kid.”

“Yeah, he is.” Derrick fought the urge to stall for time. His band was waiting. “See you in a bit.”

“Will do.”

Her smile stayed with him the rest of the night.



DERRICK FELL INTO BED, feeling the rewarding sort of exhaustion that always came after a night of performing. A glance at the clock told him he needed to be asleep. The sun would be up in about four hours, and he didn’t like sleeping in late when Connor was around. He’d rather be with his son, who’d never been the kind of kid to lie in bed ’til noon.

Derrick stretched out, lacing his hands behind his head on the pillow, letting the late-May breeze coming from the open window wash over him. He took pleasure in knowing that tonight his son slept under his roof and not Shelly’s. Still, thoughts of Kara wouldn’t let him sleep.

There was something about her that left him curious, wanting to know more.

He knew what it was, making him feel that way—that she’d lost her husband at such a young age. They’d both suffered the trauma of an unexpected accident. She’d lost her husband, and he’d lost the right to be a full-time father.

Derrick wished Shelly would give him more time with their son. Shelly had filled the primary role of raising Connor and that cut him deeply.

No matter.

He laughed dryly and pulled the blanket up over his waist. He was a living country song.



KARA GOT UP EARLY Sunday morning and dressed for church. Her attendance was sporadic, but Liz had phoned two days ago and asked if Kara would join her for this service, it being Memorial Day weekend.

“I’m just not up to driving today,” she’d said. “And you know Memorial Day was always so important to Bill.”

Evan’s father had spent years in the armed forces, and had died from health complications caused by his stint in Vietnam.

When would Liz realize she wasn’t the only grieving widow in the family, the only person with needs? But as soon as the thought was out, Kara felt guilty. The least she could do was be there for her mother-in-law, and playing chauffeur was not a lot to ask.

As Kara slipped into her old summer dress, she wondered if she wasn’t hoping to atone for her sin of the night before—thinking things about Derrick she had no business thinking. She’d been unable to get him off her mind all night. His voice had sent delicious shivers up her spine.

Being such a huge country music fan, she couldn’t believe she was lucky enough to have a neighbor who crooned to her. At least, that’s what it had felt like as Derrick sang.

What are you thinking?

Kara cringed.

She reached for her bible, then headed out the door.

Minutes later, she pulled up in front of Liz’s modest brick house. To Kara, the place always seemed swallowed by the enormous lawn—something else Kara took care of for her mother-in-law. The riding lawn mower Bill had left behind terrified the older woman.

A whiff of Chanel Number Five preceded Liz into the truck. Kara greeted her, then headed for the small, white-frame church in Sage Bend’s four-block downtown.

“Want to get a bite to eat?” Kara asked after the service.

Liz pulled a compact from her purse and checked her coral lipstick. “I don’t know…I felt a bit clammy earlier. Do you think I look pale? I was hoping this new lipstick would help put some color in my face.” She touched her cheek. “Blush, too.”

“You look fine,” Kara said.

At fifty-five, Liz was a pretty woman with a curvy figure. Her auburn hair—thick and wavy like Evan’s—was cut in a neat low-maintenance bob. Liz was as smart as a whip and, when she put her mind to it, she had a sharp sense of humor. In spite of her neediness, Liz was quite a catch. Kara was sure the many good qualities she saw in her mother-in-law were things men were also bound to notice and find attractive.





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