Cowboy Comes Home. Carrie Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ thought came unbidden: now that Rio’s home.

      THE NEXT MORNING, at a window booth in Edna’s Eatery, long Treetop’s busiest diner, Virginia Carefoot made an unusual fuss over her son. Rio was self-conscious about the curious glances thrown their way, but he put up with the motherly concern. Virginia claimed she had ten years of separation to make up for.

      She’d already coaxed him into ordering fruit and granola on the side of his Belgian waffle. She’d stolen a sausage off his plate, since the nitrates weren’t good for him. Now that they’d finished their meal and ordered refills on the coffee, she’d moved on to his appearance.

      “I can’t get used to you with short hair,” Virginia said with her head cocked to one side. Her gaze was intense, as if she was memorizing his features. He supposed, like her, he looked older. “You’ll let it grow, won’t you?”

      “I’ve had short hair for ten years, Ma.”

      “But now you’re home. The army has no more say.” For someone who had kowtowed to a boss for as long as Rio could remember, Virginia was a proud woman with definite opinions. Although she tended to be as cautious with words as she was with actions. “You’re yourself again.”

      “Maybe I want short hair.”

      She shook her head. Most Crow men wore their hair long.

      Rio couldn’t resist teasing her. “I thought I was myself. Making my own decisions.”

      “Of course.” With a decisive click, she set her cup on the saucer. “But you’re also my son, and one of the Carefoots.”

      Because it was easiest, Rio agreed. As a full Crow, she’d never really got his sense of estrangement. To her, he was a Crow first and a Carefoot second, and that was what was important. Having an Anglo father was merely a detail, best forgotten. Try as he had, Rio couldn’t compartmentalize his life the way Virginia did with her own. For as long as he’d known what was what, Rio’s parentage had remained an unspoken rift between them.

      “When are you going to retire?” he asked abruptly.

      Virginia drew back. “Why should I retire?”

      “You’ve been working for the Stones for thirty years. Isn’t that enough?” He didn’t know how she’d lasted so long.

      “Still, I’m only fifty-six.” She remained a good-looking woman, rounded but vigorous and tough from years of physical labor. Her hair was as much gray as black now, typically pulled back in a low ponytail or wrapped in a bandanna or scarf of some sort. There were a few more lines in her face than he remembered, but Rio didn’t really see them unless he looked. She was his mother—the rock-steady cornerstone that had kept him straight, growing up.

      He’d shaken her only once, when he’d been arrested for arson that terrible night. Ten years later, after he’d been honorably discharged and had come home for good, she’d hugged him fiercely at the airport, and told him she was finally at peace.

      He hadn’t had the heart to tell her that his days of lobbing grenades weren’t over yet.

      “Is it money?” he asked. “Soon, if this book deal works out for me, you’ll finally be able to retire. I’ll help you out with expenses.”

      He had to make the offer, even though he knew that money wasn’t what kept her at the Stone ranch. Every month of his time in the service, he’d sent her a portion of his paycheck, hoping she would use the extra cushion to gain her independence. But she hadn’t wanted that for herself. He had.

      Virginia set her mouth so that deep lines carved brackets at either side. “I live very well, thank you. I have what I need.”

      “You don’t have a home of your own.”

      “No, but I’m at home.”

      He scoffed. “The ranch.”

      Her resolve didn’t waver. “I’ve loved it there, Rio.”

      “Ma, there’s no guarantee—”

      “Hush.” She gave him a warning glance.

      Edna’s was half filled with breakfast lingerers. Rio, being new back in town, had already drawn a good amount of interest and conversation, including, to his chagrin, an impromptu “Support our troops” rally from four ancient members of the Treetop VFW who held down a corner table every a.m. Better that, he supposed, than a rehashing of the old scandal that had converted him from local success story to just another kid who hadn’t managed to rise above his so-called station in life.

      Yet.

      “I have all the guarantee I need,” his mother said stolidly.

      “You have—” Nothing, he wanted to say, but that would upset her. Virginia truly believed that her place on the Stone ranch was secure.

      “You have me,” he amended. “I’m your guarantee.”

      “Yes, and I’m grateful for that. Having you home is all that’s important. If only…” Virginia paused, and Rio saw that she was considering how much to say. She was the practical type. She didn’t fight losing battles. Even when he’d signed up for the army, forgoing the college education she’d put such faith in, her disapproval had been muted by resignation.

      “I just wish that you hadn’t agreed to work for that woman.” His mother looked down at her capable brown hands, unadorned except for a plain gold band she wore on the ring finger of her right hand. Her “wedding” ring, he’d always assumed. “Are you sure that’s necessary?”

      “I need a place to stay and an undemanding job.”

      “There’s the money market account.” She’d taken every cent he’d given her and invested it. She called the account her grandchildren’s college fund.

      “No, I’m not touching that.” He had his own savings. He’d already dipped into the money to buy a state-of-the-art laptop computer. Although he could have also covered the cost of a room and meals for the next several months, he hadn’t been able to resist Meg’s ad. Two birds with one stone, so to speak.

      His mother tried again. “You could stay at the…”

      The invitation died on her lips, withered by Rio’s hard stare. He’d sworn he’d never step foot on the Stone ranch again. Not without an invitation. Definitely not as the bastard son of the boss’s housekeeper.

      Virginia gave in with a grim nod, though she wasn’t happy about it. “All right. But keep your distance from her, if you can.”

      “I intend to,” he said forcefully, much too aware of the old saying about the road to hell. “Remember, I have work to do.” Work that would keep him apart from Meg even if his intentions didn’t.

      “Writing. I can hardly comprehend that, either. It doesn’t seem like a real job to me.”

      “You’ve read the blog?” A couple of years ago, he’d begun writing entries for a soldiers’ group blog that had gained a large readership and quite a bit of notoriety. He’d sent his mother the Web site link from Afghanistan but she’d never really СКАЧАТЬ