Daddy for Keeps. Pamela Tracy

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СКАЧАТЬ in the backseat. He could see the activity outside and didn’t want to be confined. Add to that Natalie’s strange behavior, and no wonder she had a fidgety, confused little boy.

      “I’m okay, Robby. Sit back.” Natalie wiped at the tears and succeeded only in spreading the evidence of her despair instead of removing it.

      After taking several deep breaths, she looked at the poster again and reminded herself there was no need for virtual darts. The man wasn’t Marcus. Couldn’t be. No way would Marcus be headlining Selena’s premiere event of the year. He’d drawn the death bull six months ago, and his rodeo career ended with a ride in a hearse instead of a ride in a parade.

      This rodeo rider was Marcus’s little brother, Lucky. Some called him the Preacher. She’d never met him, but if she’d heard correctly, he was the antithesis of Marcus. He preached instead of partied and carried a Bible instead of a little black book.

      Her cousin Tisha, who shared Natalie’s last name, had little to say about Lucky, except that he didn’t seem to like her much.

      Right now, the image of Lucky faced the crowd with an oversize, mirthful grin and impossible dark brown eyes that demanded notice.

      Natalie checked the tiny rearview mirror she’d attached to her windshield. It allowed her to check on Robby while driving. She intended to make sure he had everything he needed, especially a good and stable home. Robby was responsible for her attendance today—Robby and this overgrown bull rider. Natalie hadn’t graced the Selena rodeo in a decade and definitely didn’t want to be here today.

      “Mommy, why we sit still?” Robby battled with the buckle on his car seat. He was growing up way too fast, wanting to do things for himself. Still, she’d rather he battle the seat belt than notice the battle taking place in front of him.

      Natalie gritted her teeth. No way could she explain her fears, her conflicts, to a three-year-old.

      Someone thumped on the back fender of her car. Walter Hughes, her dad’s best friend, waved as he hurried by. “We need to talk later,” he mouthed. She was grateful he didn’t stop. Questions would only make her rethink what she had to do, and Walter had known her since she was born. No way would he accept that she had stopped by the rodeo “just for the view.”

      For the last two weeks, since her father’s death, Walter had called every evening to ask if she was all right.

       Am I all right? Are we all right?

      He probably knew that although she kept saying yes, the true answer was no. There was a huge hole in her world, one that tapped her on the shoulder every few minutes and whispered, Wrong, everything feels wrong, something’s missing. She’d buried her father—made the phone calls, called in the obituary, filled out the forms, arranged the funeral, said all the right things—and today, she still felt wrong.

      Walter was just as sad as she was. He’d gone to school with her father, been the best man at his wedding and, since retirement, they met almost every morning for breakfast at the café in town.

      The hole that Natalie felt was no stranger to Walt. Plus, Walt felt a sense of responsibility for her. His family owned Selena’s only bank. Although Walt no longer put in an eight-hour day, really not even an eight-minute day, he knew her situation—about the low checking account balance, about the surprise loan her dad had taken out just five months ago, using his business as collateral. Today, the business belonged to her dad’s partner, who was as mystified by the sudden turn of events as she was. Natalie was left with nothing. It was Walt, one hundred percent, who did not believe her dad had left her in financial trouble.

      Natalie wondered at the conviction of the banker. Surely as a banker, he knew that most Americans were one paycheck away from being homeless. Walt simply said that Leonard Crosby was not “most” Americans. He’d take care of his own. Walt wanted to look at the will, wanted to help, wanted to believe in something that just wasn’t there.

      Natalie could only think about what was there. She had a son and a home to take care of. Her part-time job as a Web designer allowed her to support herself and be a stay-at-home mom while her father was alive. But it wasn’t a career that could support the large home that had been in her family for more than a hundred years. It was not a career that could pay for a college education for Robby. At least not on the hours she worked. She could do—would do—more. But to keep her family home she needed money now.

      Worry, combined with overwhelming loss, was keeping her awake at night, staring out windows and trying to figure out a way to make a go of her—their—life.

      And the billboard and posters all over town announcing the headliner of the Selena rodeo offered a dangerous solution that just contributed to her sorrow and angst.

      It made her reconsider options she shouldn’t be thinking about. It got her out of bed this morning as the clock radio glowed a bright orange six o’clock. It had her standing in front of her closet remembering what it felt like to dress as a participant. She’d almost cried at the combination of longing and fear that enveloped her.

      Natalie pushed open the car door and stuck one leg out.

      And froze.

      Why’d they have to put the poster at the only entrance?

      Lucky was well-known for his participation in Cowboy Church, right? Surely that should count for something—some sort of commitment to responsibility. Natalie hadn’t been to church since childhood, but she remembered some of the lessons. Jesus told His flock to take care of the widows and orphans, right?

      Natalie wiped the last tears form her cheeks as Robby’s “Mom! Mom! Mom!” caught her attention. She finally stepped out of the car carefully and went around to get her rodeo-clad son. Yup, Pop Pop, Robby’s grandfather, had spent plenty of money creating a miniature cowboy, and this morning Natalie allowed Robby to dress the part. He wore a belt with his name, tiny boots, and even a pair of chaps. The only request that went unfulfilled from her son’s Christmas wish list was a horse.

      Pop Pop was willing; Natalie was not.

      “Can I ride on a horse today?” Robby skidded down Natalie’s leg and hit the ground. Natalie bit back both a yelp of pain and a too-abrupt comment. Robby wasn’t old enough to understand her limp or her fears, and she didn’t want to transfer her negative feelings about horses to him. Truth was, going to the rodeo had her in a sweat, and she didn’t know what to blame for her troubles more: the rodeo or the rodeo cowboy.

      “You can’t ride a horse today, but there will be plenty of other things to do.”

      He glared at her, an accusing look on his face. Fun, she was denying him fun. Well, today wasn’t about fun. It was about survival because today was the day she intended to confront Lucky Welch.

      Salvation or ruination.

       And what should she tell Robby? One thing for sure, she couldn’t just lie down and die, or give up. She took Robby by the hand and led him to the poster. It was past time to take action, and Robby was three and could understand more than she gave him credit for. “This man…”

      His face brightened, and he tried to help. “A cowboy?”

      For a brief moment, Natalie considered pointing out the thick brown hair, dark brown eyes and strong chin so unlike her own blond, blue-eyed, elfin look.

      And so like Robby’s own thick dark hair, brown СКАЧАТЬ