A Cowboy's Plan. Mary Sullivan

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СКАЧАТЬ what a load. C.J. exhaled roughly.

      Gramps’s two-step limp sounded behind C.J.

      “He’s eating.” Gramps placed one arthritic hand on C.J.’s shoulder. The affection and heat of the touch eased some. “He’s still young.”

      “Am I spoiling him by giving in?”

      “With any other kid I’d say yes, but not with Liam. He lived a hard couple of first years.”

      “What did Vicki tell Liam that makes him dislike me so much?” C.J. cursed her to hell and back. It was bad enough that she was bleeding him dry. Why did she also have to turn his son against him?

      “Some kind of poison that made sense in her own mind, I guess.” Gramps settled onto the sofa with a huff of pain.

      “The drugs changed her,” C.J. said. “She wasn’t always like that, Gramps. Not at the beginning.”

      “I know.” The newspaper rustled behind C.J.

      “Has Liam ever mentioned what his mother said about me?”

      “Nope. Not a word.”

      C.J. stared at his coffee mug on the windowsill. The stains of old coffee, where he’d set his mug on this same windowsill and stared at these same fields, stood testament to the countless mornings he’d done this. Lord, how much longer before Liam began to accept and trust him?

      “Keep being kind and patient with the boy,” Gramps said. “He’ll come around in time.”

      C.J. paced the length of the room. “It’s been eleven months.” Eleven long months of bashing his head against Liam’s resistance.

      He ran his hand over the bristle on his scalp. When he’d brought Liam home to live with him, he’d shaved his hair military short and had traded in cowboy shirts and jeans for more conservative clothing, so damn afraid that Child and Family Services would find some crazy excuse to take the boy away from him. He missed his hair.

      Oh, grow up.

      C.J. headed for the hallway. He couldn’t believe he’d just thought something so stupid. Every change he’d made was worth it if it kept his son safe with him on the ranch.

      “You two have a good day.” With one hand on the front doorknob, he called, “Liam, you have fun with Gramps today.”

      No answer. The ring of a spoon against cheap china followed C.J. out the door.

      JANEY WILSON CROUCHED in the shade of the weeping willow on the lawn of the Sheltering Arms Ranch. Its branches soughed in the hot breeze scuttling across the Montana landscape.

      She stared at the delicate child in front of her whose gaze was as wide-open as the prairie surrounding them.

      “Katie,” she said, “I can’t play with you right now.” Liar. “I need to go do something.” Coward. “It’s something important I have to do right away. Okay?”

      Katie stared with solemn brown doe eyes, silent and wise before her time and so much like Cheryl Janey couldn’t breathe.

      Sunlight, filtered by the leaves of the tree, dappled Katie’s face, underlining the dark circles beneath her eyes and highlighting her sallow skin.

      Cancer did terrible things to children.

      Unforgivable things.

      Janey touched Katie’s small shoulders, the thin cotton of her old T-shirt worn soft. She nudged Katie toward the field across the driveway where the ranch’s latest batch of inner-city kids played a game of touch football.

      “Hey, you little hoodlums,” the ranch foreman, Willie, yelled, “this ain’t tackle football.”

      Willie lay on the ground under a wriggling pile of giggling children—all of them cancer survivors.

      Janey closed her eyes. She couldn’t take much more of handling these children daily while her heart bled.

      “How long are you going to keep this up?” Startled by the rasp of a bark-dry voice behind her, Janey spun around. Hank Shelter stood on the veranda of his house watching her, his big body relaxed and leaning against a post, but his eyes too perceptive. She tried to hide her pain, but wasn’t fast enough.

      “How much longer can you do this?” he asked.

      Before she answered, he raised a hand. “Don’t insult my intelligence by claiming you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

      She exhaled a breath of frustration. “Hank, I’m okay, really. I’m dealing.”

      “No, you aren’t dealing, Janey.” The regret on Hank’s face broke her heart. “You haven’t been able to in the year you’ve lived here.”

      “I can try harder,” she insisted.

      Even in the shade, a drop of sweat meandered down Hank’s cheek. “Being this close to the kids is killing you.”

      He left the veranda, his cowboy boots hitting each step with a solid clunk, and approached. Janey tilted her head back to look at him.

      “You haven’t gotten rid of any of your demons.” He gestured toward her clothes. “You’re still wearing your armor, but it doesn’t seem to be doing you much good.”

      Janey flushed. True. Here on the ranch her attire wasn’t helping her to deal with the children. But on the few times she’d joined Amy to run errands in town, it had sure come in handy.

      “I’ve watched you turn yourself inside out with sorrow,” Hank said. “It isn’t getting better. It’s getting worse.

      “You’re getting worse.” He touched her shoulder. She flinched. He dropped his hand. “Sorry.”

      Hank was a good man, an affectionate one. He liked hugging and touching people. Janey didn’t.

      Hank gestured to the children in the field. “Working with the kids is wearing you down, and it’s killing Amy and me to watch it. Something’s got to give.”

      Janey’s heart sank. Her pain was affecting Hank and Amy. She’d thought she’d hidden her grief so well. She couldn’t justify harming them. She had to do something, go somewhere. Now.

      “As much as we love you,” Hank said, “Amy and I can’t watch you like this, darlin’. We brought you here to heal, not to cause you more pain.”

      Janey pressed her hand against her stomach. How could she stand to lose the ranch? If not for the pain the children caused her, it would have been perfect.

      Janey caught a glimpse of Amy in the front window, with baby Michael in her arms. Just looking at mother and son started an ache in Janey’s chest.

      She wanted her own little girl back.

      She stilled, willing the ache to pass quickly.

      Hank must have detected something СКАЧАТЬ