One Less Lonely Cowboy. Kathleen Eagle
welcomed the familiar weight of the instrument. “You’ll be a Hilo Hawk. You soar high up.” She put the mouthpiece to her lips and actually got the thing to tweedle. “You dive low down.” Yes, she remembered how to sound a low note. The sound made her laugh. “It’s poetry in motion.”
“You never told me you could play the clarinet.”
“It’s not my best talent. I’m more of a …” Lily put the instrument back in the case. She was feeling a little cocky now. “Your mama’s not a playuh.”
“Then why do I have to be?”
“You don’t.” Lily sat down on the single bed. “If I could’ve kept one piece of furniture, it would have been the piano. You’re getting to be so good.” With a forefinger she traced a rose on the coverlet. “We used to have one here, but I’m sure your grandfather got rid of it. He’s not a music lover.”
“Why haven’t I seen any pictures of you as a kid until now, Mom?” Iris had taken one of the yearbooks down from the bookshelf. “I was starting to think there aren’t any. Like maybe cell phones didn’t have cameras back in your day.”
“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t have a cell phone until, I don’t know, after you were born.”
“But you did have cameras, right?”
“Your grandfather wasn’t much of a photographer.”
“Well, somebody took pictures of you, and you didn’t even take any of them with you when you left home.” Iris scanned the room. “And here they are, like some kind of ode to Lily Reardon.”
“An ode is a—”
“Poem, I know. And this all seems very poetic—your father keeping this room the way you left it. Are you surprised?”
Lily shook her head and shrugged, one gesture cancelling the other out. Surprised? Maybe a little. Did it mean anything? “I guess he had no use for the room. No need to clear it out.”
But you didn’t frame the pictures, Lily. Who do you suppose did?
“You sure you don’t want to keep your room?” Iris asked. “I can use the guest room.”
“You just want the double bed.” Lily smiled affectionately. “And it’s the spare room. For spare people.”
“Who would be guests. Seems like he’d let Jack use the extra room.”
Lily shrugged. “Jack isn’t a guest. He’s an employee, and he has his own place.”
“Yeah, but it’s a horse trailer.”
“Which is clearly what works for him.”
Iris spread her arms dramatically. “Omigod, he is such a hottie.”
“Iris!” Good Lord, where has my child gone?
“Just sayin’. It doesn’t hurt to look, does it?”
“It’s just that your last hottie was a baby-faced singer with a moppet haircut.”
“He spikes his hair now.”
“Cowboys don’t spike their hair.”
“I’m not looking at hair anymore. I’ve moved on. Speaking of which …” Iris glanced toward the open door. “Hey, Grandpa, is it okay if I change the posters?”
“That’s up to you and your mom.” Mike braced his forearm against the door frame. “We’ve got some supper out here, girls. Care to join us?”
“Dad, you don’t have to—”
“Mostly cold cuts and leftovers,” he said.
“Us, Mom,” Iris whispered to her mother, flashing a smile. “He said us. There’s a guest.”
“Just Jack and me. Room for two more.” He dropped his arm to his side. He looked uneasy, as though he were the visitor. “I cleared off the dining room table and set four places.”
“I’m totally famished,” Iris said, all breathless teenager.
“Famished,” Lily echoed quietly, slipping her daughter a skeptical glance.
Iris answered her mother with a perfunctory smile. “Totally.”
The table wasn’t quite clear, but it was long enough to accommodate stacks of magazines and paperwork at the far end and still give them plenty of room to eat. Lily recognized the red vinyl place mats with the bandanna pattern, and the plates with the apples on them hadn’t changed, either. She doubted he put them out every day. The little table in the kitchen was only big enough for two, but that was the one she and her father had always used after her mother left. That and the plastic plates and whatever utensils happened to be in the drainer.
“Cold drinks in the fridge. Everything else is …” Mike gestured toward the kitchen. “Pop and iced tea. Pretty much all we carry this time of day. But I can make coffee.”
“So can I, Dad. Iced tea sounds good.”
“Jack’s getting cleaned up.” He waved his hand toward the table. “Have a seat and dig in.”
“Oh, no, we’ll wait for Jack,” Iris said, even as she followed the first half of the invitation.
Lily offered her daughter a smile, props for minding her manners. Her father had always been a stickler for good manners.
Tense silence took over, disrupted only by the sounds of Mike drinking. Water. He gulped it down—always had—three thunderous gulps, just so you knew he was there at the head of the table. Lily adjusted the position of the fork her dad had placed beside her plate as she glanced furtively across at Iris, who was fooling with something beneath the edge of the table. No toys at the table. Who would say it first?
The sound of booted footsteps brought three heads up in unison.
Jack stopped short of the table, swept off his cowboy hat and bowed his head. And yes, he was a hottie. Black hair—watered down a bit, if Lily wasn’t mistaken—square chin, full lips, broad shoulders, working man’s hands gripping the brim of what some women might say was the best kind of hat a man could wear.
Mike laughed. “Hell, man, take a seat.”
Jack glanced over at Lily. Hard to tell, but she was pretty sure he was blushing. Iris had been so right. The man was easy on the eyes.
And the innocent look in his eyes right now was utterly charming. “Thought I was interrupting a prayer or something.”
“More like you answered it,” Mike said. “Nobody wants to start without you.”
“I thought you said cowboys didn’t spike their hair, Mom.” Iris, Iris, Iris. She slipped her phone—what else could it be?—into the pocket of her jeans. “What do you use? Gel or spray?”
“Water. It’s called hat hair, and I was trying to …” Jack raked his hand through his thick wet hair. He glanced at Lily and smiled. “Should I go out and come in again?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “We’re glad you’re here.”
Chapter Two
Jack studied the back side of the barn roof, mentally calculating the square footage of the section that had yet to be resurfaced. Mike was strictly a do-it-yourselfer, but there was no way Jack was letting him get up there. It had been at least two years since the front and nearly two-thirds of the back had been covered with galvanized steel roofing. Jack remembered feeling relieved when Mike hadn’t asked if he was available to add the roofing job to his schedule. He would have had to say no, and back then it might not have been too hard. Mike had two whole lungs back then.
It probably wouldn’t take Jack too long to