Twenty minutes later, feelings raw, she watched Robby at play. He had changed her whole life.
Amazingly so.
And all because she’d been home alone on a Friday night, studying for a math test.
She hadn’t even known Tisha was pregnant, let alone that she’d given birth. That Friday night, after her initial shock, she’d thought she was saying yes to helping out, watching a tiny, two-week-old Robby for a night. Truthfully, she’d loved sitting in her little apartment a mile away from New Mexico State University and watching the little guy sleep. She’d unfortunately figured out by the next evening that the phone number Tisha left was wrong, that formula and diapers were expensive and that nobody—including Tisha’s parents—knew where Tisha was.
She skipped the next two days of school and her dad had driven to Las Cruces. He’d stayed a week. With his help, she’d found a sitter for the remaining month of school, and by the time the semester ended, she’d realized what it felt like to be separated from Robby, like she could still feel the warmth of his little body in the crook of her left arm. It had taken her from the hallways of higher academia and back home to walking the hallways with a little personality who liked to touch her cheek and who smiled—yes, smiled—at the whole world.
Soon, her dad felt the same way, and they’d stopped looking for Tisha.
When the whole town assumed Natalie was Robby’s mama, Natalie and her dad had gone along. At the time, it was easier than explaining, and Natalie didn’t want Robby to ever see the kind of look that passed between judgmental adults whenever Tisha’s name was mentioned.
Natalie had been an only child and had always wanted brothers and sisters. Her cousin Tisha had been the closest thing to a sibling, and Natalie loved her—flaws and all—even if she didn’t always like Tisha or the choices she made.
Tisha at first claimed she didn’t know who Robby’s father was. A year later, when Tisha borrowed some money from Natalie, she’d mentioned Marcus.
She’d also mentioned Marcus’s dad and how strict he was, how he always got what he wanted.
Natalie swallowed. Here she sat on her nice, safe bench while Robby played. Maybe the park was the only safe place. At home, there was the newspaper article featuring Lucky. She’d have to deal with her mistake. Figure out the right thing to do. What was right for Robby.
Maybe Lucky would saddle up and ride away. Yeah, right. Truth was, if what Natalie knew about Lucky was true, soon he’d probably be out on the playground, climbing the jungle gym, and teaching Robby how to do something dangerous like jump.
That’s what her dad would have had done. It’s what he’d done for Natalie. After her mother died, he’d swallowed his sorrow and stepped right into the role of both parents. He cooked dinner, went on field trips and even sat through ballet lessons. Of course, she only took the lessons after he convinced her that the grace of a ballet dancer would benefit a barrel racer.
Her dad had always taken care of her.
He’d taught her to jump, and he’d made sure she always had a soft place to fall.
Natalie swallowed. Robby, brown hair tussled by the wind and an unguarded grin on his face—was jumping just fine. He climbed the slide, slid down, got to the bottom, stood up and jumped. Then, he tried to climb up the slide instead of the steps. He fell, skidded and hit the ground. Natalie started to get up, wanting to cushion his fall, but Robby didn’t need help. He managed on his own. Standing, climbing, falling and laughing the whole time. He was all boy.
Thanks to her father, she could take care of herself and Robby.
It was her own fault she had to deal with the Welches.
Chapter Three
S unday had been pretty much a blur for Lucky. Otherwise, he’d never have allowed a photographer to take pictures after the morning service. What he did on the circuit could be sensationalized. What he did on Sunday morning in front of believers should not.
The girl in the photo was wearing next to nothing. And the adoring look she aimed his way was rehearsed. Luckily, the reporter knew how to gather facts: Lucky’s rodeo win, his mother’s rodeo-queen status, his brother’s rodeo belts and recent death, and even Lucky’s penchant for sermonizing, all made it into the story. Too bad God was at the bottom of the pyramid. The reporter definitely put the facts in the wrong order of importance.
God should have been first.
Lucky got out his Bible and turned to James. “ Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.”
He put his hand flat on the page. Sometimes, in the quiet of the early morning and in the twilight of the night, when Lucky was alone, the touch of the Bible felt like a pathway straight to God.
He reread the passage. To Lucky’s way of thinking, no matter what Marcus had done or been, Robby Crosby was a good and perfect gift. One Lucky’s mother would welcome and his father would shun.
Lucky closed the Bible, held it in his hands and stared out his window. It was just after five. Howard, Bernice’s husband, was already taking care of the animals. Howie Junior should be with him. Those summers when Lucky and Marcus visited Grandpa and Grandma Moody, they’d been up at five.
Finally setting his Bible aside, Lucky started dialing the numbers in his cell phone. He’d devoted yesterday to God, prayer and meditation. Today he was devoting to Robby Crosby, who maybe needed to be known as Robby Welch. Surely, out of all the friends he and Marcus shared, somebody would know something. Two hours later, he lost the charge on his cell phone, switched to the landline in Mary’s room, and he discovered what he’d suspected all along. Natalie obviously kept a low profile. No one seemed to know her or remember Marcus talking about her. Everyone remembered Tisha. And, like Lucky, most agreed that she had stopped following the rodeo after she stopped seeing Marcus.
No one had seen her in the last few years.
No one cared.
During the time she’d spent with Marcus, Lucky had felt displaced and his youthful prayers about her all had to do with her disappearing. He’d hated when Tisha accompanied them from one show to another. She’d been a wedge between him and his brother. He was older now, and maybe his prayers should take a different slant.
Marcus had probably been a father, and it looked like he had a son to be proud of. A tiny seed of suspicion settled in Lucky’s gut. Could Marcus have cheated on Tisha with this Natalie woman? Or could Natalie have been a rebound because she looked so much like Tisha?
Either scenario might give some insight as to why Marcus had kept his son a secret.
Lucky headed for the kitchen and the beckoning aroma of pancakes. “Bernice!”
“I’m right here. You don’t need to yell. What?” Bernice wore an apron over her jeans as she expertly flipped the pancakes while holding a gallon of milk in her other hand. “Don’t tell me you’re not staying for breakfast.”
“I’m staying and I’m starved. Do you know Natalie Crosby?”
“Sure I know Natalie, ever since she was a little girl.” Bernice looked at Lucky’s mother. “You’d know Natalie’s mama. Tina Burke. She was a freshman when we were seniors.”
Betsy Welch shook her head. “I don’t remember.”
Bernice shook her head. “About the time your daddy died and the boys stopped coming here for the summer, that would be about the time Natalie started performing in the rodeo. About a summer or two later, Tisha started coming for the summers and got involved. It’s a wonder that Tisha and Marcus met elsewhere—both of them have roots here.” She patted Betsy on the shoulder before turning to Lucky. “I heard you burning up the phone line asking questions about that