“Georgia says ‘hey,”’ Reid said, changing the subject. “Said she misses seeing you and Martina.”
The fork hung loose in Billy’s big hand. Absent-mindedly, he shoved an apple slice around on his plate. “Gettin’ harder and harder to drag my weary bones into town,” he said on a heavy sigh. “Gettin’ hard to drag ’em anywhere.”
Reid knew Billy had never been one to wallow in self-pity, so it didn’t surprise him when his longtime friend sat up straighter, as if regretting the admission, and cleared his throat.
“That list I gave you this morning was longer’n my forearm,” Billy said. “When did you have time to stop at Georgia’s?”
So much for changing the subject, Reid thought. “Accident happened in front of her diner.” Cammi’s pretty, smiling face flashed in Reid’s mind. “We, uh, the other driver and I got all the particulars out of the way over burgers and fries.”
Billy chuckled. “Ain’t that just like you, to buy the kid a meal after she cracks up your only means of transportation.”
Kid? He nearly laughed out loud, because Cammi Carlisle was more woman than any he’d seen since returning to Amarillo. More woman, in fact, than the dozens who routinely followed him around the rodeo circuit. Right now, she was the one sunny spot in his otherwise gloomy life. He was about to admit she’d insisted on paying for the food when Billy spoke.
“Amanda called.” Using his chin as a pointer, he added, “I wrote her number over there, on the pad beside the phone.”
Reid groaned inwardly at being forced to recall his last day with the tall willowy blonde who, despite his arm’s-length interest in her, seemed determined to change his mind about “the two of them.”
He thought of the afternoon, more than six months ago, when the surgeon gave Reid permission to leave the Albuquerque hospital. Amanda had been there…again. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, so he blamed his sour mood on the months of physical therapy that lay ahead of him. “Isn’t fair to string you along while I recuperate,” he’d said. “I need time, to make some hard choices about the future.”
He realized now that his evasiveness had given her hope that, at the end of his “alone time,” she’d be part of that future.
Reid strode across the room, saw from the area code that Amanda had been near Amarillo when she’d called. Shaking his head, he groaned again, this time aloud. First thing in the morning, he’d call her, invite her to breakfast, and set things straight.
“Well,” Billy interrupted, getting to his feet with obvious difficulty. “Guess I’ll drag my ol’ bones up to bed.” He started clearing the table.
“I’ll take care of these.”
Chuckling, Billy winked. “I was hopin’ you’d say that.” He limped toward the door, stopping in the hallway. “Don’t be up all night, now, frettin’ about that accident, y’hear? I know it roused some ugly memories, but thinkin’ it to death won’t change anything.”
True enough. Still… “I’ll turn in soon.”
The look on Billy’s face said he knew a fib when he heard one. “Don’t forget, the new ranch hands start at first light.”
Reid only nodded.
“G’night, son.”
Billy had been the closest thing to a father Reid would ever know. Watching him suffer, watching him die, as he was now doing, was about the hardest thing Reid had ever done in his life. A tight knot of regret formed in Reid’s throat, all but choking off his gruff “’Night.”
He listened as Billy shuffled slowly up the steps. If he could trade his own robust health to get Billy’s back, he’d do it in a heartbeat, because what did he have to live for, to look forward to? Sadly, life wasn’t like that. Reid would have to be satisfied with doing everything humanly possible to make Billy as comfortable as possible during the time he had left.
Standing woodenly, Reid gathered up the dishes and added them to the already full dishwasher. The fact that Martina hadn’t turned it on told him that she’d known her husband and “adopted” son would share a late-night snack. The thought made him smile a bit, despite the dark thoughts pricking at his memory.
The drone of the dishwasher’s motor harmonized with the ticking clock and the pinging of water in the baseboard heaters. It wasn’t really furnace weather just yet, but because of Billy’s steadily declining condition, Martina had set the thermostat at seventy degrees and left it there. The mere thought made Reid wince. When his hot-tempered stepfather was diagnosed with cancer, it hadn’t hurt like this—hearing the news about Billy’s condition had been painful and terrifying. It didn’t take a membership in Mensa to figure out why; almost from the moment Reid set foot on Rockin’ C soil, Billy had scolded him for not doing his all-out best on chores, helped with homework, convinced Reid he was good enough to ask the prettiest girl on the cheerleading squad to the homecoming dance.
One palm resting on either side of the sink, Reid stared out the kitchen window, watching raindrops snake down the glass as wind buffeted Martina’s butterfly bushes. She often stood here, overlooking the wildlife that visited her gardens. She’d probably been standing on this spot when she’d called him a couple months back to tell him about Billy’s prognosis.
After they hung up, Reid threw everything he owned into his duffle bag and drove straight through, arriving in Amarillo the very next day. He’d moved into the same room he’d occupied when his mom was the Rockin’ C housekeeper and his stepdad the foreman.
Hanging his head, Reid wondered if he would’ve been so quick to come back and help out if his injuries hadn’t already ended his rodeo career.
Just one more thing to feel guilty about.
Well, he was here now. Determined to do everything in his power to help Billy and Martina, in any way he could, for as long as they needed him.
The grandfather clock in the hall struck one, reminding him that Billy was right: The rooster crowed mighty early at the Rockin’ C. If Reid knew what was good for him, he’d try to catch some shut-eye, starting now. He flicked off the kitchen’s overhead light and quietly climbed the wide, wooden stairs, skipping the third and the tenth so the predictable squeak wouldn’t wake Billy or Martina.
Two hours later, he lay on his back, fingers linked beneath his head, still staring at the darkened ceiling. The rain had stopped, but the wind blew harder than ever, rattling the panes in his French doors.
He wondered if Cammi had made it home safely, if her homecoming had been warm and welcoming. She hadn’t seemed at all that enthused about being back in Amarillo. Brokenhearted because she hadn’t “made it” in Hollywood? Reid didn’t think so. Cammi seemed too down-to-earth, too levelheaded for pie-in-the-sky dreams of stardom. No, her reluctance, he believed, was more likely due to a falling-out with some wanna-be actor in L.A. Or maybe she’d come home for the same reason he had…to help an ailing sibling or parent.
It got Reid to thinking about his own father, who’d taken off for parts unknown the moment his mom said “We’re going to have a baby.” And his mother? Well, for all her good intentions, she had a talent for choosing no-account men. The promise of a leak-proof roof and a steady supply of whiskey was enough for her. In exchange, she promised forty hours’ worth of work each week…from her young son.
She had already put four ex-husbands behind her when she said “I do” to Boots Randolph. Grudgingly, Reid had to admit that Boots had taught him plenty about ranching. And while he’d been the best provider, he also had a hair-trigger temper, and Reid still bore the