her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and urged herself by urging Iris toward the back door of the house. “I wasn’t sure exactly when.”
After several knocks the door still stood closed.
“Is it locked?” Iris wanted to know.
“We’ll wait for him to let us in.” Lily could feel the doubt, the disbelief, the adolescent impatience growing on her left flank. Or was it really her own uncertain center, the feel of her tail stuck between her legs? Her head was telling her to get on with it—the first few moments would be the hardest—but the strings to her limbs were tied somehow to the knot in her stomach. She glanced at Iris, who questioned her with a puckered brow.
“You can try it if you want.” With a gesture toward the doorknob, Lily took a step back.
Seriously? the voice in her head scolded.
“He’s your father.” Iris’s frown deepened. “He’s expecting us, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but … I should have called him before we left. Or when we stopped in Fargo, maybe.” Lily gave her head a quick shake. She was making a complete fool of herself. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Trying to time it just right, I guess. After chores, before bed. You don’t want to …” … get him on the phone when he’s been drinking. She turned away from the door and looked elsewhere. “Let’s ask the cowboy.”
“Oh, let’s.”
Iris’s delight was understandable. From a distance the man was promising. He knew what he was doing, and he looked good doing it. Smooth, sure, confident. The horse didn’t question it, and neither did the dog. Lily wanted some of that right now. The confidence, not the man. But the closer they got, the better he looked. His long, lean body, his deft hands, his handsome face all kept faith with the promise he’d shown at a distance. Lily was sure he’d noticed them, but the easy-loping paint had his full attention.
A man who minded his business. Always impressive.
Iris was the first to call out to him. A bold “Hi!” No shrinking violet, her daughter, but Lily sensed a little deflation when the cowboy spared no more than a glance and a nod. She laid her hand on Iris’s shoulder and pressed on. The ball was in Mom’s court now.
“We’re looking for Mike Reardon,” Lily called out as she stepped up on the bottom corral rail and folded her forearms over the top one.
A low-pitched, authoritative “Ho” changed the horse’s pace. The lunge line went slack, and the cowboy finally turned about half his attention to the women. “You came to the right place at the wrong time. He went into town.”
“I’m Lily, Mike’s daughter. He went to Lowdown?”
“I’m Iris, the granddaughter.” She’d scrambled up two corral rails, putting her head and shoulders above her mother.
“Jack McKenzie.” He touched a gloved finger to the brim of his black hat. “The hired hand.”
“Really. Grandpa has a hired hand.” Iris glanced down, grinning at her mother.
What a difference a cowboy made, Lily thought.
“That sounds so cool. Like a real ranch,” Iris added.
“Like Roy Rogers?” Lily teased.
“The Double R Bar. I know my TV trivia.” Iris wasn’t going to let the man go too easily. “What are you hired to do, exactly? Are you like a real cowboy?”
“Iris …”
The cowboy cracked a smile, which changed the whole attitude of his chiseled face, put a spark in his dark eyes and gave his full lips potentially delicious animation. He let the rope slide loosely through his grip as he turned his back to the horse and approached the fence. The line went slack as the horse followed, seemingly of its own volition. “As real as they come these days. I’m all about chasing cows.” He pulled off his right glove and offered Lily a handshake. “Mike talks about you a lot. Does he know you’re coming?”
“I just talked to him a couple of days ago. Yes, he said we should …” She watched him offer Iris the same greeting, and it occurred to her for the first time that the man was American Indian, at least in part. It was the handshake—a brief, warm, easy touch offered to everyone present, adult and child alike.
She glanced up, suddenly anxious. “Is he okay?”
“He’s doing good, yeah. He doesn’t—”
“I know. He says he goes to meetings and all that. Just making sure we aren’t walking into …” Lily clamped down on her tongue. Too much information. The drinking was something she would deal with like an adult. She’d been to a few meetings herself. Adult children of people who shouldn’t have been parents. The group had another name, but that was what it came down to. She gave half a shrug and offered a tight smile. “Making sure nothing’s changed since, you know, he invited us here.”
The cowboy answered her shrug in kind. “I just work here.”
“Of course. I’m sorry. I should have—”
“That’s a great-looking horse,” Iris put in cheerfully. “Is he Grandpa’s?”
Jack grinned. “She’s mine. Mike lets me keep my horses here. The filly’s just getting settled in. Got her out of that wild-horse adoption program down in South Dakota.”
“She’s wild? She doesn’t look wild.”
He laughed. “You can’t tell by looking. Kinda like people.”
“So you can’t ride her?”
“Not yet.”
“What’s her name?”
He turned his smile to his horse, tipped his head as though he expected the answer to come from her. “Yeah, we haven’t quite decided.”
“I’m named for a flower,” Iris said. “So’s Mom.”
“Was that his idea?” Jack nodded toward the house. Iris and Lily turned their heads, following the direction of his gesture and becoming aware of the soundless arrival of the man they’d been looking for. “Hell of a romantic, that guy. Nice flower garden you’ve got here, Mike.”
Parking rules must have changed, Lily thought. Don’t want no vehicle left in the front of the house. The less of our business people can see, the better.
Her father’s appearance registered hard on the heels of that thought. Maybe he walked more quietly than she remembered because he’d lost some weight. But he’d gained a ready smile, and Iris went straight to him.
“A bright spot for sure.” His voice had gone the way of his walk—quieter, a little raspy. But any vigor the years had taken away, the blue eyes that greeted Lily’s made up for with a vibrancy she hadn’t seen before. “Real nice surprise, too,” he said as he accepted Iris’s eager hug in the way of a man who was trying something out that he’d spent much of his life avoiding.
“Surprise?”
