Daddy for Keeps. Pamela Tracy

the seat belt than notice the battle taking place in front of him.

      Natalie gritted her teeth. No way could she explain her fears, her conflicts, to a three-year-old.

      Someone thumped on the back fender of her car. Walter Hughes, her dad’s best friend, waved as he hurried by. “We need to talk later,” he mouthed. She was grateful he didn’t stop. Questions would only make her rethink what she had to do, and Walter had known her since she was born. No way would he accept that she had stopped by the rodeo “just for the view.”

      For the last two weeks, since her father’s death, Walter had called every evening to ask if she was all right.

       Am I all right? Are we all right?

      He probably knew that although she kept saying yes, the true answer was no. There was a huge hole in her world, one that tapped her on the shoulder every few minutes and whispered, Wrong, everything feels wrong, something’s missing. She’d buried her father—made the phone calls, called in the obituary, filled out the forms, arranged the funeral, said all the right things—and today, she still felt wrong.

      Walter was just as sad as she was. He’d gone to school with her father, been the best man at his wedding and, since retirement, they met almost every morning for breakfast at the café in town.

      The hole that Natalie felt was no stranger to Walt. Plus, Walt felt a sense of responsibility for her. His family owned Selena’s only bank. Although Walt no longer put in an eight-hour day, really not even an eight-minute day, he knew her situation—about the low checking account balance, about the surprise loan her dad had taken out just five months ago, using his business as collateral. Today, the business belonged to her dad’s partner, who was as mystified by the sudden turn of events as she was. Natalie was left with nothing. It was Walt, one hundred percent, who did not believe her dad had left her in financial trouble.

      Natalie wondered at the conviction of the banker. Surely as a banker, he knew that most Americans were one paycheck away from being homeless. Walt simply said that Leonard Crosby was not “most” Americans. He’d take care of his own. Walt wanted to look at the will, wanted to help, wanted to believe in something that just wasn’t there.

      Natalie could only think about what was there. She had a son and a home to take care of. Her part-time job as a Web designer allowed her to support herself and be a stay-at-home mom while her father was alive. But it wasn’t a career that could support the large home that had been in her family for more than a hundred years. It was not a career that could pay for a college education for Robby. At least not on the hours she worked. She could do—would do—more. But to keep her family home she needed money now.

      Worry, combined with overwhelming loss, was keeping her awake at night, staring out windows and trying to figure out a way to make a go of her—their—life.

      And the billboard and posters all over town announcing the headliner of the Selena rodeo offered a dangerous solution that just contributed to her sorrow and angst.

      It made her reconsider options she shouldn’t be thinking about. It got her out of bed this morning as the clock radio glowed a bright orange six o’clock. It had her standing in front of her closet remembering what it felt like to dress as a participant. She’d almost cried at the combination of longing and fear that enveloped her.

      Natalie pushed open the car door and stuck one leg out.

      And froze.

      Why’d they have to put the poster at the only entrance?

      Lucky was well-known for his participation in Cowboy Church, right? Surely that should count for something—some sort of commitment to responsibility. Natalie hadn’t been to church since childhood, but she remembered some of the lessons. Jesus told His flock to take care of the widows and orphans, right?

      Natalie wiped the last tears form her cheeks as Robby’s “Mom! Mom! Mom!” caught her attention. She finally stepped out of the car carefully and went around to get her rodeo-clad son. Yup, Pop Pop, Robby’s grandfather, had spent plenty of money creating a miniature cowboy, and this morning Natalie allowed Robby to dress the part. He wore a belt with his name, tiny boots, and even a pair of chaps. The only request that went unfulfilled from her son’s Christmas wish list was a horse.

      Pop Pop was willing; Natalie was not.

      “Can I ride on a horse today?” Robby skidded down Natalie’s leg and hit the ground. Natalie bit back both a yelp of pain and a too-abrupt comment. Robby wasn’t old enough to understand her limp or her fears, and she didn’t want to transfer her negative feelings about horses to him. Truth was, going to the rodeo had her in a sweat, and she didn’t know what to blame for her troubles more: the rodeo or the rodeo cowboy.

      “You can’t ride a horse today, but there will be plenty of other things to do.”

      He glared at her, an accusing look on his face. Fun, she was denying him fun. Well, today wasn’t about fun. It was about survival because today was the day she intended to confront Lucky Welch.

      Salvation or ruination.

       And what should she tell Robby? One thing for sure, she couldn’t just lie down and die, or give up. She took Robby by the hand and led him to the poster. It was past time to take action, and Robby was three and could understand more than she gave him credit for. “This man…”

      His face brightened, and he tried to help. “A cowboy?”

      For a brief moment, Natalie considered pointing out the thick brown hair, dark brown eyes and strong chin so unlike her own blond, blue-eyed, elfin look.

      And so like Robby’s own thick dark hair, brown eyes and still-forming strong chin.

      “Yes. I think I might know him.”

      “Really?” For the first time in days, Robby’s eyes brightened. “A cowboy! You know a real cowboy? Can I meet him, Mommy?”

      She opened her mouth to answer, but the words didn’t come. She couldn’t do this. Not right now. Not when her father had just died. Not when she was in danger of losing her home. But the loss of her father, the danger of losing her home, were exactly why she was standing here today, contemplating making the worst mistake of her life.

      Because it might not be a mistake, it might be salvation.

      The high school band warmed up in the distance. Two children eating cotton candy walked by. Natalie took a breath and managed a smile as nostalgia took her back to the days when the rodeo was a good place to be. She and her dad, on rodeo day. Cotton candy sticking to her fingers. And the rodeo still smelled the same, a mixture of popcorn, sweat—both human and animal—and excitement. Yes, excitement had a scent. Natalie first noted the aroma at the age of eight. She’d been leading her pony, Patches, in the children’s parade. To think she’d worried the rodeo might have changed.

       Well, everything else had.

      Excitement attached itself to this rodeo, always had, and it buzzed with an energy that even Robby picked up on. If she hadn’t put her hand on his shoulder, he’d have been all the way to the ticket gate before she got her bearings. “There’s no rush. The day is just beginning.”

      He bobbed his head, clearly wishing he had free rein. No way, not here, not today .

      She turned, taking a step toward the entrance.

      “Natalie, it’s been forever since I’ve seen you at one of our rodeos. You need any help?”

      “No, thanks, I’m fine.” Natalie nodded and forced herself not to rub her thigh. “Good to see you, Allison.” They’d been fast friends during school, practiced together and competed against each other in local barrel races events. Allison Needham, like Natalie’s cousin Tisha, had gone on to be a rodeo queen; Natalie reigned as a couch potato. Allison came back from the road about three years ago, a quieter girl with a baby on the way, and she didn’t talk much about the past. She didn’t talk much to Natalie, either.

      Natalie figured she had her cousin