The Cowboy's Homecoming. Brenda Minton

driveway to the house and then she turned to face a man who had been a second father to her. Lance was her mother’s second cousin somehow twice removed. He’d taught her to come home strong after the third barrel, to not be afraid as she rushed toward the gate. He’d taught her to rope a calf. He’d taught her to let go of pain. He’d tried to keep her in church, having faith.

      “I don’t have anything to remember her by, Lance. Everything is boxed up and hidden. Her pictures, her jewelry, and even the quilts she made. He boxed it all up. I don’t know if he burned it, gave it away or threw it in the Dumpster.”

      “He shouldn’t have done that. Sometimes a person hurts so bad they don’t know what else to do. They box up the pain and I guess your daddy boxed up his memories right along with it.”

      “She loved that church.”

      “She sure did. And she loved her family. She’d want those memories unboxed.” Lance untied the horse and led him down the aisle of the barn. A horse whinnied from somewhere in the distance. The gelding, Bob, whinnied a reply.

      It had been years since Beth thought about the day her dad had started packing everything into boxes. He’d been crazy with grief, pulling pictures off the walls, yanking quilts off beds. Everything that reminded him of Elena Bradshaw had been packed up and hauled off while Beth cried and Jason stoically helped their father.

      Lance placed a strong hand on her shoulder.

      “I’ll feed this horse for you. I think it’s about time you talked to Buck about the box she left you. It’s yours, Beth. She’d want you to have it.” He put the horse in a stall and latched the gate. “And you know this horse isn’t ready for Tulsa.”

      She nodded, still fighting tears, still fighting mad that everyone else always seemed to have answers, to be in control, and she always seemed to be fighting to be strong.

      It was a fight she planned to win.

      “Yeah, I know.”

      “Go talk to your dad.”

      She walked out of the barn and across the dusty driveway toward the house. A lone figure in the garden bent over tomato plants that were just starting to flower. She stopped at the edge of the garden.

      “I’m not going to help you save that church.” He bent to pick a few weeds.

      “I’m not here to talk about the church. I’d like the box my mother left for me.” She shoved her hands in her pockets, no longer brave. The deep breath she took did nothing to calm nerves that were strung tight. “If you don’t mind.”

      Her dad turned. He stood straight, his hat tipped back. He was tall and broad, his skin weathered by sun and time but he was still strong.

      “What brought that up?” her father asked.

      Beth had imagined anger, not a question like that. She didn’t really have an answer. “I think it’s time. I want to have something to remember Mom by.”

      “It’s just a box of stuff.” He shrugged. “I’ll bring it down from the attic.”

      She wanted to rush forward and hug him, but he turned back to the tomato plants. She’d won the battle but it didn’t feel like a victory. She whispered “thank you” and her dad nodded. After a few seconds she walked away.

      As she entered the house, she remembered the day her mother had sat them down in the living room and explained that she had taken her last treatment. The memory was followed by one of the day they took Elena off life support.

      Beth stood in the living room for several minutes and then she walked back out the front door. She pulled keys out of her pocket and headed across the yard to the garage and her truck. It was starting to make sense, why Jeremy would want to do this. Even if she didn’t want him to, maybe she understood. Her dad had shoved his pain into boxes and stored them in the attic. She’d run away. Jeremy needed to see that church gone.

      As much as she understood, she still planned on finding a way to stop him.

      The police station was a long, rectangular building with metal siding that looked more like a forgotten convenience store. In an area like this, they didn’t need much for a police station. The occasional robbery, traffic violation or intoxicated driver, those were the extent of the crimes. His mom had probably committed each one, more than once.

      Jeremy pulled his truck into a parking space next to a patrol car and he sat there for a long minute because he dreaded going inside. Why had he come back to Dawson? Oh, right, for revenge.

      He’d been running from this life for years. He’d done a good job of putting it behind him. He had a successful business building customized motorcycles. He had two world championships. He’d done commercials for cologne and they’d made posters of his ugly mug to sell at rodeo events.

      No matter how far he’d gone or what he thought he’d done right, one person knew how to pull him right back into the gutter. A shadow moved in front of the door. On the other side of the glass deputy Carl Duncan waved and motioned him inside.

      He’d been fifteen when he bailed Jane out the first time. He’d used his money from lawn jobs and he’d borrowed a car from a neighbor. Back then Carl had been his age, just a kid trying to make a better life for himself. The cop at the time had been Officer Mac. He’d retired years ago.

      That was a memory that made him smile. Officer Mac had been a farmer who carried a badge for extra money. When he’d seen Jeremy in that car, he shook his head and told Jeremy he was going to pretend he didn’t see an underage driver behind the wheel.

      Jeremy pulled the truck keys from the ignition and shoved them into his pocket as he got out of the vehicle. At least he had his own car these days.

      He walked across the parking lot, stopping to glance up at the sky, another way to kill time. There were a few dark clouds, nothing major.

      Carl pushed the door open. A woman screamed from somewhere at the back of the building. That would be Jeremy’s mother. He knew that awful sound and knew that her eyes would be red, her hair a wild mess. They’d been through this more than once.

      “What did she do this time?” He grabbed a seat from behind one of the desks and sat down.

      “She was in the convenience store trying to convince them you’ve stolen all of her hard-earned money.”

      “That would get me a cup of coffee.”

      They didn’t laugh. Carl sat down on the edge of the desk and shrugged. “She’s coherent. Sort of.”

      “Right. So what do I do with her, Carl?”

      “Take her home.” The cop shrugged. He didn’t have answers, either. “Maybe put her in a home. I don’t know, Jeremy. I’m real sorry, though.”

      “Me, too.” Jeremy loosened his white cowboy hat and then pushed it back down on his head. “Yeah, maybe a home. She might actually get sober.”

      “Right, that would be good. She looks a little yellow.”

      Her liver. He didn’t know how it had held up this long.

      “Do I owe you anything?” He pulled the wallet out of his back pocket and Carl shook his head.

      “No, there weren’t any charges. I just brought her in to keep her from doing something crazy. Are you really going through with the church situation?”

      It always came back to that. The people in this town ought to be thanking him for getting rid of that eyesore, not questioning his motives. Considering that the church had been one step away from being condemned, he didn’t know why everyone had a problem with his plans.

      His mother screamed again. “Get me out of here! I didn’t break any laws. I’ll get a lawyer.”

      Jeremy laughed, shook his head and stood. “I’d better get her home before she hires a lawyer.”

      Carl