A Cowboy In Her Arms. Mary Leo

sidewalk completely hidden from Callaghan’s view. Emma stood up front where Joel could keep an eye on her, but out of earshot from their conversation.

      “It was always Sarah who got them into trouble, never Callie,” Aunt Polly said. “She seemed cautious and reserved back then. Not that she wasn’t feisty—she was—but mostly it was Sarah who led the way, and Callie would follow. Of course, that was a lot of years ago. I think Sarah stopped coming out for the summers when they were around thirteen. I remember how heartbroken Callie was when Sarah didn’t show up that first summer.”

      “Maybe this was a mistake,” Joel said, rethinking his need for a fresh start. Surrounding himself and his daughter with livestock and open spaces rather than city folk and tall buildings had never been his dream, but he knew he’d had to suck up his self-serving ego and become the father that Emma deserved. Problem was he’d moved to the one town in the entire country he and Sarah had avoided for good reason.

      If anything he should have gone to a completely new town. Perhaps somewhere in Montana or Utah instead of Idaho, and more importantly, somewhere other than where Callaghan Grant lived.

      “What? No. Kids love parades. Besides, no one was hurt. Emma’s enjoying herself. I don’t think she’s traumatized over a few rolling human potatoes.”

      Polly had never been filled in on the details of Joel’s connection to Callaghan Grant. His wife had made a conscious decision to not tell her, and Joel had no reason to try to change Sarah’s mind. “I meant maybe this whole thing was a mistake...moving to Briggs with you.”

      Aunt Polly turned to face him just as another marching band was passing by, the music loud and persistent. “Have you seen the look on your daughter’s face?”

      Emma turned at that moment, holding her ears but grinning despite any discomfort she might have had from the music.

      “I know. I know. She seems to love it here,” Joel told her, having to admit the obvious.

      “It’s exactly where she belongs right now. You, too. And me! I’m happier than a pig in mud to be home again, and you made that possible.” She chuckled. “Ironic, but I used to hate living in this quirky little no-place town when my Daniel first moved me here from Boise. I thought I’d die of pitiful loneliness and boredom, but I didn’t. I adjusted while Daniel was alive. Once I was on my own again, I headed straight back to the city thinking I’d love it. For a long time I did, loved everything about it. Until a real emptiness set in, the kind of emptiness that weighs on you like an early frost in autumn, making everything cold and brittle. The ranch, this town and the people in it had taken root in my soul. Too bad it took me almost twelve years of living in Boise again to realize that. Now that I’m back, ain’t no way I’m ever leaving again.”

      “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have Callaghan Grant to deal with.”

      “The Grants were always an ornery bunch, especially when they were kids, but like this town, they grow on you, and after a while, you can’t shake either the Grants or anybody else in this town. They become part of who you are.”

      “If you say so.”

      Joel wasn’t buying any of it. The mood he was in, he’d just as soon pack up right now and drive away...but watching Emma laughing and waving to the other kids in the parade, he knew staying put was the right thing to do.

      Emma and her great-aunt had anticipated this parade for weeks and had even bought matching Western wear for the event, including Western hats. Emma had insisted on a pink one. Aunt Polly had drawn the line at a pink cowgirl hat, but otherwise the outfits were exactly the same: boot-cut jeans, blue checked shirts, wide leather belts with a shiny gold-colored buckle and brown boots. Ever since Emma had tried on her first pair of real cowgirl boots, she refused to wear anything else. Even when Aunt Polly managed to get a dress on her, she still wanted to wear her boots. If he didn’t know better, he would think his daughter had picked up some of Callaghan’s traits. Back in college, she rarely wore anything else on her feet. High heels or sneakers were the exception rather than the norm.

      “I’m surprised she recognized you,” Aunt Polly said.

      Joel had gone through a metamorphosis of sorts in the last few months. Not only had he shaved off his beard, he’d cut his hair short and swapped his ratty-looking clothes for new jeans, Western shirts and a gray cowboy hat. He was working on changing his negative disposition, as well. Flight used to be his standard reaction to a problem or situation he didn’t particularly want to deal with. Instead of handling the crisis, he’d leave the scene, hoping that by the time he returned—if he returned—the “crisis” would be resolved.

      He could no longer afford that luxury.

      He’d finally embraced the fact that he was a full-time single parent now, and his daughter depended on him not only for a decent roof over her head and food on the table, but for him to participate in her daily life. Instead of standing on the sidelines while one interchangeable babysitter after another raised her.

      Deciding to move to Briggs had only been the beginning of his transformation. Now he had to learn what it meant to stick around, even when times got tough.

      “The same can be said for Callaghan. She looked quite different in college. For one thing, her hair color was a lot lighter and she wore it shorter, sort of cropped tight against her neck.”

      Joel didn’t want to mention how her body had changed, as well. She was a petite little thing in college, constantly worried about how many calories she ate on any given day. They’d had long discussions over her food intake, which wasn’t much, while he’d tried to get her to eat a cheeseburger or drink a milk shake to get some meat on her bones. At one point he worried she might be suffering from anorexia.

      Not anymore.

      Callaghan now had the shapely body of a woman, a round and supple woman, instead of that wisp of a girl he’d known in college. Back then she prided herself on still being able to get into the same jeans she’d worn as a young teen.

      Things had apparently changed.

      Her raven-black hair now draped over her shoulders, cascading down her back in soft curls. He liked this new Callaghan Grant...maybe a little too much. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking such things, especially in light of all the pain he and his wife had caused her with their reckless behavior.

      He had no room in his life for a relationship with any woman, and most assuredly not with Callaghan Grant, who undoubtedly still hated him.

      “Oh, Daddy, look at all those bunnies and baby goats. I love baby goats, Daddy.” Emma had turned slightly, grabbed Joel’s hand and pulled him closer. The 4-H club float passed by and as it did, Emma clapped her hands and stood on her toes trying to get a better look.

      “You do? I didn’t know that,” Joel said.

      Then he swung her up onto his shoulders, giving her a clear view. Her little arms encircled his head, one hand patting his cheek. His heart always melted whenever Emma showed him any affection, almost as if it took him by surprise.

      “I didn’t know it either until just now. And baby pigs, too. And bunnies, I really love bunnies, Daddy.”

      He hadn’t seen her get so excited about anything in months. He didn’t want it to end, at least not yet. They followed the float as it made its way up the street in front of the local firefighters and military personnel, everyone waving and smiling. Fortunately, there was no sign of Callaghan anywhere. He wasn’t in the mood for a confrontation. Not while his daughter seemed so interested in something other than the Elsa doll her mom had given her last summer.

      When the float finally stopped, Joel immediately slipped her off his shoulders. They headed in closer to get a better look at the animals as some of the kids from the float along with a group of adults began off-loading them into cages from the back of a blue pickup truck.

      “Can I pet one, Daddy? Can I?” Emma asked as Joel held on to her hand. Aunt Polly had stayed back, chatting with an old friend, Traci Sargent, a contemporary who