The Trouble with Cowboys Page 2

  Tyler rolled his shoulders, braced himself, then slowly walked over to the living room door. Regardless of their argument, he owed his father. Tyler had always considered himself a pretty rational person, but the situation with his dad, his emotions about everything were irrational, and he didn’t like that. He didn’t like being at the mercy of his feelings.

  He gave the door a knock and then opened it.

  Nothing could have prepared him for seeing his father like this. He was lying in the hospital bed, his once-strong face now weathered and hanging loosely on one side. His eyes were closed. His hair had thinned out, the gray having given way to the white. He wasn’t the man Ty knew. His father was strong. This man lying in the bed was broken.

  He blinked, forcing the emotion away, not letting himself dwell on it, the passage of time, the stroke, the regrets.

  Walking forward a little, he cleared his throat. “Hi, Dad,” he said.

  There was no indication he’d heard him. Ty walked around the bed slowly, noting the way all the old furniture had been piled up at the other end of the room. It was nothing like the living room he remembered. The plaid curtains his mother had painstakingly sewn were all closed up, hiding the large picture windows she’d loved. They had remodeled the house to his mother’s liking, and she had made sure it was perfect at all times. It was nothing like the house of his childhood.

  Taking a deep breath, he sat in the chair beside the bed. His gaze traveled from the disturbing image of his father sleeping to the slew of medication bottles on the nightstand. And the picture of his mother. He turned away quickly as emotion hit him in the gut.

  He ran his sweaty palms down the front of his jeans and leaned back in the chair. His father’s eyelids flickered but didn’t open. Did his dad know he was here? Had he heard him? Heat washed over his body at the idea his father knew he was there and just didn’t want to see him.

  “Dad?”

  His father’s good hand moved slightly, and Ty stared at it as a wave of memories tumbled into his mind. He’d held that hand. As a child, he’d clung to it, hadn’t given it a second thought. He’d reached for his father’s hand so many times growing up, in the pastures, in the barns, when learning to ride a horse. It had always been powerful, rough, large, and Ty thought his father could save him from anything. The hand lying on top of the blanket wasn’t a hand that could save him anymore. It was thin, without his tan, and with age spots and wrinkles.

  He blinked past the pool of moisture in his eyes. Hell. This was hell. When had everything changed? His childhood was over in a blink of an eye. The family of three that they had been no longer existed. He’d walked out on the man who had raised him, who had given him everything of himself, who had taught him all he needed to survive in the world. Their years together had meant nothing when the center of their world died. They hadn’t been able to hold it together after she’d passed. They’d said harsh words to each other his last night at home.

  They each blamed the other for her death.

  But it was the last thing his father had said to him that had sent him packing, though, because the knife had been too deep.

  Ty tried to breathe despite the heaviness in his chest. He cleared his throat and whispered his father’s name, but it came out sounding more like a plea.

  This time, his father’s eyes did open. Faded blue ones, which he’d once thought so similar to his own, latched onto his. It was clear his father’s mind hadn’t been affected by the stroke, because the animosity shining in them took his breath away. Ty sat there, staring at his father, silently hoping for something—a softening, an indication that he was happy to see him.

  “I, uh, came back as soon as I found out what happened. I’m going to stay as long as you need me. I’ll help you get back on your feet, Dad.” The words poured out of him, like when he was a kid and had done something wrong, how he’d always try and get out of whatever punishment was coming by making a million promises and speaking as fast as he could. His dad had never bought it.

  He didn’t question calling him “Dad” even though he swore he’d never do it again. But that’s what this man would always be to him, regardless of their argument, of the words that had been exchanged. He had raised him; he had loved him. He was the only father he loved.

  Tyler held his breath, waiting for something from the man, just the tiniest sign that he had done the right thing by coming home.

  Instead his father just shut his eyes, but not before he let him know, more powerfully than words could ever speak, that it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He didn’t matter. His promises, his presence. It was all too late.

  Chapter Two

  Lainey tucked a stray piece of hair back into her ponytail and stood at the door in the kitchen of the diner, waiting for Betty, her cook, to finish asking her questions about Tyler.

  She loved Betty; she had been with the diner when her grandmother was still alive. If it hadn’t been for her, she had no idea how she would have managed those first few months. Betty had guided her and picked up the slack when Lainey faltered.

  Some mornings, that first year after Grandma Tilly had died, she would get dressed and come down to the dark diner, expecting Tilly to be in the kitchen, drinking coffee and prepping the food for the day ahead. She had never minded waking up before sunrise and sitting with her grandma at the island in the diner kitchen. Lainey would be perched on a stool, eating an egg and listening to her grandmother either dispense some words of wisdom or hum an old song under her breath.

  She had never felt more alone than when Tilly died.

  Lainey had started drinking coffee, mostly to try and reclaim that comforting warmth in the morning, to re-create the smells, the moments that she cherished. But coffee alone in the morning, in an empty, dark diner, only made her miss Tilly more.

  She wiped the counter and turned back to Betty, who had a far-off expression on her face.

  “I did manage to sneak a peek, and I swear it was a young Martin Donnelly standing there,” Betty said, pausing and taking a quick gulp of her coffee.

  “I should probably get back out there,” Lainey said, shooting her a smile. “I’ll be sure to report all the gossip as it comes in.”

  “You do that, sweetie,” she said, resuming her place behind the stove.

  Lainey used the palm of her hand to swing the diner kitchen door open, trying to look nonchalant and not like the appearance of Tyler Donnelly meant anything to her or that she’d just been talking about him. It shouldn’t. Who was the man to her, really? No one who mattered.

  He was merely the older guy she’d fantasized about during her entire high school years. He was also the son of the man she’d grown to love like a father. She owed Ty’s father so much, and she knew that her loyalty was to him—not the son who’d walked out on his father without a second thought. She also knew she had a biased opinion—on so many different levels. Not just because of Ty’s father, but also because of her own past and her own decisions. She was loyal to a fault, and Ty obviously was not.

  He’d gone away, lived out what must have been his dreams, and now he was back. The town had speculated for years what had happened to Tyler. He just got up and left one day without saying anything to anyone. No one knew where he’d been, what he’d been up to, or anything.

  There was another reason she was worried about Ty being home, but she wasn’t going to let herself worry about it yet. For all she knew, he might only be here for a little while and then be back on his way. There was no need to go worrying about something that might never happen. She had enough issues.

  She approached Dean slowly, the stormy expression on his handsome face indicating that he’d been affected by Tyler as well. “Can I get you a refill, Dean?”

  He glanced up at her, startled. If she’d been any other woman on the planet, having the attractive doctor sitting at her counter every morning would have been the highlight of her day. He was great—funny, polite, and charming. And he did absolutely nothing for
her.

  “No thanks, Lainey. I have to get going,” Dean said, slowly standing. “I have a suspicion your day is going to be filled with gossip. I’m sure by now half the town knows Ty is back.”

  Lainey fingered the tie on her apron and tried to act nonchalant. “It’s good he came, for Martin’s sake. Better late than never,” she said, watching his reaction.

  Dean’s face hardened. “Not this time,” he said, obviously not ready to forgive his former best friend.

  “Let’s hope Martin will think differently. Maybe Tyler coming home is the push he needs to get better,” she said, clearing their mugs and placing them in the rubber trough of dirty dishes behind the counter.

  Dean shrugged. “Martin is—was—as tough as nails. Not exactly the forgiving type.” He picked up his phone and tucked it in his jacket pocket. “Tyler will have his work cut out for him, though, if he actually intends on staying, between his dad and the condition of that ranch. Have a good day, Lainey.”

  She watched as he left the diner, thinking about Martin. He had always treated her so kindly. She didn’t know what his relationship had been like with his son, but she couldn’t imagine a father holding that much of a grudge over his only child.

  The door swung open, and Mrs. Busby burst through, making a beeline for the “church table” in the front corner, perfect for people watching out the large window and people watching inside the diner. They were the loudest, funniest, and nosiest customers she had—all more than seventy, all widowed, and all best friends. They came in every morning right after church. Mrs. Busby hadn’t been attending lately because she’d been busy taking care of Martin, but she was here this morning—because Tyler was home now.

  Lainey made her way over to their table, bracing herself for the onslaught of questions she knew they’d be bubbling with.

  “Isn’t Tyler even more handsome now, Lainey?” Mrs. Busby said, sitting tall and proud as a peacock.

  Lainey tried to fill up the coffee cups of all the ladies at the corner table without scalding anyone or revealing just how much she agreed with that statement.

  “Is he really?” Mrs. Patterson said while adding three scoops of sugar into her cup. “What a shame we missed him. If Father Andy hadn’t gone on and on this morning, maybe we would have caught a glimpse!”

  Lainey glanced over at the door as the bells jingled and breathed a sigh of relief as her best friend, Hope Roberts, walked—no, marched—through the door.

  It was that perfect time of day, in between the morning breakfast rush and lunch, so she could actually take some time to chat with Hope.

  “Well, enjoy your breakfast, ladies,” she said, scooting over to the bar where Hope was already sitting.

  “Why didn’t you text me?” Hope hissed as soon as Lainey was within earshot.

  “I had no time?” Lainey rolled her eyes with humor at her friend. Hope knew better than anyone that she hated gossiping. She filled up a large mug with coffee and handed it to her friend, then took her usual position behind the counter while Hope lifted one of the glass domes and plucked a pumpkin spice muffin from the stand. Her friend was dressed for work with her dark, glossy hair pulled back into a loose knot with a few pieces framing her pretty face.

  “As if,” Hope said, the jutting of her chin a clear indication she didn’t buy her excuse at all. She pried the muffin top off and took a bite. “Details,” she said while closing her eyes. “These are the best. Every September I wait for these babies to make it into the fall baking rotation.”

  “Don’t turn me into a town gossip or I can start making carrot muffins instead,” Lainey said while refilling her own bottomless mug. They had both agreed long ago that carrots and raisins should be banned ingredients from any baking.

  Hope’s green eyes snapped open. “So this means there are details to be shared!” She glanced over her shoulder at the church ladies’ table then leaned forward and demanded in a not-so-quiet whisper, “All the details. Now. Who, what, where, when.”

  Lainey smiled and shook her head at her friend but moved a bit closer. “Ty Donnelly. Back in town. Swaggered into this diner. Approximately seven a.m. this morning.”

  Hope’s eyes widened. “He came here first?”

  “He seemed exhausted. Like he needed caffeine—which was what he bought. Nothing else. That was it.”

  “Not it. More details, or I’m going to have to go sit at the church table for the real scoop.”

  Lainey laughed, but it was replaced by slight guilt as she remembered telling him that Grandma Tilly was dead. It had been crass, but she’d been mad at him. Still was mad.

  “Come on, Lainey. Did you serve him? I want more details, and I need to get to work.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said, drumming her fingers against the countertop, not even attempting to pretend like she didn’t know what her friend was talking about. “He’s back, like back for sure. Mrs. Busby said he went home. But he’s not the guy we remember.”

  Hope leaned forward, almost knocking her mug over. “Hotter?”

  Lainey winced. “Epically hotter.” She’d wanted to get Ty’s face out of her head as soon as he’d left her diner. The young man who’d occupied almost all her silly teenage dreams had turned into a hard, hot, brooding man—one who was unfortunately even more physically attractive than the younger version. His blue eyes were as vivid as she remembered, but instead of sparkling with that carefree mischievousness of his youth, they were guarded, maybe wounded. What had already been a handsome face was now harder, leaner, the strong lines of his jaw accentuated with a day’s worth of stubble. He was taller than she remembered, stronger, broader…badder.

  “Wow,” Hope said, setting down the remnants of her muffin.

  “I know. But there’s more. I had kind of expected him to be…” She paused, taking a sip of coffee, searching for the right words as she stared out the large window. Normally she loved the view of the historical buildings on Main Street. This was the time of morning that the shop owners started flipping their closed signs to open and sidewalk boards were placed outside. The town had undergone a minor rejuvenation as the Montana tourism industry became a thing. Little specialty shops had started popping up, and there was more funding for things like potted plants and shrubs on Main Street. This morning, though, she was too distracted to care that the cheese shop across the street just put out a sign advertising fresh cheese curds.

  “Uh, you expected what?” Hope said, leaning over and draining the coffee carafe into her cup.

  She turned her attention back to her friend. “Sorry, have you ever tried fresh cheese curds?”

  Hope rolled her eyes. “You know you’re supposed to stay away from dairy, Lainey.”

  “Details, details. Sometimes a little rumbling is justified.”

  “Can we please keep to the topic at hand? I need to go to work.”

  Lainey placed the empty carafe under the faucet and started brewing another pot. “I had expected Tyler to be a little more arrogant. Cold. I mean, he took off without telling anyone, and then he stayed away so long and without any contact. It took Dean weeks to get a hold of him.”

  “That’s good he’s not become some cold jerk, right?”

  “Why?”

  “Well, maybe he’ll be able to help his father. Especially if he’s staying for good.”

  “I doubt that. Martin hasn’t talked about Tyler in a long time. Not a thing. I don’t even know why Tyler left in the first place, but so much has happened, so many years have gone by.”

  “Did he leave a hint about where he’s been, what he was doing all this time?” Hope asked.

  Lainey shook her head and glanced around the diner, making sure no one was trying to get her attention or in need of a coffee refill before turning her gaze back to Hope. “Nope, but it’s not like I stood around talking to him. For Martin’s sake, I hope they can figure things out. I have no idea how he’ll turn that place around, if that’s what he’s thinking. I’m sure he also has no idea w
ho’s running it—that will come as a blow for sure.”

  Hope just nodded. “So sad, what happened to Martin. I’m sure Tyler is filled with guilt.”

  “It doesn’t help that his other friend barely said hi to him. Not that I was paying attention or anything.”

  Hope grabbed her purse and started fishing through it. “Dean?”

  “Yeah, who else?” she asked, picking up a dish towel and wiping the counter. It didn’t really need it, but she couldn’t sit still any longer. “I know how much it hurt Dean every time they had to downsize the ranch, and it wouldn’t have happened if Tyler had just stuck around,” she said, finding herself getting angry again.

  “Yeah, well, not everything is as it seems,” her friend said, placing her purse on the stool beside her. “There has to be a reason he left. Besides, as if Dean is in a position to judge anyone,” Hope said, taking a sip of coffee.

  The long-standing animosity between Dean and her BFF wasn’t anything new to her. She had stopped trying to convince Hope that Dean was a good guy. Their history was too painful, and Hope had so much on her plate. She didn’t think her best friend could ever go back to the person she was before.

  “Well, he’s been good to Martin. He drives out there every night. Not many doctors make house calls anymore, especially without charging.”

  Hope rolled her eyes. “He probably does it for the glory. That ego must need constant inflating. The handsome, dashing Dr. Stanton, racing around town in his BMW, saving lives.”

  Lainey choked on her coffee. “Hope…you know that’s not the way he is.”

  Hope set her chin. “Nope, not really sure. That’s what I see.”