Caught Up in a Cowboy, page 18
“Monty, you told me once that you would rather go to hell in a limo with Satan as the driver than set foot in a church. So yeah, I have a hard time believing you.”
“Believe it. It’s true. I know I wasn’t the most supportive when you used to talk about wanting to go to church and to raise our kid there, but I finally understand what all this faith stuff is about.”
She wrinkled her nose, as if his words, the bullshit he was selling, carried a bad scent.
She didn’t know what to believe. This had to be a con, a scam. There had to be more to his story than he was letting on. She knew faith could change a person, but she’d never known Monty to be real susceptible to change. “So what do you want from us?”
“I just want a chance to get to know my son.”
She cringed every time he called Max his son. Even if it was true, he had denied it for so long, the words carried a false note. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“It means that I moved back from Texas. I’m staying with one of my brothers, and I’d like to be able to spend some time with Max. Get to know the kid. And get to know you again.”
Well, that damn sure wasn’t happening. She had no interest in getting to know him again. He was a bygone that would stay a bygone, as far as she was concerned.
She wasn’t going to be sucked back in by an old flame that had burned the hell out of her.
Although that’s exactly what had been happening the last week. She’d been getting sucked in by not just an old flame, but a full-on forest fire, and a fire that had not only burned her, but left her heart seared and scarred.
Rock.
She’d given Rock another chance.
But Monty wasn’t Rock. She’d never been in love with Monty. Never given him her entire heart.
And this guy was nothing like Rock.
Still, he had told her he wanted a second chance, that he had changed, just like Monty was saying, and she had given him a chance.
Except with Monty, it wasn’t just giving him a chance to hurt her; she was opening up the possibility that he could hurt her son. And she wouldn’t let anything happen to Max.
But what if Monty was telling the truth? What if he really had had a life-altering experience and had truly changed and was trying to make a fresh start? Last week’s sermon had been about how all things were possible with God, but she had a hard time believing even God could change this man.
A hard thought struck her—one that twisted her gut and had the acid churning in her stomach.
What if by keeping Max away from Monty, she was hurting him more?
She’d always tried to shelter Max from learning what kind of man his father really was, but what if he was old enough now to judge for himself?
And what if Monty really had changed, and she was keeping her son from having a chance to get to know and have a relationship with his father?
She chewed at the loose cuticle on the side of her thumbnail, weighing her options, then let out a sigh. “Fine. You can see Max. But only for short visits, and I’m always going to be there.”
Monty’s face lit with what appeared to be a genuine smile. “That’s fine. That’s great even. Let’s get started.”
“Slow down there, slugger. We need to establish some ground rules first.”
“Rules? What kind of rules?” His tone darkened for a moment with an obvious disregard for authority.
She narrowed her eyes in a glare, and he backed off.
“Okay, yeah, sure. Some rules are fine. Like what?”
Except for that one moment that his expression slipped, he still seemed altogether too agreeable. She didn’t like it. And she still didn’t trust him. But she’d give him a chance. For Max’s sake.
“No keeping him up past his bedtime, no feeding him sugar and caffeine without asking me first, no undermining my parenting, and no daring him to do anything stupid that could get him hurt.”
Monty nodded. “That sounds reasonable.”
“In fact, he’s not allowed to do any kind of activity that could involve him getting hurt.”
This time he pulled a face. “Come on, that seems a little unreasonable. He could get hurt walking across the driveway. Or just in normal roughhousing.”
“Max doesn’t do much roughhousing.”
“Why not? Is there something wrong with him? Is he sick? Is there something you’ve been keeping from me?”
“Geez. No. He’s not sick. He just doesn’t play like that. He’s not into wrestling and horseplay.”
“What is he into?”
She shrugged. “Bugs and dinosaurs and books. He loves to read.”
“Books? What about sports? Doesn’t he play baseball or football?”
Quinn let out a laugh. “No. He doesn’t. My dad tried to get him to play T-ball one year, and that was a bust. And just a few weeks ago, I heard Logan try to get him to go outside and play catch, and Max politely declined.”
Monty wrinkled his forehead. “What kind of kid doesn’t want to play catch?”
She let out a sigh. This wasn’t going to be easy. “The kind of kid that Max is. You said you wanted to get to know him.”
He held up his hands. “Okay, you’re right. I just want a chance to hang out with him. Does he have some time now?”
Another sigh escaped her. “I guess so, sure.” She opened the doors of the den.
Her dad, brother, and son all sat morosely in the living room.
Rock was gone.
Her heart stuttered. He hadn’t even waited around to tell her goodbye or see if she was okay.
Was she okay? She had no idea.
That’s not true. She would be okay. She had to be. She was a mom. That’s what moms did. Or were supposed to do. Moms made everything okay.
She pasted on a smile, avoiding her dad and brother’s gaze. “Well, it looks like Monty is going to be sticking around for a little bit.” She couldn’t bring herself to say your dad. “Would you like that, Max?”
Max’s eyes widened, and he jumped off the sofa and ran to her, throwing his arms around her legs. “Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.” He turned and offered a shy smile to Monty.
Monty returned the smile and bent down to Max’s level. “I brought an old football with me to toss around if you want to go outside and play a little catch?”
Hadn’t he heard a word she’d said?
“Sure,” Max answered. “That sounds fun.”
Wait—what? That sounds fun? Who was this kid and what had he done with her son?
“Come on.” Max took Monty’s hand and led him out the front door.
She offered an incredulous look to her father and brother, who both looked just as dumbfounded, then followed them out the door.
Monty really had brought an old football with him, and he carried it into the front yard and lobbed a gentle throw at the small boy.
Max completely missed the ball, the oblong shape slipping through his hands. But instead of getting upset, he giggled and laughed like his blunder was the funniest thing he’d seen all day.
His toss back to Monty was clumsy and woefully short of its mark, and Quinn waited for Monty to reprimand him or give him a hard time for his terrible throw. But he didn’t.
He was surprisingly patient with Max as he recovered the ball and offered the boy tips on where to hold it and how to throw it.
Max butchered throw after throw, but he didn’t lose his determination, and Monty kept his cool.
Quinn sat on the porch steps, watching them play, but zoning out as Monty regaled Max with tales of his high school glory days on the football team of Franklin High. She didn’t recall those days as being all that glorious.
But Max seemed enraptured with every word out of Monty’s mouth. His energy never waned as he continued to try to master the art of catch. And his skills did seem to improve.
“Good job, champ,” Monty said as he caught one of Max’s better throws.
Her son beamed with pride at the compliment.
She tried to keep her eyes from rolling.
Was she making the right decision here? Should she let Max spend time with Monty? What if he hurt him? Not if—when? Because she had no doubt in her mind that Monty would end up hurting her boy.
The only problem was she didn’t know what she could do about it.
She wasn’t a coward, so she wouldn’t run away or hide.
Killing him seemed out of the question—but only marginally so.
For now, all she could do was keep on her toes and keep a watchful eye on Monty. He claimed he had changed, and maybe he had, maybe he did deserve a second chance, but she wasn’t about to let her guard down.
Not for one minute.
* * *
Quinn was putting the finishing touches on supper later that night when she heard her father come in the front door, followed by the sound of small footsteps running down the hall.
She heard Max greet Ham, then listened as he regaled him with stories of all the things he’d done with Monty that afternoon.
Thankfully, she’d put a roast in the Crock-Pot that morning, so all she’d had to do was boil a few ears of corn and throw together a salad. She put the last of the meal on the table, then slumped into her chair as Ham and Max washed their hands and joined her.
Her dad had barely finished the blessing when Max started up again.
He filled his plate as he talked, using his spoon to dump a large mound of butter next to his corn. His small hand shook the pepper shaker, black flakes raining down onto the bright-yellow butter. “And then he showed me how to put my fingers between the laces to throw the football. He said I’d get a better spin on it then. My dad—he’s a real smart guy.”
Oh yeah. He’s a smart one all right. Quinn’s gaze was fixed on her son’s plate, seemingly transfixed as she watched him shake the salt, then stir the butter mixture together before swirling his corn through it.
Her father was doing the same thing, absently spinning his corn in his own butter, salt, and pepper mixture as he listened to Max talk. She wondered if her forehead held the same crease of concern that was evident on Ham’s.
Logan was filling in at The Creed tonight, so it was just the three of them. Well, four, if you count Monty, who, although he had driven away an hour ago, still seemed to be present in the room with them.
Her dad didn’t say much throughout the meal. Neither did she.
She figured they were both trying to keep their mouths shut as Max chattered on—and on—about how great his dad was. A little sliver of pain sliced through her heart, and she tried not to wince every time he said my dad, as if Monty were getting equal billing in this parenting gig, even though she’d done all the work the last eight years.
“Mom? Mom?”
Max’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Yeah, baby?”
“I was telling you about how my dad is a famous bull rider. He told me he’s been in hundreds of rodeos. Did you know he rode bulls?”
“I know he’s full of bull,” she muttered, then wished she could take it back as her son’s thin shoulders drooped and his small brow furrowed.
“What’s wrong? Why are you being so mean?”
Dang. How was she supposed to answer that?
She let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Max. I’ve just had a long day.”
“You’re acting like you’re mad. Did I do something to make you mad?”
“No, of course not.”
“Aren’t you happy that my dad came to see me?”
She swallowed back the cutting remark forming in her mind and tried to soften her tone. “Yeah, sure I am, buddy.”
Max looked down at his plate, his own voice dropping a degree in volume. “I’m sure glad. I’ve been wishing and praying that he would come. And now he’s here, and I feel so happy, like my heart is gonna bust out of my chest. But you just seem mad and kinda sad, and that makes me feel bad about being so happy.”
Oh. Ouch.
She took a deep breath, pushing down all of the negative feelings she had toward Monty, and forced a smile. She could do this. She could pretend for Max’s sake. She could do anything for Max’s sake.
Even spend time in the company of the low-down snake who had slept with her and then had always denied even being Max’s father.
“I’m not mad. I’m just tired,” she said, trying her best to sound genuine. Hell, she was tired. That wasn’t a lie. “I’m glad for you that you are getting a chance to meet your father.” She tried not to choke on the word father.
“I’m glad too. Super-duper glad. I like him. I think he’s pretty great.”
Of course you do.
Another stab to her heart.
It’s easy to seem great when all he had to do was show up one afternoon and toss a football and a few compliments around. He wasn’t the one who had to set a consistent schedule, and wipe a snotty nose, or clean up vomit, or say no to more television or computer when it would be so much easier just to give in and say yes.
No. All of those things were what she’d had to do, what she still had to do, alone. Sure, her dad and her brother helped, but the majority of Max’s parenting came down to her. Success or failure fell squarely on her shoulders.
“Why don’t you help me clear the table, then get cleaned up?” She looked over at her dad. “I’ll wash these dishes if you can find him some clean pajamas and get him started with the shower.”
“Sure,” Ham said, already pushing his chair back and lifting his plate to carry it to the kitchen. Max followed suit with his plate and glass, then tore off down the hallway toward his room.
Ham brought in the last of the dishes as Quinn filled the sink with water, squirting in a healthy dose of liquid detergent. Her dad prided himself on being frugal and had never seen the need for a dishwasher, and on nights like tonight, the menial task of washing the dishes was just what she needed.
Being in the kitchen alone, she sang along to the country music station on the radio as she let the hot water and the chore of scrubbing the dishes take her mind off the problems of her son, her newfound relationship with her old boyfriend, and the unexpected arrival of Monty Hill.
She finished washing the last pan and was just wiping down the counters when her dad stepped back into the kitchen.
He leveled her with a steely stare. “Just what in the Sam Hill do you think you’re doing?”
Chapter 16
Quinn brushed the crumbs from the counter into the sink. “I’m cleaning the kitchen. What does it look like I’m doing?”
“You know darn well what I’m talking about. What the hell do you think you’re doing letting that dirtbag Hill back into your and Max’s lives?”
“I didn’t let him do anything. He just showed up today.”
“You didn’t call him? I know Max has been asking about him a lot lately.”
“Hell no, I didn’t call him. I don’t even have a number for him. I didn’t even know where he was living. I’m just as surprised as you are to see him.”
“Why is he here? And better yet. What does he want?”
She shrugged. “I don’t really know. He said all he wants is a chance to get to know Max.”
“Horse pucky. I don’t believe it. There has to be something else to it.”
“He claims that he recently found religion.” She picked up the dish towel and dried her hands.
“He’s about to find my size-12 boot up his ass.” He snatched the toothpick holder from the counter, shook one out, and clamped it between his teeth. “And I don’t buy that story for a minute. Surely you’re not falling for this guy’s line of bull?”
“No, I’m not falling for anything. I’m simply giving my son a chance to get to know his father.”
Ham shook his head, gnawing the toothpick flat between his teeth. “I swear, I don’t know what you’re thinking lately. First, you start up again with that no-good James boy—”
“Oh brother. Dad, you’ve known Rock since he was a kid.” Her head was spinning. How had this conversation just switched from her letting Monty back into Max’s life to her starting back up again with Rock?
“Yeah, well, I also know that he left you high and dry and brokenhearted when you two were kids, and I know that I’ve never seen you cry over anything as hard or as much as you did over that boy leaving. That’s a hard thing for a father to forget. And to forgive.”
Wow. That was the closest thing to an emotional sentiment that she’d heard from her dad in a long time.
“Well, it’s not your cross to bear or your offense to forgive. It’s my burden, my broken heart, and my choice. If I’ve learned anything over the last eight years, it’s that holding on to old hurts doesn’t do anyone any good. Holding a grudge doesn’t help anything or anyone. And what am I teaching my son if I tell him he should forgive people who show genuine remorse and say they’re sorry if I’m not willing to do that myself?”
Ham grunted and switched the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “I guess I can concede that. With Rockford, anyhow. At least he comes from good stock. I know his mama taught him better.”
She raised an eyebrow and waited to see if he could hold a straight face while talking about Vivi. Rock had told her about his mom sneaking out of their house the other morning. It hadn’t surprised her. She’d suspected something between the two for years.
The subject of Vivi must not have been enough to hold his attention right now, because he switched back to Max’s father. “But I have a harder time accepting any kind of forgiveness for this idiot Hill. Rock was a kid when he left, and he took off to have a career. Hill is a man, and not only did he abandon his kid and his responsibilities, he’s spent the better part of my grandson’s life denouncing that he even existed. His own flesh and blood. That’s a much worse crime in my book.”
