A Cowgirl's Secret - By Laura Marie Altom Page 0,33
Henry’s the one who has a problem—not you.”
“I know. In counseling, I’ve been over that fact a hundred times. But seeing him—having him that close—” She shuddered.
“Please at least talk to Luke about all of this.”
“Why? What good would that possibly do? Especially when he can’t stand the sight of me.”
“Sure about that?” Drawing Daisy in for another hug, Georgina said, “When you get to be as old as I am, you tend to want to get past the BS and straight to the heart of things. Want my opinion? I think Luke’s problem is that he never stopped caring for you. You devastated him once when you left all those years ago. Now you’ve hurt him again. He wants to trust you, but you’ve proven yourself—in his eyes, anyway—not worthy. The trick is going to be proving to Luke that not only have you learned from your mistakes, but that you’re willing to work through them to regain the special bond the two of you once shared.”
For Daisy, knowing her mother was right didn’t make the task ahead any easier.
“I’m not by any means suggesting you try getting romantically involved, but for Kolt’s sake, you should at least be civil.”
Daisy sighed. “You’re preaching to the choir, Mom.”
Georgina cracked a smile. “I don’t need the whole choir to hear me—just you.”
“YOU TWO HAVE FUN?”
As Luke rounded the backside of his Jeep, he saw Daisy rise from one of the front-porch rockers. In the waning light, the sound of cicadas rising and falling in the still air, the sweet scent of freshly-watered petunias lacing the yard, he could almost forget what she’d done.
“Mom!” Loaded down with a pile of presents tall enough to nearly block his sight, Kolt shuffled across the parking area. “Grandma Peggy and Grandpa Joe gave me the best party ever! I got so many toys and games I could open my own store!”
“That’s awesome, sweetie.” She left the porch to help their son with his load. “Let’s put all of your new things on the dining-room table for now, then get you ready for bed. We’ll sort through everything in the morning.”
“But I wanna play with it tonight.”
“Kolt,” Luke said, coming up behind his boy with an equally impressive load, “how about grabbing more stuff from the car?”
“Okay.” Kolt scampered back the way he’d just come.
“I’d like a minute alone with you,” Luke said to Daisy once their son was out of earshot.
“Good. I’d like to talk to you, too.”
“You first,” Luke said, motioning for her to start.
“No, you.” Daisy fingered the long braid hanging over her right shoulder.
“Luke,” Kolt called from the Jeep. “I’m gonna need your help with my bike.”
“Sure.” Luke looked to Daisy. “Be right back.”
She nodded.
By the time the bike was set free, along with the ten-year-old riding hell-bent for leather down the drive, Luke no longer knew what to say.
“Does it bother you that Kolt calls you by your first name?” Daisy stepped up behind him.
“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t, but given the circumstances, I think it’s for the best. When—if—the time comes that he feels comfortable enough to call me Dad is something for him to decide.”
“Even when we were kids,” Daisy said, “I remember you doling out wisdom. The perpetual mediator.”
“This bothers you?” The sun had set and lightning bugs sparked over the tall grasses on either side of the mile-long drive.
“I used to envy that quality. The way our friends came to you for advice.” Over and over she stroked her braid, as if petting it for comfort. Was she nervous? About their situation? Or him in general?
“Funny how despite all of those times I helped everyone else, now I’m the one needing guidance.”
“Look how fast I can go!” Kolt whizzed by on the bike Luke’s parents had bought.
“Dang, bud, you’re flying!”
“Slow down,” Daisy urged. “It’s too dark to go so fast without a helmet.”
“Is that a maternal thing?” Luke asked Daisy. “Seems like my mom used to do the same. Just when I was having the best time, she’d shoot me down.”
“It’s not my intention to be a happy-smasher,” Daisy said, “only to keep Kolt safe long enough to grow into adulthood.”
“Why’d you leave the party?” The question had been on Luke’s mind all afternoon.
“Exactly why you’d think. Your family understandably hates me. I felt about as welcome as roaches at a picnic.”
Scratching his head, Luke asked, “Isn’t the saying ‘ants at a picnic’?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I do.” Was it wrong