Home to Her Cowboy
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Sasha Summers
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CHAPTER ONE
ELOISE TUCKED A strand of wavy brown hair behind her ear and offered the blue-and-white stoneware bowl to her five-year-old daughter, Kirby—and held her breath. Her daughter’s resistance to eating anything green had become a nightly battle. “One spoonful.”
“Peas.” Kirby wrinkled up her little freckled nose and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “Peas are icky. And squishy. And gross.”
“They are mushy, Mom.” Archie, her seven-year-old son, nodded. “They also look like rabbit poop.” He announced this lovely tidbit of information without breaking a grin.
Really? Where did he come up with this stuff? Eloise stifled a smile and ignored her grandfather’s muffled laugh. Archie was hysterical—which made it hard to stand her ground on important things like eating vegetables, bedtimes, and not harassing Grandpa Quincy’s sweet cat, Dandelion.
“Rabbit poop?” Kirby squeaked and pushed her plate away. “Ew.” This word was drawn out—for full effect.
“Yep. A spoonful of peas is like a little pile of poop,” Archie went on. “But rabbit poop isn’t green.” He paused, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Is it?”
“Archie.” Eloise tried to sound stern. “Let’s not talk about rabbit poop at the dinner table.”
Archie nodded, scooping mashed potatoes onto his fork then pausing to ask, “What about whale poop?”
Grandpa Quincy didn’t cover his laugh this time. He had a big, booming laugh that was impossible to resist. Archie started to giggle. Then Kirby. Even though she wasn’t thrilled over why they were laughing, she loved the sound of it.
When they’d quieted down, Eloise said, “No.” She eyed the peas and set the bowl aside. “No poop talk, of any kind, at the dinner table.”
“It’s okay if you don’t like ’em, Freckles. I do.” Grandpa Quincy reached for the bowl. “I’ll take a big ol’ helping of peas.”
Eloise smiled and handed over the bowl. “There’s plenty.”
Kirby sat, slouched in her chair, staring at her plate. Her big mossy green eyes—the same color as Eloise’s—narrowed as her frown grew.
“Come on, Freckles.” Grandpa Quincy used his most encouraging tone. “Eat up those yummy mashed taters and your momma’s crispy fried chicken. If you do, I might have a pink cupcake for dessert.”
As much as she appreciated her grandfather’s support, offering them sugar this close to bedtime guaranteed chaos.
Kirby perked up, her brown ponytails swinging. “With sprinkles?”
“Yup.” Grandpa Quincy winked. “Pink and white ones.”
Kirby clapped her hands.
“All you have to do is eat up your dinner first.” He pointed at her plate with his fork.
Kirby’s nose wrinkled again but she picked up her fork, scooped up some potatoes, then let them fall—splat—back onto her plate.
“She doesn’t like mashed potatoes.” Archie took a big bite of mashed potatoes.
Surprise. Since they’d moved in with Grandpa Quincy, her daughter’s list of food she would eat continued to shrink. Kirby had always been on the slight side. Her lack of caloric intake was something Eloise worried over—on top of all the other things she worried over. She wouldn’t push the mashed potatoes, but Kirby had to eat something. Other than cupcakes, that is.
“Your fried chicken is like one big chicken nugget.” Eloise hoped Kirby would buy her sales pitch. Chicken nuggets were still one of the things Kirby would always eat. “Here.” She pulled Kirby’s plate closer, cut the fried chicken breast into small pieces, and slid the plate back in front of her daughter. “See? Now it’s just like homemade chicken nuggets.”
Kirby’s eyes narrowed and she sucked in her cheeks as she leaned forward to inspect her mother’s handiwork.
Eloise—Grandpa Quincy and Archie, too—waited to see what happened next.
“’Kay.” Kirby speared a piece of chicken and ate it. Then another piece. “Yum. This is so good, Momma.” She chewed with enthusiasm. “Yum-yum-yum.” She murmured around her mouthful of food.
“Right? It is good chicken.” Unlike his sister, Archie would eat almost anything.
Grandpa Quincy nodded. “Your momma is a good cook. If she cooks it, I’m going to eat it.”
Eloise had always enjoyed cooking. Growing up, she’d spent some holidays and one week every summer here with her grandparents. She’d helped out with countless meals in Gramma Beryl’s kitchen. Cooking had been her gramma’s love language and she’d had a lot of love to give. When Eloise had been too young to cook, Gramma Beryl sat her on a stool to snap beans or shuck corn and watch and learn. When she was a little older, she’d been allowed to peel potatoes or pound the steak until it was the perfect thickness to batter and fry. Later, she’d mastered perfect cream gravy, smooth-as-silk mashed potatoes, flaky and sweet pie crust, and iced tea.
“We’ve got a big wedding coming up this weekend. Your momma gets to work her magic and make beautiful flower arrangements for the ceremony and the bride.” Grandpa Quincy owned Garrison Gardens, the only flower shop in Garrison. “Warden Hattie Carmichael is marrying Forrest Briscoe. I remember when she was a little thing, all braces and red hair and freckles—”
“Freckles like Kirby?” Archie asked.
Kirby was very proud of her freckles.
“Only Kirby doesn’t have red hair. She has brown hair. Like me and mom.”
“No one has freckles like our Kirby.” Grandpa Quincy grinned. “They’re good people. The both of them. Truth be told, I can’t imagine a better matched pair. It’s nice when good things happen to good people.”
Grandpa Quincy, a lifelong Garrison resident, knew everyone and everything about his hometown. She was still learning the names and faces of Garrison, but she’d managed to piece together some things from her childhood visits. She knew the Briscoe and Crawley families owned the two largest cattle ranches in these parts—and had a lot of influence in town. The Schneiders owned Garrison Family Grocer’s and were, in Grandpa Quincy’s words, good folk. Garrison even had its own celebrity in retired country singer Buck Williams—now owner of Buck’s Bar and Honky-Tonk.
Grandpa Quincy had warned her about one group in particular. According to him, the Garrison Ladies Guild were a bunch of gossipy do-gooders “with too much time on their hands.” He’d gone on to say their leader, Miss Martha Zeigler, was apparently prickly, opinionated, and “entirely too much.”
Eloise had yet to do much exploring for herself. Between the kids, sorting through the mess of paperwork her ex-husband had left for her to deal with, and working at Garrison Gardens with her grandfather, it was hard to carve out an hour for herself beyond her early morning walk.
“Will the bride wear a big white dress?” Kirby asked, looking hopeful.
“Hattie?” Grandpa Quincy chuckled. “She’s not one for dress wearing but...maybe. I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
Fortunately—or unfortunately—their family had received an invitation to the event. Which meant she’d have to keep an eye on the kids while she and her grandfather set up the flowers for the ceremony and she’d have to hope they’d behave through the ceremony and reception.
The good news was the ceremony was outdoors. Both the wedding and the reception were to be held under Garrison’s beloved legendary tree, erste Baum. The tree, sometimes called the First Tree, was purported to be the oldest in Texas. Seeing it firsthand, Eloise could believe it. The tree’s canopy was massive, providing shade for a large gathering—like the wedding that would be taking place this weekend.
“Need help, Momma?” Kirby loved flowers. “I can help.”
“Of course you can, Freckles.” Grandpa Quincy nodded.
Kirby smiled broadly, then ate the last bite of chicken.
Grandpa Quincy pointed at her plate. “You did good, Freckles. Ate all your chicken up.”
“Can I have more, Momma?” Kirby asked, holding out her plate.
More? “Of course.” Eloise slid another chicken breast onto her daughter’s plate, cut it into small pieces, then slid the plate back to Kirby.
“Momma... I need you to sign a paper from Miss Ramirez.” Archie pushed his glasses up and glanced her way.
She knew that expression. It was his I’m-in-trouble-please-don’t-be-too-mad face. “Oh?” Miss Ramirez was Archie’s second-grade teacher. Since kindergarten, Archie’s talkative and inquisitive nature had him sitting right next to his teacher’s desk. By the end of the year, Eloise knew his teachers well. He wasn’t a bad kid; it was the opposite. He was charming and well-liked—just like his father—but he was a talker. “What about?”
“Well...you know.” He shrugged, shoving an extra-large forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.
Eloise exchanged a look with her grandfather.
“He was talking,” Kirby said, devouring her chicken. “Again. Lots and lots.”
“Archie.” Eloise set her fork down. “We’ve covered this, hon. There’s a time and a place for talking, right?”
He nodded.
“I know it’s hard and you’re still making friends, but you have to listen to your teacher. It’s disrespectful to talk over her—or interrupt during lessons. When it’s free time or you’re on the playground, talk all you want.” Eloise stopped then. The kids, like her, were still adjusting to their surroundings. And, so far, they were doing well. Archie was talking too much, but it could be worse. At least he was being himself—not clamming up or acting out in a destructive way. It was, in a weird way, a relief that he was his chatty self. “Bring me the paper after dinner and I’ll sign it, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Archie had lost one of his front teeth, giving him a jack-o’-lantern grin. “It’s so hard. Words just sort of...come out. But I’ll try harder, Momma, I promise.”
“Thank you.” She couldn’t resist that grin of his. “Everyone done?” She waited for them to nod. “Archie, go on and pick out your clothes for tomorrow. Kirby, get your nightie and I’ll be in the bathroom to get your bath started in a sec.”
The kids scurried from the room, and Eloise started to clear the table.
“You look tired, El.” Grandpa Quincy stood, helping her carry the plates and cups into the kitchen. “You worry too much. Kirby and Archie are happy little things. You’re doing real good with them, you hear? Just breathe.”
Grandpa Quincy always saw the bright side of things. She tended to be a realist. “Thanks, Grandpa.”
“I swear, little Kirby looks so much like you did at that age.” He kissed her temple. “And I like peas—even if they do look like rabbit poop.” He chuckled, stacking the plates by the sink. “I got this. You go on and get them tucked in and we can watch the news together. Maybe some of that game show, too.”
She smiled up at her grandfather. Grandpa Quincy’s evening routine meant watching the nightly news and the latest episode of Wheel of Fortune that he recorded daily. Now that was her nightly routine, too. “You’re sure?”
He nodded.
“Okay, thanks.” She headed down the hallway to the bathroom. The door was closed but she heard Kirby’s squeal, Archie mumble something, and a cabinet door slam. The two of them were up to something, she just knew it. She took a deep breath and pushed the door wide.
There, on the bathroom floor, was a towel and an empty bottle of Benadryl. A bottle that had been mostly full and should have been locked in the medicine cabinet... Kirby and Archie both spun to face her, their hands behind their backs.
She eyed the empty bottle. “Guys. What happened to the medicine?”
Archie and Kirby exchanged looks. Guilty looks.
Her lungs went tight. “Archie?” she repeated, panic welling.
“I...I drank it.” Kirby spoke quickly. “I did it.”
“You what?” Eloise’s heart slammed to a stop, then kicked into overdrive. This was bad. This was really bad. Kirby was so tiny... “Grandpa,” she called out, crossing to her daughter. “Grandpa, call 911. Tell them to hurry. Kirby drank an entire bottle of Benadryl.” She squatted on the floor, terrified, and tugged her daughter into her arms. Please, hurry. Please.
THERE WAS NOTHING Mike Woodard dreaded more than a call concerning children. Nothing. Now he had pulled up in front of Quincy Green’s garden-like front yard, preparing for the worst. He grabbed his bag, jumped from the ambulance, and ran to the open front door.
“I’m right behind you.” Terri, Mike’s partner, called after him.
Mike nodded, the protocol for an overdose scrolling through his mind. Luckily, it didn’t happen all that often around these parts. But this, a little kid, didn’t always have a happy ending. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, preparing him for what was to come.
“Mikey.” Quincy Green stood in the open front door. “Bathroom.” He pointed down the hall, his expression taut and his pallor gray.
He nodded and ran in the direction Quincy indicated. “EMT.” He pulled on a pair of gloves as he scanned the room.
A young boy sat on the bathroom floor, his face covered with his hands. A young girl was quietly crying while a woman—mom, most likely—wiped the girl’s face with a washcloth.
“She drank a bottle of Benadryl.” The woman didn’t look at him as she held out the bottle. From the rigid posture to the waver in her voice, it was clear the woman was barely holding on. “It was almost full.”
A whole bottle? “How long ago?” Mike moved closer, taking the little girl’s pulse and flashing a penlight in her eyes. So far, all the girl’s vitals were normal.
“Maybe seven minutes?” The woman eased her hold on the little girl. “Her name is Kirby.”
“Kirby.” Mike offered up a smile. “Hey there. I’m here to help you.”
Kirby wasn’t buying it. She leaned into her mother and shook her head. “Momma.”
“It’s okay, Kirby.” The woman patted her back. “We need to do whatever he says, okay? That medicine could make you really sick.”
If this little girl had ingested an entire bottle of Benadryl, things were more dire than that. There was no time to waste.
“But medicine is supposed to make you better.” Kirby’s lower lip wobbled.
“It does.” Mike nodded. “But only when you’re sick. And only a little bit.” He pulled open his bag.
“What do we do?” the woman asked. “What do I do?”
Now wasn’t the time to assign blame to the woman. But he couldn’t help wondering how the kids had access to the medicine. A parent’s top priority should be keeping their children safe. “We need to go for a ride in the ambulance.” He glanced behind him to find his partner, Terri, waiting outside the bathroom with the gurney.
“Of course.” The woman stood, lifting Kirby. “And then?”
Terri headed into the room. “We’ll pump her stomach—”
“Pump my stomach?” Kirby squeaked. “Pump?” The little girl stared at her brother, panicking. “Archie!”
“I did it.” The boy jumped up. “Not Kirby.”
“You did what? You drank the medicine?” Their mother turned, her forehead creasing. “Archie.” Her voice broke. “You have to tell the truth.” She looked back and forth between them. “Both of you. Now.”
Mike frowned. “Kids, this is serious. We need to know exactly what happened. We can’t afford to waste time.” He and Terri exchanged looks.
“I thought it was shampoo.” Archie pointed at the bottle on the counter. “And Grandpa Quincy said he needed to give Dandelion a bath with his special cat medicine shampoo.” He looked over at his sister. “So, me and Kirby wanted to be nice and give Dandelion a bath for Grandpa and we used the medicine to give him a bath.”
Mike was lost.
“We need to get her to the hospital.” Terri was right.
“Let’s go.” Mike gestured to the gurney.
“Wait.” Archie, the boy, grabbed his arm. “Kirby didn’t drink it. Really. Me, neither.” He ran across the room and opened a bathroom cabinet. “See. She doesn’t need to get pumped. She doesn’t.”
“I don’t,” Kirby wailed. “I really don’t.”
Inside the cabinet was the most pathetic-looking cat he’d ever seen. The poor thing was shivering, it’s gray-and-white fur covered in goopy, purple liquid.
Mike frowned, processing the boy’s words. “You washed the cat in Benadryl?” He scratched the back of his neck. This was a first.
The cat let out a pitiful meow.
“It’s medicine.” Kirby sniffled. “Dandelion needs medicine shampoo.”
“Poor Dandelion,” Quincy Green said, peering around the doorframe.
It might have been Mike’s imagination but it sounded like Quincy Green was trying not to laugh.
“You didn’t drink any of it? You’re sure?” Terri asked, hesitant.
“No.” Archie shook his head. “I didn’t. My sister didn’t. We didn’t. Really. We’re sure, aren’t we, Kirby?”
“No way. It tastes nasty.” Kirby stuck out her tongue.
From the puddle of purple-stickiness the cat was sitting in and how saturated the feline was, Mike believed them.
The kids’ mother slumped against the bathroom counter, looking stunned, as tears started streaming down her cheeks. “You two...” All the color drained from her face as she let Kirby go.
“I’m sorry, Momma.” Archie did look sorry.
“Me, too.” Kirby sniffed. “Do I have to have my tummy pumped?”
“Not if you didn’t drink it?” Mike had to be sure.
“Not one drop.” Kirby nodded.
“This isn’t funny. It’s serious business,” the kids’ mom added, her voice breaking.
Both children nodded.
“Promise we didn’t do it, Momma.” Kirby hugged the woman’s leg. “I’m sorry.”
“I’d say they’re telling the truth.” Terri squatted by the open cabinet and was studying the cat. “Might want to give your veterinarian a call, Quincy. Make sure the cat’s going to be okay.”
“Will do. Best see what we can do for Dandelion.” Quincy came into the bathroom. “Come here, sweet girl.” He reached into the cabinet and lifted the cat. Strands of the congealed medicine dripped from the cat to the interior of the cabinet. “You definitely need a bath now.”
Dandelion offered up another pathetic meow.
“We’re sorry, Grandpa,” Archie mumbled.
“You two are going to help Grandpa.” Archie’s mom said. “And clean this up.”
“Yes, Momma.” Archie followed his grandfather from the bathroom.
“Me, too. Me, too. Poor, poor Dandelion.” Kirby ran after them.
“Well...” Mike wasn’t sure what to say. To say he was relieved was an understatement. But it was more than that. Times like this challenged his professionalism. What could have happened tightened his stomach... Snatches of his own childhood surfaced and made things ten times worse. Which didn’t help. He took a deep breath. Tonight had a happy ending. That was a win. That’s what he needed to focus on.
“I’ll put the gurney up and start the paperwork.” Terri was smiling as she pushed the wheeled bed back down the hall.
“I’m sorry to have caused a fuss over nothing.” The woman ran a shaking hand over her face. “I...I panicked.”
“Calling was the right thing to do.” It was. But none of this should have happened to begin with. “I’ve got some papers for you to sign. And...a few pamphlets on how to safely store medicine and poisons in the house so your children won’t have access to it.” He pulled off his gloves.
For the first time, her gaze focused. “Excuse me?”
There was something familiar about the woman—something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Well, ma’am.” He paused, trying to keep his voice even and calm. “The best thing to do is take steps to stop these sorts of things from happening.” He chose his words with care. If he started laying blame at her feet, she’d get defensive and stop listening. But his job wasn’t just to provide life-saving measures, it was also to educate folk. As much as he’d like to think tonight’s scare was lesson enough, he wasn’t going to count on that.
“These sorts of things?” She blinked, her words tight. “You have a pamphlet that prevents kids from washing a cat with Benadryl?”
“No.” He was amused, in spite of himself. “Mostly, it’s about prevention. Accidents can happen, of course, but there are things we can do to reduce the chances.”
There was a moment of strained silence before she said, “I can assure you this has never happened before and it won’t happen again, Mr...”
He’d give her the benefit of the doubt—this time. But he was still leaving the brochures. “Woodard.” He held his hand out. “Mike Woodard.”
Her gaze widened, fixed on his face, before she blinked, drew a deep breath, then shook his hand. “Eloise... Green.” It was a mere whisper. “I—I appreciate your quick response.”
“Eloise?” He swallowed. Little El Bell? He hadn’t thought about her in years... That was after the years it had taken to get over the hurt she’d caused. Now, here she was. And he was reeling.
“Yes... Hi...” She ran a hand over her thick, brown hair. “As you can see, this was all a misunderstanding.”
Right. Business. What had almost happened here tonight. He cleared his throat and said, “I’m glad it played out the way it did.” The kids were fine, that was what mattered most.
Eloise’s kids. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that this was Eloise. The last time he’d seen her, there’d been tears and heartbreak and now...she was here. And he didn’t know how to feel about it. He shouldn’t feel anything—period.
Her gaze, a mossy green he remembered so well, swept over his face. “I do know that this is my fault. And, clearly, you feel the same way. I can see it.” She pointed at his face, her posture stiffening. “Thank you for not denying it.”
She was calling him out? And he was speechless. But, if memory served, she’d always been on the sassy side. In fact, that’s what Quincy had called her back then. Sassy.
“You mentioned something about papers?” Eloise asked, brushing past him and heading down the hall to the front door. “I’m sure you have other people to help... And judge.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared up at him, eyes flashing.
It had been years, but hearing her accuse him of being judgy was like the pot calling the kettle black. All he could do was stare back at her.
“Mikey.” Quincy came down the hall. “Hold up.” He held out his hand. “Thanks for helping out.”
“No problem.” He shook the older man’s hand. “How’s Dandelion?” His gaze darted back to Eloise, who was looking everywhere but him.
“Vet said to keep an eye on her. If she gets groggy, to call again.” He shook his head. “She’s clean—the kids are drying her off. They feel pretty bad. But I know they meant well.” He cleared his throat then. “I feel terrible, El. I thought I’d locked that bottle up. I told you I would and I forgot.”
“Grandpa.” Eloise placed a hand on his arm. “It’s all okay.”
“No, now, it’s not.” Quincy took an unsteady breath. “It’s not. You put in all those locks and hooks and such to keep them safe and I... Well, I need to be more careful with the kids around.”
“It’s okay, Grandpa. Having us underfoot is a big adjustment.” Eloise hugged him. “Tonight was tough for all of us.”
And just like that, Mike felt lower than dirt. Quincy’s words offered a very different viewpoint on the evening’s events. Eloise had done her due diligence as a parent and she was giving her grandfather grace and forgiveness for what could have been a potentially tragic evening.
He’d been quick to pin it all on Eloise, and it left a bad taste in his mouth and a knot in his gut. Immediately blaming her had nothing to do with what happened here tonight and everything to do with his own childhood. Assuming anyone—even Eloise—was like his mother was just plain wrong.
Quincy squeezed her shoulder as he let her go, glancing between Mike and his granddaughter. “I’m guessing you two remember each other?”
Eloise didn’t look his way. “Vaguely.”
Vaguely? If the edge to her voice hadn’t rubbed him the wrong way, he’d have laughed.
Quincy chuckled. “It has been a while. I’d say ten or more years? A lot has happened between then and now.”
It was closer to fifteen years, but he only said, “Isn’t that the truth.”
“Eloise and her kids—my great-grandkids—Kirby and Archie are living with me now.” Quincy beamed as he said this, draping an arm around Eloise’s shoulders. “I’ve got a full house again.”
Mike had heard something about Quincy taking in his grandkids. People in a small town liked to talk—especially about new arrivals. It hadn’t occurred to him that it was Eloise and her kids. He couldn’t help but notice Quincy hadn’t mentioned anything about the kids’ father. Not that it mattered one way or the other. “Welcome back to Garrison.”
She seemed to ignore his greeting. “I’m sure you’re regretting the invitation, Grandpa.”
Quincy chuckled. “Oh now, El. You wouldn’t believe the chaos your mother and uncles got into growing up. Let me tell you, this is nothing.”
“Here.” Terri arrived, a clipboard in hand. “We just need a few signatures.” She handed the clipboard to Eloise, flipping the page for more signatures. “And here.” She flipped to another page. “We’re out of poison control pamphlets, Mike—I looked.” She took the clipboard Eloise offered. With a nod, she headed back to the ambulance.
He didn’t miss the narrow-eyed glare Eloise sent his way.
Quincy scratched his chin. “How about you bring your pamphlets by tomorrow afternoon? Sit on the porch, have some tea, and talk a spell? El, here, makes perfect iced tea.”
Mike heard the slight hiss of Eloise’s indrawn breath. If there’d been any doubt of the woman’s displeasure at her grandfather’s suggestion, one look at her pinched face cleared that right up. But once Quincy Green looked her way, she was all smiles. And what a smile.
Eloise Green had been a pretty girl and now she was a fine-looking woman. “Tomorrow?” Mike found himself nodding. Why was he saying yes? She didn’t want him here. He didn’t want to be here, either. “I should have time to drop them by.”
“Good.” Quincy clapped him on the shoulder. “Maybe you’ll have time for tea, too.”
There was no denying the flash in Eloise’s eyes. “Can’t wait.”
He’d been a jerk tonight, that was true, but any apology stuck in his throat. “I’ll see you then.” Mike gave her a tight smile and headed back to the ambulance. Tomorrow, he’d force himself to apologize and leave well enough alone. Now that he knew Eloise Green was back in Garrison, he could do his best to make sure their paths wouldn’t cross. He was already bracing himself for tomorrow’s visit.
