Cowboy Up (Coming Home #3)

Everyone laughs when I lean back in my chair and shut my mouth. Even being the butt of their laughter, I don’t feel the old feelings of nervous unease. Not now. All I feel is contentment so deep in my bones I don’t think I’ll ever be afraid of my own shadow again.

I’m finally living a life free of trepidation and wild with adoration. Who would’ve thought that one night with a dark cowboy would heal my soul of fear?

I’m still riding the high of having my own space thirty minutes later when we leave the restaurant, Clayton and I following the other two couples. His arm is over my shoulders, pressing me tight to his side as we walk. I have one behind his back and one resting against his abs. When we stop next to his truck, I lift the hand off his stomach and bring it to his neck, pulling him down and pressing my mouth to his. He doesn’t pause, deepening our kiss instantly. I hear the others talking as they move to their vehicles, but don’t pull away. When Clayton turns us and moves my front to press more firmly against his, with both his hands on my bottom, I smile against his mouth and lift my head to look up at him.

“What was that for?” he asks, his voice thick with the same pleasure I feel shooting through me.

“Thank you,” I answer simply.

His expression changes into one that makes my heart pick up speed. He’s gazing down at me like I just gave him the world in the palm of my hand. His eyes are shining bright, the swirls of green so luminous that they look like the clearest emerald stone. His whole face is smiling. One hand leaves my butt, grabs the hand not holding his neck, and pulls it to his chest. His heartbeat hits my palm with a frantic tempo as his gaze holds mine.

I open my mouth to give him every last piece of me, but before I can, the magical moment is shattered. I hear my name called in a vile tone that belongs to one woman and one woman alone. Only unlike the last time, I don’t feel the same panic that had me bolting—not with Clayton’s arms safely enveloping me.

“Well, well, looks like some things never change. Left town a whore and come back as one. At least you’re movin’ up in the world now that you’ve wrangled a Davis man.”

I can hear the slur in her voice, but I don’t let that excuse her behavior. She’d say the same thing if she were sober.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Clayton seethes angrily.

“I’m talkin’ to my daughter, not you.”

“No, you’re talkin’ to my Caroline, not yours. She isn’t anything to you.”

Since I haven’t turned yet, I see Quinn and Leighton with their husbands gaping at the scene my mother is creating. When I look up at Clayton, his rage making the muscles in his jaw clench and jump, I frame his face in my hands and force him to look away from Misty Michaels.

“I need to do this without you actin’ like my shield, honey.” I see the refusal on the tip of his tongue but shake my head before he can voice it. “I need this to finally move on.”

His chest swells with a deep breath and I know it costs him, but he nods sharply. I turn, his grip only loosening enough to allow me to face her before tightening again. He’ll give me his silence and allow me to fight my own battle here, but that doesn’t mean he’s won’t make his support known.

I address her in a strong and clear voice. “What do you want?”

She sneers at me, teeth bared, making her weathered face look as evil as I know her to be. “That’s no way to speak to your mother.”

“You’re right,” I agree. “But you stopped bein’ that a long time ago. So I’ll ask you again, Misty. What do you want?”

Her head jerks back as her scowl deepens. “You little ungrateful bitch!”

Clayton’s arm spasms, and I know he’s close to losing his mind. I reach behind and pat his thigh. I can see a small crowd forming near the restaurant’s entrance, but I don’t care that people are openly gawking. I’m not going back to the woman who was afraid of what they thought. I’m not the one in the wrong here.

“I’m waiting. Say what you need to, but know this is the only chance I’ll allow you the freedom of doin’ so.”

“I shoulda had the doctor suck you outta me the second he told me I was pregnant. Now I’m stuck with my whore daughter and her disrespectful tongue. You should be thankin’ me for keepin’ you.”

I lean my head against Clayton’s chest and laugh. “You have some nerve callin’ me a whore when you can’t even recall who knocked you up in the first place.” I lower my voice, not wanting the whole town to know by morning what I say next. “I’ve been with two men in my life, Misty. One who almost broke me because I was naive enough to think he could follow through on his promise to help me get away, and one who healed me after the first did his best to ruin what you hadn’t already. Seein’ that the latter is also goin’ to be the last man I give myself to, I’d say I’m pretty dadgum close to sainthood. You want to believe I’m a whore, then you do so, but when I crawl into bed at night with the man I love with every fiber of my bein’, I’m gonna do that knowin’ that my life is finally perfect and your opinion no longer matters.”

I watch the woman who gave birth to me, the same one who never gave me any love afterward, sputter in shock. I’ve never spoken back to her. I didn’t when I was growing up, still under the impression that I wanted and needed her love. I didn’t when I was a teenager, seeking out the wrong company in an attempt to fill the void she created. And I didn’t when I begged her to save me. I carried the burden I felt with her inability to care about me for nearly thirty years, but no more. Never again.

“Do me a favor,” I finally say when she continues to look confused that I’m not breaking under her verbal abuse. “Pretend you had that abortion. When you see me, Clayton, or anyone else in our family, act like we’re invisible. Look right through us, Misty, because we’re goin’ to do the same to you.”

I turn awkwardly in Clayton’s stiff grasp and hug my arms around him. I can feel the power of his fury in the tension-filled muscles that are flexed hard. I ignore her, hoping she’ll just leave. With my cheek against his chest, I hear her attempt to speak up.

“Shut your goddamn mouth.” Clayton rumbles venom-filled words that seem to explode from deep in his gut. “You don’t want to find out what happens if you continue this, Misty. Don’t fuck with me, because I will end you if you even so much think about my Caroline.”

I squeeze him tighter, not in fear or panic over the confrontation with the woman who used to make me feel those things, but to reassure him that I’m fine. When he finally relaxes his body slightly, I know she’s left. I keep hugging him for another second until I feel a little more tension leave his body—only then do I look up at him.

“It feels good to forget,” I whisper, knowing he understands what I’m saying when his anger vanishes instantly. I’d thought he was speaking out of his ear when he explained how he moved on from his own mama’s hurt, but not anymore. She’ll never deserve my forgiveness, so I’m going to forget her instead—just like he did his.