Brenda Minton - Jenna's Cowboy Hero

“Okay, as long as we understand each other.” Clint grabbed a box and walked out of the barn. “I’ll get back to you on the horses.”

“Thanks.” Adam watched Clint Cameron drive away and then he turned toward the two-story farmhouse, a small square of a house with a steep, pitched roof. The boys were playing in the front yard and a sprinkler sprayed a small patch of garden. The few trees were tall and branched out, shading the house, a few branches brushing the roof.

The boys. He couldn’t remember their names, and he’d had dinner with them yesterday. He walked in the direction of the house, thinking about their names, and not thinking about why he was still here. Timmy and David. He remembered as he walked up to them.

He smiled when the bigger boy looked up, a suspicious look on a dirt-smudged face and gray eyes like his uncle Clint’s. The little boy, wearing shorts, T-shirt and flip-flops, sat back on his heels. He picked up his toy soldiers and nudged his other brother.

Adam knew their names, but couldn’t remember which was which. “One of you is Timmy, the other is David.”

“I’m David.” The one who sucked his thumb. The little guy wouldn’t look up.

“I’m Timmy.” The bolder of the two. “And we still don’t talk to strangers.”

It was a long way down to the ground. Adam sighed and then he squatted. “I’m not really a stranger now. Aren’t we sort of friends?”

David looked up, gray eyes curious. “Are you friends with my mom?”

“I guess.”

“Did you know her in the army?” The little guy pushed his soldiers through the dirt. “Were you there?”

“No, I wasn’t in the army.”

He hadn’t known Jenna was in the army. But did he ask little boys about their mother, and about the military? He didn’t think so.

“She was in Iraq.” Timmy solved the problem of Adam asking for more information.

“That’s pretty amazing.” More amazing than he could imagine. She wasn’t much bigger than her boys, but he had pegged her right. She was tough. She had something that so many women he’d met lately didn’t have. She had something…

“Boys, time to come in for supper.”

She had two boys and no interest in him.

Adam stood and turned. She was standing on the porch, leaning on a cane. He didn’t know what to do. Had she heard their conversation? Her face was a little pink and she avoided looking at him.

He should go. He shouldn’t get involved. He didn’t ask the women in his life if they were okay. He didn’t worry that they looked more wounded emotionally than physically. He didn’t delve into their private lives.

He had easy relationships without connecting because if he didn’t connect, he didn’t get used. The girl in high school, Amy, had used him against Clint. She had used them both for her own games that he still didn’t understand. As much as he had lived life, he still didn’t always get it. Maybe because his childhood and teen years had been spent on the football field guided by his dad, and without a lot of social interaction off the field.

“Do you want to stay for supper?” It was Timmy, holding a hand out to him, not Jenna offering the invitation.

“I should go.” He looked down at the little guy and tried to remember when he’d last had supper cooked in a farmhouse and eaten at an oak table.

“You can stay.” Jenna walked onto the porch, her brown hair pulled back in an unruly ponytail. “I have plenty. It’s nothing fancy.”

He pushed his hat back and stared up at her, a country girl in jeans and sneakers. He resented Billy for putting him in this position and Will for telling him to stay. Because this felt like home. And he hadn’t been home in a long time.

It had been so long that he’d forgotten how it felt, that it felt good here, and safe.

“Adam?”

“I shouldn’t…”

“What, shouldn’t eat? Are you afraid it’ll ruin your boyish figure to eat fried chicken?”

“Fried chicken, you say?” His stomach growled. “I think I might have to stay.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had fried chicken. Or the last time he’d known a woman that cooked fried chicken.

Timmy pulled his hand, leading him up the stairs. Jenna limped back into the house. He followed her slow pace, telling himself that questions weren’t allowed.

He had rules about women, rules that included not asking questions, not getting personal. Because he knew how much it hurt to be used, to be fooled. But he couldn’t admit that, because he was Adam Mackenzie, he could take a hit and keep going.

“What can I do?” He pulled off his hat and hung it on a nail next to the back door.

Jenna turned, her face flushed. “Pour the tea? I have glasses with ice waiting in the fridge.”

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