Page 65 of The Cowboy's Second Chance Bride

I thought I’d seen blood on his face. We looked at each other, and I bolted toward the barn. I stopped briefly to wait for her, but she waved me on. When I got into the barn, Rod was on the hay bales where we’d sat the night before. He was crying.

I sat down next to him, and he turned away. I didn’t know what to say. This felt more like a Sabrina situation than one I could deal with. So I sat next to him and let him cry.

She walked in a few minutes later, eyed us both, then took a seat on Rod’s other side and started rubbing his back. He flinched at first but settled when she moved from stroking his back to his head.

He was wearing a flannel shirt in muted fall colors, so the blood on the sleeve wasn’t hard to miss. Neither was the tear at the shoulder. Who does this to a seven-year-old, and if it’s another kid his age, what the actual fuck is wrong with people?

“Did I ever tell you my dad was a professional gambler?” Her voice was soft and soothing. She didn’t wait for him to say anything. “After my mom died, we moved around some. I think it was hard for my dad to stay in one place because then he would think about her. We moved to this small town in Texas called Brewster. Cori is from there.” She looked at me. She was telling us both the story. “My dad always liked high-stakes games, but after my mom died, he avoided them, like maybe they reminded him of her, or maybe he thought his luck had run out or something. He never said. In this town, there was this really mean girl named Cami. I think she was around my age. Her dad was one of the wealthy guys in town. Big fish in a small pond.”

Rod’s sobs had subsided.

Sabrina continued to soothe him. “She was really mean, and I hated her guts. She was always saying terrible things to us, like how Cori’s teeth were ugly and made her look like a crazy rabbit. This was before she got braces. Or how it must be hard to know how to be a girl with no mother around. It was like she knew what would hurt the most. I wanted to smack her in the face.”

Rod picked up his head. The tears had streaked a path on his dirt-and-sand-covered face. His upper lip was busted, and he had the beginnings of a bruise on his right cheek. “Did you?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t slap her. I clocked her upside the head with my book bag. She’d pushed me too far that day. She said terrible things about why my mom died. And to this day, I can’t even bring myself to repeat them even though I know she was wrong. Just pointing out the fact that my mom was gone was terrible enough.”

“He said my dad left because he couldn’t look at me. That I was the reason why my mom was dead.” Fresh tears ran down his face.

Rod’s mom had died in childbirth.

“When he said all that, what did you do?” I asked.

“Nothing at first. I tried to walk away because my dad says it takes more courage to do that than to fight.”

“But…?”

“But he followed me and wouldn’t shut up, so I just turned around and charged at him like a bull. I knocked him down. Then I hit him.”

Sabrina scooped him up and tucked him into her lap. “You know that’s not true, right? About your mom and your dad.”

“He’s not here, is he?”

Rod’s statement was too mature for a kid his age. When I was seven and my dad would let me visit, I’d spend at least the first twenty-four hours trying to be the perfect son—a solid day of me trying to win his love and affection before the anger and rejection set in. It was a wonder I hadn’t gotten into more fights.

“Do you think your dad loves you, Rod?” Sabrina asked.

He nodded. “I guess. It’s hard when he’s not here.” He moved his hands to his lap, and I saw that his thumb was swollen.

“That’s all you have to know. Hold on to that. Who knows why he’s not here right now? Only he can tell us, and maybe he doesn’t even know. Being an adult is hard too. Mrs. Claudia says he loves you, and as we know, Mrs. Claudia never lies.”

I pointed to his hand. “What happened here?”

“I tried to punch him.”

I was not one for violence. My whole job was to prevent it the best we could. But I was in favor of protection, and that started with people protecting themselves.

“With your thumb tucked into your fist?” I asked.

Rod nodded.

I stood and scooped him up. “Come on. Let’s go inside and get you cleaned up and put some ice on that hand. Then I’m going to show you how to punch. Never tuck your thumb in your fist. Ever.”

Rod nodded.

“But I think you know that now,” I said.

“Is punching something we need to learn?” Sabrina stood too.

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