called Cold Coop, aka The Human Iceberg. Jim hated you for leaving like you did, but I always made excuses. I told him you were hurting. When our daughter was born, and you couldn’t be bothered to meet her, I told him you were an integral part of our country’s security, and that I was sure you’d come just as soon as you got leave. When our son was born, and you still didn’t show...” She shook her head and chuckled. “Despite the fact that Peg had told you our happy news on the phone, I assured Jim you must not have received the official birth announcement, otherwise nothing could’ve kept you away. When Jim died, and you still didn’t come home, well, that I chalked up to you being wrapped up in your own grief. But how could you bear knowing all of us were here falling apart? How could you just carry on as if your brother and niece and nephew and father didn’t even matter?”
By this time, Cooper had fully regained his emotions, while Millie seemed to be teetering on the edge. She didn’t bother hiding her tears, and as usual, according to her capsulated version of the past decade and then some, he didn’t bother to care. He sure didn’t extend one iota of effort to provide her the comfort she obviously not only needed, but also deserved.
The woman was a saint, but after his meltdown, he felt empty inside. Like a shell. And so he just stood there. Stoic and still as if she’d been a drill sergeant giving him hell for not shining his shoes.
“What’s wrong with you?” she shrieked. “You’re like a machine—only instead of working, someone flipped your off switch. Peg needed you! I needed you, but you weren’t there!” When she stepped deep into his personal space, pummeling his chest, he stood there and took it. He deserved the worst she could dish out and then some.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said. And he was. But what did she want him to do? Sure, he’d help with his dad and the ranch, but he had no means with which to magically repair their mutually broken past. “Really sorry.”
“S-sorry?” She laughed through her tears then raised her hand to slap him, only he caught her wrist and pulled her close, instinct screaming at him to hold on to her and never let go. This woman was a lifeline to all he’d once held dear. Every bad thing she’d said about him had been true. He was the worst of the worst. Lower than pond scum. For the past twelve years, she’d carried his world, and he’d callously, cruelly let her.
That stopped now.
He had to get a grip. But to do that, he’d need her help.
“I hate you,” she said into his chest while keeping such a tight grip on his T-shirt that it pulled against his back.
“I know...” I hate me. He kissed the crown of her head. “I’m sorry. So crazy, freakin’ sorry. But I’m back, and everything’s going to be okay. I promise.” With every breath of my being, I promise, Millie.
“I want to believe you.” She sagged against him until he held the bulk of her weight just to keep her from crumpling to the floor. “But...”
She didn’t have to finish her sentence for him to know what she’d been about to say. That of course she wanted to believe him, but when it came to his family, he’d dropped the proverbial ball so many times, it’d shattered.
“Mom? Are you alive?”
Millie cautiously opened her tear-swollen eyes to find her son standing at the head of her bed. Though J.J.’s expression read concerned, his red snowsuit and Power Ranger hat and gloves read Snow Day.
“Cool! Since you are alive, can I go build a fort?”
She groaned. “Honey, what time is it? And did you do your chores?” On weekends and any other time they didn’t have school, the kids were in charge of egg collecting and cleaning the litter box—not that they often saw the orange tabby named Cheetah, who mostly preferred hiding behind the dining room’s half-dead ficus.
“Me and LeeAnn tried doing chores, but Uncle Coop already did ’em.”
She sat up in the bed. “Even the cat box?”
“Well...” J.J. dropped his gaze in the telltale sign of a fib. “Since he made breakfast for me and Lee and Grandpa, I bet he did that and checked on the chickens, too.”
“Uh-huh...” She grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed, then slipped her feet out from under the covers and into house shoes. The home had been built in 1905, meaning the woodstove and a few space heaters were all they had for heat. On many mornings, she’d woken to air cold enough to see her breath. Thankfully, this wasn’t one. “Come on,” she said to her son after switching off the valiantly humming space heater then shrugging into her robe and cinching the belt. “Let’s see what’s going on.”
“Okay—” J.J. took her hand “—but we’d have more fun if we just went outside and built a fort.”
“Why’s that?” she asked with trepidation. To say the previous night had been rocky would be the understatement of the century. She and Cooper’s uncomfortable scene had ended with her dashing upstairs and slamming her door. Not only had she been saddened and infuriated by her brother-in-law, but the fact that she’d then sought comfort from him as well had all been too much to bear. For the first time in recent memory, she’d cried herself to sleep. But she didn’t have time for such folly. She had Clint and her children to care for—not to mention this godforsaken ranch. Most winter mornings, she woke wishing herself a million miles away. Then came spring, and along with the first daffodils, up rose her indefatigable hope.
“Well—” on the way down the stairs, J.J. wiped his runny nose on his coat sleeve “—Lee’s having a fight with Uncle Cooper, and Grandpa’s been making a lot of scary noises.”
Swell...
From the base of the stairs, raised voices could clearly be heard.
“Grandpa doesn’t like you! Leave him alone!”
“Doesn’t matter if he likes me or not. He just needs to quit being a stubborn old mule and eat.”
Never had Millie more understood the meaning of being careful what she wished for. She’d long believed Cooper’s return would be the answer to her every prayer, but apparently, she couldn’t have been more wrong.
She hastened her pace only to find herself in the middle of even more chaos than the night before.
Cooper sat calmly on the edge of his father’s bed, doing an admirable job of trying to feed him what she guessed from the beige splatters dotting his quilts, the floor and walls was oatmeal. With each new spoonful, he used his good arm to swat at his son.
“Gwet aut!” Clint hollered.
Initially, the shock of his volume took Millie aback, but then the significance of what’d just happened sank in. “Clint, you spoke!” She approached the bed and gestured for Cooper to hand her the oatmeal bowl. “That was awesome. Your speech therapist will be thrilled.”
“I’m happy for you, Grandpa!” J.J. hugged Clint’s clean arm.
“See, Dad?” Cooper took a damp dishrag from the rolling tray table and wiped cereal clumps from his father’s red flannel pajama top. “No matter how much you hate me being here, I’m technically good for you.”
“Arggghh!”
“What?” Cooper prompted his father. “I didn’t quite catch that. Mind repeating?”
“Mom, make him stop,” LeeAnn begged from the foot of the bed.
“Aigh ate uuu!”
“Mom, please...”
“What’s that, old man?” Cooper taunted. “You hate me? Good, because right about now, I’m not exactly feeling warm and fuzzy toward you.” He tapped his temple. “Even after all this