The Cowboy's Lesson in Love Read online

  On a few occasions Ryan would try to have a conversation with his father, asking him questions or talking about something that had happened in school. Clint’s responses usually came in the form of a grunt, or a monosyllabic answer that really said nothing at all.

  It was clear that Clint didn’t know how to talk to his son, or to people in general, for that matter. The wounds that Susan had left in his heart had cut unimaginably deep and refused to heal. Communication with Roy was generally about the ranch, while his communication with Lucia in regards to Ryan was usually kept to a basic minimum.

  In essence, to the adults who dealt with him it was evident that Clint Washburn was in a prison of his own making. The fact that the prison had no visible walls made no difference.

  No matter where he went, the prison he was in went with him.

  This particular morning, when Ryan walked back into the kitchen after his father had rejected his offer to help with the horses, Lucia all but pounced on him.

  “Where did you run off to?” she asked. The housekeeper, Lucia Ortiz, had made a clean sweep through the house already, looking for the boy who had been placed in her care from the time he was one year old. “If we don’t leave for school right now, we’re going to be late. Let’s go.”

  Small, thin shoulders rose and fell as the boy followed Lucia out of the house to where her twelve-year-old car was waiting.

  “I thought I’d help Dad with the horses,” Ryan said in a small voice.

  Lucia gave the boy a long look. “Did he ask for your help?” she asked, getting in behind the steering wheel.

  Ryan scrambled into the passenger seat, then settled in. He buckled up before answering because he knew that was the proper thing to do.

  “No,” he murmured.

  “Then why did you offer?” Lucia asked, talking to him the way she would to an adult rather than a child. The boy was going through so much; she didn’t want to add to that by making him feel that he was being looked down upon. “You know your father has his own way of doing things. Besides, he has Jake and Roy helping him.”

  Ryan seemed to sink farther into his seat. His voice grew smaller. “That’s what he said.”

  Lucia started up the car. It was getting late and if they didn’t leave now, they really were going to be late. Glancing at the boy’s expression, she could feel her heart going out to him. There were times that observing the awkwardness between father and son when they interacted was almost too painful.

  “See,” Lucia said, doing her best to sound cheerful. “You need to wait until he asks.”

  Ryan pressed his lips together, staring straight ahead. And then he raised his eyes to his ally. “What did I do, Lucia?”

  “Do?” she questioned, not really sure what the boy was asking her.

  Ryan nodded. “What did I do to make my father hate me?”

  She was tempted to pull over and take the boy into her arms, but she knew that he wouldn’t welcome that. He wanted to be treated like an adult, so she did her best to oblige. “Oh, hijo, he doesn’t hate you.”

  “Well, he doesn’t like me,” Ryan insisted, hopelessness echoing in his voice.

  “It’s not that,” Lucia insisted. “Your father just doesn’t know how to talk to a little boy.” Or to anyone else, she added silently.

  “You do,” Ryan said with feeling. “Can’t you teach him?”

  Lucia let her true feelings out for a moment. “Oh, hijo, if I only could. But your father is not the kind of man who would allow himself to be taught by anyone. He doesn’t like to admit that he’s wrong. He is a very, very sad man.”

  The expression on Ryan’s face was equally sad. “Because my mother left. I know.”

  Lucia looked at the eight-year-old sharply, caught off guard by his response. “Who told you that?” she asked.

  “Nobody,” he answered truthfully. “I heard Jake and Uncle Roy talking about my mother, about how everything would have been different if she had stayed with my dad.” The look on Ryan’s face was all earnestness as he asked, “Did she go because of me? Is that why Dad doesn’t like me?”

  Not for the first time, Lucia had a strong desire to box her employer’s ears. “Oh no, Ryan, no. She didn’t leave because of you. Your mother left because she didn’t want to live on the ranch. She wanted something more exciting in her life.”

  “More exciting than horses?” Ryan questioned, mystified that anyone could feel that way. He loved the horses as well as the cattle. Uncle Roy had taught him how to ride when he was barely old enough to walk. The horse had actually been a pony at the time, but it still counted as far as Ryan was concerned. He had loved being on a horse ever since that day.

  Lucia looked at him sympathetically. “I’m afraid so.”

  Ryan just couldn’t understand. “But what could be more exciting?” he asked, puzzled.

  “That was what your mother wanted to find out.” Lucia flashed a smile in the boy’s direction. “She didn’t realize that she was leaving behind the most exciting part of her life.”

  Ryan’s eyebrows disappeared beneath the hair hanging over his forehead. “Dad?” he questioned.

  Lucia bit back a laugh. The boy was absolutely and sweetly unassuming. “No, you.”

  Ryan frowned at the answer. He stared at the tips of his boots, waving his feet back and forth slightly. “I’m not exciting.”

  “Oh, but you are,” Lucia assured him. “And you’re only going to get more exciting the more you learn. For that,” she pointed out, “I’m afraid that you’re going to have to go to school. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

  Ryan sighed and then nodded. “I guess so.”

  The housekeeper caught the hitch in his voice. “Ryan, you’re not having any trouble at school, are you?” she asked, peering at his face.

  Ryan shook his head. “No.”

  “None of the kids are picking on you, are they?” Lucia asked. “You can tell me if they are.”

  “No,” he answered, then added quietly, “None of the kids even know I’m there.”

  Lucia tried something else. “How about your teacher? Do you like her?”

  “Yes, I guess so.” He shrugged again, then modified his answer. “She’s okay.”

  Because she was trying to get the boy to open up to her, Lucia tried to encourage him to keep talking. “Why don’t you tell me about her?”

  Looking slightly bewildered, Ryan asked, “What do you want to know?”

  Lucia thought for a moment. “Well, to begin with, what’s your teacher’s name?”

  For the first time that morning, possibly that week, Lucia heard the small boy giggle. It was a charming sound, like a boy who adores his teacher.

  He grinned as he answered, “Her name is Ms. Chee. She is Native American and used to live right here in Forever when she was a little girl.”

  “On the reservation?” Lucia asked the boy.

  Ryan thought for a moment, as if checking the facts he had stored in his head. And then he shook his head. “No, she said she used to live in a house on the skirts of town.”

  “Outskirts?” Lucia tactfully suggested.

  Ryan’s small, angular face lit up. “Yeah, that’s it. Outskirts. That’s kind of a funny word.”

  “Yes, it is,” Lucia readily agreed. She’d heard that the new second/third grade teacher had moved into a house in town. “Did Ms. Chee say why she didn’t live there anymore?”

  Ryan thought for a moment, then remembered. “Oh, yeah. She said when she came back to Forever, she found out that the house burned down a few years ago. She was sad when she talked about it.”

  Lucia tried to remember if she recalled hearing anything about a fire taking place near the town. And then a vague memory nudged her brain.

  “Was Ms. Chee talking about the old Stewart house?” She remembered that the house
had been empty for a number of years before a squatter had accidentally set fire to it while trying to keep warm. The wooden structure had gone up in no time flat. By the time the fire brigade had arrived, there was nothing really left to save.

  Ryan nodded. “Uh-huh.” He could see his school coming into view up ahead. Growing antsy, he shifted in his seat and began to move his feet back and forth again. “I think so.”

  Now that she had him talking, Lucia was loath to stop him. “What else did your teacher tell you?”

  “She didn’t tell me. She told the class,” Ryan corrected her.

  Lucia had noticed that the boy was very careful about making sure that all his facts were precisely stated. She nodded, accepting the revised narrative.

  “Did Ms. Chee say anything else to the class?”

  “She said lots of stuff,” Ryan replied honestly. “She’s the teacher.”

  Lucia tried not to laugh. “I meant anything more personal. Something about herself.”

  Ryan thought for a moment. “Just that she liked teaching.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing.” Lucia stopped the car right before the school’s doors. “Now, go in and learn something.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ryan replied dutifully as he slid out of the passenger seat and then closed the car door behind him.

  Lucia watched him square his small shoulders before heading to the school’s front door. She shook her head and then restarted the vehicle.

  The boy had a lot of weight on his shoulders for one so young, she thought. He needed his father. She only wished she could make his father understand that.

  Lucia blew out a breath as she began to drive back to the ranch. Maybe someday, she thought. Hopefully, before it was too late.

  Chapter Two

  Wynona smiled as she watched the children in her combined second/third grade class come trooping into the room. Seeing their bright, smiling faces as they walked in warmed her heart. It was like watching unharnessed energy entering.

  Looking back, it was hard for her to believe that these same little people could have actually struck fear into her heart just a little more than a month ago. On the plus side, that feeling had passed quickly, vanishing like a vapor within the first few hours of the first day.

  It was true what they said, Wynona thought. Kids could smell fear. Conversely, they could also detect when someone had an affinity for them, when that same someone really enjoyed their company and wasn’t just pretending that they did.

  Kids were a lot smarter than they were given credit for.

  Her own class quickly realized that she was the genuine article. That she wasn’t just saying that she cared about them; she really did. And when she told them that she wanted to make learning fun for them, they believed her, even though a few of them, mainly the older ones, had rolled their eyes and groaned a little.

  Instead of calling those students out, Wynona sincerely asked them how she could make the experience more enjoyable for them.

  Thanks to her approach, within a few days Wynona had a classroom full of students who looked forward to coming to school every day.

  But as with everything, Wynona saw that there was an exception. One of her students behaved differently than the others. Ryan Washburn didn’t seem as if he was having any fun.

  Covertly observing him, she saw that he acted far more introverted than the other students. Whenever her class was on the playground, unless she deliberately goaded Ryan into participating with the rest of the class, the boy would quietly keep to himself, watching the other students instead of joining in whatever game they were all playing.

  After watching him for a month, she had to admit that Ryan Washburn worried her. When she talked to him, he was polite, respectful, but there was no question that he was still removed. The calls she’d placed to his home—apparently, there was only a father in the picture—had gone unanswered.

  They were almost five weeks into the school year and she had placed four calls to the man. The man whose deep, rumbling voice she heard on his answering machine hadn’t called back once, not even to leave a message. She was going to give the man a couple more days, she promised herself, and then...

  And then she was going to have to try something a little more to the point, Wynona decided.

  “Good morning, class,” she said cheerfully as the last student, a dark-eyed girl named Tracey, came in. Wynona closed the door behind her.

  “Good morning, Ms. Chee,” her students chorused back, their voices swelling and filling the room rather than sounding singsongy the way they had the first day of class after she had introduced herself.

  Instead of sitting down at her desk, Wynona moved around to stand in front of it. She leaned her hip against the edge of the desk, assuming a comfortable position. Her eyes scanned the various students around the room. She was looking at a sea of upturned, smiling faces—all except for Ryan.

  “Did you have a good weekend?” she asked them.

  Some heads bobbed up and down while some of the more loquacious students in the class spoke up, answering her question with a resounding “Yes!”

  Wynona slanted a look at Ryan. He’d neither nodded nor responded verbally. Instead, he just remained silent.

  She hoped to be able to draw the boy out by trying to get her students to make their answers a little more specific.

  “So, what did everybody do this weekend?” As some of the children began to respond, Wynona held her hand up, stopping the flow of raised voices blending in dissonance. “Why don’t we go around the room and you can each tell the class what made this weekend special for you? Ian, would you like to start us off?” she asked, calling on the self-proclaimed class clown.

  Ian, who at nine was already taller than everyone else in the class, was more than happy to oblige.

  Wynona made sure to get her students to keep their answers short, or in Ian’s case, at least under five minutes. She was careful to move sporadically around the room allowing enough children to answer first so that Ryan would feel comfortable when it came to be his turn, or at least not uncomfortable, she amended. She didn’t want the boy to feel that her attention was focused on him, even though in this case, it actually was.

  After six children had each told the class what special thing they had done over the weekend, Wynona turned toward the boy who was the real reason behind this impromptu exercise.

  “Ryan, what did you do that was fun this weekend?” she asked him.

  When the boy looked up at her, she was struck by the thought that he resembled a deer that had been caught in headlights.

  After a prolonged awkward silence, Ryan finally answered. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” she repeated, searching for a way to coax more words out of Ryan. “You must have done something,” she said. When he said nothing in response, she tried again. “What did you do when you got up on Saturday morning?”

  “I had breakfast,” Ryan replied quietly.

  There was some snickering from a couple of the students. Wynona immediately waved them into silence. “That’s a perfectly good answer, Ryan. Everyone needs to take in a source of good fuel so that they’ll have energy to do things properly. What did you do after you finished breakfast?” she asked patiently.

  Ryan licked his lips nervously. “Chores,” he finally answered.

  “I’m sure your dad appreciated that you did those chores,” Wynona told him with feeling. She looked at him encouragingly. “Anything else?” she coaxed.

  The boy thought for a moment, as if trying to remember what it was that he did next. And then he finally mumbled, “I went for a ride on Nugget.” Exhaling a breath, he stared down at the floor.

  “Is Nugget your horse?” Wynona asked, hoping that might get him to talk a little more.

  This time, instead of saying anything verbal, Ryan nodded.

  Ther
e was color rising in his cheeks and Wynona realized that unlike the other children who all vied for her attention and were eager to talk, the attention she was giving Ryan just embarrassed him.

  Wynona quickly put an end to his discomfort. “Well, that sounds like a really fun thing to do,” she told him. “I loved going for a ride on my horse when I was your age. But I had to share Skyball with my cousin. Skyball was an old, abandoned horse that someone had left to die, but we saved it.” She remembered that as one of the highlights of her less-than-happy childhood. Looking back at Ryan, she smiled at him. “Thank you for sharing that, Ryan. Rachel—” turning, she called out to another student “—how about you? What did you do this weekend?”

  Rachel was more than happy to share the events of her weekend with the class.

  As Rachel began her lively narrative, Wynona glanced back in Ryan’s direction. She watched the boy almost physically withdraw into himself.

  This wasn’t right. She had to do something about it. Wynona was more determined than ever to get hold of Ryan’s father and talk to the man. She wanted to make sure that Washburn was aware of the boy’s shyness so they could work together in an effort to do something about it. She also wanted to make sure that Ryan’s behavior wasn’t the result of some sort of a problem that was going on at home.

  * * *

  When the recess bell rang and her class all but raced outdoors to immerse themselves in playing games they had created, Wynona quietly drew Ryan aside and asked if she could talk to him.

  Instead of asking his teacher if he had done something wrong, or why he was being singled out, Ryan merely stood to the side and silently waited for her to begin talking.

  She wanted to get him to relax, but she knew that wasn’t going to be easy.

  “Ryan, why don’t you come and sit over here?” she suggested, pointing to a desk that was right at the front of the room.