Mary Gunner loved having her older son home.
Out on the road, riding a slate of bulls every weekend, meant that bad news was always just around the corner. Mary knew the sport well enough to know the possibilities, and they terrified her. So when Cody showed up with his hand in a splint needing two weeks of rest, she was grateful.
Quietly grateful.
Cody wouldn't have it any other way. His anger at her hadn't dimmed from the days after Mike left. Never mind that his blaming her made no sense. The moment he entered the house he looked around, his expression tense.
"Where is he?”
Mary held his eyes for a moment, then she turned toward the stairs and cupped her mouth. "Carl Joseph! Your brother's home.”
The sound of pounding footsteps came in response. “Brother!” the voice bellowed from an upper room.
"I'm down here, buddy!” Cody went to the foot of the stairs and looked up.
“Coming, brother!” Carl Joseph was fifteen now, still attending a special-education program where they were teaching him menial tasks. Most days Mary was grateful for Carl Joseph's Down syndrome. It meant that at least one son would always love her. One son would keep her company the way Cody never did.
Carl Joseph barreled down the stairs and gave Cody a long bear hug. When he pulled back, his eyes danced. “How's the bulls, brother?”
“Well...” Cody held up the hand that bore the cast. “Not so good this weekend.”
“Ooooh!” He touched Cody's cast and shook his head. “You be careful, brother. You be careful.”
Cody chuckled. “I will.” He put his arm around Carl Joseph's neck and led his brother into the next room.
For two weeks straight the two were inseparable. They played checkers and backgammon and watched videotapes of bull riding on TV. The morning after Cody left, Carl Joseph found Mary reading a book in the living room.
“Mom, I have a question.” He came a few steps closer.
Mary held her hand out to him. “What, honey?”
“How come Cody doesn't like you?” Carl Joseph cocked his head, his mouth open. “How come, Mom?”
The question tore at Mary's heart, but it was an honest one, proof that Cody's bad attitude wasn't only her imagination. She cleared her throat, searching for a way to explain the situation. She couldn't mention Mike. Carl Joseph didn't remember his father, and if Mike wanted back into their lives—the way he said he did— she didn't want to taint Carl Joseph's image of him.
“Cody loves me.” Mary bit her lip, fighting tears. “But sometimes his heart doesn't work the same as yours.”
“Brother's heart doesn't work right?” Carl Joseph thought about that for a minute. “You know what I hope?”
Mary slid to the edge of her seat, her eyes damp. The compassion in Carl Joseph was every bit as intense as the hatred in Cody. “What, honey?”
“I hope that Cody's heart will get better, just like his hand.”
Mary hugged her younger son. “So do I, honey.” He couldn't know that's what she'd hoped and prayed for years, what she prayed for even now—that one day Cody would meet someone who would teach him more than horses and rodeos and bull riding. Someone who might teach Cody the most important lesson of all.
How to love.
Cody was back on the tour, riding as if he'd never hurt his hand at all. Yes, he was using a lot of tape, wrapping his hand and forearm tighter than before. But a little pain was nothing. It made the battle that much more intense. Fighting not just the bull, but pain and injuries, too.
He was in second place in the standings, ten points below first despite two missed weekends. Regaining the lead was as sure as morning. His nighttime hours were different, too, fewer beers and women, cleaner, the way they always were after a few weeks with Carl Joseph.
His mother called twice in the next few weeks.
"Your father's been by,” she told him during the first phone call. "Carl Joseph likes him. They played football in the backyard.”
Football? The idea made Cody’s gut ache. Mike Gunner, big former NFL player, loses thirteen years of his kids’ lives and then shows up and tosses a ball around? Like nothing ever happened?
"He’s asking about you, Cody,” she told him the next time. "He wants to watch you ride.”
"Tell him no.” Cody was in the locker room. He dropped to the bench and gripped the edge of it, his voice low so the other cowboys passing in and out wouldn’t hear him. In the background Lynyrd Skynyrd was singing "Sweet Home Alabama” over the arena speakers.
"I won’t do that, Cody.” His mother sounded impatient.
Cody pinched his eyes shut. What was the feeling tearing at him? Hatred, right? More anger and fury? But it didn’t feel like only that. It felt like little-boy sadness, too. A sadness that didn’t make sense because he’d banned it from his heart the day the yellow cab drove away.
"Cody, when can he see you?” His mother sounded tired, as if she knew his answer before he said it.
"Never.” He pursed his lips. "I have nothing to say to him.”
Whatever his mother wanted to accomplish by calling him, the end result was a good one. That weekend and the next, he took first and second, and now he had the lead heading into the final go-round in Houston at the Reliant Center. The barrel racing was under way, and Cody took his spot on the fence, stretching the insides of his legs and the muscles that lined his groin.
As always, he watched Ali’s race. She was every bit as fast as usual, but this time something was wrong; her face was red and puffy. He looked around but no one along the fence looked worried, as if maybe he was the only one who saw that she was in trouble.
He was off the fence, jogging toward the tunnel before she crossed the barrier. He stepped into view just in time to see her hop down from her horse and lower her head between her knees.
She was coughing so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. Cody stared for a minute. Was she sick? Was it asthma? Maybe she was choking. He grabbed a cup of water from a nearby cooler. With no one around, Cody wasn’t sure what to do. He took tentative steps closer until she looked up.
"Ali?” He closed the distance between them and held out the cup.
She hacked again. "Thanks.” She took it and downed it in a single swig. A few more coughs and the redness in her face started to fade. She leaned against her horse, clearly exhausted from the struggle. "I’m okay. I... I guess I have a cold.”
"I guess.” He took a step back. "I’ve never heard anyone cough like that.”
She folded her arms in front of her and stared at him, eyes wide. Then she nodded her chin toward the arena. "Your ride’s coming up.”
"Yeah.” He tipped his hat to her. "Get better.” He trotted off for the chutes, surprised by one thing.
Ali Daniels wasn’t superhuman after all; he’d seen a vulnerable side of her. It was all he could do to shut her image out of his mind while he rode. The first bull that night tripped and fell to his knees, giving Cody a re-ride. He lasted eight on the second. His score wasn’t great, but it was enough to win, and less than half an hour after her coughing episode, Ali Daniels stood next to him in the arena while they both accepted their championship buckles.
They were headed back down the tunnel when Cody fell in beside her. "Hey. wanna go out? Get something to eat?”
Ali hesitated. She met his eyes but only for a few seconds before staring straight ahead. "I can’t; I have plans.”
"Plans?” Cody allowed a smile into his voice. It wasn’t that he doubted her, but she traveled with her mother, and the two of them were in her trailer before ten o’clock every night. What plans could she possibly have?
"Yes, Cody Gunner.” She angled her face, teasing him. Her eyes didn’t look quite right, maybe the cold she was fighting. "I have a hot date, okay?”
Cody wanted to laugh out loud, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know her well enough to assume she was
kidding. Instead he shrugged and winked at her. “Suit yourself.”
He held the door open for her and they headed into the night—her to her mother's trailer and whatever hot date she had that night, and Cody to the nearest bar to meet up with the other cowboys.
But it was another early night for him.
Dinner was good, the beer was flowing, and half a dozen girls made themselves available. But he wasn't interested. No matter what they looked like or how they presented themselves, or what they had to offer, Cody couldn't help but compare them to Ali Daniels.
And since they all fell short, he did the right thing. When he turned the key of his hotel room that night he was by himself, except for the place in his memory filled with the blonde, blue-eyed barrel racer.
A girl whose level of mystery had doubled in a single conversation.