Embracing Hope (Cowboys of Sagebrush Rose #5)

Chapter Three

Hope stifled a giggle as Isaac settled into the tiny wooden princess chair, grasping the delicate china teacup with his large fingers. It was clear he was new to the whole “tea party” experience, but she truly admired his effort for Marah. Despite his obvious preference for any other activity, he embraced the moment with good humor while making the six-year-old laugh. “I still think it might be a good idea if I sit on the floor,” Isaac said to the little girl who poured “tea” from the china carafe with a big bright daisy painted on the side matching the design on the cups.

“Guests don’t sit on the floor,” Marah said sassily. She was six going on twenty. Hope couldn’t count the number of funny stories Courtney had told her about Marah’s shenanigans at school.

Isaac flicked his gaze to Hope, silently asking for help, but she simply shrugged. He smirked and again shifted uncomfortably in the too-small chair. “Something tells me you’re getting a lot of entertainment out of seeing my discomfort.”

“What makes you say that?” She pretended to sip her tea, lifting her pinky finger for effect.

“Because every time I look at you, you’re giggling in my direction.”

“Do you find that offensive?” She looked at him through the veil of her lashes.

“Payback is hell.” His grin widened.

Hope realized Marah had become very quiet. The little girl had fallen asleep with her cheek lying on the table. “Looks like we bored the princess to sleep.”

“With the princess peacefully sleeping, I'm ready to get off this chair.” He stood up and, just like when he climbed out of the Mustang, he stretched.

“Back issues?”

“On occasion.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” He chuckled.

She stood. “I’m going to carry Marah to her bed.”

Hope hefted the little girl up into her arms much like a heavy sack of potatoes. She stirred a little but went back to sleep when Hope placed her in the twin-sized bed with a headboard shaped like a castle.

Going back into the outer room, she didn’t see Isaac. She searched and found him outside, taking down the old and weathered tire swing.

She stepped out. “I’m sure that was a safety hazard.”

He brought his chin up, nodding. “I found some rope in the garage. I’ll have it back up and as good as new.”

“Do you have kids?” She leaned her back against the tree and watched him.

“Nope,” he said as he threw the new rope over the branch.

“You truly made Marah's day. You impressed Courtney as well.” It was refreshing to see someone who seemed tough take the time to engage with a child and help fix her swing.

“If you don’t mind me asking, where’s Marah’s father?”

“He and Courtney divorced recently. It’s a messy situation and Marah doesn’t get to see her father often.”

Concern etched lines around Isaac’s mouth. “I hate to hear that. I can’t imagine my childhood without my father. He could be firm, but he was also the best man I’ve ever met.”

“Daddy can be a bit much sometimes, but he’s also one of the strongest, kindest men I know.”

Isaac accidentally let the tire slip from his grasp, sending it rolling down the grassy slope. Hope and Isaac raced after it to prevent it from reaching the creek. Just as Isaac caught up, his boot slipped in the mud, sending him tumbling face-first onto the grass. Hope couldn't help but laugh, doubling over as she tried to regain her composure.

“You think this is funny?” Isaac said as he pushed himself to stand.

“Yes, I do,” she said between sobs of laughter.

“I hope you find this funny too.” He scooped her up and swung her over his shoulder as he headed for the creek.

“What are you doing?” She lightly pummeled his back.

“I think you need to cool off.”

“Don’t you dare!” she warned him.

“Or what? You’re going to thrash me with those tiny fists some more, lightweight?” he teased.

“Isaac, let me down.”

He reached the edge of the water and, instead of dropping her into the murky depths, he set her safely on her feet. “You really thought I would, didn’t you?”

“You’re a mess.” She pointed at his muddy clothing. “Come on, let’s finish this swing and then while you’re taking a shower, I’ll throw your shirt into the washer.”

“Wow. That’s very kind of you to want to help me out,” he said from behind her as she headed back to the tree.

“Don’t be too flattered. I’m thinking of the mess you’d make on my car seats.”

His laughter rang out, and she couldn’t help but smile too.

*****

Dex Carter stayed rooted behind the tree along the edge of the woods near the house where he’d once been happy as a husband and a father. He’d found himself here nearly every day since the day he lost his family.

The fairytale was all stolen from him.

He stood still watching as the cowboy fixed the tire swing, the one Dex had put up when he and Courtney learned that she was pregnant. They had been over the moon awaiting their firstborn.

Some other man invaded Dex’s space. Soon, he’d be just a memory.

Someone joined the man. Dex’s fingers curled into fists. Hope Rose.

He harbored an intense hatred for the woman who helped destroy his family. He blamed her for persuading Courtney to divorce him and take Marah away. His wife would have never pursued a separation if that bitch Hope hadn’t stuck her nose where it didn’t belong. All the Roses thought they were high and mighty, better than anyone else in town. They chewed people up and spit them out.

After serving in the Army, Dex was welcomed by old man Rose to Sagebrush Rose Ranch to work as a hand. Two months later, Rose fired Dex due to an incident involving alcohol on the job, blubbering about a “safety hazard.” Fuck that! Dex knew all about safety. He’d served his country and deserved to be treated better. No one believed in second chances these days, not even his wife.

The tire rolled toward the woods, and Dex pressed himself against the rough bark of the tree, holding his breath. Less than twenty feet away, he could hear their footsteps, along with their laughter and playful banter. This stirred something deep within Dex. Anger—something stronger than anger. He wanted to crush something with his bare hands. He wanted the Rose family to pay for what they’d done.

He laid his hand over the pocket of his jacket where his hunting knife was placed. If they found him, he’d have no choice but to retaliate. He wouldn’t go back to jail.

Their footsteps retreated. Dex relaxed and drew a lengthy breath into his lungs. He dropped his hand away from the weapon and reached into the side pocket of his frayed cargo jacket, pulling out the crumpled, folded letter. The thick stationery with the bold court letterhead was now stained and torn from reading it so much. He unfolded the document and smoothed the creases, but it did little good. At the top, in bold letters, read the words, Divorce Decree .

He didn’t need to reread it. He remembered every sentence like the words were tattooed on every brain cell. Knew it by heart. Every sharp line, every jagged angular script, even the typo of his name, so meaningless to the court system that they couldn’t even manage to get his name right. The acid of anger had washed through him so many times that he’d gone numb.

His wife was granted the divorce for irreconcilable differences and full custody of their child. In the fourth paragraph, written in legalese, Dex was granted weekly visits with Marah under supervised visitation. The shame of a judge granting him visitation once a week under the scrutiny of some court-appointed official made Dex sick. For a moment, the numb blanket was pulled back, and anger surfaced like a dull knife eviscerating his guts.

Clearly, the court didn’t understand that he’d never hurt his child. He loved her, and Courtney.

He shoved the useless paper back into the safety of his pocket and sniffed back emotion. Hope and the man had gone back inside. The curtains were pulled on the windows and he wanted a closer look. It’d be dangerous and risky, but Dex couldn’t control the need flowing out of him.

Stepping from his cover, he scanned the quiet neighborhood and took his first steps toward the house. He took a position in the shadows where he wouldn’t be seen from cars passing on the road.

Inside, he could see Marah. She was sitting at the kitchen table eating a snack. His daughter looked happy like she’d been with Dex once—before Courtney ruined his life and took everything wonderful away from him.

It should be Dex playing with Marah. He was her father.

More hatred grew within him over the situation. If Hope hadn’t helped Courtney pay for an expensive attorney, Dex might have had a fighting chance. He might have been able to convince his wife to take a pause on the divorce or at least let him see his daughter. He knew he’d been wrong by drinking while watching Marah but he didn’t hurt her. He knew he’d been wrong when he drove drunk with Marah in the backseat, and he got a DUI. The court system didn’t believe his apology.

As far as he saw things, Hope was the catalyst—she and her father. After Dex lost his job, he had nothing else to do but drink.

He brought out the stainless-steel flask and felt a tug of war inside him. Courtney’s accusations replayed in a constant loop in his head. Accusing him of being an alcoholic and dangerous. Pleading with him to stop drinking. All the arguments cumulated with that last fight when he accidentally pushed her to the floor while she was holding Marah.

Tears filled his eyes as he repeated the scene on a reel inside his head.

Dex guessed he’d been broken as a child, listening to his parents argue, call each other names, and break up every five days only to get back together. He’d been a bitter teenager when he’d signed up for the military, thinking it would save him, but instead, an enemy IED outside of Kuwait left him with a noticeable limp.

He peered through the window. The cowboy was now standing near Marah, showing her a card trick. Dex recognized the man as military. He reeked of special ops. There should be a sense of brotherhood among them, but instead, it filled Dex with disgust. The camaraderie he once felt had dulled down to a memory.

Rolling his shoulders, he eased some of the tension, but not quite enough. Uncapping the flask he brought it to his lips and downed the rest of the whiskey inside. He closed his eyes a moment, relishing the comfort the burn gave him.

Soon, he’d be celebrating when he made the people he hated pay for what they’d put him through.