Cowboy canter, p.1
Cowboy Canter, page 1
Cowboy Canter
Sandra Kyle
Published by Sandra Kyle, 2022.
Cowboy Canter
By Sandra Kyle
Copyright 2022 Sandra Kyle
Editor: Devin Govaere
Cover Art: Sweet ‘N Spicy Designs
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
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Chapter 1
Stereotypes. Why did they have to be so stereotypically right sometimes?
There Diana was, sitting on a deck over Baltimore Harbor, waiting to feast on Maryland steamed crabs. With her Maryland clan. Who loved steamed crabs.
Mallets mashed. Shells shattered. Butter, beer, and Old Bay seasoning veiled the saltwater smell of the harbor. Diana’s five-year-old niece, Laurie, sat beside her on the bench. The rhythmic swipe of a tiny sneakered foot batted into Diana’s shin under the table. Diana’s younger stepsister, Miranda, set a small container of cereal in front of her daughter to nibble on as everyone waited for lunch to arrive.
Large red deck umbrellas protected the scavenger-like diners from the noonday sun. It wasn’t a good crab feast if your fingers weren’t sore afterwards from all the picking and nicks one got from digging out all that meat. At least that was what most of Diana’s Maryland buddies always told her.
Diana had always been the odd one that would order chicken or a fillet of some fish at a crab place. Even when she knew she’d be done an hour before the rest and have to sit and watch the crustacean massacre. Well, it would be her and Laurie this time. She was in good company today. I have the culinary willingness of a five-year-old sometimes.
“So, when are we going to meet the new boyfriend?” Diana’s stepfather, Chuck, asked, busying himself coloring the placemat that Laurie had lost interest in five minutes ago.
“Has he been elevated to boyfriend status?” Debbie asked. “No one told me.”
Diana batted lids at her mother, tearing focus away from the slapjack battle underway. A victorious screech from her niece made Diana groan in defeat. “Too quick for me, lil’ Laurie.”
“Try again, Aunt Dee.”
“Okay, one more, before the food gets here.” Diana laid her palms face up in wait.
“I want hair like yours,” Laurie commented to Diana.
Diana held back a smirk. My lil’ punk princess in the making. At least someone in her family appreciated the subtle blue ombre highlights in her jet-black hair she’d gotten done last month.
“Ah, I make the decisions on hair color until you turn thirteen, young lady.” Miranda fixed Laurie’s ponytail. “He sounds nice, Dee, from what you’ve told me here and there.”
Diana shrugged. Laurie’s fingers eased with extreme hesitancy on Diana’s hands. “He is. Very nice.” David was nice. A veritable gentleman. There wasn’t much wrong with him that Diana could find. Which kind of made her nervous.
“Ah, she doesn’t want to scare him off. That’s why the introductions haven’t happened yet.” A pinky pushed eyeglasses up the ridge of Chuck’s nose.
Diana squirmed her fingers under Laurie’s palms. A giggle from her brown-eyed seat sharer erupted.
“What does he do again?”
“Copy editor. Freelances. Met him at one of Harbor View’s network things.”
“So, you don’t work directly with him?” Debbie was nothing if not thorough with questions.
Laurie lifted her hands up a bit, expecting a slap.
Diana weighed the option of discussing how often she, in her role as a publishing manager, had to deal with a copy editor to her mother. “Nope.”
“That’s good.”
Diana appreciated that her mother didn’t follow that up with something like You know, in case it doesn’t work out. That would have been stereotypical of her mother.
CHUCK, MIRANDA, AND Laurie were off on their Urban Pirate boat tour after lunch. Chuck’s large frame had a skip to it as they’d hurried to board. It was hard to figure out who was more excited about the excursion, granddaughter or grandpa.
Diana had known something was up as soon as Debbie suggested Diana keep her company on dry land. But Diana caved. Whatever it was, it would have to come to light. Dragging things out had never been her style. Rip the Band-Aid off.
The city of Baltimore had the usual “hurry up and get to it” energy. Diana did love it. It was a busy, sunny September day in Charm City. Lots of tourists. Circles of onlookers strolling along the harbor’s brick path. Everything one would expect.
Taking this walk a couple times a week during her lunch break, a few blocks from the publishing office, gave Diana that injection of adrenaline she’d need to finish out a plodding or frustrating day. Now, she needed it to provide her with the drive to end this Saturday visit with her mother on a pleasant high note. She could only imagine the earful her mother would give Chuck on their drive back home to the Baltimore suburb of Columbia.
“So, what is it?” Diana took the bait.
“Hm?” A long light sweater bundled about Debbie’s frame showed off her tennis-toned back and ass. Diana could tell the harbor wind was not behaving to Debbie’s liking.
“What’d you have to talk to me about?”
“Why is it I have to talk to you about something? Can’t I want to spend some time with you? Alone?”
“That’s great. So, tell me, how’s Leslie? How’s your pickleball team doing?” Diana’s chin lifted, testing the direction of the breeze and leaning into it.
Debbie frowned. “You don’t want to know about Leslie or pickleball.”
“Hm. Well, you pretend I do, and I’ll pretend you don’t have to tell me something. You’ve been biting that tongue all day, Mom.”
A long sigh. Debbie wrangled highlighted, tasteful blonde strands and swiped them out of her face. “Have you talked to your father?”
“It’s not Christmas, his birthday, or Father’s Day. So, no.”
“I think you should call him.”
Diana tumbled one hand over the other, requesting more details.
“Aunt Mary called me. She’s worried about him. He’s not sounding good over the phone.”
Diana chuckled. “When does he ever sound good over the phone? Misery is his mantra.”
“Dee, I think it’s something serious.”
“Like, health serious?”
Debbie shrugged.
“Well, why don’t you call him?”
“I’m not his daughter.”
Here we go. “I didn’t get a say in that.”
“Thirty-eight years old and you’re acting like Laurie,” Debbie mumbled.
“Not the worst idea, emulating a five-year-old. But you’re confusing me with my father again. Anyway, last time Clare reached out with a text message, things were fine.”
“She left him. A few weeks ago.”
“I take it this is via Aunt Mary’s Bulletin Blast? Well, that sucks. She was the easiest way to keep tabs on him.”
“Another reason to see how he’s doing.”
Diana sighed. “Maybe I’ll shoot him a text this weekend.”
“Here’s an idea. How about an actual phone call?”
Diana continued the walk in silence. Here’s an idea. How about someone learns to mind their own business?
DAVID RANG UP DIANA at five o’clock, like clockwork, later that evening. He was predictable. She attributed a lot of his routine behavior to the fact that he was older. Ten years older, in fact. With the kind of salt-and-pepper hair a man could get away with and still get labeled distinguished.
Dave was going through a mid-life crisis. Overcompensating for things he’d missed out on, marrying young and raising two kids. Newly divorced. The man was very chatty after sex.
“Hey, Dave,” Diana answered after tapping the speakerphone. An inspection of her fridge’s limited contents made her stomach grumble. The crab cake lunch had not been enough. “If you are coming down from Philly tonight, can you pick up some cheesesteaks? Not the Cheez Whiz place. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Diana...” He sighed. “We need to talk.”
“Well, that’s never good.” A kick from her boat shoe slammed the fridge door shut.
“There’s no easy way to say this...” The slow, deliberate tone of his voice made her skin crawl.
“It’s Betty, right? Let me guess, you two had a nice heart-to-heart?”
“How’d...”
Diana clicked off the
“Diana, I want you to know this has nothing to do with you. You’re an amazing woman.”
She cut off his “let her down easy” speech. “It obviously has nothing to do with me. You’re breaking up with me.” The open wine bottle on the counter suddenly screamed, “Drink me!” “Hey, you’ve got a long history, connection with Betty. Rusty and Evelyn are great kids. I get it. It was a fun few months.” She lied. It had been a rather boring few months. The melding of work and recreation had not been her best decision. The sex had been a little better than mediocre. But it had staved off the encroaching loneliness from time to time. Diana flipped her switch to publishing-manager mode instinctively to take control of the situation. Dave still needed to do an above-average job—on something at least. “Anyway, I need you to adhere to your editing deadline on Sunflower Sunrise. Don’t need to remind you how important it is to keep Putnam, one of our best-selling authors, happy. Especially if you want more freelancing gigs with Harbor View. I’ll be in touch. Have a good night, Dave.” It wasn’t the best way to end the breakup, but it was all she had.
Three hours later, and a half-hour into a call to her best friend, Morgan, the wine had not been enough. Diana had moved onto vodka.
“Blessing in disguise, Dee. It’s not like you couldn’t stop talking about the guy. And, if you’re honest with yourself, he wasn’t your type.”
Diana held back a hiccup. “What’s my type?”
“Bad boy, inaccessible. Closed-off. Jerk incarnate.” Morgan stared into the phone screen. “You gave the ‘older man’ trope a go. Stick to tried-and-true mediocrity.”
“You always tell me what awful taste in men I have. Now you’re telling me to run toward a dumpster fire?”
“Consider it a palate cleanse before you try something new again. And call me to talk you down.”
“I miss you, lady.”
Morgan flashed her perfectly white and aligned dental-hygienist smile. “I miss you, rebel goddess. Trevor and I will try to make it your way around the holidays with the rug rats.”
“Shit!”
“What?”
“Dave and I were going on a trip in a few weeks. Myrtle Beach.” A clang of the bottle’s neck against Diana’s glass rang out.
“Can’t you still go?”
“Well, he was paying for it. So, I’m going to say that’s a no.”
“That sucks. I’m sorry.”
“Eh, I guess it gives me a chance to catch up on some things I should take care of here.”
Morgan scrunched her brows. “’Cause that studio apartment of yours is so hard to maintain?”
“This is the spot where you agree with me.”
Morgan laughed. A muffled scream made her head turn. “Oh no. That’s Noah. Which means Lena is traumatizing him.”
Diana waved a hand. “Go do the mom thing. Touch base soon.”
Morgan blew her a kiss. The video chat beeped and ended.
Diana wandered around the center of her apartment. She talked to her Bluetooth speaker and asked it to start her playlist. Ah, Green Day. Vodka tossed back in one gulp. She got through the first couple of chords before remembering how Dave cringed but went along with her punk life soundtrack. He had been classic rock through and through. He was, however, the nice guy that didn’t force his leanings on her.
That wouldn’t have lasted forever. She thought of Arnie, Jacob, Felix, and Zephyr, the handful of men that had stuck around for some length of time over the years. Until one of them or Diana had cut the ties. Boredom. Unfaithfulness. Incompatibility. Life paths. Career choices. Any one or a combination that led to a breakup. Why did it feel like it had always been the standard phrase, “It’s not you, Diana,” that closed the lid on each one?
But, at some point, I’m the common denominator in all those relationships. And, inevitably, she’d run across or hear from an acquaintance she and an ex shared. Said ex had settled down, found the one. And, always, not so long after Diana. Christ, even pothead and permanently unemployable Zephyr had gotten his shit together and found the love of his life six months after Diana had given him the boot.
She was buzzing, letting the alcohol work through her system. Letting the music take her away on the wave of Armstrong’s rants. She bopped her head, fought through the dizziness.
They’d all moved on. And she was still... here. A whip of vertigo forced a groan from her throat. She sought the safety of her love seat. Tumbled into the cushions and closed her eyes.
“London Calling” blared in her ears.
What the hell? Did the volume go up?
“Svetlana.” Diana called out the nickname she’d given her technology assistant. “Turn off the goddamn music.” The song stopped. And so did she...
A too-quick rise to a seated position made her head pound and stomach quiver. The time on her watch ticked over to ten o’clock.
“Come on,” she mumbled, rubbing her fingers into her temples. “Should at least be midnight by now.” Her tongue ran across the roof of her parched mouth, made dry by the consumed alcohol and her more-than-likely mouth-breathing when she passed out. With hesitant, shuffling steps, she wandered into the bathroom. She searched for the aspirin. Downed the pills with three glasses of tap water. “Might make the morning more bearable.”
Another glance at her smartwatch tipped her off to some text messages she’d missed. The pounding in her skull ramped up to sprinter speed when she saw the messages were from her father.
Hey your mom called me said you wanted to talk
Call in the morning
Hope job and stuff are good
She wasn’t looking forward to the morning for a multitude of reasons now. Diana huffed and, in her fragile state, reclined back onto the sofa.
BOBBY WAS EITHER GOING deaf or playing dumb. It was his fifth “Huh?” in the span of three minutes.
Diana clamped her mouth shut and took a deep inhale through her nose. He’s not gonna claim I’m mumbling this time. “Aunt Mary, Dad,” she bellowed. “She talked to Mom.”
“And? What’d my sis have to say?”
“She told Mom about Clare.”
“Eh, gas tank was runnin’ on empty anyways.”
The headache from the previous evening’s sorrow wallowing was only a background thud by the late-morning phone call. Determined to do something productive during the conversation, Diana had decided to organize the makeup drawer in her work desk/vanity. Earbuds in and seated in front of a mirror, she’d only managed to swatch eyeshadows on the back of her hand so far. “Who’s the gas tank and the car in this analogy?”
“Huh?”
Diana watched her nostrils flare. “Nothing.”
“Anyway, I don’t think I’ll be coming up Baltimore way anytime soon. Not by myself, anyway. Hate city traffic.”
“Okay.” Diana dragged out the word. Deep blue shadow patted on an eyelid with her finger was an almost perfect match to her highlights. “I wasn’t expecting a visit. Not a presidential election year.”
“True.” Silence. The uncomfortable kind. Diana didn’t know what else to say. Finally, Bobby piped up again. “You haven’t been to the farm in ages, Dee.”
Eyes opened wide. “It has been a while. Last time you invited me down was when you bought it.” Twenty years, dear Father. And we’ve never been that family that does surprise drop-ins.
“If you have time, you should come down.”
“Are you inviting me?” Her jaw unhinged.
“Well, you might not get another chance when the bill comes due.”
“What does that mean?”
A long drawn-out sigh. “My financial portfolio isn’t doing so well according to my broker.” That was Bobby code for he got involved in some crazy venture with a buddy and had no actual business plan. “One too many irons in the fire this time. Got a little burned.”
Diana frowned. “What degree are we talking, Dad?”
“Huh?”
Jesus. Work with me on the sayings here. I’m trying on my end. “When you say I might not get another chance, what does that mean?”
“I’m behind on the mortgage payments.”
