Caught by the Cowboy Dad

by Melinda Curtis

  “I am nice to people.”

  Devin shushed him. “You’ll wake Dr. Carlisle.”

  “I am nice to people,” Holden whispered.

  His son rolled over, propping himself up on one elbow and hitting his head on the ceiling. “Ow. Dad, seriously. You shouldn’t bribe people to get your way. Just like you shouldn’t ask someone to marry you without talking about all the different ways you love them.”

  But what if you don’t know what love is? Or if you don’t think you’re worthy right now of being loved in return? Or if you aren’t sure you have anything to offer other than a willingness to nurture someone when they’re sick?

  “Do you know what love is, son?”

  “I know there’s no formula that can predict it. I know that it’s part chemical, pheromones and stuff—the sexy, you know—and part about a meeting of fundamental values. And I know it requires compromise.” This last was said with significant tones, as if he was reciting a lecture from his down-to-earth mother.

  “You’re telling me I need to be nicer if I’m going to make Bernadette marry me.”

  “Yes. No. Yes. Sometimes, Dad, I don’t think you’re happy. And because of that, I think you try to put others down. Or...or in their place or something. Or keep them from getting too close.”

  Ouch. He could possibly be right on all counts. “Do you know why I like working with numbers?”

  “No.”

  “Because numbers speak the truth, and they hold people accountable. And if the numbers aren’t met, then you know how people really feel about you.” Love offered no such proof.

  “Dad...” Devin got to his feet and placed a hand on Holden’s shoulder. “Not to sound like a cliché, but numbers don’t keep you warm at night.”

  Meanwhile, back in Second Chance...

  “TIME FOR BED, BOYS.” Shane closed his laptop, ending the search for dirt on Tanner Monroe Paxton. The man was so clean, it worried him. He placed the computer on an end table to a chorus of groans from Davey, Charlie and Adam.

  They’d been playing a board game on the living-room floor. A board game, not a video game.

  “Do those groans mean you had fun?” Franny yawned. She was Shane’s fiancée and the mother of those three protesting cowboys. She stretched on the couch next to Shane, lifting her head from his shoulder.

  He wasn’t going to mention that she’d been snoring. She had such a cute little snore. But even that sweetness couldn’t ease the heavy weight the appearance of Tanner put on his shoulders.

  “We need five more minutes.” Charlie leaned over the colorful board. He was the mischievous middle child with wild brown hair that refused to yield to a comb. “I was just about to win.”

  “You wish,” said his older brother Davey. He fanned himself with play money. “I was about to win. Again.”

  Charlie stuck out his tongue.

  Davey tried to swipe play money across Charlie’s face.

  Before Shane or Franny could intervene, Adam, the littlest cowboy, got to his feet and stood between them on the game board. “When is it my turn to win? We always take turns, and I haven’t had mine!”

  Davey and Charlie took that as a challenge and scrambled to their feet. But they weren’t as quick as Shane.

  He straddled the board and swung Adam to his hip ahead of trouble. Shane’s forte was business management. But in the past few months, he’d learned a lot about managing three boys. You had to be quick on your feet and be a good referee, all of which won him points with Franny. “Family doesn’t fight over a game.”

  “That’s right.” Franny took Adam from Shane’s arms. She brushed the short, dark hair back out of Adam’s big brown eyes. “Ten years from now, you won’t remember who won this game.”

  “I will.” Charlie stuck his chin out, proving he wasn’t just a mischievous eight year-old but a stubborn eight year-old. “That’s why I need five more minutes.”

  These boys... Shane’s gaze roved over them. How would Tanner’s claim to be family impact them?

  “Put away the game, boys.” Franny was having none of that argument. She retreated a few steps from the board, tugging Shane out of the neutral zone between the older two boys and giving Shane a look that promised a reward for his good efforts with the boys. Her rewards usually involved long, slow kisses. “Winning isn’t everything.”

  “It’s the only thing!” Charlie threw his piece into the game box. “Papa Shane always says so.”

  Uh-oh. There went long, slow kisses.

  Franny frowned at Shane.

  Yep.

  “I don’t say that...” Shane began, fielding confused glances from three young cowboys. “...exactly. I say things like you should do your best. And...you should be kind to animals.” Shane glanced around for the family dog Bolt, but the black Labrador must have gone to bed with Granny Gertie. “And you should—”

  “Try your hardest to win,” Charlie finished for him, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “That’s what you said to me at our last picnic, Papa Shane,” Adam said solemnly. “Go out there and win the bean bag toss.”

  “Show them what Clarks and Monroes are made of and leave them in the dust.” Davey nodded, still fanning his play money. “That’s what you said when I entered that swim race at the lake.”

  Franny frowned at Shane.

  In turn, Shane frowned at the boys, trying to salvage the situation. “You should always do your best.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you have to win,” Franny said in her firmest maternal voice. “You have to play a good game, just like our bulls.” The Bucking Bull Ranch raised rodeo bulls. “They always try to win and buck off a rider. But they’re just as happy at night whether they win or lose.”

  “Exactly.” Shane mustered a smile. “Most of the fun is in the playing and the competing.” He didn’t sound convincing. Maybe because he didn’t believe it himself. Shane always went for the win, whether it was a true competition or a situation like this unsettling one with Tanner.

  “Most of the fun, you said.” Davey grinned. “There’s still fun in winning. And I won every game.”

  Charlie and Adam began telling their older brother exactly what they thought of him winning. And while they raised their young voices, Franny gave Shane a look that told him he had to try harder at this dad thing.

  “Davey, Charlie, Adam.” Shane tried to make his point again. As a widow and a single mom, Franny needed Shane to hang in there when he made tactical errors with the boys. She loved and trusted Shane enough to ask him if he had wanted to adopt them, and he’d said yes without blinking an eye. Fatherhood was a role Shane knew didn’t come with a win or loss record, or a finish line. But so far, it had kept him on his toes. “Listen up, guys. Did you have fun playing the board game?”

  The trio nodded.

  “Even though you tricked us into playing,” Charlie said in a sour voice.

  “You said if we did our after-dinner chores quick-like that we’d get a prize.” Adam’s features pinched.

  “The prize was playing this game instead of video games.” Adam had unmasked Shane. He dropped his money in the direction of the game box the way celebrities dropped a microphone after finishing a performance. Boom.

  Which was essentially saying the conversation was over.

  Sometimes these kids were smarter than Shane. Most times he didn’t let it get to him, but tonight was different. He was floundering with his goal of proving Tanner was attempting to scam the family. Suddenly, he felt defeated. “I guess you guys have me there. I’m a bad guy for wanting you to have fun and to do well and to have the character to reach for your dreams no matter how hard they are to achieve, no matter how many people show up unexpectedly to claim what you’ve worked so hard for.” Shane paused for air, only then realizing what he’d said had very little to do with getting boys to play someth
ing different for once. “Why don’t you head off to bed? I’ll put the game you don’t like away while your mother tucks you in.”

  They all fell silent, even Charlie.

  Shane knelt and began gathering up game pieces, feeling their gazes upon him.

  Franny put Adam down. “Come on, boys. Time for bed.”

  Davey and Charlie headed for the stairs, stocking feet dragging across the floorboards.

  Adam put his small hand on Shane’s shoulder. “You’re not a bad guy, Papa Shane. You’re just a dad.”

  “Adam!” Franny called from the stairwell.

  “Coming.” He scampered off.

  Shane cleaned up the board game and put the box away. And then he sat on the couch and stared at the framed pictures on the farmhouse mantel, at generations of Clarks who’d protected and nurtured the Bucking Bull Ranch.

  Franny returned and sat next to him, taking hold of his hand. “This man Tanner is bothering you.”

  Shane nodded.

  “You’re usually able to counter any argument the boys make.” She didn’t look at Shane with judgment in her eyes.

  “He’s in my head.” Too much, Shane realized, not knowing how to clear him out. “Tanner’s hiding something. I can feel it.”

  “He probably thinks the same of you,” Franny said softly, still gazing into Shane’s eyes. “I met Tanner in town today. He was careful with his words, the way you are.” Her glance shifted to the game box on the coffee table. “Most days anyway.”

  Shane’s attention drifted back to the pictures of her family. “Do you know what fences and doors have in common?”

  “I have no clue.” She placed her palm on Shane’s cheek and gently turned him to face her. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “Fences and doors are flimsy. They can be knocked down or kicked in if someone is determined to cross a line. But they keep most people out by making them respect that boundary and what someone has built.” Shane gave in to temptation and ran his fingers through a lock of her silky brown hair. “I’m the fence for my family. A line of defense.”

  “And you think Tanner wants to kick his way through,” Franny guessed.

  “I don’t think. I know. And I have a sinking suspicion that he can do it. He can just walk right in and claim a share. And if I can’t stop him, what’s to keep others from barging in? If only... I keep feeling like I’m missing something, some clue Grandpa Harlan left for me.”

  “The way he left clues to the stagecoach gold?”

  Shane nodded.

  “Oh, honey.” Franny kissed him lightly. “Granny Gertie held the biggest clue we needed. Her memories.”

  “She knew Ruth, Harlan’s sister-in-law,” Shane said slowly. He stood. “I can ask her.”

  Franny rose with him, still in possession of his hand. “She’s asleep. You can talk to her tomorrow. There’s something you need tonight more than her memories.”

  “What’s that?”

  “To know that I am your door, your gate, and your fence. I have your back. Now and always.” She kissed him deeply.

  And Shane knew what she said was true. But that didn’t stop him from worrying.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE MORNING AFTER Holden’s second marriage proposal, Bernadette was startled awake far too early.

  She groaned and pried open her eyes. “Who’s making that racket?”

  Someone was banging around outside the motor home, and it was barely light. She had two guesses as to who that someone was. She’d bet Holden had made coffee and was starting a fire in the fire pit.

  She stumbled out of the bedroom, stopping to lean against the kitchen island because she was suddenly nauseous and whoever was making noise outside wasn’t Holden or his son. Holden was sprawled diagonally on the pullout sofa bed. Devin snored in the bunk over the driver’s seat, a book clutched to his chest.

  In the gray light of dawn, in that moment of near silence, Bernadette realized something was different. Her nausea was light.

  The good doctor should take her own advice more often: rest, eat right, hydrate.

  She could thank Holden for that, at least, even if she’d tossed and turned all night, kept awake by anger at Holden’s proposal of marriage. He probably schmoozed more when making a business deal. What was she? Chopped liver?

  Bernadette bent to peer out the window. “There’s a family of raccoons eating marshmallows on the picnic table. That can’t be good for them.”

  Holden yawned. “If you’re expecting me to save raccoons from themselves, think again.”

  “Ah, yes. You once told me that saving things was not in your personal profile.” She should have put a peppermint in her mouth, both to calm her nausea and because she had morning breath. And from the way Holden was looking at her hair, she had bedhead, too.

  She finger combed her hair.

  He sat up, his dark wavy hair rumpled attractively. So unfair. “That was insensitive.”

  She tossed her hands. “It’s what you told me.”

  “I mean when I said it, it was insensitive. I apologize.” He smiled up at her sheepishly.

  Bernadette almost pinched herself. Sheepish? Apologetic? This wasn’t the Holden she’d dated.

  “I probably need to apologize to a lot of people.” Holden got out of bed. He was only wearing boxers. Black-and-gold plaid. He peered out the window, allowing her a longer look at his bare chest. “Raccoons always look so cute. That is, until you get too close. Are you interested in breakfast? I’m thinking bacon and eggs.” He turned on the coffee machine on the counter.

  “You’re not supposed to drink coffee.” She certainly couldn’t. It was the hardest thing she’d given up yet for this baby...if she didn’t count Holden.

  “You told me I could drink caffeine in moderation. This is decaf.” He yawned again. “I had some yesterday. It’s weak stuff. I’m hoping my condition is temporary, like your pregnancy. There is nothing like a rich shot of espresso.”

  If Bernadette wore two different hats—her personal cap and her medical hat—Holden was showing her a different side of himself. The question was...why?

  He turned to her, scratching his bare shoulder. “Do you want breakfast or not?”

  Her stomach growled.

  “That’s okay, Dad. This duck already ate,” Devin said sleepily. He rolled over, and his book fell to the floor.

  “If you haven’t guessed, my kid talks in his sleep. About what, I have no idea.” Holden got out a frying pan. “Are you feeling okay? If the smell of bacon bothers you, I can cook on the open fire. I brought oatmeal, if that’s more to your taste.”

  “It’s bizarre, isn’t it?” She finally found her voice. Maybe because she was no longer staring at his broad, bare chest. “We’re having a baby together, and we don’t even know what we like for breakfast.”

  He turned to face her once more.

  It was a struggle keeping her eyes on his face—or, more accurately, on his gray eyes—because there were lips on his face, lips that she’d highly enjoyed kissing. Highly enjoyed.

  Take a step back, Dr. Carlisle.

  Before she could move, his gaze softened, melting her resolve even more. “You like your eggs over easy and your bacon crisp. You have a sweet tooth, not just in the morning but all day. Banana nut muffins. Blueberry smoothies. You snack on nuts, but you sneak in some M&Ms. Plain. You drink black coffee at work, but you enjoy a hazelnut latte when you have time to pick one up. How’d I do?”

  Perfect. He was perfect.

  But he wasn’t hers. She had to remember that.

  But she couldn’t think with him half-naked, much less remember that awful silence after she told him she loved him. “Could you just...put a shirt on?”

  He quirked a dark brow. “This is a guys-only trip. That means meat and coffee. That means clothes are optional or wrink
led.”

  She turned and stomped back to the bedroom, trying to quash her attraction, knowing it was near impossible.

  “After breakfast, we’ll head over to Yellowstone,” he called after her. “And make some memories.”

  Bernadette leaned on the door she’d closed, wrapping her arms across her waist and her unsettled stomach. She hadn’t agreed to stay longer than one night. Still, she wanted to stay the entire trip.

  And those memories he was talking about? He wasn’t just making memories with his son. He was making memories with her. For her.

  “You’re falling back in love with him, Dr. Carlisle,” she said half under her breath as she unwrapped a peppermint. “Best head on home before he breaks your heart again.”

  * * *

  HOLDEN PULLED ON a T-shirt and a pair of blue jeans, certain that Bernadette wasn’t coming out of the bedroom again until breakfast was ready.

  They’d always had chemistry between them. It’s why he’d gone against his better judgment and dated her long-distance. And darned if chemistry didn’t work. Bernadette had looked at his shirtless chest with hunger in her eyes. Hunger for more than bacon and eggs.

  For the first time in days, maybe even weeks, Holden felt more like himself.

  “Dad, this might be a generational thing.” Devin rolled over in the bunk and propped himself up on one elbow. “But dads need to remain fully clothed at all times.” He pointed to Holden’s stomach region. Holden wondered if he was developing a slight paunch. It would fit with everything else that was happening to him at the moment.

  “Didn’t you tell me last night that part of love was the triggering of the sexy?” Holden folded the sheets and blanket from his bed as if they were one unit, smoothed the creases and then placed them in an empty cupboard.

  “That’s just basic biology, Dad.” Devin brought his cell phone out from under his pillow and then groaned. “Which I could back up with data if we had cell-phone service or an internet connection here.”

  There had been no internet hookups at the campground, only power.