Laying Down The Law (#4, Cowboy Way) (The Cowboy Way)

by Becky McGraw

  “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, his voice gravelly with sleep. His hand reached up to brush her hair back and Mel shivered when he dropped a butterfly light kiss behind her ear. He tugged the cover up under her chin and nuzzled his face into her hair, dragging strands with his beard stubble. With a sigh, she slid her hand down his lightly furred forearm to cover his hand where it rested on her belly. Brock gave her a quick squeeze, heaved a deep sigh and again she wondered why this felt so damned right as sleep dragged her under.

  A delicious smell pulled Melanie to consciousness, pots and pans rattling brought her fully awake and her eyes popped. They quickly squeezed shut though when blinding sunlight speared her brain. A shiver racked her and she realized her backside was ice cold so she reached behind her blindly to pull the covers closer. The other side of the bed was cold, which meant Brock had been up for a while.

  She kind of thought, hoped, he might wake her up this morning, but he must still be freaked out about last night, she thought, her eyes sliding to the dresser to see the still unopened condom box mocking her.

  Maybe last night would be all they’d ever have. Sadness and frustration filled her, making her damned eyes burn. Curling her legs closer, she snuggled under the covers. Mel closed her eyes and took deep breaths to clear her head. There was zero sense getting upset over something she couldn’t control or change. The smell of rich coffee mixed with the heavenly scent of frying bacon, and Melanie inhaled deeply. She’d give her big toe for a cup of that right now. Maybe that would help her coax the hardass UCLA-trained physician out of hiding. The one everyone in the emergency room at that Texas hospital gave wide berth.

  Coming back to this town had been a huge mistake, the biggest she’d made in a long time. She hadn’t had much choice since her sister was unavailable to help her mother, but as soon as she could get Merry and June back on their feet she was going back where she belonged.

  “Morning, lazybones,” Brock drawled, and Melanie’s eyes flew to the door, then widened.

  Acres of smooth, tanned skin and a sexy grin appeared to be all he wore other than a white apron that covered his chest. The sight sent a charge through her body to sizzle all the way to her toes. Holding her gaze, his hand shot out to grab the box of condoms from the dresser and set them on the tray. Her insides went molten at his determined look as he walked to the bed. Melanie leaned up on her elbow and was a little disappointed to see he wore jeans too.

  When he stopped at the bed, she slid up to sit against the headboard and he carefully placed the cookie sheet serving as a breakfast tray on her lap then sat on the edge of the bed. Reaching over the tray, he yanked the dishtowel from under the silverware, flicked it open and Melanie was stupefied when he leaned forward to tuck it into the collar of her t-shirt. He stayed there for a second, his breath brushing her mouth in soft hot waves, then grabbed her chin, put his mouth to hers and gave her a toe-curling good morning kiss.

  “I have to tell you my t-shirt never looked so sexy,” he said, licking his lips while focused on hers, making them tingle, as he sat on the edge of the bed.

  He’d obviously showered, because his thick, dark hair was wavy and wet. Melanie wanted to run her fingers through it, to lick the water droplets that still clung to his neck. The delicious smell of the pancakes on the tray, the rich maple scent of the syrup, was overtaken by the even more delicious smell of his woodsy cologne which made her want to eat him up instead.

  “You keep looking at me like that and you’re not going to get to eat your breakfast,” he growled, and Melanie’s eyes met his heated blue gaze.

  “You’re a confusing man,” she said, really put off by his passive-aggressive sexual desires. With the hot then cold last night, now the hotter this morning she had no idea how to interact with him.

  His smile slipped, he looked away and his face flushed. “I know and I’m sorry about that…my only excuse is I’m confused too. You coming back to town has turned my world upside down—woke me up from the coma I’ve been in for six years. I’ve been trying to uncomplicate my life, but with every hour I’m with you it becomes more complicated.”

  Was he blaming her again? Anger bristled under her skin, and her hands tightened around the coffee cup.

  “I can leave if you’d like,” she said shortly, setting her cup on the tray. “I’ll just stay out of your way, do what I came here to do—get my mother back on her feet and I’ll leave. You won’t see me again.” Her stomach burned, and she put her hand there.

  His head snapped around so fast the plate rattled on the tray and she caught it before it slid off her lap. “Hell no, I don’t want you to leave,” he growled, his eyes angry. “You’re the best damned thing that’s happened to me in six fucking years. The shakeup has been a good thing—for me and for Brady.” He shoved a hand through his hair, then sighed. “Those old wounds run deep, and the unfortunate side-effect is that you’ve dredged them up too.”

  “You’re blaming me?” she asked, and his eyes flew to hers.

  “No—I’m not blaming you—I’m trying to explain that I don’t want to hurt you or lead you on. A relationship is a complication I can’t afford.”

  Melanie shook her head. “Did I say anything about a relationship?” she asked.

  “We are heading hell bent for leather right into one, and it scares the hell out of me.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, then motioned it between them. “If it’s not a relationship in the making, what is this?”

  “It’s two people getting to know each other without expectations. Friends with benefits, because I’m going back to Texas too, Brock. You don’t have to worry about me pressuring you for more.” Especially now that I know where we stand.

  Melanie glanced at the buttery, syrupy pancakes and her stomach rolled. She picked up her coffee cup and let the fiery liquid scald her throat until the cup was empty. Hopefully the caffeine kicked in before she did something stupid in her sleep-drugged haze like tell this man he was ten kinds of fool for letting her walk away. He’d be damned lucky to have her in his life—as fucked up as his life was, she should be the one scared.

  She lifted the tray and held it out to him. “I don’t usually eat breakfast, but thank you for cooking.” And I don’t eat it in bed when it’s served to me by a sexy, shirtless man who says he doesn’t want a relationship, but puts condoms on my breakfast tray.

  “Eat it,” he said frowning, not making a move to take it from her. “You’re a damned doctor, so you know it’s the most important meal of the day.”

  “What time is it?” she asked shortly. “How long have you been up?” Long enough to decide you aren’t worth complicating his life over. Stop it! “Take the tray, Brock—I have to go to the bathroom.” He lifted it from her lap, and Melanie swung her legs over the bed. “We’ve got things to do before I take you to the cabin, so I’m going to get dressed too.”

  “I’m not going to the cabin,” he said, as he walked to put the tray on the dresser. “Brady has been worse lately, and I can’t just go off the grid.”

  “Take him with you,” Melanie replied, and Brock turned to face her.

  “After last night, Lucy is never going to let that happen.”

  “Has she let you before? How much one-on-one time does that manipulative bitch let you have with your son?” she asked, knowing what the answer would likely be. “There’s no letting, Brock—you have joint custody and I think that means you get to make decisions about your son too, right?”

  “What are you saying you think I should do?” he asked, his brows drawn together. “Kidnap him?”

  “I’m saying you should exert your parental right to spend quality time with your son, away from his overbearing mother. Maybe you can talk to him and get a clue about what might be going on with him. Sometimes illness isn’t just a physical thing.”

  Brock’s face relaxed, and Melanie’s insides unclenched. “I think I’m going to teach my son to fish this weekend,” he said with a broad smile that lit up his blue eyes a
s he walked over to pull her into a tight hug.

  Melanie inhaled deeply of his scent, enjoyed the feel of the silk-covered steel of his muscles pressed to her face. Committed every feeling she was experiencing at the moment to memory, because in five weeks, that’s all she’d have left of him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Brock held Brady’s hand at the edge of the woods as they watched Melanie get into her car, which was parked beside his SUV at the end of the logging road. They’d driven separately so he’d have transportation in case something happened. She’d hiked with them up the mountain, helped carry their supplies and insisted she could walk out by herself, but Brock insisted they were hiking out with her. There were wild animals out in these woods, and she was unarmed.

  Brock had to have a knock-down-drag-out argument with Lucy before she would agree to let Brady come with him. In the end, he told her she didn’t have a choice, and it felt damned good to do that. But she still only agreed after he assured her that Melanie would not be camping with them. Lucy seemed to have a deep-seated hatred for Melanie and that bothered him. When she was jealous, Lucy could be a ruthless bitch as well as being manipulative.

  His last attempt at having a casual girlfriend proved that.

  Sandra finally told him she just couldn’t deal with Lucy anymore, and unfortunately Brock couldn’t tell her it would get better. Lucy was a manipulative, vindictive bitch, but she was also his kid’s mother—and a relatively good one. No woman was going to put up with her interference in his life, though, so after that Brock saved himself the complications.

  It was worth it to keep the peace.

  Brock told Melanie to just steer clear of her while he was gone. She’d have plenty to do to keep her occupied between faxing the requests for medical records to the twenty-four doctors they identified by going through all of the boxes of receipts, and taking care of her mother. He felt guilty for dumping on her, but she insisted she had it handled.

  Why the hell she was still willing to help him after what he told her this morning, he didn’t know. He felt it only fair to explain himself and to warn her. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. She was too good a woman—definitely too good for him.

  Brock looked down when Brady tugged his hand. “Daddy, I want to go fishing!” he said, with excitement. “You’re going to teach me, remember?”

  “Tomorrow morning, sport, it’s getting dark now,” Brock replied, his insides feeling light at seeing his son’s smile.

  “Can we build a fire? Roast weenies and marshmallows then?” he asked, practically dancing now.

  “You bet we can,” he replied, grinning when Brady squealed. “But we need to get back to the cabin and gather wood before it gets dark.”

  “I can pick up sticks while we walk,” he said dropping Brock’s hand to flit around and grab stray branches.

  “Only get the brown ones—the green ones won’t burn,” Brock instructed as he started to walk, but kept an eye on Brady out of his peripheral vision. “And do not under any circumstances get out of my sight, okay?”

  “Yes, sir!” Brady said, but stared at the ground seriously as they walked.

  It took them twenty minutes to make the half-mile hike back to the cabin because Brock had to stop and corral Brady twice before he got into poison ivy patches, once when he saw a coiled snake and a final time before he fell into a washout. There was so damned much he could get into out here, Brock was going to have to be on high alert. But he also had to remind himself to let him have fun during his first outdoors experience too.

  “Okay, you pile those sticks you found over there.” He pointed to the blackened ring in the clearing that was well away from the ramshackle cabin.

  Thank goodness he’d brought a tent and sleeping bags in case that was exactly what he found here. According to Melanie, it had been over thirteen years since anyone had been up here, and he believed it. The shack was now a raccoon and varmint haven, and definitely not habitable. The porch was good enough to keep their stuff dry though, in case it rained tonight, which the wet-blanket feel to the air said it might.

  But that didn’t matter a damned bit.

  He would’ve slept on the ground, in the pouring down rain, to have this kind of peace—naked. Visions of Merry Fox’s still shapely backside as she walked into the woods naked the night he picked her up, brought on a shiver but Brock could definitely appreciate her eccentricities now.

  Hell, the way his life had been lately, he wouldn’t mind moving to these woods and living like a mountain man. He could set up a still, make moonshine to sell in town and hunt like his great-great grandfather had done in these Georgia woods.

  That kind of simplicity in his life held great appeal.

  Stopping at the woodpile, he bent and picked up several logs from the stack of extremely seasoned wood then turned toward the cabin. When he rounded the corner, Brady sat on the edge of the porch digging through his backpack and Brock hustled over there because his shotgun leaned on the post right by his right shoulder. It scared the hell out of him that he’d been so careless, hadn’t even thought to take it with him.

  God, he definitely didn’t spend enough alone time with his son. If he did, he would’ve thought about that.

  As a cop who’d seen plenty of accidental gunshot wounds in the last six years from parents not securing their weapons, or instructing their kids on proper use, he should’ve remembered! The logs rolled from his arms to the ground and he reached around him to grab the shotgun and crack it open to eject the two shells. His next excursion with his son would be to teach him about gun safety. Maybe a hunting trip.

  When his blood finally warmed again, Brock looked down at Brady who was elbow deep in the backpack now.

  “Whatcha looking for, sport?” he asked pocketing the shells, and laying the shotgun on the porch.

  Brady’s worried eyes met his, but he didn’t pull his arm out of the pack. “I think Mommy forgot to pack my gummies,” he said, his voice slightly frantic. “I don’t want to get sick…I’m having too much fun.”

  Anger shot through Brock, bust confusion followed. His son’s words didn’t make a damned bit of sense. What the hell did he think candy had to do with not getting sick?

  Does diabetes run in your family?

  Brady was evidently confused, he thought, as he reached out to snatch the backpack away from him, and set it on the other side of him. “Let’s talk about that candy, son. All that sugar isn’t good for you. I told your mother that, but she keeps giving them to you, so it’s going to be up to you to just say no thank you. Will you do that, Brady? For me?”

  “But they keep me from getting sick, Daddy,” he said, his voice pleading.

  Brock huffed a breath and tousled his hair. He was six Brock reminded himself and six-year-olds had a lot of strange notions. He was going to have a stronger talk with the other adult in Brady’s life about this issue when they got back to town. This was going to stop, if it took an argument with Lucy to stop it.

  Brock was done playing nice.

  “Let’s get that fire going so we can eat supper then make S’mores.” At least Brock and Melanie had found reduced sugar marshmallows, whole grain graham crackers and dark chocolate. That was healthier for him than gelatin, sugar and who knew what else.

  “When can we set up the tent?” he asked, his face lighting up.

  “Right after I get the fire going,” Brock replied standing. Brady got up and brushed his hands over his butt in imitation of what Brock did.

  “I love camping, Daddy. Can we do this again?” Brock’s heart squeezed as he put his arm around his son’s shoulders and walked him toward the fire ring.

  “You bet we can—in fact I think we’ll do it from now on at least once a month.” As long as you’re feeling as good as you obviously are right now, the voice in his head added.

  Please God, let him feel better more often. Let Melanie figure out what the hell is wrong with him so he can be a normal kid.

  ***
>
  Melanie stabbed the send button on the fax machine to fax the last authorization form to doctor number twenty-four then turned to lean on the desk as it rang. It was nearly six-thirty, so in all likelihood half of the doctors wouldn’t receive the requests until Monday morning, but at least now they had the ball rolling. Hopefully they’d start receiving the files and labs by the end of next week. She had them sent to Brock’s ranch so they wouldn’t end up in Lucy’s hands.

  The more she knew about that woman, the more suspicious she got that something was definitely wrong here. She didn’t want to think it, but with twenty-four doctors in six years and a mystery illness, she couldn’t help but have suspicions it involved her son too. Melanie had to be careful there though, because it could be her intense dislike for the woman seeding those thoughts. She needed firm proof before she ever brought those suspicions up to Brock.

  She was going back by Dr. Carter’s office to look around for those labs, which were nowhere to be found in Brady’s file, but she’d have to do it in the morning when there was more light. Right now, she needed to stop at her mother’s house for a few minutes to help them get settled for the night, or at least check on them again before she headed out to the ranch to feed Brock’s animals.

  After they went shopping for the camping adventure, she and Brock had stopped by her mother’s house around noon. She and Aunt June seemed to be getting along well, told her they didn’t need anything, but Melanie felt guilty for not giving them more attention.

  Sunday, she’d go over and spend the whole day there making sure herself they were actually doing okay.

  “Hey, Doc—how’s it going?” Rowdy asked as he walked in and hung his cowboy hat on the peg beside the door.

  “Just finishing up. Thanks for letting me use the fax,” she replied, pushing off of the desk to gather up the paperwork and shove it into the file folder on the desk.