Her Convenient Cowboy

by Lacy Williams

  He’d do what had to be done.

  The memory of her fear and despair when he’d forced his way into the cabin yesterday stuck with him as he cared for the horses and let the white dog out.

  When he emerged from the lean-to, he found the snow had slowed to a soft fall. But the wind had a cold bite to it and the sky hung heavy with low, slate-colored clouds. The storm wasn’t over yet.

  Everything was silent around the front of the cabin. Was Rose awake?

  He and Breanna’s little white dog took a detour into the woods to take care of their business.

  Then he stood at the edge of the woods looking toward the cabin. What was he supposed to do with his unexpected guest? They couldn’t leave until the weather cleared; it was too dangerous. But there wasn’t even an outhouse for her use.

  He and his brothers were used to roughing it. Taking care of business in the outdoors wasn’t a problem for them.

  But she was a woman. A pregnant woman.

  The smoke curled in a slow, thin spiral from the stovepipe. The fire needed tending.

  He couldn’t delay any longer.

  After filling his arms with a load of cut wood, he strode across the clearing and knocked on the cabin door.

  He could hear the rustle of fabric, sensed movement through the log walls.

  Then a wavering, “Come in.”

  He pushed in the door, the little white dog scurrying past his feet. “Hey!”

  But the dog paid him no mind, scampering across the floor to put its paws on the bed, where Rose sat with her hair rumpled and dress wrinkled, obviously having just woken up.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to oversleep—” she squinted toward the glass-paned window. “What time is it?”

  “Early still.” He deposited his armload of wood in the box near the stove and squatted beside it, attempting to ignore the sense of impropriety at seeing her as she’d just woken. She was fully dressed, nothing inappropriate about her attire.

  It just seemed so intimate, more than their short acquaintance called for. It made him uncomfortable and he kept his eyes and hands busy feeding the fire.

  But then she spoke.

  “I’m not even sure I rolled over in the night. It was...nice to be warm and full.”

  His eyes had tracked to her without his permission, and he watched her flick a stray curl that had slipped from her braid out of her face. She met his steady gaze shyly, with twin spots of color rising high on her cheeks. “Thank you.”

  Her shy sweetness increased his awkwardness and he ducked his head, forcing himself to focus on his task.

  “You’re welcome,” he muttered to the fire.

  She was a picture, with her hair curling around her shoulders and eyes bright.

  And he was a man. He couldn’t help noticing her, couldn’t help the attraction that flared in him. But he had no business being attracted to her. She was a very recent widow, no doubt missing her husband with every breath. And she was desperate for help. Needed a friend.

  And he might need one, too, with Ricky gone and his brothers marrying off. It was all he could hope for. And it was enough.

  The fire had grown to the point his hands and face were burning, so he closed the stove door and stood, dusting his hands together.

  “I need to...go outside,” she murmured and he nodded, not really looking at her to give her at least a semblance of privacy.

  “My ma sent a few eggs along. I’ll fry up some for breakfast.”

  She was passing by at his elbow in the cramped cabin and he heard the gurgle of her stomach. She laughed a soft, embarrassed laugh, and that seemed like agreement enough for him.

  By the time she slipped back into the cabin with a whirl of snow and cold, he’d put on some coffee, sliced and toasted some bread and fried up several eggs in the skillet. The smells wafting to him were enough to make his stomach growl, as well.

  She immediately busied herself brushing past him and taking two tin plates and forks off the high shelf.

  “I’m sorry you had to cook,” she said. Her back was to him as he turned to the table with the hot skillet in hand, and he couldn’t see her expression, but her voice sounded tight with emotion.

  He shrugged, coming next to her and plating the steaming eggs. “I’ve got to eat, too.”

  This close, he could see she was frowning down at the table.

  “If it bothers you, you can clean up.”

  He waited for her to sit and then joined her. He said a blessing for the food, and when he raised his head, he found her staring at him in consternation. “You’re not angry.”

  He couldn’t understand why this was bothering her. “Do you want me to be?”

  “No, I just... Well, cooking is a woman’s job, isn’t it?”

  He looked down at himself in an exaggerated manner, then back up at her with one eyebrow raised.

  As if she’d realized she’d insulted him, she colored. “That’s not—”

  He chuckled, and she stopped speaking, her expression turning stormy, into a frown.

  He hid his smile behind a large bite of egg-topped toast. He gave her a moment as he chewed. Maybe she wasn’t used to being teased. That’s all his family did, but he could see she was genuinely upset.

  It made it easier for him to be serious as he said, “I’m planning to winter out here, alone. I’ll be cooking for myself for months. It’s not a bother to add a little extra food for you.”

  Her eyebrows creased, creating a cute little line above her nose. As if she still didn’t understand him.

  And for some unknown reason, he wanted her to. “My pa raised seven of us boys and Breanna for years before Penny—our ma—came along. It shaped our family.” He found himself talking with his hands, trying to express the deep emotions that went with his family when there were no words. “Everyone pitches in. There was a time my ma was so sick with carrying a baby she couldn’t stand the smell of cooking...well, anything. So all of us boys and my pa pitched in on the cooking. We’d have starved otherwise.”

  She’d leaned forward slightly in her chair, listening intently to him, and he’d rambled on longer than he’d meant to.

  But he had to ask, “Did your man tell you that only women should do the cooking?” He’d tried to make the question casual. It wasn’t his business, but his curiosity wouldn’t let the issue sleep. She’d been pretty upset about him cooking.

  But maybe she’d seen through his question because her expression tightened and her eyes fell to the table, the glimmer of interest he’d seen there gone.

  “I’d rather not talk about Jamie,” she whispered.

  He could understand that. His grief over Ricky’s leaving still hit at random times, blindsiding him with pain and making him miss his brother. How much worse was her grief at losing her spouse?

  * * *

  The toast was dry but the nourishment welcome, and Rose copied the cowboy by scooping the fried eggs on top of it. As her stomach filled, she relaxed into the rickety chair, but she remained unsettled.

  The cowboy was laid-back. Maybe too much so.

  He was such a contrast to Jamie. In the beginning, Jamie had shown his irritation if she’d made a misstep or one of his business meetings had gone awry. But his irritation had turned quickly to anger until she’d learned to hide any mistake.

  She couldn’t imagine Jamie frying eggs for breakfast, no matter how sick she might’ve been or how long he had to wait for her to do it. He would have just complained louder the longer she’d taken. But as she’d grown to know him more, it was his silences that had frightened her the most.

  But Davy seemed perfectly content cooking.

  She couldn’t understand him.

  And she needed to stop thinking about the curiosity-engaging cowboy.


  “The snow has almost stopped. Will you be able to take me down to—” she realized she didn’t know where his family’s home was located “—back to civilization?”

  He choked on the sip of coffee he’d taken and coughed and spluttered a bit before he finally took a deep, shuddery breath.

  “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just that no one who knows my brothers calls them civilized.”

  He was joking again. She could see it in the curve of his smile, his dancing blue eyes. He had a clear affection for his family.

  She envied him that.

  “The storm’s not done.”

  She cut her gaze to the window, where it didn’t appear to be snowing at all, only a dreary gray day.

  “I’ve spent my growing up years out here, been out in all kinds of weather. The storm is at a lull, but it’ll start up again soon. And believe me, you don’t want to get caught out in it. It will take hours to get down to the homestead, and we’d been racing right into it.”

  She believed him. She’d seen how close the danger had been last night when Davy had come inside out of sorts and half-frozen. She had no desire to freeze to death.

  “So we’re...stuck here together? For how long?”

  The smile faded from his eyes and he stood up, taking his empty plate to the small washtub near the stove.

  “There’s no telling how long before the storm blows itself out. Maybe a couple of days. I know it’s not ideal, us being up here together.” He didn’t look at her, and her stomach dropped. “I’ll try not to be too much of a bother. In fact, I’ll get out of your way and see if I can’t check on the cattle before it starts coming down hard again.”

  He blocked the white dog from following him outside with a deftly placed booted foot and the door snapped shut behind him before she could say anything at all.

  She looked down at the little dog, who peered up at her as if asking, what did I do?

  “That wasn’t what I meant at all,” she said to the animal.

  She’d had her fill of aloneness these last days.

  She just...didn’t want to do anything to make the cowboy irritated with her. Which seemed silly given how easily he’d accepted finding her here and the change in circumstances upon seeing all his provisions used up.

  She had so little experience with men. Her stepmother had kept her at a distant relationship with her father, and he’d seemed content to fold to her wishes. She’d been sheltered within their household, with nary a friend.

  She wasn’t comfortable with this cowboy. Didn’t understand him.

  She was as undecided about him as she had been about figuring out her next steps if he hadn’t had shown up.

  Her survival seemed more settled than it had at this same time yesterday, when she’d had no food, no wood and no way out. Now she just needed to figure out a way to support herself, and take care of the baby. That was all. Just that much.

  * * *

  Davy had been right. By noon the snow had thickened, obscuring even the closest trees in the clearing behind a blanket of swirling white.

  And he hadn’t returned yet.

  Inside, she’d fed the fire and was warm enough with her shawl wrapped around her.

  Rose stood near the window, wondering if he would push himself to the point of hypothermia, as he’d done yesterday, or if he’d fallen from the horse she’d seen him ride out on. Was he injured? Had he suffered a fatal accident as Jamie had?

  Worries and worst-case scenarios circled through her mind until she felt nauseated.

  She rubbed a hand over her eyes. They ached from squinting out into the blinding white for such a long time.

  The little dog scratched on the door, whined and then let loose a bark that startled her.

  The door opened with a swirl of wind that ushered in white, clumpy flakes and a snow-covered cowboy.

  The dog barked again and darted past the cowboy and outside.

  Davy closed the door.

  “You okay?” he asked, taking off his hat and gloves and running his free hand through his unruly red curls. “Did he mess inside? Why didn’t you let him out?”

  She shook her head, hot emotion rising in her throat. “I was afraid he would get lost—” She couldn’t continue for the knot in her throat.

  “He’s a farm dog,” Davy said, as if that explained everything. He had his back to her as he took off his coat and hung it on the peg near the door.

  It was a blessing, because he didn’t see the betraying tremble in her lower lip.

  She’d been so worried the man wouldn’t come back either.

  But she couldn’t contain the sniffle that helped keep her tears at bay, and he looked back over his shoulder, assessing her with a single glance.

  The lines in his face softened as he must’ve realized how very frightened she’d been.

  “I’m sorry if I scared ya. The cattle were all tucked in among the cedar grove not far off. I started back as soon as the snow started coming down.”

  She swiped at her cheeks, afraid he was seeing too much. She’d been so alone since Jamie died...for much longer than that. She had few memories of being close with her father as a small girl, but after he had remarried, he’d grown distant.

  * * *

  Davy swept his fingers through his hair, clearing the last of the flakes that clung to the curls at the nape of his neck. He was due for a cut. His hair was longer than his hat brim could cover. The warmth inside the cabin hit him, flushing over his body, and the smell of wood smoke was strong. She’d obviously tended the fire well.

  Rose still stood near the window clutching the sill with white-knuckled fingers. Being out in the cold had worked up his appetite. But there were no smells of cooked food. Surprise flittered through him, but he worked not to show it.

  Maybe if they had something to do, some way to ease this awkwardness, that would help.

  “You eaten yet?” he asked casually as he reached down to pull off his boots.

  He wobbled, and his attention diverted from her for a moment.

  “No,” she said softly.

  He looked up at her from his position crouched over his boot and saw the fear cross her expressive face.

  “Did you think I wasn’t coming back?”

  She didn’t answer, only clasped both elbows in her palms, her arms crossed over her middle, above her protruding stomach as if protecting herself, and turned slightly away toward the stove. “I’ll fix something now.”

  It wasn’t an answer. Had she been preparing for the worst? Planning on rationing the food if she was trapped up here alone?

  How had she withstood the fear when she had been alone up here with no way out?

  And he hadn’t helped ease her fear by staying out longer. He could’ve turned back earlier, but he hadn’t known her fear would immobilize her like this.

  She wasn’t his to protect, but he’d been taught how to treat a woman, and that included protecting them from things they feared.

  “I’m sorry if I scared ya,” he said, finally freeing himself from his boots and standing tall again.

  She shrugged, her back to him, but he recognized the sentiment from dealing with his sister and seeing his brothers with their wives. She wanted to pretend it hadn’t mattered, that she hadn’t been scared.

  But he couldn’t erase the knowing.

  He didn’t know anything about courting. And she wasn’t his to comfort. But it would ease things if he could get her to trust him.

  Chapter Four

  They ate a quiet lunch, strangers seated across the table from each other.

  Rose was ashamed that he’d seen her tears. Would he see her as Jamie had, a weaker being to exploit? Someone who suited his purposes and that was all?

  But the cowboy didn’t
look at her in the calculating, disdainful way she’d come to recognize from her late husband. The cowboy seemed to be lost in his thoughts.

  When he’d cleared his plate, he stood, his presence again filling her senses. Jamie had been several inches taller than her, but this cowboy was even taller and muscled through the shoulders, as if his work outdoors with animals had made him thus.

  “You look like you could use a nap,” he said, inflection casual. “I’ll clean up here.”

  She was tired. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been, standing watch for him to return. But she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep, not with a stranger in the same room.

  She lay down anyway, her exhausted body full and warm, tiredness seeping into her. She fought to keep her eyes open in the soft lamplight, tucking the quilt to her chin. Jamie’s smell was entirely gone.

  Familiar sounds of liquid bubbling in a pot, the soft clank of the pot against the stove, flames crackling, water swishing as he scrubbed their plates, all of it relaxed her until she fell into a deep slumber.

  Her disorientation was minor when she woke this time. There was only a moment of deep fear before she remembered her rescuer, the cowboy.

  She made no movement, cracking her eyes the slightest bit. He sat at the table, a pencil scratching against paper. His red curls fell across his forehead. He was intent on his letter, or whatever it was he wrote.

  He was handsome, she supposed. Why wasn’t he married? Not that it was her business. He spoke affectionately about his family.

  She knew that finding another husband was the safest route for her to take. Other than keeping house she had very few skills, and it would be difficult to support herself and a child on her own. Someone like Davy would make a good husband.

  But she wasn’t sure she could trust again after Jamie. She didn’t know if she could stand the hurt again if she gave her heart and had it crushed again.

  She didn’t want to think about Jamie, not now. She sat up in a rush, her overwrought equilibrium making her head spin.

  She was tired of being huge with child, tired of the aches and hurting feet.