Her Convenient Cowboy

by Lacy Williams

  He stood directly behind her and guided her hands as she slipped the leather over the horse’s snout and higher, and pushed the long metal piece between its teeth. When it was in place she buckled the leather straps together with shaking fingers.

  “See, you did it.”

  His gentle praise filled her with a sense of rightness. It wasn’t a large task, only a small one. But she had overcome her apprehension with his help.

  “You think you could do it again?”

  She nodded, a little dazed, a little warm with her success.

  “But...how do I get on the horse?”

  Chapter Five

  The next day, Rose cleaned up from the noonday meal, scraping the few morsels left on their plates into the scrap bucket.

  She had been unsettled all day. The wind had howled all night, disturbing her sleep. Even now, ice pellets clinked against the window. The cowboy had been in and out, going out to the lean-to several times and letting in the blasting wind. She’d been aware of his eyes on her often, though he seemed unaffected by the closeness they’d experienced last night in the lean-to.

  “How long do you think the storm will last?” she asked.

  She couldn’t keep her eyes off the continuing blizzard outside. It seemed worse today than it had last night. And her worries about their food supply would not be comforted.

  “As long as it lasts,” he answered, not looking up from his task. He sat with legs spread on the floor, head bent over the chair. Trying to fix the wobble?

  His answer shouldn’t have frustrated her so, but she hadn’t slept well. Even over the blowing storm, she’d suffered a burn in her chest all night, unable to get comfortable, and the baby had squirmed inside her often.

  And all of it reminded her that the baby was coming soon, and she wasn’t ready. And she was stuck here!

  The cowboy had been underfoot all morning, keeping himself busy with small tasks. Bringing in firewood and stacking it neatly behind the stove. Plugging the window where cold air drafted in. He’d melted water and washed the blankets—something she hadn’t done since she and Jamie had arrived, to her chagrin—and now they hung drying on a line he’d strung on the opposite wall. And now this. Did the man ever sit still? Just witnessing his energy exhausted her.

  She scrubbed the plate unnecessarily hard and finally sat it on the counter with a loud clank.

  “Something wrong?” he asked, still in that calm voice, still only halfway paying attention.

  She gripped the counter until her knuckles whitened, trying to contain the emotions that threatened to boil over in a storm of tears.

  “What happens if we run out of food again?” she whispered, shocked that one of her greatest fears had slipped out so quickly with this man she hardly knew.

  “We won’t.”

  He kept his attention on his hands and, frustrated, she slapped her open palm on the counter.

  The stinging pain brought tears to her eyes, or maybe it was the situation as a whole.

  But his head came up, his eyes locked on her.

  She’d made the mistake once of speaking in such an insolent manner to Jamie. He’d lost his temper and it had resulted in a terrible row during which the intensity of his temper had frightened her. Would the cowboy reprimand her for her emotional outburst?

  But Davy just stared at her until she grew uncomfortable and looked away.

  “How can you be sure?” she asked, hating the tremble in her voice.

  “Because if the side of beef runs out, I’ll set some snares and catch wild game. Or spend a few hours fishing from the little stream back behind here.”

  “In winter?”

  He grinned, a flash of white teeth against tanned skin. “You’ve never heard of ice fishing?”

  She wrinkled her nose. How could he tease?

  His eyes softened, still watching her in a way she couldn’t seem to recognize. “I promise I won’t let ya starve before we get down to my pa’s place.”

  And he went right back to his work.

  She wiped off the tabletop with an aimless swipe, almost tripping over the cowboy’s long legs because she couldn’t see beneath the bulge of her belly.

  Then he set the chair upright on the floor and pushed off, standing to his full height.

  “Try it out,” he offered, shaking it slightly by the back.

  She hesitated, but he waited for her, looking at her evenly, and she knew he could outlast her if he needed to.

  She perched on the edge of the chair. It didn’t wobble. She scooted back a bit, and it still didn’t wobble.

  She looked up, expecting him to be waiting for praise, like Jamie would’ve been, but he had already turned away, moving to the small shelf in the corner near the bunks.

  “You want to play a game of checkers?” he asked over his shoulder.

  She swallowed back a lump in her throat. He was nothing like she expected. Nothing in her life before this, first with her stepmother’s controlling nature and then with Jamie, had prepared her for this cowboy.

  He didn’t react to her fussing, did kind things for her without expecting her to fall over herself praising him...

  She didn’t know what to make of the man.

  * * *

  Davy pretended to rifle through his saddlebags, gathering up the checkers and board. He kept his back turned to give Rose a moment of privacy, thinking she might need to pull herself together.

  Since his teen years, he’d witnessed Penny’s three pregnancies and Oscar’s wife, Sarah, who’d had a baby two years ago. He knew enough about pregnant women to figure his best option was to get out of her way when her emotions got the better of her. He didn’t get the feeling she enjoyed her fluctuating emotions. She probably couldn’t help it.

  And something inside him reacted to Rose’s upset, something he hoped was friendship.

  He should’ve been paying better attention, should’ve realized she was worrying over being cooped up by the blizzard. Things hadn’t been easy for her, being trapped up here.

  And she must’ve been lonely on her own. Maybe she just needed someone to pay attention to her.

  He’d been frustrated by the forced inactivity. He needed to check the cattle, had lost time due to the storm and felt the burden of being responsible for his and Ricky’s future livelihood. He’d poured his energy and frustrations into finding small tasks and even had a running list in mind of things to fix, such as the windowsill outside that had partly blown off in the strong winds.

  And because of all of that he’d missed the fact that Rose was so agitated.

  He brought the checkerboard to the table and started setting the pieces on their respective sides.

  “I don’t...I don’t know how to play,” she admitted softly. Her eyes were downcast, her lashes dark against her cheeks. He’d noticed she did that often. Who had put her in the habit of hiding her feelings?

  “Really?” He kept setting out the checkers. “Then I’ll go easy on you.”

  Her lips turned down in a frown. “I’m not...I can’t cipher. Is there a lot of strategy to it?”

  He kept his eyes on his hands, not looking up even though he wanted to refute her soft admission. It sounded as though she was...ashamed. Had someone made her feel inferior? It riled him, but he worked to keep his voice calm.

  “If my brother Seb can play, you’ll do fine.”

  “All right.”

  He sat down across from her. Fixing the wobbly chair had filled him with pride. He was good at working with wood. If he would have had more time this summer, he would have crafted a nicer pair of chairs than these basic ones. Maybe that would give him something to do over the winter when he was back up here after he delivered Rose to the homestead.

  Thinking about coming back here alone pu
t a pinch in his gut. He hadn’t realized how isolated he would be. He was determined to fulfill the task he’d set with the winter herd, but Rose had no similar compunction. She’d been trapped up here. How had she stood it?

  He explained the rules of the game to her, and they started playing.

  She was so quiet.

  He’d tried not to notice, tried to give her space as he’d puttered around the cabin all morning. But sitting across from her in silence was awkward.

  “Did you grow up in the city all your life?”

  She bit her lip as she touched one of her checkers, then must’ve changed her mind, for she moved another.

  “Yes. My father was an investor.” There was something, some deep hurt in her quiet words. “My mother died when I was very small, and for a while it was just the two of us. And then he remarried and it became the three of us.”

  He moved his piece, leaving her an opening to jump him and take the piece. Would she notice?

  “When you talk about your siblings it makes me remember how often I dreamed about having a little brother.”

  Her diffident smile was a touch sad, and he longed to lighten her mood. “And now you’ll have a little one of your own,” he said.

  He’d meant the words in a good way, but her frown deepened.

  He tried another tack. “My ma always had a chest full of things she’d knitted and sewed for her little ones before they came. What about you?”

  But her frown twisted. She shook her head and then ducked so he couldn’t see her face.

  No things for her baby?

  Davy’s stomach flipped over slowly. He’d seen that she had hardly any belongings. She was so scared about everything. He didn’t want to make it worse by pushing further. She was out here with no money. What was she going to do when the baby came?

  “Do all your siblings get along?” she asked so quietly that he barely heard her over the crackling fire.

  He went along with the subject change, chuckling darkly. “Not hardly.”

  Her mouth had lost the worst of the frown lines when she looked up at him this time, and a fine tension he hadn’t realized he carried in his shoulders dissipated.

  She jumped his checker with a hint of a smile, the piece clicking against the painted wooden board.

  “When we were teens, Edgar and Ricky liked to play pranks on everybody else. Most of us boys would laugh it off, but not Seb. That boy would get so mad...”

  It was a learned skill, stifling laughter when Seb would get all red-faced and riled.

  He shook his head and moved a piece.

  “Now Breanna, she’s the youngest—or she was before Jonas and Penny started having kids of their own. She likes to boss, but when Oscar—he’s the oldest—would tell her what to do...whoohee!” He whistled through his teeth. “They’ve had them some scuffles through the years. Course it’s better now that Oscar’s got a home and family of his own.”

  She made a moue with her lips as she decided the fate of her next checker. “But you still love each other. Because you’re family.”

  Her words were faintly questioning.

  “Of course,” he answered.

  He jumped her last checker and the game was over. “Not bad for a beginner. I’ve only got three pieces left.”

  She lit up at his faint praise, and something tightened in his gut.

  It was clear Rose needed a friend.

  And he was determined to be that for her.

  “Want to play again?”

  She put a hand to her forehead. “I might...I might lie down. I’m feeling a bit worn.”

  He nodded and rose with a scrape of the chair leg against the plank floor. He put the checkerboard away as she curled under the quilt on the bed, her face turned toward the wall.

  He stoked the fire and went out to check the horses.

  There was a small sense of accomplishment that she’d settled some after her earlier outburst. But also, a sense of warning. The connection, the friendship blossoming between them would have been welcome at any other time. But she was a recent widow with a baby on the way. And he had a job he needed to do wintering these cattle. It was a self-assigned job, but he’d risked years of his savings on the chance that he could make a good profit for himself and Ricky.

  This was not an easy time to be building a friendship with someone new. No matter how much he liked her and how deep his longing for a family went.

  He needed the weather to clear so he could deliver her to his family on the homestead.

  * * *

  Rose felt slightly more settled when she woke to dim late-afternoon light filtering in the window and the incessant wind blowing outside the cabin and the soft pop and crackle of the fire inside. The blistering storm of her emotions had calmed somewhat.

  Earlier, she’d had a burst of self-recrimination when the cowboy had brought up her lack of things for the baby. Every day trapped here was one less day she would be able to work to provide for them before the baby came. She’d considered what jobs she might be qualified for and had come up with a frighteningly short list. It included laundry and hiring herself as a cleaning woman. Would those jobs pay enough for her to support herself?

  As her mind lingered on those questions, panic rose to claw at her throat, so she pushed the unhelpful thoughts aside.

  Maybe she should look for a husband, but she was hesitant to tie herself to anyone after what she’d gone through with Jamie. A match made for convenience couldn’t be worse...could it?

  She pushed back the quilt—she’d gone to bed fully dressed for the sake of propriety—to find the cowboy dozing in one kitchen chair with his sock feet crossed and propped on the other one.

  Mercy, but he was handsome. That red hair curling over his ears and those long blond eyelashes against his ruddy cheeks. The width of his shoulders made her catch her breath. She couldn’t help her attraction to him, couldn’t imagine he returned the feelings. She knew what she looked like heavy with child.

  Even in sleep he somehow seemed capable.

  She’d only known him for two and a half days, but somehow it felt much longer. Maybe because of their situation and how they’d been forced into such close proximity.

  It was dangerous to rely on him too much. But his promises to provide food and shelter for her, and to get her to safety made her want to.

  Still, she knew how very fragile life was. With both Papa and Jamie gone, she had only herself to rely on.

  She struggled to get out of the bed. Her back pinched, and she couldn’t help gasping.

  Her movements must’ve woken him, because just as her stocking feet hit the cool plank floor, his eyes opened and a warm smile spread across his face, lines bracketing his eyes. He shifted, his legs uncrossing as his feet rested on the floor.

  The pang of attraction hit low in her belly, sending a shiver through her. She ducked her head, even as her face warmed.

  Had he seen her reaction? Did it disgust him? There was nothing attractive about her anymore. She’d lost her feminine shape months ago. Shame flushed through her. Jamie was two weeks in his grave. And though she’d lost those feelings toward him early in their marriage—as quickly as his cruelty had begun—it wasn’t right to feel this way toward another man. Was it?

  But he didn’t acknowledge her discomfort, only ruffled one hand through his hair as he rose to his full height and went to check the fire in the stove again.

  She couldn’t afford to let the cowboy get too close. She couldn’t afford to lean on him.

  The white dog scratched at the door to go outside, and Davy opened the door to a burst of cold air.

  The little animal ran outside, while the cowboy remained in the doorway, looking out.

  “I think it’s letting up a bit,” Davy said over his shoulder. “If it ta
pers off in the night, perhaps we can ride down in the morning.”

  The news was both welcome and sent a frisson of apprehension through her. While they’d been trapped in this cabin she had had only a fuzzy acknowledgment that this time would come. She hadn’t had to face the decisions about finding a job, caring for the baby... But now...

  She turned to the counter and stove. Her stomach rumbled loudly, so loudly she was afraid he might hear it even across the room.

  He shut the door, and the cool draft that had teased her ankles abated.

  She felt him move toward her even without looking. “I thought you’d be happy to hear we’ll get out of the wilds yet.”

  “I am,” she replied, striving for a light tone.

  “You don’t seem it.”

  He came up beside her shoulder. “I’m starving,” he said, and for a second she was relieved that he’d left the former topic alone.

  “I’ll hurry,” she said, hoping he would leave her be. Not wanting him to sense her wildly vacillating feelings. He was remarkably sensitive for a man.

  “Why don’t we do it together? There’s enough flour to make a quick batch of biscuits. You do that and I’ll fry up some potatoes and onion.”

  It was simple fare, but she was so ravenous that it sounded like a delicious Christmas feast. She found herself nodding, even though she knew it was dangerous to allow the cowboy so close. He saw too much.

  He started peeling potatoes, his big, dexterous hands making short work of the task as if he’d done it many times.

  She measured flour into a bowl and added a pinch of salt.

  He began peeling and chopping an onion, and her eyes smarted at the strong scent. Suddenly, his broad-shouldered presence beside her brought a long-buried memory to the surface of her consciousness, like bubbles in a boiling pot of water. As a small child, with her mother gone, her father had hired a cook for most of their meals. But on one memorable occasion, the cook had not been present and he had invited her to stand on a kitchen chair as they cooked a meal together. It was one of her most vivid memories of him, laughing and close.