Her Convenient Cowboy

by Lacy Williams

  Davy chuckled, patting him on the neck. “Enjoy it. You worked hard today, fella.”

  He began unbuckling the saddle, soaking in the star-filled night and the quiet joys of a job well-done and his wife waiting for him to get home.

  “What should I do?” Rose asked.

  “You want to tie him off on the rail? I’m going to take this inside,” he put both hands on either side of the saddle and hefted it, taking the saddle blanket with it.

  It was warmer out of the wind. He fumbled a little in the dark, enclosed space, since he’d left the lantern with Rose, but put the saddle where it belonged and found the two curry combs.

  Rose looked at the knot she’d put in the reins with something like trepidation. “I’m not sure it’s tight enough to hold him.”

  “It’s fine,” he answered, smiling a little. “He ain’t going anywhere, not with his nose stuck in that oat bucket.”

  “Oh.”

  “C’mere,” he invited.

  He was gratified when she rounded the horse and came to his side. He showed her how to hold the brush and work it through the animal’s coat, and then he moved to the horse’s opposite side. They would get finished in half the time.

  “I’ve got a potpie warming on the stove,” she said.

  “Did you eat already?”

  She shook her head. “I was waiting on you.”

  He gave her a mock glare over the horse’s back. “If I’m late, you don’t have to wait supper on me. You’ve got to worry about you and the babe.”

  She’d gone still while he’d talked, her brows drawn in a little over her eyes. “Are you certain?”

  “I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.”

  She seemed to settle something inside herself and then smiled shyly at him. “I’d like to know what some of your favorite foods are. Maybe I can cook some of them.”

  Pleasure swirled through him, warming him even though he was chilled after being out in the elements all day. “That’s a right fine idea, although you won’t hear me complaining about eating. I like almost anything.”

  He swiped the comb over the horse’s flank while he thought. “I love a good apple pie or chocolate cake—guess you could say I’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth.” He grinned at her. “And my ma has a recipe for fried chicken that makes a body’s mouth water. I’ll bet she’d share it with you.”

  She went a little stiff at the mention of his ma but kept working on the horse. He wanted to get her back inside before she took a chill, and the night air was cooling around them.

  “My papa and I once made a peach tart that was divine,” she said softly, her eyes unfocused as she thought about the past. “Do you know if there are any canned peaches in the supplies?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “But if not, I can snitch some from ma’s stores next time we’re down at the house.”

  “Oh, don’t do that...”

  She seemed uncomfortable every time he mentioned his ma. His ma had come around after the morning discussion yesterday. Or at least she’d been congenial. She would accept Rose just as she’d accepted Fran, Hattie and Sarah. It just might take time.

  Was Rose still so uncomfortable with his family? He could only hope that repeated exposure would help her know they would rally around her as part of the family now. It was what they did.

  “I got to thinking today that we haven’t talked much about the baby and what he or she will want to call me.”

  She looked up, her brows furrowed again at his subject change.

  He cleared his throat. “I’d love to be called Pa, but if it’s too hard on you to think of me like that, we’ll think of something different.”

  She was quiet and he worried he’d said the wrong thing, so he rushed on, “We’ll talk about your Jamie to the babe all you want. Keep his memory alive. And...if you get to missing him, you can talk to me.”

  “You...you want to talk about Jamie?” Her voice was faint, barely above a whisper.

  “I’d like to know about him, and if you ever want to talk, I’m here with an ear to listen.”

  He wanted to know what had made her fall for the other man. Wanted to know how he could make Rose fall for him, too. But he also didn’t want her to think she couldn’t share her deepest hurts with him. He wanted to know her.

  “I can’t.” She looked down. “I...I’m sorry.”

  His gut twisted. He hadn’t expected her to open up, but he was still disappointed. “That’s okay. When you’re ready, I’ll still be here.”

  She nodded but wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  He’d lost his family young, and the sting of grief from his losses had faded some. He couldn’t imagine what she was going through, having lost her husband.

  There was a part of him that respected her grief. But another part, one he wasn’t entirely proud of, was jealous of the obvious love she still held for the other man.

  How could he compete with someone dead and gone? He couldn’t.

  The hope and joy he’d felt when she’d come out to greet him dissolved, leaving only a bitter taste in his mouth.

  * * *

  Davy had gone quiet, and Rose knew it was her fault. He’d asked about Jamie, and the pain was still so fresh that she couldn’t speak about him.

  How could she admit that he’d found fault with nearly everything she did? That their marriage had been a sham, but she had stayed with him because she’d had no other choice? She’d been so ashamed of how he’d played on her emotions and pushed her into a marriage that benefited him—thanks to her small dowry.

  What would Davy think of her if he knew those things? Certainly less than he did now.

  But she also felt the distance between them and didn’t know how to fix the awkwardness that hung between them.

  She’d felt a little foolish rushing out of the house to greet him, but as it had gone on to dark she’d begun to worry. And he’d been happy to see her. She’d heard it in the warmth of his tone. He’d been patient when she’d asked to follow him out here, and no doubt he already would have been done except for allowing her to help.

  She stroked the brush over the horse’s shoulder and was extremely aware of Davy coming round the animal toward her, though she couldn’t see well in the star-studded darkness. He ran his hand over the horse’s back. “Great job. I think this is probably the best treatment he’s received in a while.”

  Was he teasing her? She studied his face in the starlight, but he seemed perfectly serious.

  “Really?” she dared to ask.

  “Yep.” His tone was so easy that she couldn’t doubt what he said. “Let me turn him out, and we’ll go eat the supper you’ve kept warm.”

  She watched his calm, sure movements as he unbuckled the bridle and slipped it over the horse’s nose, and then opened the railing on the fence to let the animal pass through.

  She shivered in the cold night air, and he must’ve seen or sensed it because as he joined her and they turned toward the cabin, his arm came around her shoulders.

  He wasn’t angry or upset that she hadn’t answered him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning started much the same as the day before for Rose. She woke to the smell of coffee and to sunlight streaming through the cabin window. Davy was gone, and the dog panted at her with paws propped on the side of the bed.

  Her feet hit the cool floorboards, and she stood and stretched, one hand going to her back, where achy muscles seemed constant even after she’d slept all night.

  Last night Davy had lain beside her, regaling her with more stories of his childhood until she’d drifted off to a peaceful sleep. Though she’d noticed he didn’t mention his brother Ricky. She was curious about the brother who had been his closest friend but was now missing from the family.

&nb
sp; But her thoughts were completely distracted from that as she caught sight of another brown-wrapped package on the kitchen table.

  She’d spent hours yesterday in the late afternoon when there had been nothing more to dust and she’d been waiting for Davy to return home, sewing a baby gown that was now tucked away in the small chest next to the bed.

  A thrill of excitement whirled through her like wild wind in a snowstorm and she found herself rushing forward, fingers tangling in the twine as she hurried to open it. Inside was a skein of pale blue yarn and two knitting needles. She held the yarn against her chest, rubbing its softness beneath her chin.

  Tears stung her eyes; emotion rose in her throat. She remembered that he’d had more than two packages that first night back. Had he stored all of them beneath the bed?

  She wouldn’t look. If he wanted to surprise her, who was she to argue?

  No one had done something this kind for her since she had been a small girl. The very sweetness of it stunned her.

  She wanted to do something for her new husband to show her appreciation, to make him feel as warm inside as she did now.

  He hadn’t mentioned going out to the cattle again, but she knew they were his main concern while they spent the winter up here.

  But then she heard a distant clunk, clunk, clunk and moved to the window.

  Across the clearing, Davy was chopping wood. It appeared he was just beginning, as there were only a few small chunks of wood at his feet. He was in his shirt sleeves and even from here she could see the pull of the muscles in his back as he placed a log and started chopping.

  He was here. He’d stayed.

  Joy and nerves fluttered through her, and she quickly washed up and pinned her hair.

  He liked fried chicken. She didn’t have chickens at the cabin but there was a side of beef. Her stepmother had made a lovely chicken-fried steak once. She would do her best to remember the steps so she could re-create it for their noon meal.

  She perused the canned goods on the shelf and was elated to find two jars of peaches. She could make the peach tarts!

  She mixed up the dough and put the tarts on first, knowing they would take longer to bake. Then she put on a pot of potatoes to boil and started on the steaks.

  A half hour later, she burst out of the cabin, coughing. Acrid smoke followed her out, billowing into the cloud-dotted blue sky.

  “Rose!”

  Davy was there almost instantly, taking her elbow and hurrying her away from the door.

  “What happened?”

  She coughed more as she tried to speak. “Burned the steaks—caught fire.”

  He let go of her and rushed into the cabin. She’d used a towel to grab the skillet and shove it away from the hottest part of the fire in hopes that the flames would die down on their own.

  Embarrassment and shame ran through her in a shudder. She’d burned the food, had started a fire, even if it was a small one.

  Davy came back outside holding the still-smoking skillet with a towel to protect his hand. She couldn’t see flames licking upward, so the steak must’ve gone out.

  He disappeared into the woods and reappeared moments later with the skillet held loosely at his side. He set it on the doorstep and came to her, holding her chin loosely in his big fingers. “You all right?”

  Her eyes watered from the smoke and a little from her failure. She managed a jerky nod that knocked his hand away.

  “I b-burned the steaks.”

  His lips tilted in a rakish grin. “You obliterated them, honey.”

  She was shaking through and through, prepared for a flash of temper. “I’m s-sorry.”

  He shrugged. “My ma once burned down the entire kitchen.”

  She stood on shaking legs while he watched with slightly narrowed eyes. “I need to go pull the tarts out of the oven, if they aren’t completely ruined.”

  “I’ll get them.”

  Still nervous, she trailed him to the cabin. The smoke had stopped billowing out, though a pall of it lingered.

  He opened the oven door and grabbed the pan.

  “I think your potatoes are still all right,” he said with a glance in the pot on top of the stove.

  Then he bent over the tray of pastries. “Mmm,” he inhaled. “These seem to be untouched as well.”

  He grabbed one off the edge of the pan.

  “Don’t, you’ll burn your—”

  He stuffed the tart into his mouth in one wide bite.

  “Mouth...” She trailed off.

  His eyes closed and he hummed low in his throat.

  “It’s worf it,” he said through a mouthful.

  He swallowed and she had to laugh—a trembling laugh—at the boyish grin he bestowed on her. “I’ll settle for a belly full of those for my dinner,” he said.

  “I doubt your belly will thank you,” she retorted softly. She was secretly pleased that he liked the tart, especially in light of the fact she’d burned the rest of his steak. At least the potatoes could be salvaged.

  He went to wash up, leaving the door open, and the cold, fresh air soon cleared the residual smoke from the cabin.

  She mashed the potatoes, feeling like it wasn’t enough of a meal, not judged against what she’d wanted to give to him.

  Maybe she wasn’t enough.

  * * *

  Rose didn’t understand her husband.

  Instead of being angry about the burned meat, Davy had made a fuss over the tarts all throughout lunch. He’d made her giggle with effusive, outrageous compliments, but underneath she remained uncertain. Why wasn’t he angry about the ruined meal?

  And then he’d invited her to go with him for an afternoon of ice fishing. She’d been surprised into speechlessness. After what she’d done, he wanted to spend the afternoon with her?

  After he’d spent minutes animatedly convincing her of the fun they would have, she’d shyly agreed.

  But now, bundled with one of his sweaters beneath the coat he’d given her and the scarf about her neck, she hesitated. On the stoop, cold air hit her face.

  What if she messed up what was supposed to be a simple fishing trip? What if he tired of squiring her around all afternoon? What if it began snowing and they got lost in the woods?

  Everything was quiet in their clearing. The snow-covered trees for once weren’t swaying in any wind.

  Davy came around the corner whistling. He had a long stick over one shoulder and a basket over his other arm.

  “Ready, my peach tart?”

  His unexpected teasing drew her up short.

  His mouth twitched as he came near and bussed her cheek.

  “Can you carry this?” He extended the pole to her, exchanging it for her opposite hand when she accepted it.

  Warmth zinged up her arm at his touch.

  “You’ll want to be careful where you step. Some drifted snow could be hiding a depression, and you don’t want to twist your ankle.”

  She raised her eyebrows at him. “I can’t even see my feet, and you want me to watch for holes?”

  He winked at her. “Guess I’ll have to stay close and help you watch.”

  They set off into the woods, his hand warm beneath her elbow in support.

  “Are you sure you shouldn’t be working with the cattle? I don’t want to distract you from your work,” she said.

  He looked down on her.

  “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he said. The intensity in his eyes made her look away, made a flush of heat sweep up into her face. He squeezed her hand as he helped her step over a fallen log. “I spread some hay for the cattle yesterday. With the weather mild like this they should be all right until tomorrow, if not later.”

  “Oh.”

  “One of the big th
ings we’ve got to watch for is predators.”

  She shivered. “Like bears?”

  “Mmm—probably less likely to run across a bear this time of year. It’s the wolves and coyotes and even wild dogs we want to watch out for.”

  And suddenly the quiet afternoon among nature seemed more sinister.

  Her steps faltered, and he looked down at her.

  “They won’t...bother us, will they?”

  He didn’t laugh at her or smile as if her fears were silly. He looked like he was actually considering her question. “The truth is most of the wild animals you run across will be more scared of you than you are of them.”

  She was plenty scared. And he seemed to recognize it. His big, warm hand slid down her wrist to enclose hers. “Mostly if an animal is near you won’t even see it. They’ll see you and hide or they’ll go the other way. If you happen to see one, try to make yourself look bigger. Stand up straight, put your arms above your head. And make noise. Loud noise will scare them off if nothing else does.”

  “And if they still approach?” All she could think of was a wolf attacking. Maybe it was a blessing she hadn’t known about the possible predators when she’d been up here alone and vulnerable.

  “Then I’ll take care of the danger,” he said quietly. He patted his side and for the first time she noticed the pistol belted at his hip.

  “My pa taught us how to protect our own. You don’t have to worry.”

  Before she could consider what he really meant, they’d arrived.

  “Here we are.” He parted several branches and pointed her through. She ducked beneath his outstretched arm and stood on the bank of a narrow stream.

  She gasped softly as she took it all in. The bare branches were dark against the pale blue sky, the stream was frozen in a sheet of ice and untouched snow covered the banks and drifted up to the surrounding trees.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered in awe.

  He looked down at her again, his eyes warm and gentle. “I’m glad you think so.”

  “How can you fish if the stream is frozen?” she asked, uncomfortable under his intense gaze.

  “I’ve got it taken care of.” He patted the basket over his arm.