Her Convenient Cowboy

by Lacy Williams

  She watched as he used a hatchet to break a hole in the ice. It wasn’t as thick as she’d thought, and he explained that it would get thicker as the winter wore on. As he removed the larger pieces of ice, black water gurgled up through the hole that remained.

  He baited the pole with some kernels of corn and grinned up at her when he must’ve sensed her curious perusal.

  “Family trick,” he said.

  He dropped the line into the dark waters inside the hole and extended the pole to her.

  “Oh, I...” She hesitated. “I thought I would just watch.” She hadn’t known he expected her to fish.

  “Aw, c’mon. It’s more fun to do the fishing.” He wiggled the pole a bit. “Don’t you want to try?”

  She did.

  But a tinge of reluctance remained as she took the pole. It felt awkward in her hand.

  “What if a big fish pulls it away from me?”

  His lips twitched. “I doubt there are many fish that big in this little stream.”

  His hand closed over hers, and he stood close behind her as he showed her how to feel the weight of the line itself and told her what it might feel like when a fish took the bait.

  He stepped back, and she keenly felt the lack of his presence close behind her.

  He leaned against a nearby tree, dappled by its shade, looking relaxed as if he was comfortable enough to stand there all day.

  “What happens if I drop the pole?”

  He grinned again. “Then I guess I’ll be a cold wet mess for the walk back to the house. Once I go in after it, that is.”

  He meant his words to be teasing. She knew it by the familiar smile tilting his lips. But her palms grew sweaty against the smooth wood regardless of the cold air.

  And then she felt a tug against the pole and shrieked at the unexpected sensation.

  “It’s—”

  He was chuckling.

  “Don’t laugh. It’s a fish.”

  He didn’t seem concerned, still leaning carelessly against the tree. “Well, what are you waiting for? Pull it up.”

  Since he obviously wasn’t coming to help her, she jerked the pole upward, and a brown fish larger than Davy’s hand came along with her line.

  She shrieked again and picked up one foot and then the other as the fish flopped on the bank.

  Davy took pity on her, even if he still chuckled low in his throat as he knelt on the bank and grabbed the line.

  “Nice little trout,” he said. She felt him tug on the line, and then he stood and presented the fish to her across his big palm. “Want to hold it?”

  She shook her head, biting her lip. But he didn’t push her and he winked as he said, “Your hook’s baited again. Drop it back in there. We’ll fry up what you catch and have a nice supper.”

  Exultation soared through her as she did as he’d asked. He tucked the still-flipping fish into his basket and put a cloth over the top, probably so it couldn’t flop out.

  He stood to his full height and rubbed his stomach. “Any chance there’s more peaches back at the cabin?”

  She shook her head, a blush filling her cheeks and making her feel silly. “How can you possibly want more peaches after all the tarts you ate for dinner?”

  He shrugged. “They were excellent.”

  His praise was as unfamiliar to her as the harsh Wyoming landscape. What was she to do with a husband like this?

  * * *

  Davy kept careful watch over his wife as the afternoon wore on and the sunlight began to fade. He didn’t want her getting too cold, but her exuberant joy as she caught three fish, and then four, magnified what he felt simply being with her like this.

  “You’ve never gone fishing before?” he asked as he tucked the fourth into the basket. It was plenty for a hearty meal for the two of them, and he noticed the bright pink of her nose and cheeks. It was time to head home.

  He took the pole from her and wrapped the line around it to keep it from tangling when they traipsed back through the woods.

  “No, never. I suppose you’ve been every summer.”

  “Multiple times every summer. At least since I came to be with Jonas. When we were younger, Ricky and I would sneak away from afternoon chores to go.”

  Where was Ricky now? Was he warm, safe? Still carousing, still running from his past? Did he want to come home as much as Davy wanted him to?

  “You miss him,” she said softly.

  There was no use denying it. “Probably almost as much as you miss your Jamie.”

  Her face tightened, and she looked down. He could’ve kicked himself for bringing up her late husband. He knew she was grieving, but the words had just popped out. He wished he could take them back.

  “Did your papa punish you for sneaking away and avoiding your chores?” she asked softly.

  And he was glad that she had moved on from the painful subject of her husband.

  “No. He probably should’ve. Sometimes he would do our chores for us. Sometimes he would bring the other kids and join us. He and my ma had their first kiss on a fishing afternoon during a break at harvest time.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We were there.”

  She looked scandalized and he laughed. “With eight of us underfoot, they didn’t get much privacy when they were courting. I guess we’ll know soon enough.”

  Her hand went to her stomach almost protectively. Maxwell had said they might have another week or two before the baby came. They hadn’t talked about whether she’d want his ma to help, or maybe Hattie. Davy knew how things had changed for his parents having a new baby, and the demands that came with it around the house.

  If he wanted to spend time with Rose alone, it must be now.

  “Do you want to ride out with me tomorrow? Check the cattle?”

  Her surprise was evident in her expression, though she quickly masked it with shy indifference. “You want me to come with you?”

  “Yes. If the weather continues on mild like this, it should be an enjoyable day.”

  She carried a soft smile as they walked the rest of the way. Could he have made her that happy just by extending the invitation?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Early morning light was breaking the horizon outside the window on the next day when Davy slipped out of bed and knelt next to the raised box frame, reaching beneath it for the next package he’d stashed there as a gift for Rose.

  But unlike the past two mornings when she’d slept on, today she stirred and raised her head.

  “What’re you doing?” Her voice was warm and sleepy. In the low light, he could barely make out the softness of her sleep-warmed features.

  The paper crinkled noisily as his fingers closed over the edge of the package, and he felt a bit sheepish. No use trying to hide what he was doing now. He grabbed hold of the package and dragged it out.

  She sat up suddenly, brushing her hair back from her face.

  He swallowed hard. Tried to distract himself by putting the brown-wrapped package on the bed in front of her.

  “Another one?” she asked shyly, her face turned down to the quilt.

  “You want me to keep it?” he teased. “I doubt it will look as pretty on me as it will on you.”

  And then her eyes flicked up to his. “It’s for me? But the others were for the baby.”

  He hesitated. He didn’t want to upset the fragile thing growing between them, but he also didn’t want her to think he’d married her for the baby’s sake alone.

  “Is there any reason the babe’s mother can’t have something nice for herself?”

  “I don’t know what to say when you spoil me like this,” she admitted softly. “It isn’t necessary. We’re already married. You don’t have to...to win me or anything.”<
br />
  That she thought so made his gut clench painfully. He wanted to win her heart. Desperately.

  And he admitted it. “I’d like to.”

  She looked up and their gazes met and connected, her uncertainty and his vulnerability.

  “Just because you’re already my wife doesn’t mean I can’t court you. Or give you nice things when I can afford it.”

  Last night he’d snuck out to the lean-to for nearly an hour and worked on the handcrafted Christmas gift he intended to give her.

  She flushed and looked down again, and he pushed the package toward her. Slowly, ever so slowly, she took it. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the edge and began to untuck the wrapping. It unfolded around the pretty peach-colored lace shawl that he’d seen in the store and had to have for her. It wouldn’t keep her warm, not much anyway, but it was right pretty.

  She went still on a little intake of breath and he froze too, afraid of doing the wrong thing again, afraid of scaring her with his growing feelings.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  “Not as much as the woman who’ll wear it.”

  He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, so he pushed to his feet. “I’ll stoke the fire if you want to do something quick for breakfast. Maybe scramble up some eggs? We’ll want to get a start before the day gets too far gone. Do you still feel up to going?”

  She looked up at him, and her eyes sparkled like stars. “I still want to go.”

  He smiled at her, the knot in his stomach unfurling. “Good.”

  He added wood to the fire and then slipped outside to take care of his personal needs and to saddle a horse for her. He hitched the small cart to the workhorse and pitched it full of hay.

  The day looked to be mild with a cloudless sky, and by the time he’d finished his tasks he was ready to shed his coat.

  He washed up and met Rose at the breakfast table, noting she’d bundled up in his sweater again and had her coat laid out on the bed.

  There was a steaming plate of scrambled eggs and a side of fried ham waiting on him. But a sweeter smell made his nose twitch as he sat down and dug in.

  “You got something still in the oven?” he asked when he couldn’t contain his curiosity anymore.

  She shrugged, her gaze on her plate. Her mouth ticked up at one corner. “It should be finished by the time we’ve eaten.”

  Hmm. His suspicions were raised, but he dug into his food.

  * * *

  Rose felt the weight of her husband’s curious gaze throughout the meal but wanted to offer her own surprise in the face of all his gifts. She’d found a jar of peaches hiding behind several other jars on the shelf and had portioned some into a small batch of tarts—saving the rest. If it was awhile before they got back to the family homestead or to town where she could obtain more, she wanted to keep some back and give him a treat when she could surprise him again.

  His plate was quickly emptied and then he looked up at her with eyebrows raised, as if demanding to know what the surprise was.

  And she felt a rare spurt of orneriness. “I think I’ll make you wait until later.” His hangdog expression made her laugh. “I’ll just be a minute, and then I’ll be ready to go.”

  She turned her back to him at the stove, taking out the tray of pastries, using her bulk and her skirt to keep them out of his view.

  She heard his chair scrape against the floor and then he was groaning from close behind her. “Aw, you made peach tarts again?”

  As he approached she felt the warmth of his body. She pretended to ignore him, putting pastries atop a clean napkin she had laid out.

  “And you’re gonna make me wait?” His words were almost a groan.

  His big hand sneaked around the side of her waist, but she smacked the back of his wrist with her fingers before he could grab one of the two left of the tray.

  “Aw, Rosie...”

  Before she could stop him, his opposite arm came around her waist and he snitched the last pastry from the tray.

  “Davy!”

  She whirled, not realizing until she had exactly how close he was. He was already chewing the tart, his expression and half-closed eyes revealing his enjoyment of it. His hands rested on the work counter on either side of her, trapping her in his almost-embrace.

  But she wasn’t frightened in the least.

  He was so close she could smell the coffee and peaches on his breath.

  “You made me a treat. Shouldn’t I get to enjoy it?”

  “I think you just did,” she replied with a wrinkle of her nose.

  “Maybe it’s another kind of treat I want,” he returned, and his voice had gone low and husky.

  His eyes locked on her lips, and her stomach flipped over slowly.

  Was he going to kiss her? Did she want him to?

  But he didn’t lean toward her.

  Her face began to burn as the moment stretched between them.

  What was he waiting for? He was looking at her as if she was the peach tart he wanted to consume. But he still held back.

  She wanted him to kiss her.

  But he only continued to look into her eyes from this close proximity.

  Then he raised his hand and brushed a strand of hair that had caught against her cheek. His finger was warm and calloused.

  “I want a treat, but only one that’s freely given.”

  Because he was a man of honor. Hadn’t he shown her that in every way since they’d met?

  He leaned forward slightly and her stomach swooped, but he only brushed a chaste kiss against her cheek and his shoulders shifted as he began to move away.

  Heart pounding, she reached for him, her hand connecting with his forearm.

  He went perfectly still.

  And she kept reaching for him. Her hand passed lightly over his shoulder and then she rested her palm against his jaw. And used gentle pressure to guide his head down so their lips could meet.

  Where before, on their wedding day, there had been mere curiosity and trepidation in the kisses they’d shared, this was different. The way she saw him had begun to change.

  Maybe she had changed.

  Their lips brushed once, a soft touch. And then one of his arms came around her and his hand cupped the nape of her neck. His head tilted farther and their chins brushed this time, their lips melded until she was shaking both inside and out.

  But his firm embrace held her steady. And she didn’t want it to end.

  Maybe she’d shifted closer, or he had, but suddenly the girth of her belly was between them and things became awkward. The baby. Jamie’s baby.

  Heat suffused her face as she pulled out of the embrace, disentangled from his arms.

  She wasn’t sure what had just happened. She’d never been overcome by a rush of emotion such as the one she’d just felt with Davy. Never with Jamie.

  She didn’t know what to do with it. It was frightening in its intensity.

  She kept her head down and turned her back, folding the cloth around the remaining peach tarts. She could still sense him close behind her. He hadn’t moved away, and his presence intensified the fire in her face.

  “Didn’t you say we should go before the day wasted away?” Somehow, there was only a slight tremble to her voice as she said the words. She tried to find a smile but feared that the wobble in her lips would show her upset.

  Why didn’t he move away?

  And then finally he did, on the heels of a long, slow exhale. The distance she desperately needed gave her the courage to turn.

  His back was to her, his hand rubbing the nape of his neck. This time when her stomach dropped, there was no pleasure in it.

  Was he angry that she’d pulled away? Would he refuse to let her come on the outing today? Had sh
e offended him by ending the embrace?

  But he only nodded as if settling something for himself. He grabbed his hat off the peg by the door and smashed it down on his head. “You got your scarf?”

  Instead of the condemnation she had expected to hear, his voice sounded as calm and easy as ever.

  And that pushed her roiling emotions over the edge. Tears spilled over her cheeks, and she turned her back quickly, hoping he hadn’t seen. She raised her apron to wipe her face but his boots were loud against the wood plank floor as two long strides brought him back to her.

  He grabbed her elbow and turned her to face him.

  Tears still streamed down her face, and he dug in his pocket for his handkerchief, coming up with a clean white square that he pressed into her hand.

  She swiped at the tears on her face with the cloth, unable to meet his eyes. Why did her emotions constantly get the better of her? It was maddening.

  He stepped back and his hand was at the back of his neck again. As if he ached there.

  “I...I’m sorry,” she stammered.

  “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

  “No!” she cried out. “I liked the kiss.”

  She hadn’t really meant to say that aloud, but she wouldn’t take it back. It was the truth. It didn’t stop flames of fire from licking up her neck and cheeks.

  And his eyes went soft, his mouth pulling into a slight smile. “Then what just happened to pull these tears from you?”

  She thought about how to phrase it. “Expectations,” she whispered finally.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Jamie, well...” How could she speak badly of a man who was gone now? But Davy’s face tightened at her hesitation. And she wanted him to understand. Needed him to. “I thought that you were angry,” she tried to explain. “When I pulled away. Your shoulders were tense and you did this.” She copied the motion he’d done twice in just a short time.

  Davy’s brows furrowed in confusion. “You thought I was angry with you?”

  She was bungling this.

  “Jamie suffered from... Sometimes his moods could be...volatile.”

  And Davy’s face changed like a rising storm turning his brow into a thundercloud of emotion.