He looked…lost, somehow, and something twisted inside her.
“She get down okay?” he asked.
“Yes. She’s been asleep for a while now, but I couldn’t resist holding her for a moment. She’s darling, isn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
She couldn’t shake Trace’s words of advice. Tell him how you feel. See if he might feel the same.
It would have been the perfect time for that sort of declaration. She could sit down beside him on the swing, grip the chain tightly in her fingers and spill out her feelings.
I’ve been in love with you since I was nine years old. You’re everything to me. Please come home, Cisco.
She had dug her fingernails into her palms, turned to him and opened her mouth. “Cisco, I …”
But he had jumped up before the words were even out. “Think I’ll hit the sack, too. I’m pretty tired from the antibiotics.”
She hadn’t known what to do, to say, except stare at him. “I…really?”
“Yeah. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She watched him hurry into the house, her nerves tangled and raw, wondering just why he was avoiding her.
Did he sense what she intended to say and hope to avoid any awkward lovesick confessions and the complications they would entail?
She sighed now, a tiny sound in Belle’s dimly lit bedroom. Probably better that his abrupt exit had precluded her from saying anything. Better that she kept her big yap zipped, that she just accepted the harsh truth that anything real and lasting between her and Cisco del Norte was as unlikely as palm trees growing in the high pasture.
Belle stirred and rolled to her side, her little mouth suckling at air. Easton drew a breath into lungs that suddenly seemed lined with razor blades.
Oh, she would miss this little girl. After Belle and Cisco left, the ranch would seem deathly quiet.
How was it possible that one darling child could worm her way so easily into Easton’s heart in such a short time, especially when she had been trying her best to guard against that very thing?
Something about this cheerful little baby tugged at her insides, made her want to gather her close and not let go.
But she had to let go. In a few hours, Belle’s family would come for her and Easton would have to dig deep to find that elusive strength once again.
She reached a hand to Belle’s soft curls but stopped a few inches shy of them, reluctant to wake her. She withdrew her hand and stood by the side of the crib for a moment longer, then finally turned to find her bed once more and froze.
Cisco stood in the doorway watching her and the baby. His hair was mussed from sleep, he wore only low-slung jeans unbuttoned at the top and his skin gleamed bronze in the glow from the Winnie the Pooh nightlight.
Nerves skittered through her, sharp and urgent. She wanted nothing more than to slink into the rocking chair and pull one of Belle’s blankets over her head until he left.
Her emotions were too close to the surface right now for her to be cool and controlled around him.
Instead, she forced herself to move closer. He backed up into the hall and she followed him, tugging the door closed behind her.
“Has she been up?”
“I don’t think so. I thought I heard her crying, but now I think I must have been imagining things. You didn’t hear her cry out, did you?”
“No. Only you moving around in here.”
He shifted just enough that she saw the outline of something hard and dark tucked into his waistband at the small of his back.
His gun. He couldn’t even move around the ranch house without feeling the need to protect himself. It was a stark and rather sad discovery.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” she said.
“You didn’t. I was awake.”
“But you were so tired earlier.”
Something suspiciously like guilt flashed in his eyes, confirming her suspicion that he had pretended a need for sleep so he wouldn’t be forced to be alone with her after Belle went to bed.
“I slept for a few hours. Sometimes that’s all I need.”
“Even when you’re recovering from a knife wound?”
“Old habits and all that. Guess I’m still a night owl.”
He gazed at her in silence for a moment and she was suddenly intensely aware of her nightgown, threadbare since even before Jo died eighteen months earlier. She could at least have picked a nightgown that didn’t make her look like some dowdy maiden aunt.
“Um, so how are you feeling?” she finally asked.
“Still hurts like hell,” he admitted, much to her surprise. “But at least the fever’s gone and I’m no longer feeling like you’ve been dragging me behind Lucky Star for a few weeks.”
“That’s good.”
Now. She should tell him now. The words hovered on her tongue, but in the end she chickened out. Not yet. She had one more day to get through with him. Once she told him how she felt, she couldn’t take the words back and she was very much afraid of ruining even the little portion she had of him.
She couldn’t think of anything else to say, even with all the thoughts zinging around in her head, so they stood in silence for a moment. The house was quiet around them, peaceful, and she could suddenly hear her heartbeat. She wanted desperately to step forward and kiss him again. The memory of the night before shimmered around them and she could almost taste him one more time.
She drew in a shaky breath and prayed he didn’t notice. “Um, we should probably go to bed. I mean back to bed. Both of us. Separately.”
Something dark flickered in his gaze and she thought she saw a pulse in his throat. “Right. That’s probably a good idea.”
“Good night, then.” She escaped into her bedroom and closed the door, feeling like the world’s biggest fool.
She could handle being an idiot, she thought as she climbed into her solitary bed. But she really hated feeling like a coward.
Chapter Eight
Easton’s muscles hummed as she scooped another shovel full of sand into a bag. After two hours of this, she never wanted to see a shovel or a pile of sand again in her life.
“A couple more ought to take care of our second load.” Burt closed the bag and hefted it into the pickup truck to join rows of others. “That should be enough for us to protect the hay up there.”
She set down her shovel. “I hope so. We just need to hang on for a few more weeks, until the first hay cut of the season.”
“Few weeks beyond that and we’ll be moving the herd out of here and won’t need it. Think we’ll make it?”
“I don’t know.” She wiped at her forehead. “Why don’t you call Dusty Harper and check if he has any hay to sell. This time of year, he might try to gouge us for it, but you can see if he’ll give us a decent price.”
“Will do. You okay down here while Mike and me take this last load up to the creek?”
“Should be.”
Once more, she found herself deeply grateful for the endless workload of a cattle ranch that left her little time to brood about anything, especially not her own cowardice.
After she left Cisco standing in the hallway, she had tossed and turned for a long time before she finally fell asleep only a few hours before dawn. Of course she had dreamed again in the night. She should have expected it. In her dream, the two of them had been on Jo’s porch swing enjoying a pleasant evening, but they couldn’t seem to make the swing move in unison. His side had been swinging faster than hers and as a result, the whole thing moved crazily, chains jangling.
Suddenly a baby started to cry somewhere on the ranch. Easton jumped up and began to frantically search everywhere while the baby cried and cried and somewhere in the distance a mountain lion screamed.
She awoke when her alarm went off with her heart pounding, her pulse racing and her cheeks wet.
She hadn’t wanted to spend the morning moping around the house, waiting for Belle’s aunt and cousins to arrive, and she had been fiercely glad for the
excuse to throw herself into sandbagging today after Burt called to tell her the creek was running higher than either of them had expected.
They should have moved the hay out when they had the chance, but a couple of pickup truck loads of sandbags would probably take care of the problem until the next crisis rolled along.
Once again, Winder Ranch had been her salvation and once more she realized the healing power of hard work, throwing herself into mind-numbing physical labor to dull the edge of her emotional turmoil.
Move forward, Jo would have said. When you don’t feel you can go another inch, just keep on riding until you get past the obstacles on the trail.
When Jo fell ill, Easton had been so grateful for the peace she found through work, for the steady comfort of routine. Ranch work had saved her again eighteen months ago when her aunt died, outlasting doctor’s prognosis by a year.
She would get through this, too. Belle would settle in with her aunt. Cisco would return to his wandering ways. And Easton would throw herself back into the ranch. Who knows? With all the restless energy seething through her right now, she might be able to channel her efforts into making this Winder Ranch’s most successful year.
“You listening at all to me, missy?”
She jerked her attention back to Burt, chagrinned at her rudeness. “Sorry. My mind was wandering.”
“I reckon I know just what direction it was heading.” He glowered toward the house. “Be good when some people leave, so the rest of us can get a little bit of work done around here again.”
She set the shovel carefully aside and lifted the bag into the pickup truck. “I’m sure you’ll have your wish in a few hours.”
“I guess they’ll be gone by the time we get back from setting these sandbags around the hay barn.”
She had planned to help her crew with the work at the flood site and avoid the house for the rest of the morning, but as she stepped away from the bed of the pickup truck, she knew she couldn’t do it. Coward she might be when it came to revealing her deepest emotions to Cisco, but she couldn’t bear the idea of not saying goodbye to that darling baby for what might be the last time.
“You and the boys can handle this by yourself, can’t you?”
He squinted at her. “I s’pose.”
“I’d better stick close to the house, just in case.”
Burt had known her since she was just a pig-tailed tomboy and he didn’t look at all fooled.
“Be good when we can get some work done around here,” he repeated gruffly.
She didn’t bother to answer him, since she imagined she would be doing the work of two men in the foreseeable future, with all the emotions she would need to burn off in the coming days.
She waved him off and then headed back to the ranch house. Inside the back door, she kicked off her dusty, gritty boots, then followed the happy baby sounds to the great room, where she found Cisco on the floor watching Belle crawl around and explore.
His dark, glittery gaze lifted to hers and she was suddenly back in that darkened hallway the night before with heat simmering between them.
“Hey. You must have left the house early,” he said.
She shrugged. “Our flooding situation has taken a turn for the worse, so I’ve been filling sandbags.”
Belle, drawn by the sound of their voices, shifted her attention from a nubby ball that was a particular favorite of Joey’s. Her features lit up when she saw Easton and she clapped her hands and squealed with delight.
The baby’s reaction sliced at her heart with dagger precision. She pictured another dark-haired baby, one she had only held for a moment before the doctors and nurses took him away and the hospital chaplain stepped forward with soft eyes and gentle hands.
She forced a smile, pushing the memories away. “Hey. there, sweetheart.”
Apparently she wasn’t as good as she’d hoped at masking her reaction.
“What’s wrong?” Cisco asked quietly.
“What do you mean?” she stalled.
He frowned. “I don’t know. Every once in a while, you get this look in your eyes. I don’t know what it is, but you look…wrecked.”
She drew in a shaky breath, hating that he could see her so clearly about some things and be so completely oblivious about others. “You’re imagining things, Cisco. Everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?”
He narrowed his gaze at her vehemence, which seemed wholly out of proportion to what he thought had been gentle probing.
He had seen those shadows in her eyes at random moments before and had always assumed it had something to do with him and his stupid mistakes with her. He knew she had to be angry with him for letting the situation between them get out of hand after Guff’s death, for taking advantage of her and assuaging his hunger for her when they were both grief-stricken, vulnerable.
But just now he had seen something else in her eyes, an old, deep sadness and he didn’t have the first idea how to make it right.
“Any word from Belle’s aunt?” she asked.
“Yes, actually. She called a few moments ago. She’s just outside town, trying to find Cold Creek Canyon Road. I gave her directions. I expect she’ll be here any minute.”
Panic flickered in blue eyes he always thought were the exact color of the sea off Cartagena.
“So soon? We’d better hurry to find all her things.”
He gestured to Belle’s bag, already loaded and ready to go. “They’re here. I packed everything earlier this morning.”
If he thought she might commend him for his foresight, he was quite wrong. Her mouth hardened and her eyes turned frosty.
“You can’t wait to be free of anything that remotely smacks of obligation, can you? That’s so typical.”
The swift deadliness of the attack just about took his breath away. He opened his mouth with a sharp retort, but then he looked closer and saw bleak misery in her eyes.
He felt as if she had just shoved him into the icy waters of Windy Lake.
Madre de Dios. Could he have been so wrong? All these years, he thought the tension simmering between them had been her anger at him for making love to her, taking her virginity when he had no right to it, when she had only followed him that night to offer comfort.
But maybe it wasn’t regret and anger but something else, something deeper.
He thought of how hard she had pushed him to come back to the ranch, the way she seemed so distressed whenever he talked about leaving again.
His pulse kicked up a notch and he stared at her. He hadn’t slept well after their encounter in the night, his mind whirling as he rehashed every interaction between them since he had come back to the ranch.
He didn’t know what to think. Was it possible she wanted him back not because they were friends but because her feelings ran deeper?
Feeling at a disadvantage on the floor, he rose to his feet. He could push her and see how she reacted. It was old spy trick. Give a contact what you think he expects to hear and gauge his reaction to help decipher his true feelings.
“Yeah, by this time tomorrow, I should be on the beach with a señorita on my lap and a bottle in my hand.”
He expected anger. Instead, her eyes turned dark with pain.
“Easton…”
Whatever he might have intended to say was shoved out of his mind by a flash of silver outside the window. He shifted his gaze and saw a minivan pull to a stop in front of the house.
Easton’s features froze. Whatever he thought he saw there was hidden quickly as she worked to regain control.
“Looks like she’s here.”
“Right.”
They stood frozen, both of them looking at Isabella. Even after the doorbell rang through the suddenly still house, neither of them rushed to answer.
“I guess we should probably get that,” Easton finally said when the bell rang a second time.
He suddenly wanted to tell her no, to grab Easton and Belle and whisk them out the back door and into the mountains, wh
ere he could hide them and keep them safe.
Keep them his.
The splash of reality was just as cold as always. He had obligations, as he had told Easton. He didn’t have time or room in his life to take on a baby, no matter how adorable, no matter how tenaciously she seemed to be hanging on to his heartstrings with her chubby little fingers.
And Easton.
He didn’t have room for her either—and even if he changed that somehow, if he walked away from The Game, he wouldn’t deserve her.
“I’ll get it,” he said and walked to the front door.
When he opened it, the woman standing on the front porch was a plump, female version of John Moore, with his sandy blond hair and the same bright blue eyes her niece had inherited.
She was holding a toddler on one hip and looked to be about six months pregnant. Two older children, maybe four or five, stood behind her, peeking around at him with big eyes.
“Hi. I’m Sharon Weaver. Are you Cisco del Norte?”
“I am.”
Belle must have followed him to the entry. She made a noise to be picked up and he complied, ignoring how the movement set his gut on fire from his injury.
“Sharon, this is Easton Springhill, the owner of Winder Ranch,” he said. “And this is your niece.”
The woman’s wary expression softened as she looked at Belle. “Her eyes are Johnny’s. And mine, too, I suppose. I thought so from the pictures Socorro was kind enough to e-mail me after Belle was born, but I wasn’t certain.”
Easton stepped forward. “Won’t you all come in? Sit down, please. Would the children like a cookie and some milk? I think I’ve got some Oreos in the kitchen.”
That seemed to be the magic word. The older two looked as if Easton had offered them chocolate-covered gold bars.
“That would be lovely. Thank you very much.” Sharon Weaver looked wearily relieved as the two older children followed Easton to the kitchen, leaving her with only the one in her arms.
“Were you a good friend of Socorro’s?” she asked after Easton and the children were gone.
A Cold Creek Baby Page 11
