The Cowboy Upstairs

by Tanya Michaels

  Difficult, but not impossible.

  Sure, she was more subtle than her sister, but that didn’t mean she was indifferent. There’d been those admiring glances across the barbecue restaurant, and since then, her teasing last night and the intimate way she’d smiled at him when he’d agreed to babysit. In general, he avoided complications and bossy people. But for the chance to find out if the attraction went both ways...? It’s not like you can avoid her, anyway. You live together. More or less.

  “Found it!” Marc called. He returned, holding a battered cardboard box with masking tape around the corners.

  Sawyer pushed aside indecent thoughts about Marc’s mom and opened the door for the kid. “You do realize that even with the roof, we’re going to get a little wet? The rain will blow onto the porch.” The sound of the howling wind reverberated all around them. Wait—that noise was more than the wind.

  Marc cocked his head. “Do you hear that, Mr. Sawyer?”

  “Yeah.” The intermittent sound wasn’t exactly a howl; it was a high-pitched whine coming from somewhere in the yard below. Blinking rain out of his eyes, Sawyer leaned over the railing and saw a black-and-gold tail, stubby hind legs and a wiggling butt that suggested frantic movements from the unseen front half of the body. A small dog, probably no more than a puppy, had tried to get under the porch and appeared to be stuck in the latticework.

  “That’s a dog!” Marc was breathless with excitement, his words running together. “We have to save it.”

  Sawyer was already on his way down the steps. If the dog kept up its panicked struggling, it would either break the lattice or injure itself, or both. “You stay put,” he told Marc, “and I’ll—”

  But the boy scrambled past him, jostling Sawyer, missing the bottom step and nearly landing on his face on the sidewalk before making a wobbly recovery. Sawyer’s heart was in his throat as he envisioned having to tell Becca that her baby’s nose was broken, yet Marc seemed unfazed by his near tumble on the concrete.

  “Do you think he’s okay, Mr. Sawyer? What kind of dog is it? Where did he come from? Does he have a collar?”

  The kid’s rapid-fire delivery gave Sawyer a better understanding of Becca’s no-caffeine rule. It was easy to see what Marc would be like after downing an energy drink.

  “I won’t be able to tell if he has a collar on until I free him,” Sawyer said, keeping his voice low so that he didn’t spook the animal further. “And I won’t be able to help him until you move out of my way.”

  Marc scrambled to the side in such haste that his shoes slid in the mud and he toppled over. He grinned sheepishly. “Oops.”

  Reassured that the boy was unhurt, Sawyer focused on the squirming dog. “This would be easier if you’d hold still a second,” he muttered, wrapping his hands around the animal to steady him. The dog yowled in protest, but was free a moment later.

  It was a German shepherd puppy, little more than a black-and-gold fur ball, with big clunky feet that hinted at his eventual size. Correction, Sawyer noted, lifting the puppy by the scruff of its neck, her eventual size. “It’s a girl.”

  “She’s so cute!”

  “Maybe when she’s dry,” Sawyer said. “Right now, she’s a wet, dirty mess. And frankly, so are you. We should get you inside and cleaned up before your mom gets home.”

  “What about the puppy? We can’t leave her out in this storm!” A well-timed thunderclap punctuated Marc’s words.

  Sawyer stood, carrying the puppy up the stairs. No way could he bring it into Becca’s house, but he and Marc should at least finish their conversation out of the rain. The kid was going to catch a cold at this rate. “Maybe I can rig up some kind of pen for her out here.”

  “We can’t leave her out here alone. She’ll be scared.”

  “She can’t run loose through your house, either.” Although, technically, the puppy didn’t seem interested in running. Worn-out from trying to escape the clutches of the evil lattice, she was now nestled into Sawyer’s body heat, her breathing a soft, growly snore.

  “She can stay in your apartment,” Marc suggested, a gleam in his eye. The hint of rebellion made him look like a completely different kid than the miserable boy Sawyer had chatted with that morning, the one who’d struggled into shin guards for a soccer game he didn’t want to play.

  For a moment, Sawyer considered the idea. The only things of value he had with him were his laptop and his guitar, both easily placed out of the puppy’s reach. “Your mom wouldn’t like it.”

  Marc’s face fell. “No, I guess not. She doesn’t like video games. Or sodas. Or sn—”

  “Or snakes. I remember.”

  Becca liked order and rules and sending her son to a structured activity for every day of the week. Sawyer thought again of the pranks from his youth, the scrapes he and Charlie got into that had been so much fun they’d almost always been worth the consequences. He and his brother might not see eye to eye as adults, but they’d shared a hell of a childhood. Marc lived in a spotless house with pink furniture and no siblings. In the years to come, what would his treasured memories of mischief be?

  “We’re only taking the puppy upstairs to get her out of this storm,” Sawyer stated, finally relenting. “And you have to bring me a towel to dry her off first. If the rain stops before your mom returns, we can ask a few of your neighbors if they’re missing a dog. Her owner probably lives close by.”

  “What if she doesn’t have an owner?”

  Sawyer suddenly found himself grinning at a memory of his first day here. Becca had said she wanted a guard dog. Careful what you wish for, sweetheart.

  * * *

  “WELL, THAT WAS a very productive afternoon,” Becca chirped, injecting as much positivity into her tone as humanly possible. Her optimism might rub off on Molly.

  Eventually.

  For now, Molly was sighing heavily in the passenger’s seat. “Yeah, I’m sure we set some record for the most food-service forms filled out in a storm.” Under Becca’s supervision, she’d completed six applications, starting with one for the concessions booth at Cupid’s Bow Cinema and ending at the local deli, where they’d picked up food for dinner. “Gee, do I want to serve overpriced popcorn for a living or glop mayo on people’s sandwiches? Hard to pick between two dream careers.”

  If they’d been at home, where Becca’s attention wasn’t divided between conversation and the dwindling visibility as evening approached, she would have pointed out that the Reyes family, who owned the deli, were some of the town’s most well liked citizens or that Molly would be lucky to get a call from the movie theater manager after smacking her gum through their entire conversation and answering his questions with sullen curtness. But now was not the time to provoke an argument.

  “At least the movie theater job offers later hours,” Becca commented. When Molly had opened one eye long enough to refuse an invitation to the soccer game that morning, she’d mumbled that she was more of a “night person.” Becca turned her windshield wipers to their highest speed, keeping her observations conciliatory. “Whatever job you end up with now doesn’t have to be a long-term career. Look at it as a stepping stone.” And perhaps the necessary motivation to come up with a better plan. “If you don’t want to live with me or Odette forever, you need a steady income.”

  “Or I could just get married.”

  Rainy conditions or not, Becca couldn’t help jerking her gaze off the road long enough to glare at her sister. “What an appalling thing to say.”

  “Plenty of wives don’t have jobs. Mom never did.”

  “But that’s no reason to get married! And for the record, being a mom or dad is a full-time job. More than a job, actually.” Such a simplistic term couldn’t begin to sum up the difficulties and joys of parenting. Odette had tried to delegate away the difficulty; by doing so, how many of the joys had she cheated
herself out of?

  “Let me get this straight. Finding a husband was okay for you, but would be ‘appalling’ for me?”

  “Molly, I hope you do fall in love and get married. Someday. Years from now.” And I hope it turns out a hell of a lot better than my marriage did. “But I met Colin while I was in college. If I’d never dated him or anyone else, I still would have left the university with a degree and a plan for the future. It was my scholarship, not my marriage, that allowed me to—”

  “Escape the rest of us?” There was genuine pain in her soft question.

  “Molly...”

  “Whatever. I get it. Must have sucked, taking care of a bunch of bratty brothers and sisters.” She stared out the window. “I can barely take care of myself, right?”

  As Becca turned into the driveway, she felt a twinge of cowardly relief that getting out of the vehicle would provide a convenient end to the conversation. Normally, she wasn’t one for avoidance. But in this case? She didn’t know what to say. Molly had her faults, but resentment toward the big sister who’d abandoned her wasn’t unwarranted.

  Becca couldn’t resolve that, not in the next ninety seconds, but she hated for their afternoon to end on such a sour note. “You were really good with those kids at the library. I know Hadley will appreciate you volunteering a few hours a week.”

  Since they’d been next door to the library, Becca had dropped by to introduce her sister. In her midtwenties, Hadley might be a good role model, while being closer to Molly’s age. And if Molly was sticking around Cupid’s Bow for a while, she should meet people—people who weren’t inappropriate men.

  When the conversation had turned to the election, Molly had wandered off and helped a little girl find a book. After that, Hadley had wrangled Molly’s agreement to come read stories a couple times a week.

  In a perfect world, Hadley could hire Molly for a paying job, but the town library had suffered some budget cuts. If—when—Becca was elected, maybe she could find a way to redistribute funds. Not for her friend or her sister, but because she thought access to books was a much better priority than some of Mayor Truitt’s showy pet projects.

  “Thanks,” Molly said. “Hadley seemed okay.”

  “Would you be interested in a job working with kids?” Becca asked. “There’s a day care center and a preschool at the church. They aren’t open on Saturdays, and I’m not sure if either is actively hiring, but we—”

  “I’m hungry and I want to put my wet feet into the warmest socks I can find.” Molly yanked her door open. “Maybe give the career-counselor bit a rest?” Without waiting for a response, she stomped toward the house.

  That could have gone better.

  Could’ve gone worse, too. Rather than focus on negatives, Becca decided to count today as a victory; less than twenty-four hours after arriving in town, Molly had multiple job leads and had met a potential new friend. It was a decent start.

  Gathering up the bags from the deli, she followed after her sister. In the living room, Marc was lying on the floor with a deck of cards. She was surprised to find him showered and in his pajamas before dinner. After setting the food on the kitchen counter, she returned, leaning down to kiss the top of Marc’s head, breathing in the apple scent of his children’s shampoo and marveling at how fast her little boy was growing. “Hey, champ. What are you up to?”

  “Trying to build a house out of cards. Mr. Sawyer showed me earlier, but I’m not very good.”

  “Not yet, but that’s why we practice, right? Where is Mr. Sawyer?”

  “Why?” Marc’s gaze jerked to her face, then slid away. “Do you need him? He went upstairs when we heard you and Aunt Molly outside. We probably shouldn’t bother him. He might need some alone time. Mrs. Whittmeyer is always sending Kenny and his brother and his dad camping so she can have ‘alone time.’”

  Becca laughed. “Yes, well, the Whittmeyer boys can be a handful. Did you give Mr. Sawyer any trouble?”

  “I was real good. I read my book and took a shower.”

  “So I noticed. It’s a little early for pj’s. Tired after soccer this morning?”

  “No. But my clothes were dirty. F-from playing checkers with Mr. Sawyer!”

  She had to remind him to bathe after horseback-riding lessons and soccer practices, but he found the condition of his clothes unacceptable after a checkers match? “I didn’t realize checkers was such a rough-and-tumble sport.”

  “So there’s a full-contact version?” Molly leaned against the doorjamb, standing on one foot as she peeled off a damp sock. “I’ll have to ask Sawyer to teach me.”

  Becca shot a quelling glance at her sister. You, behave. Her cell phone rang and she saw that Kate Trent was calling, probably about the festival, which kicked off a week from tomorrow. She left the room to take the call.

  Kate didn’t bother with a hello. “Parade emergency!” Her voice was tremulous, unlike the calm, patient tone she used when teaching Marc’s piano lessons. “The roof of Jed Harker’s decrepit barn collapsed.”

  “Oh, God, is he okay?”

  “No one was in it. But he was storing three floats for us.”

  Becca knew that the local fire department had offered Jed money in the past for the barn, wanting to burn it down as a training exercise. It was not exactly a shock that the building had fallen apart. She was just glad no one had been hurt. “I’ll go through the festival phone tree and put together a list of people who can help repair floats—”

  “At least one of them is beyond saving. Completely destroyed!”

  “People who can help build floats,” Becca amended, “and I’ll get back to you tomorrow night. Don’t panic. We still have a week before the festival.”

  “Right. Of course you’re right. I don’t know why I got so emotional about a few parade floats.”

  Becca grinned, glad her friend couldn’t see her knowing expression. She had a pretty good idea why Kate had been so emotional lately—and why, green faced, the sheriff’s wife had suddenly bolted from the campaign meeting Thursday, claiming that the barbecue hadn’t agreed with her. Did Kate not yet realize she was pregnant again, or were she and Cole waiting until the second trimester to share the news?

  “The floats are under control,” Becca promised. “You’ve done a great job coordinating the parade.”

  “Thank you,” Kate said, finally sounding like herself. “Your notes from last year were so organized that it’s been easy. Except for this slight building-caving-in hiccup.”

  “I’ll call around and look for new places to store the floats. Structurally sound edifices only, I swear. Meanwhile, why don’t you relax and get that handsome husband of yours to rub your feet or something?” Hanging up the phone, Becca realized that it felt like a different lifetime since she’d romantically pursued Cole Trent—not that romance had been her motivation exactly. After the divorce, trying to date him had seemed sensible, another case of being goal-oriented. He was a good father, a good person and good-looking. With her being on the town council and him being the sheriff, they would have been the Cupid’s Bow version of a power couple. It could have canceled out her feelings of failure.

  But as soon as Kate had entered the picture, Becca had been able to admit Cole wasn’t the right man for her. My own husband wasn’t the right man for me, either. Was there a right man for her? As she’d told Molly, a strong, independent woman didn’t need a man. Oh, but there were times she wanted one.

  Focus. She had a sister to rehabilitate, a festival to run and an election to win. But first, dinner. Since the deli had done most of the work, all that was left was some mixing and reheating. As she pressed buttons on the microwave, she thought she heard a strange sound over the beeps and the ongoing white noise of the rain. It had been sharp and high-pitched. Some kind of animal, maybe?

  She tilted her head, waiting to see if i
t came again. But other than the muffled sound of Sawyer’s footsteps two stories above, there was nothing. Obviously just something outside. Or maybe the cowboy was watching the Discovery Channel and had the volume up too loud.

  Dismissing her curiosity, she did a mental run through of centennial events. The official kickoff was Sunday morning. She, as festival chairperson, would give a brief welcome address in the downtown gazebo, followed by a speech from Mayor Truitt. She would attempt to not publicly roll her eyes while he was talking. Then came the parade.

  Sunday night was her big triumph, the sold-out concert that was drawing in tourists from neighboring regions. She’d called in a favor and booked a young woman originally from Cupid’s Bow who’d won a reality TV singing contest a few years ago; thinking of the girl’s resulting celebrity made Becca feel guilty that she’d been so quick to dismiss Molly’s hope of musical fame. But—

  There! It was that same sound as earlier. And it definitely hadn’t come from outside.

  Marc came around the corner in a hurry. “Hey, Mama—”

  “No running in the house,” she reminded him. “Did you hear that noise?”

  “Wh-what noise? I didn’t hear a noise. That’s not why I came in here! I’m hungry. That’s why I came to the kitchen. Is it time for dinner?”

  “Pretty much.” Her son was acting squirrelly. “Want to set the table while I go tell Sawyer we’ve got food ready?”

  “No!”

  “Marc Paul, what on earth is going on?”

  “N-nothing. But remember about his alone time?”

  “Did he specifically say he needed to be left alone?” She wanted to know what Sawyer was up to and exactly how he’d spent the hours he was supposed to be watching her son.

  “No.” Marc hung his head, not meeting her gaze. “But...what if he’s taking a nap?”

  “I heard lots of movement up there. Don’t worry, he isn’t asleep.” Before her son could suggest any other obstacles, she marched up the first flight of steps.

  Above her, she heard the door to the attic apartment open and close. Sawyer met her halfway down the spiral staircase, moving so quickly it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him not to run in the house; they almost collided in the narrow space.