Second Round Cowboy (Second Chance Series)

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  Slipping out into the hallway and closing the door behind her, she tiptoed barefoot down the wood floor, stopping at the semi-open door to Lilly’s room and peered in. She was still in bed, spooned around a zebra pillow with her long blonde hair swept out over the bed. She looked like an angel and Leslie found an unfamiliar emotion filling her heart.

  For the sake of the little girl, Leslie needed to be careful. She had no clue what children needed. What did they eat? What did they like to play?

  From her place in the hall, Leslie glanced around the child’s space, looking at the toys—dolls, a small princess table with a tea set, many stuffed animals. Her clothes were still in a suitcase sitting on the floor.

  Lilly rolled, scrubbed her eyes with her knuckles but stayed asleep. Leslie started to back away when she saw the framed picture on the nightstand. Justine’s beautiful smile lit up the picture. She was holding a younger Lilly, probably about two, in her arms.

  A tear fell to Leslie’s cheek and she wiped it away. “Oh Justine, help me do what you expect from me. I want to help Lilly. I love her.” Met with silence, Leslie headed for the stairs.

  Heavy-hearted, she made her way downstairs. A knock at the door made her jump. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. Eight-thirty…a little early for company. She waited, wondering if the visitor would leave. Another knock came. She feared Lilly would wake up.

  Leslie opened the door, ready to chastise the relentless intruder, but the woman standing on the step held a briefcase and carried a disgruntled expression that paused any word from Leslie.

  “Excuse me. I’m Dorothy Berard.” When Leslie showed no sign of recognition, the other woman huffed. “The state worker. We have an appointment this morning.”

  Leslie’s grip tightened on the knob. “I—well, aren’t we scheduled to meet Thursday?”

  “I phoned Mr. Mason and told him the visit had been moved up to today. He must not have checked his messages.” She stared down her nose at Leslie and every nerve ending in her body stood to attention. “And who might you be?”

  “I’m Leslie Bakerfield.” Leslie stuck her hand out in greeting, which the other woman ignored. Leslie dropped her hand to her side.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Uhh…sure. I’m sorry.” Leslie stepped aside. “Stryker and Lilly are still sleeping.”

  Ms. Berard spun in a full circle, examining the foyer, before turning her attention back to Leslie. “He must have been up late.” The crisp tone could have frozen lava.

  Leslie swallowed the truth. The other woman certainly didn’t want to hear what occurred between the sheets. Leslie stifled a chuckle. “I’ll go wake Stryker.” She started for the stairs.

  “How about you and I talk first? I like to get to know my parents. You and Mr. Mason are a couple I presume.”

  There was no right answer so Leslie went with her instinct. “Yes, we are. We both will be raising Lilly.”

  “Precisely why we need to talk.”

  “Okay. Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea? Or a glass of water?”

  “No thank you. Just a chat is all that I need.”

  Leslie went cold. This woman reminded her of her fifth grade teacher who walked around with a ruler, striking it against her palm. Leslie had been scared of the teacher, much like her feelings for Ms. Berard. “We can have a seat in the living room.”

  They walked into the room and the other woman took a moment to examine her surroundings—probably a habit of nature.

  Leslie situated herself on the couch, waiting patiently. After a few minutes, Ms. Berard joined her and flipped through her briefcase, pulling out a notepad and pen. “I met with Mr. Mason right after the reading of his sister’s will. My job is to ensure that the adolescent child, Lilly Mason will be taken care of. We must follow a process before we can finish the adoption. I realize from a previous interview that the deceased, Justine Mason, had named you and Mr. Mason the minor child’s godparents.” Ms. Berard clicked her pen several times. “You stated that you both will be raising the minor child, does that mean you both will be asking to adopt her?”

  Leslie played with a loose thread on her shirt and moistened her dry lips. “Stryker and I haven’t discussed this.”

  “This could be a bit awkward, especially since you’re not married. We would be concerned that things would get sticky for the child.”

  “Awkward? I’m sure there have been other cases where guardians were not married.” Leslie clasped her hands tighter.

  “Of course there have been other cases, but we want what’s best for the minor child.”

  “The minor child’s name is Lilly and I assure you, Stryker and I want the same for her.” Leslie’s chest tightened. “We are here for her. Of course this all happened sudden, and new for the both of us.”

  One corner of the woman’s mouth twisted. “We hear this from all of the parents. We also realize being a parent takes more than just a desire. It’s a commitment that one can’t drop if it gets too heavy.”

  Leslie sat up straighter. “You don’t know Stryker, do you? If you did then you’d already know that she is right where she belongs. Stryker loves her and he is committed, fully, to providing Lilly with everything she needs—love, nurturing, necessities. I understand that you’re doing your job, Ms. Berard, but it would seem like whomever “we” is that you keep referring to would want all of the children, in the same unfortunate circumstances, to have someone who loves them like Stryker loves Lilly.”

  Ms. Berard set her pen down. “Okay, that sounds great, but what about you, Ms. Bakerfield? Tell me what your intentions are.”

  Leslie wouldn’t have felt less prepared if a tornado ripped through the house. She was on the hot seat and she squirmed. Inhaling deeply, she searched her brain for an answer, and then realized she needed to be herself. “My intentions are to show Lilly that her mother gave her life, nurtured her and because she was so special God needed her in heaven. I plan to love Lilly as if she was my own. I will wipe her tears when she cries, hold her when she is frightened and laugh when she laughs. When she falls, I will pick her up. Each and every day.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AN HOUR LATER, Stryker bid farewell to Ms. Berard and closed the door behind her. “Damn, that went better than I thought it would.” Relief spread through him.

  “You think so?” Leslie rolled her eyes. “Maybe for you. She likes you, but I think she hated me. Don’t you check your messages? It’d been nice to meet her wearing something other than your shirt and the after-math of sex written all over my appearance.”

  “Just like I told Ms. Berard, I didn’t get the message. It’s a possibility she didn’t send one because she wanted this to be a surprise visit.” He followed her into the kitchen. “By the way, I think you are adorable wearing my shirt and the bed-head hairdo is stylish.” She caught him with a heated glare. “But I know it was a bit uncomfortable.”

  “Uncomfortable isn’t the word I’d use. I bet standing in front of a fire squad would be less frightening.”

  “Sit and relax. Let me make you a cup of tea. I know it was horrible that you had to face her alone.” He poured water in the kettle and put it on the burner.

  “It’s probably a good thing you weren’t there to watch me lose every ounce of intelligent thought when she asked me what my intentions are.” She sat down at the bar. “She scribbled something in her notes. Probably something bad.”

  He grabbed two cups from the cabinet. “I don’t think it was as bad as you think.”

  “Easy for you to say. You gave such good answers to every question. How the hell would I have known that Lilly was due for shots, or that she is slightly underweight? She looks perfect to me.” She dropped her forehead to the counter and groaned.

  “Ms. Berard isn’t expecting you or me to turn into parents overnight. We learn, just like others do. And I got a kick out of your answer. Do horses really need that many shots?” He lifted a brow.

  She brought her head up. “You’r
e just being nice. Ms. Berard looked at me like I’d grown horns.”

  “Here, drink some tea.” He handed her a steaming cup then went about making a cup of coffee. He wanted to make Leslie feel better because he knew this was difficult for her. “It’ll all be okay.”

  “I hope I didn’t screw things for you.” She looked at him over the rim of her cup. “Ms. Berard will probably name me as unfit.”

  “Not going to happen. Lilly loves you.”

  “But she didn’t even speak to Lilly.”

  “Because she gets her reports from Tessa about Lilly’s progress. Tessa told me the workers have the least amount of contact with the children as possible to keep from disrupting their lives. After all, you and I are under the scrutiny, not Lilly. Speaking of, I have to get the little one to her appointment with Tessa.”

  Leslie nodded. “I’ll wake her. Drink your coffee.”

  He watched her walk out of the room and he smirked. He’d looked for his shirt this morning and couldn’t find it, and now he knew why—it was on her body. He should rush after her and demand it back. After all, the button down was his lucky one. Not a good idea. If he asked for his clothing back, it’d certainly lead him in helping her out of it, maybe ripping it in clumsy haste, then kissing her beautiful, pert breasts. His exploration wouldn’t stop there. He’d lose control and plunge himself deep within her until she cried his name like she did a handful of times last night. What good would any of that do? He’d lose a damned good shirt and he’d prove once again that his dick was misbehaving.

  The half hour trip to town and back to drop Lilly off did Stryker some good. He pulled up in front of the house and found he could breathe a little easier. His emotions were malfunctioning and he needed to reel them back into the safety of his bubble.

  Leslie was here for Lilly, not for him. Sure, they’d had a great night, shared great sex, but that’s where it stopped. He should feel ashamed, but there was no disgrace in two adults having a good time. No one would get hurt.

  He slid out of his truck and hummed as he made his way into the house. He heard noise coming from the kitchen and came to a dead halt at the threshold. Damn! His entire body awakened as the tune fizzled on his lips.

  This was exactly why he was in trouble—deep, deep trouble!

  Leslie was in his kitchen, and she looked right at home. She was standing at the stove, her hair was damp and she wore a strapless dress that ended mid-thigh, right where he’d like to touch again. To his amazement, she was cooking.

  She didn’t cook, so what was she up to?

  He opened his mouth to get her attention, but he waited. He liked watching from the shadows—much like a stalker observing someone who was out of his league. He’d wondered over the years if she’d left because she’d wanted more than he could give.

  Truth was, he’d been young and green like any twenty-something fellow. Thankfully, he’d matured and learned business skills. Of course, his ranch wasn’t comparable to Swift Wind or The McAllister, but Mason Ranch had come along way. Hell, he’d come along way. She probably had no clue just how far.

  After they’d parted, he’d sworn he’d make something of himself and the homestead. He worked from dusk till dawn, until his fingers bled and his back ached. In the end, it’d all been worth it to see his land flourish. He’d also branched out into real estate, buying land and houses, fixed them up and resold them for profit. He had a great staff, giving him freedom to spend more time with Lilly.

  He could give Leslie a good life. She could open a business—or whatever she wanted.

  He rubbed his eyes. Why was he tossing around such nonsense?

  Shit! He cared…too much. No matter how he tried to deny it, he still loved her.

  “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  She saw him. He had to come out of his hiding. He cleared his throat and made his way into the kitchen. “I see you got dressed okay.” He liked the way the top was cut low enough to show the tops of her breasts, the very part of her he’d already been consumed with.

  “Are you cranky because I got to take a long shower and you didn’t?” Her hands were on her waist, one hip cocked. “Anyway, I thought I’d better give you your shirt back.” She winked.

  “Maybe I’m upset that you didn’t wait so I could wash your back. The least I could do after the morning you had.”

  “Who said a person must limit herself to one shower a day? There’s plenty of hot water.”

  His blood rushed to his zipper. Much more of that and he’d wear a hole into the denim. “As pleasurable as that sounds, I’ll let you get back to your eggs before they burn.”

  “Oh crap!” She quickly took the pan off the heat. “Damn! Double damn!” Her bottom lip puckered.

  He bit back laughter. “They’re not too bad.” He peered over her shoulder.

  “I wouldn’t feed these to the chickens out back.” She grabbed up the pan, dumped them into the sink and turned on the garbage disposal. The grinding sound ended.

  “Wouldn’t that be a chicken eating a chicken in a roundabout way?” he asked.

  She chuckled. “Well, at least there’s toast.”

  “I think it’s awesome that you tried.” A part of him was relieved that she’d made the decision to toss the eggs. Otherwise, he would have eaten every bite and would have probably ended up with a stomachache from hell.

  “And lots of coffee.” She rinsed the pan.

  “Great.” He poured himself a mug full and took a chug. Mistake. He almost choked.

  She squinted. “Is it that bad?”

  “No. It’s worse than bad. Hell, someone who only drinks tea should never be handed a coffee maker and a measuring spoon.” He poured the rest of the contents of his mug into the sink. He caught a glimpse of her disappointed expression. “No problem. I can make more.”

  “I hope you’re not so blunt about the toast.”

  He made a mental note not to complain. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cook.”

  “Ever?”

  “Never.” He busied himself rinsing the carafe and preparing a new pot of coffee.

  “I think I was scared I’d find something else that I wasn’t good at.”

  “Huh?” Had he heard right?

  “My mother never allowed me in the kitchen and, even if she had, I wouldn’t have been able to meet her standards. She was always in the kitchen, peddling around, making and baking. After my father left and she remarried, it seemed that all she wanted to do was please my step-father, and he never appreciated anything.”

  “Your mother loved you, Lesi, even if she was on the controlling side once too often.”

  Her chin lifted and she caught him with a frustrated glare. “Sure. I guess you’re right. I refuse to spend all of my time trying to please someone who can never be satisfied.”

  “You sound as if you’re defending that point of view to me,” he said.

  “There were moments I debated if you wanted someone more like my mother, and your mother, for that matter.”

  “And whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Oh…” She shrugged and the neckline moved, showing off her cleavage. He dragged his gaze to a safer region, which could only be the area between her brows. “You’d tell me that your mother was the best cook and I should try one of her recipes.”

  “Okay, Lesi. I was young and stupid, but my plans weren’t for you to be barefoot and pregnant, if that’s what you thought. You went away to school. I stayed and worked the ranch. Did I once ask you to give up your dreams?” He needed coffee…now. Before the drip was finished, he poured himself a large cup, dropped two teaspoons of sugar and cream in.

  “But isn’t that the way you were raised? The woman stays home and takes care of the house while the man goes and earns the money?”

  “Thank you for your confidence in me and my values. I’m surprised I’m not living in a cave, carrying around a stick and dragging a woman around by the hair of the head.” She’d touched a sensitive spot.


  “I was young and stupid also.”

  He lifted a brow. “Is that so? Because you were in love with a caveman?”

  She shook her head and inky tendrils bounced across her shoulders. “I wanted to be everything for you. I felt like I was a failure, in the kitchen, at girly things. The only place I felt whole and capable was out working with horses. Before my mom passed away she told me I needed to give up my dreams of becoming a vet. That a man like you needed a ranch wife and three or four kids to help run the place. I didn’t argue with her, not like I normally would. Instead, I nodded and told her I agreed.” She turned and he wondered if she didn’t want him to see the tears he’d spotted. “I meant the words when I said them, but I couldn’t follow through. A big part of me knew she was right. You needed a wife who would gladly stay home, have dinner waiting for you and take care of your kids.”

  “I’m sorry that’s how you perceived being with me.” His chest tightened.

  When she turned back, the moisture from her gaze had disappeared. “That’s all that I knew growing up here. But when I moved to Shelby, I saw a different way. For instance, Carly and Chance, they are equals. She is strong-minded and she runs a business as well as taking care of her children. And Lila and Duke, well, she works as a nurse, has a young child and says that if by chance they have another, she still plans to work. I guess these ladies have shown me that I can do all that I put my mind to.”

  He took the few steps to her, taking her soft hand into his large calloused one. “I’m sorry that your mother made you feel inferior because you had a dream to be something other than a rancher’s wife. The problem here is not the dream, but the idea that you felt you disappointed your mom, and in that became a failure. Lesi, you’re anything but a failure. You’re intelligent, skilled, and have much more ability and kindness than you give yourself credit for.”

  “I’ve been wondering, Stryker. Why haven’t you moved on? A man like you could have his choice of women.”

  “I guess I’m picky, or maybe I’m just commitment-phobic.”