Cowboy for Keeps

by Debra Clopton

  Melody eyes twinkled with merriment. “He truly is a nice guy. We weren’t just saying that. He does stuff like that all the time.”

  “I’ve figured that out about him. He’s been out of his element.”

  “Like we told you the other day, we were all so worried about him after the crash. I don’t know if you’ve caught on to the fact that he thinks he is everyone’s keeper. You see, Seth told me that after their parents died, even though Wyatt was only a senior in high school he took on the role of being the head of the house. He feels responsible for Seth and Cole. Even so, they want him to think about himself now. They’d hoped that he would come back here someday and settle down. He got Cole home, now they’d like him here, too. But that may never happen.”

  Amanda listened with interest. They’d walked back to the front of the garden and Melody set her basket down and she did the same. She took a small basket when Melody handed it to her.

  “Let’s grab some peppers before the poor bushes fall over under the weight.”

  Amanda was thinking about Wyatt as they walked over to the peppers. Her perspective of Wyatt was very muddled. What she’d just learned explained more about his frame of mind. He’d taken on responsibilities of a grown man at an early age. He was probably an overachiever prior to that, but the responsibility of his brothers and the ranch had probably made him more so. No wonder he’d been so hard on himself. He’d not been irresponsible ever, it seemed. Not until he got into that plane and took off in that storm.

  She was only twenty-four, but she knew that what she’d gone through at fourteen had aged her beyond her years. Her respect for Wyatt went up knowing this about him. There was absolutely no denying that he was one of the good guys. One of the really good men of Mule Hollow.

  “You know, some woman is going to really be blessed when Wyatt falls in love with her,” Melody said. Her pretty eyes blinked innocently from behind her glasses.

  Amanda felt uncomfortable suddenly at what Melody was hinting. “So, there isn’t anyone special in his life right now?” Amanda had no business asking, but the question just kind of came out.

  Melody shook her head as she twisted a red bell pepper from the bush. “Never has been, according to Seth. Wyatt works. He dates, don’t get me wrong, but he’s not been interested in marriage. That’s one of the things that has been so curious about him being so determined to find Cole and Seth wives. He just felt like that was his responsibility, to get them married and happy. Funny how he associates happiness with marriage. I think deep down inside he wants the same thing for himself. He just hadn’t slowed down from his career long enough to remember that there is life beyond the law practice.”

  “That is for certain. The man never stops. He brought the practice home with him.” She and Melody paused on that, perplexed.

  Melody shook her head. “Cole and Susan had decided to go ahead with the wedding Saturday after next since Wyatt is on a cane now. They are so happy and anxious to be married. Cole is going to go by today and tell Wyatt. We’re hoping that as soon as they’re married that maybe Wyatt will be next.”

  Amanda wasn’t sure what to make of Melody’s wistful smile. “Maybe so,” she said. “I’m sure back in Dallas there are plenty of women who would want that spot in his heart. And fit into his lifestyle.”

  “Like I said, we’re praying he’ll fall in love with a Mule Hollow girl.”

  “Well, good luck with that.” Amanda hated to discourage Melody, but she didn’t see that happening ever. Wyatt Turner might be a cowboy at heart, but she didn’t see a country girl fitting into his life at all. His heart was in Dallas. Why else would he be consulting on all these cases?

  He obviously couldn’t wait to get back to it…and besides, though they didn’t know it, she knew clearly that she wasn’t the right woman for any man.

  Wyatt stared at the floor through the face-hole in the massage table and tried hard to keep his mouth shut. It was obvious Amanda had no desire whatsoever to talk about herself. It was driving him crazy. The last few days had been like a bad rodeo. He’d try to talk to her and she’d shut him out. He felt like he’d been bucked off straight out of the chute at every turn.

  Not only was he concerned about her, but he was finding himself more and more attracted to her. It was so bad lately that even when he was supposed to be working he was thinking about her.

  And he couldn’t stop wondering about that deep sadness he’d kept glimpsing. What made her sad? Had she loved this man so much she couldn’t forget him? Couldn’t move forward? What was it?

  Staring at the floor, he fought wanting to press her. If he started questioning her he was afraid it would come out sounding like an interrogation.

  Amanda Hathaway was a mystery to him. He didn’t like mysteries until they were solved.

  What he knew was that he’d misjudged her in the worst way the day she’d arrived. She’d told him she was good and that she’d have him back to new if he only trusted her. She was holding up her end of the challenge with ease. Even with her disability.

  Yes, he was attracted to her, but more important he respected her—and it took a lot to win his respect. And she was completely immune to him in every way.

  It was downright depressing.

  Oh, she’d had him thinking a few days ago when she’d stumbled over the weight rack that maybe she was attracted to him. When he’d touched her he’d almost made a fool of himself and tried to kiss her. No way did he need to start thinking about that again. It was ridiculous. He was a thirty-six-year-old man and she had him feeling like a mixed-up schoolboy.

  “You need to relax,” she demanded, pressing hard on the muscles lining his spine. “You’re so knotted up that you’re going to seize up on me.”

  “This is as good as it gets,” he growled. If she thought he was going to relax today, she was dreaming.

  “In that case, I’m just spinning my wheels.”

  He felt her draw back from him and then her footsteps headed away from him. He yanked his head up, staring over his shoulder as she disappeared down the hall. “Hey, you’re not through.”

  “I am today,” she called from the kitchen.

  Using his good arm he eased up to a sitting position and then got off the table, wincing when he moved too quickly. This was getting old despite the progress he’d made. He didn’t feel a hundred years old anymore, but he was still pushing eighty.

  “Why did you walk off like that?” he demanded as he eased into the kitchen. “You are real good at walking away.”

  She was chopping up peppers and her back was to him. Her short hair swung about her ears to the very aggressive rhythm of the knife. At his accusation she glared at him.

  He’d been surprised to find out that she was a good cook. She’d been thrilled with all the things she’d been getting from Melody’s garden earlier that week and he’d been benefiting from it. Her early morning omelettes made his mouth water. But good cook or professional cook, she was being far too scary with that knife at the moment.

  What was she thinking? Her gaze shot back to her task. Angry, he stalked over—as best he could given his gait—and leaned against the counter next to the eggs and mixing bowl she’d set out. His hip ached and his back throbbed, but none of that bothered him more than the fact that she was hiding something important from him and he wanted to know what it was. Maybe it was the lawyer in him that wanted to always dig deep to find the truth, and the why of what made people do things. Until you knew the whole story, you couldn’t find the right solution.

  But he knew that wasn’t it where Amanda was concerned. It was the man in him that simply wanted to know what was bothering the woman he was beginning to care about. The knowledge had its problems, but at the moment he wasn’t thinking about them.

  “You’re going to cut your fingers off if you keep that up.”

  “I can handle this,” she snapped.

  That did it. “Not on my watch.” He reached for the knife. “Give me the knife.”
<
br />   “No.” Icy eyes glared at him, but she stopped chopping. A good thing.

  “I said—hand over the knife. I’m not playing with you, Amanda. I’m in the mood for breakfast at Sam’s this morning.”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I am and you’re going to drive me. It’s your job. Or did you forget?” He wasn’t playing fair, but he didn’t care.

  She stared at him like he had just lost his mind. Maybe he had. All he knew was he was taking her out to breakfast—in a weird roundabout way.

  “I’m not going to be good company.”

  “Fine. There will be plenty of good company to be had even if you choose to sit in the corner and pout. Now hand over the knife.”

  Pout! Wyatt thought she was pouting. She handed him the knife. She’d been struggling to not fall for Wyatt but it was happening despite everything she was doing.

  “Thank you very much.” He took the knife and dropped it into the sink. “Let’s go.”

  She had no choice but to follow him out to the SUV.

  The whole way into town, the tension between them escalated…even though they didn’t say much. Maddening as it was, he seemed relaxed, which made her all the more tense. She was trying to keep her distance from him, but with every piece of new information about him everyone was so keen on throwing her way it was almost impossible. And then there was the issue of him pressing her to find out what was bothering her. The man was relentless.

  “You’re in for a treat if you haven’t had Sam’s breakfast.”

  He didn’t sound mad or upset, even though he’d forced her to come along. He sounded like he was looking forward to spending time with her—dangerous.

  Maybe if he’d been talking to her, she wouldn’t have been thinking about how good he looked…or how he’d gotten under her skin in the few short weeks since she’d known him.

  What she needed was for him to go back to being Mr. Ill-Tempered and make it impossible to like him, or worse, for her to…to be thinking fairy-tale thoughts about what falling in love with him would be like.

  “I’m not much of a breakfast eater,” she said, fighting to fill the holes that were being blown into the barrier around her heart. But oh, what did Wyatt do? He grinned! And it was no small grin. No, this was a wickedly fun grin, that sent mischief to his eyes and an electric shock to her like she’d been hit with a Taser.

  “You are determined to be miserable, aren’t you?” he asked, still smiling. Totally enjoying himself!

  “I’m only telling the truth,” she snapped. Now she sounded like a child pouting!

  The amused twinkle in his eyes said he thought the same thing as he opened the door and got out.

  With his weak arm, a bad hip, a bad back and a cane to maneuver with, he needed to be more careful. “Wait!” she exclaimed. Jumping from the SUV, she hurried around to help him, fearful that he might fall—and she’d have to catch him!

  He was standing beside the open door watching her, still grinning. “You could have hurt yourself,” she snapped, closing the door with a snap.

  “I figured that was the way to get you out of the truck for breakfast.”

  She shot daggers at him. “You are not playing fair.”

  “Never said anything about playing fair. One thing you need to know about me is I do what I need to do—”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll eat breakfast. But I’m warning you, buster, I can play dirty, too.”

  That got her a deep, baritone laugh that made her knees weak. As she followed him up the steps she had a feeling she was in for a rough ride. This Wyatt Turner, the playful one, might possibly be irresistible.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Stanley, would ya look at that,” Applegate said, jumping his red checker as he scrunched busy eyebrows together and stared at Amanda and Wyatt entering the diner.

  They were sitting at the front window table with a checkerboard between them. There was a five-pound bag of sunflower seeds sitting beside them and on the floor at Stanley’s feet was a brass spittoon.

  Staring wide-eyed at them, Stanley spit in rapid-fire succession and the shells hit the spittoon’s mouth dead center. “Wyatt, yor walkin’. That’s a real sight fer sore eyes. I almost didn’t turn around and look cuz I figured ole App was tryin’ ta pull a slick one on me.”

  “Are you saying App here cheats?” Wyatt asked as he walked slowly toward them.

  Stanley tugged at his ear. “Naw, he don’t. But if he wants ta beat me, he’s gonna have ta start.”

  Applegate frowned and cut his eyes at his buddy. “Don’t believe it. I beat him plenty. Might be doin’ it right now if he don’t watch out.”

  Despite her qualms about coming, Amanda had to smile at the two friends. She was distracted, though, by the breakfast scents emanating from the kitchen. Goodness, but the place smelled great.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged up.” Sam hustled out of the kitchen. “It’s about time you came in and brought this little gal with you. Leave them two ornery coots alone and let’s get this little gal a booth.”

  Applegate grinned, his lean face a cascade of wrinkles. “Y’all jest have a seat over thar while I beat the socks off of Stanley here.”

  Sam was waiting at the booth all the way across the diner from App and Stanley, and Wyatt led the way to it.

  “This is great, Sam.” Wyatt remained standing while she took her seat. There was absolutely nothing romantic about eating breakfast in an old-fashioned diner with three old men watching, but Amanda still got butterflies as Wyatt slid carefully into the seat across from her.

  She had to get over this. She had to—had to—had to!

  “How you doin’, Amanda? Keepin’ this fella straight?” Sam set two mugs on the table in front of them.

  “I’m trying.” She nodded when Sam lifted the pot so she could indicate whether she wanted him to fill her mug.

  Applegate grunted loudly from across the room. “That ain’t never been an easy task.”

  Amanda thought he had a problem with his hearing.

  “It’s good to see you out of that wheelchair. That jest didn’t look right.”

  “It shor didn’t,” Stanley boomed, spitting a sunflower seed into the spittoon. “Growing up, this fella never stopped. Always workin’ with his grandpa or his daddy. Or later, with them brothers and on that ranch. Your folks would be proud of you, son.”

  “Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me.”

  Knowing what she did about him now, Amanda knew this did mean the world to Wyatt. It was apparent that everything he’d done had been to make them proud and to fill the gap their deaths had made in his brothers’ lives.

  “Now, though, you need ta get yourself home where you belong.” Sam set the pot on the burner and Applegate’s face fell into a river of wrinkles. “It jest ain’t right, you bein’ away like you are. Yor a Turner. Turner men belong here.”

  Wyatt shrugged his good shoulder. “I’ve been through this with y’all a hundred times. I’m good at what I do. I’m happy in Dallas.”

  Sam, Applegate and Stanley all shook their heads. Amanda watched, fascinated. These men were serious. They wanted Wyatt home as much as Seth and Cole. Everyone wanted him home. But it was obvious that Wyatt didn’t want it.

  “What would y’all like ta eat?” Sam grumbled.

  “Ain’t no way yor gettin’ my kinda cookin’ over yonder in that city.”

  Stanley jumped a checker and grinned at Applegate’s scowl. “Yeah, you used ta tell Sam he was the best cook in the world when you was knee-high to a grasshopper and yor grandpa would sit you up thar on that bar stool on a stack of The Farmers’ Almanacs.”

  “Sam’s food is the best. I never disputed that. Why do you think I made my lovely physical therapist bring me here as soon as I got this cane? I want my usual, Sam. How about you, Amanda?”

  He’d called her lovely. Of course he was teasing the older men, but his eyes warmed her blood as they settled on her. Electricity seemed
to hum in the air. She grabbed the plastic menu from beside the silver napkin holder and stared at the breakfast menu. A visual of Wyatt as a child sitting at the bar with his grandpa played across her mind’s eye. He would have been a cute little kid. Inquisitive and probably bossy. No probably about it, he would have been bossy. He’d have been a take-the-world-by-the-horns child straight from the womb, she was pretty certain. His children would no doubt be the same.

  She met his gaze and he had a mischievous light in his eyes as he watched her. Almost as if he could read her thoughts. The man would probably have been a great poker player—they did say he took after his many-greats Grandpa Oakley who’d won the stagecoach house in a poker game. “I’ll have the Texas French Toast,” she blurted, only because it was the first thing on the menu. Wyatt’s grin lifted crookedly—and she was certain he was looking inside her head and figuring everything out. She swallowed the lump that lodged in her throat and found herself unable to look away.

  “How did you do that?” Applegate snapped, his voice breaking the spell like a bullhorn.

  Amanda cut her eyes to the checker players and saw he was glaring at the board.

  Stanley looked smugly at her. “I pert near get him every time. And he never learns. He was too busy watching you two make goo-goo eyes at each other to see he’d left me a three-jump opening.”

  “Goo-goo eyes!” Amanda exclaimed before she caught herself. “I was not doing any such thing.”

  “Yup. That’s what I saw. And I’m glad ta see it.”

  She stared at Applegate and slammed her mouth shut or she might have said something she would regret. She regretted this breakfast, that was a given. And Wyatt wasn’t helping. Oh, no, he was laughing. His shoulders were hunched over he was laughing so hard. Shaking. His shoulders were shaking with his laughter. This was ridiculous.

  “I do not, have never and will not ever make goo-goo eyes at my patients.”

  “Well, we certainly hope not.” Stanley chuckled right along with Wyatt. “If ya did that, then what would be special about you and our boy here ogling each other? Nothin’, that’s what.”