The Cowboy's Family

by Brenda Minton

  Blame it on painkillers or a concussion, but he wanted to say things he wouldn’t be able to take back in the morning.

  “He has to be woken up every hour.” Violet explained what the doctor had told them. He kept his mouth shut, glad she’d stepped in and kept him from making a complete fool of himself.

  “I can do that.” Rachel stood, folding the blanket that she’d had over her.

  “I really don’t need a keeper. This isn’t my first concussion or the first time I’ve cracked a few ribs.” What he didn’t want to admit was that it hadn’t hurt as bad as this the last time.

  “Right.” Rachel smiled at Violet who said goodnight and then retreated up the stairs. He watched her go and then he was alone with temptation itself. She smiled at him, completely unaware of how beautiful she was standing in that spot with just a sliver of moonlight coming through the window and the warm embers from the fire reflecting the auburn highlights in her hair.

  Yeah, guys weren’t always clueless.

  “I’m not sure if this is right or wrong.” He eased a step in her direction and braced a hand against the doorway.

  “What?”

  “This.” He reached for her hand and pulled her close. She stood in front of him, unmoving, unblinking, staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. Maybe the horse had knocked him silly. Maybe it had knocked sense into him. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to think too deeply, not yet.

  “This.” He whispered it again and leaned, touching his lips to hers. She was so sweet, like cherry soda on a hot summer day. She was his first time driving alone, the first horse he owned, the first time he’d ever felt free. She was everything and more.

  She healed his heart with that kiss. She made him feel things he hadn’t expected, had never felt.

  And she scared the daylights out of him. He moved his hand from her arm to her back and he held her close, trying to breathe, trying to get it right and trying to convince himself to let her go.

  Eventually she stepped back. Her lips parted and she shook her head. “No.”

  “No.” Did he want to argue with her or agree? He wasn’t sure.

  “This isn’t what you want.” She smiled a little. “This is about feeling vulnerable and alone. This isn’t about us. This is something you have to work through, on your own.”

  He looked a little deeper and saw her pain. It shimmered in her eyes and he remembered the other night on the tailgate of his truck when she’d talked about girls trying too hard to be loved.

  Her story. Man, he wanted her stories.

  “You should lie down.” She swallowed and looked away.

  “I should.” He laughed and it hurt like crazy. “I think I might need help.”

  “The sofa in the office.”

  “Yeah.” Cowboy up, Wyatt, he told himself. A guy couldn’t impress a woman if he had to lean on her just to make it to a chair. Casual would work. He draped his arm around her shoulders.

  “That’s a lame move.” She left it there, though.

  “It’s all I could think of right now.” He walked next to her, pretty thankful for a strong woman who felt soft and smelled sweet.

  “Stop sniffing my hair.” She whispered the warning as they walked through the office door. “Sorry.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “My dog has more manners.”

  “Not possible.”

  “I’m sure of it.” She stopped in front of the couch and slid out from under his arm.

  With her hands holding his arms, she held tight while he lowered onto the couch, trying hard not to groan. He gritted his teeth instead. She smiled, not the kind of smile that meant sympathy.

  He really wanted sympathy. A nice pillow, a soft blanket and maybe a glass of water. She didn’t look as if she planned to play nursemaid. More than anything she looked like someone about to escape.

  He was the guy who needed to let her go because that made sense. Getting tangled up in this didn’t. He’d seen tangled up before. He’d doctored a horse for a week because it hadn’t had the sense to stay out of barbed wire.

  Yeah, he had more sense than that horse.

  Chapter Thirteen

  He looked pitiful, miserable actually. His dark hair was a mess, hanging across his forehead. The top two buttons of his shirt were gone and he still wore the jeans he’d been wearing when he hit the ground. Rachel stood for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Her internal alarm sounded, telling her to find the nearest exit and leave him to his own devices. But she had promised to stay with him, and Violet looked worn out. The girls were sleeping in the living room.

  “You should take your boots off and I’ll find a pillow and blanket.” Good first step.

  He grinned and shook his head, “Honey, I’d love to take off my boots, but I don’t think I can lean down.”

  Okay, she didn’t need this. Instead of discussing, she knelt and reached for the heel of one boot. She slid it off and reached for the other. “Your feet stink.”

  He laughed a little, but she heard the grimace of pain. “Yeah, I bet they do. Thank you for taking one for the team.”

  She looked up, mid-pull. He was watching her. She looked away quickly and finished the second boot. As she stood up, he wrapped his legs around hers, right at her knees, and held her in front of him.

  His smiled changed from soft to rotten, lifting at one corner. No, no, no. Rachel didn’t want this thin strand of emotion connecting them. She didn’t want to get tied into this when he was having fun, or using her to get past something.

  She’d been used before and it wasn’t going to happen again.

  “I’m going to get you a pillow.” She stepped out of the circle of his legs and moved to the door. “Ice water?”

  He nodded and she left the room, walking down the darkened hallway to the kitchen. Her heart hammered in her chest and she worked to get a deep breath.

  “Okay, God, give me strength.” She pulled a glass out of the cabinet and instead of heading for the fridge, she looked out the window, watching trees blown by a south wind and paper fluttering end over end across the lawn. Another storm was blowing up. Clouds were eating up the dark sky, blotting the moon and the twinkling stars.

  Give her strength. More than that, help her find peace. Help her to not rush into a relationship with someone who was emotionally tied up and working past his grief.

  She filled the glass with ice and water. Now to find a pillow and blanket. She had seen them the day she cleaned, in a closet off the main bathroom. She flipped on the light, dug around in the closet and headed back down the hall.

  He was sleeping when she returned to the office. Stretched out on the couch, one foot on the floor and his arm flopped over his face. It would be good if he stayed asleep. She put the glass down and unfolded the blanket.

  “I’m not cold.” He moved his arm and there was no smile. His chest expanded with a heavy sigh. “I’m scared to death.”

  “Why?”

  She couldn’t have this conversation standing. She pulled a chair close to the couch and sat down. He reached for her hand, holding it, looking at it, running his fingers over hers. He had rough, warm hands. The hands of a cowboy, a rancher.

  “Wyatt, it’s just a concussion. Right?”

  He smiled up at her, still holding her hand. “I’m not afraid of that. I’m afraid of you. I’m scared to death to feel what I feel. I’m not ready.”

  Slam. She drew in a shaky breath and pulled her hand from his. Be afraid of death, she wanted to tell him. Be afraid of the dark. Be afraid of anything, but not her.

  But wasn’t she scared to death of him, of being used, of being rejected?

  She looked up, gathering strength and trying to find God. All of those words and then to hear that he wasn’t ready. She reached for the pillow.

  “You’ll want this.” She waited for him to lean forward and she slid it under his head. “And now, I should go.”

  “But…”

  “I’m not leaving. I’
m going in with the girls. These are not the words I want to hear in the middle of the night.” She felt wrung out, exhausted, run over. “I’ll be back in an hour. If you need me, I’m across the hall.”

  “Rachel?”

  She shook her head as she walked out the door and back to the living room where the girls were sleeping. She couldn’t respond, instead she brushed away tears and buried her face in the pillow she’d been using earlier in the evening.

  Nothing had ever hurt this bad. He wasn’t ready. She wondered if he would ever really be ready. The awkward teenager she had been taunted her, telling her she’d never be the person he moved on with.

  Tonight she fought back. God hadn’t made her an awkward teenager. She was more than that. She knew that He didn’t create mistakes. Every inch of her was designed by God.

  The young girl who had wanted nothing more than to stay in one house was designed by Him. The teenager who had turned to chocolate and cheesecake, later to a reckless crowd of friends, and the twenty-year-old who had finally gotten it right, they were all the same person, His creation, fearfully and wonderfully made. It had just taken her a while to figure it out and to stop fighting who she was. It had taken her a while to trust Him with her life.

  It had taken her a while to be comfortable in her own skin and to love herself enough to stop punishing herself.

  Tonight the girl who wanted to be loved was fighting tooth and nail, wanting to believe a cowboy like Wyatt Johnson could really, really love her someday.

  And maybe her parents’ plan to move had come at just the right time. Maybe this move was designed to protect her heart.

  Wyatt cracked one eye and saw two little girls leaning close, whispering for him to wake up. After a long night of hourly wake-up calls, this time waking up felt great, even if he didn’t know how to take a deep breath and his head ached as if he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. At that moment it was all about Molly and Kat leaning over him, studying his face with worried little expressions.

  “Daddy, are you awake?” Molly leaned, her nose close to his. “Because we didn’t know if you would wake up.”

  He wrapped them both in one arm and pulled them to him. “I’m definitely awake. And I love you both.”

  “Grandma left.” Kat kissed his cheek. “And said you had to be good and listen to us and to Rachel.”

  “Rachel?”

  Molly nodded, all serious and wide-eyed. “Rachel told Grandma she’d be our nanny and clean our house. And she already cooks good.”

  “Really?” He smiled, even though it hurt.

  “She doesn’t need books to make pancakes. They aren’t even frozen first.”

  “Really?” He growled and pretended to get her arms. “Can she do that?”

  Molly shook her head. “She doesn’t have whiskers, Daddy.”

  Now that was something he did know. “You’re right about that. Now help me up and we’ll go see about that bad ol’ buckskin.”

  “Rachel unsaddled him.”

  “That’s good.” They each had hold of a hand and he groaned as they pulled him to a sitting position. “Man, I’m sore.”

  “Grandma said you’ve been run over by a truck, but it was just a horse.”

  “She meant I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”

  Kat held on to his hand. “Mean old horse.”

  “Yeah.”

  They led him down the hall. The aroma of bacon lingered in the air. He hoped there was some left for him. On top of that, the house smelled clean. He glanced at the clock. It was just after nine in the morning. A clean house and breakfast. Not too shabby.

  Rachel walked out of the laundry room carrying a mop bucket. Her hair was braided and she had changed into shorts and a T-shirt. He knew now that she jogged nearly every day. He’d seen her a few times in the last couple of weeks.

  “Seems like I might be Rip Van Winkle. Everything changed while I was sleeping.” Including her, his feelings and his house.

  He ambled into the kitchen, working on casual when he felt as cagey as a penned-up cur dog. He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a piece of bacon from the plate near the stove. When he turned around she was in the kitchen, taking up space, moving around as if she belonged there.

  It shouldn’t bother him, that Violet had hired her, but it did. He wanted to choose the person who came into his home. He wanted to choose someone who didn’t smell so stinking good and who didn’t look prettier than a rodeo queen, even in those faded shorts and a T-shirt.

  “I’ll make you pancakes.” She had the fridge door open, blocking her from his view. Molly, not even four, was sitting on a stool smiling at him as if she knew way more than he was saying.

  He shot his daughter a look and she giggled. The fridge door closed and Rachel’s eyes narrowed as she stared at him. It took him a second but he worked up to innocent and shrugged, as if he didn’t know what his kid was all about.

  “Sit down and I’ll fix your breakfast.”

  He pulled out a stool next to Kat. Okay, maybe this wasn’t so bad. What could possibly be bad about sitting here watching her in his kitchen?

  “I should feed the animals before I eat breakfast.”

  She turned, a spatula in her hand. “I took care of it.”

  “You fed?” He didn’t feel like smiling now.

  “No, I called Ryder. Of course he’s in Tulsa with Andie, but he sent Jason over to take care of things. And Jackson Cooper…”

  He raised a hand to stop her. She flipped the pancakes and he had to wait a second for her to get back to him. This was getting a little crazy. He was feeling pretty crazy on the inside.

  Emotions should be gradual, not wildfire, spreading every which way. But he didn’t think emotions came in gradual increments. Pain—Bang. Grief—Bang. Anger— Bang. Now this—Bang. He didn’t want to put a name on it.

  Oh, wait, maybe jealousy. He lifted his coffee cup and took a few drinks. She flipped pancakes onto a plate and set it in front of him with butter and syrup.

  “Jackson doesn’t need to come over here. I can manage things myself.” He jabbed a knife into the butter and spread it over the tops of the pancakes.

  “Right.”

  “Yeah, right. Cracked ribs and a concussion, that’s it, Rachel. I really don’t need all this help.” He wasn’t some namby-pamby sissy. He’d been bucked off more bulls than he could count. He’d been thrown by horses. He’d been run over and stepped on.

  “Fine, you can call Jackson and tell him you can do it yourself.”

  Okay, that made him sound like a three-year-old tackling a flight of stairs by himself. He chewed on pancakes that were so good he forgot to be mad.

  Instead of anger, he felt a big urge to hug her. Molly giggled again. He looked down and she laughed harder.

  “What’s so funny?”

  She giggled more. “You’re funny, Daddy. You’re not mad, you’re happy.”

  Well, that just about beat all.

  He kissed her cheek. “You’re right, Molly Doodle, I’m happy.”

  As he finished the plate of pancakes, he watched Rachel move around his kitchen. He was happy. Bang. Just like that.

  Being happy should have been something he grabbed hold of and thanked the good Lord above for. Instead he questioned it, a lot like the Israelites had questioned everything God did for them in the wilderness.

  And on top of that, he felt guilty. The bad thing about guilt is that it undid happy.

  He finished the pancakes and got up to carry the plate to the sink. Rachel took it from his hands with a smile.

  “I can get it.”

  She rinsed it off and put it in the dishwasher. “So can I.”

  “Fine. I’m going to go outside and check on that buckskin. Did Jason call to see if they would pick him up?”

  “I think they’re getting him this evening.”

  He nodded and then he backtracked to the fact that she’d mentioned Ryder and he hadn’t really paid attention. He blamed it
on the concussion.

  “What was that about Ryder?”

  “Andie was having contractions. Ryder flew her to Tulsa yesterday. They called earlier and she’s resting. The contractions slowed down, but they think it will be in the next day or two.”

  “Ryder, a dad. That’s going to be fun to watch.”

  “He’s ready for it. He has you.”

  Now what did he say? He stood there, aching from the inside out thanks to cracked ribs and some deep bruises. He tried for casual and leaned hip against counter, arms crossed in front of him. Rachel’s narrowed gaze went from his chest to his face. She cocked her head to the side.

  “I’m going outside.” He eased across the kitchen.

  “Don’t do too much too soon,” she warned softly.

  “I’m not. I can’t stay in the house.”

  “I know.” She picked up the bottle of pills he’d left on the counter and tossed it. He caught it.

  “I don’t need these. I don’t want to feel sleepy all day.”

  “If you’re sleeping you won’t be doing something you shouldn’t do.”

  He laughed because what he was thinking and what she was thinking were two different things. Maybe she had a point. Maybe drugging him was the best thing for both of them.

  “Rachel, I’ll take a few aspirins, not these. And I am going outside to check on things.”

  She shrugged and walked away. “Suit yourself.”

  Right, he would suit himself. Kat and Molly were sitting on their stools watching him and watching Rachel. He brushed a hand through his hair and smiled at his girls.

  He’d pick getting thrown from a horse every single day of the week over the mess Violet had made of his life by hiring Rachel Waters.

  Rachel started her car and leaned back in the seat, catching her breath while the top went back on the convertible. She reached for her sunglasses to fight the sun. She was going home for a few hours and later she’d return to Wyatt’s to fix dinner for him and the girls.

  One last glance back at the house and she pulled onto the road and headed home. She had chores to do there, too. She had her sheep. Her mom would need help with laundry. There was plenty to keep her busy.