by Dahlia West
Court scowled. “She’s not what I’m looking for.”
“Oh yeah? Well, what’s that, then?” Sawyer prompted, but Court didn’t reply. Sawyer turned to Seth. “What about you? You gonna break that monk streak you’ve been working so hard at for so long?”
Seth rolled his eyes. “I’m not a monk. I’m just busy.”
“Uh-huh,” Sawyer drawled as he gestured to the dance floor. “You’d better get out there, before all the women are taken.”
Seth looked past his brother and scanned the bar for any potential dance partners. He passed up more than a few before his eyes settled on a woman at the bar. He couldn’t see much of her face, because she was ordering a shot, it seemed. He liked a woman who passed up fruity drinks and went straight for the real deal. She had long, beautiful brown hair that fell past her shoulders. No part of him felt like a monk as he took in the rest of her, curvy hips, long legs, a waist he could wrap his hands around while they danced—to start with.
His shot was drained and his beer was at its dregs, so he abandoned them both on the pretense of getting another round. He sidestepped two-steppers as he wove his way toward the woman. With each passing moment, it felt like the bar was getting more and more heated. The crush of people suddenly annoyed him. He’d rather talk to her alone. He came up behind her just as she set her empty shot glass down on the bar. She turned and ran into him, elbowing him in the torso.
“Oh! I’m sorry!” she said, stumbling back.
Seth caught her in his arms to keep her from falling. “That’s all right, darlin’. Maybe we could head over the dance floor and—Oh, shit.”
She looked up at him, eyes wide. They were brown, much like his own, and yes, they were as gorgeous as the rest of her. But they belonged to a face he recognized now that he could see it fully.
Rowan Archer.
Everything in Seth warred at once. His mouth wanted hers, to taste her tequila-lime lips. His body wanted to stay pressed up against hers, maybe without clothes.
Definitely without clothes.
He’d had too much to drink, he decided, and pushed her gently away.
“Oh my God,” she breathed.
Rowan was a kid—at least that’s what his memory was of her. Long, blunt-cut hair, skinny and shy. It was an image totally at odds with the woman in front of him. Wavy, thick tresses, lips that had curved into a smile just seconds ago, and hips…
He wiped the back of his neck with his hand. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, for so much more than she could possibly guess.
“I…I thought you’d be out,” she stammered. “On the range. It’s spring.”
“Me?” Seth blurted out like a dumbass. “You thought I’d be…?” But no, idiot, he scolded himself silently. She didn’t think he would be out on the range. She meant them, all of them, the Barlows…she meant Court.
Like the Devil himself, Court appeared at the mere thought of his name, fitting for someone so in love with himself. He came up beside them, reached out and grabbed Rowan, forcing Seth to take a step back.
“Rowan?!” Court cried as he tried to pull her to him. “What are you doing here?”
Rowan blinked a few times, as though she’d seen a ghost, and then jerked back suddenly.
Court didn’t release her, though. “I can’t believe—”
“Let go!” she demanded, still pulling away. The bar was behind her, though, and she had nowhere to go.
“Rowan, listen,” Court said excitedly, moving in when she wouldn’t come to him. “I want to talk to you. I want to—”
“Stop,” she hissed and twisted away from him.
“Listen, damn it,” Court snapped. “If we could just find a quiet place to talk. I’ve missed you, Rowan.”
She stared at him. “Missed me? Missed me? Is that why you called so many times since we broke up? Oh, wait.”
Court shook his head. “I just…I…look, there’s no reason we can’t—”
Rowan glared at him. “There’s no we!” she fired back. “Let go!”
But Court wouldn’t be swayed. “I just—”
“No!” Rowan shouted.
All around them, bar patrons hushed, like a flock of animals sensing danger.
At that word, Seth finally sprang forward, caught Court’s wrist in a vise grip, and pulled his little brother away. “Knock it off,” he growled in Court’s ear. “Let her go.”
Court ignored him, and Seth ended up inadvertently pulling Rowan nearly off her feet when Court wouldn’t release her arm.
“Let. Her. Go,” Seth growled and forcibly peeled Court’s hand away.
Rowan looked at them like an animal just freed from a trap. She squeezed her way past Seth and fled for the door.
“God damn it!” Court yelled, shooting daggers at Seth with his eyes. “Butt out! This is nothing to do with you! You let her get away!”
Seth’s jaw twitched. “You’re not stalking a deer, Court,” he replied, recalling the look in her eyes just before she’d taken off toward the door.
Sawyer appeared and pushed Court back toward the bar while passing Seth’s jacket to him. “Ease up, man,” Sawyer told Court and flagged the bartender down for another round with the flick of his finger.
Satisfied Court was well and truly wrangled, for the moment, Seth turned and headed outside. He found Rowan in the parking lot, dragging in lungfuls of chilled air, looking for all the world like she was about to cry.
All residual horniness was sapped right out of him as he saw her bewildered, pained face under the street lamp. “Rowan,” he called out gently, like she was a calf who’d wandered too far from safety.
Her head whipped around, and she looked at Seth, then behind him, no doubt making sure Court hadn’t followed them out. “I’m fine,” she finally said. “I’m okay. I’m fine.” She waved him away, but she didn’t look fine. She definitely did not look fine.
Seth got close enough to snag the sleeve of her shirt. She gasped a little. “How’s your arm?” he asked, his own hand circling her wrist gently.
“It’s fine,” she repeated, like it was a mantra.
In the light, he saw a cut on her palm. Court hadn’t caused it, but Seth was sorry to see it, anyway.
“Barbed wire,” she told him. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that. Tetanus shot?” he asked, also avoiding the obvious topic.
She nodded. “I’m a nurse.”
“That’s right.” Seth had heard she was a nurse. He’d heard she’d moved to Cheyenne, gotten pregnant by some doctor there. He vaguely remembered the whispers at church. He caught himself checking for a ring on her finger and wasn’t sure how he felt about not finding one.
She seemed embarrassed, tugging her hand away and avoiding his gaze.
He let go.
Reluctantly.
Rowan shivered in the gust of wind, and Seth slipped off his fleece-lined denim jacket. He held it out to her, but she didn’t take it. Instead, her eyes slipped past him, toward the bar.
“I left my coat inside.”
“Put this on while I get it.”
She hesitated.
“Rowan,” he said firmly, a trick he learned from Walker.
If you acted like the boss, you were the boss.
She finally took it from him and shrugged it on, giving him a wan smile as she tugged it closed in front of herself. She looked smaller now, outside here in the biting cold. As Seth watched, her lower lip quivered, and he knew it wasn’t from the chill. Instinctively, he reached behind himself and drew out his handkerchief.
As soon as she saw it, she started shaking her head, pushing his hand away. “I’m sorry. I’m—”
“Don’t say you’re fine again,” Seth ordered.
Startled, Rowan looked up at him.
“You’re not fine, Rowan. And I’m damn sorry my hot-headed brother roughed you up in there, but you’re not fine. So stop saying that you are.”
For a moment, Seth thought she was
not only going to stop saying fine but she was going to stop saying anything at all. But then her lips parted and words tumbled out so fast that he barely had enough time to piece them together. He caught father, heart attack, hospital, surgery. When she finally took a break and came up for air, he said, “Well, that’s…well, that’s a whole lot to deal with, sweetheart.”
“Oh God!” she gasped, having finally caught her breath. “Here I am whining when your dad died. Oh, Seth, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I made this all about me! God! I didn’t even think!”
Seth shook his head. “I don’t have a monopoly on suffering, Rowan. And it’s not a contest, either.” He touched the lapel of the jacket, because it seemed more appropriate than touching her. “How is he? How’s your dad doing?”
She sighed. “He’s stable. He should be out of the hospital next week.”
He frowned at her. “You’re not staying all the way out there alone, are you?”
“No!” she said quickly. “No. I mean, my sister, Emma, and her husband. They’re…they’re…helping. I mean, we’re all doing what we have to.”
She was a bundle of nerves, and Seth assumed she was bone-tired. It was a long drive from Cheyenne, even under the best circumstances. And coming home to a family crisis, well, that was never easy for anyone.
“Rowan!” someone called.
Seth turned to see Rowan’s older sister running toward them. She was eyeing Seth warily as she darted around him.
“Oh my God!” Emma cried. “Are you okay? Oh my God! I came back from the bathroom and you were gone. Someone said something about Court. Oh my God!”
“It’s fine!” Rowan snapped, cutting Emma off abruptly.
Seth scowled. There was that word again.
“It’s all fine. He wanted to talk. I said no. It’s fine.”
Emma turned on Seth immediately. “You tell your brother to stay away from my sister!” she demanded, jabbing her finger at Seth.
Rowan was less prickly about it but no less insistent. “Please,” she practically begged Seth. “Please, just keep him away. It’s…it’s hard enough right now. I can’t…I just can’t.”
Seth was already nodding, remembering how badly Court had treated her when they’d been dating. Sawyer had told him just enough to leave a sour taste in Seth’s mouth. It wasn’t surprising that she didn’t want to deal with him now. Or ever again. “All right. I’ll talk to him. I’ll keep him reined in. I promise.”
Tears sprang to her eyes again. Damn. Seth hated to see a woman cry. Even though she’d rejected it, he pressed the handkerchief into her hand again. “I’ll take care of it, Rowan,” he vowed.
Emma was pushing Rowan toward the car, leaving Seth standing under the street light, watching them go. It wasn’t until they drove away that another gust of wind reminded him she’d taken his jacket with her.
Chapter Eight
‡
Rowan sat in the passenger seat of Emma’s car, just staring at the Stop’N’Save’s neon sign. “He wanted to talk,” she said numbly.
Emma shrugged. “Okay, so he heard about Dad and wanted to offer his condolences. It’s the least he could do. I mean, we sent a card when Mr. Barlow died.”
Rowan shook her head. “No. He wanted to talk, Emma. He didn’t know about Dad. Seth hadn’t heard about it from anyone. Court wanted to talk. Can you believe that? After all this time? He wants to talk. He has something to say.”
Emma sighed. “Well, you know, Rowan, if you’re going to live here, you’re going to have to face this. You can’t put it off forever.”
Rowan’s gut clenched at her sister’s words. “I’m not ready. It’s not time. I want to wait until Dad is better.”
Emma was silent.
“What?” Rowan demanded.
Still no response.
“You think I should’ve told him?”
Emma bit her lower lip.
“How?” Rowan demanded. “How would I have done that?!”
“I don’t know,” Emma replied.
Rowan stared at her. “But you think I should have.”
“I said, I don’t know, Rowan! Okay? I just…I mean, maybe you should just do it now, as soon as possible. Just get out in front of this thing. Call him up, tell him you have something to say. Arrange to meet him if you don’t want to do it over the phone. Or, hell, I don’t know, hire a lawyer to tell him.”
Rowan scoffed. “Oh, come on, Emma. I can’t afford a lawyer. I can’t tell him. Not right now. It’s just not time,” she insisted. “I’m not—”
“Ready. I got it. But Rowan, I don’t think you’re ever going to be ready.”
Rowan didn’t want to hear any of this, any more accusations about how this was her fault. She got out of the car, slammed the door, and stalked into the Shop’N’Save, where at least they wouldn’t have to discuss it for a few minutes. She slammed items into the shopping basket, paying for them with her credit card, the balance of which was steadily rising.
Child support might have helped, but it came with strings. Very large, very long strings that would have been difficult to sever should things go to shit, which they always seemed to do where Court Barlow was concerned. She’d have to tighten the purse strings again, but she’d done it before.
Back at the house, Rowan left Emma to put away the groceries, which was a shitty thing to do, but she was still so pissed off that Emma had taken Court’s side. Part of that was Rowan’s own fault. She hadn’t wanted to burden Emma with all the painful details of their breakup all those years ago. Emma didn’t know what she was saying. She should have told Court. Yeah, right. Like it was just that easy.
Rowan headed upstairs, carefully edged open the door of the spare bedroom, and watched her daughter’s chest rise and fall softly as she slept. It would be hardest on Willow. Rowan could never explain, never even begin to try. How did you explain to your child that you’d made a mistake but that she wasn’t a mistake? How did you tell her that her daddy wasn’t lost, he just didn’t care? At least not about anyone but himself. She looked down and imagined her arm burning where Court had held her, refused to let her go. How ironic that now it was him chasing her. If Rowan had her way, Court would be chasing her for the rest of their lives, never able to catch her.
She walked to the window to pull the curtains together tightly to keep out the air. It was pitch black and freezing outside and seemed to perfectly mimic how she felt these days. The sheep were tucked away safely in the barn for the night, unaware of the predators circling them in the dark. Also exactly how Rowan felt, like the truth was closing in on her, making it difficult to breathe.
She traced her finger along the windowpane, following the pattern of frost while huddling deeper into the jacket before she remembered it wasn’t her own. Dipping her hands into the side pockets, her fingers found a pair of leather gloves. She pulled them out and inspected them in the soft glow of the nightlight beside her. They were supple and worn and had scratches all over. They were work gloves, belonging to a man who maybe never rested, judging by the hole over one of the knuckles. He certainly didn’t stop long enough to get himself a new pair. At the hospital, Rowan’s gloves were made of latex, but she worked just as hard in them.
It somehow felt comforting to have met a kindred spirit.
Seth Barlow appeared to be the only one who knew what she was going through. He was the only one who looked at her and could see that she wasn’t fine. Though he didn’t know the whole truth, it was strange to think that a man she barely knew might be the only one on her side. He wouldn’t be once he found out about Willow, though.
She stuffed the gloves back into the pocket and yanked the curtains closed, shutting the world out, for now, at least.
Rowan knew one thing for sure. Keeping secrets was a lonely business.
*
The next several days were a blur of waking early to feed the sheep, visiting Dad in the hospital, and trying to keep Willow on a somewhat normal schedule. Rowan bent to rip open a sack
of grain and groaned when she realized she was down to the last one. She’d have to put in an order for more, and she’d have to take Willow to get it, since both Emma and Troy were at work this morning and wouldn’t stop by until later.
The Feed and Seed in Star Valley was out of the question. Too many people who knew her and her family shopped there. She supposed Alpine wasn’t too far a drive. They could make it there and back before Rowan needed to be at the hospital for visiting hours. She’d planned on updating her CV and handing it in at the nurses’ desk today, but she’d have to put it off for the feed run.
She drew her cell phone out of her jacket pocket—or rather, Seth Barlow’s jacket pocket. She no longer had a barn jacket of her own, having swapped it years ago for a nylon coat. Seth’s was more durable for farm work. She still hadn’t worked out a way to get it back to him, and it seemed like a waste to hang it up inside, when she needed one out here and could put it to good use in the meantime. She’d had it for four days, though, so she should really get it back to the man.
She poured the last of the feed into the trough and set the sheep loose, with the dogs to guard them, in the pasture to chow down. Then she bundled up Willow, transferred her car seat to the backseat of Dad’s Chevy, and headed for Alpine, twenty miles away.
The feed store was a hit and a much-needed break in the daily routine, at least for Willow, anyway. There were rows upon rows of bird feeders, horse tack, and boots. To say nothing of the bins of baby chicks and ducks covered with infrared heat lamps. They only caught her eye for a moment before the rabbits stole the show. In tiny, lined hutches, their little eyes peered out and their little noses twitched. There was a steel bowl of alfalfa treats near the display. Willow reached in and plucked one cube out.
“Be careful,” Rowan warned. “They can bite.”
The little girl looked so happy that she apparently thought it was worth the risk. Rowan sighed, watching her play. So much had gone wrong in such a short time. And so much of their lives was about to change permanently. Willow had a few friends in Cheyenne, other kids who lived in their apartment complex. Thankfully, though, she hadn’t started kindergarten yet. Hopefully the transition wouldn’t be too difficult.
