Just a Cowboy and His Baby (Spikes & Spurs)

by Carolyn Brown

  “Good morning,” she said cheerfully.

  As if she hadn’t been surly the night before. As if she hadn’t accused him of pouting. Point proven about his tirade against all females, no matter what the species. She wore a white sundress and matching white sandals. The sun peeking over the horizon behind her parked a halolike aura above her head, and big white fluffy clouds in the sky behind her looked like angel wings. But the night before Gemma had proven that she was not an angel. She was all hot, desirable woman in bed and hot, mad woman when she was angry.

  “You are beautiful this morning,” he said.

  “Thank you. You just getting up?” she asked.

  He wiggled his eyebrows. “Time-wise or otherwise.”

  “You know what I mean,” she stammered.

  “Time-wise, yes. But otherwise, it could be arranged.”

  “Your mind is in the gutter again!”

  He held the door open for her, but she didn’t come inside. “You bring out the worst in me. Come on in. We’ll have breakfast in a few minutes.”

  “We could do fast food,” she suggested.

  He shook his head. “We have time to cook. I’ll start coffee if you’ll take Sugar out for her walk.”

  ***

  Dreams of Trace had haunted Gemma all night. In the last one he had fallen off a bronc, and the way he was going from horse to ground in slow motion, she was sure he would break his neck. Before he hit the earth, she awoke with start and sat straight up in bed. The whole thing with him had to end or she’d be crazy by the time the circuit was finished. The best way to do it was cut it off cold turkey so she would simply back her rig out and be on her way. She’d be sure not to stop at the same campgrounds and double sure not to park beside him at the rodeos.

  But if the tables were turned and he was about to leave with no explanation… well, she had to talk to him just to be able to live with herself. She owed him more than just running away, for the friendship on the road and all they’d shared—and especially since he’d saved her from the sorry bastard who drugged her. She didn’t like having to explain, but she couldn’t leave without talking to him. So she marched right up to his door and knocked.

  She planned to tell him that any kind of relationship complicated matters too much and that this was good-bye. Then he opened the door and his dark hair was all mussed up and he said she was beautiful. She sucked up the drool and opened her mouth to tell him what she had to say and it wouldn’t come out.

  Sugar stopped to squat in a bed of clover, and Gemma looked out toward the horizon. The sun was an orange and yellow ball sitting more than halfway up on the horizon. She should be seeing it in her rearview mirror, not holding onto a leash with a Chihuahua at the other end smelling every single blade of grass.

  After breakfast she was determined to have a heart-to-heart with Trace Coleman, even if she had to shut her eyes so she couldn’t see him. No matter who won, this wasn’t something that could last. Like Chopper said, it was like two wild grass fires that sent shooting flames halfway to heaven when they collide, but soon they burn themselves out and there’s nothing left but dead grass, dead trees, and lots of black ash. If she won she could take a huge belt buckle, enough money to buy her own place, and get out of Dewar’s house, get the title she wanted, and take a broken heart with her back to Ringgold. If she didn’t, she could take home a broken heart. It was a lose-lose situation.

  Sugar chased a grasshopper, checked out a spider, made another wet spot on the grass, and ran back to Gemma with her tongue hanging out. Gemma started back toward Trace’s trailer, but Sugar didn’t move. She tugged on the leash and the dog still didn’t budge.

  “You lazy girl. You want me to carry you home, don’t you?”

  It was the word home that finally lit up the lightbulb in her head.

  Gemma needed to go home. She couldn’t make a sensible decision as long as Trace Coleman was right in front of her, but she could figure things out in Ringgold, Texas. And she could easily be on her way in just a few days. There was a whole week between the next two rodeos, plenty of time for a trip to Ringgold where she could put Trace out of her mind and heart.

  She picked Sugar up and carried her toward the smell of sausage and coffee. The mixed aromas made her even more homesick. Her Granny O’Malley would be bustling around in her kitchen that morning and there would be coffee brewing, and possibly sausage since Grandpa liked it so well. Gemma often stopped in when she was exercising the horses in the early morning. If she went home to her regular routine, everything would be just fine; she just knew it!

  She opened the trailer door and Sugar bounded inside.

  “Smells good in here,” she said.

  She bent down on one knee to undo the leash and when she stood up, Trace was in front of her. He extended a hand and she took it. His eyes locked on hers and he drew her close to his chest. She had intended to use that moment to explain to him what was on her mind, but she could not force herself to move. The back of his hand inched its way down her cheek and her breath caught. His eyes were soft and unfocused, and he brushed sweet kisses on her eyelids.

  Her whole body hummed. The night before his kisses had been fervent, passionate, and hot enough to scald the hair out of the devil’s ears. That morning they were soft, gentle, and left her aching for more. Finally, he worked his way to her mouth and ran his tongue around her lips, teasing them open for a kiss so full of passion that it made her gasp.

  “Good morning. I wanted to do that before, but watermelon wine does not make for decent morning breath,” he whispered.

  She was breathless, but she managed to say, “Good morning to you.”

  Dammit anyway! He was everything she’d always wanted. Why did fate have to put him in her pathway at the wrong time?

  He took a step back and motioned toward the table. “Have a seat. Breakfast is almost ready. Sausage gravy and canned biscuits. I can’t get the hang of biscuits. I can do toast real good, but biscuits in my house come out of a can. The only time I ever made them Uncle Teamer said that I’d best put them in the trash because the government men might come haul me away for making weapons of mass destruction.”

  She swallowed a giggle. Trace was a weapon of mass destruction. He could destroy a heart and paralyze a brain with his long, slow kisses.

  “I’ll get the juice and coffee.” She busied herself.

  The way the air crackled around her and Trace every time they touched, they needed a kitchen the size of a football field. If the kiss hadn’t solidified her decision to go home for a week, preparing breakfast in a trailer dang sure finalized her plans. He definitely was a WMD!

  Yes, sir, she was going home between the Colorado Springs and Cheyenne rodeos and nothing could change her mind. Maybe her sister-in-law, Liz, would read the tarot cards for her again and tell her that Trace Coleman was evil and she should stay away from him. Or maybe Austin, her other sister-in-law, who had a famous gut that always got in a twist when something wasn’t right, would have some words of wisdom for her. Something or someone at home would put her back on the right track, one in which she was in total and complete control. Of that, she was sure.

  Trace put the food on the table and sat down. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Just fine,” she lied. “How about you?”

  “Like a baby,” he answered.

  She giggled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “People say that, but a baby doesn’t sleep well,” Gemma told him.

  “Then, yes, ma’am, Sugar and I slept very well. You got plans between the Colorado Springs and Cheyenne rodeos?”

  “Why?” she asked and wanted to bite her tongue. It was the perfect opportunity to tell him that she was going home, and then with a week’s distance between them, it would be much easier to rearrange her plans so that they weren’t constantly thrown together.

  “My cousin in Colorado Springs called this morning while you were out with Sugar. There’s a week between that rodeo and the
one in Cheyenne. He wants me to help him with kid week on his dude ranch. There’s a bunch of city kids coming to the ranch They’ll learn all about ranching and spend a lot of time outdoors. I’ll be the boys’ cabin sponsor, but he needs a lady to be in the girls’ cabin. He pays really well for the week. Want a job?”

  She really meant to say that she was going home for a few days, but what came out of her mouth was, “Sure! That sounds like fun.”

  The words were out.

  Trace was grinning like he’d won the lottery.

  Those damn drugs must still be in her system from the beer two days ago. Never in her entire life had her mind said one thing, her heart another, and her mouth a third. Now she understood multiple personalities. She’d always figured that only one at a time came out to play. The personalities in Gemma all wanted center stage and fought like siblings.

  “What do I do? Just supervise?”

  “You’ll be in a cabin with ten girls. There’s an itinerary, but part of the time you’re on your own. Like for the craft things and keeping peace between them. That’s your decision and no one gets in your way. It’s kind of like you are the teacher and principal both for a week. You ever heard of a leadership conference?”

  She shook her head.

  “My folks are big on them. They even sponsor one in Houston. It’s a learning experience that teaches teamwork and to lean on your team members in times of stress or need.”

  “That’s what family is for,” she said.

  “These kids come from broken homes or no homes. Some of them have a mother. Some a father. Few have both. There might even be a couple from an orphanage and you can bet there will be some from foster homes. They’ll be wary, but you’ll be amazed what friendships get formed in a week. Lester’s been doing this for several years now. Some of his first kids are graduating high school and they write him these awesome notes about how that week turned their life around.”

  Her heart melted at the softness in his voice. “Sounds like a pretty big responsibility.”

  “You can do it. They’ll love you,” he said.

  “Have you done this before?” she asked.

  “A few times. My cousins make a lot of money with the dude ranch, but kid’s week is their way of giving back. Not one of the kids has to pay a dime for their week. The rest of the summer and fall is for adults. This is the only week that he takes in kids. Adults don’t need supervision, but he’s always scrambling to find someone to help out on kid week.”

  “I have ten girls? You have ten boys, right? Where are they from? All the same place or different towns?”

  “Ten boys. Ten girls. All from inner cities. Dallas. Chicago. New York City. Detroit. Los Angeles. Cities like that. They learn about horses, cows, gardening, ranching, and making new friends. It’s a working ranch so you’ll be right at home.”

  She swallowed hard. How in the devil would she chaperone ten city girls? She’d lived in Ringgold, Texas, population less than a hundred, her whole life. Country girls she could take care of without a problem. They spoke the same language, listened to the same music, but inner-city kids. Lord, they’d have her running circles like a dog chasing its tail. What in the hell was she thinking? Thinking—evidently her brain lost the ability to do that basic function when Trace was in the room.

  He reached across the tiny table and laid his hand on hers. “They’ll love someone like you.”

  “And why is that?”

  “You are independent as hell. Sassy as the devil. And beautiful as a model.”

  “Thank you.”

  She slid her hand out in the pretense of needing both of them to slather butter on a biscuit. She could bluff her way through anything, but not while his touch was sending up dazzling sparks that rivaled the fireworks show the night before.

  It was one week, for goodness sakes. She wasn’t signing her life away in blood forever amen. It would last seven days, and when it was over, she’d ride in the Cheyenne rodeo and go home where she’d sort everything out once and for all.

  Trace reached for the coffee pot and refilled their cups. “My three cousins run the ranch. Lester, Hill, and Harper. They are all older than I am but not much. We were like stair steps—Lester was born one year, the twins, Hill and Harper, the next, and then me the next. We’re the only the grandkids on my dad’s side of the family. On Mother’s side, I’m the only grandchild and she’s an only child.”

  “Okay.” Gemma wondered why he was telling her that.

  “They all three live on the ranch.”

  “Wives?”

  “None of us are married or have ever been married. You have cousins?”

  “A lot more than three. Momma is the baby of a big family, and Daddy is the oldest of a big family. The Irish like babies.” She laughed.

  “So do I,” Trace said and then changed the subject. “Your girls will be in the nine- to eleven-year-old range. They arrive in time to throw down their bags, eat supper in the dining cabin, and load up in the two ranch vans to go to the rodeo. After we get through with the rodeo, we’ll drive out to their place and start to work right then. You are going to love it.”

  According to Trace, the kids would love her. She would love the ranch. She would love the kids. There was a hell of a lot of love going on in the trailer kitchen that morning, and the L word terrified Gemma. Just thinking it made her want to run back to Ringgold and hide behind her scissors and hair dye.

  Trace pointed to the clock. “Five minutes until eight. The wagon train leaves at eight every morning according to the wagon master.”

  She slid out of the booth, carried her paper plate and disposable cutlery, and tossed it in the trash can. “What else do I need to do to help with cleanup?”

  Trace shook his head. “I’ve already washed the gravy pan and the biscuit pan. So it’s done. Just one more thing.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her with more hunger than before. “That’s to hold me until tonight.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing his lips to hers for a second kiss. She tasted the remnants of sausage and coffee mixed with just a touch of orange juice.

  “That’s to hold me until tonight,” she whispered.

  “God, Gemma, I could forget about a rodeo and just hold you all day.”

  “God, Trace, there’s no woman in the world that would make you forget about the rodeo,” she said.

  He glared at her, his eyes hard and brittle. “You sure know how to wreck the hell out of a good mood, woman.”

  “Now if I could just figure out a way to wreck the hell out of your bronc riding, I’d have it made.” She smiled.

  “You are a witch in a cowgirl hat!”

  “You are a warlock in spurs!”

  His eyes twinkled. “Go get your damn broom and let’s move out.”

  “I’ll be right ahead of you.”

  They were on the road less than an hour when her phone rang. She glanced down to see that it was Trace and pushed the speaker button. “Yes?”

  “Does the witch mind if we make a pit stop? Sugar is about to explode.”

  “You need to teach her to go before you leave.”

  “Pulling off at the next exit whether you do or not.”

  “Oh, okay, but don’t make a habit of it. We’ve got a lot of miles to put in before the day is done.”

  He chuckled and the light went out on the phone.

  If she and Trace had met under different circumstances, they would have still had obstacles to overcome. He was bullheaded and she was stubborn. Not two good qualities to throw in a burlap bag and tie the end shut. But they hadn’t met in another world, they’d met in this one at the worst possible time in her life and career. Sex hadn’t done a thing to put out the raging desire she had for him, not like she’d hoped it would. If anything it had just made it all the hotter. She mulled over the whole thing all day, but everything was still unsettled when the sun began to set and they reached their destination that evening.

 
Dusk was just settling when they reached the campground in Rawlins, Wyoming. The small log cabin office just inside the grounds didn’t offer trinkets for sale so she paid for her parking space and followed Trace out to the front porch.

  Sugar chased a butterfly and Trace leaned against the side of the porch post. “Penny for your thoughts,” he said.

  “I was thinking that someday my granddaughter will ask me about this trip and how much fun I’d have telling her all about Sugar.”

  “You going to tell her about the hot sex we had last night?” he asked.

  She blushed scarlet. “Trace Coleman! Of course not. A granny doesn’t tell her granddaughters such things. Besides, by then she wouldn’t believe me anyway. In her eyes, I’ll be an old gray-haired woman with wrinkles who never had or even wanted sex.”

  He held up a palm. “You’ll still be hot and sexy when you are old and gray. And don’t be givin’ me no shit about that being a line, either.”

  She pointed and changed the subject. “Look at that view. Isn’t it gorgeous? But I do miss the trees and rolling hills back home.”

  “There aren’t many trees in Goodnight, Texas. It’s mainly land and sky,” he said.

  “Like Claude,” Gemma said.

  Trace nodded. “It looks like another trailer is turning this way. Guess we’d better get out of the way.”

  She stepped off the porch. “Grilled cheese sandwiches and the rest of the fruit salad for supper?”

  “Sounds good to me. You bring the fruit and I’ll make the sandwiches soon as I get electricity hooked up. Trailer will cool down pretty quick when the air conditioner gets going, or we can eat out on the picnic table. It’s a fairly nice night and I don’t hear too many mosquitoes buzzing around.”

  “Sounds good to me. I’ve been inside that truck all day. I could look at this view until it gets too dark to see anything.”

  She crawled into the driver’s seat of her club cab truck and drove slowly toward the lot at the back of the campground. They were falling into a routine and there didn’t seem to be a dang thing she could do about it. If she opened her mouth, the wrong thing came out. If she tried to walk away from a kiss, her legs wouldn’t move. The only thing she could do was let fate have its way and see where it led. Maybe it would grow tired of their bickering eventually and just let the relationship or friendship, or whatever the hell it was, die in its sleep.