The Baby and the Cowboy SEAL (Cowboy SEALs 2)

by Laura Marie Altom

  Today, however, she stood on the threshold, unsure about even going in. The inviting smells of coffee and fresh-baked cookies and scones tempted her, but it was Wendy’s surprised gasp upon seeing her and Henry that drove her inside.

  Upbeat bluegrass played over the shop’s sound system, providing the perfect soundtrack for the way Macy hoped the reunion would go.

  Wendy passed a tray of chocolate cupcakes to her part-time helper, Alice, then darted between customers to give Macy a much-needed hug. “It’s about time you came to see me.”

  “I’m sorry, I...” Tears stung her eyes at the memory of their ugly last exchange of words.

  How dare you accuse my husband of cheating? The only reason you’re saying any of this is because you’re jealous I got married and had a baby first.

  Shame flushed Macy’s cheeks. Where did she start to make amends for the horrible, unfounded accusation?

  “Look at you...” Wendy took Henry, holding him out for a better view.

  He’d always been a happy baby, and he grinned now with Wendy’s light jiggles.

  “You’re so big, and have your mommy’s pretty blue eyes.”

  “Wendy,” Macy said. “I owe you a huge apology, and—”

  “You don’t owe me a thing. I’m sorry your fairy-tale prince turned out to be a royal scumbag.”

  That made Macy laugh and hold out her arms for another hug.

  “I still have Henry’s playpen in back. As you can see, Alice and I are swamped. Mind helping out for a bit, and then we can talk?”

  Just like that, their friendship was back on track.

  With Henry content in a sunny corner, alternately cooing over the toys Aunt Wendy had long ago bought him and charming the customers, Macy worked the coffee machine, filling orders as quickly as they came in. Within thirty minutes, the crowd thinned to a manageable trickle, at which point, Wendy passed Alice the reins, then tugged Macy to the backroom to make more cookies and have a proper chat.

  Henry had fallen asleep, and Alice promised to let Macy know the second he woke.

  Once Macy and her oldest friend caught up on each other’s family news and town gossip, she wasn’t surprised when Wendy broached the subject of Macy’s pesky neighbor.

  “Well?” Wendy asked after popping a cookie tray in the oven. “Are you ever going to tell me about your reunion with Wiley?”

  “I’d hardly call it a reunion—more like a catastrophe.” She delivered the short version of their encounter. “I get that he’s hurting, but he acts like a grumpy old bear with a thorn stuck in his paw.”

  “Then you’re not back to practicing writing Mrs. Macy James like you used to in tenth grade?”

  “Um, no. He’s horrible. Just when I think we could at least be civil, he goes and says something even more outrageous or offensive than the last time we talked. My dad thinks I should give him a wide berth.”

  “And your mom?”

  Macy rolled her eyes. “Already picking wedding invitations.”

  Wendy winced. “It’s a little soon for you to be back at the altar, isn’t it? How long has your divorce been final?”

  “Six months, but our marriage was over before then. And thank you for taking my side. Even if I was in the market for male companionship, Wiley is the last man on earth I’d choose.”

  Chapter Five

  “You’re the most stubborn, obstinate, downright unpleasant creature I’ve had the misfortune of stumbling across in a good, long while—and that’s saying something, considering your owner.”

  It was pushing ten in the morning, and after sleeping late, the last thing Wiley needed was more grief from Macy’s stupid llama.

  Charlie stared Wiley down before treating him to a hiss and spit combo, then some crazy grunt loud enough to make the pups whimper.

  “Feeling’s mutual, buddy...” Wiley struggled to get a guide rope around the beast’s neck and eventually succeeded.

  His back and leg still hurt like hell, but as he’d been taught through his SEAL training, if you have a job, do it.

  No excuses.

  He refused to use the four-pronged cane he’d been sent home from the hospital with, so he once again needed the hoe for leverage while opening Charlie’s pen, then tugging him toward the barn door.

  After pushing and pulling the damned creature to the gate between his grandfather’s property and Macy’s, Wiley slipped off the guide rope and encouraged the llama with a light pat to his ornery ass to be on his way.

  Judging by his gallop, Charlie felt right as rain and didn’t suffer any lingering pain from his previous day’s injury.

  Wiley wished he could say the same for himself.

  He hobbled back to the barn to check on the momma and her pups.

  “You didn’t eat much,” he said to the hound. He topped off her water and food, then moved both bowls close enough that she could snack without having to upset her suckling brood.

  When he rubbed between her ears, she gave him an appreciative few licks.

  “You’re a good girl.” Because stooping hurt, Wiley pulled over a hay bale to perch on. “What’s the problem? You don’t like Doc’s food?”

  She cocked her head. Lord help him, but her soulful brown eyes stirred something he hadn’t experienced in a long time—the desire to do a worthwhile task that didn’t involve sitting around feeling sorry for himself.

  “Tell you what...” He gave her another rub. “I’m about out of the proverbial dog that bit me, so how about I grab you a treat while I’m in town.”

  She wagged her tail.

  * * *

  MACY PUT THE VASE of wildflowers she’d plucked from a nearby meadow in the table’s center, then stood back to admire her handiwork. She’d covered the kitchen table in a green-and-white-striped cloth, then set two place settings using her grandmother’s rose-patterned wedding china and good silver. Alongside each plate were salads made from the season’s first lettuce and tomatoes, as well as rose glass tumblers filled with fresh-brewed iced tea.

  It wasn’t every day she had company for lunch and she looked forward to Doc Carthage’s visit—all the more so since Charlie seemed fine. The last she’d checked on him, he’d been happily grazing in the pasture, surrounded by his angels.

  “What do you think?” she asked Henry, who sat in his high chair, working over a teething biscuit.

  “Arrrghuulah!” He bounced and kicked, and as always, her heart melted from the sight of his smile.

  “You are too cute,” she said in a singsong voice.

  He grinned all the more.

  The house smelled cheesy-wonderful from the lasagna she’d made that morning, and every wood surface shone from polishing.

  The cabin might be small, but every inch was filled with love—from the whitewashed walls to the wide-plank oak floor and low beamed ceilings. Antique curio and china cabinets held her grandmother’s treasures and built-in bookshelves framing the river stone hearth cradled her grandfather’s beloved books.

  When the crunch of tires on gravel alerted her that her guest had arrived, she gathered Henry in her arms, then bounded to the front porch to greet the vet.

  Macy was all smiles until she caught sight of Doc Carthage’s passenger.

  Why in the world had he brought Wiley?

  “Hey, little fella.” Upon exiting his truck, Doc made a beeline for Henry. “I swear he’s gotten bigger since yesterday.”

  “He sure feels like it,” Macy said with forced cheer. Yesterday’s encounter with Wiley had been more than enough for her. Never had she come across a man who was more downright uncivilized—well, not counting her ex, but then that was a whole ’nother story.

  Wiley took his time easing from the truck, clearly favoring his leg, but taking great pains not to show it.

/>   “Look who I found out in his yard, tending that junk pile.” The vet slapped Wiley’s back. “I figured if you’re anything like your grandma, Macy, you made plenty enough to share. And if Wiley’s half as bad a cook as his grandpa, he needs all the good home cooking you can spare.”

  “Yes, sir,” Macy said with forced cheer. “Grandma always taught me the more the merrier.” Although Macy was pretty sure that in Wiley’s case, the old saying didn’t apply. “Wiley, you’re welcome to join us.”

  “Thanks.” He didn’t look any happier to be there than Macy was at the intrusion.

  “You two go ahead and get started.” Doc Carthage waved on his way to the pasture where he’d spotted Charlie. “I’m going to check on my patient, then I’ll be right in. Macy, girl, whatever you cooked smells good enough that my stomach’s already growling.”

  It was on the tip of Macy’s tongue to beg the vet not to go, but it was too late. He was already gone.

  Wiley cleared his throat. “About yesterday. Sorry.”

  “Save it.” She turned her back on him to head inside.

  There was another place to set and salad to make. She had no time to stand around listening to an apology that didn’t come anywhere near reaching Wiley’s dark eyes. His hair was too long, and he needed a shave, yet his raw good looks took her breath away. As much as she currently hated him, she’d always pined for him, even loved him, which made his current salty behavior all the harder to bear. Oh sure, she didn’t love him, as in true love, but she felt the kind of love that came from years of companionship and togetherness and deep-down caring that refused to go away just because she dearly wanted it to.

  “Really.” He limped after her, which made her feel bad when he was the one who’d misbehaved! “I am sorry. And hungry. Whatever you made smells delicious. I never would have come, but—”

  “You shouldn’t have.” She spun to face him. “But since you did, wash your hands, then make yourself useful by sitting down and holding Henry.”

  For the longest time he stared at her as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her new take-charge demeanor, but then a smile tugged at his lips and on the way to the kitchen sink, he shook his head. “Damn if you aren’t still a pistol.”

  “Don’t curse in front of the baby.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He washed his hands, then grabbed for Henry, but then backed away, as if he’d changed his mind. Afraid he might drop him? Macy respected him more for swallowing his pride to admit to at least himself that there could be a potential problem. He sat at the table, stretching out his bum leg, then held out his arms. “Want to deliver him to me?”

  Macy did.

  But when Wiley held her son as if he were as exotic as a three-headed calf, Henry pouted, huffed a bit, then fell into a full-blown wail.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Wiley said.

  “That’s the point.” Macy didn’t want to get close enough to Wiley to recognize his old familiar scent, but for the sake of her son, she cautiously approached, taking the baby from him, only to turn Henry around so that he faced Wiley. “Hold him like you mean it, otherwise, he’ll be scared. Like this...” She bit her lip while positioning Wiley’s arms around Henry.

  The mere act of touching the cowboy brought back so much she’d rather forget—the electric awareness that years earlier she’d chalked up to raging teen hormones was still there. The simple brush of forearm to forearm, fingers to fingers made her whole body hum. The simple touch reminded her how long it had been since she’d been with a man—if ever, considering the fact that she no longer considered her ex to be anything more than a self-centered man-child.

  “How’s this, little fella?” Wiley’s voice had turned hoarse. Could he be as confused as she?

  “If you’re sure you’re okay with Henry, I’ll grab an extra place setting and make your salad.”

  “I don’t need a salad—or anything special. A paper plate will do.”

  “Over my grandmother’s dead body.” As soon as the words were out, Macy regretted them. Being back in her grandmother’s house sometimes made it easy to forget Dot no longer lived on the mountain. Macy imagined her out in the garden or off berry picking, instead of being in a nursing home. “Well, I don’t mean dead, but you know—”

  “I get it. And if you want to go to the trouble, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  For the longest time, she stood there, unsure what to do with her hands or pounding heart. But then she turned to take the lettuce and tomatoes from the refrigerator’s vegetable bin, trying to ignore the discomfort of being near Wiley.

  As efficiently as possible, she washed and dried the lettuce, then tore it into bite-size pieces. She cut a small tomato and added it all to a china bowl.

  When she turned to set Wiley’s salad on the table, the sight of him bouncing her son on his good leg was mesmerizing. Henry’s grin was huge—as was the trail of drool on his chin—but that didn’t matter. A funny tightening warred in her chest. She wanted to stay mad at Wiley, but how could she when he gave her son pleasure?

  “He’s really something,” he said. “You did good, Mace.”

  “Thank you.” She took an extra plate from the china cabinet, then silver utensils from her grandmother’s wooden chest.

  “Your husband was a damned fool—sorry for cussing, but it’s the truth.”

  A pinecone-sized knot lodged at the back of her throat, so instead of replying, she nodded.

  “I am sorry for yesterday. Sometimes the pain is so much that I get a little out of my mind—it’s not an excuse. Just the truth.”

  “Have you told your doctor that your pain meds don’t work?”

  “Don’t take them.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged. “Lots of guys get hooked. I’d rather just deal with the pain.”

  “But don’t you see that if you’re hurting bad enough to lose your temper and drink, then you’re not really dealing with anything at all?”

  “Look...” He sighed. “I’m doing all right today, so can we please change the topic? I found a guy willing to take some of the scrap metal in my yard, so I spent part of the morning loading it up. I’ve gone so soft, it’s gonna take a while, but I figure I need the exercise.”

  “Would you like my help?” Her heart ached for him—for the boy she used to love and the man she didn’t yet know. He used to be a maverick—wild and free, roaming all over this mountain without a care for anything other than where his next adventure may lead.

  “Nah, I can manage.”

  “I’m sure, but like we talked about before you slipped back into your hard-ass routine, maybe life would be easier for both of us if we shared the tough stuff.”

  “You just broke your own ‘no cursing around the baby’ rule.”

  Macy tossed her head back, clasping her suddenly throbbing forehead.

  “Just saying...” He shocked her with the sort of mischievous grin he might have used on her grandmother when he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  Did she strangle or hug him? “You’re so confusing. Yesterday, you were out of your mind—ugly and just plain mean. And now, you’re all smiley? No. Not gonna work, Wiley. I need consistency in my life—not more crazy. You don’t make sense.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  She closed her eyes and forced a deep, calming breath. This was Wiley, her conscience reminded. He wasn’t some random, unstable stranger, but a longtime friend who needed help.

  Yeah, but as her father would be all too quick to point out, did that help have to come from her?

  “Mmm-mmm, it smells good in here.” Doc Carthage creaked open the front door. “Chasing after that ornery crew of yours worked up an appetite.”

  “Grandpa had a way with them.” Macy slipped her
hands into red oven mitts to take their meal from the oven. “I swear they know he passed, and miss him as much as the rest of us.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me,” the vet said. “Over the years, I’ve seen some pretty strange things—in fact, just read a story that darn near choked me up. There was a rescued dog in Italy named Fido who was so loyal to his master, he continued to meet his bus for fourteen years after the man’s death. Folks came from miles around to watch that poor dog wait for his best friend.”

  “That’s a horrible story.” Macy set a trivet on the table, then placed the steaming lasagna atop it. “So, so sad.”

  “Agreed.” He took a seat at the table and placed his white cloth napkin on his lap. “I’m just making a point that Charlie could very well be missing your grandpa.”

  “I’m lucky to not be missing a few fingers,” Wiley noted. “He sure doesn’t like me.”

  “Can you blame him?” Macy asked.

  Doc Carthage laughed until he coughed.

  Henry caught the laughter bug, and giggled.

  “I thought we were buddies,” Wiley said to Macy’s son. “And now, you’re yukking it up at my expense?”

  As if on cue, Henry blew a raspberry.

  Wiley returned the favor.

  Macy settled her little comedian into his high chair, then finished putting the meal on the table. Thank goodness Doc had found humor in her accidentally blurted statement, because she hadn’t meant it to be funny. Wiley’s moods turned on and off like a light switch. Was it any wonder Charlie was wary?

  Lucky for Macy’s nerves, the rest of the meal passed pleasantly enough. It warmed her heart to see both men devour her cooking. She used to love trying new recipes for Rex—at least until he’d stopped coming home to eat them.

  “That was delicious,” Doc Carthage said when he’d finished. “Since you did the heavy lifting by making all of this, how about letting me and Wiley clean up?”