Kids. Yet another adventure my shyness had denied me. Had I ever even considered what being a mother would entail? No doubt I had contemplated the joy of gazing into the trusting eyes of my newborn child. But the ups and downs, the challenges and the triumphs, not so much—probably because I considered the chances of ever having a family of my own to be so remote.
On the flip side, I was beginning to think of the ranch as home and the people there as family. Wyatt had said he’d felt the same way when he first arrived. Viewed in that light, the whole fate and kismet thing seemed perfectly plausible, even without a magic wand to cast the spell.
At the moment, however, I had cowboys to feed and pies to bake. Any plans for the future would have to wait a while longer.
* * *
As the men lined up for breakfast, I was pleased to note that Calvin seemed to have improved overnight. The lines around his eyes had diminished, and he moved with greater confidence.
I dropped a heaping spoonful of scrambled eggs on his plate. “You’re looking pretty chipper this morning. Sleep okay?”
“Sure did,” he replied. “There’s no place like home.” His sly wink suggested that while he might have known Wyatt and I were sharing a bed, he hadn’t been disturbed by any peculiar sounds coming from my room. “Throw a few home-cooked meals on top of that, and anyone would feel better.”
Bull, who had been first in line, helped himself to three slices of buttered toast, then patted his stomach. “I dunno about that. Since Tina’s been doing the cooking, I think I might’ve picked up a few pounds.”
I arched a brow. “Now, Bull. Don’t go blaming me. I never forced you to eat anything.”
“Can I help it if you’re such a damned fine cook?” He turned toward Calvin. “You just wait. She’ll have you fattened up in no time.”
“I’m sure she will.” If Calvin’s smile was to be believed, he hadn’t taken offense at the implication that my culinary skills eclipsed his own. Either that or, after years of hearing Bull carry on, he probably knew better than to take him seriously.
Nick stepped forward and held out his plate. “Uh-huh. That is, if you stick around long enough.”
There was no mistaking his meaning. “I’ll stay as long as I’m needed.” Keeping my tone neutral, I deliberately avoided Wyatt’s gaze. If he had any sense at all, he would know that the “being needed” stipulation applied to him more than anyone.
Calvin was still smiling when he picked up his toast and followed Bull into the mess hall.
“Yeah, well, you know how we all feel about that.” As though acknowledging his previous faux pas, Nick hung his head slightly while keeping his voice low.
I spoke in an even softer tone, hoping that Calvin hadn’t overheard either of us. “And the less said about it, the better.”
Angela hadn’t mentioned the possibility that I might stay on indefinitely, and I doubted she would have said anything to Calvin, either. Stealing a man’s job while he was in the hospital was pretty tacky. I’d heard of permanent replacements being hired during an extended sick leave, but Calvin had been gone less than a week.
I filled Sonny’s plate in silence. Wyatt was next in line.
“You know why I said that, don’t you?” I whispered after Sonny left the room. “I don’t want Calvin to think I’m trying to snatch his job out from under him.”
“He’s a grown man, Tina,” Wyatt said. “And he’s also a realist.”
“Yes, but what if he never recovers enough to work on the ranch with you guys? Being the full-time cook might be his only option.” I glanced at Joe, who stood behind Wyatt. “What will happen if he turns out to be permanently disabled?”
Joe shrugged. “No telling. Although I’m pretty sure no one would kick him out of the bunkhouse—at least not right away. Come to think of it, I can’t remember anyone ever actually retiring from this job.”
I had no idea whether that was a commentary on the life span of the average cowboy or their tendency to drift from place to place, neither of which appealed to me.
What happened to retired cowboys? Did they live out their declining years in solitude or was there a special home for them? I could just imagine a bunch of crusty old cowhands sitting on a sunny porch swapping stories, but God only knew whether that was the best choice for them. In a more diverse group, they would undoubtedly brighten the lives of any elderly ladies who’d ever fantasized about riding off into the sunset with Gary Cooper or John Wayne.
The truth was there was nothing terribly romantic about what they did. From my perspective, it was a very lonely sort of existence. The camaraderie among the men on the Circle Bar K was clearly evident, but there were times when they might spend an entire day with only their four-legged friends for company.
I was no different, really. I spent most of my time with electronic devices. What did that make me?
Having filled their plates, I collected my own breakfast, but with a somewhat wistful, contemplative air rather than the more contented mood with which my day had begun. My feelings now were more akin to those I normally had in late summer or early fall, when the whirring voices of cicadas provided a counterpoint to chirping birdsong while soft, cool breezes blew in through my windows—enjoying those moments of peace knowing they wouldn’t last and that winter would soon be upon us.
Kentucky winters were nothing like those in Wyoming. If I stayed where I was, I would be snowed in the bunkhouse for weeks, perhaps even months, with these guys. How would I cope with a life so far removed from my usual stomping grounds, a lifestyle so different from my own?
Finding no answers to my questions in my own head, I took a seat in the mess hall. A sweeping glance around the table revealed myriad expressions—some introspective, some laughing, some simply neutral as they ate their food. It struck me then that I truly could spend a winter with these men, and I doubted I would ever experience any boredom whatsoever.
That thought cheered me, and I caught myself smiling—or rather, Bull did.
“Someone looks mighty damned pleased with herself this morning,” he said, his usual bombastic tone carrying a touch of suggestion.
In another phase of my life, I would have blushed. Now, I simply responded with a serene smile and a softly uttered, “With good reason,” before returning my attention to my plate. I’d outdone myself on the scrambled eggs that morning, tossing in a few extra seasonings I’d never included before. Apparently sex with Wyatt had improved my creative spirit along with my mood.
Bull gaped at me, openmouthed. “That’s all you’re gonna say?”
“Yep.” As a coworker, I was under no obligation to tell him anything, and I doubted I would have said very much, even to a friend. From a need-to-know standpoint? Zip.
I turned my still-serene smile on Sonny, who was giving his plate a very thorough scraping with the side of his fork. “Did you get enough to eat?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Just making sure I got it all.”
“Glad to hear it.” Recalling the one spurt of Wyatt’s semen that wound up on my neck instead of in my mouth brought on a sudden bout of tingles. “We wouldn’t want anything to go to waste.”
I followed that statement with a meaningful glance at Wyatt, whose barely audible chuckle proved he’d understood me perfectly. Even a napkin pressed to his lips couldn’t hide his grin.
I’d gotten a taste of the inside joke experience with Dean, but for some reason it was far more satisfying with Wyatt.
Some reason?
Who was I kidding? I knew exactly what that reason was.
I was falling in love with Wyatt McCabe.
Chapter 22
With breakfast over and done with, I fixed lunch for the guys and sent them on their way. Wyatt gave me one heck of a smooch before he left. Apparently being sucked off by your girlfriend tended to put a guy in a grateful mood.
After I finished cleaning up the kitchen, I took a peek through the door to the mess hall. Calvin was sitting in one of the recliners, reading a book.
“Need anything?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Not unless you know how to turn the clock back twenty years.”
“Sorry. No can do. Be a neat trick, though.”
“That’s the trouble with getting older,” he said with a wistful smile. “The mistakes you’ve made tend to stand out more than the things you did right.”
Although I hadn’t reached that point and didn’t share his perspective, I couldn’t recall ever having made any glaring mistakes. On the contrary, staying that first night in the bunkhouse had turned out to be one of my better moves, and it had taken precedence over just about anything else I’d ever done—good or bad. A brief flashback to It’s a Wonderful Life brought on a smile. Jimmy Stewart’s character had wished he’d never been born. While that particular wish had never crossed my mind, neither had I ever considered my life to have had much of an impact on anyone else’s.
But it had. The man sitting there comfortably reading a book was living proof of that.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about Jeannine,” he went on. “I never shoulda run off like that—cut myself off from the only family I had.” He paused, frowning. “Too late now.”
“Does that mean you don’t want to talk to her lawyers?”
“Haven’t decided yet,” he replied. “If she did leave me something in her will, I’m not sure I should accept it. Just doesn’t seem right to benefit from her death when I’ve done my best to avoid her for so long.”
“If I read those letters correctly, your estrangement was as much her fault as it was yours. Maybe this is her way of trying to make amends.”
Calvin shifted in his chair and fidgeted with a page of his book as though reluctant to put his thoughts into words.
“More like easing her conscience,” he finally said. “My only mistake was in letting her have her way; letting her ignore her own kin while she pretended to be something she wasn’t.”
Obviously he still felt some animosity toward his sister, even after her death. “Wouldn’t hurt to talk to them, though, would it? I mean, if you don’t want any part of the inheritance, you need to tell them so. There might be a secondary beneficiary who’s hanging from a limb waiting for you to be found.” I didn’t add my suspicions that if he refused the bequest, whoever that person was might stop trying to kill him.
I wished I’d known Calvin better. I’d barely met the man before he was carted off to the hospital, which made knowing what to say and when to say it that much more difficult. The suggestion that he might have been the victim of an attempted murder could cause all kinds of worries, many of which might prove to be groundless.
“True,” he said. “I’m still not sure I want to get mixed up in any of it. You know how rich people are.”
Never having known any, I could only guess at what he meant. However, if the news media reported anything accurately, Wyatt’s comment about wealthy people hanging on to their money tooth and nail was probably spot-on.
“I don’t blame you for not wanting to open a can of worms, but—” How on earth could I sound convincing without alarming him or seeming paranoid? I paused for a moment to regroup. “What if she just wanted closure of some kind? To put your mind at ease or even to apologize?”
“Could be. But once you’ve opened a can of worms, it’s damn near impossible to put the lid back on.”
I certainly couldn’t argue with that. “True.” I waved a conciliatory hand. “It’s up to you to decide.”
“I’ll let you know if I change my mind.” With a brief nod, he leaned back in his chair and reopened the book in a manner that announced quite clearly that the subject was closed.
And he thought my grandfather was stubborn.
“Any idea what you’d like for lunch?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Calvin said. “I’m sure it’ll be delicious.”
I was a little surprised that he was so…compliant. So willing to sit back and let me wait on him with minimal input. He’d obviously been a hard worker all of his life and had seldom heeded doctor’s orders. Had his near-death experience changed him that much? “Did your doctor say how long he wanted you to take it easy?”
“I’m supposed to see him again in two weeks,” he replied. “Guess I’ll hear all about that then.”
From that I could assume I would be staying on for at least another two weeks, which meant I wouldn’t be home for the Derby. I could watch the race, of course, but it was a safe bet that Wyoming television stations didn’t give it the same kind of all-day coverage we got in Louisville. Cowboys probably didn’t have much interest in that sort of horse race.
When my trip was in the planning stages, I’d seen something about rodeos being held regularly in Jackson Hole during the summer, but I had no idea whether there was one big rodeo the entire state celebrated the way Kentucky did with the Derby. I made a mental note to look it up when I had the chance. In the meantime, I couldn’t imagine Wyoming would have much going on in late April, unless it was the birth of about a bajillion calves, in which case everyone would be too busy to do much partying.
Fortunately, I had the day’s menu planned out ahead of time, which eliminated a lot of time-consuming guesswork—until I remembered the pork chops. I could make butterscotch pies in my sleep, but the pork chops were another issue altogether. Fried, grilled, or baked? Breaded or plain? Barbecued or marinated? By the time I got around to contemplating this dilemma, the pies were already chilling in the fridge and the guys were gone for the day, so I asked Calvin.
“Fried,” he replied. “I just throw them on the griddle with a little salt and pepper.”
Somehow, I thought I could be more creative than that, but at least I knew what the men were used to.
“Sounds good. I’m going to run into Rock Springs this morning. Do you need anything besides a pill organizer?”
“Prob’ly not—unless you can find me some more books to read.”
Judging by the cover, the book he held was a western. Big surprise. “I’ll see what I can come up with.” The thump of Ophelia’s tail drew my eye to where she lay stretched out beside the potbellied stove. “Want me to leave Ophelia here to keep you company?”
He nodded. “She looks pretty happy there.”
She would also provide some decent protection. At the very least she could warn him of any intruders. I was trying to think of an excuse for him to keep a gun handy when I spotted a pistol on the table beside him, along with a cleaning rag and a can of oil. Someone might have left it there intending to clean it later, but given Wyatt’s concerns, I suspected its presence was as deliberate as the box of bullets sitting next to it.
“My cell phone has a good signal in town. Give me a call if you think of anything you need.” I handed him the wireless phone from the extension in my room. “I put the number on speed dial. All you have to do is press zero-one.”
“I’m impressed.” He set the phone on the arm of the recliner. “Never did figure out how to do that.”
I doubted he ever had much need to call anyplace but the main house. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help chuckling. “Hey, I’m a computer geek. Remember?”
“I surely do.” His eyes took on a wistful, faraway expression as though gazing back through time. “Your grandpa was mighty proud of you.”
“He’d have been proud of me if I’d been a ditch digger.”
“He would at that.” With a nod and a fond, reminiscent smile, he settled back and opened the book again, although his focus didn’t appear to be on the page.
“Back in a bit,” I said and left him to his thoughts.
The drive to Rock Springs already seemed shorter than it had the last time. I was also acclimating to the town, finding a pharmacy without any diffic
ulty and not even missing the turnoff to the grocery. For someone who’d rarely ventured beyond the outskirts of Louisville, I wasn’t doing too badly.
Calvin and Ophelia were both snoring when I returned, so I set three new books on the table beside him, then went ahead and filled up the pill organizer with the appropriate dosages. When I compared the mess of bottles in his medicine cabinet to his new prescriptions, I found two that had similar generic names, but none that were exactly the same. On closer inspection, I noted that some of the tablets didn’t even match the descriptions on the labels. God only knew what they were. Having dealt with Grandpa’s meds after he died, I figured the best thing to do with Calvin’s pills was to return them to the pharmacy for disposal on my next trip into town. With that in mind, I put them in a bag and stuck it in a cubbyhole in the desk in my room. I doubted that Calvin would ever take the old ones by mistake, but I thought it best not to take any chances.
I fixed a cucumber and tomato salad for lunch, half expecting Calvin to turn his nose up at it. However, true to his word, he offered no complaint, cleaned his plate, and helped himself to more.
“Thanks, Tina,” he said when he’d finished. “That was tasty…for a salad. Guess I should get used to eating stuff like that.”
“Same here,” I said. “I probably ought to stop making desserts too—although Nick about had a stroke when I mentioned sugar-free Jigglers.”
He chuckled. “That boy has quite an appetite.”
“I’ve noticed.”
I was about to comment on his good appetite when he cleared his throat, seeming slightly embarrassed. “Thanks for the books, by the way—and the pill box. I’d have thanked you sooner if I’d been awake.” He paused, grimacing. “Sorry I’m such lousy company.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I don’t need to be entertained. Besides, you need your rest.”
He acknowledged his “need for rest” with a shrug and halfhearted nod. “Never realized how quiet it was around here during the day. You must’ve been lonely here all by yourself.”
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