The Rancher's Secret Wife

by Brenda Minton

  He was the last person she needed to run into today. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to be in the mood to let her leave. And the sudden wave of nausea that hit was a good reason to wait and see the doctor.

  * * *

  Reese lifted the weight one last time and set it on the floor. He stretched and then rolled his shoulders to loosen the overworked muscles.

  “The end. I’m done.”

  He grabbed the towel off the back of the rowing machine and draped it around his neck. The only thing he wanted now was the recliner and a glass of iced tea. Jeff, the physical therapist, a guy from Tulsa, laughed.

  “We’re not done.”

  “Really, I thought we were. My body feels pretty done. You know, I have an idea. Tomorrow let’s go riding.”

  “We’ll definitely try that in the next few weeks. I need you to step on the treadmill now.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He’d never thought he’d be sorry his dad had put a gym in the basement years ago. Tim Cooper had thought a gym would be a way for rowdy teenagers to work off energy and stay in shape.

  The door opened and someone walked down the stairs. He paused before stepping on the treadmill. His parents were in Grove. His brothers Jackson and Travis had hauled a load of cattle to an auction. The footsteps were soft-soled—not boots—and heavy, so it wasn’t one of his sisters. He smelled men’s cologne, not cow manure.

  “Hey, Jesse.” He grinned and really wanted to pat himself on the back. Instead he stepped on the treadmill and waited for Jeff to turn it on.

  “Nice game and you’re right.” Jesse’s voice stopped close by.

  Reese raised his hand for a high-five. Jesse ignored it.

  “What brought you over? Was the sun shining too brightly, acting a little too cheery for you?”

  “Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired.” Jesse said it with a hint of humor. “I’m turning this off. We need to talk.”

  “Make it quick. I have a nap calling my name.” The treadmill stopped. He pulled the towel off his neck and wiped his face.

  “Yeah, I don’t see a nap in your future. So how’s physical therapy going?”

  “Great. Two hours today. But that isn’t why you’re here, is it?”

  “No. But first I have to tell you I can’t give you confidential information on a patient.”

  “I didn’t ask you to, and why would I want information on any of your patients?”

  “It isn’t just any patient. Yesterday we had a young woman at the E.R. I called in a consult with our obstetrician.”

  “I see. And this pertains to me why?”

  “Because her last name is Cooper, and rumor has it, she’s paid you a visit. So I thought perhaps you’d want to know because you might want to drop by and check on her.”

  “Jeff, can we end this for today?” Reese reached, touched the table and found his bottle of water. “I promise I’ll work twice as hard next time.”

  “Sure, Reese. Take it easy. And I can let myself out.”

  “Good deal. See you in a few days.” Reese stood in one place and tried to visualize the gym. There was a bench by the stairs. He took a few steps, found it and sat down. Jesse sat next to him. “So you think you’ve connected the dots.”

  “I’ve been told my IQ is pretty high.” Jesse let out a sharp breath. “And it might be because she has our last name and her previous address was Las Vegas—a place you happened to visit some time ago. After that it was careful deduction going through the list of brothers. Lucky is married. So are Travis and Jackson. I’m not and neither is Blake. Who would want Dylan and Gage? Brian is out of the country. That leaves you. And from the look on your face, I’d say you haven’t told anyone that our mystery visitor is your wife.”

  “I’d like for you to keep this between us for the time being.”

  “For the time being, I will. When are you going to tell the family that you’re married?”

  “I don’t know.” He sucked down another drink of water. “We’re not staying married. So maybe the fewer people who know the better.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s...”

  Jesse groaned. “Please do not say it’s complicated. You’ve married a woman who is pregnant. She’s acting scared to death, like someone might find out she’s your wife.”

  “We had an arrangement.” He stood and Jesse did the same. “Are you going to town?”

  “I’m going back to my place.” Jesse had a nice house on the lake. Reese had the feeling that big old house got pretty lonely sometimes.

  “Could you drop me off at the barbershop?”

  “That I can do.” Jesse touched his arm. “Two steps and then the first step up.”

  “Thanks.” Reese reached the stairs and grabbed the handrail.

  They were on the road before either of them spoke.

  “So how did you end up married?” Jesse finally asked.

  Reese wondered if the word married really fit his situation. There had been a wedding. He’d even kissed the bride. But then he’d taken her back to her apartment, and he hadn’t seen her again until she showed up in Dawson.

  “She needed a break, Jess. She was pregnant, no one to lean on and flat broke.”

  “She isn’t a puppy, Reese.”

  “I’m pretty sure I know that.” He fiddled with the cane, folded and in his hands. “The father of the baby wanted her to get an abortion. And she considered it but then couldn’t go through with it.”

  “That’s pretty rough.”

  “She needed a break, someone to give her a chance to do the right thing.”

  “Do you have any feelings for her?”

  Reese leaned back and rubbed a hand across his jaw. The truck slowed and made a right turn. Did he have feelings for Cheyenne? He admired her. Few women could pull themselves up the way she had. She’d used the money he’d given her to better her life. She’d packed up and moved across the country looking for a fresh start. She was having a baby alone.

  “I’m not sure.” That seemed to be the safest answer at the moment. Because how crazy would he be if he told his brother he might have feelings for Cheyenne? Because she had written him funny, touching letters while he’d been in Afghanistan? She’d shared the pregnancy with him: the first kick, the morning sickness and being upset that she couldn’t fit into her jeans after the fourth month. Those letters had put him front and center in her life.

  He knew that she felt rejected by the family that

  adopted her. She saw herself as their mistake, the kid they wished they hadn’t adopted. She’d been rejected by the man she thought she had married.

  The truck slowed again. “We’re almost there. So do you have a plan?”

  “I’m going to make sure she’s okay and see if I can help.”

  Jesse cleared his throat. “I meant future plans for the two of you.”

  “The plan was to get an annulment when I got back.” He didn’t have much else to say. “Are we there?”

  The truck slowed, and he heard the click-click of the turn signal.

  “Turning now.” Jesse cleared his throat. “Don’t worry. She’s going to be okay. So is the baby.”

  “Thanks.” Reese reached to unclick his seat belt.

  The truck slowed to a stop. “Do you want help getting in there?”

  “No, I think I can handle it if you can give me a few directions.” He reached for the handle and pushed the door open just a little. “And keep this between us for now. I don’t care about myself. I don’t want her to be hurt.”

  “I understand.” Jesse touched his arm. “I parked right in front of the door, parallel to the curb. Get out, take three steps forward and you’re going to step up. Ten steps and you’re at the door.”

  “Is she here?”

  Jesse laughed a little. “Yeah, she’s here.”

  “What’s so funny?”

  “She looked out the window, and I think she’s madder than Mia the day we sold her dolls at a yard sale.”

&n
bsp; Reese had pushed the door open. Now he hesitated. “That wasn’t a fun day.” A day they pranked their little sister and ended up grounded.

  “You’ve got that right. I have to go, so see you later, little brother.”

  Reese stepped out of the car, closed the door behind him and took three steps. He touched the curb with his cane, stepped up and walked to the front of the building. Jesse had given perfect directions. He found the door and pushed. It didn’t budge. He could hear Jesse’s truck pulling out on the road.

  He knocked on the glass of the door. No one answered. Great. He knocked again and pushed. It was still locked. He touched his pocket to make sure he had his cell phone. If she wasn’t in there, he was going to hurt Jesse.

  After a few minutes of knocking and getting no response, he eased down the sidewalk to the bench he knew used to be there. He couldn’t stand up much longer. The bench was still there. He touched it and then sat, stretching his legs in front of him.

  It turned out that in July heat sitting on that bench, even in late afternoon, felt pretty uncomfortable. Even in athletic shorts and a T-shirt, he was roasting. He would knock one more time, and if she didn’t come out, he’d call someone to come and get him. Before he could move, he heard the door click and then open. He remained in one place, waiting, wondering if she’d try to play a game and slip past him. As she walked out the door, he spoke.

  “Marco.”

  She didn’t say anything. He tried again. “Marco.”

  There was no answer, so he smiled and tried charm as he stood to face the direction where he knew she had stopped. “You know, when I say ‘Marco,’ you’re supposed to say ‘Polo.’ I’m not sure why it’s Marco Polo but you get the rules of the game, right? I’m blindfolded and I say ‘Marco.’ You say ‘Polo,’ and maybe I can find you.”

  “I don’t think those are the rules.” Her voice reached him from a few feet away—soft, sweet, maybe a little teary.

  “Why did you lock me out?”

  “Why are you still here?”

  “Because I’m nothing if not gallant. I’ve been told all my life that I’m a real Sir Gala. What was his name?”

  “Sir Galahad? I’m not sure that fits.”

  “I could be Marc Anthony, and you could be... Isn’t his wife a famous singer?”

  She laughed a little. “I think they broke up, and I think that you definitely won’t win points for pop culture or history. Marc Antony and Cleopatra would be the couple you’re thinking of, and I’ve always thought she was tragic and vain.”

  He took a few steps and reached for her. Her hand touched his. “I think you’re not vain. Actually, you don’t realize just how beautiful you are.”

  “Neither of us is tragic, so we can’t be Cleopatra and Marc Antony. Or the other two.”

  “Could we be Desi and Lucy?”

  She laughed at that. “That’s more like it. Why are you here?”

  “Because you need me.” He stepped close, feeling her breath, hearing her sigh. Her hand touched his cheek. It seemed like an invitation, so he leaned, touching his forehead to hers in an easy gesture. “Because I love being needed.”

  “I don’t need anyone. I can do this. My needing you wasn’t part of the bargain. I’m supposed to have this baby and then we get an annulment. End of story.”

  “I know it wasn’t part of the bargain, Cheyenne, but if you haven’t noticed, things have gone south in a big way. I don’t think this was part of the bargain, either.” He pulled off the sunglasses he wore and shoved them in his pocket.

  “You have beautiful eyes.” She sniffed a little, and he wished those eyes worked so he could see her.

  “I’d say, ‘the better to see you with, my dear.’ But that line is so cliché.”

  She sobbed a little and then her fingers touched his hair. “You need to shave. And your hair is too long.”

  “Are you going to stand here and point out all of my physical faults?” He reached, found the door and pulled it open. “I’m here to rescue you, and all you have are complaints. Wife, enter this building at once.”

  “Please stop.”

  He took hold of her hand, and he led her into the building. “Don’t cry, Cheyenne.”

  “I’m so afraid.”

  Once they were inside the building, he pulled her into his arms and held her, the way he’d wanted to hold her a few days ago. They were strangers, friends, husband and wife. He’d make sense of it all later. The one thing they had in common was they were both afraid. “I know. And I’m here.”

  She nodded against his shoulder and repeated what he recognized to be her mantra. “I can do this on my own.”

  “I know you can. And I’m here to tell you that I can help. I want to help. You need to sit down, and I’m going to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Your brother told?”

  She led him to chairs at the side of the room, and they sat down side by side. “He didn’t tell me. He just hinted that my wife might need me.”

  “I’m sorry he found out. I didn’t realize he would be at the hospital when I went.”

  “I’m glad you went. I’m glad he was there. But he didn’t tell me anything. It’s up to you to do that.”

  “It’s nothing really.” She released his hand. “I’ve had contractions. I thought at first it might be Braxton Hicks.”

  “Braxton who? Is he another Shakespearean hero? Competition for my affections?”

  “False labor.”

  “Oh, that’s a word I understand.”

  “But they monitored me for a few hours and realized they were real contractions. When I rest, they do go away, but they’re real. The bigger problem is that my blood pressure is high.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “I, not we. I’m not on bed rest at this point. I’m on medication and I’m taking it easy. I go back to the doctor in a week. And the obstetrician said to come in immediately if I have contractions that won’t stop with rest, if I feel dizzy or experience serious swelling or headaches.”

  “‘Taking it easy’? Is that what this is, remodeling a building? Do I smell paint?”

  “I had help.”

  “What were you doing when I got here?”

  She shrugged. He felt her shoulder move, brushing his arm. “I was putting up mini blinds.”

  “I’m going to help you, and then we’ll call Vera and ask her to deliver something for dinner.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I’m here, Cheyenne. I’m going to be here, and there isn’t a lot you can do about that. You came to Dawson, remember?”

  She stood and he heard her moving away. “Do you think I came here to trap you?”

  He unfolded the cane and followed her voice. “No, I think you wanted to know if I was safe. You wanted a safe place to raise your son. That’s something we’ll work out. But for now you’re still my wife, and I’m going to help you get this shop ready and make sure you don’t have that baby two months early.”

  “I can’t let you do that.” She rested her hand on his shoulder. “You have to take care of yourself, not me.”

  “I have to take care of us both, or I might not make it through the next few months. Let me help you. You’re about the only person in my life right now who makes me feel normal.”

  A long silence and then she stepped close. “Can you use a drill?”

  He laughed. “Can I use a drill? Of course I can.”

  She placed his hand on her arm, and he couldn’t think of anything better than that moment with Cheyenne. For now, helping her took his mind off his own problems. He didn’t for a minute think he was home free. Tonight he’d have more nightmares. Tomorrow he’d feel frustrated and useless. Next week he’d have a good day and think he could conquer the world.

  Today he could rescue Cheyenne. He covered her hand with his. “Where’s that drill?”

  Chapter Four

  “Drill?” Cheyenne hesitated because she’d forgotten mini blinds. She’d forgotten about t
aking it easy. Her gaze had lingered on the face of the man who, on paper, belonged to her—her husband.

  In Vegas he’d been the one person who’d told her she could do this pregnancy thing. She could make it work, and she could keep her baby. Cheyenne thought about the birth mother who chose to have her. She still wondered about that woman, what her situation had been.

  Her hand rested on Reese’s arm, and he looked down, as if seeing her, seeing her hand. But his hazel eyes didn’t focus, didn’t see. She wanted to touch his face, let her hand rest on the strong line of his jaw and touch the raspy stubble of his unshaved cheek.

  Break contact, a little voice whispered into her mind. She needed to step away, find a focus point other than her husband’s face, his strong shoulders and the way it felt to have his hand on hers. She moved.

  “I’ll get the drill,” she whispered, a little hoarse.

  He walked behind her, staying close to her side, stopping when she stopped. She wanted to back away. Instead she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. His hand touched her back.

  “Did you find it?”

  “Yes. Now what?” She picked up the drill.

  “Well, you get the parts we need and then we measure so that we get the blinds even.” He touched her arm. “Sit down.”

  “I have to help.”

  “No, you don’t. You have to give your baby a chance to make it to term.” He reached for the drill, taking it from her hand. “I really can do this. Or at least part of it. You sit and give me directions, and I’ll see what I can accomplish.”

  She nodded and moved away from him.

  “One important rule, Cheyenne.” He cleared his throat and she turned. “You have to tell me what you’re doing. I can’t see you walk away or see you nod your head. I can’t even see a frown, so I don’t know when I’m on thin ice.”

  Heat slid up her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m getting what you need, and I’ll be right back.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled an easy smile. “I’ll wait over here.”

  She watched him unfold the cane he used and walk to the window to wait for her. He sat on the windowsill, his muscular legs clad in black shorts. He wore a white T-shirt that contrasted with his deep tan. She looked away, hurrying to grab the tape measure, pencil and other items she’d left on the bed. When she returned he smiled again, this time less confident—a little boy smile on a man’s face.