The Rancher's Secret Wife

by Brenda Minton

  Shy? Or unsure?

  “Here it is.” She gave him an inventory of what she had and put it all on the folding table near the window, along with the drill and the parts for the mini blinds.

  “Thank you. And now you sit down.”

  She did as he ordered, sitting on one of the old plastic chairs that had probably been in the building since the 1950s. They were faded yellow and orange and not at all comfortable. She wouldn’t get rid of them, though. They were a part of the past, like the black-and-white photos on the wall. They connected her to this place, made her feel as if it had become her history, her town.

  Reese measured the inside of the window using his hand to make sure the space was the same distance down on both sides. He then tacked a small nail in place. She didn’t know why but she didn’t question.

  “So tell me something about yourself that I don’t know.” He smiled as he reached for the brackets that would attach to the wall.

  “Not a lot to tell.”

  “Were you a shy child or outgoing?” He held up a package of screws. “And I need four of these for each end. Could you find the right ones for me?”

  “I can.” She took the plastic package from his hand. “I was shy. I never quite...”

  She found eight matching screws and handed him four.

  “Never quite?”

  “Nothing.”

  He didn’t turn away. Instead he stepped closer, and then he brushed the seat next to her with his hand and sat down. “Never quite what?”

  “Not now, Reese.”

  “You aren’t going to make this easy, are you?”

  She smiled because he smiled, disarming her, making her think that they could really be friends if given a chance. “My sister was born when I was five. Surprise! All of a sudden I was the child they shouldn’t have

  adopted. They should have had more faith in God. They should have waited for Melissa.”

  His expression softened, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry they made you feel that way.”

  She knew he meant it. Of course he did. But she also knew that he probably had some similar feelings about marrying her. He’d married her on impulse. Someday the right woman would come along, and he’d be sorry he’d rushed ahead of God and married her.

  “I’m sure they didn’t mean to.” She whispered the words for fear saying them too loud would bring an onslaught of tears that she couldn’t control.

  “Is that why you went to Vegas?”

  She closed her eyes and fought emotion that tightened her throat. The baby kicked against her ribs, and she touched her belly, letting her hand rest where her baby fought for space inside her. She breathed deep.

  “I just wanted to...” To be loved. Unconditionally.

  “You wanted?” His voice was soft—raspy soft.

  She breathed deep again, this time to get through a pain that tightened around her belly. “Could we let this go?”

  “I think we can. Have you called them lately?”

  “No. Reese, they don’t want to hear from me. I was their mistake. They adopted me when I was six months old, and they regretted it for the next seventeen years.”

  “I don’t know how they could regret having you.”

  She stood, needing space, needing to breathe deep. “Don’t you regret telling a dancer in Vegas that you would marry her?”

  He blinked a few times and then shook his head. He stepped away from her, moving carefully to the other side of the window where he placed a small nail in place to mark where the bracket would go. After he’d tacked it in, he turned. “Where did that come from? We were talking about your family, and now it’s about us?”

  “Reese, you have to regret. This isn’t what you expected to come home to. This isn’t the life you expected.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s the life I have and I’m going to meet it head-on.”

  Defeated, she sat back down. “How? How do you meet this head-on?”

  “How else would I meet it, Cheyenne? And I know you’re stronger than this. You’re not a quitter.”

  “I don’t know anymore. I’m just not sure how to get through each day.”

  “With faith.”

  She squeezed his hand. “I’m not sure if I have enough.”

  “Then we’ll get each other through the next few months. We’ll survive this.”

  “And then, after those months are over? Then we go our separate ways. No regrets.”

  He let go of her hand and walked back to the table where she’d set the hardware for the mini blinds, and he didn’t respond to what she’d said about regret. Maybe he already regretted.

  “First we tackle these mini blinds.” He picked up the drill and the screws she’d given him earlier. “The rest will be a piece of cake.”

  She wanted to agree, but she couldn’t. For him, maybe it would be a piece of cake. He had a big family surrounding him, helping him to get through his situation. He had faith he’d been relying on since birth. He’d never been anyone’s mistake—not even hers.

  Reese mumbled something about the drill. She watched him hold the tiny metal piece to the window, butted up against the nail he’d put in place as a marker. With his free hand he reached for the screws on the ledge.

  “Let me.” She reached for the screws and held them out to him. Realizing her mistake, she put one into his hand. “I’ll get the drill.”

  “You have to admit, we make quite a pair.”

  “We are definitely a pair.” She handed him the drill, and he held it up, wincing. She reached but stopped short of touching his arm. “We don’t have to finish today.”

  “The more we get done, the less we have to do later.”

  He squeezed the trigger, driving the screw into place. He took the next screw from her and made quick work of it. After all four were in place he stood back, flexing his shoulders.

  “Now I think I’m done.” He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. “And done in.”

  Cheyenne stepped to his side and ran her hand down his back. He flinched, but he didn’t move. “Thank you for helping.”

  “You’re welcome. And that feels good.” He leaned his head forward.

  She ran both hands down his back, massaging the tightness from the muscles. Slowly he turned, his hands finding her arms and then sliding around her. He pulled her close.

  “Cheyenne.” His right hand came up to cup her cheek. She closed her eyes as he brushed her cheek with his fingers. Slowly he moved forward until his lips were a breath away from hers. His mouth moved against hers and she sighed. He kissed her long and easy, retreated for a brief moment, then returned as if tasting her a second time.

  She came to her senses first, pulling away, breathing deep.

  “We can’t do this.” She rested her hand on his cheek, wanting nothing more than to be in his arms but knowing it couldn’t happen like this. They both needed...

  They needed strength. They needed someone to hold them. They needed space—and time to think. They didn’t need more to regret.

  “You’re right.” He stepped back, felt for the windowsill and sat. “I’m sorry.”

  As much as she agreed, those were the last words she wanted to hear him say. But she accepted them. She had to or she’d cry.

  * * *

  Reese sat for a second, getting his bearings, thinking through the moment when he’d thought it would be a good idea to kiss Cheyenne. Maybe he did it because he needed something that felt a little normal, like life before Afghanistan, before the accident.

  Cheyenne deserved better than that from him. He had come here to help her, to show her they could be friends and that she had someone to count on. He hadn’t come here to make things uncomfortable between them.

  He opened his phone, and a computer voice told him the time. He didn’t care about the time; he needed those few seconds to get his bearings. Only feet away, Cheyenne exhaled and then he heard a chair move, the metal legs scraping the floor.

  “Are you okay?�
� He couldn’t see her expression. He didn’t know if she was in pain, upset, angry, sad.

  “I’m good.” Strain. Tears?

  “Are you?” He needed more. And maybe she needed an apology. “I really am sorry.”

  Because she didn’t need this. She didn’t need something else to worry about, someone else to take care of. For ten years she’d worked two jobs while Mark gambled everything away and left them living in one-room apartments at old motels.

  He stood, still waiting for her answer, still wishing like everything that he could see her face. For more reasons, he realized, he needed to read her expression.

  “Please, don’t be sorry. I’m not sure that sorry makes me feel better, Reese. It kind of sounds like you’re sorry you kissed me.” She laughed a little and he smiled. That’s what he had first noticed about her. Even when she’d fallen apart in his arms at that diner in Vegas, she’d found little things to laugh about.

  He smiled and moved to the chair next to hers. “I’m definitely not sorry about that kiss. But I’m sorry for putting you in a place where you have something else to worry about. We need to focus on keeping you healthy and keeping that little guy safe until he’s big enough to come into the world.”

  She sobbed and her head leaned against his arm. “I’m so pathetic. I’m afraid. I’m not sure what I’m going to do.”

  “It’s going to be okay.” He pulled her close. “We’re going to get through this. And I’ll be here for you.”

  “I don’t want you to feel like I’m your responsibility.”

  She was his responsibility—for better or worse. He’d made vows that day in Vegas. He just hadn’t planned on this turn of events, for her to be here in his life. He hadn’t planned on her needing more from him.

  “I’ll call Vera’s and have something delivered.” He switched to a neutral topic, and she relaxed against him.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, I do. Do you have any other furniture? These chairs can’t be what Jesse means when he says take it easy and keep your feet up.”

  “I’ll put my feet up later.”

  And he knew when to let something go. “What do you want to eat?”

  “A salad would be good.”

  “A salad with what type of meat? I’m new at this, but I think you might need protein.”

  “Grilled chicken then and ranch dressing.” This time he heard the smile in her tone, and he smiled back. Yeah, he could still be someone’s hero.

  After ordering, he slipped the phone back in his pocket and waited because he didn’t know what to say and Cheyenne didn’t seem to be talking.

  “Are your parents upset?” Her question a few minutes later took him by surprise.

  “About my blindness?”

  “No. Are they upset about me showing up here?”

  “I don’t think so. Why would they be?”

  “Reese, did you tell them that we’re married?”

  Oh, that. It seemed a little hot in the barbershop. It was probably the sun coming in the big windows at the front of the building. He thought about mentioning that and how the blinds would help. Instead he answered with the truth. “No, I haven’t. It’s hard to find the right time to break the news.”

  “I see.”

  Silence fell between them again. Reese didn’t know what to say. How did he explain that in marrying her he’d chucked about a lifetime of convictions out the window? He’d been the Cooper least likely to play the field, most likely to find the right woman and put a ring on her finger. He’d taken one moment in Vegas, the tears of a pretty woman, and he’d tossed it all.

  What would his family think when he broke the news that he’d married a stranger? A pregnant stranger. The two of them had gone to a chapel where they’d rented wedding attire, found a few witnesses, and he’d bought a pretty ring from a selection in the front office of the business.

  The wedding business. He shook his head when he thought about that day and how right it had felt to walk down the aisle with a woman he’d bumped into outside a diner. He laughed a little, and next to him, Cheyenne cleared her throat.

  “What’s so funny?”

  He turned toward that voice, the same voice that had shakily repeated after the minister that she would be his lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold. He reached for her hand.

  “I was thinking about our wedding day. You have to admit it was pretty crazy.”

  “‘Crazy’? Do you think that word is strong enough? I walked into you, fell apart and married you. All on the same day.”

  He smiled at the memory. “We did like the same pie. That seemed to be a sign.”

  “Right, coconut cream without meringue.”

  “Calf slobbers,” he corrected. “Meringue looks like the slobber from a bottle-fed calf.”

  “And that’s still gross.” She rested her hand on his arm. “Reese, I can do this on my own. We could get the annulment now, and your family would never have to know.”

  “Your son is going to be born in two months. We’re not backing out on our deal. I’m not backing out.” He held out his hand and her fingers slid through his. “Remember our dinner after the wedding?”

  “Oh yes, our reception at the casino seafood buffet. You invited a dozen people we didn’t know to eat with us. And then you made sure I got home safely.”

  “Not exactly the happy ever after that fairy tales are made of.” He felt a real need to apologize, which was crazy. “We didn’t even kiss goodbye.”

  “We aren’t really married, Reese.”

  “I know.”

  The bell above the door dinged. He stood, surprised by sharp pain down his back. Physical therapy and installing blinds all in the same day might have been too much. He didn’t want Cheyenne to know. Yeah, he had his cowboy pride.

  He reached into his pocket and got his wallet out.

  “Hey, Reese.”

  The voice sounded familiar. He couldn’t put a name with it.

  “Hi.” He pulled out a twenty. The bill was folded in threes to keep him straight. “Keep the change.”

  “Thanks. I’ll set these on the counter.” She continued to talk. “You all enjoy.”

  And he remembered. Mary Stanley.

  “Thanks, Mary.”

  “You all have a good night.” She walked away, her voice fading as the door closed behind her.

  “Dinner is served.” He turned, wondering where Cheyenne had gone to.

  She touched his arm. “I’m here.”

  “You’re okay?”

  “I’m good.”

  He reached into the box that had been set on the counter and pulled out two plastic containers and then two drinks. He held one out to Cheyenne, and she took it from his hands.

  They sat together at the counter. He remembered years ago when Uncle Johnny would sit on these same bar stools behind this counter, talking to one or the other of the old-timers who used to get their hair cut. He’d gotten his hair cut here.

  “Could you tell me where the mashed potatoes are?”

  Her hand touched his and guided it. “Three o’clock. And salad is at nine o’clock.”

  “Thank you. We make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

  “Reese, we aren’t a team. We don’t have an ‘us.’ We have to figure out what do with this.”

  “‘This’?”

  “Our lives. Me, the baby, you...”

  “Blindness?”

  “No.” She sighed. “Maybe. It’s time to be serious. This isn’t a marriage. It’s an arrangement. There’s a reason you haven’t told your family about me. I’m not the girl they always thought you’d bring home.”

  At least she was honest—tough but honest. He slid his hand across the counter, found her arm and squeezed lightly. And he didn’t say anything because he didn’t have an answer, and she knew it. She didn’t need games from him.

  He’d learned an important thing being a middle kid in a family with a dozen children. He knew when to keep his
mouth shut. He knew when to let the woman have the last word.

  “I think we shouldn’t tell them.” She finally spoke.

  He turned toward her. “Why is that?”

  “Because we’re not staying married. They don’t have to know. We can be friends and end this after the baby is born. That was the plan to begin with.”

  “No harm, no foul.”

  “Right.”

  “No one gets hurt.”

  “Exactly.” Her voice wavered. He sighed.

  They finished eating in silence. After the last bite, he stood, holding the closed plastic container. “If you direct me to the trash, I’ll throw this away. And then if you don’t mind, I could use a ride home.”

  She took it from his hands, and then she returned and slid her arm through his. “I’ll drive you home.”

  A few minutes later they were bumping and bouncing down the road in her car. Reese listened to the engine and shook his head. “You’re going to need a new car soon.”

  “I can’t afford a new car.”

  “I’ll get the keys to my truck. Someone should be driving it.”

  “I can’t take your truck, Reese.”

  He sighed, suddenly exhausted. “What if I let you use the truck and in return you drive me to Tulsa when I need to go. If you do that, we’re helping each other.”

  For a long time she didn’t respond. The old car rattled up the driveway and chugged to a stop. “I’ll think about it. And we’re here.”

  He held out his hand, and she put hers in it for a brief second. He let go and opened his door. When he got out, she was waiting for him.

  “You don’t have to walk me to the door.”

  “I don’t mind.” She took his hand. “But I’m not kissing you good-night.”

  They both laughed, and he pulled her a little closer. “What if I kiss you good-night?”

  “Please don’t. Not tonight.” The smile faded from her voice, and she stopped walking. “We’re at the steps.”

  He released her and unfolded the cane.

  “When you get back to the shop, you need to rest. And I’ll stop by tomorrow to check on you.”

  He felt a soft movement, air shifting past him, and he knew she’d stepped close again. “I have to do this on my own.”