A Daddy for Dillon

by Stella Bagwell

  *

  That afternoon, Leyla was deboning a stewed chicken when Sassy emerged from the laundry room carrying a laundry basket of just dried linen.

  “Mmm. That smells good. What are you cooking?” the maid asked. She plopped the basket onto the kitchen table and walked over to where Leyla was standing in front of a long work island.

  “Chicken pot pie. Do you think Laramie eats things like that?”

  The tall redhead made a palms-up gesture. “No idea. That guy is hardly ever around the house when I’m here. And even when he is around, he’s not exactly a talker. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  Not a talker? Leyla had thought the man had talked very much last night, especially considering he’d only just met her and her son. This morning at breakfast he’d not said much to her, but he’d mostly been on the phone, giving orders to the men who worked under him.

  Leyla looked at the maid. The woman was only twenty-four, but she seemed eons older in experience than Leyla’s twenty years. She’d told Leyla that she’d worked at the Chaparral for the past eight years. It hadn’t taken Leyla long to figure out that Sassy liked men but equally enjoyed being single and free.

  “Oh. You were attracted to him?” Leyla asked her.

  Sassy laughed as she returned to the table and plucked a sheet from the laundry basket. “Are you kidding, honey? What woman in her right mind, wouldn’t be attracted to that hunk of man? But it only took me about two days to figure out he wasn’t my type and I wasn’t his. Although I’m not sure Laramie Jones has a type. Nobody around here has ever seen him with a woman.”

  Leyla found that very hard to believe. “He’s a very busy man,” she reasoned. “And I think his work means a lot to him.”

  The maid wrinkled her nose. “Well, I like a man with a work ethic. But I want him to save some of his time for me, too. You know what I mean? In my opinion, all work and no play makes a very dull boy. And speaking of boys, where’s Dillon?”

  “Taking a nap. He should be waking in a few minutes.”

  Sassy grinned. “That son of yours is so cute it almost makes me want a kid of my own. Almost,” she added with a laugh.

  “Have you ever been in love?” Leyla asked her curiously, then scolded herself. It wasn’t like her to ask people personal things. It wasn’t like her to talk much, period. But Sassy was a chatterbox and no subject seemed to be off-limits.

  Another laugh bubbled past Sassy’s pink lips, and Leyla wondered what it would feel like to be so carefree and full of laughter, to think of life and men as something to be enjoyed instead of feared. Or was Sassy just putting up a front with her furtive laughter and all her talk about men? Maybe on the inside the young maid was just as lonely and needy as she was, Leyla thought.

  “Oh, Leyla, I’ve thought I was in love at least ten or twelve times. Mostly when I was in high school. Girls are so stupid at that age.” She shook out the sheet and began to fold it into a flat square. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t say stupid. More like vulnerable. Me and my girlfriends believed every guy who kissed us was a hero or prince. And each of us was the only princess in his kingdom. Thank God I outgrew that mentality.”

  Leyla’s heart went suddenly cold. “Dillon’s father made all kinds of promises,” she said in a low, flat voice. “And I was stupid to believe him.”

  Sassy covered her open mouth with her fingertips. “Oh, Leyla,” she said after a moment. “I’m sorry. I was just prattling on. I wasn’t talking about you.”

  Leyla cast her a rueful smile. “It doesn’t bother me to admit I was a silly girl, too. Heath—Dillon’s father—was a smooth talker. But it was all lies. I learned many things from him. Things I will never forget,” she said bitterly. “A woman has to look out for herself. A man won’t do it for her.”

  Frowning now, Sassy placed the folded sheet on the table, then walked over to the work island. “Leyla, I’m not going to ask you what happened in your past. Clearly he was a bastard anyway. I just don’t believe you ought to hate all men because of him.”

  “I don’t hate men. I just have a hard time trusting them,” Leyla clarified.

  Sassy groaned. “Hate. Mistrust. Either way, it tells me you don’t want a man in your life. And that’s just a downright shame.”

  “Maybe for you,” Leyla said with quiet certainty. “For me it’s the right thing. At least for now, while my son is young.”

  With a long sigh of frustration, Sassy returned to the laundry she’d left on the table. “Okay. I’m just hoping Reena is gone for a long, long time.”

  Frowning, Leyla tossed a handful of chicken bones into a stainless steel bowl. “Why would you say something like that? This is Reena’s home. I’m only here temporarily.”

  “Temporary or not. I need enough time to work on you. And before you leave, you’ll be hunting yourself a husband.”

  “A husband!” Leyla shook her head. “Why would I need one of those?”

  “Because,” the maid cheerfully pointed out, “you need a daddy for Dillon.”

  *

  For the first time in weeks, Laramie arrived home before dark, a feat that almost made him feel guilty. But as he parked the truck at the back of the ranch house, he reminded himself that roundup started in two days. He and every man on the place deserved a bit of rest before the week-long work marathon began.

  Stepping through the yard gate, he heard Dillon’s shrieks of laughter, and though he’d often heard Quint’s boys loud at play, something about this child and his happy giggles caught Laramie in a way that caused him to pause and look across the yard.

  Dillon and Leyla were at the gym set Frankie had purchased long ago when her first grandchild had been born. The boy was in one of the swings, while his mother was twisting and twirling him in a slow spinning ride.

  “Faster, Mommy! Faster!” he urged.

  “I can’t go faster. Besides, Mommy doesn’t want you to fall,” she told him.

  Laramie continued up the pathway, then stopped when he got even with mother and son. “Aww, come on, Mom, a little faster won’t hurt.”

  Upon hearing his voice, she looked around in surprise. Laramie was instantly struck by her natural beauty. A long skirt with tiny red flowers on it swirled against her legs and molded to the curves of her hips, while her white blouse made a vivid contrast to her brown skin. Sunlight gleamed in her black hair and painted a rosy-gold hue across her cheekbones. How any man could have made a child with her and then walked away was beyond him.

  “Laramie! Oh, I wasn’t expecting you this early!” Quickly, she snatched Dillon from the swing and started leading the boy to the house.

  The child promptly attempted to stick his heels in the ground and protest. “I wanna swing, Mommy! Let me swing!”

  “Come on, Dillon. We have to go inside now so I can serve Laramie his dinner.”

  Laramie stepped forward. “Let me push Dillon on the swing,” he said to Leyla, “while you finish what you need to do.”

  She looked vaguely suspicious, as though she doubted his child-caring abilities. Or she simply couldn’t believe he was offering to watch her son for a few minutes. Either way put him in a bad light and that bothered the hell out of Laramie for many reasons.

  “He’s been out long enough,” she said. “He can go with me.”

  He gave her a meaningful grin. “Trust me, Leyla, a boy can never be outdoors long enough.”

  He must have gotten his point across, because she loosened her grip on Dillon’s hand and allowed him to run back to the gym set.

  “How can you know that?” she asked. “You don’t have children, do you?”

  Her question stung him even though it shouldn’t have. Over the years Laramie had tried to picture himself as a father. But that was like imagining a ditchdigger becoming a heart surgeon or a janitor evolving into a business tycoon. Of course, it was possible. People could always learn, but along the way they were bound to make mistakes. In his opinion, though, a child’s rearing was too important for mistakes.r />
  He said, “No. But I was a little boy once. That sorta qualifies me to understand Dillon’s way of thinking.”

  Her dark eyes were making a slow sweep of him and Laramie suddenly felt ridiculously exposed. Maybe she could see he was a man who wasn’t comfortable with the idea of having a woman in his life and children looking to him for guidance. Maybe she could see that a bucking bronc or a raging bull didn’t scare him in the least, but the word love or marriage terrified him.

  “Okay,” she finally said. “He may stay. Just don’t let him out of your sight. He loves to explore and will be gone in a flash if he sees something that catches his eye.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll stick right by him.”

  She gave him a single nod, then turned and hurried into the house. Laramie walked over to where Dillon had climbed back into the swing.

  “Hi, partner,” he said to the boy.

  Dillon’s response was a shy little grin and a drop of his head. Warmed by the boy’s acceptance, Laramie ruffled his dark hair.

  “How about me and you swinging together?” Laramie suggested.

  Taking Dillon’s silence as an agreement, Laramie eased his tall frame onto the small wooden swing. Thankfully Frankie had spared no expense on the gym set. The sturdy quality made it capable of supporting an adult’s weight also.

  “Go,” Dillon said, while pointing to Laramie and the swing. “Go high!”

  Laramie chuckled. Apparently this wasn’t Dillon’s first time on a swing. “Okay. I’ll go if you’ll make yours go, too.”

  Dillon immediately began to kick his legs in an effort to put the swing in motion. Laramie reached over and gave the boy a little push to get him started.

  “Yippee! I’m goin’ fast ’n’ high!”

  “Wow! You are going fast,” Laramie agreed as he carefully kept his own seat at the same gentle pace as Dillon’s. “You must be a really strong young man.”

  Deciding it was more important to display his strength, Dillon leaped from the swing. Standing directly in front of Laramie, he held up his arms and, with a fierce grit of his teeth, attempted to make muscles. “See. I’m big. Mommy says I’m big.”

  Totally charmed by the little guy, Laramie leaned forward and made a show of feeling Dillon’s tiny upper arms. “Your mommy is right. You’re going to grow up to be a big man.”

  “Big. Like you.”

  Dillon stepped forward and patted his small hand against Laramie’s knee. The child’s response touched him in a way that took him by complete surprise. Whenever Quint’s sons were around they were hardly shy about showing him affection. If they weren’t climbing all over him, they were hugging his neck and calling him Uncle Laramie. But Riley and Clancy were very different from this little boy. Unlike the Cantrell boys, Dillon didn’t have a loving daddy who was always around to protect and provide for him, to guide and support him. From what Quint had told him, he had no one but his mother. Just like he’d had no one but Diego.

  Clearing an unexpected tightness from his throat, he said, “You’re going to be way bigger than me, Dillon.”

  The boy moved closer and Laramie gently curved a hand around his shoulder. “Have you ever ridden a horse?”

  His dark eyes wide with wonder, the child shook his head.

  “Do you know what a horse is?”

  Dillon nodded. “Orange.”

  With a comical frown, Laramie asked, “What?

  “Orange,” Dillon repeated.

  “I’m not talking about a piece of fruit, Dillon. I—”

  Before Laramie could finish, Dillon was grabbing his hand and urging him from the swing.

  “I gotta horsey. Orange.”

  Very curious now, Laramie allowed the child to lead him into the house. Once they were in the kitchen, he expected the boy to turn him loose and let Leyla explain the horse matter. Instead, Dillon continued tugging until the two of them were standing in front of the refrigerator.

  Several papers were attached to the appliance with colorful magnets, and when Dillon pointed to one with a horse scribbled with crayon, Laramie suddenly understood.

  “Oh, I see. You have a horse the color of an orange. Hmm. That’s some great work there, Dillon. Your horse must be a color that’s somewhere between sorrel and chestnut.”

  Dillon emphatically shook his head. “Orange.”

  Laramie threw back his head and laughed, while somewhere behind him, Leyla said, “He’s strong-minded.”

  He turned to see her placing a huge pie pan in front of his plate. Her movements were smooth and graceful, tempting his gaze to follow the curve of her waist and hips, the press of her blouse against her breasts. She was a beautiful and sensual girl. But still, a girl. It wouldn’t be wise to let himself be attracted to her.

  She’s more than a girl, Laramie. She’s a woman with a child. Maybe you don’t want to acknowledge that because you’re afraid you could let yourself get all tangled up in her.

  Jerking his thoughts back to the present, he said, “It’s good that your son is strong-minded. That’s the way a man should be.”

  Turning away from the table, she motioned for Dillon to come to her. “Come along, Dillon, so that Laramie can eat his dinner.”

  “Me eat! Me eat, too!”

  Leyla rounded the work island and took her son by the hand. “Okay. We’ll go wash your hands and then you can sit at the breakfast bar. But you must be quiet and polite while Laramie is eating.”

  “Why can’t he sit with me?” Laramie asked.

  Leyla tossed him a guarded look. “I— Because this is not his home. You—”

  “This is his home for as long as he’s here,” Laramie pointed out. “And we’re partners. We’re supposed to eat together. Right, Dillon?”

  The boy nodded eagerly at him, then cast an uncertain look up at his mother. With a sigh of resignation, she said to Laramie. “This is not the way it should be.”

  He grinned at her. “How is it supposed to be, Leyla? With you and Dillon hiding out of sight, while I sit and eat alone? That doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

  “I was not hired to—”

  “You were hired to cook my meals. If you don’t want to eat with me, that’s fine. I’ll accept that you don’t like my company. If you and Dillon would like to eat with me, then I’d be pleased.”

  He watched a range of conflicting emotions pass over her face, the main one being surprise. And he suddenly realized she was trying to keep her distance because somewhere in her past she’d been made to feel unwanted and she was naturally assuming that he didn’t want her around.

  Finally, she said, “Since Dillon and I haven’t eaten yet, I suppose it would all right.”

  “Good. I’ll go wash up and be right back,” he told her.

  Minutes later, Laramie sat eating chicken pot pie and wondering if it was him or men in general that put Leyla on guard. Even though she’d agreed to sit and eat with him, she’d said little more than five words. Dillon hadn’t said much more, but Laramie figured while Leyla had taken the boy to wash his hands, she’d instructed him to remain quiet. Laramie admired her for teaching the boy to have manners, especially at the dinner table, but he missed the child’s spontaneous chatter.

  If Dillon was his… He suddenly brought his thoughts to a screeching halt. Dillon wasn’t his and he needed to remember that the child’s rearing was none of his business. But that didn’t mean he needed to stay completely silent.

  “Dillon, do you like cats and dogs?”

  “Cat. Tommy went bye-bye,” the child said as he poked a bite of food into his mouth.

  Laramie looked to Leyla to see her lips were pressed to a grim line. The sight made him wonder how it would be to taste those lips, to ply apart their hardness until they were full and sweet and soft against his.

  “We had a cat named Tommy,” she explained. “But I had to give him away because we were moving here. Dillon wasn’t too happy about that. But he has to learn that giving up things is a part of life.”r />
  Laramie shook his head. “Why in the world did you think you had to give the cat away? He would have been perfectly welcome here on the ranch. We have at least fifteen or twenty barn cats running around the place. He could have joined them for a mouse dinner.”

  “Mouse dinner,” Dillon repeated with a toothy grin at his mother. “I want some mouse dinner, too, Mommy.”

  Laramie couldn’t keep from chuckling, while across the table Leyla’s features were strained, to say the least.

  “I don’t expect an employer to take on my problems,” she said to Laramie. “And I would never ask for favors.”

  One little cat? Dear God, this young woman was either very independent, or hated accepting help from anyone, he thought. Or maybe she believed she had to make sacrifices in order for people to accept her.

  “Look, Leyla, I think you need to understand that around here everyone is like a big family and we try to help each other anyway that we can.”

  She stared at her plate and Laramie suddenly felt terrible. Not because he believed he’d sounded too rough on her, but because she seemed so utterly estranged from people.

  “We will only be here for a little while,” she said. “I do not intend to become a part of this family.”

  It was all Laramie could do to keep from slamming his fork down on the table and shouting at her. And if it hadn’t been for Dillon’s presence he probably would have. Which was crazy. This woman’s behavior or attitude shouldn’t be affecting him in any manner, but something about her made him more frustrated than he could remember being in a long time. What was it going to take, he wondered, to make her feel truly welcome and wanted here on the Chaparral?

  “Well, maybe you don’t, but little Dillon needs to be a part of it. Just because you want to be standoffish doesn’t mean he needs to follow his mother’s example.”

  Lifting her head she glared at him. “Dillon is my son. Not yours.”

  Laramie knew if he remained at the table, he was going to say something he’d regret. So he simply put his fork aside and rose to his feet.