His Daughter's Laughter (Silhouette Special Edition)

by Hudson, Janis Reams

  Carly peered over the edge of the pail and saw bubbling white foam. “Come on,” she said, placing a hand against the pail and feeling warmth. “Everybody knows milk is cold and comes in cartons.”

  Tyler let out a surprised laugh. Then he cocked his head and peered at her through narrowed eyes. “You’re kidding, right?”

  She gave him her most innocent blink. “About what?”

  He pursed his lips. “How does the milk get into the cartons?”

  “From a machine at the dairy.”

  His eyes narrowed even more. “Where does the machine get it?”

  Carly blinked again, then widened her eyes. In a voice filled with dawning wonder, she said, “You mean…from cows?”

  He stared for a long moment. “You are kidding, aren’t you?”

  She couldn’t help it then, she laughed. “Only halfway. I’ve never seen fresh milk before.”

  “Here, hold this.” He placed a cloth over the mouth of the big jar and motioned for her to hold it in place. Then he poured the warm foamy milk into the jar, straining it through the cloth.

  He stood so close she could feel his breath on her fore- head.

  The pail emptied, but he didn’t move.

  Carly slowly raised her eyes. His face was only inches above hers. She struggled up past his rugged jaw and those perfect lips that seemed to be reaching toward hers, over the blade of his nose with its slight hump on one side. Funny, but she’d never noticed that hump before. She won- dered if he’d broken his nose.

  Then she inched her gaze up to meet his and held it there, unable to look away. As she watched, the bright blue-green eyes changed, the green overpowering the blue.

  His eyes held no questions, no promises. Just heat. Shocking, unexpected heat. He leaned down another frac- tion of an inch. She felt herself straining toward him.

  Behind him, the back door flew open.

  Chapter Four

  Deep voices carried in from the mudroom. Rattled by both the look in Tyler’s eyes and by the intrusion of others, Carly turned sharply away and stepped to the stove. With jerky motions, she dumped a skilletful of two dozen scram- bled eggs into a large bowl. As she pulled two dozen pan- cakes from the oven where they’d been keeping warm, she heard boots and voices and running water in the mudroom. She loaded the table with food, and as she filled everyone’s coffee cup, Tyler started the introductions.

  His father, Arthur Barnett, stood shoulder to shoulder, head to head, with Tyler’s six-foot height. The resemblance between the two men was obvious. Carly now knew what Tyler would look like in the years ahead. More lines on his face, put there by age, worry, laughter and weather, and thick hair so white it drew her gaze again and again.

  The elder Barnett spoke little, but managed to tell her how glad he was she had come to help his granddaughter.

  Next came Smitty Hodges, whose age she guessed to be early to mid-sixties. He stood maybe an inch shorter than the Barnett men, as skinny as a beanpole, with more gray than brown in his thinning hair and long, droopy mustache.

  “How-do, ma’am,” he offered with a serious face.

  Willis Hodges, Smitty’s nineteen-year-old grandson, was all legs and Adam’s apple, shy smiles and blushes.

  “Don’t pay any attention to the kid, here. He doesn’t get out much. Probably doesn’t know what girls are for. Howdy. I’m Neal Walters, and I do.”

  Carly shook the proffered hand, but refused to fall into the obvious trap of opening her mouth. Neal Walters was somewhere in his mid-thirties, around five-nine, with a thick, short neck and burly shoulders. His medium brown hair was cut military-short, and his great big toothy smile crinkled the corners of his brown eyes.

  But there was something else in those eyes, too. Some- thing arrogant and predatory that made Carly’s shoulders tense.

  Beside her, Tyler shot Walters a hard glare.

  Carly turned with relief to the last man. Tom Two Feath- ers was younger than her by several years, in his mid- twenties maybe, with a beautiful, deliberately sexy smile and a mischievous twinkle in his black eyes. Both his smile and his eyes invited a return smile, rather than the unease she’d felt a moment ago with Walters. High cheekbones, coppery skin, and straight black hair made him look as In- dian as his name indicated.

  “Welcome to the Bar B,” he said politely.

  By the time Carly saw to everyone’s needs and took a seat with the men at the table, an hour’s worth of cooking had disappeared. There wasn’t a single thing left for her to eat. She lowered her gaze and sipped her coffee. For today, she would wait and eat with Amanda; tomorrow, Carly vowed to fix more food.

  More than once as the men sipped their final cups of coffee and talked about the work planned for the day, Carly caught Tyler giving her a peculiar look. She couldn’t tell what was going through his mind, but he looked almost… surprised.

  And he was surprised. That chair at the opposite end of the table from his had been empty for more than two years. The last person to sit there had been Deborah.

  When Tyler had brought Deborah home as his bride, she’d been given the place of honor at the foot of the table, the place his mother had occupied until her death. His fa- ther had given his seat at the head of the table to Tyler, and moved his belongings from the big master bedroom upstairs to the small one he now occupied downstairs next to the office. Arthur had said that Tyler, as oldest son, would be the head of the family when Arthur retired. Now that Tyler had a wife, there was no sense in not making a few changes right off.

  To look up now from his breakfast and see a pixie with sparkling eyes and short dark hair, where once Deborah had sat, blond, elegant, cool, took Tyler by surprise. Mostly, he figured, because, dammit, he liked looking up and seeing Carly at the foot of the table. And yeah, that surprised him. It wasn’t that he shouldn’t enjoy the sight of her, but more that it shouldn’t matter to him. She wasn’t there to please his eyes. She was there for Amanda. No other reason.

  Besides, Carly was a city girl. Probably wouldn’t take well to sagebrush and isolation.

  As she got up and refilled her coffee cup, Arthur pushed his chair back from the table and rose. “Darn fine breakfast, Miss Baker.”

  Carly turned and beamed at him. “Thank you. But call me Carly, please.”

  Arthur gave her a sober nod. “I didn’t know doctors did this sort of stuff.” He waved his cup toward the sink full of dirty dishes.

  Carly gave a light laugh. “I don’t think they do. I’m not a doctor.”

  “Therapist, then.”

  Carly shot Tyler a look, assuming he simply hadn’t had time to explain the situation to his father. “No therapist, either. I’m just a layperson.”

  Arthur Barnett blinked at her.

  “No formal medical or psychiatric education,” she added.

  The look that came over the older man’s face was cold enough to freeze an Eskimo. He turned to the four hands. “Head on out. We’ll be along in a few minutes.” To Tyler, he said, “I’ll see you in the office. Now.”

  Stunned by the man’s sudden change in manner, Carly gaped at Tyler.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he told her in a clipped voice. “He’s just surprised. He must have assumed”

  “He must have assumed a great deal. What did you tell him about me, anyway?”

  “Not much. I haven’t had time.”

  With that, he turned and followed his father into the of- fice just off the living room. Carly heard the door close with a faint snick

  She had carried fewer than half the dishes to the sink when the yelling started. She didn’t want to listen. Not really. But Arthur Barnett’s booming voice carried through the walls in snatches she simply could not ignore.

  “…said she came from that clinic…you let me think…then, what the hell good is she?”

  Carly’s hands shook so badly she had to set her load of dishes down to keep from dropping them.

  “How much? Good God!…gold digger…after nothin’ but money
…off this ranch.”

  Carly pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks and felt her stomach knot. Lord, she knew she shouldn’t have come here. She left the kitchen at a trot, thinking to get upstairs to her room where she couldn’t hear the voice, the nasty remarks that sliced into her.

  On her way to the stairs, she had to pass through the living room. There, Mr. Barnett’s voice rang loud and clear through the closed office door at the opposite end of the room.

  “If you had to bring a woman here, you damn well should have brought a wife, someone local, not some use- less, money-grabbing city girl who doesn’t know a cow from a mule. When the hell are you gonna get married again and give me grandchildren?”

  “I’m not some stallion to be put out to stud.” Tyler’s voice was cold with fury. “And as for grandchildren, you’ve got plenty.”

  “Not from you, I don’t.”

  Slowly, as if his words had to fight themselves out of a strangled throat, Tyler asked, “Are you disclaiming my daughter?”

  “Don’t be a horse’s ass. Of course I’m not. But Aman- da’s just a girl. You need sons, dammit”.

  Tyler’s answer was a low, unintelligible growl.

  Carly reached the bottom of the stairs, intent on taking them as fast as she could. Instead she froze. There at the landing where the steps took a ninety-degree turn, stood Amanda, eyes big and way too bright, lower lip trembling.

  “That does it,” Carly muttered. In an instant she forgot her own feelings in favor of Amanda’s. The girl had ob- viously heard every damning word from the office. Amanda had enough to deal with without adding more weight to her young shoulders. Without a thought to the consequences, Carly whirled and marched across the living room, threw open the office door and barged in.

  Tyler and his father jerked toward her unannounced, un- invited entrance. She closed the door firmly behind her, fire racing through her veins.

  Arthur Barnett bristled. “This is a private conversation, young lady.”

  “It might be, if you weren’t conducting it at the top of your lungs.” She ignored Tyler and marched on his father, keeping her voice low. “Right now there’s a very troubled six-year-old girl standing on the stairs hearing every word you shout. Amanda has enough problems without having to listen to her own grandfather sneer and say she’s not worthy of being his grandchild because, she’s just a girl.”

  “How dare you come in here—”

  “Oh, I dare all right. Your son hired me to look after his daughter and help her overcome whatever is eating at her so much that she can’t even talk. You’re entitled to feel about her any way you want. But so help me, as long as I’m here you’ll keep your stupid, hurtful thoughts to your- self, or I’ll sew your lips shut. You will not cause that child more harm. Do I make myself clear?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed to slits. His nostrils flared. “Get out.”

  “I’m going. There’s a very hurt little girl out there who needs me.”

  “You be off this ranch in an hour or I’ll throw you off myself.”

  “I’ll leave this ranch when he—” she flung an arm to- ward Tyler “—tells me to go. Until then, you’re stuck with me.

  The elder Barnett opened his mouth to say more, but Carly spun for the door.

  Tyler watched her storm out in a huff of righteous fury. He never would have thought she had it in her to blow up like that. Sort of made his own rage at his father pale by comparison.

  Funny, but she certainly hadn’t defended herself that day in Union Square, yet here she was, taking up for his daugh- ter like a she-cat defending her cub.

  “Get rid of her,” came his father’s choked command. “Get rid of her right now.”

  Tyler arched a brow and pursed his lips to keep from smiling. Not many people had ever bested Arthur Barnett the way Carly had. “Oh,” he said slowly, his eyes nar- rowed, “I don’t think so.”

  Carly found Amanda curled up on her unmade bed, ruf- fled sundress, lace-trimmed socks, patent leather shoes and all, crying her eyes out. Her silent sobs pierced straight to Carly’s heart and drained away her anger. “Oh, sweet- heart.” Carly lay down beside her and Amanda crawled into her arms.

  And that’s how Tyler found them a few minutes later.

  “That’s it, baby, cry it all out,” Carly crooned.

  Tyler sat on the edge of the bed, heartsick that Amanda had heard the venom that had spewed from his father’s lips. The thing was, Arthur had meant what he’d said, but not in a hurtful way.

  “To my dad,” he said with a frown, “men and women have different functions in life. Men raise the stock, take care of the land and provide for the family. Women raise and care for the family. In Dad’s book, each role is vital for survival, but they’re not interchangeable. A man has his place, and so does a woman. And those places, and their accompanying responsibilities, are different. Separate.”

  Tyler shook his head. How could he make a heartbroken six-year-old girl understand that her grandad hadn’t meant to hurt her?

  And how was Tyler himself supposed to deal with some- one else holding his daughter while she cried? Yet, once again, the word right came to mind. The woman and child looked right together.

  A dangerous thought A stupid thought.

  He put his hand on Amanda’s back and rubbed gently, feeling her sobs slowly ease. He glanced at Carly.

  With a finger to her cheek, he wiped away a tear. “You take your job seriously, don’t you?”

  She shrugged and gave him a wry smile. “When I hurt, I cry. I stay healthy that way. Heck, sometimes I cry when I’m happy.”

  Tyler studied those dark brown eyes. “I don’t guess this was a happy cry.”

  “No.” She looked down to find Amanda staring up at her with tear-swollen eyes and a runny nose. “This was a hurt cry, wasn’t it, Amanda? You heard what your grandad said, and it hurt your feelings, so you cried.”

  Amanda gave a jerky nod.

  “Good for you.”

  Amanda reached up and touched Carly’s damp cheek, a question in her eyes.

  “You want to know why I was crying?”

  Amanda nodded.

  “I was crying because I know your grandad didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. He was mad at me, and maybe at your daddy, and he said things he didn’t really mean.”

  Amanda looked wary. Intrigued.

  “Everybody does it,” Carly said. “I’ll bet you’ve done it, too. I know I have.”

  Carly wondered at the sudden mixture of pain and panic that filled the child’s eyes.

  “You get mad or get your feelings hurt and you say something you don’t mean without even realizing it. Next thing you know, you’ve made somebody else mad, or hurt their feelings.”

  Amanda looked surprised.

  “She’s right, sweetpea,” Tyler said. “Grandad didn’t mean what he said. He loves you. And when he gets home tonight, I’ll bet he tells you so. Meanwhile, boy, you girls are lucky.”

  Carly sniffed and wiped her cheeks. “How’s that?”

  “Girls get to cry. Us guys, well, everybody’d call us sissies if we cried.”

  “Oh, yeah? So what do you do if you can’t cry?”

  Tyler shrugged and grinned. “If I’d been Amanda, I’d probably have run downstairs and kicked Grandad in the shins.”

  Carly blinked and bit back a laugh. “Let’s not resort to violence, please. I think sticking out her tongue would have sufficed.”

  Amanda looked from one adult to the other as if she thought they were both crazy.

  Tyler laughed. “Ah, come here, sugar.” He pulled

  Amanda into his arms and gave her a big hug, complete with sound effects.

  The action reminded Carly so much of her own father, a lump formed in her throat.

  “You two girls gonna eat breakfast, or loll around in bed all day?”

  “Are you hungry?” Carly asked Amanda.

  Amanda nodded shyly.

  “Well, then, what are we waiting f
or? But you’ll have to help me. The men ate everything I cooked. They didn’t leave us even a bite. That’s worth sticking your tongue out for.”

  If only she would, thought Tyler. If only Amanda would do something besides sit around and be the perfect little lady, never expressing an opinion, never playing outside, never raising the very devil the way she used to, always being so damned docile.

  Except, of course, when it came to wanting to go to Disneyland. Or not wanting to put on jeans. With any luck, Carly would be able to help with the latter.

  He shook his head and let out a sigh. “Dad’s making sandwiches for himself, Srnitty and Tom, since they’re checking fence today. Willis and Neal will eat in town while they’re running errands. I’ll be the only one around for lunch, and I can build my own sandwich. If you’re still determined to cook, we’ll all be in for supper at seven.”

  “We’ll be ready and waiting,” Carly answered.

  The sudden heat in his eyes sent a shiver racing down her arms.

  After breakfast, Amanda helped Carly clean the kitchen, but only after the child donned an apron—one that swal- lowed her—to keep her dress clean.

  From the kitchen window, all Carly could see of the ranch was the huge barn directly opposite, across a stretch of bare ground. Suddenly she was anxious to see this place called Wyoming. Yet she didn’t want to go out and chance running into Tyler, not after that last look he’d given her up in Amanda’s room. The look that made her think he was thinking about leaning down and kissing her.

  No, she didn’t want to run into Tyler just yet. Not until she stopped wishing he had leaned down and kissed her. Stopping that wish might take awhile.

  However, if she wasn’t willing to go out back and face him, that didn’t mean she had to confine herself to the house.

  After exchanging her house shoes for a beat-up pair of Reeboks, Carly, with Amanda in tow, stepped out the front door. This side of the house sported a long, shaded gallery with a swing hanging by chains at one end and a grouping of three white wicker chairs at the other. Two steps led down to a sidewalk that cut a swath through the lush green front lawn. On one side, a huge cottonwood stretched to the sky and shaded half the yard. The gravel driveway at the end of the grass circled wide, then rejoined itself near where it split at the side of the house.