In His Will

by Cathy Marie Hake

  Howie strode by and gave him a curt nod. Nickels leaned against a split rail fence, checking the frayed ends of a rope. He gave Dylan a cocky grin, then drawled, “Gonna get a terminal case of whiplash, looking back at the house.”

  Why deny it? I’m head over heels for Sondra, and little Matt’s the cuddliest baby a man ever hitched over his shoulder. He let out a self-conscious chuckle. “Caught red-handed.”

  “Some things are worth catching and holding.”

  Dylan bent over and plucked a weed from the ground with studied nonchalance. “Teresa’s spending days with Sondra to help with the baby. I’ll be taking night duty.”

  “Boss, ain’t a man on the spread who’s gonna bat an eye over that. She needs lookin’ after. Onliest one who’s gonna kick up a fuss is her.” He chortled softly. “When she’s upset, she tosses pies. I reckon that ain’t much of a deterrent to your plans.”

  By midday, Dylan couldn’t take it anymore. He used the excuse of being nearby to invite himself in for lunch. “What are you doing?” He gawked at Sondra as she sat on the couch, fully dressed except for shoes.

  She looked at him with slumberous eyes. “I had lunch.”

  “Dressed in your work clothes?” He scowled at Teresa. “What got into her?”

  Teresa sighed. “She took a notion that she was going to go out to the coop and make sure the chickens got enough feed and water.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  Teresa shrugged. “I promised I’d see to it and convinced her to take a pain pill, so she’ll nap for a while. Tuck her in bed, Dylan. She’s too tired to pester. I’ll get the baby.”

  “Sondra.” He leaned down and burrowed his hands beneath her.

  She tilted her head and rested it on his shoulder. “Hmm?”

  “Settle down,” he demanded as he lifted her. “No more cockeyed plans to traipse outside to do chores.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and actually snuggled closer.

  Dylan already had a secure hold of her, but he curled her closer to his heart. His concern for her mingled with astonishment—not that he minded in the least, but she’d always been circumspect. His surprise must have shown, because Teresa gave him a nudge to set him into motion.

  Dylan put Sondra to bed. Loath to break contact with her, he traced a rough fingertip down her nose. “Aren’t you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  She blinked slowly and wet her lips. “There’s so much to do.”

  “There’s no denying that, sweetheart—but all you need to do is sleep and feed PeeWee. I’ll handle the rest for a while.”

  He’d started to tuck a wild strand of her hair behind her ear, and she turned to his touch. He froze for a moment at the feel of her soft cheek against the backs of his fingers, then rubbed his knuckles back and forth in a tender caress. She’d needed him during her labor; now she turned to him. The woman had a knack for finding his empty spots and filling them, for making him feel essential—not just for the chores he could shoulder, but because something about him made her feel safe and cared for.

  Dangerous ground. Setting yourself up for a big letdown, cowboy. If she doesn’t cross the bridge from her past to your future, you’re going to get burned.

  Sixteen

  Late that evening, Sondra gingerly eased herself down into the rocking chair. Dylan scowled at her. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look so red-hot.”

  She slowly wiggled from side to side to ease her weight deeper into the chair. “It’s going to take time.” Just when she’d gotten settled, the baby whimpered.

  Dylan hopped up and got the boy. He made a comical face. “Caution! Toxic waste on board. Detour to the changing table.”

  Sondra manufactured a watery smile. It was downright funny seeing how Dylan handled the baby. “You’re in Oklahoma, boy. You’ll love the OSU Cowboys. Soon as you start talkin’, I’ll teach you to holler for the orange-and-white.” The patter went on, regardless of Matthew’s increasingly loud cry. It stopped as he presented a squalling, flannel-wrapped bundle to Sondra and announced, “He’s on empty. Fill up his tank.”

  She accepted her son. “Thank you for everything, Dylan. As soon as things settle down, I’ll make you a nice supper.”

  “Sounds to me like you need to be making him supper.”

  “Unh-huh. Good night, Dylan.”

  He sat down and gave her a mutinous look. “Good night? You think you’re dismissing me?” When she nodded, he shook his head. “Not a chance. I’m not budging. Whether you like it or not, I promised to help you for a year. That promise extends on to the baby. Teresa is spending days with you until you heal. I’m spending the nights.”

  Sondra was sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. “You’re spending the night? You can’t do that!”

  “Just watch me.”

  She looked down at her crying son and then back at him, then blurted, “I don’t want you to watch me!”

  “Oh, stop fussing and feed the poor kid. You could’ve tossed a shawl or blanket over your shoulder and not shown a thing. It’s not like I’m some kind of pervert or Peeping Tom.” He heaved a longsuffering sigh and tromped out of the room.

  Matthew snuggled close and nursed like a starving little piglet. He stopped crying, but Sondra started. She’d upset Dylan. She hurt. She was all alone, trying to rear a baby. Nothing was right. Tilting her head against the oak back of the rocker, she indulged in a fine fit of tears.

  ❧

  A week later, Sondra walked across the living room and eased herself down onto a chair. “Dylan, I can’t tell you how much I’ve appreciated all of the help—”

  “If this is your ‘I’m-fine-now’ speech, forget it. You’re nowhere near ready to handle things on your lonesome.”

  “You can’t mean to stay here for another week!”

  He plopped down on the sofa, put both stocking feet up on the coffee table, and gave her a mutinous look. “You still move like a rusty oil derrick and need the help. Now hush a minute. I want to hear the weather forecast.”

  Hush? He was telling her to hush in her own home and putting his big feet up on the coffee table as if he were king of the castle. Sondra did a slow burn. She was just about ready to give him a piece of her mind, but Matthew started to snuffle in the bassinet. Before she could even lean forward to get up, Dylan shot to his feet. He hurried to the baby and picked him up. For such a large man, he showed astonishing gentleness with Matt. Her gaze went from the man to the infant on his shoulder, then back again.

  Dylan’s eyes were shadowed with weariness, but he’d never once complained. He worked far too much, minding both ranches. On top of that he was babysitting the two of them and got up at least twice a night to help out.

  At the moment, he wrinkled his nose and chortled softly. “You smell like a loaf of garlic bread. Your mama must have eaten the leftover lasagna for lunch!”

  “I did,” she confessed. “BobbyJo Lintz came over with her little boy. We shared it. Dylan, I can’t believe it. Her baby is nearly five months old, and Matt is almost as big as he is!”

  “Matt’s gonna be a moose.” Dylan laid the subject of their conversation on the couch and quickly changed his diaper.

  The cable channel started showing grain, feed, and beef prices. Sondra had been absorbed with being overdue and with taking care of Matt. For the first time in two months, she stared at the figures on the television. “Dylan, look at those figures.”

  “I’ve been monitoring them.”

  She gave him a stricken look. “I’d better go review the books. Those are drastically different. If feed goes up higher and beef prices drop more, we won’t turn enough of a profit!”

  “Honey, the market fluctuates a lot. We’ll ride it out.”

  “But this is Matt’s home. We can’t lose it.”

  “God and I’ll get you through.”

  She gave him a pained look. “Dylan, I trust you to do your best. It’s just that some things are beyond y
our control.”

  “That’s why I gave God top billing. You’re going to have to exercise your faith.”

  “Saying that is simple—doing it isn’t!”

  “Fretting won’t change things.” He yawned. “If all else fails, Miller gave us an escape hatch. We could always get married.”

  Sondra sucked in a sharp breath and stared down at Matt. By the time she gathered her scattered wits and found her voice, she rasped, “Dylan—”

  She looked up and choked back a rueful laugh. Exhausted, Dylan had leaned back and fallen fast asleep.

  ❧

  Over the next three months, the market bounced and plummeted almost as often as Sondra’s emotions. Dylan started spending the nights back at his own place, and she missed him terribly. Often, she invited him to stay for supper—he accepted, but almost as soon as he finished eating, he’d leave.

  She longed for those quiet evenings they’d shared right after Matt was born and wondered if she’d done something to offend Dylan, but Teresa and Howie both commented on how Dylan was working hard to keep both spreads going. Sondra felt selfish for wanting more from him when he already gave so much.

  Every Sunday, Dylan showed up in his truck, complimented her, and buckled the baby into the car seat. He drove them to church in her car—a committed act of a brother in Christ who wanted to help out. “Exercising faith,” he called it.

  What should have been her first anniversary arrived the week before Thanksgiving. She sat at the graveside and nestled Matt to her bosom. Confusion filled her. She still missed Kenny and ached for the loss she and her son had suffered.

  Still, there was a niggling guilt, because she longed to have someone. Her brief time with Kenny had opened her eyes to the wonders of love—not just the physical fulfillment but the comfort of sharing the simple things of life.

  Dylan’s face flashed through her mind, but she shook her head. He’d already sacrificed too much for her. Oh, he did all of the ranch work, but even more—he’d eased her life and heart in countless ways. When their one-year partnership was over, she knew she was going to be bereft. Lord, what am I to do? How will I survive that loss, too?

  ❧

  The holidays arrived. Sondra went shopping and bought a calendar for the next year. She counted months since the beginning of May. I’ve been here for seven months now, Jesus. There’s so much I don’t know still, and I don’t think I can learn it all fast enough. Please give me a chance, though. Let us do well enough this year so I can keep the ranch.

  When she got to the gate of the Curly Q, Dylan met her. “Looks like you’re dressed warm enough. How ’bout PeeWee?”

  “He’s all bundled up. Why?”

  “ ’Cuz we’re going to go get his first tree.”

  She and Kenny had tried to get a tree, but the smell of fresh pine made her so sick, they’d gone back home. Kenny stopped along the way to buy a home pregnancy test. The next morning, they’d confirmed she was carrying a child.

  Unaware of her memories, Dylan unlatched Matthew’s car seat and transferred it to the jump seat of his pickup. “Do you have your heart set on anything particular?”

  Sondra closed her eyes. “One that dusts the ceiling and is so wide, it fills the whole corner opposite the fireplace. No lights. Just ornaments.”

  A rough finger tickled her cheek. “Sounds like you’ve been dreamin’ on this.”

  She blinked and bobbed her head. “Twenty-five years. I’ve never bought a tree.”

  He studied her for a moment and didn’t ask questions. She appreciated that to no end. Sondra didn’t want pity, and she’d blurted out her fantasy before realizing it would tattle about holidays best left forgotten.

  “I know just the right place.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Sondra sat in his truck and frowned. “The hardware store?”

  “Just you wait. In fact, stay put with PeeWee. I’ll only be a second.”

  For all of the Christmases she’d spent as an unexpected and unwanted interloper in foster homes, Sondra determined to make Matt’s holidays special. Having Dylan take them Christmas tree hunting meant the world to her. He insisted on carrying Matthew, brought along a camera, and snapped several photos. Instead of chopping down the tree, Dylan transplanted it into a huge pot he bought at the hardware store.

  “Some things are meant to last,” Dylan told her after finishing the task.

  When they brought the tree back home, Dylan didn’t leave. He stayed and helped her trim the tree with a box of beautiful, antique, hand-blown glass ornaments she’d unearthed in the attic. The newscaster started to discuss farm prices in the background, but Dylan switched off the TV and tuned the radio onto a station playing carols.

  Everyone seemed to be in the Christmas spirit. A sprig of mistletoe was mysteriously tacked in the doorway to the barn. No one admitted to putting it there. Sondra glanced at it and forced a tight laugh. She hadn’t been kissed in ages. As she walked under it, her heart did a wicked little skip. Dear mercy. . .she wanted to be kissed. Not just kissed, kissed. And at that moment, she knew exactly by whom: Dylan.

  The realization floored her. A few months ago, he’d flippantly mentioned the marriage clause in the will. She’d been so scared about losing the home she needed so desperately for her son, she’d actually swallowed her pride enough to tell Dylan she’d be willing to get married—but he’d fallen asleep, and the words never came out. That would have been a friendship kind of marriage.

  What she wanted now was entirely different. I’ve fallen in love with him! A kiss wouldn’t be near enough. An amiable partnership wouldn’t suffice. What she wanted was a happily-ever-after, madly-in-love marriage with Dylan. That realization stopped her cold. Dylan’s a good man. Honest, kind, generous. If he ever detects even a hint of my feelings, he’ll ignore them—unless push comes to shove. If ownership of the ranch is at stake, he’ll probably rescue Matt and me. . . . But she didn’t want that. She wanted him to love her back with all of the intensity she now discovered she held for him.

  “Hey, now, what’s that you got there?”

  Howie’s words jolted her. Sondra wheeled around. “Pecan snowballs and molasses pinwheels.” She shoved the plate of cookies into Howie’s hands.

  Nickels swiped a pinwheel, wolfed it down, and reached for another. “I vow, this place don’t much smell like a ranch; it smells like a bakery. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.” He popped the next one into his mouth.

  Dylan strode up. He helped himself to a snowball, but instead of eating it, he popped it into Sondra’s mouth. “You’re spoiling your men.” The corners of his mouth crinkled. “I thought that was above and beyond the call of duty, and I just found out today that you’ve buried the men in the Laughing-stock bunkhouse under cinnamon rolls, strudels, cookies, and desserts, too.”

  She hastily swallowed the cookie. “We’re—partners. Seemed fair to me. All of the men work hard. Matt and I want to show our appreciation.”

  Nickels pulled Howie back a few steps. Their boots crunched on the gritty soil. “Uhhh, boss?” They shot a meaningful look upward at the mistletoe. “Showing appreciation sounds like a mighty fine plan. Don’t you think, Howie?”

  “Sure enough. We elect you to be our um. . .whaddya call it?”

  “Representative,” Nickels filled in.

  Sondra wished the ground would open up and swallow her. She felt a wave of heated embarrassment wash over her as Dylan studied the green sprigs dangling above them. He drew close, and she stopped breathing. He wrapped an arm around her. He smelled of soap and leather and man—a complex scent that enveloped her. Sondra’s heart was about to pound out of her chest as his head dipped. . . . Then he ducked a bit more and pressed a kiss on Matt’s downy head.

  As he straightened, he stared into her wide eyes and ordered without looking behind him, “You men get back to work.”

  Sondra started to inch away, but his arm tightened. “I thought I was supposed to thank both of you.”

  If he
kisses me, I’ll never be able to face him again. He’ll know. . . he’ll know. Dylan kept an arm around her and used the other hand to tilt her face up to his. Every shred of her wanted to run; every bit of her wanted to raise up on tiptoe and. . . . She decided to play it safe. She popped up onto her tiptoes and gave him a hasty peck on the cheek.

  His hold tightened, and his brows formed a stormy vee. “Just what was that?”

  “A—a holiday kiss.”

  “Not on your life. That pathetic excuse for a kiss was something a maidenly great-aunt might concoct.” His voice deepened to a husky, predatory purr. “This is a kiss.”

  Once again, his head dipped. His mouth slanted across hers. For all of the fire she’d seen in his eyes before she’d closed her own, he kept the contact tender. His lips brushed, teased, found a perfect fit. . .just as he shifted the baby between them slightly to the side, then cinched her so close, he left her breathless and dizzy.

  Matt wiggled and cooed, jarring her from her abandoned reaction. She jerked away and couldn’t bear to look Dylan in the eye. She’d just done what she most feared—lost control completely. A man didn’t need any emotional attachment to enjoy a woman. What was an intense, emotional connection for her had been mere biology for him. I’ve made a fool of myself in front of him. . . . She craned her head to the side. I hope the hands didn’t witness that!

  “Sondra—”

  “Matt just soaked me,” she lied.

  ❧

  Dylan watched her scurry back into the house. In all honesty, he felt like he had a whole boxful of crickets jumping in his belly. He’d nearly gotten lost in the moment. After waiting forever to kiss her, he’d wanted to cast aside all self-control. Fighting that urge had to be the single hardest thing he’d ever done.

  Good thing he did. For a glorious moment, she’d been with him. Then she jerked away like she couldn’t stand his touch. Oh, yeah, she said Matt had wet her; but his own arm had been right beneath the little guy’s bottom, and it was bone dry. Never before had Sondra lied to him. She made a very poor fibber, too. Her cheeks went fiery, and she avoided looking him in the face.