And Cowboy Makes Three

by Deb Kastner

  That was all well and good. Living a ranching lifestyle for a while would be good for her. He only hoped Granny Frances’s little experiment didn’t go too well. The last thing he wanted was Ange as a permanent next-door neighbor.

  What he wanted—needed—was her land.

  That was the end game.

  It occurred to him that he could walk away.

  Right here.

  Right now.

  And leave her flailing.

  Failing.

  Watch her fall.

  But Rowdy wasn’t that man.

  Maybe Granny Frances wasn’t just testing Ange. Perhaps the letter was to prove Rowdy’s mettle, as well.

  He already knew who he was—a man of the land, proud of the work he did. A man of strength and integrity, who helped the frail and the weak, and offered an arm to anyone who needed a hand up.

  And at this moment, the person in need of a hand up was Ange.

  He stopped at the gate that led to the pasture the sheep were grazing in and turned to Ange, crossing his arms and leaning a hip on the wooden gatepost.

  Her gaze spanned the flock and then she wrinkled her nose as the scent of sheep assaulted her nostrils.

  He chuckled. The sounds and smells of the ranch were like background noise to him. He didn’t even notice them anymore, except for the way they soothed his heart whenever he was working with the animals.

  “Well, there you have it.” He gestured to the sheep, lazily grazing on the meadow grass.

  Her brow furrowed and she shook her head.

  “Have what? All I see are sheep.”

  “Exactly.” He nodded, and he couldn’t resist the grin that inched up one side of his lips. “Granny Frances’s letter, remember.”

  “Yes. And?”

  He made a sweeping gesture.

  “Here you go. Feed My Sheep.”

  Chapter Four

  Now that she’d been introduced to some of what running a sheep farm entailed, she knew Rowdy was taking it easy on her, covering most of the ranch chores while she dealt with not one, but two major learning curves—one with the ranch and one with Toby.

  Surprisingly, while sheep farming was continuing to improve at a snail’s pace for her, she was doing well with Toby. As a single mother, everything fell on her shoulders—the feeding, diaper changing, washing the gazillion clothes that one baby seemed to go through. But she didn’t mind a bit. Every part of caring for Toby gave her great joy.

  Mothering came naturally to her, much more than she’d expected. The love that flooded through her every time she held Toby, rocked him, changed him or bent over the edge of the crib watching him peacefully sleep was immeasurable.

  Even though she was perpetually fatigued by all of the recent events and upcoming decisions, she still enjoyed Toby’s 2 a.m. feedings and wouldn’t have it any other way. It was their personal quiet time together, where Toby nursed and Angelica prayed in the darkness.

  “Are you ready to go, little man?” she murmured as she tucked Toby into his infant car seat. She’d found that was the easiest and most comfortable way to tote him around and keep him by her side while she did chores, at least for now. Plus, she could drape a light blanket over the handle to shade Toby from the sun and dust.

  “What am I going to do when you grow out of your car seat?” she asked him, laughing when he gurgled back at her. “I suppose I’ll deal with that problem when I come to it. Your great-granny had always said, Let the future take care of itself. The Good Book says we’ve got enough to deal with right now without borrowing a cup of trouble from tomorrow. She was a wise woman. I wish you could have met her.”

  She sighed. At the moment, she had more than her fair share of weighty issues that fell directly into the scope of today’s problems.

  She was more exhausted than she’d ever felt in her whole life. Every joint and muscle in her body ached and complained with even the smallest of movements.

  How had Granny run this ranch all by herself in the twenty years since Gramps had died?

  She’d never uttered one word of complaint that Angelica could remember. She’d always been cheerful and upbeat, quick with a quote from the Good Book and always ready to help a neighbor in need.

  Maybe, as with Angelica, she’d saved her tears for the middle of the night.

  Angelica wondered how she’d maintained her positive attitude, even when the going got tough. She’d always encouraged Angelica to look on the bright side.

  There’s a silver lining to every trial the Lord sees fit to walk us through, Angelica remembered Granny saying. It’s all for your own good. Every last bit.

  But back then, Angelica hadn’t believed God existed. How could she, when bad things like Rowdy’s rodeo accident could happen to the best, most faithful man she knew?

  She knew the answer to that question. God wasn’t responsible for what had happened.

  She was.

  She’d been the one to pressure Rowdy into riding in the saddle bronc event, something he wasn’t skilled in. And all because of her ego, wanting to be able to brag on her fiancé for winning the title at the ranch rodeo.

  “We’ve got a trial today, Toby,” she told her son as she picked him up and slid the car seat into the crook of her elbow. “I’m guessing this new day will be loaded with challenges. I wish I could share a quote from the Good Book the way Granny used to do. But I’ll get there, buddy. I’ll get there. For now, let’s go find Rowdy.”

  She knew he would be somewhere around the Carmichael ranch. He always did the Bar C chores in the late afternoons after the work on his own ranch was finished.

  Yesterday, he’d reintroduced her to Granny’s pinto quarter horse mare Patchwork. So far, Angelica didn’t know or genuinely care much about ranch life, but she did like horses and was excited for the opportunity to eventually take a ride on Patchwork.

  “I spent a lot of time here when I was in high school,” she told Toby. He stared up at her with his wide blue eyes, as if he understood every word she was saying. “Your grandpa and grandma were very strict and didn’t allow me to date. Rowdy and I had to meet on the sly. Fortunately for us, Granny was a romantic at heart. She understood our secret love for each other and we ended up spending much of our time here at Granny’s ranch.

  “Sometimes Rowdy would bring over his gelding and Granny would let me borrow one of her horses to go riding with. They were some of my favorite times.”

  Memories rushed back, but for once they weren’t all cloudy and painful. Rowdy had taught her how to ride, how to tack up her horse and how to care for it—everything from brushing and feeding to mucking out the stalls.

  Everything had seemed such a sheer joy when she was with Rowdy. He made everything in her life better and more bearable, even when her home life wasn’t the best.

  Until she’d ruined everything.

  And now she felt like she had a second chance. Not for a relationship with Rowdy. That was far too much for her to even consider. She’d burned those bridges. But one day perhaps they could at least be friends.

  She found Rowdy carrying a bag of chicken feed slung over one shoulder and a bag of scratch grains on the other, walking from the barn to the coop. The sacks had to be heavy. Angelica judged them to be about fifty pounds each, but he toted them around as if they weighed nothing. The only signs of strain were the bulges in his biceps and the telltale ripples of his chest muscles when he tossed the bag down just outside the chicken coop.

  Angelica averted her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. It would not do to have Rowdy look up and see her gaping at him in appreciation.

  And she did appreciate, however covertly.

  Could she help it if he was drop-dead gorgeous?

  “How’s Toby?” he asked, lifting his black cowboy hat by the crown and dabbing his forehead with his shirtsleeve.
>
  “He’s fine,” she said, stifling a yawn. “He decided he wanted an extra meal last night, though, so he should sleep well while we cover today’s chores.”

  “Hmm. Good.”

  But I’m thoroughly exhausted, thank you for asking.

  Which, of course, he didn’t.

  Why would he?

  So she didn’t share her snark out loud.

  The truth was, Rowdy had barely acknowledged her at all since he’d walked up. Instead, his attention was entirely focused on the baby.

  She set the car seat down near enough to the chicken coop for her to be able to see and hear Toby if he cried out to her, but not close enough for him to inhale any dust or ick scratched up by the chickens.

  Rowdy crouched before the baby, making high, nonsense noises and wiggling his fingers until Toby caught his thumb.

  Rowdy grinned. “He’s got a good grip, this one. I’ll bet he’ll grow up to be a real bruiser.”

  Angelica’s heart warmed. After the wringer she’d been put through with Josh, she appreciated Rowdy’s attentiveness to Toby.

  She only hoped that someday Toby would have as good a male role model as Rowdy would be. She couldn’t think of anyone who would be better at coaching her son into honorable manhood and showing him the things he needed to know to be successful in life.

  But there was no point in going down that road, even if it was just in her mind.

  She didn’t know if she belonged in Serendipity, where her reputation was shredded, possibly beyond repair. She might not care for city living, either, but at least Toby would have all the advantages life in the city had to offer—the special schools where he could meet kids just like him. Education. Sports. The arts.

  She had to keep her head on straight and realize there was an end to the path she was on right now. She and Toby would no doubt be out of here the moment she was certain she’d fulfilled Granny’s last wish.

  Although come to think of it, how would she know when she had received the last envelope?

  She supposed she’d have to rely on Jo to guide her, and hope the woman didn’t have any ulterior plans that would hold her up from moving on with her life.

  Whatever that life was going to look like. She continued to think about it, and she still didn’t know.

  But in the meantime, she would do her best to work hard at Granny’s ranch as Granny had apparently wanted her to do. Feed her sheep and take care of the rest of her animals.

  “He’s sleeping,” Rowdy whispered, a rasp scraping against his usual smooth baritone. He carefully removed his thumb from Toby’s grasp and covered the seat with a thin blue receiving blanket.

  Stretching to his full height, he turned to Angelica. “I guess we need to get to work.”

  She stifled another yawn against the back of her hand.

  “Chickens are on the docket for today, aren’t they?” she asked hesitantly.

  Angelica didn’t know whether it was the muted tone of her voice or her anxious expression, but Rowdy narrowed his gaze on her.

  Was that concern she saw in his eyes?

  “Are you sure you’re up to this?” he asked bluntly, though with enough genuine concern that the question didn’t come out bristly. “You look like you’re going to fall asleep standing up. Maybe we should save this for another day.”

  She gestured his query away. “I’m a little tired is all. Nothing I can’t overcome with a little determination.”

  “You always were strong willed.”

  Angelica couldn’t tell by his expression or the tone of his voice whether or not he was complimenting her, so she let the comment go.

  “I thought I’d introduce you to Granny Frances’s hens today.” He nodded toward the chicken coop. “Thanks to them, you’ll always have plenty of fresh eggs to cook with.”

  Angelica’s gut tightened.

  She liked eggs.

  Scrambled eggs was one of the few dishes she could cook on her own.

  What she didn’t like was how she would have to get the eggs. She wasn’t a big fan of chickens—or of any type of bird, really. The truth was, with all of their flapping and clawing and clucking, hens frightened her.

  She was terrified that if one of them flapped up at her or got next to her face, she was going to make a total fool of herself.

  She’d seen one brightly colored rooster roaming around on the lawn outside the coop, and up until now, she’d managed to avoid it completely. She’d meant to ask Rowdy why that chicken moved about freely while the other chickens were confined, but she supposed she’d probably get the answer to that question today.

  She’d been happy to studiously avoid both the brightly colored chicken and the rest of them in the coop, but now all that was about to end.

  As Rowdy had said, she was strong willed. She could overcome her fear of chickens. She just had to face it down and work through it.

  Maybe the best way to power through her phobia would be to stand right in the middle of the coop until she felt comfortable.

  Or she keeled over.

  Holding her breath.

  With her eyes closed.

  Her heart hammered but she forced herself to breathe. Rowdy would be right beside her and he would notice if she started acting funny.

  Anyway, how bad could it be?

  “Ready?” Rowdy unfolded a knife from his pocket and ripped into the feed, then plunged a scooper into the grain and filled a nearby blue bucket with it.

  “Here you go,” he told her, passing the bucket to her and flashing an encouraging grin.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  Rowdy pointed to a feeder box and watering tin cleverly using the space under the henhouse. “Food. Water. Right under the henhouse where they roost and sleep. And this,” he said, pointing around the fenced enclosure, “is called the run.”

  “And we go in and shut the gate behind us?”

  She already knew the answer to her question, but she was quite literally shaking in her mud boots. She supposed she’d hoped he’d take pity on her and show her how to do it without her actually having to set foot in the coop herself.

  If wishes were horses...

  Or anything but chickens.

  “I know Granny Frances said we were supposed to feed the sheep, and that’s a good start for you, but the chickens are by default part of the package while you’re living here at the ranch.”

  “Unfortunately,” she mumbled under her breath.

  “What was that?” His brow rose in time with one side of his lips.

  She didn’t answer him, but instead, opened the gate to the chicken run and stepped through, not even looking to see if Rowdy followed.

  Either way, this was on her.

  I can do this, she told herself.

  I can do this with God’s help, she mentally amended.

  Her adrenaline spiked when she heard the clang of the gate closing behind her.

  A few hens in various shades of brown milled around, scratching and pecking at the fresh pine shavings that covered the ground.

  “We have to change the pine shavings frequently to keep the run clean, but let’s not worry about it today. I usually spread some scratch grain on the ground in the run. It gives the hens something interesting to do. That’s what they’re looking for.”

  A few chickens showed a mild interest in Angelica—or rather her feed bucket—but none of them charged at her with wings flapping and beaks pecking as she’d feared they might do.

  See?

  She was being irrational.

  Fear conquered.

  “Dump the feed, and afterward we can grab the hose and fill the water bin.”

  While she followed Rowdy’s instructions, he spread the scratch grain across the run and the hens immediately turned to their dinner.

 
; “Next, we find the eggs,” Rowdy said.

  Angelica froze right where she was. Were there eggs hidden under the pine shavings somewhere? Would her next step crush a fresh egg and then she’d be on cleaning duty?

  “What, like an Easter egg hunt or something?” She tried to sound casual, but her laugh sounded as if she was choking on something.

  Rowdy snorted. “It’s not quite as complicated as all that. While there are occasions where a hen drops an egg in an odd place, it’s a pretty good bet that we’ll find most of them in the henhouse where they roost.”

  “Oh.” Heat rose to her cheeks. Every time she opened her mouth, she sounded more and more like the uneducated not-a-rancher that she was.

  “It’s pretty simple, really,” Rowdy said, appearing not to notice how flushed her face must look. “You just check all the nests. If a chicken is roosting and doesn’t feel like wandering out into the pen, you check underneath her, grab the egg and put it in the bucket.”

  Angelica watched while he demonstrated, jamming his hand under the nearest roosting hen, causing her to flap her wings and cluck in complaint.

  But despite the chicken’s fuss, Rowdy came up with a light brown egg, which he brandished in triumph before placing it into the bucket.

  “This part, at least, is a little bit like having an Easter egg hunt.” He grinned at her. “Easy as pie. Have at it.”

  She shook her head and crossed her arms.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There is no possible way you are going to get me to stick my hand under—” she gestured toward the chicken he’d just taken the egg from “—that.” Her voice was no more than a croak.

  He bent his head toward her, an amused half smile on his lips.

  “What’s the problem?”

  She opened her mouth to speak but no words came forth. How could she explain herself without confiding in him, displaying her vulnerability and embarrassment, neither being emotions she wished to share with Rowdy.

  “I don’t like...birds.” She took a quick gulp of air. “Actually, I have an irrational fear of them,” she finally admitted.