The Rancher's Baby Proposal

by Barbara White Daille

  Recalling what happened the night they’d stood together at this counter after dinner made him cautious. He moved forward but not too close.

  She had been watering a small plant with dark purple blooms and plain green leaves. A big difference from the vase of colorful, long-stemmed flowers she’d had on the table that night. He had left the vase on the counter where she’d put it after straightening up the kitchen, but by the next afternoon, the flowers had disappeared.

  “We’re having a plant sale at the store,” she said, “so I brought one for the windowsill here. I gave it water, since it was looking a little blah. That’s probably why it was on sale.” Another brief smile. “I don’t want to keep you if you’re headed to the barn. As I said, I’ll be here with Sean.”

  “Right.” She was different today, and it wasn’t just the tied-back hair or her plain green blouse, nearly the same shade as the plant’s leaves. There was no big smile. No quick, cute chatter. No laugh.

  He knew why. But as much as he regretted not being with her the way she’d wanted him to be...the way he’d wanted, too...he knew he had done the right thing by turning her down. No matter how much he might like what she was offering, he’d told her the truth. He wasn’t about to take advantage of her. And considering how little time he’d be here, their getting together wouldn’t amount to more than a one-night stand.

  “I’ll be working inside this afternoon. Upstairs,” he clarified quickly.

  She nodded and plucked a withered bloom from the plant. “That’s fine.”

  He frowned. She seemed to be dealing with this awkward situation better than he had expected. Better than he was handling it. He had to say something else, or she would think he was the one who hadn’t gotten over what had happened. “You’ll need to take that plant home once I leave.”

  “Provided it’s still alive. I’ll do my best, but I don’t have much of a green thumb.”

  No grin. No laugh. No way to tell if she’d been joking or not. A stupid thing to get hung up on, but she’d never before been so hard to read. He liked the braid and the blouse just as much he liked what she normally wore. But he missed the laughing, bubbly Ally. It was that lack of chatter that really had him wondering. “Are you okay?”

  “Me?” She sounded surprised. “I’m fine. Why?”

  “You seem...quiet.”

  Now she gave a little laugh. “I do have quiet moments once in a while. You just haven’t seen too many of them.”

  He nodded, not knowing where to go with that. But she did seem more like herself now. He gestured across the room. “There might be some plant food still in the utility closet. I’d seen a good collection of pots in there the other day.”

  She glanced at him. “Your mama grew houseplants?”

  He nodded. “All kinds, but ones like that, especially.” He hadn’t recalled that till now. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to remember.

  “Violets use a different type of food. I’ve seen it at the store. If you don’t find any in the closet, I’ll pick some up tomorrow. I’m sure this plant could use some extra nurturing.”

  Like the extra cuddling she’d been giving his son.

  He backed a step, then stopped.

  With him planning to work upstairs, she’d be down here alone with Sean all afternoon. Again. Lots more time for Sean to get too close to her. The thought bothered him as much now as it had last night at the Cantina.

  Before he could second-guess himself, he said, “I’ll be sorting out some things upstairs, trying to figure out what to toss and what to donate. Maybe you could give me a hand.”

  She shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Good. But first, I’ll check on that plant food.”

  Halfway to the utility closet, he almost stumbled, realizing suddenly the mistake he had made. Sure, he had solved his problem of her staying alone with Sean all afternoon.

  But he’d also made it certain she would be spending that time with him.

  The rush of pleasure following that thought warned him of trouble ahead.

  Chapter Twelve

  In the extra bedroom upstairs in the ranch house, Ally knelt on the floor and eyed Reagan. She wasn’t sure what had made him ask her to help him today. A little change in clothing and makeup couldn’t have caused this much of a turnaround.

  Besides, as she had realized on the ride to the ranch this afternoon, it wasn’t her clothes or her hair or anything else that would make Reagan willing to talk. He had to come to that decision on his own. And for his sake, she wanted that most of all.

  She took his request for help as a step in the right direction. An indication he was getting more comfortable around her.

  One step at a time suited her just fine.

  They were spending the afternoon in a spare bedroom on the second floor, which his mama had evidently used for storage. They hadn’t tackled the closet or the drawers of the dresser yet but were slowly working their way through the boxes that had been piled throughout the room.

  “This one is extra towels and washcloths,” she reported as she investigated yet another box.

  Reagan opened the flaps of a large carton, and they both backed away from the scent of mothballs.

  “Mostly out-of-season clothes, I’d guess,” he said. “My mom used to swap out the clothes from our bedrooms a couple of times a year.” He rose abruptly and carried the box over to set it next to the doorway, where they had stacked cartons they had already sorted through.

  Out-of-season clothes and houseplants. Two such simple subjects. But talking about both meant progress for Reagan.

  Across the room, he was still emptying and sorting through the contents of the carton. With his back to her, she had the opportunity to look him over.

  In grade school and junior high, she’d been caught up mostly in his crooked smile and the dark hair tumbling over his forehead. By high school, she’d grown up some and widened her range of interest.

  Now, she saw even more to like, from the dark hair clipped short against his tanned neck to his broad shoulders and tapering waist. She’d had plenty of chances to get an eyeful of Reagan in a football or basketball or track jersey. She had liked her chances even better during swim season, when nothing but chlorinated pool water blocked her sight of his muscular chest and abs.

  Feeling her cheeks heating at the visions so clear in her mind, she fanned her face and turned reluctantly back to work. She needed something besides a carton of hand towels to distract her.

  She reached for the next small box and opened the flaps. “It looks like your mama liked to swap out more than just clothes. This carton has small appliances and utensils. Mostly duplicates, since I’ve already seen others downstairs. A can opener, a hand mixer and a few brand-new whisks and spatulas, still in the original packaging.”

  “Yeah, Mom always liked to have extras of all those things on hand. ‘Emergency backups,’ she used to call them. In a way,” he said slowly, “you were right when you said what you did about us living out here, so far from town. Not that Mom ever felt lonely—or at least, if she did, I never heard about it. But she did sometimes feel cut off from all those stores you love living close to. Especially the grocery store.”

  Glancing up, she said, “Mrs. Browley told me your mama was an excellent cook.”

  “She was.” One side of his mouth curved the slightest bit, as if he wouldn’t risk a full smile. “That’s why she always had her emergency backups. She couldn’t just make a quick trip to the L-G to pick up a new can opener or an extra quart of milk. She made almost everything from scratch, and if an appliance broke or we ran short of an ingredient she needed to make supper, she didn’t want to worry about being caught without.”

  “I can understand that,” she said. “Though I’ll admit if it were me, I would miss shopping for clothes and shoes more than I would the
kitchen stuff. I’m not much of a cook. And speaking of cooking...” She hesitated, then admitted, “That lasagna we had the other night...it was the first time I’d made it. And it was mostly put together with assistance from my mama. I don’t really know how to cook anything much more complicated than eggs and bacon or home fries and ham steak.”

  “Everybody has to start somewhere,” he said.

  She smiled. “Yes, they do.” That was true whether it came to learning how to cook or letting down your guard to trust someone.

  He gestured to the boxes they had piled in a stack for donations. “I’m going to take these cartons out and put them in the back of the truck.”

  He left with his arms full, and she watched until he had disappeared from her sight.

  As much as she would like to attribute his sudden chattiness to her uncharacteristic lack of chatter, she knew better. His conversation most likely came from feelings stirred up by their job in this room, feelings he refused to acknowledge.

  From as far back as she could remember, her parents had always encouraged her to say whatever she felt, to talk about everything that went on in her day, good and bad. When she was done, they shared with her. And when the three of them got together with her aunts and uncles and cousins, it was always more of the same—usually announced in front of the entire family.

  Someone like Reagan, who talked so little about himself, his past and his life in general, would probably need much more encouragement before he would share his feelings, even in a private conversation.

  There was so much she wanted to ask him. She knew about his mama’s illness and that she had passed away just a few years ago. She’d never known why he hadn’t come back after that to see his father. But this wasn’t the time to ask about those things, either. Reagan had finally made the attempt to talk. She couldn’t risk having him shut down again.

  She stood and went over to one corner of the room.

  They had left Sean asleep in his infant seat. He was now awake, his blue eyes open wide, his gaze scanning the room. She didn’t know how far babies his age could see, but she knew by the way his gaze fastened on her that he saw her approaching him.

  “Hey, baby,” she said. “It’s Ally. Remember me?” Her braid had fallen forward over her shoulder while she was bending down sorting through the cartons. She lifted the end of the braid and waved it at Sean. “This is the new me. But don’t let the plain hair and clothes fool you. I’m still the same Ally on the inside.”

  Which was, of course, nothing but the truth.

  “And you know what? I think your daddy might like the new me and the old me.”

  But she wanted more than like.

  No matter what Reagan said about her schoolgirl crush, she genuinely loved him. And she truly believed he could learn to love her, too.

  * * *

  ALL DAY, REAGAN had kept one eye on the clock, waiting for the time he’d get to see Ally again.

  He didn’t know why she had made the changes she had the day before. Though he liked her sweet, quiet side as well as he liked the flirty one, he missed the color and brightness and bubbliness of her. And he definitely missed the teasing. He hadn’t realized how many times she had made him laugh since he’d been back.

  He glanced from the corner of his eye to where she sat on one end of the couch. In the light from the lamp, she seemed fully focused as she dug through a box she had brought down from the bedroom this afternoon. Having her this close to him made him want her even closer.

  He rubbed his eyes as if he could erase her image from them.

  “Tired?” she asked.

  “No.” But he was—tired of wanting her yet needing to keep away.

  The room went quiet again. Her silence was getting to him, and he wasn’t used to having to carry the conversational ball. “Maybe we should stop for the night. It is getting late. And after all, it’s Friday.”

  Just one short week since he’d come into the house and found her in the living room dancing while she dusted. One very long week since he’d finally acknowledged he’d been thinking about asking her out. Even then he’d decided that had been a crazy idea. Yet only a few days later, he’d given in to her invitation and they had wound up in bed together.

  But not for long. He’d found his common sense before he could give in and make a huge mistake. He had to be grateful for that.

  She hadn’t spoken, and he tried again. “I imagine you have plans.”

  She shook her head. “This sounds like the conversation we had last week. And no, I don’t have anything special going on tonight, either. Or tomorrow. I can come and spend the day. We’ve barely made a dent in sorting through those boxes upstairs.”

  His mind yelled no, but too late. His head was already nodding. It wasn’t so much that he needed help but that he wanted the chance to be with her. How had he gone from cutting down the time she spent alone with Sean to this?

  She gave him her brilliant smile and went back to riffling through the box, leaving him struggling for something else to say. With relief, he heard her give a little “ah” of satisfaction as she pulled a book from the box she’d been pawing through.

  “Look what I found,” she said. “Your senior yearbook.”

  He stared at it. “No big deal. Everybody’s got the same edition.” Cowboy Creek High School was so small that technically they didn’t have yearbooks, only school annuals covering all four grades every year. “You’ve got a copy of this one on a shelf at home somewhere.”

  “Yes, but I always love looking through them. Come on, let’s take a peek.”

  For a moment, the bubbly side of Ally’s personality resurfaced. Her voice had filled with enthusiasm. Her eyes sparkled.

  She edged closer to him and sat back, and he caught the subtle scent of spice.

  He fisted his hands on his knees and focused on the annual.

  She paged through the pictures of the principals and teachers, the yearbook staff, the highlights of the school plays and fund-raiser fairs. When she got to the group photos of clubs and teams, she turned the pages more slowly.

  “You must have enjoyed high school,” she said.

  “I did.”

  “How about college?”

  “Fair enough. How about you? High school must have been fun. You don’t get an award like you did without being the life of the party, at least sometimes.”

  “Oh, I am that,” she assured him, flashing another smile. “And I had a great time all through school. I haven’t missed a reunion yet, either.” Like the annuals, the reunions included anyone who had graduated from the school. “You’ll have to come back for one someday.”

  “Someday,” he echoed. He thought she might push the point, but instead she returned her attention to the book she held.

  As she began to turn another page, he reached down to stop her. Her hand was warm and soft and made him recall the flirty Ally reaching out to him. He pulled his hand back.

  “Wait,” he said, indicating a photo, a group of girls in bathing suits at the community pool. “That’s you, isn’t it?” He knew it was. He studied her picture. All through school, she’d had longer, curlier, darker hair than most of the other girls. And in this photo, even as a sophomore, she definitely had more curves.

  Why had he never noticed that back then?

  He glanced up and saw her cheeks had turned pink. He smiled. No matter how she acted, quiet or flirty, she was two halves of the same whole. The same Ally.

  And he liked them both. Too much.

  She snapped the yearbook closed. “We should put this up in your room with all your other school stuff.” She stood and walked over to stand by the stairs, as if she planned to do just that.

  “What does it matter?” he asked. “I’ll be packing up everything in that room soon, including the yearbooks, and g
etting rid of most of it.”

  She gasped. “Getting rid of it? Reagan, you can’t. All those keepsakes. All your memories.”

  “Maybe I don’t want the memories,” he said before he could think twice.

  No matter which Ally she chose to be, that’s what she did to him.

  “You just said you enjoyed high school.” She stood hugging the book as if she could hold the memories inside it for him. The same way she held his son. “Maybe,” she said softly, “it’s the memories that came after these that you don’t want to keep.”

  He clamped his jaw tight and looked away.

  “Talk to me,” she said. “Tell me about Sean.”

  The little hitch in her voice did him in. So did the fact that she’d asked about his son.

  Not “Sean’s mother.” Not “your ex.” She wanted to know about the baby. And as much as it had bothered him that his son was getting too attached to her, he wanted to tell her.

  Maybe because he’d never told anyone the full story.

  Maybe because he knew he wouldn’t be here much longer. He could get it out and walk away.

  In any case, he took a deep breath, locked his hands on his knees and looked back at her. “The sixty-second version. I met Elaine in college. We dated, got serious. She said she loved me, I told her the same thing. I planned to propose, but before I got that far, we discovered Sean was coming along. He wasn’t part of her plans. And then neither was I.”

  Even from across the room, he could see her eyes fill with tears. “She didn’t want your baby?”

  “She didn’t want anybody’s baby.”

  “And so...so you broke up with her?”

  He shook his head. “No. When I said ‘neither was I,’ I meant that was her decision. As it turned out, she was looking for fun in the short-term. She didn’t want a husband or a family.” He stared down at his clenched hands on his knees, had to flex his fingers to loosen them. This was turning into more than a sixty-second explanation, but now that he’d started, he couldn’t seem to stop.