So he been more relieved than offended when Emma pretty much indicated she’d rather he stayed away from her babies. Not that she’d told him that to his face, but he’d gotten the message clear enough. He was guessing she had no idea they’d come to see him now.
“Hey, Mr. Cochran!” the girl said, her hair even brighter than her mother’s. Her smile, too. She wasn’t what you’d call a pretty child, but Cash’d wager those eyes alone would have the boys falling all over themselves in a few years. “Hunter and me thought it was high time we properly introduced ourselves.”
Her odd, too-grown-up speech made Cash’s mouth curve in spite of himself. “Except we’ve already met. At least, Hunter and I have.” He turned to the boy, short for his age, his hooded gaze almost startling in its directness. “Isn’t that right, Hunter?”
“Zo-ey made me come with her. But Ma-ma said we were sup-posed to leave you a-lone.”
“No, Hunter, she said we weren’t supposed to bother him,” Zoey said, then turned a gap-toothed smile on him especially designed to melt hearts. If those hearts were meltable to begin with. “But we’re not bothering you, huh?”
Yes, you are, now git, he half wanted to say. Except the words weren’t in Cash’s voice, but in his father’s. And maybe his head needed about a million more twists before he got it screwed on straight, but he’d hack off a limb before he replicated his father in any way, shape, form or fashion.
“Not at all,” he said, squatting to pet the dog, who in turn gave him a Thanks for understanding shlurp across his face. Then he nodded toward the torn-up side of the house. “What happened here?” he asked, in sore need of a conversation topic.
“Dad-dy was gonna make Gran-ny her own room to paint in,” Hunter said, then rubbed his hand across his nose. “Only then he died.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Cash saw Zoey slip her hand into her brother’s before she looked back up at him. The smile was gone. “He even bought all the wood and everything,” she said.
“That why there’s all that lumber in the barn?”
“Yeah.” Then the grin popped back out like the sun. “Can you fix it for us?”
“What? Oh, no, sorry, guys—that’s way out of my league. But I bet I could find somebody to do it—”
Both kids shook their heads. “Ma-ma says we don’t have enough money to fin-ish it,” Hunter said.
Zoey sighed. “Or even fix it back up the way it was.”
Behind them, one of the goats bleated, like she was annoyed at being left out of the conversation. Grateful for the interruption, Cash walked back over to the pen, Emma’s spawn trooping along behind. Bumble, too, but not like his heart was in it.
“Mama says they’re all gonna have their babies soon,” Zoey said, digging in her hoodie pocket for something, which she shared with her brother. “Peanut butter graham crackers,” the little girl said in answer to Cash’s unspoken question as she and Hunter both poked their offerings through the wire fence to eager recipients. “They eat most anything, but cookies are their favorites. Mine, too.”
“Do you like cook-ies, Cash?” Hunter asked, his ingenuous grin even more infectious than his sister’s.
“Sure. Who doesn’t?”
Zoey’s head snapped around. “What’s your favorite?”
“Can’t rightly say. Chocolate chip, I guess.”
“Same here.”
Hunter tugged on Cash’s sleeve. “I like it when you sing and play the gui-tar.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
“You’re wel-come.” Shifting from foot to foot, he said, “Ma-ma says you and Daddy useta be real good friends.”
“We were. A long time ago. When we were kids.”
Soft brown eyes grazed his. “You miss him?”
Cash smiled. “Yeah. I do.”
“Me, too. Dad-dy was the best—”
“What on earth are you two doing out there?” Emma called from the porch, and everybody including Cash swung their heads around. “I apologize,” she said, heading toward them, “I told them not to bug you—”
“They weren’t,” he heard himself say, surprised to discover he meant it. Mostly. Not that he was eager to repeat the experience, but he’d lived through it.
“Thank you,” Emma said, coming closer, “but this is about being obedient.” She tried to give Zoey what Cash assumed was a stern look, although he thought maybe there was more of an And what exactly are you up to, anyway? glint to it. “Mr. Cochran’s not here to be your buddy, or your playmate. So you both march yourselves right back inside. Now.”
The kids dutifully followed orders, although not before Zoey give him a little wave and another grin. “Little turkeys,” Emma muttered.
“They were just bein’ kids, no harm done.” Although truth be told, it wasn’t only the kids he’d been avoiding. For reasons all too clear when Emma’s chagrined eye roll, then chuckle, ignited a small but potent flame in the center of his chest. Almost flustered, Cash nodded toward the goats, their eyes blissfully narrowed against the warm sunshine. “I assume they have names?”
Emma pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m so sorry—where are my manners? That’s Peony begging through the fence, Mimosa beside her. The littlest one’s Sweet Pea.” She pointed. “Wisteria’s in purple, Jasmine’s in yellow. And Begonia’s the hussy in red. Her Indian name is Escapes Whenever She Can.”
Cash felt a grin coming on. “Girly enough names?”
“Was hardly gonna call ’em Butch and Mack.”
“Good point. I’m not sure, but I think a couple might be about ready to kid.”
He could feel her go instantly on alert. “Which ones?”
“Begonia and…Jasmine?”
Emma carefully opened the gate, blocking Begonia when she tried to make a break for it. “Oh, no, you don’t, missy. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve found her at my back door, looking like she’s expecting me to invite her in for tea.”
“Isn’t that what the dog’s for?”
“He’s a guard dog, not a shepherd.” Half squatting, she shoved aside the goat’s sweater to check her belly and udder. “The good news is, no coyote with a grain of sense would dare set foot on the property.”
“Which is kinda pointless if he lets all the goats escape.”
“Yeah, thinking we might need a backup, here,” she said with an affectionate glance at the now-prone, sofa-size furball. “Not yet,” she said, patting Begonia’s back as she stood, then kneed her way through the small, bleating flock to inspect the grumpy-looking Jasmine. “Here, either. When their sides sink in, in front of their hips? That means labor’s started.”
“So you’ve done this before?”
“Oh, yeah. Just not with my own. What?”
“Nothing. Except…can’t help but wonder why you bred ’em when you knew you’d be having a baby at the same time.”
She almost laughed. “Nobody’s ever accused me of being sane,” she said, leaving the pen again. “But the whole point of starting the flock was to breed ’em for their fleece. And kid fleece is more valuable than older goats’. No babies, no point in keeping them. And Hunter and Zoey are so fired up about how cute the kids are gonna be…”
A faint blush colored her cheeks. “Sorry. Farming’s not supposed to be about sentiment.”
“Says who?”
“The people who actually make it work?”
Cash thought about that for a minute, then nodded toward the unfinished side of the house. “Kids said that was supposed to be a new room for Annie?”
“A studio and bedroom combo, yeah. And yes, it would’ve made more sense to build the addition and then rip out the wall. But Lee was so sure he’d be able to get it done before winter set in…” Her mouth pulled flat. “After the funeral, a couple of guys from church stuffed insulation between the studs and tacked up the plastic. Would’ve frozen for sure without it.”
“Seems a shame. That you couldn’t get it done.”
She shrugged. “Life’s like tha
t sometimes.”
Their gazes bumped into each other, hustled away.
“Well. Guess I’ll go finish up in the greenhouse before it gets dark—”
“You know, I’ve got a big stew in the crockpot, huge, it’ll take us a week to eat it all, you’re welcome to have dinner with us—”
He frowned at her. “I thought I’d made my position clear on that.”
“I know, but it doesn’t feel right, you doing all this work without letting me repay you somehow.” Then she smiled. “I’ve been told I make a dynamite stew.”
“I don’t doubt it for a minute,” Cash said quietly. “So thank you again. But no.” Then he walked away, quickly, before he could change his mind. When he got to the greenhouse, however, he glanced back to see Emma, aglow in the afternoon sun, watching him with an expression he couldn’t read.
And God only knew, didn’t want to.
“What’s wrong?” Emma puffed out as she lay like an up-ended beetle on her bed while the midwife, a stick figure in a wrinkled tee and baggy, drawstring pants, poked and prodded her beach-ball belly. “Nothing’s wrong.” Patrice straightened, palming her buzz cut for a moment before motioning her assistant, Jewel, over for, Emma was guessing, a second opinion. While Patrice stood by, all jutting elbows and serious expression, the younger, ponytailed woman carefully palpated Emma’s bare belly, then pushed her tiny, black-framed glasses up on her cute little nose. Frowning. “Um…it sure feels like the baby’s breech.”
“Oh, crud,” Emma said, her head flopping back on her pillow.
“Nothing to get your panties in a wad about,” Patrice said, dumping her stethoscope in her bag. “Since he’s not engaged, he may well turn yet. I’ve got an incline board out in the truck, you can lie on that with your hips up for a half hour several times a day and let’s see if that works.”
“For heaven’s sake, Patty,” Emma began, but her breath got cut off when she tried to sit up. Inside, she was flailing, but outside it felt like she had cement blocks glued to her limbs.
With a little “Oh!” Jewel fluttered over. “Here, let me help you,” she said as she tried to slip one slight arm behind Emma’s shoulders. Yeah, good luck with that, Emma thought as she waved Miss Sunshine and Rainbows away and hauled herself upright on her own steam. Jewel’s smile wilted slightly, only to perk right back up when Emma briefly squeezed her hand. The girl more than lived up to her name, but honestly—it was like trying to breathe in a cloud of cotton candy. Frankly, she preferred Patrice’s pull-no-punches approach. Even if it was news she didn’t want to hear.
“Like I’ve got time to lounge around with my hips up. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got six goats about to kid. And crops to plant, and—”
“And you know I won’t attempt a breech birth at home. So that kinda narrows your options. I’m sorry,” Patrice said, not unkindly. For her. “It probably wouldn’t hurt to talk to Naomi. As a backup,” she added when Emma pouted.
Not that she had anything against their GP, but she’d loved birthing Zoey at home and had been seriously looking forward to another crack at it.
“Otherwise,” Patrice was saying, “you’re both doing great. Although you might want to keep an eye on those ankles, make sure they don’t get any puffier.”
“Heh. If I had a periscope, maybe.”
“Okay, have somebody else keep an eye on ’em for you. Like Zoey.” The midwife zipped up her case and started for the door. “You got anybody to get the incline board out of the truck?”
“Oh!” Jewel said, like a retriever told to fetch. “I’ll go ask the guy we saw plowing when we drove up, how’s that?”
And off she went, butt twitching and ponytail bobbing, before Emma could say, “Uh…”
Not that there was much choice, Emma thought as she and Patrice stood on her porch amidst milling cats and a comatose dog, watching Cash from atop the ancient John Deere frown down on the very animated Jewel. Kinda like a bulldog being accosted by a hyperfriendly toy poodle.
“Holy mother-of-pearl,” Patrice breathed out. “Is that who I think it is?”
“Depends on who you think it is,” Emma said.
“What in the hell is Cash Cochran doing back here?”
Nodding, but unsmiling, Cash dismounted from the Deere with the same graceful deliberateness he did everything. “Facing down demons, apparently.”
“In your onion field?”
“Not sure you can pick and choose where your demons show up.”
Although apparently he still wasn’t ready to confront the ones in the house. Or maybe it was her he was avoiding, she couldn’t quite tell. He’d even taken to bringing his own lunch to avoid any conversation outside of discussing the day’s to-do list in the morning. Didn’t even come inside to use the facilities, preferring—Emma assumed—the bare-bones john and sink in the greenhouse.
But Lordamercy, judging from the amount of work he’d done, he sure as heck was exorcising something. Trees pruned, fields plowed, new raised beds built, the leaking greenhouse repaired…the man was a miracle.
An enigma, but a miracle.
“You know him?” Emma asked the midwife.
“Personally? No. He’d’ve still been a kid when I left. Grew up somewhere around here, as I recall.”
“Not somewhere around here. Right here. In this house.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Patrice paused. “I gather he had it pretty hard.”
Funny thing about small-town gossip, the way everybody seemed to know part of a story but hardly anybody knew the whole thing. Especially people like Patrice, who’d been away most of her adult life, returning to Tierra Rosa only a few years ago.
“Lee and Cash were friends when they were kids,” Emma said, watching Cash as he approached, the picture of forbearance as Jewel jabbered on at his side. “Although they’d…lost touch after Cash left. Guess he decided it was time to catch up.”
“Hell,” Patrice said.
“Yeah.”
The midwife shielded her eyes. “He as good-looking as I think, or is that a trick of the light?”
If only. Not that he’d been exactly sickly looking when he’d first arrived, but a week’s worth of manual labor in the strong New Mexico sun had already toasted his skin, more sharply defined muscles clearly visible underneath the T-shirts he’d taken to wearing once the temperature finally began to rise. Emma had never been one to drool over six-packs and taut abs and such—obviously—but even she had to admit the occasional glimpse of eye candy, even from a distance, handily distracted her from the last-month-of-pregnancy doldrums.
“Nope, not the light.”
Patrice snorted. “He’s almost enough to make me forget men don’t do it for me.”
“I take it you’d prefer I not mention that to Lucy.”
“I’d appreciate it, yeah.”
Wordlessly, Cash hauled the board out of Patrice’s truck and up the steps. Bumble lifted his head, yawned, and thunked it back down again. “Where you want it?”
“Um…at the foot of the bed, I suppose.”
Effortlessly shifting the board to angle it through the door, Cash carted it into the house. But not before his gaze glanced off Emma’s, startling against his darkened skin and frustrating in its opacity.
The midwives took off and Emma freely expelled her sigh. Not that she knew, really, what the sigh was about, other than a general itchiness about things being not quite right. With Cash, about Cash, between Cash and her.
When he returned, Emma muttered her thanks, fully expecting one of his cursory nods before he stomped back to work. In fact, after an equally muttered, “No problem,” he did head down the steps, only to turn back when he reached the bottom, his brows pulled together.
“What’s that contraption for, anyway?”
With that, her more immediate worry hopscotched to the front of her brain. “The baby’s in the wrong position. If he doesn’t turn I probabl
y won’t be able to have him at home. So the slant board is for me to lie on with my hips up to encourage him to get with the program.”
“Not a skateboard ramp, then.”
Emma laughed. “Uh, no. Got on a skateboard exactly once. In college. Broke one wrist and sprained the other. Thus ended my extreme-sport career.”
He didn’t smile. “Does it work? Lying upside down?”
“Sometimes.”
Disapproval heavy in his eyes, Cash yanked off his hat, slicking his forearm across his brow before clamping the hat back on. “Why on earth would you want to have the baby out here in the middle of nowhere, anyway, instead of in a hospital?”
Whoa. Not what she expected. “Sorry, but I’m not sure how that’s any of your business.”
“It’s my business because Lee—”
He looked away, his jaw tight. Emma frowned. “Lee, what?”
A couple of beats passed before Cash looked up. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you. About why I’m here. And I’ve been keeping out of your way more’n usual until I figured out whether I should say something or not.”
Apprehension fisted in Emma’s chest. “About what?”
Another moment sailed by before Cash said, “When Lee wrote to me, when y’all got the house, he asked…he asked me to look out for you and the kids if anything happened to him.”
She nearly lost her breath. “You’re not serious.”
“I’ll even show you the letter, if you want.”
Her knees giving way, Emma awkwardly lowered herself to the porch step, nearly taking out a cat in the process. Bumble roused himself to come make it better. She pushed him away. “Lee wouldn’t tell you about your father, but he—” Pressing her fingertips into the space between her brows, she squeezed shut her eyes. Opened them again. “And you agreed?”
“Not exactly,” Cash said with a strained slant to his mouth. “But I didn’t say no, either. I just never thought…you know.”
“No. No, of course not.” Feeling slightly dizzy, Emma leaned against the porch stair railing. “So that’s why you’re here? Doing all this? Because Lee asked you as a favor to him a million years ago?”
Welcome Home, Cowboy Page 6
