Tall, Dark & Western

by Anne Marie Winston

  What the hell is that? Hurt rose, and she deliberately focused on the nursery, willing herself to forget it. Things weren’t going to be as simple and easy to adjust to as she’d expected. But Marty had said he didn’t want an annulment and she didn’t either. She wanted him, despite the weird way he’d been acting. And she was sure that with time, things would work out.

  She looked around the room. It was a bit…fussy for her taste. A jarringly frilly pair of lace curtains hung at the windows, tied back with lengths of blue ribbon. On top of the dresser was an assortment of baby combs and brushes, diapering supplies, tiny socks in white and blue, and basic infant medical supplies. Everything was sorted into little baskets or boxes and neatly arranged.

  In the middle of the floor were two boxes with women’s coats, boots and sneakers, scarves and gloves in them. A large leather purse was tossed carelessly on one. There was a white crib along one wall, a matching dressing table with a diaper pad on top and a chest of drawers, a diaper bucket full of neatly folded infant blankets, and a white rocking chair in which there sat a teddy bear that was at least three feet tall. Over the corner of the crib was tossed a beautifully crocheted blue afghan.

  It looked as if nothing had been touched since the day Lora Stryker died.

  She shook her head and looked down at Bobby, cradled in her arm. “I think we won’t mention this room for a little while. What do you think?”

  His wide blue eyes regarded her solemnly for a moment before his little face crinkled in a toothless infant grin and his whole little body wriggled.

  She laughed in delight as his mouth worked and coos burbled out. “Oh, yes? Is that what you think? Okay. Sounds like good advice to me.” And then she sighed. If only it was so easy to make Marty happy.

  Shutting and relocking the door, she ventured down the stairs. At the bottom was a small entry hall that led to the front door. From the looks of it, that door was never used: there wasn’t an ounce of mud on the rug or the porch outside. On the right was a large office she supposed Marty used for business, although extensive bookshelves filled with a wide range of titles ran around three walls, and there was a child-size table in one corner opposite the desk. Atop it was a big sheet of white paper with crayons spilled across it.

  The living room was across the hall. It was much like the kitchen, nicely decorated in similar gold-and-wheat tones with a touch of deep-green, although it, too, needed a thorough cleaning and Cheyenne had left her mark with toys all over the floor again. There was even an upright piano in one corner, to her delight. She’d studied piano up through her high school years, and though she would never be great, she enjoyed playing for pleasure.

  Her momentary happiness dimmed as she remembered that all of her music was still in California. Then she frowned. Too bad. She’d just have to buy new. She was far from penniless, though she’d rarely had to use the money her parents had left her. When they’d married, Rob had told her to invest it for the children they hoped to have and she had. But now she was living on the profit instead of rolling it into the next investment. And she was still grateful that she hadn’t simply handed the money over to Rob to be taken care of by his family. If she had, Millicent would have found a way to withhold that like she had everything else.

  Bobby was beginning to make little sounds of distress, so she unearthed his diaper bag and changed him, then made up some formula and spent a quiet quarter hour feeding him. Afterward he went to sleep, so she took him upstairs and put him in his carrier while she set up the small crib in the guest room. She moved him into it without waking him, then went back downstairs.

  Inky was looking hopefully at her, so she let him out of the crate and took him out for a minute, then cleaned the mud from his coat. She fed him and began sorting out her boxes while he investigated his new surroundings. Fortunately, unpacking wasn’t difficult since she’d labeled each box according to which room of the house it should go.

  There weren’t many, and within twenty more minutes she’d gotten them all into the right rooms. Marty still wasn’t back after almost an hour. Just how far away was his brother’s house, anyway?

  She started unpacking her clothing first, using the drawer space Marty had shown her, putting her things in the bathroom next to his. The butterflies came back. Was this really happening? Had she really married a handsome cowboy she barely knew simply because she thought she might love him?

  She was insane.

  She was in the kitchen, unpacking the most necessary things she’d brought, mostly items for Bobby, when the truck came growling back the lane again. Moments later, little footsteps came pounding up to the back door and her new stepdaughter burst into the room.

  There was a palpable aura of energy surrounding the little girl, although she stopped, suddenly shy, just inside the door. Juliette smiled and walked across the kitchen.

  “Hello, Cheyenne. I’m Juliette.” She knelt and offered her hand to the child. Marty’s daughter was incredibly lovely, even at the age of four, with thick black curls hanging in luscious ringlets down her back. Her eyes were wide and blue and she smiled, revealing perfect pearly teeth and twin dimples that were going to drive the boys wild in a few years.

  “H’lo,” she said. “Are you the one who wants to be my stepmother?”

  “She is your new stepmother,” Marty corrected her gently from the doorway where he’d just entered the house.

  Cheyenne’s expression changed, and she tossed him a frown over her shoulder. “I don’t want her.”

  He smiled uncomfortably. “Sorry, shortcake, it’s a done deal. I bet you and Juliette will—”

  “No, Daddy!” She crossed the room and shoved at Marty’s knees. “I don’t want her!” Then she spun and stomped through the kitchen on into the living room.

  A heavy silence fell over the kitchen.

  “She’s not always that bad,” Marty said. “She’ll get used to you.”

  Juliette just stared at him.

  A sound from upstairs made her spin suddenly as alarms went off in her head. Bobby! She’d left him sleeping in the guest room, and Cheyenne had just gone up there. At the same instant she and Marty both dashed for the stairs. His longer strides gave him the advantage, and she raced up the steps in time to see the little girl push open the door of the guest room. Marty already was catching up to the child.

  As Juliette skidded down the hallway, she heard Marty’s voice, stern and angry. “No, Cheyenne!”

  Juliette rushed into the room and came to an abrupt halt.

  Cheyenne stood beside the portable crib, her small arm grasped firmly in her father’s hand. In her small fingers she clutched a large wooden block.

  If it had landed on Bobby’s tender infant skull… “You do not drop things on sleeping babies,” Marty said.

  Father and daughter glared at each other for a moment. Then her bottom lip came out as her small black brows drew into a straight dark line. “I don’t like that baby. I don’t want him in my house.”

  Their loud voices startled Bobby; he began to whimper.

  Juliette was so frightened and angry she could barely speak, but she knew how important it was to make this child feel as if she still had some control in her own home. “Look, Cheyenne.” She attempted to speak quietly and calmly. “He’s waking up. If you like, you can help me change his diaper.”

  Cheyenne studied Juliette for a moment. Then Bobby whimpered again and a crafty gleam entered her eyes. The little girl opened her mouth and let loose a shriek that probably could be heard clear in town.

  Bobby’s little body jerked and he began to cry.

  Marty flinched. Then he grabbed Cheyenne around the waist and swung her under one arm. He strode out of the room and down the hall.

  Juliette scooped up Bobby and began to comfort him as she went to the doorway to watch.

  Marty went to Cheyenne’s door, setting the still-screaming child firmly in her bedroom. “When you’re finished and you apologize for screaming, you can come out,” he
told her. Then he closed the bedroom door—not gently.

  The door opened almost immediately and Cheyenne, sobbing and screaming, tried to fly into the hallway, but Marty caught her and shoved her back, closing the door again.

  Marty turned and looked at her. “Let’s go downstairs,” he said. “She’ll get over it and come out pretty soon.”

  Bobby was already drifting back to sleep, sucking on his pacifier for a few moments, then relaxing almost into sleep before furiously sucking again. She carried him down and put him in the infant seat on the kitchen counter. No way was she leaving him alone up there with Cheyenne.

  “Did you get a chance to look around?” Marty took down two glasses and opened the refrigerator. He withdrew a jug of premixed, presweetened iced tea and poured them each a glass, then offered her one.

  “Thank you.” She nodded. “I looked around a little as I was putting things away. It’ll take me some time to remember where everything is.”

  He took a long drink from his glass and she tried not to notice the way his strong brown throat moved as he swallowed. “Look,” he said finally as he lowered the glass and set it on the table, “I’m sorry about the way I acted about the baby.”

  “No, I’m the one who should apologize—”

  He raised a hand and stopped her. “Let me get this out. Please.”

  Puzzled, apprehension rising within her at the serious note in his voice, she nodded.

  “My first wife died giving birth to our son. The baby was premature, and he only lived a few days.”

  Oh, God. She was so shocked she could only stare at him as his words echoed mercilessly through the silent kitchen.

  He stood abruptly and took his glass to the counter, then grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it, keeping his back to her. “I…it’s hard for me. Being around your baby, I mean.” He turned then and looked at her, and for the first time she understood what the raw agony in his eyes meant.

  Oh, dear God. What had she done? She sucked in a breath, feeling her own eyes filling with tears. “Marty…Marty, I am so sorry—”

  “I’ll be back in time for dinner,” he said quietly. And then he opened the door and walked out.

  Juliette sat frozen, listening to his booted feet clomp off the porch and down the steps.

  Now she realized why the nursery had so much blue in it. They must have known the child was going to be a boy. Without warning, her chest heaved and she pressed a hand against her mouth to keep from giving way to the sobs that wanted to break free.

  Was there anything worse in the world than losing a child? She didn’t think so. Losing Rob had been devastating. But if something happened to Bobby…the thought didn’t bear closer examination.

  Why hadn’t he told her? She could think of very little that would make this whole situation worse now. No wonder he’d been acting strange. It probably killed him to have to see Bobby, to hear him…she thought of the way he avoided handling the carrier even when it was obvious she’d needed help, the way he’d bolted from the bedroom earlier. She’d thought he was angry. Well, maybe he was, but worse—much worse—he was heartbroken.

  And having her son to remind him of what he’d lost was simply fresh salt in a wound that hadn’t healed in two long years.

  His throat was tight and aching as he saddled his horse. For one long moment he laid his forehead against the smooth leather, his fingers gripping the sides of it so tightly they stung.

  He just wasn’t sure he could do this.

  The sound of Juliette’s baby crying had shaken him right down to the tips of his boots. Then the crying had stopped almost immediately when she’d picked the kid up, subsiding to pathetic little snuffling whimpers, and that was almost worse than the crying. His son had never been able to cry. He’d only made those same kinds of weak, helpless sounds.

  God, he couldn’t bear it. Was this his punishment for failing to save Lora and his son?

  He stayed out for the rest of the afternoon, assessing the herd and checking to see which cows looked about to calve. The yearling calves were looking healthy because there’d been so little snow they hadn’t had trouble getting to grass, but the weather report for the next couple of days was troubling, and the almanac said February was going to be a killer.

  He finally went back to the house around six, after checking the water in the stock tanks. It took every ounce of courage he possessed to walk through the back door, and he didn’t begin to relax until his swift, sidelong glance confirmed that the infant seat on the counter was empty.

  The smell of something cooking teased his nostrils the minute he entered the kitchen. He recognized it right away—the vegetable soup Silver had given him yesterday. But he also smelled rolls or biscuits baking, and his mouth began to water. How long had it been since he’d come in and smelled someone else’s meal preparations? Six months, anyway. Since Deck and Silver had gotten married. At least when his sloppy brother lived here, he’d shared the kitchen duties.

  Juliette was at the counter—and to his amazement, Cheyenne was perched on a chair beside her. They were cutting cookie dough with a glass.

  “Hey, there,” he said, striving for a casual note. “Do I have time for a shower?” He walked over and kissed the top of Cheyenne’s head.

  Juliette looked up, an expression in her eyes that reminded him of a mare who didn’t trust her handler. “Sure. We can eat whenever it suits you.”

  “Give me about twenty minutes,” he said. He hung up his coat and hat and took off his boots, then walked through the kitchen in his stocking feet.

  When he returned, in clean clothing, freshly shaved and showered, the table was set and all he had to do was take his seat. The baby was awake again and sitting in the little seat, but it—he—was quiet, and Juliette had carefully turned the cradle so that it faced away from him.

  It was…a real dinner, like normal families had, he realized. It was a miracle. And she’d even replaced the terrible instant tea with the real thing. But even though things seemed to be working out as he’d planned, at least in this regard, the meal was still far from normal. Juliette was very quiet while they ate, and he let Cheyenne do most of the talking. He knew the two of them needed to set a few things straight, but they couldn’t have a conversation with the kid— the kids—around, anyway.

  He did help clean up afterward, then turned to his wife. “How about if I get Cheyenne ready for bed? We can ease into the changes in her life and you’ll have a little time to yourself to get ready for the wedding dance.”

  She nodded, though her eyes were still wary. “That sounds good.” And without another word, she picked up the baby from the carrier and disappeared up the stairs.

  He got Cheyenne ready for bed and read her a couple of stories, and by then it was time for him to go get the sitter. He’d heard Juliette on the stairs while he was in Cheyenne’s room, and he couldn’t find her at first. Then the thin glow of light from beneath the door of Deck’s old room caught his eye. Walking down the hall, he hesitated, then knocked lightly on the door, and it swung open at his touch.

  Juliette sat propped up on the bed with pillows behind her. She wore a long, dark-blue robe that had fallen open to expose her calves and knees and her small pink toes were bare. She had her baby in her arms and was feeding him a bottle, and she’d been singing something. When the door opened she stopped abruptly. Her eyebrows arched in enquiry but she didn’t speak.

  For a moment he froze, and he closed his eyes against the pain. “I’m going to go get the baby-sitter now,” he told her.

  She nodded. “I’ll be ready when you get back. He’s almost asleep.” She returned her attention to the baby with a tender smile.

  The smile stayed with him during the cold drive out to get the baby-sitter and back again. She’d smiled at him until this afternoon, and in every smile had been the promise of intimacies to come. But then he’d found out about the way she’d lied to him—or at least, deceived him on purpose—and things had changed between them.
Would she let him have her tonight?

  His pulse pounded in anticipation. He sure hoped she was prepared to make this a real marriage. She’d known how it would be when she’d agreed to marry him.

  At the house he found Juliette ready, as she’d promised.

  She told the baby-sitter a little about her son Bobby, assured her that he probably wouldn’t wake up again—and all the while Marty stared at her. She was wearing a rose-colored dress with a matching jacket and another pair of those pretty little heels that made her ankles look so good.

  He was going to have to get her some boots or she’d freeze those gorgeous gams off this winter, although it would be a hardship to cover up legs like that. But he didn’t tell her so.

  She finished giving instructions to the sitter and shrugged into another winter coat, shorter than the one the dog had muddied earlier, before he could help her with it. “I’m ready,” she said.

  Four

  When they pulled into the big parking lot, she assumed he was going to get gas at first. But he kept driving around to the side and parked close to a door. When he came around and helped her out, she realized this…this bar was the place where this party, this wedding dance, was being held.

  As she watched, a couple of cowboys sauntered in, followed by two couples. Every single one of the men wore a hat and everyone had on blue jeans. Her heart sank.

  “Why didn’t you tell me everyone would be wearing jeans?” she asked.

  Marty looked blank. “I didn’t think about it.” He surveyed her dress dispassionately, then took her elbow and urged her forward. “You look fine.”

  She wanted to cry. She looked more than fine and she knew it. But she felt as out of place as a swan in a lake full of ducklings as she picked her way across the parking lot. At least it wasn’t knee-deep in mud like the yard of her new home.

  He yanked open the door and they stepped inside, and every face in the room turned their way. She could feel her cheeks turning hot.