Her Cowboy's Twin Blessings

by Patricia Johns

  “Ember!” he called.

  The wind whisked his voice away, and he grabbed a rifle from the rack at the back of his cab and slammed the door shut. Where was she?

  He hooked a boot up on his truck’s bumper and stood up straight, getting a higher view over the terrain. From that vantage point, he could make out the slope of the land going down toward the river. He looked in both directions.

  Harper Creek was west from here, and Casey shaded his eyes as he looked in that direction. He could make out some movement down by the water farther down the river. A flash of purple, and relief flooded over him. She was fine. He’d been worried for nothing—and that forty-minute drive was for nothing, too. He had work of his own to do and a teen babysitter doing overtime so that he could come out here and make sure she was okay. He should be piping mad.

  What did it say that he was this glad to see her again when fetching her was such a wild inconvenience?

  Chapter Nine

  Ember sank lower on her haunches, holding her breath as the beaver swam silently closer, dark shining eyes looking at her above the water.

  The narrow creek that led off the river had been dammed up by the animals, and she’d been watching them for some time now.

  Beaver Creek—that had been one of the creeks, hadn’t it? There was no saying this was the same creek because beavers could certainly move locations, but she couldn’t help but wonder...

  She was looking for proof, and she likely would never find it. But what would be proof enough for her to buy this land? How much did she need to be certain of the purchase in her own heart, even if not in her head?

  “Ember!”

  Ember startled. The beavers all disappeared with soft plops as they skirted beneath the water, and she twisted to look behind her. She knew that voice, and then Casey was marching through the brush toward her, a gun over one shoulder and his eyes blazing in annoyance.

  “Casey—” She pushed herself to her feet.

  “What are you doing out here?” He stopped to scan the brush and trees, that glittering gaze coming back to land on her.

  “What am I doing?” Her own annoyance was rising now. “I’m looking at the land I’d like to buy. I’m trying to get a closer look at Milk River. That is why I’m on this ranch to begin with, isn’t it?”

  “No, that much is understood,” he retorted. “The part I have trouble with is that you’ve been gone for almost six hours now.”

  “I drove up the road farther, came back, looked around on both sides of the river and discovered the beavers here. I’ve been...busy.”

  “You should have let me drive you,” he said. “You crossed the river?” He closed his eyes, seeming to be looking for some calm.

  Let him drive her? No, that was the exact thing she’d been avoiding. Instead, she’d had time alone—a precious, silent commune with her Maker. And she’d had some time to pull herself back together. Being thrust into the company of strangers as she navigated newborn babies, a ranch and her own ambitions left very little time for her to sort out her own feelings. She was the kind of person who needed solitude for that.

  “I didn’t want company,” she replied honestly. “I needed to be alone for a while.”

  Casey’s annoyance seemed to slip, and he dropped his gaze, glaring down at his boots for a few beats before he looked to the side, his dark gaze moving over the trees and toward the burbling creek. She’d offended him, and that wasn’t her intention, either. It wasn’t his fault she’d been a weepy mess.

  “I’m embarrassed, Casey,” she said tightly, “if I have to spell it out for you. I said too much last night. None of that was your business, and I—I should have kept my mouth shut and I’m regretting that.”

  “Regretting having opened up,” he clarified, that intense gaze snapping back to her face once more.

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks.” His tone was dry.

  “You think last night was appropriate?” she asked with a short laugh. “Because it wasn’t! You asked me a question professionally, and I...I totally crossed lines there. My history, my personal issues—none of those matter. They’re mine to deal with. So I should be apologizing to you—”

  “You aren’t my therapist!” he shot back, cutting off her words. “Do you see a counseling office out here?”

  “Isn’t that the point?” she retorted. “To have an inviting environment? Apparently, it works rather well on me, too.”

  “You aren’t my therapist, Ember,” he repeated. This time, his voice was a low rumble. “Let’s keep that clear. I don’t need a therapist, nor do I want one. When I talk to you—if I open up—it isn’t about professional boundaries.”

  “You asked me as a professional,” she countered.

  “Okay, I did—” He shook his head. “Once. I phrased it badly. What can I say? I’m telling you now that you can let all those boundaries go around me. You aren’t my therapist and never will be. Neither will you ever be my boss. I think I’ve been clear about that one, too. Things between us aren’t ‘professional’ because I haven’t hired you and you haven’t hired me. You opened up because you felt safe enough to do it. So quit running away up your ivory tower.”

  “I’m not running away,” she responded, turning back toward the creek. “I’m taking care of my own business.”

  “Well, your safety is my business,” he shot back. “And I had to drive forty minutes to come find you because Mr. Vern was worried.”

  “Mr. Vern was?” She looked back at Casey over her shoulder, and his cheeks flushed slightly. She felt the smile tickle her lips. “It wasn’t Mr. Vern who was worried, was it? It was you.”

  “It was both of us. You have no gun,” he said. “And you’re a bit far from the truck, aren’t you?”

  Ember looked toward her vehicle and realized it was hidden behind trees. She sighed. “I may have strayed a little far. But I’m obviously fine.”

  “Obviously,” he said dryly. “And that couldn’t possibly have changed at any moment.”

  “So maybe I should be glad you found me,” she admitted.

  Ember turned back toward the creek and squatted back down. The beavers had disappeared—all was silent except for the twitter of birds and the rush of water from Milk River a few yards off. She scanned the dam—a bulging tangle of sticks and branches that seemed to hold together by a will of their own.

  “There is a story in that old journal about beavers damming up a creek and turning the garden into a marsh.” Ember sighed. “They had to move the garden. It was easier than moving the beavers. But the potato crop was ruined. They nearly starved that winter.”

  Twigs cracked under Casey’s boots as he came up to her side. “This land might be beautiful, but it’s not easy. It never has been.”

  “I don’t need it to be. My family survived because they learned as they went,” Ember said. “My great-great-great-grandfather did everything from building their log house to trapping meat to feed the family. That winter when they didn’t have enough food, he fed the family on rabbits and deer. When they lost their cow to wolves, they trapped beaver and traded their pelts for another cow the next summer, and then built a new barn right next to the house so they could protect it better.”

  She’d been raised on those stories—the tales of ancestors from long ago who had passed down their grit and determination to the generations that would come after. If they could survive blinding blizzards that lasted for days...if they could keep their family warm by burning cow dung and stopping up the cracks in their house with mud and hay...if they could break up that hard prairie earth and make it grow vegetables...then what about the rest of them? What could they survive?

  “Those journals are priceless,” he said.

  “They are. They tell us what we’re capable of. They homesteaded on the prairies before it was tame. And they made it.”

 
Casey was silent for a moment. “Your mom sounds like she was pretty tough, too.”

  “She was.” Ember smiled sadly. “But she was pragmatic, too. She always told me not to make her mistakes—never get pregnant before I was ready. She worked her fingers to the bone to provide for me, but she also reminded me that my great-great-great-grandmother who survived so much on the Montana prairies died in childbirth having her ninth baby. She was only forty-three.”

  “Was that a warning?” Casey asked.

  “Yes,” she replied, her mind going back to her mother’s earnest face—tired and lined from long hours at work. They used to talk together late at night when Mom got back from her cleaning shift at the high-rise office building and after Ember had finished her homework. They’d sit in the kitchen together, eating a quick dinner, and that was when Mom was the most honest, when she had the least energy to keep things bright for Ember’s sake.

  “Mom always said that we can survive nearly anything for a while, but eventually life catches up. She didn’t want me to be foolhardy.”

  “Like coming out here on your own?” he asked with a small smile.

  “I was thinking about my son—what she would have advised if she’d been around,” she replied softly. Ember glanced over at Casey, gauging his interest, worried that he might be judging her. His dark eyes were pinned on her, but she saw sympathy there, nothing else.

  “Would she have suggested you raise him on your own?” Casey asked.

  “I didn’t think so at the time,” Ember said, her throat thickening with rising emotion. “I thought she’d say the same thing my dad was saying—that the best thing I could do would be to give him a life with someone else. I wasn’t ready to be a mom yet. She always told me not to make her mistake—to wait until I was ready. She said it was harder than I needed to know, and she wanted better for me. So when I found out I was pregnant—” Ember could hear the hoarseness in her own voice, and she took a beat to swallow. “She would have been really disappointed in me.”

  “And your father knew that.” Casey’s voice hardened.

  “I don’t think so,” she replied with a sigh. “He just had no intention of supporting a single mother. He wanted me to make something of myself. It seemed like the smart choice.”

  “If you had it to do over again?” he asked, and a breeze picked up, chilly, wet air winding through the woods, and Ember wrapped her arms around her body and found herself stepping instinctively closer to Casey just as he did the same. He didn’t retreat, though, and instead put his warm palms on her upper arms.

  “I’d keep my son,” she said, her voice nearly choked. “I’d do whatever it took.”

  “Why don’t you hate your father for putting you in that position?” Casey asked, shaking his head.

  “Because it wasn’t his fault. My choices were on me. I was an adult and I could have told my father to get out of my life and leave me alone. I could have done what my mother did and worked my heart out to provide for my child.”

  But she’d believed what everyone told her—life didn’t have to be that hard. Life could be sweet and simple. She could get another chance to build a life she was proud of, and this mistake could all just melt into the past. They were wrong, of course, but she’d believed what she’d wanted to believe.

  “Twenty isn’t all that grown up,” Casey said gruffly, and he moved a tendril of hair away from her eyes. She looked up at him, her breath catching in her throat. Those dark eyes were entrancing, and she should look away, break this moment, but she didn’t want to. She’d been so afraid to let her secret out for fear of being judged for it, that to have this man understand... But he was being too lenient on her.

  “What were you doing at twenty?” she asked softly.

  “I was a cattleman.”

  “See?” she murmured. “Quite grown-up.”

  “I sure thought so,” he said with a rueful smile. “I’d imagine you did, too. But I wasn’t. I was outspoken and I thought I knew it all... But no, I wasn’t grown-up, and I would live to be proved wrong on a whole lot.”

  “Me, too,” she said, and another finger of cold wind worked its way between them. She shivered, and Casey tugged her just a little bit closer, so close that his lips hovered over hers. He wrapped his arms around her securely, and his eyes locked on hers.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know,” he murmured back.

  “I thought I was the bad guy...”

  “I forgot,” he said ruefully, and his gaze flickered upward, just for a moment, and then he froze, the moment evaporating around them. He slowly pulled his arms from her waist, and those dark, direct eyes were locked on something behind her.

  “What?” she breathed, whipping around, and she saw a wolf several paces ahead of them on a rise, crouched down and teeth bared. The animal was huge—so much bigger than she’d imagined them to be. This was no “dog,” but a feral beast who was looking at them as its next meal. Her heart hammered hard in her throat, and she sent up a wordless, panicked prayer for help.

  Casey’s eyes never left the wolf, and he didn’t even seem to hurry as he pulled the gun from the strap that held it on his shoulder and reached into a pocket, coming out with two red-tipped shells. He cracked the shotgun open and dropped the shells into place.

  “Don’t move, Ember,” he murmured, his voice low and quiet. “Don’t...move...”

  * * *

  Casey snapped the gun closed, aiming it over Ember’s shoulder—directly at the wolf. Ember was trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she stared at the massive, shaggy predator. Its fur hung heavy and patchy, still thin from a long, cold winter. This wolf was hungry, and for a split second, Casey felt the entire forest slow down to a crawl.

  The wind shifted a tendril of Ember’s hair as if in slow motion, and Casey felt the barrel of the gun snap together into the loaded position in his palm. His muscles knew the movements, so he didn’t even need to think about them.

  He locked eyes with the wolf, watching as its golden gaze narrowed almost imperceptibly. Then the wolf’s shoulder twitched.

  “Drop—” Casey ordered, his voice hollow, and Ember obediently crouched down just as Casey pulled the trigger. There was a deafening bang and the wolf dropped where it stood, the huge, shaggy beast slumping to the ground.

  Casey let out a pent-up breath, then quickly surveyed the trees around them. He had another shell in that gun, and if there were more wolves—

  Ember tried to stagger to her feet, but she pitched to the side on her way up, her hands going to her ears protectively. That was why he’d told her to duck—he could have made the shot past her, but the sound of the gunshot right by her ear would have deafened her. Casey raced out a hand to catch her and managed only to graze the soft material of her jacket before she stumbled away.

  He let her go. Casey’s eyes were scanning the woods, the river, the trees—looking for more hungry eyes and shaggy gray coats. Because where there was one wolf, there were always more.

  “Ember—” he barked, and as he spun in her direction, he saw her walking unsteadily toward the creek. Then she lost her footing and plunged into the icy water. Casey darted forward and caught her outstretched arm as she sank down with a cry.

  He grabbed her under one arm and hauled her back onto dry land, but as she came out, she cried out again and nearly collapsed as her weight hit one foot. She’d hurt herself—that was plain as day, and his heart pounded in his ears even as he spun back around to keep up his surveillance.

  “Let’s get back to the truck,” he snapped. He didn’t mean to sound as harsh as his voice came out. He did care about the fear written all over her face, and the gasp of pain as he dragged her forward, forcing her to keep walking, even though her knee buckled underneath her. But they didn’t have time to linger. The wolves spotted weakness and it piqued their instinct to attac
k. They needed to get back to a vehicle fast.

  Ember tried to limp after him, but she wasn’t going to be fast enough. There was a blur of gray across the river, and another one beyond that. He had one shell loaded, and it wasn’t going to be enough to take on a pack of hungry wolves.

  “God protect us!” he whispered aloud, then swept an arm underneath Ember’s legs and whipped her up into his strong grasp.

  Staggering forward, he hurried through the marshy undergrowth up to firmer ground, but as he ran he could hear the howls of wolves behind them. They only had seconds—if that!—and he knew it. Running away only encouraged these predators.

  His breath was like fire in his chest as he dashed as fast as he could run up the rocky incline toward the trucks. He could make out the blaze of their paint through the trees—so close, yet so far, and then as if by instinct alone, he dropped Ember to the ground, stepped in front of her and spread his arms wide, bellowing his loudest roar.

  Two wolves stopped in their tracks only a few yards away from them, low growls coming from deep in their throats.

  “Father, save us—” Ember whispered, and his own heart echoed her prayer with every beat.

  “Hey!” Casey shouted. “Back off! Hey!”

  The wolves took a tentative step back, and Casey whipped the gun from where it hung on his shoulder, pointed it at the closest wolf and pulled the trigger. With a thunderous bang, the animal dropped dead, and the other turned and sprinted into the forest.

  There was still no time to waste—Casey put an arm around Ember’s waist and hauled her forward as they scrambled the last few yards to the truck. Casey pulled open the passenger-side door and shoved Ember inside first. She cried out in pain—again something he noticed and definitely cared about, but he still didn’t have time to soften his approach. Then he headed around to the driver’s side, keeping his eyes peeled for more movement in the trees.

  He was out of shells—at least loaded shells—and he was vulnerable out there. The pack might just cut their losses, but wolves were smart, too. They grieved a loss to their pack, and they avenged it.