Winning the Cowboy's Heart

by Karen Rock

  It shouldn’t matter. In fact, she needed to not care at all...yet a humming vibration began in her chest and spread to her toes.

  “It’s hotter than Hades out there.” The back door opened, and Maverick Loveland, home in between bull-riding gigs, ducked to avoid the top of the old-time door header as he strode inside. “Travis is with the herd.” He tipped his hat at Jewel, then hung it on a peg. “Where are you planning on driving the cattle next so I can scout it out?”

  “Saw Grass Overpass.”

  “Dewey Fields.”

  Jewel and Heath spoke simultaneously, then glowered at each other. Last night, they’d debated the two pastures past midnight. Jewel argued that Dewey Fields, while being more exposed to sunlight, was superior because of its irrigation-supplied watering hole. Heath, however, wanted to hit the overpass first because of its shade and the likelihood of good forage for the hungry herd.

  Maverick raised his dark eyebrows. “Which one of you is range boss?”

  “I am,” they insisted, in stereo, followed by a synchronized, “No, you’re not.”

  Maverick shook his head, picked up the bowl and dumped an even amount of batter into each pan. “I hear you two clucking, but I can’t find the nest.”

  “He’s the crazy one.” Jewel took the pans from Maverick and carefully placed them in the oven with a murmured prayer.

  Blessed be the fruits of a domestic interloper.

  “You’re the one broiling cakes.” Heath cranked down the temperature knob as Jewel peered around his broad back.

  “Broil?” She lifted her toe and scratched the back of her opposite calf.

  “Are you trying to barbecue this cake or bake it?” Maverick’s deep chuckle diffused the tension.

  Jewel dropped onto a stool and buried her head in her hands. “Why did I volunteer for this? I’ve never cooked a thing in my life besides water.”

  “You cook water?”

  At Heath’s scoffing words, she lifted her head and glared. “For tea.”

  “Well. That’s something,” Maverick said stoutly. “Where’s Cole and Sierra?”

  “Sierra’s out on call. Something about an orphaned fawn.” Jewel watched Emma and Noah as they took turns leaping from the tire swing. “I’m not sure about Cole.”

  “He went up to the cabin again last night,” Heath said heavily.

  “He’s been worse than ever since Katlynn left.” Maverick shoved his hands in his worn jeans.

  Heath nodded. “He knows when the party starts, though.”

  “If he doesn’t show up, I’ll haul his sorry butt down here.” Maverick’s boots clomped on the wooden floor as he crossed to the door and settled his hat back on his head. “In the meantime, I’ll check Dewey Fields and the overpass.”

  “Will you have enough time?” Jewel asked.

  Maverick shot her a grin. “Just save me a piece of that cake. It’s been a while since I’ve had good barbecue.”

  The door clicked shut behind him, and Jewel rubbed her aching temples. “I tried to charbroil a birthday cake.”

  Heath poured her a glass of sweet tea and passed it over. “We’ll get through this.”

  She sipped the lemony drink. “We?”

  “We’re partners, aren’t we?”

  She hurriedly raised her glass to hide her involuntary smile. Partners. She liked the sound of that. Pushing to her feet, she set the oven timer, then turned to examine the pink decorations. “How much of these are we supposed to use?”

  Heath held up a packaged princess castle centerpiece. “All of it. Daryl’s been buying supplies for weeks now.”

  “He dotes on Emma.” Jewel tore open a bag of pink balloons.

  “Spoils her rotten.” Heath’s cheeks bulged as he inflated a balloon. With a deft flick of his wrist, he tied off the bottom. “He’s a good dad. All fathers love their little girls.”

  “Not all do.” Jewel blew hard into a balloon, expanding it in one, furious breath. With a snap, she tied it off.

  “Jewel?”

  “I’m just sayin’, some are more like Darth Vader than Andy Griffith.” The taste of rubber lingered as she placed another balloon between her lips.

  “Who are you really talking about?” Heath prodded.

  Jewel lifted one shoulder in a lopsided shrug as she blew up another balloon, then another and another.

  Heath’s large hand, warm and rough, closed over her free one. “Your dad?”

  She yanked her hand away and knotted the balloon. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Heath cocked his head and studied her for a long minute. “I’m a good listener.”

  “Not much of a talker, though.” Jewel gathered up the balloons a few minutes later and began tying some to the backs of chairs.

  “What’s that mean?” Heath cut lengths of pink-colored ribbon and passed them to her.

  “Clint mentioned something about a music opportunity...”

  Heath shoved back his chair and strode to the oven. “Better check on the cake.”

  “What was he talking about?” Jewel looped a ribbon around one of the balloons, securing it, then used the side of the scissor to curl the bottom.

  “Nothing.” He slid a toothpick into the center of the puffed white cakes, then closed the oven door again.

  Jewel’s mouth watered at the delicious buttery vanilla scent. Would this attempt succeed? If so, it’d be the first domestic thing she’d ever succeeded at except changing Jesse’s diapers. According to her brothers, she had the maternal instincts of a copperhead snake, which, incidentally, eat their own young. So, yeah, not a vote of confidence.

  “Nothing you want to talk about, you mean.” With another scissor slide, the ribbon bounced in a long curl.

  “Fathers and music...” Heath returned to the table, his expression shuttered, his shoulders tense. “Two subjects we’re better off avoiding.”

  “Right,” she agreed, yet a part of her yearned to open up to Heath. Maybe it was his music, or his sincere face, but she felt safe around him. Not judged. Challenged, too, but in an empowering way. Her father had never listened to her. Her brothers indulged her in debates up to a point, their wishes already a foregone conclusion. Heath, however, argued with her like an equal. Around him she was solid, visible, heard.

  How odd that on Loveland territory, she no longer felt lacking. She eyed the heap of pink decorations and gritted her teeth. No matter how much sparkle she inhaled, she’d repay this accepting family by giving Emma the most girlie, fairy-princess party of all time.

  Which made her a fairy godmother, if fairy godmothers wore Wranglers and Tony Lama boots. She peered at the clock and curled another ribbon.

  Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo...

  “Where’d you buy this cake?” James mumbled around a mouthful of frosting a couple hours later. “Amazin’ Glazin’?” Over his shoulder, a blindfolded Javi thwacked a unicorn piñata hanging from the living room’s exposed-beam ceiling. A group of cheering kids bounced on the balls of their feet and prepared to pounce on the imminent candy shower.

  “I made it.”

  James stopped chewing and goggled at Jewel. “You?”

  “With some help from Heath.”

  Heath passed the stick to Emma, tied the bandanna around her eyes and spun her three times before releasing her to swing at the unicorn. His white teeth flashed in a broad grin. What a smile. Like all Lovelands, he was a natural with kids. Affectionate, warm and firm without being harsh. He’d make a good father someday. If a gal was looking for that kind of thing—which she was not.

  “I see.” James drew out the two words.

  “You don’t see anything.” Jewel cut another piece of cake, plopped it on a paper plate and passed it over with a fork and napkin to a waiting child. When he smiled his thanks, his teeth were the same bright pink as the frostin
g covering the tiara-wearing doll. She and Heath had stuck her in the center of the cake layers decorated to resemble a ball gown.

  “You two sure looked cozy helping Emma unwrap her gifts. You’re baking together, riding together...what’s next? Picking out china patterns?”

  “Heath’s already engaged,” Jewel huffed. A cheer rose from the children when Emma pierced the piñata. They descended on the falling candy, scrambling for pieces, trading favorites on the spot with each other. When a couple of boys began a shoving match, Cole and Maverick stepped in to break it up.

  “Not officially.” James stopped to give Javi a thumbs-up when he waved a handful of Tootsie Rolls at them. “And why isn’t Kelsey here, then? Emma will be her niece.”

  As if on cue, Emma raced over and flung her arms around Jewel’s knees so hard she staggered. “Thank you, Jewel! I love my party. It’s so pretty and pink.”

  James nodded approvingly, rocking his four-month-old, clad in a ruffled pink gingham dress and matching bonnet. “I like the fairy-princess theme.”

  Emma peered up at him. “I’m not supposed to talk to Cades except Javi, Jewel and Grandma Joy.”

  “Why’s that?” James tucked his dozing daughter’s head into the crook of his arm.

  “Just because!” Emma raced away to join the kids now pinning a diamond-ring cutout on a princess poster. Sierra passed out cardboard pieces to each child in line, hollering “Step right up!” like a carnival barker.

  “That’s about as good an excuse as I’ve heard yet.” Jewel spoke from the corner of her mouth, her eyes on Heath as he laughingly stopped one child from pinning the ring on another child’s forehead.

  “You know what the issues are,” James insisted.

  Jewel moved around the table collecting abandoned cake plates. “I thought I did.”

  “What’s your opinion now?”

  “The Lovelands aren’t much different from us,” she said over her shoulder as she headed for the garbage. “They’re family-oriented, supportive of their neighbors and community, hardworking, moral people.”

  “Stubborn, tight-lipped and grudge-holding, too.” James switched little Jesse to his opposite shoulder and rubbed her back. She belched softly.

  “I’d hold a grudge, too, if my neighbors stole my water access rights.” Jewel poked toothpicks in the cake and stretched plastic wrap across it.

  “You’re calling your own family thieves?” James’s jaw clenched. “You’ve sure gone over to the other side. Will you sit with them or us when we go to trial in two weeks?”

  “What’s wrong with seeing both sides?”

  “If Loveland Brahmans traipsed across our land, they’d damage our property, overgraze, and mix and breed with our longhorns. That’d make your job as range boss harder.”

  Jewel hefted the cake platter and carried it from the table to the counter. “I’m not looking for easy. I want what’s fair.”

  “Fair for the Lovelands, you mean. You’re not winning yourself any points with me right now.”

  Jewel whisked off the plastic pink table covering, balled it up and tossed it out to make room for the tiara-decorating craft supplies. “Stop holding that over me. Judge me on my merits, not by how much I agree with you.”

  “I’m the final say.”

  Jewel lined up glue bottles, plastic tiaras and multicolored “stones.” “Maybe I don’t need your approval anymore.”

  Before James could respond, the children crowded around the table, grabbing the supplies. Sierra crouched between the kids, helping, while Cole and Maverick circled. Heath picked up the piñata and princess poster mess.

  “Can boys be princesses, Pa?” Javi twisted the silver headpiece in his hands, naked longing on his face.

  “They can be anything they want to be.”

  James frowned at Jewel for hijacking whatever his intended answer would have been.

  “Is that true?”

  Heath squeezed Javi’s shoulder, joining them, his eyes locked on Jewel. “Your aunt’s right. No one can tell us who we are. We decide for ourselves.”

  Javi’s gap-toothed smiled flashed. “Then I’m Princess Superman!” He tore off, grabbed a red triangular stone, and squished on a chair beside Emma, who seemed to have amassed every pink stone on the table.

  “Princess Superman, huh?” James shook his head slowly. “What’s that even mean?”

  “It means he’s not letting others define him.”

  At her words, Heath raised his eyebrows, and her admission about not being a girlie-girl, the wifey-type as her father once told her, returned to her.

  James wandered away to help Javi, leaving Jewel and Heath alone. In silence, they watched the babbling children. Save for a couple of squabbles, all ran smoothly.

  “We did a good job,” Heath said without taking his eyes off the kids.

  She nodded, then cleared her throat. “Any word from Daryl?”

  “He found LeAnne playing pool at Silver Spurs.”

  “Is he driving her to the party?”

  “She’s been drinking, so he’s taking her to their cabin, then coming on his own. He’s cut up over missing so much of it already.”

  “Poor Daryl. Did he say why LeAnne stayed out all night?”

  “Lovelands don’t pry. He’ll tell me what he thinks I need to know.”

  Jewel bit her lip, irritated at the stoic family. You had to talk about your problems. Otherwise they festered inside. Denial never worked. Then again, she had no right to ride that high horse. She’d never told her brothers, or mother, how she really felt about her childhood. They knew she wanted the range boss job, but she’d never explained why, or how Pa’s dismissal had hurt her.

  Maybe keeping things in had a way of holding you back. Would admitting her pain, her insecurities, free her of them?

  After another beat of silence, Heath leaned forward to grab an unclaimed tiara. “What color jewels would you like, Jewel?”

  Her hand rose to finger the loose waves Sierra had conned her into styling when she’d returned from her orphaned fawn emergency. “The only thing this head wears is a cowboy hat.”

  “Why’s that?” Heath glued purple stones in a heart-shaped pattern to the tiara.

  “I—I’m not the princess type.”

  “Who says?”

  She opened her mouth to say her father, then snapped it shut. How much of her identity was her own? What kinds of things, experiences, people had she rejected simply because she thought she wasn’t suited for them?

  “Here.” Heath slid the tiara on her head, his hands lingering on the side of her face. They trembled against her skin slightly, and her heart jumped to the base of her throat. “You look like a princess to me,” he whispered, hoarse.

  “Which one?” she murmured, keeping her voice low in case it cracked and revealed the emotion flooding her.

  “Sleeping Beauty.”

  “Why?” She was freckled, redheaded, skinny...if anything she should be one of Cinderella’s stepsisters.

  “Because a handsome prince hasn’t kissed you yet.”

  “What if I don’t need one?”

  “Maybe—” he drew closer “—you want one.”

  “Uncle Heath, can we do the birthday parade now?” Emma called.

  They broke apart, and Jewel’s cheeks stung with heat under James’s and Sierra’s speculative stares. Whatever they thought was dead wrong. Nothing was going on between her and Heath.

  Nothing.

  So why had her lips been puckering, her skin perspiring, her pulse racing just then? Heath was right. She needed—wanted—a kiss from him, even if it was stupid and wrong.

  Heath squeezed her hand, then strode to the piano. With a flourish, he pounded out a couple of dramatic chords as the tiara-wearing kids lined up. Sierra, Cole and Maverick passed out wands, plastic frogs and
glitter-covered blowers.

  Heath sang the Beatles classic “Birthday” as the kids marched around the living room, tooting horns, waving wands and shouting “ribbit.”

  “He’s so talented,” Sierra said, joining Jewel. “It’s such a waste.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s as passionate about music as I am about animals. If I didn’t get to work with them...” Her voice trailed off and Jewel followed her gaze back to Heath.

  Sierra strolled away as Heath launched into another birthday tune, a personal ode to Emma. Being a princess wasn’t about how others saw you, but about how you saw yourself, he sang. Jewel fingered her tiara. What a beautiful message. Heath created lyrics that pierced your heart and made you think. It was a God-given talent.

  “Where’s Emma going?” The young girl dashed from the group and up the back stairs. When Sierra didn’t answer, Jewel craned her neck and spotted her washing platters beneath a forcefully spraying faucet. An oblivious Cole and Maverick marched with the kids while Heath continued to play.

  Jewel jogged up the stairs, then followed the sound of muffled sobs to a second-floor linen closet. She knocked on the door. “Princess Emma? It’s Jewel.”

  “P-please go away,” Emma snuffled.

  “I can’t. Party rules.” Jewel knelt on the hardwood floor and leaned her forehead against the wood paneling.

  “Lovelands don’t talk about our feelings.”

  “But I’m a Cade. The Loveland rules don’t apply.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why are you crying?”

  “I miss Mama.”

  “I’m sure she’d be here if she could.” Jewel crossed her fingers, wishing it were true. How could LeAnne miss her daughter’s birthday to play pool?

  “She never plays with me,” Emma cried. Jewel flattened her hand against the door, wishing she could hug the confused and lonely little girl. “She’s never around and always has headaches and spends all her time on the computer.”

  “She loves you, honey.”

  “No, she doesn’t!”

  “My father never noticed me much growing up.” Jewel’s hands clenched at the admission.

  The closet door cracked open and Emma peered out. “How come?”