Cowboy on the Run

by Anne McAllister

  There were two bedrooms in the attic. The house itself had been built by Spike's grandparents in the twenties. Then the children had slept in the big attic room. Spike, an only child, had had the entire upstairs to himself. Josh, Caleb and Daniel had shared the one big room until Carrie had been born. Then Spike had divided it, giving the boys the bigger portion and making a small bedroom at the back for his only daughter.

  "I can always move the wall if she has a sister," he'd told Ellie with a grin.

  But she hadn't. Carrie had been only two and a half when Spike died. Other people said she was a little Ellie, but to Ellie herself, Carrie was the one, of all the children, who looked the most like him.

  She stepped into the small room and looked down at their daughter now. She was sprawled on her back, one arm flung above her head, the other wrapped around Clarissa, her bear.

  When she was small, Carrie had gone to sleep sucking on Clarissa's ear, and before long the bear had looked much the worse for wear. And then the day Spike had come home from the Denver Stock Show, he'd brought all the kids new cowboy hats, including a small bear-sized one for Clarissa.

  "So her ears don't get cold," he'd told his daughter, giving both her and the bear a hug.

  Clarissa wore the hat now. It was getting a little shabby looking, too. And so was the cowgirl outfit that Ellie had made for Clarissa a year ago last Christmas. If she had time, she'd make Carrie some more clothes for Clarissa for her birthday. That was less than three weeks away, and she hadn't had time to even catch her breath, let alone sit down and sew.

  "Maybe now," she whispered, bending to kiss the little girl and the bear. Maybe she could get some sewing done, she thought as she went quietly along to the boys' room, now that Rance was here.

  While they'd been doing their homework, the twins couldn't say enough about him.

  "He fixed the steps, Mom," Caleb had told her eagerly. "He let me measure!"

  Daniel had said, "He let me take care of Sunny. He didn't even come check and see if I knew what I was doin'."

  Ellie thought that Rance's awareness of his own lingering odor of skunk could have had more to do with that than any innate confidence in Daniel's ability to deal with animals, but she didn't argue. "That's nice."

  "He's pretty cool," both boys had reported.

  "I'm glad you like him." But in her heart she'd thought, Don't get too fond of him. He won't be around that long.

  Now she tiptoed into their room and stood looking down at them, Daniel in a single bed, Caleb in the bunk below Josh's. With their straight fair hair and scattering of freckles, everyone said Caleb and Daniel were their mother's sons.

  It was true that they looked like Ellie. In fact they were temperamentally much more like Spike—generous, loving and fun to have around. Caleb was logical and matter-of-fact; Daniel, gentle and compassionate. But in that, too, they were like their father. Two sides of Spike O'Connor. Two halves of one whole.

  She bent and kissed them both, then straightened to find Josh raised up on one elbow, looking at her from the top bunk.

  "I didn't realize you were still awake," she said in a whisper. "Does your arm hurt? I can get you another pain pill."

  Josh shook his head. "It's okay." He plucked at the blanket for a moment, then said, "Is he really stayin'?"

  She knew who he meant. Ellie wet her lips, then mustered up a smile. "Looks like," she said cheerfully. "I saw a light in the barn just before I came upstairs."

  "Is that okay?"

  "Of course it's okay." She worked a little bit more on the smile.

  Josh made a face. "It'd be better if we could do it ourselves. It's my fault—"

  "It is not your fault. You were helping when it happened." She looked at him, hoping to see some sign of agreement, but he didn't respond. "It wasn't your dad's fault when his horse bolted, was it?"

  He sat straight up and glared at her. "Of course not!"

  She put a hand on his arm. "Of course not," she repeated quietly. "And it's not yours, either. Life isn't everything we'd like it to be. But we'll manage, Josh. I promise we will. We'll just have Rance's help for a while."

  For a long moment they looked at each other. Mother and son. She so desperate to make him believe, and he so earnest and so very, very young. She wanted, more than she could say, to give him back the hopes and dreams he'd lost when Spike died.

  Josh had always been intense, always been serious. But he used to play with Spike. He used to play with his brothers.

  Now all he did was work—and worry.

  There would be time enough for worry when he grew up, she wanted to tell him. There would be things enough to worry about then. Someday, she thought, she wanted to give him the ranch, and he could spend the rest of his life worrying about it. But right now she just wanted to give him his childhood back.

  Slowly Josh lay back and stared at the ceiling. She heard him swallow. She heard him sigh. Then, "Hope he's a hard worker."

  Ellie knew who he meant. She squeezed Josh's hand lightly. "I'm sure he will be. He always was."

  "When did you know him?"

  "In college. Briefly," she added. "The last semester I was there. He was new. He'd been hurt—broke his arm at a rodeo and couldn't ride anymore. We had a class together."

  "Broke his arm? Like me?"

  "Worse. He was in the hospital."

  "Oh." There was a long pause while Josh considered that. Then he said, "But he worked hard in your class?"

  "Yes. And he had three other jobs just so he could stay in school." And so he didn't have to ask his father for help. She didn't add that, though.

  Josh chewed on his lip. "He must have been pretty busy."

  "He was."

  "So you … didn't spend a lot of time with him?"

  Ellie wondered where this was going. "Enough to know he worked hard," she said, trying to reassure him.

  "Mmm." Josh lay back in the near darkness and stared at the ceiling again. "Just one semester, though?"

  Ellie frowned. "That's right. Why?"

  "He stared at you a lot."

  Ellie was startled. "Stared at me?" She rose up on her toes, trying to see Josh's face. But he wasn't looking at her now, and she could only glimpse his profile.

  "While you were cooking dinner," Josh said flatly. "While we were eating. When he was askin' about the cattle. He looked at you," he repeated, and there was emotion in his voice now. It sounded like an accusation.

  He raised his head again, and his eyes fastened on her. "Did he like you, Ma?" Even in the dimness of the room she could see the intensity of his gaze. The concern. The worry.

  "Of course he liked me! What's not to like?" She managed a grin and a huffy tone.

  "Nothin'," Josh said quickly. "Nothin'. I just … wondered." He twisted the blanket in his good hand. His gaze probed hers. And Ellie tried to meet it steadily.

  Finally Josh's eyes slid away. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he said, almost speculatively, "But even if he did, I guess you couldn't have liked him all that much, huh?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Because," Josh said—and his body relaxed back against the mattress again "—it was your last semester there." He smiled slightly. "You didn't stay. You came home and married Dad."

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  The smell of coffee woke her.

  Ellie sat bolt upright in bed, panicked. Coffee? Ohmigod, was it that late? Coffee meant that Sandra was already here—and that she'd overslept!

  She scrambled out of bed and, not even stopping for her robe or slippers, she shot down the hall and into the kitchen. It was still dark, inside and outside. Only the light over the stove was on.

  It lit Rance's surprised face.

  For just a second he didn't say anything, just looked at her—at her, with her sleep-tangled hair and bare feet. At her, boobs bobbing beneath Spike's old Seattle Mariners T-shirt.

  He cleared his throat. "Coffee?"

  "N-no!" She wrapp
ed her arms across her breasts and backed hastily toward the dark hallway, grateful at least that she was in shadows still. "I—I thought you were S-Sandra. My mother-in-law. I thought I'd overslept."

  "It's just past five. But I wanted to get started. Hope you don't mind about the coffee…"

  "Of course not! I should have thought. I'd have set the alarm earlier and got up to make you some. I usually go out and feed the horses before the kids get up, then I come in and make breakfast. But let me get dressed now and I'll fix you some."

  "Not necessary," Rance said. "Just put me together a lunch and dump the rest of this in a Thermos. I'll stop back by and pick it up. I'll feed the horses." He started toward the door, then turned back. "Tell Daniel I gave that calf a bottle already." He opened the door and headed out.

  Oh dear, she'd forgotten about that. One of last week's calves had been orphaned. Daniel had been keeping it in the barn. Rance had had a roommate all night!

  "Rance!"

  He turned. It was too dark to see the blue intensity of his gaze, but she could feel it touch her, anyway.

  She hugged her arms against her tighter than ever. "Did the calf … keep you up?"

  A corner of his mouth lifted wryly. "I've had worse roommates."

  "Thank you. Daniel thanks you. I—I'll fix you breakfast tomorrow."

  Another smile touched his lips. He dipped his head in agreement. "I'd like that."

  And then he was gone.

  And Ellie was left berating herself for being a fool because somehow it felt as if she'd just made a date with him.

  She made another pot of coffee, pouring herself a cup from the pot that Rance had made, then carried it with her to the bathroom where she turned on the shower.

  A morning shower was a luxury Ellie could rarely afford the time for. But today she indulged—and scrubbed herself thoroughly every time she caught her thoughts drifting to whatever Rance might be doing at the moment.

  She didn't think about grizzled, graying Wattie, did she? The old cowboy who sometimes came to help out last winter had never figured in her daydreams when she was showering or at any other time for that matter.

  "Rance is just the same as Wattie," she told herself, toweling off with just the same furious energy as when she'd washed. She wished Rance hadn't been so successful with his tomato juice rinse. She could have used an olfactory reminder to stay well away from him.

  Well, just remember it anyway, she told herself sharply. Then she got dressed, braided her hair and went to wake the kids.

  "Is he still here?" Josh asked the moment his eyes opened.

  "Already at work," Ellie assured him. "He was up and making coffee in the kitchen before I woke up."

  Josh smiled. It wasn't much of a smile, but it was the first Ellie remembered seeing from him in ages.

  She smiled back. "Arm okay?"

  "Hurts a little. I could stay home," he said hopefully. "Help out?"

  "Not on your life, bud," she told him. "Come on. Get up and get dressed. Tell Daniel that Rance fed the calf. I'll have breakfast ready by the time you come downstairs."

  She heard Sandra's truck pull up while she was stirring the oatmeal. A quick glance out the window told her that her mother-in-law was taking a look at Rance's truck on her way to the house. Rance himself had come in and picked up his lunch and Thermos ten minutes ago.

  "Took a look at one of those cows out yonder," he told her. "Reckon she'll be a mamma sometime this morning if all goes well. I'll just go keep an eye on her."

  Ellie was glad he wasn't sitting in the kitchen when Sandra came in.

  Of course they'd meet sooner or later. But somehow Ellie thought it would better in the clear light of day. She poured Sandra a cup of coffee and had it ready when the door opened. It was a morning ritual of sorts.

  Sandra lived half a mile up the valley in the house she and Spike's father, Tom, had built shortly before Daniel and Caleb were born. After Tom died four years ago, Spike had asked his mother if she wanted to move back.

  "Never," Sandra had said firmly. "I love my house. I love my independence. But," she'd added with a smile, "I'll always be happy to come for a cup of coffee."

  In fact in the last two years, she had been coming for much more than the coffee. Without Sandra's unstinting help, Ellie would have had to sell out the year Spike died. Together, with Wattie's occasional help, they had coped.

  Now Sandra accepted the cup with a smile and a glance behind her through the window to where Rance's truck was parked by hers. Her brows lifted.

  "Wattie's replacement," Ellie said as blithely as she could. She put four pieces of toast into the toaster.

  "Pretty nice truck for an old geezer like Wattie."

  "Well, he's not like Wattie in that respect," Ellie said. "He's … younger. A little more … successful. He's a friend I went to college with."

  "He scared a skunk!" Daniel informed her, bouncing down the stairs two at a time and hurtling into the kitchen.

  "An' the skunk spooked Sunny!" Caleb added, coming after him.

  "An' I broke my arm," Josh said, bringing up the rear.

  Sandra's wide-eyed interest turned to consternation. "Oh, Josh!"

  "It's not a bad break, Gran'ma. The doc said not. But Ma won't let me herd now." He made a disgruntled face. "So he's gonna do it." He looked out the door toward Rance's truck.

  Sandra looked at Josh's cast, told him how brave he'd been. But then she turned her attention back to Ellie. "This man just … offered to come work for you?"

  "He wasn't busy at the moment." Ellie dished up the bowls of oatmeal, put raisins on Josh's and Daniel's, and set Caleb's and Carrie's out plain. She didn't look at Sandra. "And," she added airily, "I'm doing him sort of a favor, too."

  "A favor? To let him work here?"

  "He was looking for a … change of pace. He used to cowboy and he wanted to do it again. Just for a while." Did she actually think Sandra was going to believe this the moment she saw Rance?

  Caleb got out the milk and Daniel the sugar. Ellie set the bowls on the table and motioned for the kids to start eating. She carried the empty oatmeal pot to the sink and turned the water on. She could feel her mother-in-law's eyes on her all the while. Assessing. Speculating.

  There hadn't been a man here—other than Wattie—since Spike died.

  "He slept in the barn," she blurted.

  Sandra's brows shot up. "The barn?"

  Ellie colored furiously. "Well, we hardly have room in here!" And she didn't want Sandra thinking even for a moment that she'd taken Rance into her bed.

  "He must have wanted a change of pace," Sandra said with just a touch of irony. "Unless he's used to that sort of accommodation?"

  "No." Ellie started scrubbing the pot.

  "Well," Sandra said briskly into the silence, "it certainly was … handy of him to agree to step in." There was a certain amount of speculation in her voice, which Ellie had no intention of addressing.

  "It is, actually." She finished the pot, took the toast out of the toaster and put four more pieces in, then passed out one to each of the boys and put the last on a plate for her mother-in-law. "I don't know how we'd have coped without Josh."

  "How long is he staying? Your friend?"

  "Oh, not long. Not long at all. Do you want jam on that?"

  "No, thank you," Sandra said, regarding the plate in her hand with some surprise. "I ate at home. I always do, you know."

  "Er, of course. Sorry. I forgot." Or maybe it was simply Freudian, giving Sandra the toast. A sort of unconscious effort to keep her mouth full and thus unable to ask questions. Ellie gave her mother-in-law a quick, apologetic smile, but she didn't take the toast back. Instead she reached for the rest and gave them to the boys. "Eat up," she commanded, then went to the bottom of the stairs and shouted, "Carrie? Where are you? Breakfast is ready!"

  Small feet came pattering down, and Carrie appeared, dragging Clarissa by one leg. "I was tyin' my shoes." Carrie looked down sadly at the scrambled mes
s of laces. "But they gots knots in 'em."

  "They certainly do," Ellie said. "In fact we might want tweezers to get them out." She took her daughter's hand and headed toward the bathroom. And as they went, she said a small prayer of thanksgiving for Carrie's inability to tie her shoes.

  They had been trying to teach her for months. But Carrie was left-handed and the rest of them were not. Usually it was a source of impatience.

  But, unless Carrie mastered the feat in the next ten minutes, today's lesson would keep Ellie busy—and out of the way of Sandra's curious questions—until it was time to take the boys to catch the bus.

  His back was killing him. His arm ached. He didn't like the taste of his own coffee. And before the day was out, his butt was going to be sorry he'd spent so many hours in the saddle.

  He'd never felt better in his life.

  Or not in recent memory, anyway. Certainly not in the past four months. Probably not for years. Rance couldn't remember experiencing this same exhilaration since … well, since college if the truth was known.

  Since the last time he'd seen Ellie in a T-shirt and nothing else.

  You wouldn't think a widowed mother of four could look that damn good in a faded baseball shirt. But, she did. Oh yes, she did. Maybe it was the way the shirt stopped just above mid-thigh, making him wonder what—if anything—she had on underneath. Maybe it was the way the shirt's brevity accentuated her long legs, making him recall all too clearly a time in the distant past when they'd wrapped around him. Maybe it was the way the soft cotton masked, but not completely, the fullness of her breasts, making him want to slide his hands up under her shirt and cup them, nuzzle them, taste them.

  Oh, God. He shifted in the saddle now, remembering, aching. Wanting. Her.

  It was perverse, he supposed, wanting the one woman he'd met in the last four months who wasn't falling all over him, making herself available. Ellie seemed somewhere between shy and indifferent.

  Or maybe that was why he wanted her. Because she was shy, not forward. Because she didn't pretend the sun rose and set on him—and his bank balance.

  No, she wanted him because he could bring her cattle down, cut her firewood and mend her fences. Now there was a humbling thought. It made him smile wryly. It didn't make him stop thinking about her.