Nice truck, she mused. He’d won it last year at the National Finals Rodeo in Vegas when he took the World Championship in bareback bronc riding. Paige knew this because Arlene kept a scrapbook on her younger son’s career, which she hid in a nook behind the mountain of paper products stored in the closet.
Arlene sometimes shared the scrapbook with Paige. She didn’t with her husband. Ted would only get mad, tell her she was wasting her time.
Poor Wyatt. Paige hadn’t blamed him for leaving. She’d have left, too, under the same circumstances—would be gone now if Wyatt kept his promise and sent for her.
Only he hadn’t.
“Mom. Mom!”
“Yeah, sweetie, what is it?” How long had Seth been calling her name?
“I need some poster board for my science project.”
“Okay. I’ll run to the drugstore after supper.”
“Why can’t we go now?”
Seth liked stopping at the drugstore, where he’d pester her for an ice cream bar—and usually get one.
“Because Mr. Malone is coming home with us.” Another quick glance in the mirror, another sigh. At this distance, Paige couldn’t make out Wyatt’s face, but she recalled every detail from their unexpected meeting in the saloon.
The same startling eyes, not quite blue and not quite gray. Same strong chin, same rugged profile. The same unruly brown hair that looked in need of a cut even when he walked out of the barbershop.
Same wide-shouldered, narrow-hipped build that caused many a woman’s gaze to linger.
The only noticeable difference in Wyatt’s appearance had been his swagger, or lack of it. His trademark walk was now stilted and slower. The result of his fall or something else? Paige wondered.
“Mom! I asked you a question.”
“Sorry, sweetie. I wasn’t listening.”
He pouted, his arms folded defensively across his middle. “Why does he have to come home with us?”
“Mr. Malone is an old friend of mine. We grew up together. Went to school together.”
And had their lives changed in a single instant when his brother Jay drove the car in which they were all riding off the road and into a tree.
“Was he your boyfriend?” Seth asked petulantly.
“Nope. Just pals.”
Paige had wanted more but was too afraid to let Wyatt know her true feelings, worried it would ruin what they had. And in those days, she needed a friend far more than a boyfriend.
“Tell me about the science project,” she prompted, hoping to distract Seth from the topic of Wyatt.
Her plan succeeded. Seth chattered enthusiastically the remainder of the drive home.
Activating the automatic garage door opener, she pulled in beside bicycles, a lawn mower, boxed holiday decorations and an assortment of just plain junk. Wyatt parked in front of the house.
“Am I okay here?” he called upon getting out of his truck.
“Fine for now.”
“Nice place.” He admired the outside of her modest three-bedroom home, then reached into the bed of the truck and removed a scuffed duffel bag.
“It’s a fixer-upper. And, as you can see, I’m still fixing it up.” She hoped he didn’t notice the worn paint and missing roof shingles and instead noticed the young maple trees peeking above the snow and the colorful flower boxes she’d had built last spring.
“It suits you. I like it.”
Paige did, too. She’d bought the house right before Seth started preschool. On her own. With no help other than from the bank. Next to her son, owning a home was her greatest accomplishment.
“Come on in.”
They entered the house from the garage, wiping their boots on the mat first. In the kitchen, Seth flung his backpack onto the table and began unloading books and binders.
“What’s to eat?” He slumped into a chair, his mood an about face from earlier.
“How `bout a cheese crisp?”
“Okay.” He eyed Wyatt glumly.
“You want one, too?” Paige asked.
Wyatt shook his head. “I’m good. Thanks. Though I do like cheese crisps.” He flashed Seth a wide smile.
It wasn’t returned.
Paige silently fretted as she fixed Seth’s snack. He wasn’t usually surly to guests. Granted, none had ever stayed in the motor home before.
“Can I get you a cold drink?” she asked Wyatt.
“I wouldn’t refuse a glass of ice water. Sorry to be such an inconvenience,” he said, taking the glass she’d poured.
“You’re not.”
“Not yet.” He flashed that wide smile at Paige.
She promptly melted. Like always.
Damn.
He wasn’t attracted to her. He was leaving in a week, if not a few days. He had a boatload of emotional baggage. All stellar reasons to avoid Wyatt Malone.
Unlike her son, however, she returned his smile. “I can show you the motor home now.” She glanced over Seth’s shoulder at the math homework spread out before him. He loved science and reading but struggled with numbers. “I won’t be long,” she told him.
His answer was to compress his mouth into a thin, disgruntled line.
“He’s a good kid,” Wyatt said once they outside.
“Most of the time. He’s not used to men coming by. My fault.”
“Your ex-husband isn’t in the picture?”
“We were never married. He left when Seth was three months old. Didn’t like being tied down. At least, that was his excuse.”
She felt Wyatt’s gaze on the back of her neck. If not for the chilly air, her skin would have warmed.
“Here we are,” she announced with exaggerated cheeriness.
The battle-weary Winnebago was hard to miss. It sat in the small backyard like a resting giant.
Paige went first to the side panel, turned on the gas and lit the water heater. Then, she unlocked the door, unfolded the metal steps and climbed inside. The motor home rocked gently when Wyatt ascended the steps after her.
“It’s freezing in here.” She went straight for the small gas furnace mounted in the wall. The stubborn igniter required several attempts before lighting. “There,” she proclaimed with satisfaction and spun around.
Wyatt had placed his duffel bag on the dining table’s bench seat and was watching her every move.
This time, her cheeks did flush.
“The closet’s over there. Here’s the bathroom. The refrigerator. Stove. Pots, pans and plastic cups are in the cupboard.” She gave him a tour of the motor home, standing in one place and pointing. “And you found the table.”
“The bed?” One corner of his mouth curved up.
“Ah…yeah.” She placed a hand on the overhead bunk. “There’s a sleeping bag in the closet if the two quilts aren’t enough.” She tried to step aside so he could view the bunk. “Not much to look at but it’s fairly comfortable.”
“Trust me, I’ve slept in a lot worse places. Being on the road at lot teaches you to appreciate home. Even a motor home.”
“I suppose.”
“Take a lot of trips in this baby?”
“Hardly.” She laughed nervously. “The furthest I’ve ever been is Billings.”
The reminder of his broken promise to take her with him when he left twelve years ago hung in the air between them.
“Then why buy a motor home?”
“Because the Roundup RV Park was where I lived until five years ago.”
“In here? With Seth?”
“We managed all right.” Paige’s chin lifted a notch. She’d done the best she could with what little she had. “Beat the heck out of staying with my mother.”
“How is she?”
“On oxygen and more medications than I can count. She hardly leaves her apartment, which is ironic since she was hardly home while I was growing up. You saw her more than I did.”
Paige’s mother had spent most afternoons and every evening in the Open Range Saloon.
“That’s a shame.” Wyatt�
�s tone conveyed genuine sympathy.
“The only good thing about it is she’s not here. Not making my life miserable. Not humiliating me by bringing home strange men who’d disappear later, never to be heard from again.”
Paige had loved school. It was her escape. But, oh, how she’d hated mornings and coming face to face with whatever man staggered out of her mother’s bedroom.
“I understand.”
Wyatt did, he wasn’t just offering empty platitudes. Their lousy upbringings and unloving parents—her mother, his father—had bonded them at a young age.
“People—guys—thought I was like my mother. It was rough fending them off. When I met Dan, Seth’s father, I thought things would be different. That he was different. Then I got pregnant, and he left town, pretty much the same way he appeared. Out of the blue. It got really rough after that, especially since I was working for your parents. Barmaids and unwed mothers, it seems, have reputations, deserved or not.”
“I should have taken you with me,” Wyatt said. “I meant to call, as soon as I settled someplace permanent. Only that didn’t happen.”
She nodded, swallowing the bitter lump lodged in her throat.
“Why didn’t you leave on your own?”
“Money. I was barely eighteen and flat broke. Much as I wanted out of the house, I didn’t want to wind up on the streets somewhere. Not too much later your parents hired me at the saloon, and I met Dan. It all worked out.” She mustered a smile. “If I’d left, I might not have Seth, and he means the world to me. Speaking of which, I’d better get in the house and check on the homework situation.”
“I really appreciate you letting me stay here,” Wyatt said. “I can pay you—”
“I wouldn’t hear of it.” Did he think her destitute?
“Maybe you’ll let me take you out to dinner one night. Seth, too.”
“We’ll see.” Her guard lowered slightly. Wyatt probably hadn’t intended to offend her.
“I really need to go.”
She squeezed past him, acutely aware of their thighs and arms brushing and the unsteadiness of her breathing. Throwing open the door, she all but leapt out of the motor home and bolted into the house.
It had been a mistake inviting Wyatt to stay with her, and not just because of the old, angry feelings he stirred inside her.
* * *
Wyatt stepped outside the motor home. The snow had stopped falling while he’d settled in, but the air remained icy cold. He rubbed his hands together, debating on returning for his gloves. Evening came early this time of year, and it would get even colder before long. Already the sky was growing dark.
He headed for the side gate, not wanting to disturb Paige by traipsing through the house.
“You leaving?”
He spun at the sound of Seth’s voice. “Just to the market. I need a few supplies. Coffee in particular.” He’d been so caught up in his own thoughts he hadn’t noticed the boy.
“Mom’s inside. Paying bills.” Seth gripped a coiled lariat in his right hand.
It was then Wyatt noticed the roping dummy with its plastic calf head not far away, the snow surrounding it trampled down by boy-sized boot prints.
“You like to rope?” he asked.
Seth shrugged and slapped the rope against his leg.
“You any good?”
“I’m better than Jerome Pickler.”
“That’s saying something.”
“Mom told me you’re a rodeo champion.”
“Was. For a while. Bronc riding, not roping. So, I bet you’re better than me, too.” Wyatt sidled closer. “Want to show me some of your throws?”
Seth shrugged again.
“Come on, maybe you can teach me a thing or two.”
To Wyatt’s surprise, the boy raised the lariat over his head and began twirling it. His throw landed nearly on mark.
“Not bad. Try again.”
Seth did better his second attempt, though he didn’t quite nail it. “Takes me a while to warm up,” he said, reeling in the lariat, which glided over the snow like a slippery snake.
“Sure.” Wyatt moved so that he was standing directly behind Seth. “I knew an old cowboy once. He used to say the secret to roping calves was imagining the lariat was your arm, only longer, and you were reaching out to pet the calf right between the ears.”
“That’s dumb.”
“It is, kind of. But it helped me.” Wyatt had done passably well in both tie down and team roping but nothing like bronc riding. In that event, he’d excelled until his fall.
Seth twirled the lariat again. This time, his toss landed true.
“Wow!”
“Good job,” Wyatt exclaimed.
Seth appeared in awe of himself, even going over to the practice dummy for a closer inspection. His entire face lit up. “That was neat.”
“Keep throwing tosses like that and you’ll be competing in the junior rodeo soon.”
“My dad, he roped. He worked as a wrangler at Thunder Ranch. Before he left.” Seth rewound the lariat. He didn’t look at Wyatt.
“I worked there, too. Summers during high school.”
“Mom says you went away after you and her graduated.”
“I did. Not because I wanted to.”
“She said you’re going away again after the anniversary party.”
“Yeah.”
Possibly sooner if the reconciliation with his family didn’t improve.
Seth hung the coiled rope on the calf head, his brow knitted in consternation.
Such a serious expression for such a young kid.
“I could watch you practice tomorrow,” Wyatt said. “Tell you stories about being a hand at Thunder Ranch.”
“Naw. I don’t want to learn how to rope better.”
“Why not? You’re good.”
“Because I’m staying in Roundup. With my mom. All the cowboys she knows leave.”
Seth’s statement hit Wyatt like a kick in the belly. “It’s not like that.”
The boy didn’t appear to hear him. Hands shoved in his coat pockets, he shuffled to the back door—where Paige stood, sorrow welling in her green eyes.
Wyatt was responsible for some of her sorrow. What he wouldn’t give to erase it.
“Come inside, Seth. Dinner’s ready.”
Wyatt advanced a step.
Paige gave her head a not-now shake, then shut the door, leaving Wyatt alone, cold inside and out.
Chapter Three
Wyatt hadn’t been inside the Northern U.S. Savings and Loan since he was sixteen—which was the last time his father had trusted him enough to make a deposit of the saloon’s cash receipts.
Not that Wyatt had ever stolen from his parents or even considered it. But he’d committed enough other sins, including lying and dishonoring his father and mother. They’d had plenty of reasons not to trust him—and plenty of reasons to believe his admission that he’d caused the automobile accident resulting in his brother’s injury.
Why hadn’t Jay set them straight? The purpose for their lie had ceased to matter years ago.
That must be why he’d sent Wyatt the invitation to the party.
“Good morning, how can I help you?” The teller asked brightly.
“Is Jay Malone available?”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, I didn’t think to call first. But I can wait if necessary.”
“May I tell him who’s here?”
Wyatt’s gaze strayed to the pair of offices on the opposite side of the bank lobby. Through the large window of one, he spotted Jay, a phone pressed to his ear, his fingers tapping on an electronic tablet.
“Wyatt Malone,” Wyatt answered, turning back to the teller. “His brother.”
Her jaw visibly dropped.
Evidently Jay didn’t talk about Wyatt much with his coworkers.
“J-just a moment.” She scurried off to knock on Jay’s office door.
He motioned her in, said something into
the phone and hung up. A second later, his head snapped sideways, and he smiled broadly at Wyatt through the window. The next instant, he was on his feet and out the office door on the heels of the startled young woman.
“Hey!” He skirted the teller counter and met Wyatt in front, pulling him into a hug. “What are you doing here?”
The same question their father had asked of Wyatt, only his brother said it with gladness rather than anger.
“It’s great to see you.” In that moment, any remaining resentment Wyatt had toward his brother evaporated. “That suit looks good on you.”
“Dad told me you were in town.”
What Wyatt would have given to hear their conversation. Did his brother admit to inviting Wyatt or had he played dumb? “Can you break away for an early lunch? My treat.”
“Sorry, got an appointment.” Jay motioned for Wyatt to accompany him. “Come on in. I have a few minutes before my client gets here.”
The other bank employees cast curious glances in their direction while pretending to work.
“I’m impressed.” Sitting in the visitor chair across from Jay’s desk, Wyatt noted the various plaques, certificates, awards and commendations prominently displayed. On the desk was a framed photo of Jay at a ground-breaking ceremony. “You’ve done well for yourself. You must be proud.”
“I keep busy.”
“I see that.”
As kids, Jay hadn’t minded the incredibly strict rules their father imposed. Ted Malone was determined his sons not turn out like some of their regulars in the saloon. Paige’s mother, for one. If anything Jay thrived under their father’s heavy hand. He’d been an honor student, star athlete and rule-abiding son.
Whereas Wyatt—a C student at best and more interested in horses than sports—had rebelled. By seventeen, he’d made a name for himself. The wrong kind of name.
Both boys had changed, Jay in college and Wyatt after high school graduation—which was why Jay had been drinking the night of the accident and Wyatt sober. Their father, however, either didn’t see the changes in his sons or refused to believe them.
“You here for the party?” Jay asked Wyatt.
“I’ve been wanting to come back. Make peace with the family.”
“Why now all of a sudden?”
Unlike their father, Wyatt and Jay spoke on occasion. Once, twice a year on birthdays or Christmas. Wyatt called his brother, not the other way around. They spoke for maybe a half hour, just long enough to catch up.
Wyatt: Return of the Cowboy Page 2