Cowboy Daddy

by Hannah McBride

  Finally, it was finished, with screams and little hiccupping sobs on her part, a guttural triumphant bellow on his.

  When, completely spent, he could no longer stand upright, Ben collapsed with her onto the grass and simply lay unmoving for some time, gasping for air.

  Recovery was a slow, agonizing process.

  “Oh—my—God—” came Caroline’s mutter after a while.

  Ben, sprawled flat beside her, opened one eye. “Was it good for you?” he asked, and then burst out laughing.

  Giving him an outraged glare, she managed, with much effort, to sit up. “I can’t believe this. Look at us. Just look at us.”

  “Yeah, darlin’.” Grinning like an imp from Hades, he rolled onto one side and swept a lazy glance over her, disheveled top to unclad bottom. “I’m lookin’.” His impudent hand reached up to grab hold of one breast, just to prove a point. “You wanna try this again, my bordello queen, you’re gonna have to give me time to get my strength back.”

  “Strength? Strength?” she screeched at him. “You maniac, you’ve put bruises on every part of my body. I ache all over. I won’t be able to walk for a week.”

  Now his expression just turned smug. The dog.

  “You wanna compare marks of passion, sweetheart? I think any good doctor would figure I’d been mugged in a back-alley brawl.” Under the much-rumpled, grass-stained shirt, his shoulders shifted in an effort to ease cramping. “Here.”

  “What’s this?” She picked up the large square of gold cloth he had spread across her bare thigh.

  “Thought you might wanna—uh—clean yourself up a little before we head back home. You know, that’s the real reason we cowboys wear a bandanna.” And he gave vent to an uproar of laughter again.

  “Ben.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “This has been—quite a session. You’ve shocked me…and surprised me. Did all this stem just from what we went through, earlier, at the barn?”

  He was already standing upright, trying to pull himself back together and adjust everything that had been torn apart. Leaning forward, he took her chin in one hand to meet her gaze very straightforwardly. “Carrie, this was just a damn good roll in the hay, that’s all. Don’t make anything more of it than that. We were both all fired up, and it was time, and I didn’t wanna wait any longer.”

  “I see.” Deeply disappointed, though at a loss to understand why, Caroline used the neckerchief as advised before beginning to retrieve her discarded clothing.

  “Carrie.” He paused, to give her another of those direct but unreadable glances. “You’re definitely on the pill, aren’t you?”

  “That was what we had agreed upon,” she said coolly.

  “Good. And, listen. Don’t ever again get involved in a fracas like that one today. Not because of my male ego.” He brushed that aside. “But because you could’ve been badly hurt.”

  “Very well. No more tackles.”

  “And, Carrie?”

  Attempting to disentangle her hair with unsteady fingers instead of a comb, she sighed. “Yes, Ben.”

  “Any time you wanna claim your conjugal rights,” he grinned down at her, “my bedroom door is always open.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  To Caroline’s amazement, next morning her wayward husband decided he had nowhere more important to travel, and was staying home. Sophie seemed as surprised as her stepmother.

  “Daddy. Two days in a row?” she demanded at the breakfast table.

  “Uh-huh.”

  She paused in the act of spearing a pancake. “Daddy.” The voice was lowered dramatically. “Have you been fired?”

  He laughed. “Nope, no such luck. Sorry if I’m in your way, Princess, but I can head on out to the stables, instead.”

  Squealing a vehement protest, she jumped down from her own chair to clamber up on the rung of his. “Naw, you can hang around if you like. Me and Carrie can put up with you.”

  “Zat so?” Ben put down his fork to squeeze the little girl’s shoulders, clad in a goldenrod-yellow tee that matched her pair of miniscule shorts printed with sunflowers. Then, still leaning sideways, he slanted a speculative look up at his wife. “Think you can put up with me today, Carrie?”

  Calmly spooning sugar into her cereal, she refused to meet a glance she knew would be laced with irritating good humor. The man was a pain in the patootie, when you came right down to it. All that twinkling sense of mischief, all that lighthearted boyish delight—it tended to wear thin, after a while.

  Or maybe her somewhat sour mood was due to the fact that she was still smarting a little from yesterday’s brush-off.

  The house had been, thankfully, deserted, when they’d returned from their cowboy hi-jinks. Caroline had hastily slunk upstairs to shower and change before going out to track down Sophie, who, under the supervision of a watchful Tom out near the stable, was full of questions as to the reason for her father’s unexpected disappearance.

  “He was here, and then he wasn’t,” Sophie complained, with reason. “Where did he go, Carrie?”

  The little girl had found a small discarded tree branch and was busily drawing circles in the graveled drive with its tip. She didn’t seem terribly broken up by Ben’s absence—which she’d had six years to get used to—but more curious than anything.

  Caroline’s questioning gaze had met Tom’s. He did one of those open-palmed shrugs in response. Well, then.

  “Let’s go inside for a bit, have some milk and cookies, and I’ll tell you all about our adventure. How’s that?”

  “Oh, uh, Carrie?” Tom stopped her as she was turning away. “That other matter, y’ know?”

  “Yes, I do know.”

  “All taken care of. Gone off, under supervision. I’ll fill Ben in on the details, and he can take care of things from here on.”

  She was conscious of a great relief. “Thank you, Tom. I was wondering what had happened.”

  In the kitchen, where Mrs. Wyeth was holding court with two housemaids, Caroline made herself at home with snacks from the pantry and two glasses of rich cold milk.

  “I am discussing procedures here, Mrs. Taggart,” the cook icily informed her.

  Caroline waved a negligent hand. “Go ahead, please. We don’t bother you. Sophie, run into the powder room and wash really well with soap, okay?”

  As the little girl scampered away, the housemaids could see which way the wind was blowing and quickly made themselves scarce in another part of the house. When a tornado is bearing down, one is wise to get out of its path.

  “Mrs. Taggart,” said Mrs. Wyeth, breathing heavily, “might I speak privately to you?”

  “Of course. Please, have a seat.”

  “No, I’d rather stand, thank you. Mrs. Taggart…” The woman’s face was mottled red, her expression murderous. “I want to register a complaint.”

  Taking a sip, Caroline surveyed her employee over the rim of her glass. “Pray, do so.”

  “Pray? No prayin’ about it. You’ve been treatin’ me like dirt since the minute you walked in the door, and I want it stopped.”

  Both of Caroline’s brows arched. “Do you?”

  The heavy jowls turned even darker, like a turkey’s wattles. “I been here since the first Mrs. Taggart hired me. Not a word of complaint from her, ever. And you ain’t got a patch on her, lady.”

  “Indeed. And just exactly what problem is it I’m supposed to have caused?”

  “You been disrespectin’ everything I do.” Standing flat-footed, massive arms folded across her chest, Mrs. Wyeth resembled nothing so much as a bovine statue. “You change the food I fix, the place I serve it, the time when it’s put on the table.”

  “And this has caused you—”

  “We had us schedules here,” she went on heavily, angrily. “We knew what time of the day things were goin’ on. Kids need schedules. They need rules and regulations. You’ve turned things upside down, doin’ whatever you want whenever you want. It’s playin’ hob with my own wor
k, and I ain’t havin’ it.”

  “You aren’t?”

  “No. It’s gonna come down to you or me, and I can guess which one of us Mr. Taggart would want to stay.”

  If she was guessing herself, Caroline mused whimsically, she might be quite right. It all depended on which was uppermost in Ben’s mind at the moment: food or sex. “Well, I’m certainly sorry you feel this way, Mrs. Wyeth, but I appreciate your bringing your concerns to my attention. Perhaps we might—”

  The woman leaned closer, a sneer on her face. “I ain’t messin’ around here, Mrs. Taggart. We both know how you ended up on the ranch. We both know you weren’t his first choice, nor his second, nor even his third. I hear things. I hear what’s goin’ on. You just ask—”

  “What kind of cookies do we have today, Carrie?” Innocent Sophie interrupted any further disclosures, skipping back into the kitchen with pony-tailed hair bouncing.

  “Well, honey, looks to me like chocolate chip. Fresh-baked, too. Let’s thank Mrs. Wyeth for them, shall we?” Her cool gaze caught and held the scornful eyes of the cook, and dismissed her. “We’ll talk later, Mrs. Wyeth, at another time.”

  That scrumptious little confrontation, and the usual supper, bath, and bedtime routine for Sophie a little later, had occupied the rest of Caroline’s day. She had explained about finding a sick dog, and taking him to the dog doctor to make him all better, and the child’s chatter had been centered on that subject alone.

  At nine she had retired to her suite for some personal TLC time. That meant a lengthy soak in the tub, filled with hot water and eucalyptus and lavender oil, while a whole musical selection by Mozart playing in the background softly and sweetly lulled her into semi-consciousness.

  Eventually she eased her slippery body from the cooling water to slip it into a cool lawn nightgown. Barefoot, she wandered out to the terrace, where a friendly moon and several billion glittering stars shone in upon her. What a lovely spot this was! The comfortable padded chaise called her with an almost audible siren song.

  “Join me here,” it said. So she did.

  Contented night sounds drifted in, from the rustle of birds settling down in the giant branches to the subdued hoot of an owl farther off in the distance. The lonely wail of a train far away, and its busy chug-chug on the rails, reached her next. A gentle breeze drifted in, carrying with it a mixture of scents: dampness and moss from the pond, dusty gravel, the more homely aromas of cow and horse.

  Relaxing, Caroline tilted her head back and crossed one ankle over the other.

  The mean, spiteful words of the cook had stabbed deep. She had harbored them through the rest of the day, like a burr under the saddle, to dither and nag, until she had had a chance to think things through. So the whole household was aware of the marital arrangement? How? And when? And, for heavens’ sake, why?

  She wasn’t about to dignify such a complaint with any questions. That would completely negate any chance she had of maintaining control.

  “What in the hell am I going to do about that old harridan Wyeth?” she wondered aloud.

  Chapter Fifteen

  And so here she was, finishing up breakfast in the kitchen, having decided nothing. How could she possibly endure that sort of poisonous atmosphere in the house? Was she being watched right now? And would she end up with a good dose of hemlock in her serving of soup?

  Ben, having put aside his morning paper, was seriously discussing the condition of the puppy with his fascinated daughter. “And Dr. Morgan called this morning, and said we could pick him up any time.”

  “And can I go, Daddy, and can I see him and hold him?”

  “Of course you can, sweetheart. But you’ll have to be very careful of him. He’ll need a lot of care for a while.”

  “Care you can only provide in the house, isn’t that right, Ben?” Caroline couldn’t resist putting in her two cents’ worth.

  “It isn’t quite—”

  “In the house?” The child’s eyes widened. “You mean in my bedroom>”

  “I don’t see why not.” Caroline seemed determined to poke the tiger in the cage, and was rewarded by a small gleam from the tiger’s blue eyes. “You could certainly keep watch over him better from there, couldn’t you?”

  “Well, now, wait just a minute—”

  “We’ll buy him a bed,” she promised recklessly, “and some toys. He’s probably never had toys before. And we’ll give him whatever medicine he needs, and—”

  “The proper place for a dog is outside,” Mrs. Wyeth interrupted. She had paused, in the act of removing plates, to interject her opinion whether it was wanted or no. Stolid. Implacable. “All them germs and fleas. Ain’t never had no dog inside the house before, and you ain’t about to start now, Missy.”

  “Ah, but you have no control over what goes on in this house, do you, Mrs. Wyeth?” Caroline’s voice, silky-smooth, caught up the challenge and threw it right back at her. “I think I am the final authority on whether a dog stays or goes. Isn’t that true, Ben?”

  Puzzled by the byplay, which up till now hadn’t been a concern, the master put down his half-eaten slice of toast and picked up his coffee cup. “Caroline, do you really think—”

  “Yes, I really do.” Her aquamarine eyes flashed as brilliantly as the gems in question, and two bright spots of color high on her cheekbones melded in with the smattering of freckles.

  Not wanting to get involved in women’s concerns, he shrugged. “Sure. I reckon she can have the dog in her room for a while. We’ll see how it goes.”

  “And the authority, Ben?”

  “Well, yeah. You are the final authority, no question about that.”

  “Thank you. And, thank you, Mrs. Wyeth, for being so understanding.”

  Understanding, in a pig’s eyes. The lady turned away, glowering, resentful, and indignant. Yep. Definitely a dose of hemlock.

  It was a small battle, as skirmishes go, but she had won it. However, she foresaw a number of similar battles in future, depending on how much more insubordination the cook was prepared to give her, so she’d better be armed and dangerous. Or locked and loaded. Or whatever current war-like euphemism was being used.

  By ten o’clock Ben had cleared away any pressing details at his desk and conferred with Marilou as to plans for the day.

  “So you want me to put off the meeting with Transflux?”

  “No, let ’em go ahead and hold it. It’s nothing so important that I have to be there. Oh, but I do want you to send a formal letter to Dovetail, Inc., to accept…”

  The perky blonde admin had already heard the story from Tom of Lundigan’s attack on the dog, and Caroline’s attack on Lundigan, and Tom’s attack on Lundigan, and his subsequent hauling away by a sympathetic sheriff. She had apologized several times for her own lack of a background check.

  “I don’t know what happened,” she said abjectly. “Just fell through the cracks, I reckon. I started to look into what he’d been doin’ for the last ten years, things seemed okay, and then blam!”

  “Blam,” repeated Ben. Sitting behind the forbidding expanse of his desk, he was not quite so cavalier. “Blam.”

  “Yeah. I’m real sorry, Ben. It won’t happen again.”

  Caroline, suspecting that the secretary was not often called on the carpet, had slunk away from the office. Marilou didn’t need a witness to her moment of humiliation.

  “I’m sure it won’t. Because there could’ve been some very serious consequences.”

  At last, work finished for the while, they were ready to go retrieve the little foundling that had caused such an uproar.

  “Come on, Carrie, hurry up,” Sophie urged from inside the truck’s cab. “Time’s a-wastin’!”

  Caroline had been standing at the front door, ready to allow some father-daughter time, ready to wave a cheerful goodbye. “Oh, am I supposed to be going?”

  “You’re the one responsible for this whole mess,” said Ben. He was sitting in the driver’s seat, drumming his finger
s on the steering wheel. Albeit slowly and carefully. He wouldn’t admit it—big tough Texan and all—but some residual tenderness had resulted from his foray into ass-kicking, and he had decided it might be prudent to coddle those bruised knuckles and swollen hands for a bit. “Come on, time’s a-wastin’!”

  The twenty-mile drive was accomplished more decorously today—fifteen minutes, instead of ten. Sophie kept up such a round of chatter that no other conversational gambit was required, other than, “Yes, that’s right.” or “I don’t think so.”

  Sophie was excited. Unlike most children, who wore their hearts on their sleeves, she had kept her feelings locked away inside for too long a time. Now, thanks to Caroline’s gentle persistence and kindly guidance, the girl was beginning to blossom forth. As much as the sunflowers on her shorts.

  “Is this gonna be your own dog, Sophie?” Dr. Morgan asked with a twinkle when they trooped into his examining room.

  “Uh-huh. Carrie says so. And Daddy, too.”

  “Well, good, honey. Okay, here he is. You know you gotta be careful, right?”

  The dog was a sorry sight. It was anybody’s guess what breed he might be, from pointer to lab to some sort of hound. Once his body had filled out, and he had lost that scrawny look, he would be a handsome animal. But for right now, his right paw was bandaged, and one ear dangled, and every rib of his skinny, eight-pound carcass showed

  Still, sedated and hurt thought he was, the puppy managed to thump his tail a few times, and he looked up with soft soulful eyes that begged only for kindness.

  “Oh, good boy,” crooned Sophie, crowding close to the table upon which the animal lay. “Good little boy.” Bending close to gently pet him, she was sloshed by a wet tongue that immediately set off a round of giggles.

  “How is it you’ve never managed to get this child a dog before?” murmured Caroline, sotto voce.

  Ben shrugged. “Dunno. Guess it just never occurred to me.”

  “Well, Missy, looks like you’ve made a new friend there,” said Dr. Morgan, beaming. He was as proud as if the arrangement were all his, and he had instigated this first date. “You got a name for this boy yet?”