A Cowboy for Keeps

by Laura Drake

  Reese is there, hands roaming over us both. “Are you all right? Lorelei? Say something.”

  I doubt he could hear me over the baby’s cry, but it doesn’t matter, because I can’t get air in my lungs to speak. I lie there, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

  “Lorelei, please, are you cut? Are you hurt?” His voice is almost as frantic as Sawyer’s.

  I push the baby to him, and he lifts her, scanning her for cuts before clasping her to him, patting her back, and telling her everything’s going to be fine.

  I work at trying to get my lungs to unlock. Slowly, breath by breath, they loosen. “I’m okay,” I wheeze.

  He sweeps a palm over the floor, clearing the glass, then sits beside me, Sawyer in his lap. “You hit hard. You’re not hurt?” His hand runs over my hair, pulling it back from my face. “You’re bleeding.”

  I put fingers to the sting on my forehead. They come away with a smear of blood. “It’s just a scratch.” I sit up. “Is Peanut okay?”

  “Thanks to you. You run fast for someone who just got off crutches.”

  “Fear is a powerful motivator.” I stroke Sawyer’s head. “I guess when she decided to walk, she did it all at once.”

  “Those West women don’t mess around when they make up their minds.”

  Sawyer has wound down to sniffles. Reese pushes off the wall to stand. “I’ll get some formula for her. You stay here and breathe. I’ll be right back.”

  I’m not arguing. The adrenaline dump has cleared, leaving me weak and a bit shaky.

  He crunches through the mess to the kitchen.

  He’s back in a few minutes holding a broom and offering me a hand up. “Go slow.”

  I stand and get a panoramic view of the mess. “Oh, Reese, your beautiful vase!”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  “But it had to be way expensive.” Guilt and prices are flying around my skull.

  “The first one was. Carson and I broke it throwing a football around when we were in high school. Bo about wore us out.”

  “He hit you?”

  “Yeah.” He says it like he’d say “we’re out of milk.” “This one is only a copy. The original was expensive. I know, because Carson and I had to do extra chores for three months to earn the money for it.” He puts an arm around me. “Can you walk?”

  I take a step. I’ve been limping since the stitches came out, the skin feeling like a too-tight sock. “Actually, I think running stretched it.” I take another tentative step. “I’m good.”

  He leads me back to the kitchen, sits me at the table, and pours me a glass of elderberry wine, then steps out to the hall and sweeps up the mess. He’s just dumped the dustpan and put up the broom when Sawyer sees a bird fly by the window and points. “Buud! Buud!”

  Reese breaks into a huge grin, takes her hand, and smacks his with it. “Walking and talking in one day! That’s my girl.” He turns to me. “She and I worked on ‘bird,’ back before the storm, but it was just buh-buh then.” He shakes his head. “It’s amazing how much she’s changed since we’ve met her.”

  “I know. She’s outgrown everything she wore at six months.” I run my hand over the dark-brown hair she got from her father. “I woke up thinking how it’s time I stopped looking back and started looking forward. She’s one of the biggest reasons why.” I kiss her head. “God has taken so much from you and me—but he’s also given us this miracle. I need to remember that and be grateful.”

  He takes my hand. “I have a double miracle. He brought me you.”

  Everything is too new. I’m not ready for this. “I’m going to work on facing forward, but let’s just enjoy where we are and not look too far down the road, okay?” I lean in and kiss him, to reinforce that this isn’t a negative.

  “I like where we are, too.” He smiles and stands. “Almost time for the big girl’s nap. Now that you can get around a bit better, do you want a tour of the parts of the house you haven’t seen before we put her in the crib upstairs?”

  “I’d love that.” I lift my wine and stand.

  He swings Sawyer into his arms, drops her onto his hip, and hands her the sippy cup like he’s been doing this for years. When he leads us through the high-ceilinged dining room, I understand why he eats in the kitchen. Heavy damask gold curtains, delicate china in a massive breakfront, and a clawfoot burnished table that would seat twenty. “Wow, did your parents entertain a lot?”

  “They did before my mom died. I don’t think it’s been used more than a handful of times since then, and only for business dinners.” He looks around, like he hasn’t seen it in a while. Maybe he hasn’t. “The joy went out of this house with my mother.”

  It sounds like she was the heart of the family, not Bo, for all him being loud and bigger than life. I wonder what would have been different if she’d lived. Reese would have been more accepted, for sure. More secure in the gifts he was given. “I’m so sorry, Reese.”

  He leads me through a library with high shelves full of red leather-bound books, none of which look like they’ve ever been off the shelf. Then he turns in at the next door.

  “This was Bo’s office.”

  I step in and try not to show my horror. Animal heads of every size and shape cover the walls. On every mantel, table, desk, and in each corner sits a fully stuffed animal: fox, lynx, even a full-grown cougar, mouth open, fangs displayed. “The poor things.” The dark sadness of this room pushes against my chest.

  I shoot a glance to Sawyer, but thank the Lord, she’s too focused on playing with her sippy cup to notice the animals.

  “Yeah, not my favorite room, either.”

  I step to the huge stone fireplace, to see better the portrait above it. “Is this your father?”

  “Yep, that’s Beauregard Brigham St. James.”

  The man reminds me of old photos of Teddy Roosevelt, with a big walrus mustache and small eyes behind glasses, but the ten-gallon hat and string tie are pure Texan. He’s not at all what I expected…except the eyes. They look mean as a feral pig’s. “You must favor your mother.”

  His father glares down at us, amping up the oppressive atmosphere. A shudder rips down my spine. I don’t need to guess what this man would think of his son bringing home someone like me.

  The sippy cup falls from Sawyer’s hand, hitting the hearth with a crack that makes me jump. She doesn’t notice; she’s nodded off on Reese’s shoulder.

  He bends to retrieve the cup. “Bedtime for this one. Let’s go upstairs.” At the bottom of the stairs, he stops. “Want me to come back down for you?”

  “Nope. I need to get my stamina back.” I take the first step, testing, then another. “It’s fine.” It feels so good to be self-sufficient again.

  But I’m slow, and by the time I’ve reached the top, he’s put Sawyer down in her crib and he’s standing in the hall. “Come on to my room. I’ve got something to show you.”

  In his room, he grabs a rolled tube of papers in the corner, unfurls them on the table.

  Seeing his wooden horses, I remember. “Oh, Reese, I’m so sorry.”

  His head comes up. “Why?”

  “I was making you a horse. For a cabin-warming gift.” The image flashes: my room was destroyed along with everything else on the second floor. “It’s gone now, along with all my woodworking tools.” My voice comes out shaky. Anything that didn’t get sucked out will be rusted, damaged from all the water.

  He takes the step to me and wraps me in his arms. My hands go around his waist, and I lean into him, absorbing the comfort and safety.

  “They can be replaced.”

  I shake my head and step back. They were my father’s. Face forward. Face forward. “What are these?”

  “The plans for the cabin. I thought maybe seeing them would help you come up with decorating ideas.”

  We spend a half hour talking of rugs and curtains and paint and searching the Internet for photos he can use when shopping.

  “Why don’t you re
decorate this house, too? You’ve mentioned that it isn’t your taste.”

  “It doesn’t seem worth the trouble.”

  I glance at the cabin plans he seems much more invested in. I wonder if he sees this. “You seem really isolated out here. Don’t you have any friends?”

  “Sure.” He shifts in his chair. “A few guys from college and I get together a couple of times a year, to play golf, drink, and relive the good old days.”

  “But what about—”

  “I have the business and acquaintances involved with that. It’s harder to make friends after you leave school, you know? You’re lucky to have a friend like Carly.”

  “I am. I love the heck out of her. But there are limits; she’s my friend, but she’s also my boss. I have to be careful not to cross that line. I think maybe you can’t have no-holds-barred friendships like you did as a kid when you’re an adult.” I play with the edge of the notepad.

  “Well, we have each other as family now. Maybe, with time…”

  He’s staring intently at me, that warm campfire flame in his eyes. The one I want to snuggle up and get close to.

  “Maybe…” I lean in and kiss him deeply, holding nothing back.

  We spend the next hour exploring the possibility—in his bed.

  I’m almost asleep when he says, “I have a surprise for you, but before I tell you, you need to know that it’s okay to tell me no.”

  I come alert. He knows that whatever it is, is pushing. “What?”

  “I had the contractor put on another crew, and they’ve been working around the clock. The cabin isn’t done by any means, but there’s AC and running water. If you want, you and Sawyer can move in there. You know, until your house is done.” He gets up on one elbow, a worry line between his brows. “But if you’d rather stay with Carly or at the motel or anywhere else, that’s fine, too.”

  “Seriously?” A layer of sadness I wasn’t even aware of slips from my shoulders. I’ve felt so displaced, so homeless. Carly has been a love to offer to put us up, but all I’ve wanted was home. To be close enough to see the house every day, to see the same trees and hills, to drive the same roads to work. It would be like getting some of my old life back. “You are the most thoughtful, most wonderful…” I’m kissing his face all over, and he laughs.

  I sober and back up, to see him better. “No, really, why the heck aren’t you dripping in women?”

  “A woman explained it to me not long ago. I’m pushy and arrogant and entitled.”

  I roll on top of him, and my hair falls around us. “All true, but you do have a few good qualities.”

  Chapter 20

  Lorelei

  The real world meets me at the dirt airstrip the next morning. In the distance, it’s almost toylike, the wing struts and propeller flimsy as a kid’s rubber-band airplane. Ants of worry scurry around my stomach. Reese and his manager, Manuel, are schlepping our borrowed suitcase from the truck across the field. I’m holding Sawyer, trying to keep up.

  “Bud!” She points to the plane.

  “Reese.”

  He’s chatting with Manuel.

  “Reese!”

  He stops. “What?”

  “I’m not sure about this.” It seemed safer when we talked about it yesterday…in abstract. In reality? It’s a big gulp.

  He tells Manuel to go on and turns to me. “Hon, it’s fine. I’ve flown a hundred thousand miles. I’ve never had a problem.”

  “In that plane?” I nod toward it. “Because then you should probably replace things. Or get it serviced, or whatever you do. I’ll just drive—”

  “It was serviced yesterday, by my personal mechanic. He’s the best. And Cessnas have been around since 1916 for a reason. They are stable and safe.” He steps over and puts his arms around Sawyer and me. “You don’t think I’d risk the most important people on the planet, do you?”

  “But—”

  “Lorelei, look at me.”

  I glance up from my feet.

  “I am a terrible bull rider. I stink at flowery words. I’m only a passable cowboy.” When he looks at the plane, pride shines in his chocolate eyes. “But I’m a damned fine pilot.” He squeezes us. “Trust me? I won’t let anything bad happen to you or Sawyer.”

  I have no doubt about his abilities. But there are things beyond his control.

  He drops the hug and steps back. “It’s a beautiful day; the wind is almost still. Perfect conditions—oh, and I’ve got these.” He drops the backpack he has slung over his shoulder and pulls out tiny headphones. “These are for Peanut. Noise canceling, to protect her hearing. You and I each have a pair in the cockpit.” He smiles, holds them out, and waits.

  This is so like him, thinking ahead, thinking of everything for our safety and comfort.

  Face forward. Just because bad things have happened one after another doesn’t mean they’re going to keep happening. A pool of sureness rises from my core, drowning the worry ants. I’m a West woman, strong and steady hearted. I look down at Sawyer. “You want to fly in the airplane?”

  “Buud!” She points.

  I take the baby headphones from Reese. “Lead on, Buud Boy.”

  Four hours later, we touch down with barely a bump on the dirt runway on his land. Seeing the house’s devastation from the air hit me like looking into an opened skull. It brought back that day in technicolor. And reminded me to be grateful for what I still have.

  “See? That wasn’t so bad.” Reese’s voice is scratchy through the headphones.

  It was scary at first. I think I left permanent finger impressions in the armrest. But once the ground stopped falling away and we leveled out, my stomach settled. It was beautiful, seeing the land from a bird’s perspective. I speak into my mic. “You were right. You’re a great pilot. It’s so pretty up there. I had no idea.”

  I can’t see his eyes behind the dark sunglasses.

  “I mean, I’ve flown, but never in a small plane. It’s more real. More immediate.”

  “That it is.” When he shuts down the engines, the silence almost hurts my ears. I’d gotten used to the roaring of engines and air. We take off the headsets and he shows me where to stow them.

  “I’ll get sleepy Sawyer and her seat out, then the luggage.”

  We talked on the flight and worked out a game plan. Bouncing ideas off him and getting his opinion about the repairs on my house helped—for once I’m not worried about what I didn’t think of. We’ll take the Murphinator, and he’ll drive me out to Floyd’s to buy a car. Then back to the cabin, to get settled.

  The only problem I haven’t settled is Sawyer. Thank God for Carly; she’s offered to take Sawyer during the day until I find a babysitter or get her into daycare. I have to be at work in the morning. Reese can stay until tomorrow, but he has an appointment at the university next Friday. I appreciate everything he’s done, but it’s time for me to get on my feet and take charge of my life again. To decide where we go from here.

  I want Reese in my life, but as a boyfriend, not as my own personal genie, to grant my every wish. I pull luggage out of the back while he wrestles with Sawyer’s car seat, discussing the logistics of it with her the whole time.

  Boyfriend. The word makes me smile.

  * * *

  My phone alarm goes off the next morning, and it takes me a moment of feeling around on the floor to find it. By the time I do, I’ve remembered where I am. It’s black as the inside of a cave in Reese’s cabin. I ease out of bed, careful not to wake him. I feel my way out of the room, touching bare wood two-by-fours, the cement floor cold underfoot. The cabin has running water and electricity, but not much more. The interior walls are open, baring the bones of the construction, wiring, and pipes. I make it across the hall without stubbing anything and flip on the light in the bathroom. The fixtures are in, and the shower pan, but no walls, which would make showering a voyeur’s dream, if not for the black plastic hung around it. Reese had appliances delivered, and the bed, a crib, a playpen, and a card tabl
e with chairs are the only furnishings. Sawyer is living in that huge playpen until this place is finished. It’s dangerous enough for a grown-up. The thought of her wandering around wires and nails and…I shudder.

  But I’m grateful for Reese’s gift—a roof over our heads.

  I throw on my clothes, wash my face, brush my teeth, and walk out to what will be the great room to stand looking out the huge windows, scanning the dark for the hulking shape of my ruined house. As we came up the drive last night, something clicked in me and my world righted. I practically ran from this place a week ago, hoping to outstrip my memories. It didn’t work, and I’m surprised to discover that I no longer want to. They’re broken and battered, but these are my roots, my family’s legacy.

  Home.

  Sarah and Momma promised to come to the diner for breakfast. I can’t wait to hug them both.

  I go back and kiss Sawyer goodbye, then stand at the edge of the bed, wanting to do the same with Reese, but I don’t want to chance waking him. I turn to leave.

  “Hey.”

  A little thrill goes through me at the sound of his voice. I turn back. “You go back to sleep. You’re going to need it; Peanut will flat wear you out today.”

  His hand finds mine in the dark, and he tugs. I step over and bend for his sleepy-but-oh-so-sexy kiss. It makes me want to shuck my clothes and snuggle back into bed. And him.

  “You have a good day today.”

  “It’ll be crazy. I’ll stop at O’Grady’s for milk and stuff on the way home, but I’ll bring dinner from the café, so we don’t have to worry about cooking. Don’t forget, Sawyer doesn’t step foot out of the playpen unless you take her outside.” I let go of his hand.

  “K.” His slur tells me he’s already on his way back to dreamland. “Love you.”

  I freeze, rocked by waves of shock, and a roller-coaster dip of apprehension.

  A soft snore comes from the dark.

  Is that old wives’ tale true, that you don’t lie, talking in your sleep? I’m so not ready for this. I’ve just admitted boyfriend to myself…but love? Nuh-uh. Not ready.

  I’m going to try to forget he said that.