“Morning, sweet pea,” she said and walked over to kiss the top of his head.
She inhaled, then followed her nose around the island.
“Good morning,” she said.
Wyatt glanced up from the stove top. “Morning. Sleep okay?”
“Mmm, great. Best sleep I’ve had in a long time. Thank you for putting both of us up.” Scanning the room again, she said, “I hadn’t noticed last night what a big cabin this is. Does someone else live here with you?”
“Nope. I picked this one for the view...and the kitchen.”
She inhaled again. “Whatever you’re cooking smells amazing. I mean, that sandwich last night was fabulous—much more than just turkey slapped on two pieces of bread. Did you take cooking lessons somewhere?”
He shrugged. “I picked it up here and there. Coffee’s on the counter,” he said, gesturing with a spatula.
She turned around and saw a blue stoneware mug sitting next to a coffeepot on the granite countertop. After filling her cup, she took a sip, and her eyes popped open. “This is the best coffee I’ve ever had.”
“Even in New York?”
She took another sip. “Surprisingly, yes. Even in New York.”
He didn’t respond to her, but as he reached for a plate, she could have sworn there was a grin on his full, sexy lips.
“What’s your secret?”
He shook his head. “Can’t tell you,” he said, making his voice low and mysterious. He jerked his chin at the table. “Grab a seat. Breakfast is ready.”
She sat at the round wood table, and he followed her, setting a plate brimming with food in front of her and a smaller portion in front of Johnny. Eggs, hash browns, biscuits and gravy, bacon.
“Do you eat this way every day?”
“Nah.”
“So you did this just for us?”
He shrugged. “Dig in before it gets cold.” He brought another plate to the table and sat down with them.
She dug in to the biscuits and gravy, and it was heaven. “I’m going to go home with forty extra pounds,” she said and took another bite.
“Mommy, we’re not leaving now, are we?” Johnny asked, a frown marring his normally cherubic face.
“Not yet. We still have a while yet. Do you like it here on the ranch?”
“I love it. I want to be a cowboy when I grow up.”
Wyatt grinned, and ruffled his hair. “You’d be a great cowboy.”
Johnny beamed at him, and she was a bit disconcerted to see the hero worship shining in her son’s eyes as he looked at Wyatt.
Wyatt was great, but they’d be leaving soon. Johnny would return to life in New York—fewer cowboys, more being groomed to work at her father’s company someday. For some reason, that thought made her pause now. Would Johnny want that life, the way she had?
Wyatt leaned closer to Johnny. “And your mom here... I think her new name should be Frankie Wentworth, cow wrangler. You agree?”
Johnny laughed so hard he almost fell off the chair. “Yeah! Now she needs a badge with a big cow on it.”
Francine drained the last of her coffee and got up. “Need more coffee?” she asked, ignoring their laughter, and walked around the counter to the coffeepot. As she headed back to the table with the pot, her elbow hit a stack of books sitting on the end of the counter, and they fell to the floor. Papers scattered everywhere.
She set the pot on the counter and knelt down to pick everything up. She reached for one volume that appeared to be a textbook.
“Leave it. I’ll get it,” Wyatt said and brushed by her to pick up the books and papers.
The tone of his voice surprised her, and she moved out of his way. “I’m sorry, Wyatt.”
“No big deal,” he said, but he shoved everything in a kitchen cabinet. He turned to face her and checked his watch. “Don’t mean to rush you, but I need to head out and get the workday started.”
“We’ll get out of your way.” She packed up the items Johnny had taken out of his backpack.
“I’ll drop you off at the lodge on my way out.” Wyatt walked to a cabinet and pulled out a travel mug emblazoned with the Sullivan Ranch logo, then filled it with what remained in the coffeepot. “Take this with you,” he said and handed it to her.
“That’s not necessary.”
“It’ll just get poured out otherwise.”
“Can I go to work with you today, Mr. Wyatt?” Johnny asked.
Wyatt ruffled Johnny’s hair. “Not today, pal. I’ve got a boring meeting with my dad and brothers, then have a day full of even more boring chores.”
“Oh,” Johnny said and looked down at his boots.
The mama bear in her crawled up her throat. It was one thing to brush her off—quite another to hurt her son, especially when he’d initiated this bonding by continuing to invite Johnny out. For the first time ever, Johnny had reached out to someone other than herself. She opened her mouth to respond, then Wyatt surprised her by squatting down next to Johnny.
“If you and your mom don’t have plans tonight, you should go to the bonfire.”
“What’s a bonfire?”
“We make a really big fire and toast marshmallows and make s’mores.”
“What’s a suhmore?”
Wyatt turned his head up and looked at her, then back at Johnny. “You’ve never had s’mores? They’re the best dessert ever invented. Graham crackers, marshmallows and chocolate, all smashed together. Sound good?”
Johnny scuffed his boot along the wood floor. “Will you be there?”
“You bet I will. I have to teach you how to toast marshmallows, don’t I?”
Johnny grinned. “Yay!”
Wyatt stood up. “Then it’s a date.”
“Mind if I tag along on your date?” she asked.
“Sure thing,” Wyatt said.
They headed outside, got in his truck, and he pulled out onto the road lined with trees full of gold, red and orange fall leaves. As they neared the lodge, the pink sports car she’d seen the other morning headed toward them. Wyatt raised his fingers off the steering wheel and waved at the driver. The car sped past them, toward the cabins scattered around the lake.
They reached the lodge, and Wyatt pulled in to the circular driveway in front of the main doors. He got out and opened the passenger door for her and Johnny. “Well, see you tonight.”
“Thanks for putting us up, and for making us breakfast,” she said, brushing a hand on his arm when he started to walk away.
“Anytime,” he said, then rounded the truck.
She and Johnny walked up the few steps to the lodge, but something made her pause and turn around. Wyatt slammed his door, then raced down the driveway and got on the road. Had she done something to offend him? She thought back over the morning. He’d seemed fine, up until she knocked the books off the counter, then he’d practically shut down.
Maybe it was something else.
She tamped down on her insecurities. Wyatt was nothing like her lying ex-husband.
Right?
* * *
FRANCINE HUFFED OUT a breath. The last thing she wanted right now was to be around a lot of people, especially since most of the guests at the ranch were her coworkers. The meetings that day had not gone well, and more than one angry voice had been raised in discussions, especially her father’s.
But she couldn’t let Johnny down, not when he’d been especially good about staying at day care and not sneaking out. She’d ordered room service for their dinner to give her some space, and now it was time for the bonfire.
Bundled up in sweaters and coats, they made their way to the gathering. The big fire was already going, snapping and crackling against the cool night. She stopped at the edge of the patio and looked around for open seats. Someone waved to her, and she realized it was Kelsey. Taking Johnny
’s hand, she walked with him over to say hello.
“Hi, Francine. Hey, Johnny. You want to join us?” Kelsey asked.
“We’d love to, thanks.” Francine got them settled, then looked around for Wyatt. Nowhere to be found.
Kelsey leaned closer to her. “Looking for someone?”
Embarrassed, and feeling like a fifteen-year-old looking around for the captain of the football team, she shook her head.
“He’s on bonfire duty.”
“Who is?” Francine asked.
“Weren’t you looking for Wyatt?”
“He—uh—he promised Johnny he’d show us how to toast marshmallows.”
Kelsey grinned and nodded. “Sure.”
Francine’s cheeks heated, and she was grateful for the fire to blame it on.
Kelsey’s daughter, Maddy, jumped up and stood in front of Johnny. “You need a s’more bag. Come on. Race ya!” She and Johnny took off for one of the tables at the edge of the patio.
“The kids are all having a sleepover tomorrow night. Think Johnny would want to join them?” Kelsey asked.
“A sleepover? Where will it be?” Francine asked, then chewed on the inside of her cheek. Johnny hadn’t ever slept over at anyone’s house.
“It’ll be at our cabin, with Maddy, Kade’s son, Toby, and the triples. We’ll play games, pop some popcorn, maybe watch movies.”
“Who or what are the triples?”
Kelsey laughed. “That’s what Toby called Hunter’s triplets when they were born, and it kind of stuck. What do you think about the sleepover?”
“It’s so nice of you to ask. I’m fine with it, if Johnny wants to.”
Johnny and Maddy ran back to them, holding little paper sacks. “Mommy! Can I go to Maddy’s tomorrow night?” He was all but jumping up and down, waiting for her to answer.
She looked at Kelsey. “I guess there’s your answer.” She pulled her son back down onto the bench. “You’ll all have so much fun.” He was growing up so fast, and now he actually wanted to go play with other kids.
Snuggling him close, trying to hold on to her baby just a little longer, she looked around the bonfire. Last night was about mixing and mingling. Tonight was about families sitting together, toasting marshmallows. It was times like this, seeing other families—whole families—that hurt her heart. Johnny was growing up without a father, since her ex was an SOB who never paid attention to him. Her own mother had left her and her father behind long ago, so she knew what it was like to be missing a parent. Even now, it was rare for Francine to get a Christmas or birthday card from her mother.
“Mommy, do all daddies know how to make suhmores?”
She looked down at him as he stared around at the groups of families. “I don’t know, sweetie.”
“I guess that’s why I don’t know how to make them,” he said, his voice quiet.
And right there, she wanted to bawl. He didn’t mention his father very often. Knew somehow, instinctively, that his father wasn’t interested in being a dad. The selfish, son of a bitch weasel.
As good as she was at her job, she felt like a complete failure when it came to family dynamics.
“There’s my cowboy.” Wyatt’s voice drifted down, and he sat in the open spot next to them. “Did you eat all the s’mores without me?”
Johnny laughed, but she’d caught a sheen of tears in her baby’s eyes. “Naw. We got stuff right here,” Johnny said and held up the paper bags.
Wyatt handed them each a stick and showed them how to put marshmallows on the ends. “Now you hold it close to the fire. But not too close, or it’ll get all black and yucky.”
“Like the cookies Mommy made?”
“Hey, that was supposed to be a secret,” she said and tickled Johnny until he giggled.
Wyatt’s laugh rumbled, and he smoothed a hand over Johnny’s head. No one else had ever gotten her son to open up socially like Wyatt had.
For just one second, she imagined them as a family, like Johnny had said. The three of them.
No. It could never happen.
Could it?
Chapter Eight
The next evening, Wyatt opened the door to his dad’s office. His brothers had beaten him there, and their dad sat behind the huge mahogany desk that he called his command center.
Sure, where he sits and commands everyone and everything.
“Boys, thanks for coming up here so late. I know you want to get home after a long day.”
All Wyatt had wanted after work was to go back to his place and spend the evening with a beer and a ball game. Kade’s text about the meeting had shot that idea to hell.
“We need to decide what to do about finding a foreman replacement for Shorty. He and his wife will be leaving before too long.”
Wyatt leaned against the table by the wall, kept quiet. He wanted that job but knew Pop would never even give him a chance.
His brothers all looked at each other and nodded.
“We all agree who it should be. Shorty’s already given his blessing, too. Don’t have to place an ad or anything. He’ll be great at the job,” Nash said.
“Who?” Angus asked.
“Wyatt,” Nash said.
Wyatt whipped his head sideways to look at Nash. His brothers all thought he should get the job?
“Why him?” Angus asked.
Wyatt’s pulse sped up, and his muscles tightened, dread churning a hole in his gut.
“Who do you think stepped in, picked up the majority of the load the last few months, what with Shorty getting ready to leave?” Kade asked.
Pop looked at Wyatt, a scowl on his face. “You want this job?”
“Yes.”
“What makes you think you’re qualified?”
“I know this place inside and out. I know what needs to be done. I know the land.”
Angus leaned back in his chair, studied him. “How do I know you won’t get mad and quit, hightail it outta here again?”
“This is my home,” Wyatt said.
“And all you boys agree about this?” He looked at Nash, Kade, Hunter and Luke in turn as each nodded. “Clear out. I want to talk to Wyatt.”
His brothers all filed out, and Hunter knuckle bumped him in support. Wyatt moved forward and sat in the chair across from his dad.
“I want to know up front if you think you can do this job.”
“I’ve been doing it the last several months.”
“I know physically you can do it. There’s also a lot of paperwork to being a foreman. Hiring hands, payroll, scheduling, arranging cattle drives. I want Hunter to set up databases for the breeding programs, both cattle and horse. Foreman will have to manage it, keep it updated.”
Wyatt’s hands clenched around the arms of his chair. It wouldn’t do any good to blow his top now. He knew where this was going.
“You still have trouble reading, son?”
“Yeah, I’m still dyslexic. Not something you grow out of. But it is something you can learn to live with, compensate for. No one listened when I was young and having trouble. Now I can do something about it.”
Pop’s eyebrows shot up.
“At least now I can put a name to it.”
Angus leaned back and steepled his fingers together. “That’s good. I gotta tell you that most of the foremen around the neighboring ranches have college degrees, or at least a two-year associate’s degree. You need to earn this job. I won’t just give it to you because you’re my son.”
Wyatt took a breath, forced himself not to lose his temper. “I plan on getting my GED. Been studying.” He stood, started to walk to the door, stopped. “One thing at a time, Pop. I want this job.”
“Are you going to get in trouble again?”
Wyatt closed his eyes, the crushing weight of his pop’s disappointment a palpable
presence in the room.
“Have you seen me get into trouble lately?”
“Trouble has either followed you around, or you led the rebellion, since you were a kid.”
“Well, I’m not a kid anymore. I had to grow up fast, take care of myself. I don’t want trouble. I’ve turned my life around, and it’s time you realized it.”
“Time will tell,” Pop said.
Wyatt turned and walked out, forcing himself to not slam the door. It could have gone better, could have gone worse. As his dad said, time would tell, and no one could make up Pop’s mind but him.
He left the lodge and headed toward the barn to get his motorcycle and go home. Raised voices in the evening shadows made his steps slow. Frankie and her father.
“Francine, you’re spending way too much time with that ranch hand and not enough time working,” Wentworth said.
“That’s not true, and you know it. I put in longer hours than anyone else on this team. And he’s not a ranch hand.”
“What about two days ago? You and John Allen went off riding horses and chasing cows. That’s beneath you. And then you spent the night at his cabin?”
“That’s none of your business—”
“None of my business? People are talking, Francine. You’re a Wentworth, and so is your son, and I won’t have anyone muddying your name or position. The team needs to respect their VPs if this merger is going to be a success.”
“I’ve earned that EVP title, you know I have,” Frankie said quietly. “And we didn’t spend the night as you’re implying. He was watching Johnny for me, I went to pick him up and fell asleep—”
“He’s not the right man for you. He’ll end up hurting you and John Allen.”
Wyatt’s whole body stiffened, and an intense heat flashed through his chest. He had to get out of there before he punched Wentworth in his shiny silver Colonel Sanders beard. He almost ran down the path, but he kicked a stray rock and it clanged against one of the metal railings.
“Who’s there?” Wentworth demanded.
“Wyatt? Is that you? Wait!” Frankie said, her voice getting fainter the faster he walked.
The barn in sight, he headed straight for his motorcycle and got on. He kick-started it, deciding he needed a long ride to cool off. First his pop had no faith in him, now Wentworth was sure he’d hurt his daughter. He’d had enough of fathers who ruled anyone and everyone with an iron fist.
Falling for the Rebel Cowboy Page 8