Cowboy Courage

by Carolyn Brown

  “I reckon I can take care of that, but it would be nice if you’d hold the door for me,” he said.

  “See there. You asked for help, and it didn’t kill you.” She smiled over her shoulder at him.

  “If I was home out in the eastern part of the state, my grandmother would tell me to suck it up and go to work,” he said as he bent his leg at the knee and managed to get his coat on, then slipped the crutches under his arms.

  The evening feeding chores didn’t take long, and riding kept Waylon awake for a couple of hours, but Shiloh could tell that he was worn-out when they got back to the house.

  “Hey, it’s only six more hours until you don’t have to wake up every single hour. At midnight you can go to sleep for a while,” she told him.

  “I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.” He removed his coat and tossed it on the back of a kitchen chair. “Every bone and muscle in my body feels like they’ve been stomped on by a two-ton bull.”

  “Well, what do you expect?” Shiloh asked him. “You were in a wreck. When you hit that tree, it jarred everything. Doc says you can take the boot off for a shower, but you aren’t to put weight on your foot. Probably the best thing you could do is take a kitchen chair into the shower with you and prop your knee on it.”

  “Reckon you could do that for me?” he asked.

  “Sure.” She nodded.

  The chair took up a lot of room in the stall, but there was still room for Waylon, and it would give him stability.

  “You ever do nursing work?” He followed her into the bathroom.

  “Nope, but my aunt broke a couple of toes once, and mama came up with this idea so she could take showers,” Shiloh replied as she backed out of the bathroom.

  The house was small—living room and country kitchen taking up the right half of the place, a short hallway with two bedrooms and a bathroom on the other side. The doors to both bedrooms were open wide. One was empty except for a full bookcase on one wall and a leather recliner that looked like it had been around for years. The other was Waylon’s bedroom—nightstands on either side of a king-size bed that was made up so tight that she could probably have bounced a quarter on it. A tall chest of drawers with a mirror above it was set against one wall and a dresser against the other.

  She shouldn’t go into his private space without an invitation, but she did anyway. She picked up a picture from the nightstand and stared at the six people in it. Waylon shared center stage with a tall woman who had to be one of his sisters. Two more girls were beside the lady, and two cowboys beside Waylon. They all wore jeans, western shirts, boots, and hats.

  “This would make a great poster to hang in a western-wear store.” She yawned.

  The bed looked inviting after she’d caught only a few minutes of sleep between the times when she had to be sure Waylon was all right. It wouldn’t hurt to stretch out on it while he was in the shower, would it? Just a thirty-minute power nap would absolutely give her the energy to make it to midnight, and then she could get some real sleep.

  She eased down on the bed and bit back a groan. Waylon was obviously aching from the wreck, but her muscles were tense from worry and having no good rest for more than a day. She wiggled a little and closed her eyes—just for a minute. She’d be out of the bed and in the living room before he got through with his shower.

  Chapter Four

  A small night-light and what was left of a half moon lit up the room enough that Shiloh could see she’d slept more than a few minutes. She glanced over at the digital clock on the nightstand to see that it was eleven o’clock, and then she flipped over to find Waylon propped up on an elbow staring right at her. She was covered with a fluffy blanket that was warm and soft.

  “What’s your name? Are you lucid? Can you say the alphabet backward?” he asked.

  “Oh, hush!” she said. “Some caretaker I am.”

  “I haven’t been asleep yet, so there’s no problem,” he told her. “It’s close enough to twenty-four hours that I believe we can both forget about that every-hour stuff. Good night, Shiloh.”

  “Good night.” She slid off the bed.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To the sofa,” she told him.

  “Why? This bed is big enough for us both, and believe me, honey, I’m way too sore to make a move on you,” he assured her.

  The pesky voice in her head told her to get her butt to the sofa. Her body said that the bed was so much more comfortable and plenty big enough that she and Waylon would never even touch each other.

  She stretched out again and pulled the throw up to her chin. “Thank you,” she muttered as her eyes fluttered shut.

  When she awoke again, Waylon was snuggled up to her, his chest against her back and one arm wrapped around her waist. They were wrapped up in the cover like they were in a cocoon. The sun was up and she could hear the cattle bellowing.

  “Good morning.” Waylon’s warm breath on her neck sent shivers down her spine.

  No, no, no! she scolded herself. She had her life planned out for the next nine months. She had never started anything that she didn’t intend to finish. Even the two relationships she’d been in before she moved to the canyon—she’d fully well meant for each of those to last forever, and ever, amen. The men had been the ones to break things off. One had broken up with her because he’d slept with her best friend—she mourned the loss of her friend more than her boyfriend. The second one was in the air force and got sent to Germany. The long-distance relationship didn’t survive after the first two months.

  “I’ve made it through twenty-four hours. I’m a big boy. I can take a shower all by myself and cook, so you can go home,” he said as he rolled over, got out of bed, and reached for his crutches.

  She slid off the opposite side of the bed. “And who is going to drive for you? The doctor says you’re not to get behind the wheel until he sees you next Friday. This is Monday. You think those cows out there are going to live without food all week. And there’s the chickens and the hogs too. I suppose they can fast until the weekend.”

  “You sure are bossy,” he muttered.

  “Maybe so, but I’m not going home. I’m going to get a shower, make breakfast, and then we’ll do the chores. After that, I expect you’ll be ready to rest a spell,” she said as she left the room.

  “It’s going to be a nice day. I thought I’d repair some fence.” He raised his voice.

  “Don’t make me cranky this early in the morning.” She went to the living room and rolled her suitcase down the hall.

  “How about going out to the barn and cleaning the tack room?” His deep voice carried into the bathroom.

  She cracked the door and said, “That might be doable but only if you don’t try to do any heavy lifting. Doctor’s orders, not mine.”

  She adjusted the water, stripped out of her clothing, and stepped into the shower stall. For a few minutes she just let the warm water beat out the tension from between her shoulders.

  Why are you here? Why didn’t you just call one of his brothers to come help out? She wished she could wash the thoughts from her head as easily as she rinsed the shampoo from her hair.

  I want to know him better, and this is one good way to get to do that, she argued as she turned off the water.

  You’ve met dozens of cowboys in the past three months. What makes Waylon so special? The pesky voice in her head wasn’t ready to give up the fight.

  Shiloh wrapped a towel around her body and one around her head. She unzipped her suitcase and pulled out a pair of faded jeans, a T-shirt, and clean underwear. Six months ago Shiloh hadn’t even known she had siblings, and now her baby sister knew her well enough to know what to pack for her.

  That question about Waylon being special stuck in her mind as she towel-dried her hair and then pulled it up into a ponytail while it was still damp. She stared at her reflection in the mirror above the sink, and said, “I’m attracted to him because he’s handsome and sexy and has a deep Texas d
rawl. But more than that, it’s his brooding eyes that mesmerize me. To top it all off, he’s kind and sweet and he listens to me when I talk. So there, are you satisfied?”

  Her phone rang and startled her so badly that she dropped her hairbrush. She dug the phone from the pocket of her jeans that were on the floor and answered without even looking at the caller ID.

  “Hey, how’s things going over there?” Bonnie asked.

  “The patient is restless,” Shiloh told her.

  “Has he said more than a dozen words?”

  “Maybe a few more than that.” Shiloh used her free hand to rearrange her suitcase as she talked. “It’s going to be a tough job to keep him from working all week.”

  “Bring him over here one evening, and we’ll have a game of poker,” Bonnie suggested. “I’m not used to rattling around in this place without you and Abby Joy. I’ll make finger foods, and—”

  “How about tonight?” Shiloh butted in.

  “Great!” Bonnie squealed. “Can you be here by six?”

  “You bet we can. Get your nickels and dimes ready. I’m going to wipe you out tonight,” Shiloh told her.

  “Yeah, but in a few months I’m going to get a hundred bucks and a bottle of good Kentucky bourbon, so I’ll get it all back,” Bonnie joked.

  “I didn’t catch the bouquet. You did,” Shiloh reminded her.

  “But Waylon got the garter, so—” Bonnie started.

  “I’m not going there,” Shiloh butted in for the second time. “See you this evening. I’d say that I’d bring the beer, but Waylon can’t drink until after the doctor releases him.”

  “Man, he’s really got it tough. Can’t drive or work. Can’t drink, and worst thing of all is living with you,” Bonnie said.

  “I’m hanging up now,” Shiloh heard Bonnie’s giggles as she ended the call.

  She rolled her suitcase out into the hallway and gathered up her towels as well as the ones that were in the hamper. She caught the first whiff of coffee as she headed toward the kitchen. When she got closer, she smelled bacon and was that cinnamon?

  Waylon had dragged a kitchen chair over to the stove to prop his knee on and was humming as he made bacon and French toast for breakfast. When she passed by him on the way to the utility room to put the towels in the washing machine, he looked up and gave her one of his rare smiles.

  “This chair idea works in lots of places,” he said.

  “If you had to be off it longer than a few days, they make a scooter just for that purpose.” She started the washing machine and returned to the kitchen.

  “If I had to live through more than a week of this, I’d be batshit crazy,” he muttered.

  “And here I thought we were getting along pretty good. I don’t usually sleep with a man on the first date,” she teased.

  “We haven’t been on a date, but when we do there won’t be much sleeping.” He winked at her.

  “Pretty confident there, are you?” She knew she shouldn’t flirt with him, but he started it with that wink.

  “You’ll have to wait and see.” He put the bacon on a paper towel to drain.

  “Does that mean you’re going to ask me on a date?” She brought down two plates and set the table.

  “Not in the kitchen with my leg propped on a chair. That’s about as romantic as asking you out when you’re hoisting twenty-five-pound bags of feed.” He handed her a plate of cinnamon toast to take to the table and reached for his crutches.

  Shiloh didn’t know if he was bullshittin’ her or if he was serious. She’d never dated a guy who thought that the mere act of asking her out required a romantic setting. She wasn’t sure how to respond so she just changed the subject.

  “Bonnie wants you and I to come over to our place tonight for a game of poker. You up for that?” she asked.

  “Yep.” He nodded as he maneuvered into a chair. “How high is the stakes?”

  “Quarter,” she answered. “Pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters, no folding money.”

  “Sounds like a high-roller game,” he chuckled.

  “Hey, now, last time Abby Joy, Bonnie, and I played, I walked away with twenty bucks.” She bowed her head.

  He said a quick prayer and then put half a dozen pieces of toast on his plate. “That would buy us a drink at the Sugar Shack on Friday night.”

  “Maybe, but that’s only if the doctor clears you to go,” she told him. “For him to do that, you have to follow orders all week.”

  Waylon shot a sideways look toward her.

  “Don’t be givin’ me that attitude. I didn’t write the orders. The doctor did, but honey”—she drew out the word to four or five syllables—“I will enforce them.”

  “You’re worse than a drill sergeant,” he grumbled.

  “I take it that you’d never ask a drill sergeant on a date?” She raised a dark eyebrow.

  “That depends,” he answered.

  “On what?”

  “On lots of things, but mainly if she had shown an interest in me.” He took a sip of coffee.

  “Oh, so you had a female drill sergeant?” She scraped half the bacon onto her plate.

  “Didn’t ever join the military. Went right into ranchin’ after high school,” he said. “When I asked that air force guy who came to our school about the drill sergeant, he couldn’t guarantee that I’d get a female one, so I wouldn’t join.”

  “And here all this time I thought you were shy, when in reality you’re just a smart-ass.” She pushed back her chair, went to the cabinet, and returned with the coffeepot. “I need a refill. You want a warm-up?”

  “Thank you.” He held up his cup. “If I was trying to pick you up in a bar, I’d have a comeback for what you just said.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She poured for both of them and returned the pot. “What would that be?”

  “Darlin’, just looking at you warms me up.”

  Shiloh had just taken a sip of coffee and spewed it all over the table. “That is the worse pickup line I’ve ever heard.”

  “Now you’ve hurt my feelings.” He narrowed his eyes at her, but they were twinkling. “And put coffee stains on my tablecloth, at the same time.”

  “I’ll get the stains out, and surely you’ve got better lines that that,” she told him.

  “That one never did work,” he admitted, “but I have a few that have netted me some good results in the past.” He held up a palm. “Don’t ask me to tell you. It’s fun talking to you, Shiloh, but I know the rules over on Malloy Ranch. I’d never, ever ask you out, at least not until the year is over.”

  “You do realize that makes it sound like you’re interested in doubling the size of your place,” she said.

  “Try tripling it, but, honey, I only want what I earn,” he told her.

  “Fair enough.” She nodded. “I never figured I’d be having this kind of conversation with you.”

  “Me, either”—he finished off his breakfast—“and we’ve been acquainted since the first of the year. Guess we just never had an opportunity to be alone.”

  Everything about the whole situation should have felt awkward, but it didn’t—at least not to Shiloh.

  Chapter Five

  Shiloh remembered that cold day of Ezra’s funeral. After the last hymn was sung, she’d driven her van back to the house. Abby Joy had stepped out of her vehicle with an aura of confidence surrounding her. She’d slung a duffel bag over her back and started toward the porch. Bonnie had opened the door of her rusted-out old pickup truck like she owned the world and dared anyone to even try to cross her. She’d lined up plastic grocery bags on her arm and marched across the yard. Shiloh had felt like she was the only chicken at a coyote convention when she unloaded the monogrammed luggage her mother had given her when she graduated from high school all those years ago, but she vowed that she wouldn’t let either of those women know that they intimidated her.

  “Where are we? I don’t recognize this place,” Waylon whispered.

  Her heart fell down
into her cowboy boots. He’d been doing so well, and he should know exactly where he was. He’d known Ezra well enough to come to the funeral. Surely he’d been at the Malloy Ranch at some time.

  “You don’t recognize this house? It’s Ezra’s place. It’s where Bonnie and I live, where Abby Joy lived until day before yesterday. Look again,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Who is Ezra?”

  “He’s my biological father. Little short guy with blue eyes and gray hair. He died and we buried him on New Year’s Day. Think hard”—she frowned—“you were at the funeral. You stood beside Cooper. You were wearing a black leather coat that came almost to your knees, and black cowboy boots. A cold wind was blowing, and each of us sisters put a daisy in the casket with Ezra. I never quite understood why, but Rusty told us to do it, so we did.”

  His brows drew down, as if he was trying to remember. “Ezra’s not dead. I saw him last week at the feed store. He said that he and Rusty were ready for the spring grass to get high enough to put the cattle on it.” He chuckled. “Ezra Malloy squeezes his pennies so tight that Lincoln squeals.”

  “Ezra has been dead for almost three months,” she assured him. “It’s not far back to the cemetery. Let’s drive back there to his grave site. Maybe that will jar your memory.”

  He raised his palm and laughed out loud. “My name is Waylon Stephens. I just punked Shiloh Malloy.”

  “You rascal!” She slapped him on the arm.

  He grabbed his arm and winced. “Ouch! You got me right on a big bruise from where the seat belt went across.”

  “I’m not sorry,” she declared. “You deserved that and more. I was about to take you to the emergency room.”

  “Well, darlin’, I’m not sorry I punked you, either. It was worth the pain just to see you get all worked up.” He opened the van door. “Guess I proved to you that I’ve got a poker face and you’d best be careful with your bets tonight.”