by S. M. Butler
“Bullshit. I don’t want anyone’s pity.” He opened his door and got out, then planted his cane firmly on the uneven ground. Hell, more stairs—a whole bunch of them—led up to the front door.
Mason came to stand beside him. “I’m not talking about pity. I’m talking about women being crazy for Navy SEALs.”
“Ex-Navy SEALs.”
“Holy hell, man, you are dead set on feeling sorry for yourself, aren’t you?”
Stung, Ben turned to face him. “Wouldn’t you in my place?”
“Maybe. But then I’d get on with living. Lots of people have bigger problems than you.” Mason grinned suddenly. “I know what you need—a little motivation.”
“Spare me.”
“No, I learned from the best. What would my aunt Heloise do?” He stroked his chin.
“This oughtta be good,” Dan said.
“Don’t even go there.” Ben had heard all about Aunt Heloise. The woman had put Mason and his brothers through the wringer when she designated them heirs to this ranch, if and only if they all married and one of them had a child within the year. They’d pulled it off—but not before they had come close to losing it all. The way that woman got Mason and his brothers to dance to her tune was nothing short of ridiculous. He didn’t want anyone calling the shots with him like that.
“What is it I have that you want?” Mason mused. He brightened. “I know. My 1851 Colt Navy revolver.”
Ben straightened. “Are you kidding?” He’d collected historical firearms since he was a teenager and the revolver Mason had mentioned was one he’d long wanted to get his hands on. “Is it a replica?”
“Hell, no.” Mason looked offended. “It’s the real deal. My Dad picked it up at a gun show in Texas, but later he inherited a similar one that was used by a family member in the Civil War, so if you want it, it’s yours—if you ask a pretty girl to the Harvest Dance on Saturday night.”
“Do I just have to ask, or does she have to say yes?”
Dan laughed and Mason chuckled along with him. “She has to say yes and you have to dance with her through at least one song.”
“You’re a cruel man, Mason Hall.” Ben turned and walked to the stairs. Resigned, he used the rail to haul himself up them one by one. When Dan moved to his side and offered an arm, Ben shrugged him off. “I’ll do it myself.”
“That’s the spirit. You’ll win that revolver before you know it.” Dan jumped out of the way when Ben elbowed him.
“Quit that Pollyanna tripe.”
“Then quit your whining.”
It was perfect. Caitlyn Cross held up the dress she’d dreamed of finding ever since she’d bought her new pair of cowboy boots. She’d already worn them in to just the right state. Too scuffed up to be brand new, not scuffed enough to be consigned to cleaning stalls. Paired with her cropped jean jacket, she’d look smoking hot—
Or she would if she ever left the house in it.
A squawk from Lottie reminded her she’d better not dawdle long. She’d come to Willow’s to buy a new pair of jeans, not a pretty dress. She had no occasion to gussy up these days, and if she felt a pang for the times when she used to run out to the Dancing Boot on a Friday night, it was her own fault she was in this predicament. She’d let her guard down, had a one night stand with a man who’d left town before the sun even came up, and now she’d spend the next eighteen years raising her daughter alone.
Laughter caught her attention as she bent to check on Lottie, but the baby had already settled herself back to sleep in her car seat carrier. Caitlyn lugged her over to the next rack which was filled with jeans and looked for a couple of pairs to try on, trying not to let her gaze stray to the two young women looking at jewelry on the far side of the store.
“…still hasn’t told anyone who the father is,” she heard Lilian Frank say.
“Maybe she doesn’t know who he is.” That was Brittany Wallace.
They were talking about her. Gossiping about her. It hurt, even though she told herself to ignore it. She’d never been friends with either of them, so maybe she should have expected it, but she didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. She hadn’t slept around; she’d just lost her head once. Both she and Lottie would pay for it for a long time.
“Want me to start a fitting room for you?”
Caitlyn handed over the pairs of jeans she’d found to Storm Hall, who owned the store. With her waist-length blond hair and penchant for sarongs and halter tops, the California native always seemed out of place in Chance Creek, but the women in town were in her debt for offering them a new venue for shopping. “Thanks.”
“I saw you looking at this dress. Isn’t it cute? Why don’t you try it on, too?” She lifted the pretty garment from the rack and held it out.
“I don’t have anywhere to wear it.” But Storm had already added it to the pile and Caitlyn followed her to the fitting rooms, carrying Lottie’s car seat along with her.
“Let me keep an eye on Lottie. You go try things on.” Storm held out her hand and Caitlyn passed her the car seat.
“Thanks.” She appreciated the chance to change without fear of bumping Lottie’s seat and waking her up. She hurried, though, afraid to take up too much of Storm’s time. She didn’t know the woman well, and while she’d always been friendly, she did have other customers to wait on. Including Lilian and Brittany.
She tried on the jeans first, and was relieved when one pair fit like they were made for her. She’d been lucky with her figure, which thankfully bounced back after she’d given birth to Lottie, and she liked her thick chestnut brown hair, too, although these days she never had time to do more than shove it up into ponytails and messy buns. She was less fond of her face. Wide set eyes made her look too innocent and her smile always seemed crooked to her. She wouldn’t have minded a more patrician nose, either, but like her mother said, the one she had got the job done.
Satisfied with her choice, she tried on the dress next. As soon as she pulled it over her head, she knew it had been a mistake to let Storm hang it in the fitting room. It was perfect, as she’d known it would be. As she twisted and turned to take in her reflection from all angles, she swallowed the resentment that rose within her. It wasn’t fair that Lottie’s father got off scot free while she raised her daughter alone. She wouldn’t give up Lottie for the world—it was just so lonely sometimes.
“Come out and let me see that dress,” Storm said.
“Okay.” She bit back a sigh and opened the door.
“Wow! That looks fantastic on you. Look at your legs—they’re a mile long!”
Caitlyn grew aware of Lilian and Brittany’s silence and realized they were looking at her too. Brittany leaned over and whispered into Lilian’s ear. Lilian tittered.
Caitlyn’s face grew warm. To hell with them. They were too bored with their own lives to do anything but pick on her. She was allowed to have something pretty even if she’d made a mistake once. A mistake that had brought the most precious thing she’d ever known into her life. “I’ll take it.”
“Good! Get changed and I’ll ring you up.”
Caitlyn’s defiant mood lasted long enough to get her out the door, but once she was back in her second-hand Chevy Geo, her bravado deflated. What good was a dress that would sit forever in her closet?
No matter how pretty she was, no man would look at her now.
Chapter Two
‡
“Take Aaron for a second, would you?”
Ben gripped the squirming bundle Mason suddenly thrust into his arms and held it at arm’s length. “What am I supposed to do with him?”
“Hold him!” Mason’s frustration was evident and Ben knew why. The tractor he was supposed to use for the morning’s chore had quit working, and his wife, Regan, had passed him the baby just moments ago on her way to a dentist appointment.
“Ella will come get him as soon as she’s got Michael down for a nap,” she said. “Aaron isn’t ready to sleep yet. I’m sorry, but I’ve got t
o run.”
As far as Ben could tell, Mason was always pleased to hold his seven-month-old son, but time was passing and chores needed to be done. Ben had already found that he was just as inept at helping with the ranch work as he was at everything else these days. His first twenty-four hours at Crescent Hall had been a comedy of errors. He’d knocked over a dining room chair on his way to dinner last night, dropped a plate full of eggs and bacon this morning as he tried to carry it from the kitchen to the table, and had nearly taken a header on the uneven path between the house and the barn. He hoped like hell he could keep from dropping the baby. Ben propped Aaron against his shoulder awkwardly, unsure how to do it right. Aaron snuffled against his shoulder as if searching for something.
“I don’t have anything for you, little man,” Ben informed him. “You’ll have to wait for your mama. Or for Ella, at least.”
“Keep moving,” Mason instructed as he bent over the tractor’s engine again. “Babies are like sharks. They don’t like to sit still.”
Ben cocked his head and examined Aaron’s nearly toothless mouth. Some shark. But when Aaron let out an unhappy burble he took Mason’s advice and began to pace. Slowly. Holding the baby made him feel clumsier than ever, but he did his best to tamp down his self-pity. He was a warrior and he’d fought through lots of tough circumstances. Surely he could overcome this damn limp, too.
“When are you going to get started finding your date for the Harvest Dance?” Mason asked.
“You got some single women stashed around the ranch?”
“Afraid I don’t. If I ever get this tractor fixed, I’ll take you into town and introduce you around.”
“I could always skip the dance.”
Mason looked up. “And miss out on that revolver? Absolutely not. You’re here for a crash course on surviving civilian life. All of us men here at Crescent Hall have made the transition and you can too. Participation is the first step.”
“None of you came home injured.” Ben jiggled the baby, who was gnawing on his shoulder.
“Not in our bodies, maybe, but we carried some scars, believe me. And we had to marry before a deadline.”
Aaron waved a hand and smacked Ben in the face. His tiny fingers curled around Ben’s nose. Ben peeled the little hand away and blew a raspberry on Aaron’s round tummy. The baby squealed and laughed.
Mason smiled indulgently. “He likes that.”
Proud to have accomplished such a thing, Ben forgot his troubles for a moment. “I guess I’ll find me that date.” He could stand one evening with a stranger in order to earn that firearm. He might not be able to dance very well—and his partner had better understand that up front—but he could shoot. It was a connection to his military life he didn’t intend to give up.
“You’ve got three days.”
“If there’s one thing I know how to do,” Ben said, “it’s lay a trap. Right Aaron?” He blew another raspberry on the baby’s tummy. Aaron shrieked and laughed in agreement.
Dan walked into the barn, spotted them and made his way over. “Thought I might find you here. Can you help me out later today, Ben?”
“Sure. Don’t know what I can do that you couldn’t do better yourself, though.”
He didn’t like the look the other two men exchanged. He knew without being told his attitude sucked. SEALs didn’t whine and they didn’t put themselves down, either. Still, every time he opened his mouth negativity spilled out.
“No one beats you when it comes to shooting. I want you to help me design a program for the camp. Something that goes beyond target practice to really hone the participants’ skills. Let’s meet up after lunch.” He didn’t wait around for an answer.
Ben watched him stride out the door, envying him that freedom of movement. He wondered if he’d ever get used to his new limitations and for the twentieth time that day promised himself to stop obsessing about his injury.
“Set Aaron down for a second and help me with this, would you?” Mason said. He was elbow deep in the innards of the tractor. Ben shrugged off his light jacket, laid it out on the dirt floor and set Aaron down gently on it.
“Stay right there,” he warned the tiny boy. Aaron cooed at him and grabbed at the coat. Hurrying to Mason, Ben kept an eye on the baby. He’d seen Aaron crawl and knew the tot could move like lightning when he put his mind to it.
“Hold that,” Mason instructed.
Ben did what he was told and together they managed to undo a particularly stubborn bolt. Mason dug deeper into tractor’s movable parts while Ben straightened. He glanced over his shoulder at where he’d left the boy.
“Shit!”
Mason’s ratchet hit the ground with a clang as Ben launched himself to stop Aaron from grabbing hold of a scythe that leaned in one corner of the large, dusty room. He’d known Aaron was fast, but he hadn’t thought he could cross the barn in such a short time. Ben landed hard on his side in reach of the baby and was able to lift Aaron up and away from the blade of the scythe before he could touch the sharp instrumen. Mason joined him a second later and scooped his son into his arms. As Ben pushed himself up to a sitting position, Mason hurried to fetch his cane and hand it to him. Ben struggled to stand. In the end he needed Mason’s arm to get upright.
“You got him just in time.”
“Shouldn’t have put him down in the first place,” Ben said.
“That’s my fault, not yours.” Mason jiggled the baby in his arms, inspecting his hands to make sure they hadn’t been cut. “That was close.”
“All’s well that ends well.” Ben dusted off his jeans. Mason was right; he’d prevented Aaron from getting hurt, but only because he’d gotten lucky. If his initial lunge hadn’t carried him far enough, he couldn’t have gotten to his feet again and run for it. He hated to think what the consequences might have been.
“I told you already; I’m not going to that stupid dance.” Caitlyn passed a wedding gown to her aunt.
“It’s not a stupid dance. It’s a Chance Creek tradition.” Ellie took the gown from her hands, fluffed it out and hung it from a metal rack. She used the steamer to rid it of wrinkles while Caitlyn paced up and down the small room.
“Whatever it is, I’m not interested.”
“You’re never interested in social events. I can’t understand it.”
“I had enough of that kind of torture back in high school, thank you very much.” Ellie would understand it if she could have heard Lilian and Brittany earlier. They were years out of school, but sometimes Caitlyn felt as if nothing had changed. Gossip was a currency in this small town and even though Lottie was six months old, her single-mother story was still headline news.
“If you had a boyfriend you’d feel differently.”
Caitlyn stifled the urge to run right out of the bridal store. When Ellie had offered her an assistant manager position in her boutique she’d accepted it gladly as a chance to put her business school education to the test. What other job could she get when everyone in town knew she had an infant at home and no one to help her? At the few interviews she’d managed to score, the issue of Lottie always came up. Did Caitlyn have daycare arranged? What if her provider was sick? What if Caitlyn was sick? Her would-be employers made it clear they assumed she’d miss too many days. By the time Ellie made her offer, Caitlyn had been desperate. She was prepared to help Ellie in all aspects of the job, but so far that work had been limited to steaming garments, ringing up sales and exclaiming over brides-to-be.
“You know why I don’t have a boyfriend.” Wasn’t a baby enough? She didn’t have the time or the inclination to date, no matter what Ellie thought. When she’d found herself pregnant she’d known the road ahead of her wouldn’t be easy, but from the day she’d read the home pregnancy test results she’d wanted nothing more than to have her child.
She and Lottie were a team and she was happy. Mostly.
Actually, she was lonely too. Sometimes when she held Lottie, she wished someone would hold her, too. When Lottie d
id something amazing, she longed to turn to someone and share the fun. And late at night, as tired as she was after a day of work and a night with her baby, she couldn’t help wishing she had a husband to share her bed. But what man would want to be saddled with a baby that wasn’t his?
“Lots of single mothers date,” Ellie said, as if reading her mind. She hung up the first dress and reached for another. “Hand me that, would you?”
Caitlyn did so. “Maybe. When their children are older.”
“Motherhood is sexy.”
“Ellie!”
“It is. Next time you push Lottie down the street in her stroller, take a look around you. I’ll bet you see someone looking back.”
Sure she would; some nice octogenarian who missed his grandkids, probably.
“I’m not going to the dance. That’s final.”
Ellie sighed again. “Then when will I get to help you pick out your wedding dress?”
At this rate? Never, Caitlyn thought.
Chapter Three
‡
“I’ll pick up the parts I need. You go grab us some burgers at the Shack. I told Dan I’d have you back to the ranch by two.” Mason headed off down the sidewalk leaving Ben to enter the local fast food joint near where they’d parked. Just past noon, the Burger Shack was full and he saw he’d have to wait in line. His foot already ached from standing all morning while Mason struggled to fix the tractor. Then he’d jerked his sore ankle when he’d dived across the barn to save Aaron from the scythe. Now he’d need to stand some more. Once again he pushed down his impatience. He’d been through worse during his time with the SEALs. Besides, waiting in line gave him time to scope out the crowd for a potential date. He wanted that revolver and he’d risk rejection for the chance to acquire it.
Chance Creek was growing on him and the Burger Shack illustrated what he liked about it most—the sense of community he saw everywhere. Customers chatted away in line and the counter personnel greeted most of them by name. Laughter erupted from the tables behind him from time to time, and children raced around freely. Ahead of him, a matronly lady with white hair held a baby to her shoulder. The child’s wide eyes gazed at him unblinkingly, reminding him of Aaron back at the ranch, who had now been safely restored to Regan. This baby was decidedly female, however, in her pink outfit. Even her tiny features were feminine.