Courting the Cowboy

by Carolyne Aarsen

Once again Cord felt the guilt and grief that had haunted him since he walked away from the hospital holding his infant son, both of them helpless and alone.

  “I think Cord has been making the same mistake,” Boyce put in. “And now he can’t find a nanny.”

  Hope sat there looking confused. “I thought Ella was the nanny.”

  “No. I rent the cabin across the yard,” Ella said. “I’m working on some new projects. Or trying to.”

  “I see.” Hope frowned, trying to figure out what was going on.

  “She’s helping the kids with their posters for the rodeo contest,” Cord said, rescuing Ella from potential embarrassment. “Paul, why don’t you tell Grammie and Grampie about your posters.”

  He and Suzy were only too happy to talk about them and explain what they were doing, deflecting Hope’s curiosity about Ella. When lunch was over, the kids took their grandparents to the family room to show them what they’d done.

  “Sorry about that,” Cord said to Ella as he lifted Oliver out of his high chair.

  “Let me take that kid,” Boyce said, collecting the yogurt-smeared child from Cord’s arms. “I’ll go clean him up.”

  Cord let him go, watching as his father brought the little guy to the bathroom down the hall. Then he turned back to Ella, who was clearing the food from the table.

  “I didn’t know they were coming,” he said, lowering his voice as he helped her take the plates off the table.

  “That’s okay. You don’t need to explain anything to me,” Ella said with a half smile.

  “I know. It’s just...they seemed to think...”

  “That I’m the nanny.” Thankfully Ella chuckled. “We both know that’s not true.”

  “No. But I am thankful that you’ve helped out with more than just the posters. The kids seem a lot more settled since you’ve come.”

  “And now Oliver is back.” Though she was smiling, her voice sounded strained. Once again Cord wondered what it was about his little guy that bothered her more than Paul and Suzy did. She had said she wanted kids. So why did Oliver’s presence always seem to trouble her?

  Right then wasn’t the time to ask but he wanted to find out.

  Boyce came back with Oliver on his hip. “There. All tidied up.”

  Cord was holding some plates and Ella was returning to the table to finish cleaning up. She was closer to Boyce than he was.

  Before Cord could say anything, Boyce held Oliver out to Ella. “Can you take him? Kid weighs a ton.”

  He couldn’t see Ella’s face, but he noticed her hesitation.

  Cord dropped the plates in the sink, trying to quickly intervene but before he got there, Ella already took Oliver, her movements awkward. As she did, a shadow passed over her face.

  Then, before he could take his son out of her arms, she closed her eyes, laid her head on his and held him close.

  The sight did something to Cord’s heart as he came alongside her. His original misgivings about her and his children faded. But then something abruptly shifted, and she held Oliver out to him.

  “Here. You take him,” she said, avoiding his gaze. He took his son but then gave into an impulse and laid his hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, hoping she understood what he was doing. To his surprise and shock, her hand slipped up and covered his, her fingers chilly.

  “I understand why this might be hard,” he said quietly.

  She released a harsh laugh and yanked her hand away, taking a step back.

  “No. You don’t. You have no idea.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Her response confused him.

  “Say goodbye to Hope and Louis for me.”

  And before he could say anything more, she was gone.

  “What was that all about?” Boyce asked, scratching his head as he shot Cord a puzzled look.

  “I have no idea.”

  But as he pulled his little boy close to himself, he caught Hope’s frown from the playroom. Guilt sifted through him and he felt like he should apologize, but he brushed it off. What happened was between him and Ella.

  Though he wasn’t exactly sure what that was.

  Chapter Eight

  Ella dabbed some yellow paint on the canvas, switched brushes and swirled in some green, blending the two. The scent of oil paints filled the cabin like a tantalizing perfume, reminding her of other times when she was working. When she was in the zone.

  She pulled in a deep breath and, still holding her brushes in her hands, tilted her head as she looked at her work from another angle.

  This was a vast departure from anything she had done before. Bright colors and sunshine and vivid, realistic figures filled the two-foot square canvas. The subject of the painting was Suzy, wearing a bright pink dress, her hair a shining and curly tangle around her face as she looked up to a blue sky puffed with clouds. She was flying a kite. But Ella had chosen not to paint the kite on the same canvas. Instead she had made a smaller one, separate from the original. And on that canvas bobbed a bright yellow kite with a red tail, a splash of happiness against the blue sky. When the works were completed, the painting of the kite would hang separately from the main work and she would attach a string from Suzy’s hand to the body of the kite.

  As she looked at it, she tried not to hear her mother’s voice.

  Sweet. Sentimental. Mawkish.

  Unsellable.

  But it made her smile. It made her happy. She was painting again and her soul felt refreshed.

  She looked over at the companion piece. In it Paul was bent over a worked-up plot of ground as he dropped seeds into the soil. She had split this canvas, as well. A narrower version held a shadowy figure. Cord, leaning on a shovel, watching Paul. When they were hung a rope depicting the line for the seeds would be strung from one painting to the other, anchoring the two.

  Ella rolled out a kink in her neck as she got up to clean her brushes and cap her paints. The past two days she’d been holed up in the cabin. After she held Oliver in her arms, it felt as if the walls she had placed around her wounded soul had wobbled. And she couldn’t let that happen. She was there by herself and had no one to help her through the darkness if she fell in again.

  She could have called her mother but what purpose would it serve? While her mother had always been sympathetic about her stillborn baby, she knew nothing about the guilt that plagued Ella afterward.

  Somehow, on Sunday, she had truly felt God’s love wash over the darkness in her life. And behind that love hovered the illusion of absolution. She didn’t know if she was ready to accept it, but at the same time she had felt a lightening of her load.

  So when she picked up her sketch pad and pencil Monday afternoon, she’d allowed herself to draw whatever came to mind. To let life be her inspiration. To seek light.

  And these bright, cheerful paintings were the result.

  As she cleaned up, Pablo whined and she suffered a flare of guilt as she thought of Suzy and Paul.

  Though she had used her paintings as an excuse to stay away, going to the house meant seeing Oliver, and she wanted to put that off as long as possible. Seeing him on Sunday was harder than she thought. Especially with Lisa’s parents going on about what an amazing mother Lisa was and how she loved her kids so dearly. Ella felt as if she could never measure up.

  But even more, Cord was taking up too much of her thoughts. That moment on Sunday when he put his hand on her shoulder had kicked her heart into high gear. She had wanted to do more than cover his hand with hers.

  It was getting more and more dangerous to be around him. He was starting to affect her, starting to breach the wall she had built around her heart.

  She finished cleaning up, then heated the soup from yesterday and made herself a sandwich. Pablo curled up at her feet as she settled at the kitchen
table. She ate in front of her computer while she streamed a television show on Netflix, trying not to think of the family next door. This had been her life the past few years, she told herself, and would be again if she moved to Montreal.

  She would be alone there. Not knowing anyone. No friends.

  Not that she had so many now. Living with Darren had kept her from maintaining the few friendships she had.

  But the thought seemed more depressing now that she’d gotten a glimpse of living in a close-knit community like Cedar Ridge. The people who stopped to talk to Cord at the fair and at church showed her that he had a place here. He was rooted and grounded. And part of that appealed to her.

  Was that the only thing that appealed?

  She wanted to brush the thought aside but if she were honest with herself, Cord had been taking up more of her waking thoughts. And sleeping ones. Last night she’d had vivid dreams of her and Cord, Suzy and Paul riding horses through a pasture that, in true dream style, turned into the church where they all ended up sitting together. It all seemed perfectly normal, and when she woke up from it she was smiling.

  Only trouble was, Oliver was not in the fantasy.

  She shook off the thoughts, knowing she was working herself into circles, returning again and again to the same thing. She had to stay focused, stay on task.

  And right now, from the way Pablo was whining at her feet, her most important task was taking him out for a walk. It was still light out and she couldn’t hear Paul and Suzy playing outside anymore. A glance at the clock showed her that they were probably finishing up supper. They would be doing the dishes. She hoped Cord remembered that they were running low on dish soap and milk.

  Suzy had informed her that Oliver still took a bottle to bed with him every night even though Daddy thought he was too old. Poor little kid probably needed the extra soothing he got from a bottle.

  Stop. They are not your problem.

  She shook her hands as if shaking off the thoughts. Then she grabbed Pablo’s leash, clicked it on his collar and headed out the door.

  Once they were on the road, she dropped Pablo’s leash in the ditch to pick up later and he started running. Pablo easily bounded ahead of her, tail fluttering like a flag, ears up, enjoying his freedom as he darted into the trees lining the road, then back to her, then back to the trees.

  An hour later she was walking down the joint driveway, out of breath and sweating. Her legs ached in a good way and she felt purified.

  Dusk was gathering and only a few lights shone from the ranch house. The kids must be asleep. She heard a door open, then shut, and the sound of a baby crying.

  Oliver.

  She hurried into her house, quickly took a shower and pulled her damp hair back in a ponytail. She glanced at her laptop on the table, then at the clock on the wall. Last night she had worked until she had fallen into bed.

  Same with Monday, the night before. But she had finished the paintings.

  She could work on a few more sketches but she felt drained.

  So she made herself a cup of tea and took it out onto the deck to enjoy the remnants of the sunset over the mountains.

  But as she sat on the wooden chair, she heard Oliver crying again.

  He was wailing intermittently and between his cries, she heard Cord shushing him. Trying to settle him.

  Just stay here. It’s not your business.

  Ella tossed back the last of her tea and stood to go inside, but hesitated.

  You can’t do anything. It will just cause problems for you.

  But Cord sounded tired.

  Before she could come up with another counterargument, she set her cup on the table, then jogged down the stairs of her cabin, down the path and through the trees.

  Just as she came to the house, following Oliver’s cries, her decisive steps faltered as memories assaulted her once again.

  But Oliver’s cries cut at her heart and she kept going around the corner.

  She saw Cord struggling to hold on to a squirming, screaming Oliver, flailing his arms, drawing in gulping sobs, his striped sleeper damp from his drool and tears. Cord’s blue T-shirt hung over his blue jeans and his feet were bare. His hair was a mess and he looked tired as he grappled with the inconsolable toddler.

  They both looked over at Ella as she came near, Oliver’s eyes brimming with tears, his mouth still open as he released another wail.

  “Hey, cutie,” Ella said, tamping down her mixed reactions to the very distressed child as she joined them.

  “He won’t settle down,” Cord said, an edge of desperation in his voice. “I’m sorry if he was keeping you up.”

  “I wasn’t in bed yet.”

  Fat tears rolled down Oliver’s scrunched-up cheeks, his whole body shaking with sobs. He was the very picture of misery, and in spite of her own desire to protect her emotions, Ella laid her hand on his head to soothe him.

  The poor kid was burning up.

  “He’s running a fever,” Cord said, looking from her to his child, his eyes holding a mixture of concern and anguish. “I gave him some medicine but it doesn’t seem to be helping. I was thinking of taking him to the hospital but my dad’s not here to watch Suzy and Paul. He’s visiting Morgan. My brother.”

  “I could stay here with the kids so you can go.”

  “I’m sure it’s just a virus and I hate to drag him all the way to the hospital to find that out.” He gave her a tired look. “Did that too many times with the other two.”

  Oliver’s anguished cries tugged at her heart. Then Ella thought back to the books she had read. The endless articles and research she had done in an effort to be the best mother she could before her own child was born.

  Much good that had done.

  “Do you want to try giving him a tepid bath?” she asked, raising her voice over the continued cries from Oliver. “That might help cool him down. Give him some relief.”

  “A bath?”

  “Yeah. In the bathtub,” she said.

  Cord looked puzzled, clearly out of his depth.

  “You’ve never done that with the other ones?” Ella asked.

  Cord shook his head and Ella pushed aside her own concerns. Oliver needed help—and fast.

  “Give him to me,” she said, holding out her hands. “You go run the tub. Lukewarm water. Not cold. Not hot. If that doesn’t work, you can take him to the hospital and I’ll watch the kids.”

  Cord handed Oliver’s twisting, upset body over to Ella. The baby was like a round, chubby bundle of heat. And as Ella pulled him close to contain him, she felt the same curious blend of sorrow and softening as she had when Boyce had handed Oliver to her the first time.

  To her surprise, he laid his damp head into the curve of her neck. Even though he still cried, his gesture of trust created a loosening of the iron bands clamping on her heart. She swallowed, then followed Cord into the house.

  He led her up the carpeted stairs, Oliver’s sobs echoing in the stairwell then down the darkened hallway to, what she guessed, was the master suite. She saw an unmade bed and a bay window with two chairs and a table tucked into its recess.

  They walked through a sliding door to a huge ensuite bathroom. A shower stall dominated one corner, across from it sat a bathtub large enough to float a small canoe. Two large walk-in closets took up the rest of the room.

  Oliver was still crying, but not as loudly now, his head still hot against Ella’s shoulder.

  “Lisa loved soaking in the tub,” Cord said as if apologizing for the size of it as he twisted the taps on.

  “So how warm should the water be?”

  “Barely body temperature,” Ella said, hooking a chair that sat by a table close to the closet. She sat down and gently unzipped Oliver’s sleeper, which set him off again. He twisted and turned, fight
ing Ella, his arms flailing.

  “Here, let me help you.” Cord knelt down in front of her and between the two of them they managed to peel Oliver’s sleeper and onesie off the squirming, crying boy. Next came the diaper and Ella saw that the poor kid had a blazing red diaper rash. “I suspect that’s part of his problem too,” Cord muttered, his voice barely audible above Oliver’s cries. “Don’t know what to do about that, either.”

  “One thing at a time.”

  Ella handed Oliver to him and tested the water. Just about right. For a moment she wondered if she was doing the right thing. After all, she had only read that in a book. She had never done it herself. But it was their only recourse for now.

  “I don’t think he’ll like it so he might get even more disturbed.”

  “Can’t imagine that,” Cord said, taking the wiggly, very upset child, and lowering him into the water.

  Oliver flung out his hands, his eyes went wide as he sucked in a deep breath.

  Then he screamed in earnest.

  What had she done, Ella thought. He was even more agitated.

  “So how long do we do this?” Cord called out, clearly distressed.

  Ella was tempted to tell him to take Oliver out that instant, but she knew, from her reading, that they should wait.

  “A minute at least.” Ella knelt down beside him, cupping the water in her hands and gently dribbling it over Oliver’s body. He sucked in another breath of shock and then was off again, flailing and splashing water over Cord and Ella.

  Please, Lord, let this help, Ella prayed, wondering if she had done the right thing.

  After all, what did she know about babies?

  But in spite of Oliver’s screams and her own doubts, another part of her was far too aware of how her arm was pressed against Cord’s. How their hands brushed against each other. She shifted her gaze, taking in his rugged features shadowed by stubble.

  He looked and smelled so good.

  She forced her attention back to Oliver.

  “I think we can take him out now,” Ella said, reaching past Cord for a towel. Cord pulled Oliver out of the tub and handed him to Ella. She wrapped the squirming, complaining toddler in the large, soft towel, holding him close to absorb all the water. He shivered a few times, released a few more yelps but then, finally, seemed to settle.