Clueless Cowboy

by Mary Connealy

  Emily spent the next two hours tending to Stephie. When her little sister finally dozed, Emily cleaned up the kitchen.

  As Emily wiped the last surface, she came to the pile of mail she’d tossed there this afternoon. She picked it up in town once a week. There seemed to be an awful lot of it. She reached for the first envelope and tore it open.

  Dear J.J.,

  Darling, I love you. What you saw between me and the pool man was a moment of madness. You know there’s never been anyone but you. Please give me another chance. I ache with an emptiness that only you can fill. You’re the one I want to warm my. . .

  Emily jerked her head sideways and slapped the letter against her chest in a desperate effort to stop reading. This wasn’t hers! She ignored the clamoring curiosity that urged her to read further and grabbed the envelope.

  J. Joe Hanson

  Cold Creek, SD

  It was so close she just assumed. . . Stu Fielding, the postman, had just assumed. . . She snatched another letter.

  J. Joe Hanson. Again. Not J. Johannson for John Johannson, her father. J. Joe Hanson. Jake!

  She started a pile. There must be ten letters for him. Someone knew where Jake was. It meant she was coming. Emily had to warn him. Unless maybe the woman who had written this letter had broken his heart. Maybe he had turned his back on the world because she had rejected him. Maybe he’d forgive her when he saw this letter and leave without a backward glance. Maybe he’d been imagining her when he’d pulled Emily close.

  She closed her eyes, surprised by the hurt. There was no rational reason to care what Jake thought.

  She flipped a second envelope over and saw the return address.

  Hanson and Coltrain

  Chicago, IL

  Stephie was the least of Jake’s problems.

  Emily shook her head. It was past midnight. Her day had started at five. A loud groan from Stephie and a cry for water interrupted her thoughts. She helped Stephie sip some water, then sank into a rocking chair near Stephie’s bed and watched her sister settle into sleep.

  Emily tiptoed to her room. She finally collapsed into bed in time to hear Stephie moaning. One last check on her sister, restless and vulnerable in her bed, and Emily slept.

  Emily awakened at five like she did every morning. If she didn’t get up, the cows would probably come into her bedroom and get her. She had done a half-day’s work before Stephie stirred at nine. Stephie’s flu was pure luck. Emily’s guilt at the horrible thought didn’t stop her from being relieved that she could keep her little sister indoors all day, maybe all weekend.

  The only trouble was Stephie was feeling much better. She didn’t want to stay indoors, and normally Emily wouldn’t have made her. This time she stuck to it like a burr. She had to have more time before she tried to deal with Jake meeting Stephie. If they could just get through this weekend. . .

  Emily thought of the mail and knew her mental gymnastics were a waste of time. Jake’s secret was out. She had to warn him.

  Stephie fell asleep after a light meal at noon. It was the perfect time to run the mail over to Jake and watch that explosion. She waffled for a minute, fighting the desire to take him some dinner. It would be easy. She could make up a plate of leftovers from last night.

  Why bother? He wouldn’t eat once he saw the mail anyway. He’d be busy packing.

  She reached the edge of the woods and couldn’t stop herself from slipping behind the same tree that had concealed her yesterday. She needed to gather her wits. How could she possibly have reacted to him as strongly as she had?

  To clear her head, she paused for a moment to look at the old Barrett place. Jake’s work was already paying dividends, but there was a long way to go before the house regained its old majesty.

  Three stories were covered with ornamental details in the best tradition of high Victorian architecture. A wide veranda wrapped around the entire house until it was cut off by a tower that anchored the front corner. Balustrades, anchored by posts every six feet, trimmed the veranda. A smaller copy of the balustrades surrounded balconies around each window on the upper floors. On the third floor, gables grew out of the central window on each side of the house.

  She loved every ridiculous flourish on this house, but her favorite part was the circular tower. It was four stories at its highest point and topped by a cupola. The Barretts had treated her like their own grandchild and let her explore every inch of this old place. She touched two fingers to her forehead to pay homage to her very much invaded realm and stepped from behind the tree.

  He wasn’t outside. She’d have to knock on the door. It would be interesting to see what he had done with the place inside.

  She glanced down at her clothes. For a moment she regretted her decision not to change out of her work clothes. The faded blue jeans and flannel work shirt with the sleeves rolled up were tacky. She had been determined not to make a single effort to look good.

  She had succeeded.

  The mail tucked under one arm, she squared her shoulders and marched up to the front door and knocked. She waited a minute and knocked again. No answer. She looked at his Jeep, parked right where it had been last night. She scanned the area around the house for any sign of him working on an outdoor project. Where could he be?

  She wanted to drop the mail and run. But she couldn’t leave it on the ground. She didn’t have the nerve to do what she’d have done for the Murrays—step inside and leave it on the first clear surface. She pounded a third time.

  The door flew open. She nearly stumbled into Jake. His face was red and his shoulders were heaving. At first she thought he’d run from somewhere to answer the door, then she saw he was furious.

  “Get in here.” He grabbed her arm and yanked her over the threshold.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  The mail scattered all over his floor as he towed her into the kitchen. He dragged her around to face him. “I was planning to die alone before I asked you for help. But you’re here now. Make yourself useful.”

  “What are you talking about? Let me go.” She jerked her arm against his grip and he let go. Of course she was where he wanted her already. “Is this what passes for good manners in the big city?”

  “No, this is about my back.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “You throwing me out a window into a rosebush last night.”

  “Me throwing you out? You jumped.”

  “And had my first rotten night’s sleep since I moved to this God-forsaken place.”

  “God hasn’t forsaken any place, pal. So quit complaining and speak English. I had a rotten night’s sleep myself. Stephie got sick at the Murrays’ last night. That’s why Helen came over.”

  She whirled away to grab his mail, shove it down his throat, and make a grand exit.

  Seven

  She didn’t even get her back turned before he grabbed her wrist.

  “Get your hands off me.” Emily tugged hard against Jake’s iron grip, and when that did no good, she shoved against his shoulder. He staggered backward with a groan of pain.

  Emily froze. “I didn’t mean to hit you so hard.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” He released her and turned around and lowered his blue denim shirt a few inches off his shoulders.

  Emily gasped in horror. His back was covered with slivers and thorns. There were terrible scratches and one large raw gouge on the back of his shoulder, right where Emily had shoved him. “This happened last night?”

  Jake tried to straighten his back and Emily could see how much each move cost him. “Brilliant deduction, Sherlock.”

  “Sit down. Let me help you. Your poor back. I’m so sorry.” Emily pulled him toward a chair.

  “Just fix it, will you?” His teeth were clenched and the words growled out.

  “Sit still. This will take a while.” Emily’s stomach sank. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

  “I don’t have a bunch of fancy stuff around here. Just get the thorns out.”


  “How about a needle?”

  “Why would I have a needle? My back-to-nature kick didn’t include embroidery. Are you going to help me or not?”

  Emily braced herself. “You’re going to have to come to my house.”

  “Stephie’s there.”

  “I can’t get these stickers out without tweezers, and I can’t leave Stephie alone much longer.”

  “No.” Jake ground the word out.

  Convincing him was hopeless, so she blackmailed him instead. “Then I’m going to call an ambulance. You have to have them removed and you know it. Now will it be Stephie or the whole world?”

  The silence was deafening. It stretched until she thought choosing was beyond him.

  Through gritted teeth, he said, “Let’s go.”

  Emily couldn’t imagine how much pain he must be in to agree.

  He stood, raising his shirt up gingerly. Stooped, he headed out the door.

  Emily noticed the mail strewn across the floor. She picked it up and tucked it discreetly under her arm, deciding to delay the bad news.

  Jake entered her house without waiting for her, turned a chair so he straddled it, and eased himself down.

  Without speaking, Emily placed his mail on the kitchen counter and then rushed to the bathroom for her first aid kit, taking a second to check on Stephie. Then she faced the enormity of the task. She heaved a long sigh to settle her fluttering nerves and, tweezers in hand, started.

  Jake flinched at the first touch of the cold metal, but he didn’t speak. She worked on him in silence, systematically removing the slivers. The occasional hiss of indrawn breath was her only clue when she hurt him.

  “There, that’s the last of the slivers.” She flexed her cramped fingers and prepared to start on the dozens of thorns.

  “You’re done?” Jake’s voice was awash in relief.

  “Oh no. I’ve done the slivers, but the thorns will take a long time. Maybe hours.”

  Jake’s back stiffened. “Hours?”

  “You can’t see how awful it is. I’ll work as fast as I can. I’m sorry I’m hurting you.” Emily’s voice broke.

  “You’re not crying are you?” His voice softened a little.

  “No, of course not.” She rubbed the back of one hand over her eyes. “I should have warned you about that window. I tried but I was too late. You don’t really believe I wanted this to happen to you?”

  “I suppose not.” Jake’s shoulders slumped. “I had a lot of time to work up a solid case against you. It’s amazing all you can get mad about when you have hours to fume.”

  “I heard you hit the bush. I should have known you might need help. With Stephie sick I just never thought. I’m so sorry.”

  “Look, quit apologizing, okay? It’s not your fault. It was an accident.”

  She worked in a more relaxed silence for a few minutes. “I can’t reach your lower back. The kitchen table is sturdy.” She moved the salt and pepper shakers to the stove.

  He stood and looked at the table uncertainly.

  “It’s okay.” She pulled it away from the wall and motioned for him to climb on. “Lie down.”

  He glanced at her once, then slid onto the table without a word.

  Her hands trembled as she began. Her tweezers slipped sharply, and Jake couldn’t control his gasp of pain. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right.” Jake’s voice was hoarse but calm and encouraging. “You’re doing great.”

  She wished he’d yell at her. His gentle tone made her fingers tingle where they rested on his narrow waist, and the tingling spread to her hands and up her arms. She gripped the tweezers more firmly and tried to control her wayward emotions. She had to finish so she could get him out of here before—

  “Hi, Jake.”

  They both gasped and turned their heads hard toward the sound of that little voice. Their reaction startled Stephie into backing up a step.

  “J–Jake? You know Jake?” Emily couldn’t believe her ears.

  “So, you couldn’t keep a secret for a whole day.” Jake’s voice was low and angry.

  She looked down at him.

  He had raised himself onto his right elbow and turned halfway around. His eyes bored into hers.

  “I didn’t tell her. Stephie, how did you know about Jake?” Emily turned back to her little sister and Jake did, too. A long silence settled over the room.

  “Come here, Stephie. It’s nice to meet you.” Jake stretched a hand out to her and Stephie shyly stepped toward him. She reached out her own hand.

  “Stephie, I asked you how you knew Jake?” Emily repeated sternly.

  Stephie dropped her hand and looked wide-eyed at Emily.

  Jake glared over his shoulder. “Don’t be mean to her.”

  Mean to her?

  “I’m not!”

  Stephie took a step backward again.

  Jake turned to the little girl. “I’m sorry Emily scared you. She isn’t mad, just surprised.”

  Where on this earth had that sweet voice come from? He hadn’t bothered to use it on her.

  Stephie stepped toward Jake again, and this time, she gave him a confident smile, reached out her hand, and took his. She didn’t shake. Instead, she held on and looked at him.

  “How do you know who I am, Stephie?”

  “You live at the Barrett place.”

  Jake and Emily exchanged another glance, and Emily shrugged her shoulders. “You mean you’ve known he was over there and didn’t tell me, honey?”

  Jake shot her another warning look, like he was ready to jump to Stephie’s defense at any time.

  “He’s been there two weeks. I didn’t tell you because he wanted to be a secret.”

  “What?” Emily and Jake echoed their amazement.

  Stephie pulled back but Jake held on to her. Tugging on Jake’s hand, she asked, “Didn’t you?”

  Jake’s voice, barely louder than a breath, just reached Emily’s ears. “Finally, a woman who can keep a secret.”

  Then in a more normal volume, he answered, “Yes, I did. But how could you tell? And how did you know my name?”

  Stephie shrugged. “It was on something in your car.”

  Emily raised her eyes to heaven. “You’ve been snooping around his car? You shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s only natural she’d be curious,” Jake interrupted.

  Emily resisted the urge to stab him with the tweezers. At least the tingling had stopped in her fingers. Having Stephie in the room was going to make it possible for her to finish Jake’s back. Then she could throw him into the rosebush again.

  “It’s okay to be curious?” Stephie could ask more questions than a prosecuting attorney.

  “Sure it is, sweetheart,” Jake said.

  Sweetheart? Who was this guy and what had he done with the grouch who had come home with her?

  “How’d you get the stickers in your back?”

  Emily fumbled with some version of the truth. Would Jake want to admit he was here last night? Did he want Stephie—

  “I fell.”

  Stephie nodded in complete and trusting sympathy.

  Emily wanted to hear more about her little sister’s sneaking. It had never occurred to Emily that Stephie shouldn’t roam freely in the woods. The Barrett place was locked up and there wasn’t much in the woods that could hurt her. And there were certainly no people around way out here. Or so Emily had thought.

  “Tell us about how you found Jake.”

  Stephie would have impressed the CIA. She’d spied and sneaked around the Barrett house, inside and out.

  “You can’t go in that old house. It’s not safe.” Emily knew Stephie had always considered the woods her personal playground, but she had long been forbidden to go inside the rickety old house, locked or not. Emily had a pang of failure as a mother. She wasn’t old enough herself to know what rules to make or how strict to be. And Stephie was so well behaved and she’d been through so much. Emily had the sudden realization that her
little sister needed some discipline, and Emily had no practice at it.

  Stephie pulled a chair away from the table just enough to plant herself inches from Jake.

  Emily forced her attention back to her doctoring.

  Eight

  Jake hadn’t been around children much. Mainly in airplanes, where he firmly believed they should be kept in cages in the belly of the plane with the pets.

  But this one was special. He rested his eyes on the miniature of Emily. Her hair was a tangle of brown waves, finer than Emily’s but just as long. Her sleepy eyes were pure blue innocence.

  If Emily scolded her one more time he’d—

  “Are you going to stay here forever?” Stephie sounded hopeful. She wanted him to stay.

  He wanted to tell her yes, but he remembered the pain of broken promises from his own childhood. “Right now I’m planning to. That’s why I’m fixing the house.”

  “It looks great. I love the bathroom.”

  “You like it?” So what if she’d been inside his house without permission. She was just a child for heaven’s sake.

  “I haven’t seen it since you went to town last Monday.”

  “Well, come over anytime. I still want to be a secret from everybody else, but you can visit.”

  Stephie grinned. “Why did you leave Chicago?”

  Emily choked.

  Jake wondered what all this little imp knew. He looked at Emily. He’d forgotten she was there. Hard considering she stabbed him in the back a dozen times a minute.

  “You okay, Emily?” Stephie asked.

  Jake arched an eyebrow and watched Emily bite back a grin.

  “I’m okay.”

  Jake turned back to Stephie and started talking about his father’s heart attack.

  Stephie held his hand and talked about her own daddy.

  Then Jake picked up the trail of his own story. “I just spent three months in Central America in the aftermath of a hurricane. Climbing around in those buildings we found. . .” Jake ran a hand over his face, remembering the injuries with so little hope of healing in that primitive area.

  Emily kneaded his neck. He was talking to Stephie but Emily was the one who could imagine the details. As her hands worked on his knotted muscles he began, without changing his tone, to talk to her.