by Mindy Neff
She gazed at him for several seconds, memories shuffling in her mind like a deck of cards. A few were missing.
She eased away. “How did this happen?”
“You followed me to bed. I didn’t have the heart to wake you and point out the error.”
“Sorry.”
“Mmm. I don’t mind sharing my bed with a beautiful woman.”
“Beautiful, hah! Lack of sleep has fried your brain.” There was no sense giving in to embarrassment. This was mild compared to what she’d done already.
She paused, listened, then leaped out of the bed.
“What’s the matter?”
“The babies.”
“I don’t hear them.”
“Exactly! There must be something wrong!” She raced out of the room.
Cheyenne followed. Standing by the side of the crib, she looked over her shoulder at him.
“They’re still asleep,” she whispered.
“Which is what you should be doing.”
“What about you?”
“I need to see about the horses.”
Emily had forgotten he had animals counting on him, too. Poor guy. He was responsible for the safety of the town, a stable of horses and her and the babies. All she had right now were the kids.
“I’ve dumped a lot of responsibility on you, haven’t I?”
“My shoulders are wide.”
And very nice, she thought. “Do you have time for breakfast? I could make you something.”
A dimple creased his cheek. “As in cooking?”
She glared. “If I put my mind to it, I can cook.”
His brow climbed.
“I never said I couldn’t cook. Just that I didn’t do it often. Besides, we still have those yummy scones that Eden made. A quick zap in the microwave and a healthy squirt of butter, and we’ll be set for the day.”
“I’ll settle for coffee right now. Hopefully I can get the horses fed before the little ones wake up.”
AS IT TURNED OUT, he didn’t have to hurry, because the neighbors showed up, bearing food and willing arms and an easy capability that put Emily’s own abilities to shame.
Hannah Malone came first.
“Where are the children?” Emily asked, juggling Hunter in her arms as she let the other woman in.
“I dropped them off with Dora Callahan.” She put a casserole dish in the refrigerator and scooped Alicia out of the infant seat where the baby was beginning to work herself into a fine fuss. “Dora’s got a new litter of kittens she’s photographing, and my son, Ian, can’t resist baby animals. Shh, darling,” she cooed to the baby who immediately hushed and blinked owllike eyes.
“Why is she taking pictures of baby animals?”
“She’s a freelance photographer—an artist, really. She does those cute greeting cards and posters. Puts flower wreaths on Ethan’s foals and steals the cowboys’ hats for props.” Hannah laughed. “Dora’s got a way with babies and animals and people, but don’t count on her to whip your kitchen into shape.”
As though they’d choreographed it in advance, Emily handed Hannah a bottle for Alicia, then sat down to nurse Hunter.
“I don’t know if anyone could whip this kitchen into shape. The babies are up for two minutes and it looks like a bomb exploded. I don’t have enough hands—or arms.”
“I understand. It’s difficult enough with one.” She nuzzled Alicia’s cheek and eased a bottle into her cupid’s-bow mouth. “The babies are precious.”
“Thank you.” Emily winced and tried to get Hunter to nurse. “I’m not very good at this.”
“It’ll get easier with each day.”
Emily laughed. “One hopes, anyway. Cheyenne’s been a godsend.”
“He’s a good man. A little hard to get to know. I can’t tell you how much we admire the two of you for what you’re doing.”
Emily’s head jerked up.
“Uh-oh. I see you’re not quite used to the information grapevine. I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable.”
Emily thought about that for a minute. True, she wasn’t used to being the topic of conversation, but it didn’t really bother her that people knew the circumstances of Alicia and Hunter’s birth.
“No. You haven’t made me uncomfortable. There are people in this town who remember my sister and Cheyenne’s brother. And I want my children to know who their parents were. I don’t want them forgotten.” She didn’t realize she’d so easily said my children.
“You lived here before?”
“When I was a girl.”
“Then you’ve known Cheyenne for a while.”
“Not really.” In my secret dreams—forever. Talking about Cheyenne put her emotions in a turmoil. She didn’t want to think about what he stirred up in her right now. For goodness’ sake, she’d slept with him. Granted, it was only sleeping, but still…
“So, how did you meet Wyatt?”
Hannah didn’t even blink at the subject change. “I was his mail-order bride.”
“Oh.” That sounded fairly old-fashioned, but Emily told herself it was none of her business.
“I can see your curiosity. I was in California, a single mother of a four-year-old and pregnant with Meredith. I’d dreamed of life on a ranch—which seems odd, given that I was scared to death of animals, the dogs included. Anyway, before I’d allowed myself time to think it through, I’d answered an ad that Wyatt knew nothing about.”
“He didn’t advertise for a bride?”
“Nope. The matchmakers in town did it for him.”
Emily could relate. She still had the phony lease in her briefcase for a house that didn’t exist. “That was pretty sneaky.”
“Yes. But it all turned out better than I ever could have imagined. There’s something about this town, I think. It’s magical.”
“That’s odd. It’s always been magically jinxed for me.”
Hannah smiled. “Give us another chance. You might be pleasantly surprised.”
A rusty pickup pulled into the yard. “Who’s that?”
Hannah looked out the window and grinned. “Mildred and Opal Bagley. Sisters who married brothers. They’re both widowed, and they run a boardinghouse in town. You’re in for a treat now.”
“I remember them. I didn’t know they’d turned their place into a boardinghouse, though.”
The widows came in the door bickering, stopping only long enough to reintroduce themselves and put more food in the refrigerator before they each plucked a baby out of Emily and Hannah’s arms respectively.
“Oh, aren’t they just precious,” Opal said. “Took care of my twin granddaughters—that was some years back, but I know how much of a handful they can be. What one don’t think of the other one does. Didn’t make a bit of difference they were girls. Got into as much trouble as a passel of boys and nearly ran my daughter ragged.”
“Well, that’s a fine how-do-you-do,” Mildred complained. “Walk right through the door and scare poor Emily to death, borrowing trouble before it even finds her.” Mildred inspected Emily’s hands, commiserating over the loss of the acrylics. “A shame,” she said.
Opal sniffed. “Some people don’t have time to fuss with fingernails. Besides, with you running in there every week or so, Arletta’s not suffering a bit over the loss in business.”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting nice fingernails.”
Opal glared at her sister. “Hush up before you make our Emily here feel self-conscious.”
Emily didn’t feel a bit self-conscious about her lack of nails and was charmed right down to her toes by the two sisters. They bickered and cooed and managed to start a pot of tea and set out a plate of cookies, all the while holding the babies.
The women had thirty years on her and could run circles around her. She tried not to let that dent her pride.
“I was ready to give my hands a breather, anyway,” she said, glancing down at her rough nails.
“Well, anytime you want to run into the beauty shop for
a little pampering, you just drop these sweet babies off with us,” Mildred said. “We’ve got two laps and four arms between us and would love to sit.”
“Thank you.” The women were the quintessential grandmothers, and Emily thought about her own mother, felt her heart sting. Tamara should have been here, cradling her grandchildren, experiencing the wonder and innocence of these two little lives.
Instead, loving strangers were providing the support normally reserved for family.
“Lord, would you look at that man!”
Emily, followed by Hannah and Mildred, joined Opal at the window, and Emily felt her heart kick into overdrive.
“If I was thirty years younger…” Mildred said, cradling Hunter as though she held babies every day. Her tone and her words were very ungrandmotherly. “That’s one tall drink of water, if you ask me.”
Opal snorted and Hannah smothered a laugh. Emily drooled right along with Mildred as she gazed at Cheyenne sitting atop a horse.
She found it curious that he bought and sold mustangs, yet he rode a flashy paint-splashed chestnut.
He was incredible. Unique.
A warrior.
She wasn’t sure why that image had popped into her mind. It was in his attitude, she supposed, the quiet, understated demeanor shaped by his past.
With the winter sun in his face, boots in the stirrups, reins held loosely in his gloved hands, he was a man who seemed at one with the land.
Lonely perhaps.
But the laid-back attitude was deceptive, Emily knew. Despite the gun he normally wore on his hip and the star pinned to his chest, this man was dangerous.
Dangerous to her peace of mind.
Especially when she started thinking about him as her true husband. A husband for keeps.
Chapter Eight
Cheyenne came to a halt at the bathroom door, astonished, amused…charmed.
Emily was posing in front of the mirror, her mouth pursed as though she were a teenager practicing kissing skills, her lips coated in cherry-red lipstick, slick and wet-looking. They’d been living in close quarters for several weeks now, and he still got a jolt every time he saw her in his home.
As he watched, she parted her lips, licked them, her eyes going soft and sensual as though a lover looked back at her through the reflection.
A lover who’d just asked a question.
And received a very carnal, very affirmative answer in return.
Desire slammed through him, making him hard in an instant.
Hell on fire, he wanted to be the man asking that question, asking for the go-ahead.
And he wanted her to look at him just like that, give him that answer, that ecstasy her lips and gaze promised.
He must have made a noise. Her gaze shifted. Then she literally jumped and gave a feminine, one-note scream.
“Oh, my gosh! How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough.”
Her face was nearly as bright as the lipstick on her incredibly full lips.
“I’m, uh…working.”
He raised a brow. “Need any help?”
She gaped at him for a moment, then let out her breath in a whoosh. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“No need. What are you working on?” He let his gaze travel down the rest of her, taking in her flannel nightshirt and thermal leggings. Not the most seductive outfit, by any means. To Cheyenne’s way of thinking, it was hands-down better than a baby-doll negligee.
“A lipstick ad.”
“Going for the sex angle, hmm?”
Her gaze touched on everything in the bathroom except him. “Sort of. Did you need in here?”
He shook his head. “You left the door open. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy, but nothing’ll stop a man quicker than a woman puckering her lips.”
She brushed by him. “You’ve got to stop talking like that.”
He followed her down the hall and into the kitchen. She had her laptop computer set up on the table. Faxes with drawings and memos were strewn amongst bottles, pacifiers, disposable diapers, baby powder and a cup of coffee gone cold.
“Talking like what?” he asked, knowing exactly what she meant. He didn’t know why he kept baiting her. They had no business kissing—or thinking about it. She’d made it clear enough that they were supposed to be roommates.
Married roommates taking care of babies.
His mind kept refusing to remember the rules.
She clicked the computer’s mouse on a drawing—lips, he noted—and dragged the image until it was larger, more pouty.
“Like about kissing.”
“Did I say anything about kissing?”
She gave him a look as though he’d gone daft. It was an expression he imagined that had account executives falling in line. Even though she sat there in what appeared to be her pajamas, she still managed to look regal and commanding.
And had his hormones in a tangled mess.
“How are the kids?” It might be wise to change the subject.
“They’re asleep—for the next two minutes at least—and I thought I’d take advantage of the time.”
He noted the dark circles under her eyes and wished he could erase them. He had an idea his own were in the same shape. Between the kids and thoughts of Emily keeping him up nights, he was a zombie.
He pulled out a chair and sat at the table, watching as she fussed with the images on the screen, changing the shape, the color, the angle.
Hell, even her work evoked sexual images. So much for changing the subject.
He rose and poured them each a fresh cup of coffee, set hers at her elbow.
“Thanks,” she said distractedly. “I can’t seem to get this right.”
“So you practice on yourself in the mirror?”
She shrugged, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I have an image in my mind, but I can’t get it to gel. These computers are amazing, but…”
“But what?”
She abandoned the computer and grabbed a sketch pad, casting a quick glance at the clock. He could tell she was under the gun, worried about the kids waking up, wanting to cram as much work as she could into the short amount of time.
That in itself was probably frustrating her.
“Jimmy would have drawn this in minutes. He was incredibly talented. It was as though he read my mind, captured my ideas perfectly.”
Cheyenne took the sketch pad from her fingers, surprising her. “Tell me your ideas and let me see what I can do.”
“You draw?”
“I can manage stick people, maybe a horse or two.”
Emily laughed. “I need more than stick people.”
He was watching her, the shading pencil in his hands moving across the paper. She couldn’t see what he was doing.
“You going to tell me your idea?”
She knew this would set her back in terms of time, but she just couldn’t get herself too worked up about it. He was mouthwatering handsome sitting there, his dark eyes glancing up at her every so often. Probably wondering if she was waiting to laugh at his efforts with the pencil.
Since he wasn’t working, he wasn’t in his sheriff’s uniform, but rather his cowboy one. A flannel shirt—unbuttoned now that he was indoors—with a thermal one beneath it that molded his chest like ink on glossy card stock.
His stomach muscles were rippled and hard as a rock—she’d touched them, so she should know—and were visible beneath the tight shirt.
She probably shouldn’t be dwelling on the excellent parts of his anatomy, especially since she was the one who’d just taken him to task for baiting her about kissing.
“Emily?”
The ideas. Pay attention, Emily.
What the heck. Maybe she’d be pleasantly surprised. Maybe artistic ability ran in the family.
Focusing inward, she licked her lips. “Obviously I’m going for the sexual appeal of the lips. We’re advertising lipstick. The kind that stays put.”
He nodded, se
ttled his gaze on her lips for a long moment before he transferred his attention back to the sketch pad. “Doesn’t kiss off. Did you like the pouty pose or the one with slightly open mouth?”
“The one…” Good grief. She and Jimmy had done just this sort of thing countless times, bantered back and forth for clarification, but she’d never felt so flushed and fluttery with him.
“You know,” Cheyenne coached, “the one with the mouth barely open, the eyes heavy, the look of anticipation, of yearning.”
“Um…yes.” Had she worn such a look when he’d caught her in the bathroom? “Maternal.”
His pencil paused. “Excuse me?”
She cleared her throat. “I’m not sure where that came from. It’s an idea I’ve been toying with lately.” Ever since Cheyenne and two exhausting—yet precious—babies had come into her life.
His pencil started moving again. “Go on.”
“As I said, I want to capture the sexual appeal of the lips and balance that subliminally with family. You know, like maybe it began with a kiss, sensual, sexy, burning, then sweetened into courtship and love, settled into marriage and children. The perfect family.” Her voice was husky, dreamy. “And all it took was a kiss.”
Emily realized the kitchen had gone silent—Cheyenne had gone silent. A horse nickered out in the barn. Wind batted the windows. The coffeepot puffed out steam like an afterthought.
She dragged herself out of the vivid image in her mind, focused on him.
His hands were still, his fingers gripping the pencil, his dark eyes intense as he stared at her.
Intense and filled with heat and something else she couldn’t define.
He closed his fist around the page, crumpled it, then stood and tossed it in the trash. “Guess you’re back to the drawing board. I can’t do this justice. I’ll be out in the barn for a bit. Pick up the phone and punch in the intercom if you need me.”
Without buttoning his flannel shirt, he shrugged into his coat, jammed his hat on his head and let himself out the kitchen door, a blast of cold air swirling in, carrying snowflakes onto the wood floor.
Stunned, Emily sat there for a minute. What in the world? She got up slowly and reached into the trash to retrieve the wadded-up paper, flattened it out against the counter.
Her breath caught.