Counting on a Cowboy

by Debra Clopton

  Abby had relaxed a little during their talk with Charlie and she shook her head. “No, that’s fine. I don’t mind meeting Pops.” She smiled. “From everything I’ve heard he must be a great man.”

  Sorrow flashed in Bo’s eyes. “Yes, he is. I don’t like to leave him alone too long and since I helped haul the cattle this morning, I’d feel better checking in on him.”

  “Is he ill?”

  He hesitated, seeming to think over his words. “He’s having some memory issues. He’s in the midstages of Alzheimer’s.” She could see the sadness in his expression.

  “I’m so sorry. I know that’s got to be hard on all of you.”

  Their gazes locked. “Yeah, I hate it. It’s taking my Pops away piece by piece. He’s a great person—the greatest man I’ve ever known. It’s disturbing to watch him struggle. My brothers feel the same way, but none of us are real good at verbalizing our emotions too much about it.”

  “That’s the man in you,” she offered before she could stop herself. Landon had been the same way.

  He started driving. “Yeah, I guess so. The worst part is Pops knew what was happening to him. We started him on medicine immediately and it helped some. The doctors changed him to a new one now to find one that would help him have fewer disoriented days. But I can’t tell if it’s helping yet.”

  Abby’s heart went out to Bo. He’d revealed so much to her. “I would think it would be so hard to watch.”

  “It’s harder and harder to watch every day. Pops means the world to me. I cherish each day I wake up and Pops remembers who he is or who I am and can call me by name.”

  Abby heard the pain in his voice and knew that there was more than one way to lose a loved one.

  “It makes me feel helpless—” he gritted, his jaw tense as his eyes shadowed.

  Abby knew that emotion far, far too well. The almost overwhelming urge swept through her to lay her hand on Bo’s to comfort him. She didn’t. She didn’t want to feel the connection pain and loss created between them. She looked away and hoped he hadn’t seen her own pain.

  “But we’re taking care of him. Just like he’s always done for us.”

  She almost felt relief at his words, knowing they confirmed that he hadn’t felt the connection. And why would he? He didn’t know her pain.

  “I’m sure he knows.” What else was there to say to that? She knew that sometimes there just weren’t any words. Abby wasn’t really sure she wanted to meet Bo’s Pops now. Since Landon’s death she’d found it easier not to get too close to people. She’d withdrawn from almost everyone she’d ever been close to and had stopped letting her emotions get involved in anything. Thus not watching the news. There was no room inside of her for other people’s troubles.

  But, you’re here to make friends and to do just that.

  She wanted to shoo the tiny voice in her head away, tell it to be silent, but it was true. She was here to develop relationships that would help her be more available emotionally.

  She’d written in to Maggie’s column a couple of times, anonymously, and Maggie had chosen her letter to answer in the column and also e-mailed her directly. Maggie had told her the same thing her therapist had, that she would help herself by developing relationships that required her to be in the moment, to be involved emotionally. Her therapist told Abby she needed to let herself feel again. That she needed to join in on life around her again. But give her worries over to the Lord.

  None of that was easy.

  And Maggie had confirmed the same. But as low as Abby had gotten, the depression she’d experienced, the withdrawal from everyone, she knew it was true . . . so that was why she’d come here.

  Crazy, maybe, but once the idea formed that Wishing Springs was where she should be she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Reading Maggie’s column, seeing the TV special with snippets of the town had put the idea in her thoughts. She wondered if Maggie might be at the ranch this morning.

  “Does it help that all of you work at the ranch?” she blurted out, not wanting to ask about Maggie.

  “Some. Tru’s on the road a lot and he’s not able to help as much as he’d like. He helps when he’s home, though. Right now he’s away with Maggie on their honeymoon.”

  “I saw the wedding announcement in the paper. I think it’s great that they fell in love.”

  He glanced at her. “Yeah. Tru’s happy.”

  “That’s good.” Hesitation filled her at the thought of telling him that she’d been inspired to come here because of the column. He was a man, he would probably not understand—and he’d probably ask why and she wasn’t ready to answer that. Instead she scanned the ranch as they drove up the lane. Any true fan would have a natural curiosity about the place. Maggie had a way of giving advice as if you were sitting with her having coffee. While Abby hadn’t been able to watch a news broadcast, she had been able to read the newspaper because Maggie always had hope in her column’s words.

  Abby had needed that during the last two years.

  She owed Maggie a debt of gratitude. And she couldn’t help being curious about the ranch she lived on. “The ranch is beautiful.”

  “We love it.” She heard the pride in his voice and it was well deserved. Not only was the place beautiful but they’d all worked hard to keep it alive.

  Pops’s house came into view—a pretty, white home with a wide front porch and a tree-lined yard.

  As they drew closer, Bo leaned forward over the steering wheel. “What in the world? What is that?”

  The front door of the house stood open. A tall, thin man was outside on the porch leaning over what looked like a portable playpen. Abby saw a tiny head sticking up over the edge.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Bo asked, taking in the scene.

  “I believe that’s a baby. Do you have a baby?”

  Alarm lit his expression. “No. What’s a baby doing on the porch?”

  There was no mistaking the complete bafflement in his words.

  He pulled to a halt and was out of the truck in a blink. As he strode briskly across the yard, Abby followed him, not sure what was going on.

  Pops, for this must be him, looked up. There was no missing the blank look on the older man’s expression as he grinned at Bo.

  She and Bo both stared down at the red-faced toddler with a thick head of brown hair curling about his face. He had a bottle in one hand and a pacifier in the other. He’d been crying and by the look of things, for a while. Tears had dried on his cheeks. Abby’s heart clenched.

  “Pops, what do you have here?” Bo asked.

  Abby’s gaze shifted back to Pops, who was looking at Bo as if he’d just asked the silliest question ever.

  “Well, Bo, it’s your baby.”

  4

  “My baby.” Bo took a step back. “No, Pops, not mine. What’s he doing here?” He glanced around as the baby continued to wail.

  “He’s crying,” Abby blurted, still hanging back from the porch. Bo thought she looked like she was fighting the urge to run back to the truck. Where had this baby come from? Who would have done this?

  “I-I don’t know what to do with a baby. I’ve never been around them. What do I do?”

  She waved her hand at the baby. “Pick him up,” she urged.

  “Me?” He glared at her in horror. “How? It’s not like he’s a steer.”

  She glared right back at him and pointed. “Put your hands under his armpits and lift. It’s easy. He’s your baby.”

  “He’s not my baby.” The baby turned about as red as an over-ripe plum with his next holler. “How can something that little make a noise like that?” Bo stepped in and clumsily took hold of the baby just like Abby told him. He wrapped both his hands around the little fella’s chest and hauled him out of the playpen. “Now what?” As Bo held the boy in midair, the baby let out a piercing scream that brought Pops running to his side. Panic washed over Bo.

  Pops looked distressed. “Don’t cry, little baby, don’t cry,
” he urged, then started pacing back and forth wringing his hands.

  From inside the house Solomon, Pops’s spoiled Basset Hound, joined in the ruckus and started wailing too.

  Out of his element, Bo spun with the baby toward Abby and to his surprise she looked white as a sheet. “Help?” he asked, and hoped she wasn’t about to pass out on him.

  She blinked, visibly inhaled as if needing the air to keep from passing out. Bo’s stomach sank. What would he do if she fell out and needed him? Finally, thankfully, she surged forward.

  She scowled as she reached for the baby. “Let me have him.” She scooped the little fellow into her arms, holding him close. “There, there sweet boy,” she consoled him. “I’ve got you. No more crying. Calm down, sweetness, it’s going to be okay.” The more she cuddled him, the quieter he got, until with a squishy sound he plopped his pacifier into his mouth and looked up at Abby with wet, adoring eyes.

  Confused by the entire situation, Bo could have picked Abby up and hugged her tight just for the blessed quietness. He’d thought Abby was upset or angry, but she sounded purely sweet as she spoke soothingly to the baby . . . but he had no time to really think more about that when he had no clue what this baby was doing here.

  “Who would leave a baby?” Bo looked at Pops. “Pops, do you know who left the baby?”

  Pops was clearly in a disoriented phase, but Bo had to try. This was important. Bo’s mind scrolled through people he knew who might have a baby, but no one came to mind. There was the home for unwed mothers on the outskirts of town, but he didn’t know any of those young ladies. Besides, this wasn’t a newborn. This baby was older than that.

  Pops got that confused look in his eyes that Bo had gotten used to seeing so much lately. He pointed at Abby and grinned. “Her.”

  “No, Pops. Abby was with me,” he said, and then noticed a folded-up piece of paper sticking from beneath one of the legs of the playpen. Bending down, he freed it and then opened the note.

  Dear Bo,

  I’m sorry I’ve never told you about Levi, but I didn’t think I wanted you to know, and I didn’t think it would matter to you anyway. As I write this I’m not doing so well. I’m fighting cancer. And if you are reading this, then that means I’m gone and my friend has brought you our baby. I’ve made sure you are listed as the father and legal guardian on everything and as far as the courts or any social services would know, you’ve been involved in his life from day one. Take care of our son. His name is Levi. He likes cows and cuddling. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I wish things had been different between us but—anyway, take care of our baby.

  Darla

  The world around him slowed, sounds faded away. Bo stopped reading and focused on Levi. He sank to the porch railing.

  “Bo, what does it say?” Abby asked.

  He looked at her and struggled to speak. “According to this, he’s mine. And his name is Levi.”

  “Yours and you didn’t know it?” Abby asked, shock radiating through her. Color drained from her face—Bo was as shocked as she was. She didn’t know what in the world she’d walked into, but it was a doozy. Bo looked like he’d just run into a brick wall. Her own heart beat erratically as she held the baby, Levi, close. She focused on Bo and not the struggle holding the baby was causing her.

  Bo shook his head as the knowledge seemed to settle through him. “Darla Sims—a girl I dated for a little while over in the next county. She had him and didn’t see fit to tell me.”

  His words trailed off and he looked lost. She could only imagine what he must be feeling. How could someone not have told him he had a son? Why would they keep something like that from him?

  “She moved off and didn’t leave a forwarding address, and now I know why. She didn’t want me to know.”

  “Why is that?”

  Bo raked a hand through his hair then rubbed the back of his neck, deep in thought. “She says she didn’t think I’d want to know.”

  Abby couldn’t help frowning. “And why would she think that?” Had he done something to make this woman believe he wouldn’t be a good father—or want to be a good father?

  “I don’t know. Everyone knows I’m not looking to settle down any time soon. And we’re pretty much a bachelor establishment here. Maybe that’s why.” He looked troubled as his gaze locked on the baby—at Levi. “She assumed I wouldn’t want to take care of my responsibility.”

  So that was it. Abby instinctively cradled Levi closer and ignored the ache welling up in her heart. “Why did she just drop him off like this? It’s very unorthodox.” It was much more than that—for Abby it was incomprehensible.

  The line between his brows deepened. “She’s dead. Some friend of hers did this. She left this letter Darla wrote me and it says if I was reading it that she was dead. That she’d put everything in order so that I’m his parent on his birth certificate. I have no idea if this is real or not. I’ve never seen the baby. I had no idea I might have a child.”

  She stared at him; no words came. This was crazy.

  “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I’m sorry, I didn’t know. It’s not like I was told I had a kid and then I walked off and left him like some sorry son of a—” He clammed up, visibly reining in the flash of anger and frustration.

  “I can’t help it. This is a baby we’re talking about.” Abby had very strong feelings about who should and who shouldn’t raise a baby—she didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want to go there—couldn’t go there. She shook her head, trying to clear the shadows creeping into her thoughts. “A baby takes commitment. Planning. The decision to have one shouldn’t be taken lightly—” She hadn’t taken it lightly. Stop—she screamed inside, not letting her thoughts turn inward. Her past had already ambushed her earlier and she could not let it spiral out of control.

  Bo clamped his hands to his hips and thought for a moment. “Let’s get this baby in the house. I need to call Jake Morgan, the sheriff, since I don’t know what the procedure is in a situation like this, but he can help me figure out what to do.”

  Focus on a solution. “I agree completely,” Abby said and they followed Bo inside. Pops trailed behind them.

  A huge Bassett Hound lurked just inside the door, its long ears dragging on the floor as it took one look at her and the baby and galumphed off, toenails clacking on the hardwood floors. Its legs seemed to move in double time as it rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. Abby almost laughed, but the baby had begun wailing again and the dog immediately joined in from somewhere in the other room.

  Abby felt the edge of the baby’s diaper. Bingo. “This baby needs a diaper.”

  The blood drained from Bo’s face. “Diaper, I don’t have a diaper.”

  The man knew how to build a custom stirrup, but a baby was no-man’s-land.

  “Look around outside on the porch. Maybe this person who abandoned Levi thought to leave some supplies.” If she could have snatched up the person who did this, Abby would not be responsible for her actions. The very idea, leaving a child on a porch like that!

  “Yeah, sure. Of course. Babies need dry bottoms.”

  Abby found herself chuckling, despite everything else, as he ran for the door.

  5

  Bo slid to a halt at the playpen. “Get a grip, Monahan. Get. A. Grip.”

  A father?

  Was he a father? A dad . . .

  He grabbed the porch rail with both hands and heaved in two deep gulps of air. He had to calm down, get his head on straight. Darla, dead? They had had a brief relationship that he’d regretted. It should have never happened as far as he was concerned because it had ended with Darla getting hurt—in more ways than he’d ever suspected.

  The cry of the baby called him back to action and he scanned the porch and spotted the small bag on the porch beside the playpen. Relief surged through him. He snatched it up and yanked on the zipper. His fingers, normally so nimble with the intricate work he did with his stirrups, felt stiff and clumsy.
As Bo tried to make the zipper work, Pops poked his head out the door and Solomon raced through the opening, looked up at him, and started wailing.

  “Cut it out. I know.” Bo glared at the dog. “I know we have a problem. And if you think you can do a better job, then come on, big boy, you go for it.”

  The dog tucked his tail and scurried back inside the house with Pops as if Bo had kicked him. Bo instantly felt like a slug, as if he hadn’t already been feeling bad enough.

  He hung his head, feeling every nerve sting with rawness as if completely exposed . . . What kind of man was a babbling basket case around a baby and yelled at dogs?

  This day had held promise. He’d started out doing a good deed, helping out a female in need, and now he didn’t know which way was up.

  Spotting a couple of diapers inside the bag, he hurried inside. The kid was going to hurt himself if he kept this up. It was more than evident that he owed Abby Knightley a great debt. The woman was his knight in shining armor—and here he’d thought he was saving her.

  That was almost laughable now. Bo had never been more out of his element. What would he have done if she hadn’t been here?

  “Got a bag. It’s got two diapers in it—we’ve hit pay dirt,” Bo said, racing back into the living room.

  Abby noticed once more how appealing the man was even mussed and distressed—she yanked her gaze off of him and snatched the diaper.

  He raked a hand through his hair. “Do you know how? Please tell me you do,” he said.

  Keeping her eyes off of him, she opened the diaper. “Yes, thanks to many hours working at a day care during college,” she assured him, and made quick work of getting a dry diaper on Levi. Her heart ached as she tended to the sweet baby—she’d been running on instinct when she’d taken the baby earlier. Instinct and survival mode . . . Landon had wanted babies so very much. And she’d put them off because of her career.