The Baby and the Cowboy SEAL (Cowboy SEALs 2)

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The Baby and the Cowboy SEAL (Cowboy SEALs 2) Page 10

by Laura Marie Altom


  “Watch that sass or I’ll flick you with a towel.”

  “That used to hurt.” She finished lotioning Henry and reached for a fresh diaper. “You were so mean.”

  “Sorry. I was just fooling around. Need help?”

  “Sure. Want to grab his pajamas?” She nodded toward the clothes neatly stacked on the built-in shelves her grandfather had built.

  “Will this work?” He handed her a pale blue sleeper patterned with red fire trucks.

  “Yep. Thanks.”

  “I should have driven my truck over. I hate for you to have to get back out now that Henry’s ready for bed. How about I walk home? It’s a nice night.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready for that? It’s only a mile, but still...” She couldn’t help but eye him with concern.

  “I’ll be fine. Tuck your little guy into his crib, and I’ll get a jump start on the dishes.”

  “Don’t worry about them,” she said. “Cleaning gives me something to do once Henry goes to bed. Then I get to work on my knitting.”

  “You should be relaxing. Reading or watching TV.” As if unsure about his next move, he slipped his hands in his jeans pockets.

  “Would you like to help tuck in Henry? I read to him and give him a bottle. He’s usually asleep by the end of the book, so the ritual’s probably more for me than him, but still...” She smiled. “I enjoy our routine.”

  “Sounds fun. Thanks.”

  After fixing the bottle, Macy offered Wiley the nursery’s rocker, but he refused, and perched on the cushioned window seat with his legs stretched in front of him.

  She had a tough time focusing on The Lonely Hippo’s words. The old back porch that her dad had converted into a cozy room was small, and Wiley’s large frame seemed to take up half the space.

  He paid close attention to the story, almost as if he thought there might be a comprehension test.

  When it came time to nestle Henry into his crib, she noticed Wiley’s near reverent touch as he pulled the fuzzy blanket to Henry’s shoulders and tucked it in just so.

  “He looks content,” he noted.

  “I know, right? Sometimes I envy his ability to sleep.”

  Her son had already drifted off.

  She gathered his empty bottle from the side table next to the rocker, then gestured for Wiley to follow her to the kitchen.

  “That was easy enough,” Wiley said. “I always gave my folks hell before going to bed.”

  “Me, too, but remember Henry’s only eight months old. Don’t jinx me. I’ve got a long haul till he starts making trouble.”

  “Aw, he’s a sweetheart. With you as a mom, I’ll bet it’s a sure deal he stays that way.”

  She started to contradict him, but stopped short of opening her mouth. Whether Wiley’s words turned out to be truth or not, for this moment, she’d had her fill of drama and if the future wanted to work out fine, she’d let it. She’d ignore the gnawing at her conscience, the voice telling her there was no way Wiley’s turnaround could be real. She’d ignore the other voice reminding her that he was only supposed to be her friend—nothing more. That she wasn’t supposed to want to kiss him, or stroke his stubble, or feel his rough fingers strumming her body or explore the possibility of transforming their lifelong friendship into so much more.

  “Since my last stab at clearing the table didn’t turn out so pretty—” he stood at the kitchen sink, wielding the scrub pad “—how about I do the washing and you handle the legwork?”

  “Sounds like a deal.”

  In less time than she would have liked, dinner was just a memory save for the stray cracker Blinkie munched beneath the table.

  Macy started to say something to break the silence, but Wiley did, too. They both wound up laughing, which, she supposed, was better than a bunch of meaningless babble.

  “Guess I should get going while there’s still enough light to put up the goat and feed Pancake,” he said.

  “You decided to keep my silly name?”

  He shrugged. “It’s as good as any.”

  She smiled. But then being around him when he was like this made it kind of hard to do anything but wear a cornball grin.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Mace. Not just for dinner, but well...” He bowed his head. “You know.”

  Nodding, she stepped forward for a hug.

  Being against him was beyond right.

  Every inch of their bodies felt as if they’d been made to fit together. An achy, elemental yearning grew inside. More than anything, she wanted to stand on her tiptoes and finally feel his lips against hers as a woman and not a girl. But did he want that, too?

  With every part of her being, she hoped so.

  For a lingering moment, he tightened his hold, and Macy thought, prayed, wished her kiss was coming. When he grasped her shoulders, holding her just close enough for his warm breath to tickle her upper lip, and then he tilted his head as if contemplating how best to come in for a landing, her heart sang. What else could he be doing but preparing to kiss her?

  “Right.” He straightened and cleared his throat. “I really need to get going. Blinkie, you coming with me, or staying here?”

  The tiny dog skittered to his quilt, curled into a ball, then rested his chin atop his paws.

  Wiley laughed. “Guess that answers that. Looks like you have a new dog.”

  “Oh, no. He can stay for tonight, so you don’t have to carry him, but there’s no way I can handle two babies in the house.”

  “Fair enough.” He winked. “If we both feel up to it in the morning, want to check some fences? See if we can find a solution to how Charlie’s been getting out?”

  “Sounds good.” Macy tried not to pout. The last thing she wanted was for Wiley to leave. She tried telling herself it was good for him to go. That she needed alone time to process all they’d just been through. But she’d been on her own long enough. She was tired of solitude, and ready to move forward with her downright miraculous second chance.

  “Good night.” He hesitated, almost as if he planned to say more, but then he left, and Macy struggled to remember what she’d ever done with her nights besides think of him.

  Chapter Ten

  Wiley got halfway home when he realized he’d made a mistake.

  His meds were wearing off and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it other than keep putting one foot in front of the other. The farther he went, the more the road unfurled in front of him like an always-extending measuring tape.

  He was supposed to take his meds every eight hours, but it had only been four or five. Six, tops. What did that mean for the rest of his night? Should he take more now?

  Drink a little, then take more?

  Nah, he couldn’t do that because Suzy Sunshine poured all his booze down the drain.

  What was wrong with him? He’d had an awesome time tonight. The dinner. Henry’s bath. Listening to Macy read. At the time, it had all seemed like a fantastical alternative universe. Yet now, he regretted ever having gone. It was no secret she’d wanted to kiss him, and before his accident, he’d have taken full advantage of her female delights. Now? He couldn’t.

  He’d, of course, remain friendly with her and eat her cooking whenever possible, but sharing more was out of the question. He owed her for convincing him to quit being a stubborn old mule and take his damned pain meds, but that kind of favor needed to be repaid by maybe patching her roof, not kissing her.

  By the time he reached his drive, irrational rage pounded along with his head. The unfamiliar exertion had him sweat-covered and out of breath. It was humiliating—how an hour earlier he’d felt on top of the world. Yet now, if he’d been able to bend his knee, he would have crawled.

  At the house, the one-eyed cat still sat on the porch rail. She eyed
him with suspicion when he took his trusty hoe from the cobwebbed corner.

  Wiley made it to the side yard and found the goat still grazing. Considering all the grass had been eaten short, he was lucky the four-legged menace hadn’t made it around to the garden.

  It had been irresponsible of him to leave him out, but in his defense, Macy had his head spinning. He’d been trapped under water, not knowing which way was up. But then she’d shown him the light and everything changed. He’d broken through the surface and gulped for air and for the few hours he’d been with her and Henry, he could breathe again, and it had been good.

  So good.

  But now he was back under, not sure which way to go.

  Leading the goat by his guide rope back to the barn, Wiley considered his options.

  Option A: As soon as he finished feeding Pancake and carried the cat in for the night, he could make a run into town for more booze. He could stash it in a place Macy couldn’t find and resume the crap life to which he’d grown accustomed.

  Option B: Take the meds, and when he had enough relief to do his PT and decent upper body work, take the gamble that given time, his leg function would improve and the pain gradually lessen.

  It seemed like a no-brainer. Down a couple pills and be done with it. He was too strong to become a sad statistic.

  Haven’t you already become just that by the amount of booze you guzzle damn near every night?

  Wiley ignored the nagging voice in his head, fed Pancake and the goat, locking the goat safely in a pen in the barn for the night. He even managed to wrangle Lulu into the barn. Until she fattened up enough to regain her full strength, she was staying inside at night even though she preferred the pasture. He didn’t want to risk coyotes making a meal of her.

  Back at the cabin, he took the cat from the rail and headed inside.

  She hissed at the intrusion on her solitude.

  He hissed back, then set her on the sofa where she jumped onto the back to stare out the window. “Keep it up,” he said, “and tomorrow night I’ll leave you out for coyote bait.”

  Of course, he wouldn’t, but that was just how pissy he was feeling.

  While rummaging for an ice cream sandwich in the freezer, he found vodka Macy had missed. He downed the ice cream in three bites, then fell onto the sofa with the bottle in his hand.

  The cat didn’t look at him, but she also didn’t hiss.

  Progress?

  Not sure how long he’d be stuck inside when he’d first returned to the mountain, Wiley had signed up for satellite TV, and now switched it on, channel surfing until finding a River Monsters rerun.

  Reclining, he shoved a few fussy pillows behind his head, then unscrewed the bottle cap and swigged.

  It burned good.

  “Cat,” he said, “I’m sure by now, you feel meds are the clear way for me to best proceed. But there is a problem.” He downed more of the fiery drink. “The pills have a lag time I’m not entirely comfortable with.” He waved the bottle in her direction. “Take now, for example. If I follow the directions like a good little patient, I don’t think I’m allowed to have a second dose for another hour. Hell, maybe two? It’s not like I write this shit down.”

  Her tail slowly rose up and down. It was a bit snakelike and—not gonna lie—kinda freaked him out.

  He drank more.

  “So, it’s like this. Since I need the meds like every four to five hours, but I’m only allowed to have them every eight hours, what am I supposed to do? Just sit around and suffer during the time in between? Or do I make my own schedule? Take them every six hours? Four hours? Two?”

  He toasted the cat with his bottle, then finished it off.

  “Good answer.” His words were slurred. Or maybe his mind was slurred. Who knew? Who cared?

  * * *

  BANGING ON THE front door woke Wiley.

  Sunlight streamed through the windows and instead of sitting all pissed off on the sofa back, the cat sat square in the middle of his chest.

  Wiley released a slow exhale. The night seemed to have gotten away from him.

  “Good morning,” he said to his loyal feline companion. “How come you didn’t answer the damned door?” He scooped her up and set her on the floor.

  “Wiley?” Macy called, her voice muffled from outside. “I know you’re in there!”

  “Coming!” He sat up, only to find that the vodka bottle had also spent the night on his chest. He wedged it between the sofa cushions, for once thankful of the too many pillows his grandfather’s lady friends had crocheted, needlepointed and quilted over the years.

  He rolled off the couch, using the coffee table for leverage when he tried and failed under his own steam to get to his feet. He stumbled to the door, unsure how to fake his next steps should Macy want him to go anywhere far.

  “Hey.” He opened the door, leaning all his weight on it.

  “Good morning.” She brushed past him, carrying Henry with one arm and Blinkie with the other. “You had me worried. How was your walk home? Did you have much pain?”

  “It was all right.” Liar.

  The cat shot out the door and leapt onto the porch rail.

  “Have you had your meds yet?”

  “No. Just got up.”

  “You’re long past due. Watch these two—” she set Henry and Blinkie on the floor “—I’m grabbing groceries from the truck.”

  “Aw, Mace, you didn’t need to do that.”

  Midway down the porch stairs, she cast him an over-the-shoulder smile and he was lost. Yes, he’d take the damned meds. For today, for however long she wanted. Might sound corny, but the way she made him feel was better than vodka or any other drug—which had to stop. Time to cool things off before she went and kissed him. She might seem tough as a tanned hide on the outside, but he suspected her divorce had left her a mess inside. As pretty as she was, she’d one day find another guy, but that guy sure as hell couldn’t be him.

  She deserved way better.

  “Need help?” he asked more from a sense of duty than because he might have actually been helpful.

  “No, thanks. I only have a few bags.”

  He yawned. “What time is it that you’ve already been to town and back?”

  “Ten.” Her glare told him he should have been up earlier. But why? Without her here, there wasn’t much beyond feeding the pets that he cared to do. “I’ll bet you haven’t eaten yet, either?”

  “Not unless the cat fed me a breakfast burrito in my sleep.” He scratched his chest.

  She scowled. “Wiley... I thought last night you agreed to let me help you? But nothing I do will change your life for the better if you refuse to help yourself.”

  He decided to be honest. “Right now, I’m hurting, okay? The pain makes it hard to think—or even see straight. Give me a sec, and I’ll get with the program.”

  “Sit. I’ll fix you eggs and toast so you can take your medicine. Then we’ll establish a physical therapy schedule.”

  “How about you slow down?” He did sit, but on a counter bar stool so he didn’t have to bend his leg.

  “Not going to happen.” She unloaded eggs and cheese and milk and butter into his fridge at a frenetic pace. Then came bread and graham crackers and peanut butter that she stashed in the same cabinet his grandfather had. It felt good that she remembered. As if a piece of his grandpa lived on outside his memory. “After last night, I expected to find you already getting a jump start on your day. You did take your medicine last night, didn’t you? It works better if you take it regularly as prescribed.”

  “You sound like a walking drug commercial.”

  “Sorry, I’m not sorry. Grandma broke her hip a few years back, and I was in charge of her care. I’m just repeating what her doctor told me.”

  “
Lay off. I’ll take the damn medicine.” Wiley leaned on the counter, covering his face with his hands.

  “Why didn’t you take it last night?”

  “Because I passed out drunk and forgot, okay?” He hadn’t meant to snap, but sometimes the woman went too far. She acted as though they were already a couple, but they weren’t—would never be. The sooner she figured that out, the better off he’d be.

  Hands on her hips, mouth puckered into a frown, she didn’t say anything, just stood there shaking her head. Her body language told him what he already knew. He was a total screwup. Jackass. Lazy son of a bitch. He hated himself. Moreover, hated seeing his shortcomings reflected in her beautiful eyes.

  “I’ll take the damned meds, okay? I slipped. I found the vodka in the freezer, and thought I’d have a few sips, but my leg was hurting so freakin’ bad, I wasn’t sure if I could even leave the sofa to find my pills. As far as I know, that was the last of my booze.”

  “You won’t buy more?”

  He shook his head.

  Blinkie yapped at his feet.

  Wiley looked down to find that Henry had crawled after him. The tiny baby and even smaller dog made quite a pair. In ways, they reminded Wiley of Macy and him. He just sat there, feeling like a big baby while she yapped away.

  She wadded the grocery bag she’d just unloaded. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “You don’t.” He hung his head. And that was the truth of it. She and Doc could try all the homespun cures in the world to save him, but what if he was already too far gone? He didn’t want to believe that, but he’d been trained to deal in concrete facts and his current MO was shaded in nothing but fuzzy gray.

  She abandoned her high ground on the opposite side of the island counter to hug him from behind. He closed his eyes, welcoming her heat. He didn’t deserve her, but he wanted her. He could ask himself how he’d let her become so important in such a short period of time, but that would be stupid. He may have been gone from this mountain, but she’d never left his soul. She’d been right there all the time.

  Something tugged the leg of his jeans. Wiley looked down to find Henry pulling himself up. Was that normal? “Mace, hate to interrupt this riveting episode of All About Me, but look at your kid.”

 

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