Her Guardian Rancher

by Brenda Minton

  They entered the church together, taking a seat on a back pew and listening as the sermon came to a close. From where she sat, Emma could see Daron. She watched the expressions on his face change, saw his pain, his guilt.

  She could help him, she realized. He didn’t have to feel guilty for what had happened. He should have healing. Maybe even find faith.

  Years ago she’d learned that friendships happened for reasons a person didn’t always understand. Some relationships were just for a season, to teach, and to help.

  Maybe this friendship of theirs was meant to help him work through what had happened to him overseas. Maybe he needed her as much as she needed him.

  There. She’d finally admitted it, at least to herself, that she did need him as a friend.

  * * *

  Ladies were washing dishes and men were wiping down tables and putting up chairs. Daron knew how to make himself useful. He took a load of chairs and headed for the storage closet, allowing a quick glance in the direction of the kitchen, where Emma helped do the dishes. The church fellowship hall had been overflowing until about thirty minutes ago, when the potluck meal wrapped up and people started gathering up their covered dishes, saying their goodbyes and heading home.

  Daron could have left. Instead he’d remained behind, keeping an eye on the woman who had escaped him at the beginning of church.

  “Are you going to keep walking or just stand there gawking?” Boone said, coming up behind him, pushing another load of chairs.

  “I’m walking.”

  “You’re just worried about her, right?” Boone winked as he said it.

  “You know, some people think you’re charming. I don’t get it,” Daron shot back.

  “It’s the dimples and the pretty eyes. I’m taken, though.”

  “I feel sorry for her,” Daron shot back.

  Boone laughed, loud and long enough to draw some attention to the two of them. Happiness could be so annoying. Daron pushed the chairs into the storage closet, and when he walked out, he flipped off the light and shut the door behind him, leaving Boone inside and in the dark.

  Boone came out chasing after him, but Daron escaped to the kitchen, the women and Boone’s wife, Kayla. The two of them slid into the room, the women turning to stare. Kayla gave Boone a sharp look and he managed a grin that had her eyes softening almost instantly. Daron tried that same look on Emma, but she just shook her head and turned back to drying dishes. Jamie sat on the floor nearby playing with plastic bowls and measuring cups.

  “Art went on home,” Daron told Emma as he edged a little closer to her.

  “I know. He said you’d give me a ride. You really don’t have to. I can get someone.” She glanced around at the dwindling crowd.

  “I don’t mind. Actually I thought you might like to come out to the Rocking M. I haven’t been there much lately, but I think I might...” He cut himself off. There were things he didn’t tell anyone. Not even the woman pretending to be a friend.

  Boone knew. Boone, Lucy and Boone’s mother. Maria Wilder had a way of listening. It encouraged a guy to talk about his secrets and his fears.

  “You might try what?” Emma asked.

  “Putting up a Christmas tree. Making the ranch a little more homey.”

  “I see.”

  “You could help. You and Jamie.” He backtracked when she looked perplexed.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  People were moving around them. Older women in comfortable shoes, a mom with a toddler on her hip, one of the older men who seemed to enjoy being the only man in the kitchen. Emma started to pull away from him. And for whatever reason, he couldn’t let her go.

  “What isn’t a good idea? Helping me put up a Christmas tree? Taking an afternoon to rest and have fun?” He saw the corners of her mouth tilt, just barely.

  “Daron, stop trying to tempt me with that sweet smile.” Her cheeks turned pink as the words slipped out.

  “I have a sweet smile.”

  “You know you do. And you know that we can’t do this. We agreed on being friends, but I can’t do this, Daron.”

  “I’m confused. What is it you think I’m looking for?” He followed her across the kitchen, where she tossed the towel she’d been carrying into the pile of used towels and dishrags. “Oh, you think I want more than friendship.”

  She spun around to face him. “Stop. Just stop.”

  He put his hands up and took a step back. Behind him he heard Jamie. She toddled up, her blue eyes wide, watching the two of them. “I’m trying to be your friend.”

  “I know.” Her features softened. “I guess I don’t want to get lost in something that isn’t real. I’m a mom. I’m divorced. In my heart I guess I’m a widow. My life is complicated right now.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning in close to keep the conversation between them. “I pushed. And I probably teased. I just...want to spend the afternoon with you and Jamie. Something that doesn’t include me driving past your place, pulling in and pretending I didn’t mean to be there, or showing up at the diner just to check and see that you’re okay.”

  “Are we friends or am I just your latest mission?” she asked, her eyes darting to see who might be close enough to hear.

  “Friends.”

  “Then stop driving past the house. Stop checking on me.”

  “Help me put up my tree,” he continued, watching as she weakened a bit and waiting as something that felt like hope flared up inside him.

  “All right, we’ll go. I have to let Granddad know we won’t be home till later.”

  He gave her a sheepish grin that he hoped would cover a multitude of his mistakes. “I already told him.”

  She stomped off, but he knew that it was more in protest than in irritation. He felt pretty pleased with himself. Then he melted a little because Jamie had stayed next to him. Her hand was on his knee and she looked up expectantly. He picked her up and her sticky hands touched his face.

  “Well, kiddo, looks like we’re going to put up a Christmas tree.”

  “Christmas presents.” Jamie giggled and patted his cheeks again. She leaned close to his ear and whispered, “I want a puppy.”

  “I bet you do.” He carried her to where her mom was gathering up her purse and jacket and Jamie’s soft blanket.

  “Come back anytime,” Oregon Martin was telling her. “We know you have a church in Braswell, but you can consider us your second church family. And, Emma, we’ll all be praying for Jamie.”

  Emma hugged the other woman tight. “Thank you.”

  Then she turned those dark eyes on him and he realized he was in over his head and he wasn’t sure if he knew how to swim in these murky waters.

  “Ready to go?”

  She nodded. Oregon gave her a questioning glance, so he jumped in and said, “I told Art I’d give them a ride home.”

  Jamie chimed in. “And Christmas trees.”

  Oregon looked confused but she didn’t ask.

  They managed to escape with no further incidents. He draped the blanket over Jamie and placed a hand on Emma’s back to guide her out the side door of the church and across the parking lot to his truck.

  On the way to his place, she broke the silence, reaching to turn down the radio. “People are going to talk.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” He didn’t dare grin. “They probably already do. Mostly about how I’ve lost it and how I need to admit I like you. Mostly they say I need to cowboy up if I’m going to ask you out.”

  “They say those things?” she asked.

  “And a few more.”

  “You aren’t going to ask me out,” she stated flatly, giving no room for argument.

  He’d argue anyway. “If you say so.”

  “You’re making this pre
tty complicated, aren’t you?”

  He laughed at that. “Yeah, I do like complications. But I’ll be out of your hair for a few days. I have a security job in Austin and then one in Houston.”

  “Good,” she said, but it didn’t sound like she meant it. And he was glad.

  “Don’t worry—I’m not going to stay gone.” Now for the serious stuff. “I’d really like to go with you when you go to Austin to the heart specialist.”

  She nodded but didn’t say anything.

  He guessed there ought to be a program for guys who couldn’t stay out of dangerous relationships.

  Step One, admit you like to be a hero...

  Chapter Seven

  Emma had driven past the Rocking M. By most standards it was a smaller ranch, only a few hundred acres. It was still quite a bit larger than her grandfather’s small farm. The front of the property was surrounded by white vinyl fencing. The driveway was blacktop, not gravel. The house at the end of the blacktop was a fantastic stucco, wood and stone lodge home with a covered front porch, stone-lined flower gardens and a few willow trees. In the distance she spotted the stable and other outbuildings.

  “I shouldn’t let it sit empty,” Daron said as he pulled into the garage.

  “Then why do you? Your parents used to stay here quite a bit.”

  “They got tired of the drive and they aren’t really ranchers. My grandfather, my mom’s dad, had a ranch. She thought she wanted that life back, then realized she wasn’t much of a country girl anymore.”

  “So they handed it over to you?”

  “Yeah, they did. Boone would tell you I’m not much of a rancher, either. But I’m not ready to give it up.”

  They entered the house through a utility room and then walked down the hall to the kitchen and great room with vaulted ceilings and large windows overlooking the countryside. Emma put Jamie down, but her daughter was unsure of this big new space, the hardwood floors and shiny kitchen. Jamie held tight to her hand, eyes wide, studying the surroundings.

  “I don’t have any toys,” Daron said, his expression troubled.

  “No one would expect you to.”

  “I do have coffee, however,” he offered. “And a tree.”

  He pointed to the giant tree devoid of decorations. It was situated in front of the large windows in the living area.

  “You planned this?”

  “Not really. I wanted a tree. Today, when you showed up at church, I thought you’d probably enjoy decorating it. Or Jamie would.”

  “Then we should have that coffee. Where are the decorations?”

  “The decorations are in the garage,” he said. “I’ll get them and you start the coffee. There might be instant hot chocolate in the pantry, if Jamie would like that. And cookies.” He’d obviously thought of everything.

  “I’ll take care of it. You get the decorations.” She watched him walk away; then she circled the kitchen with its dark cabinets, granite countertops and appliances that made her want to cook. And she didn’t really like to cook.

  She found the coffee and started a pot brewing. Jamie sat on the floor nibbling a cookie that Emma gave her. She leaned against the counter and watched her daughter jabber to herself. Jamie looked up at her, all wide-eyed and sweet. She looked so much like Andy. Sometimes it was so hard, seeing his face, his expressions, on their little girl.

  Even though she didn’t want to get lost in the past, there were days she wondered if he would have come home to them, been faithful, been a husband and father. After all, they had Jamie together. Would they have gone through with the divorce had they known Emma was pregnant?

  They were all questions that would never be answered because she and Andy had never gotten the chance to talk, except for that one phone call when she’d told him she was pregnant. He’d deserved to know.

  “Everything okay?”

  The question startled her. She regrouped and nodded. “Yes, just thinking.”

  “I see it, too. How much Jamie looks like him.”

  “Yes, and someday she’ll want to know.” She left the sentence unfinished. But they both knew. Someday Jamie would want to know about her dad.

  “I’m sure she will. I’m sorry.” He set the tubs on the floor and stood there, tall, strong, a little bit lost. She liked that about him, that little bit of vulnerability in a man who always seemed strong.

  She picked up the coffee cups she’d found and poured them each a cup. She held one out to him. “Here’s to friendship and forgetting the past. To letting go.”

  “A nice lecture hidden in a phrase of good cheer.” He took the cup and lifted it in a salute.

  “It wasn’t,” she started. “Okay, a little. Honestly we all have things we have to learn to let go of.”

  “If it was as easy to do as it is to say.”

  His expression shuttered and he walked away, taking the cup of coffee with him and stopping by the tree. Emma picked up Jamie and followed.

  She didn’t ask questions, not at the moment. Instead she sat in a rocking chair near one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and watched as he opened boxes, occasionally stopping to take a drink of his coffee.

  Jamie climbed down off her lap and walked toward the box of glittery red ornaments. Daron handed her one and helped her hang it on a low branch of the tree. Emma moved from the rocking chair and lifted a laminated card with a ribbon attached. The angel and manger scene on the front didn’t set it apart from any other Christmas card. She turned it and read the inscription on the back.

  “Dear Soldier. Thank you for serving our country and keeping us safe. Jesse. Third Grade.”

  The words undid something inside her, something tightly wound that she usually kept a hold on, to keep her emotions safe, unattached from this man who had been watching over her for three years. That something unraveled a bit and she swallowed quick to keep it from turning into tears that were burning at the backs of her eyes, tightening her throat. She reached for another ornament, an angel colored in childish scribbles. Also laminated and a ribbon attached.

  “Don’t cry,” he warned in a low voice.

  “I’m not going to cry.”

  He pushed a tissue into her hand. “Yeah, you’re going to cry. You’re starting to get emotional, thinking I’m sentimental. I’m not. It just seemed a waste to throw away an art project some kid put all that work into.”

  “Of course,” she said, shoving the tissue into her pocket. Unused.

  “There are letters, too. Don’t start reading them or we’ll be here all night.”

  She shook her head. And as he helped Jamie hang another bright red decoration, she hung a card with a picture of the baby Jesus and on the back, a note from a little girl named Annie whose daddy was serving in Iraq and so she prayed for all the soldiers.

  There were more. Letters. Cards. Homemade ornaments. From elementary school children across the country who had signed with first names, the words misspelled and sometimes smudged. But they told a story of a soldier who had cherished each and every missive.

  No, he wasn’t sentimental. And as she read through the cards he found crayons and plain paper for Jamie to add her own work of art to his tree. Her heart tugged a little because she really did want this man for a friend. If friendship was easy and didn’t include strings.

  “I asked him to go,” he said while bending over Jamie, without looking at Emma. “That day, when the boy came to get us, to help his sister. I asked Andy to go with us. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” she answered, looking up to meet his gray eyes. He quickly looked away.

  He gave Jamie a few more crayons and told her he liked the tree she was coloring. She told him with a smile that it was Baby Jesus. He agreed that it was a very good Baby Jesus.

  “I kn
ew about you, and about the pregnancy. I wouldn’t have put him in danger.”

  “I know you wouldn’t. He made the decision to go with you. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t his fault. We can’t live our lives second-guessing ourselves.”

  “Of course.” He straightened, stretched and pasted on a look that was probably meant to appease her, to stop her from pushing the conversation further.

  A friend would ask if he was okay. A real friend. She wasn’t sure if she qualified yet. But here she was, helping him decorate his Christmas tree. She’d made coffee in his kitchen. She should push, get him to talk.

  She let her attention drift to her sleepy little girl. Emma reached and Jamie went straight to her, arms out. She carried her to the sofa and snuggled her under an afghan before returning to the tree and to Daron. He had gone back to decorating.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Daron,” she repeated as she stood next to him to hang a decoration. “Life isn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that my parents died in a freak car accident on wet roads. It wasn’t fair that Andy died. Or that his parents refuse to believe Jamie is their granddaughter. It isn’t fair that Pete is addicted to meth. Life isn’t fair. But it’s beautiful and complex. Every day I watch my daughter learn a new word, smile at something she’s only just discovered. It’s beautiful.”

  “It is beautiful.” He looked down at her, and his gaze softened. “You...”

  Emma held her breath. Because there weren’t supposed to be moments like this. She was a single mom. He felt attached to them because of an event that had been out of his control. But the thread between them became a tangible thing. The air in the room buzzed as the moment stretched out. His fingers barely connected with her cheek but somehow pulled her up on her tiptoes, as if that invisible string was lifting her to meet him.

  His lips touched hers. He tasted of coffee and cookies. It was warm and inviting and it made her feel truly alive to be in his arms. She hadn’t felt alive, not like this, in a very long time. She’d simply been existing, being a single mom, a college student, a waitress.