by Cleo Kelly
“Can I help?”
The humor in his eyes deepened. “Well, ma’am. Seein’ as how you’re my partner and all,” he began with a heavy drawl.
The bedroom door opened and Daniel rushed to jump on the bed.
Baya groaned at the sudden movement and Bonnie caught the child in a fierce hug.
“Mom, can I find some fish bait? Huh?”
Bonnie looked from Daniel to Baya with a puzzled frown.
Baya laughed out loud. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure she thought her son would be shocked to see him in her bed. “Saved by the boy.” Baya murmured, grinning at her.
She scrunched up her face and tightened one corner of her mouth in exasperation at his humor. “Later, Daniel. We have to eat first. Go get dressed and move carefully so you don’t make Baya’s old bones ache.”
The boy slid off the bed and headed for the door. “Are we going to have pancakes?” He yelled as he ran across the hall to his room.
In a sudden move, Baya leaned over and gave Bonnie a quick, hard kiss.
She reared back, startled, but smiling. “Maybe I’ll have to reward him with pancakes, after all.” She slipped out of the bed and grabbed a robe. “I’ll start the shower running so you can work the kinks out. I’ll just turn on the cold water. Doctors say cold water works well on painful joints and such.” She tossed her head and laughed again.
He silently walked behind her as she pulled the shower curtain around the tub.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You have to give me something to get back out this door.” He chuckled again and crooked a finger. She straightened and he placed a finger against his lips and tapped twice.
She moved toward him, her lashes lowered demurely.
He bent his head so she could kiss him, but she reached up, tapped his lips twice with her finger and ran out the door with a giggle.
He made a grab for her but she slipped away. As she reached the door he yelled, “And don’t you dare feed that gremlin pancakes!”
~*~
A smile kept creeping onto her face as she grilled the pancakes. Bonnie tried to remember the last time she had indulged in such a playful flirtation. Having Baya hold her last night had lessened some of the tension in their relationship. Trust was growing. He had been brutally honest about wanting her; it hadn’t been crude or intense, just honest. And he held her all night long, being a perfect gentleman. She paused. Surely you could place your trust in a man like that? The kitchen door swung open.
“I said no pancakes,” he growled as he wrapped his arms around her in a fierce hug.
Pushing away from him, her hands rested on his biceps. Her laughter quieted. Corded muscles rippled down his arms and she felt his strength and warmth curling deep inside her. Her hands smoothed the taut muscles and traveled over his hard T-shirt clad shoulders. As her arms slipped up his neck, she caught sight of intentness in his dark eyes.
He seemed to be holding his breath.
Pulling his head down, she kissed him full on the mouth. Heat flared. She couldn’t breathe; fire coursed through her veins. He picked her up and placed her on the counter and she wrapped herself around him, sinking into the passionate kiss.
“Mom, are you burning something?” Faith’s voice floated down the back stairs.
Startled, they pulled apart.
Baya grabbed the skillet handle and pulled it off the flame. “Ow!” He shook the heat out of his hand
Bonnie covered her mouth trying to stifle the nervous giggle that escaped.
Baya narrowed his eyes. “Pancakes. I’ll never be able to appreciate them again. First that open door, and now the stove, are working against me getting any smooching.”
“I take it you skipped the cold part of the shower?”
He gave her a smiling kiss. “What’s your excuse?”
“My heroes have always been cowboys.”
He pulled her off the counter. “I’ll try to keep the legend alive, ma’am. Just don’t burn any more pancakes. I can see I’ll need my nourishment.”
The sound of running feet on the stairs turned him toward the breakfast cubby. “I’ll get the table set. It sounds like the thundering herd’s hungry.”
~*~
A breakfast full of laughter and gentle teasing held her in a warm glow as she did dishes and cleaned up the kitchen. Glancing out the kitchen window, she could see Baya pulling the tractor out of the shed.
Faith was hauling food to the old mare and colt.
Bonnie dried her hands on a towel and pulled off her apron. Walking swiftly, she went out toward the barn.
In town the other day, one of the checkout clerks had started a casual conversation, and upon learning they were new in town, had invited the family to church.
She skirted the tractor before stepping inside the dark filtered light of the building. A wheelbarrow was sitting in the aisle. She stopped, startled by the sight of Daniel shoveling horse manure out of a stall into it. A bale of straw plopped out of the loft and she looked up to see Baya pitching another one. She stared up at him with a rumpled brow.
Hope came out of a stall dragging a hose behind her.
Baya pushed his hat off his forehead and wiped the sweat from his face before he saw her standing in the middle of the aisle. The welcoming smile drained from his face.
“I didn’t know you had the children doing these chores.” Her voice was low and intense as she reached the hayloft. Her vision of sitting with the kids on a bale of hay watching Baya disappeared.
“You don’t approve?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She frowned. “I’m afraid they’ll pick up a bug of some kind.”
He shook his head. “All the animals are vetted, Bonnie. You don’t disapprove of Faith doing this.”
“They are so young.” She gestured a stiff hand toward the two younger children.
“How young was Faith when she started?”
“They need to learn how to do the job now, before laziness becomes a habit. Yes, I could do it all myself, but this way I know where they are and what they’re doing.
“You should be proud of how well they do these chores. You told me yourself that Hope wasn’t a baby. I can’t afford hands to run this ranch, Bonnie. I have to make do with what I have. If I make sure these children learn to work now, they can be of help later. Later, I plan on making a profit of this valley. Later, I plan on hiring hands. If later never comes, at least we know the family can keep this valley functional. Do you understand this?”
“They are still just children.”
“Take away these jobs and you will take away the pride growing in these children. Listen to them, Bonnie.”
Below, the children were calling back and forth.
Faith had returned from feeding the mare and colt. Swinging the empty buckets as she walked, she asked if Hope needed help. The answer was an aggressive negative.
Daniel answered in much the same way before turning to shout up at Baya. “I have the stalls clean. Are we ready to put down straw?”
Baya searched deep in Bonnie’s eyes before answering, “I’ll be right down, Daniel.” Then softer, he told her, “That is pride in his voice. This is a nasty chore, but simple, and he can do it well. Let them grow up, Bonnie.” He turned and walked away, disappearing one step at a time down the stairs, heading to cut the straw bales and bed the stalls.
From where Bonnie stood in the loft, she could see all four of them scramble for armloads of bedding. She walked down the stairs and back to the house, disturbed by the image and not sure why she felt bested yet again.
11
The next morning, Baya lay in bed, listening to the sounds of Bonnie moving about upstairs. He hadn’t attempted to move upstairs after the interlude in the barn. She would have to come to him. If she didn’t…he shrugged. He had placed the cards on the table.
She had allowed that remoteness that he recognized too well to envelope her, moving back into her protective shell. Playing peek-a-boo
with the passion that dwelt in her was exhausting. He wasn’t sure he was up to the job, but the same reckless determination that kept him riding bulls surged inside him.
Deep down, it angered him that he had talked and reasoned with her so much. Talking wasn’t a natural part of his makeup, but he had tried and it still hadn’t helped. None of the few women he’d known would have remained as calm when challenged.
Bonnie might grow reflective and quiet, but she worked things out in a just manner. Her worries stemmed around the children. Always the children.
She didn’t seem to notice her own needs or plan anything other than caring for the children. She needed to expend some on herself.
He began to wonder when she had last had a day to do something she wanted. Which reminded him: he never had found out what she’d ventured into the barn for yesterday. He gave a groan as he struggled to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. He smiled as his feet hit the floor, remembering yesterday when he sat on Bonnie’s bed.
When she entered the kitchen he had the coffeepot going and the radio turned down low. He turned to smile as she stopped inside the door.
“I refuse to eat pancakes two days in a row.” He smiled. “How’d you sleep?”
She lifted her chin and stared at him warily. “Fine.”
“I never asked why you came to the barn yesterday.”
Her mouth rounded in surprise. “Oh.” She watched him for a moment before answering. “I had meant to tell you that we were invited to church this morning. It’s a little one on Woodrun Road. I thought I’d let you know that we would have to be done with chores by eight.”
Gripping the coffee cup, he turned to stare out the window. Outside the varying greens of the valley looked the same. He remembered her vaguely mentioning something about church at the diner. “I’ve not been inside a church in years,” he murmured, still not quite sure of his relationship with God and thinking maybe the Almighty wouldn’t want a broken bull rider who traded marriage for a ranch in a house of worship.
“I thought we discussed all this.”
“Why can’t you and the kids go on and I’ll have dinner cooked when you come back?” He turned to see her eyes filled with hurt.
She started to push back through the door when he stepped beside her and lifted her chin. “Did you really want me to go?”
Her nod was forceful enough to flatter him. She wants me with her.
As unreasonable as the thought was it satisfied something in him. “Why is this so important to you?”
Optimism lit her face. “I want to be a good parent and have the children grow up right. And I think church, community, and family are very important for that.”
“You mean a social life.”
“That too. Baya, I believe in God, and that we strengthen our faith through being around others who feel the same. He loves people for who they are, and I believe the family needs to hear that God loves them. We should have understanding and comfort—church is important for this reason alone. We need to show a united front about this. You said you believed in God, too.” Her tone was gentle, but reproving.
“I do believe in God. It’s just…” He stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts. Maybe she didn’t need to know his knowledge of God was as a distant father who only watched over him, nothing more. “We need to show a united front here in the house as well, Bonnie,” he countered with a frown.
Her forehead tightened in indignant anger. “I didn’t kick you out of my room. You never showed up.” Her voice trembled with self-righteousness.
The deep rumbling laugh rolled out of his chest. “So you missed me.”
“I didn’t say that.” She turned away.
“Well, I missed you.” He slipped his arms around her from behind, and he nuzzled her neck. “Though that wasn’t the united front I was talking about.” He paused to let that sink in before continuing. “In a very practical way, we need to discuss how we’re going to run this ranch. We need to understand each other about what kind and how much work you allow the children to do. I need guidelines. I’ve thought about it and I may be asking too much of them. I thought you believed in hard work because Faith is so capable, but I may have overstepped my bounds.”
She turned in his arms, pushing him back to make eye contact with him. “I was surprised yesterday. I shouldn’t have questioned you. And you were right: they do need to learn to work. There’s so much I don’t know about running a ranch. I promise to help more.”
Smiling he gazed into her face. “You’re the most generous woman I’ve ever met. I’m glad I married you.”
A blush swept over her and her lips parted. “Are you?” The question was little more than a sigh.
“Er…” He closed his mouth and then opened it again. “Bonnie, the way you cook is enough to have me glad I married you. Everything else is a bonus.” He watched the joy drain from her face and quickly added, “And what a bonus it is.” He kissed her, trying to head off the reprimand he knew was coming for his almost slip into bad language.
She returned the kiss, though the moment they moved apart, she tapped his mouth. “Watch your language.” She looked at him warily a few moments as he rolled his eyes. “Do you really mind going to church so much?”
“I’ll go to church with you Sunday morning.” He answered the statement with one of his own. “You go dancing with me on Saturday.”
“What?”
“I go to church. You come to the dance with me. OK?”
She rubbed her cheek against his bare chest before stepping away. “I can’t see why not, as long as I won’t embarrass you.”
“Embarrass me? What are you talking about?”
“Ed was always ashamed to be seen with me.”
“Why’d he feel that way?”
She walked into the pantry and a muffled reply came out. “I wasn’t pretty enough.”
“What? Bonnie, you’re beautiful. You took my breath away the first day we met. There must be another reason.”
“He said I was too old for anyone to look at twice.”
“Come on. No one would say that.”
“He said no one would ever be interested in me, that I had too many kids.” Her voice cracked as the first tears rolled down her face. “He said I couldn’t cook and was impossible to live with.”
He reached her in one long step and picked her up in his arms. Turning back to his room, he carried her in and put her on the bed. She slowly turned away from him as her crying came in bursts of hurt, and he curled around her and rubbed her back.
After a while, she lay still.
He continued to provide that simple comfort, trying to reason out why anyone would say such things. Like dawn creeping over the mountains, he began to understand that she had been stronger than he had ever realized; she’d harbored all of these hurts and hidden them from the children. She didn’t need him to lecture her.
“Bonnie, I don’t know why someone would say such a thing. I am proud to be married to you. Maybe you’re afraid that I will have the same attitude once we make love. If that’s what you are afraid of, we’ll wait.” He continued in a soft murmur. “I want you to know I love being part of this family. I haven’t a clue how to be part of it, but I have loved it so far. Faith amazes me. Daniel keeps me hopping and Hope fills me with joy. I find myself hung somewhere between fear and amusement with you. It is like a roller coaster ride. I haven’t any idea what to do to make this marriage a success. I just know I want it to work.”
Bonnie relaxed and then shifted so she was spooned into him. “I like having you hold me.” Quietness settled over them for so long he wondered if she had fallen asleep, but then she spoke again, “I want a companion, a friend. I want to know you. I feel that God has planned something between us, I think…I think it might be love. And it makes me afraid, because I still have questions about you, about us, about all of this. Love wouldn’t have questions, would it?”
“We probably do need another week to work through some o
f our differences,” he said with a sigh. “We need to meet somewhere in the middle.”
She stirred lazily in the lingering silence. “You said you’ve never had a family, but when I met you and asked about your name you said you were the Third.”
He rubbed his face against her hair. “Hmm, my father and mother died in an automobile accident. I was sent to live with my paternal grandfather, Ben the First. I’d always been called Baya and he didn’t change it. Apparently, I couldn’t say Benjamin as a child and called myself that.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I was only there for a few years before he died.”
“You were in your teens?”
“About eleven.”
“You must have family somewhere.”
“I went into foster care. Finally, I got a job with a quarter horse ranch and from there I went to rodeo.”
“Was it pretty bad?”
“I did all right. Even graduated high school and went to Junior College for a couple of years. I almost graduated with a degree in Agricultural Science.”
“You must’ve had a good reason for not graduating.”
“I couldn’t swing the tuition.” He could feel his bitter smile and took a calming breath. “Besides, grandfather’s ranch had been sold for back taxes, by then. I had nothing to graduate for. No ranch to do the work I’d done most of my life.”
“It must have been a beautiful place.”
“No, but it was the only home I had known. He shifted back on his side to wrap around her. “It was farther south than we are. But on the face of the earth, this is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. And, Bonnie, I’ve seen a lot of earth.”
She settled against him. “We could make a list of what we want to have happen with the farm.”
“Ranch,” he corrected lightly.
“OK, ranch. If we each make a list and sit down to talk it over, we can find a compromise. We also need to figure our finances and work on our goals that way, too.” She drew back enough to search for understanding on the tanned face beside her.
He stared at her a moment before nodding his head. Thoughts rushed back to seeing her for the first time at the diner. Strength and warmth were there, but also a generous, giving nature. He had thought then that having the ranch was the greatest goal in the world. Now it slipped into second place behind the woman and children. Family. Home. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her. He smiled and rolled off the bed. “Let’s get breakfast going—I’ll cook today. What do I wear to church?”