Wyoming Born & Bred

by Cathleen Galitz

  She tripped over a loose rock in her path and heard Amy giggle at the thrill of being momentarily thrown off balance. Struggling to regain her footing, Patricia heard one of her father’s favored sayings echoing in the corridors of her memory.

  Keep your eyes on the ground and your head out of the clouds, girl!

  She shook off the admonition with the same sense of resentment that it had evoked in her as a teen. It had been Patricia’s father’s Puritanical outlook on life that had propelled his daughter into the arms of a man more inclined to seeking fun and adventure than to earning his way into heaven through hard work and self-denial. After Hadley’s death, Patricia defied her father again by refusing to abandon the ranch and move back to her parents’ California home with its year-round sunshine and material comforts. Though the children’s grandparents could certainly give them the monetary stability that had been so lacking in their young lives, the thought of their free spirits being crushed beneath the inflexibility that had permeated that old mausoleum in which she had been raised prevented Patricia from seriously considering it for more than two consecutive minutes.

  Bound and determined to make a go of Hadley’s Folly, as her father had dubbed the ranch, she squared her shoulders and vowed to continue putting one foot in front of the other.

  One foot in front of the other, that was, as long as some perplexing blue-eyed drifter didn’t go tripping her up. Patricia shifted the squirming bundle on her hip. As much as she would like to have believed that Amy had somehow made her stumble, she refused to lay blame falsely. The fact of the matter was that she’d been feeling off-kilter ever since Cameron Wade had blasted into her life with all the subtlety of a cyclone. Patricia’s sense of light-headedness was compounded by the realization that he had somehow managed to strip the roof of more shingles in a few hours than she would have been able to in a week.

  She was duly impressed. It would have taken even longer just to get Hadley to climb the ladder.

  Oh, to have the strength of a man! Patricia thought wistfully to herself as she wrangled the baby into the car seat. If she only had the muscles to back her determination, there would have been no need to ever have placed the help-wanted ad that brought trouble to her doorstep wearing size-eleven cowboy boots and sporting an attitude to match. Her friendly wave goodbye to him came as more of a response to the unnerving feeling that Cameron was watching her every move with a mirthful eye than to any obligation to courtesy.

  “I’ll be back in a few,” she called out more cheerfully than necessary just to show how little his bare chest bothered her.

  His only response was a cursory nod of the head.

  Cameron didn’t bother hiding his fascination with Patricia’s cute little wiggle as she hopped into that old rattletrap of hers and disappeared over the hill. The pickup was soon obliterated by clouds of dust, leaving him with the eerie sense of being the only person left on Earth. He was familiar with that lonesome feeling, had in fact armed himself with it as a young man out to make a name and grown to like it in the process. A loner, he reveled in the solitude of mountain vistas and the canvas of a cloudless Wyoming sky unmarred by man’s heavy hand. Cooped up in the hospital for an extended period, he had longed for fresh air and freedom and the chance to be in control of his life again. The pure simplicity of manual labor was more therapeutic than anything a doctor could prescribe. As far as he was concerned, not even the glamour and excitement of the rodeo scene could compete with the satisfaction a man got from working on his own place. And despite what any registered deed said, in Cameron’s mind this ranch was already as good as his. From his lofty perch he felt the master of all he could survey. The lord of foreverness in every direction.

  “Hey, Cameron!”

  “We’re home!”

  Two little boys spilled out of the truck that had just barely jerked to a dusty stop in the driveway. Jolted from pensive reflections by their hollering, Cameron wondered what it would feel like to receive such a hearty welcome every day. An empty motel room sure as heck couldn’t compete with the look of genuine excitement upon these children’s open faces.

  He dismissed the odd twist in his chest with a glance at the pail of dirty diapers sitting on the edge of the porch. What man in his right mind would willingly exchange his independence for a ready-made family? For desultory obligations, endless bills and inescapable henpecking? The very thought sent a shiver up his spine. After years of being nailed shut, his heart wasn’t about to be pried open with anything as maudlin as cheap sentimentality. The one time he’d opened himself to the possibility of falling in love, Bonnie had stabbed him in the back with less compunction than Brutus had Julius Caesar. With a deft twist of the wrist, Cameron tore loose a section of shingling, leaving the naked wood beneath exposed to the sudden light of day.

  Johnny dashed into the barn as fast as a jack rabbit and returned a minute later, dragging an old, frayed piece of clothesline behind him. Cameron grinned. The little cuss was going to hold him to the offhanded promise he’d exacted last night about showing him how to work a lasso.

  “Chores first,” Patricia called out before he had gotten halfway across the front lawn.

  “Aw, Mom!” both boys cried simultaneously.

  Steeling herself against a barrage of whining, Patricia grabbed her youngest by the hand before she could take off after her big brothers.

  “Play?” Amy inquired over the fist she was attempting to stick into her mouth.

  “No play,” her mother replied with a weariness that bespoke just how tired she really was. The fatigue seemed to have settled deep into her bones and was mirrored in her eyes as she led the girl out of harm’s way.

  “Go on and do as your mother says now,” Cameron instructed the boys as he made his way down the ladder. “Maybe there’ll be time afterward for me to show you a rope trick or two.”

  The effect his words had upon Johnny and Kirk was nothing short of amazing. Patricia noted wryly how their objections ceased immediately. Cameron’s unexpected support was a nice change from Hadley’s general ambivalence. Only too happy to allow the children free rein with their imaginations, their father had shrunk from enforcing rules, setting deadlines and adhering to the mundane strictures of everyday living. Though Patricia hated always being the heavy in the family, she had learned early on in their marriage that trying to change her husband was like trying to change the direction of the fickle Wyoming wind. Instead she tried to focus on Hadley’s good points.

  While he may not have been the most responsible parent in the world, Hadley Erhart had been able to find the fun in life. Chores never had come first with him...or even second or third. And as much as Patricia had resented that when he was alive, she found it was what she missed most about him now that he was gone. Without his happy-go-lucky influence to lighten the burden of daily obligations, she often felt more like a boot camp sergeant than a mother.

  As she hustled about the kitchen preparing their supper, Patricia couldn’t help dwelling upon the fact that the boys hadn’t so much as questioned Cameron’s directive to do their chores. While happy to avoid what had become a daily battle with her children, she also felt a disturbing sense of foreboding. Apparently any male role model had the power to make a big impression on Johnny and Kirk. Even a temporary one bound to them by nothing more than a piece of paper and a questionable sense of duty.

  Cameron shook his head over the frazzled cord Johnny had thrust into his hands before rushing off to complete his chores. It seemed symbolic of this raggle-taggle family and their tenuous hold upon this ranch. He suspected that the slightest stress would likely cause it to snap in two. Not stopping to contemplate why his heart was choking him, he walked over to his pickup with purposeful strides. He couldn’t very well teach the boys how to rope without the proper equipment now could he? Though he had not had the huge success with it that he had with bull riding, Cameron was no stranger to steer roping. Pulling his own rope from behind the seat, he proceeded to twirl it over his
head a couple of times before sending it whirling through the air like a writhing white snake. It landed neatly over his target—a corner post of the corral.

  A self-satisfied smile curled his lip. While it wasn’t exactly his intention to impress the boys with a demonstration of his cowboy prowess, he didn’t particularly want to embarrass himself in front of them, either. He figured showing those twin tornadoes the basic techniques of roping and having them practice on their own, would be a surefire way of keeping them out of his hair for a while. After all, it would be a whole lot easier attending to the business at hand if he didn’t have a couple of pint-size fans dogging his heels every second of the day. Fans, he reminded himself, who could easily be crushed if he wasn’t careful about watching his step around them.

  An old sawhorse had been set up in the corral, and Patricia noted with amusement that someone had attached a set of horns to it. The rope Cameron was handling could well have been her heartstrings. She felt its certain tug as it sailed over its mark. What she would have given for her husband to have spent more of his time on earth engaging in such quality time with their boys. Unfortunately Hadley had been so engrossed in moneymaking schemes that he’d been generally oblivious to his sons’ desperate bids for their father’s attention. Presently they were flanking Cameron on either side, hanging on his every word. Patricia was surprised they weren’t taking notes.

  With an expert flick of the wrist, her foreman removed the lasso from the stationary bull without budging an inch from his perch.

  “Your turn to give it a try,” he said, handing Johnny the rope.

  The boy’s first attempt was a dismal failure underscored by the sound of his little brother’s loud guffaw. Patricia readied herself to intervene in a typical display of sibling rivalry, but whatever Cameron said to them too quietly for her to overhear rendered her good intentions unnecessary. They suddenly erupted into a gale of giggles.

  The sound of their laughter seeped into Patricia’s chest, making her breath come in shallow sips. Darn it, the last thing she needed right now was for the boys to bond with some drifter who was loath to making a measly three-month commitment. Considering how disappointed they were when he hadn’t shown up for breakfast this morning, Patricia knew she was witnessing an emotional disaster in the making.

  That knowledge did not stop her, however, from admiring the view. Those three denim-clad bottoms perched atop her corral gate would have made an adorable postcard. The one in the middle would have singularly made a great beefcake pinup. Of course, she wasn’t into that sort of thing, Patricia primly reminded herself. As a mother of three, she was far too mature to indulge in such girlish flights of fancy.

  Nonetheless, there was no telling how long her gaze might have remained affixed to Cameron’s fine-looking derriere had not a surprised hoot suddenly gone up from the spectators sitting on the fence. A second later the panicky sound of an emu grunting in distress sent Patricia bounding to the rescue.

  “Whoaaaa!” screamed Kirk.

  “Let go of the rope!” hollered Cameron as Johnny went flying off the gate.

  “Aaaaaaaaahhhh!” he cried in midair before hitting the ground so hard it sounded like it ought to bust wide open from the impact.

  The boy sat looking bewildered in the midst of a billow of dust, which hadn’t so much as settled before Patricia was over the gate and gathering her little angel into her arms.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  Tears welled up in his eyes. Looking from his mother to the big man wearing the black cowboy hat, he blinked back his tears.

  “I’m okay,” he sniffled, pulling away in obvious embarrassment.

  The fear that held Patricia’s heart captive released its viselike grip, and she felt her blood beginning to pump again in steady, angry beats.

  “What in the world did you think you were doing?” she demanded, pulling her son to his feet and checking him over for broken bones.

  Knowing full well that the question was not directed at a hapless ten-year-old but rather a grown man who should have known better than to come between a mama bear and her cubs, Cameron rubbed his chin thoughtfully before interrupting Johnny’s halting explanation.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. Darned if one of those fool birds of yours didn’t run under the lasso just as it was settling where Johnny was aiming—right at that old sawhorse.”

  The look on Johnny’s face spoke volumes in gratitude.

  Patricia glowered up at Cameron. Neither the lie nor the complicity sat well with her. Instilling a sense of uncompromising honesty in her boys was of utmost concern to her. Unlike their father, she was determined to root her children solidly in reality.

  “Am I supposed to buy that line of malarkey?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Unable to recognize a rhetorical question for what it was, Kirk helpfully responded, then stepped away from his mother’s dirty look in confusion.

  Dusting Johnny off with an experienced hand, Patricia turned a dangerously soft voice upon Cameron. He was reminded of the deceptive calm just before the chute was opened and a ton of angry bull exploded into the arena.

  “And I suppose you didn’t have any idea that the boys wouldn’t be satisfied with just roping inanimate objects?”

  “I sure wasn’t when I was his age,” Cameron admitted with a cocky smile that Patricia suspected had been perfected at a tender age to get him out of similar scrapes with his own mother. After all, what woman wouldn’t weaken under the power of matching dimples, twinkling eyes and a voice so rich and deep it could qualify as a purr?

  Patricia mentally supplied the answer to her own question. One concerned about her son breaking his neck while under this stranger’s questionable tutelage, that’s who.

  “Johnny could have been seriously injured,” she reminded him. “Do you have any idea how far it is to the local hospital?”

  A disparaging sound rose from the back of Cameron’s throat. He resented being treated like some asphalt cowboy who didn’t know his hind end from his hat. Did he know? How well he remembered those trips to the emergency room: bleeding into wet towels as he mentally prepared himself for being stitched up like Raggedy Andy, cradling a broken arm against his chest while assuring his mother each agonizing mile that he was going to be all right. As a boy Cameron had played hard. Things hadn’t changed much since he’d reached manhood—except that now he played for keeps.

  “I’d wager his pride is hurt worse than anything else,” he offered philosophically and turning to both boys added with a wink. “Before you know it, not only will you be roping those contrary critters but breaking ’em as well.”

  The comment had been made in jest, but Patricia was far from amused. Her boys were highly susceptible to any suggestions that centered on playing cowboy, and visions of one calamity after another danced before her mind’s eye.

  “That’s all I need—to have to put down perfectly healthy livestock because you’re playing rodeo with my boys. In case you aren’t aware, emus are like horses in a number of ways. Most notable if they break a leg, there’s nothing to do but put them out of their misery. An expensive proposition that I can hardly afford.”

  “Playing rodeo!”

  Patricia’s words drilled him between the eyes with the force of a mule’s kick. Had she been a man, he’d have expressed his outrage with his fists. “Do you have the faintest idea who you’re talking to?”

  Amused by his injured tone of voice, she responded coolly. “My foreman. I believe that I’m telling my foreman to stop endangering my children and my stock.”

  “Calling those overgrown dodos stock is like calling that stick horse over there a registered stud.” He gestured toward a broomstick horse propped forlornly against the corral fence. Patricia had lovingly fashioned him as a Christmas gift one year. It hung its cloth head in embarrassment.

  The slur acted as a fan to a flicker of pride sheltered deep inside Patricia’s heart that refused to be blown out despite her hus
band’s death, her father’s condemnation, the disdain of her neighbors—and the palatable scorn of her hired man.

  “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t take out your prejudices upon my stock. And that means no roping, choking, riding or belittling them in front of my children!”

  Patricia’s insistence upon referring to those miserable birds as legitimate stock unleashed Cameron’s ire. No matter how intriguing those dark eyes were when flashing like opals with the fire of self-righteous determination, the woman was pushing her luck. He’d have her know that he was not the type of man to take guff from anyone.

  “Rest assured, honey, I’m not tempted in the least to throw a saddle on some bucking bird! Chicken rodeo isn’t my style.”

  The sexist endearment had clearly been intended to rile her. It worked only too well. Though Patricia had never slapped a man before, nothing at the moment would have given her more satisfaction than to smack this one clear into next week.

  “Honey,” she mimicked, “you can take that stick horse over there and put it—”

  “Have you ever been in a real rodeo?” Johnny interrupted, his eyes wide with awe.

  Cameron did not shift his gaze from Patricia’s flushed face. For some reason he took perverse pleasure in ruffling her feathers. Maybe it was because so few women had ever stood up to him the way this spirited little spitfire did. Generally women liked being on his good side, preferably for a profile shot in some flashy rag.

  “A few,” he admitted with a self-effacing shrug.