Wyoming Born & Bred

by Cathleen Galitz

  Patricia immediately set down her dishrag and attempted to comfort her little fusspot. “There, there sweetheart,” she said, sweeping the toddler into her arms.

  The look the girl gave Cameron over her mother’s shoulder was so reproachful it caused him to mutter something about the fury of a woman scorned.

  “All right, everybody,” Patricia announced. “I want you to leave Cameron alone. He’s been a real good sport, but now it’s time for bed.”

  Johnny and Kirk simultaneously rallied forces.

  “Aww, Mom!”

  Cameron silenced their protests with a single warning glance. They obediently trudged up the stairs without another peep.

  He was grateful to Patricia for saving him from the attack her children were waging on his heart. Emotional entanglement with this brood was not a risk Cameron was willing to take. Just being back in the presence of such a tight-knit family brought back too many painful memories. Memories of a mother who had died so poor two years after his father had lost this place that they had to take out a loan to pay for the funeral. Cameron had been in junior high when he buried his mother and witnessed his father lay his heart to rest beside her. John Wade never recovered from the loss, and Cameron learned a lesson that had stuck with him for life. Love equals pain.

  The one time he had forgotten that, Bonnie had driven the point home again with one hand wrapped around the knife in his back and the other in his billfold.

  “Tuck me in?” Amy implored, puckering her little Kewpie-doll lips at him.

  Cameron stared at the child in bewilderment. How could one tell a mere baby that love is for suckers? That he was more afraid of her beguiling innocence than of all the big bad bulls he’d ever encountered?

  “Amy doll!” her mother scolded. “Quit pestering the poor man. I’ ll tuck you in like always.”

  Cameron knew what she really meant was That’s my job! Not one for strangers who don’t even belong in our midst...

  Why did that hurt him so? After all, he had made it perfectly clear he didn’t even want to pick the child up. Nobody but him needed to know that he was afraid of breaking the pretty little thing.

  Flinching from the imagined reproach in Patricia’s voice, he retaliated with deliberate antagonism. While love was definitely out of the picture, he didn’t mind letting Patricia know he wasn’t at all opposed to sex in and of itself.

  “You’re welcome to tuck me in when you’re done with the kids.”

  Her reaction was not what he expected at all. Rather than being slapped by an open palm for such cheekiness, Cameron felt the sting of her laughter instead.

  “I didn’t realize you thought of me as your mommy.”

  At the affront, Cameron boiled over in frustration. “Oh, honey, let me assure you I don’t think of you as my mother.”

  As smooth as whisky, his voice was sweetened by the sudden endearment. Patricia struggled through a heart-stopping moment of self-revelation before admitting with a shrug, “Then maybe the problem is that I find you a little too much like my father.”

  Cameron could tell by the tight lines edging her mouth that he was not being complimented. He wondered what kind of parent had put such lingering sorrow into those beautiful, haunted eyes? He fought the urge to reach out and smooth away the furrows in her forehead, to cup her chin in his hands, to kiss away her doubts, to chase away her ghosts.

  They were grown people for heaven’s sake. A sexual dalliance didn’t have to mean a plunge into their respective pasts. Did it?

  Only if it was to mean something...

  It was a chance Cameron wasn’t willing to take. He didn’t have to remind himself how unfair that would be to a woman like Patricia, a single mother in a conservative community trying to do her best by her children. He’d do well to remember that his primary intention was not to bed the woman but to rip her home out from under her. Cameron swallowed against the hard ball forming in his throat. It had been a whole lot easier to feel virtuous about his well-laid plans before he’d actually ever met Patricia.

  And before he’d begun to be sucked in by those mischievous, big-eyed kids of hers.

  Chapter Nine

  After so many years of yearning for some masculine help around the place, Patricia couldn’t understand why she was suddenly so resentful of all the little things Cameron was doing to make her life easier.

  Most women would gush with appreciation, but she was not most women. Having lived eighteen years with a domineering father who ruled his household with an iron fist, she had deliberately sought out someone his complete opposite for a partner in marriage. Whereas her father was a control freak, her husband had been more than happy to let Patricia run things however she saw fit. And as much as she had sometimes become annoyed with his lackadaisical attitude, Patricia had only to remember her mother kowtowing night and day to her father to feel grateful for Hadley’s easygoing nature. It certainly made for a more enjoyable childhood for her offspring than the one she remembered.

  She would never forget the time that she had returned from her first date at the ripe age of sixteen to find her room ransacked. Roland D’Winter had claimed it was his parental duty to root out any signs of dangerous teenage rebellion, but Patricia had felt deeply violated by his lack of trust. She knew it had more to do with his reaction to her budding sexuality than with anything she had ever done to warrant his suspicion. The instant she was graduated from high school, Patricia had eloped with Hadley, vowing along with her fidelity to never lose her identity in marriage like her mother had.

  Considering her resistance to her own father’s authority, it struck her odd that her children were so drawn to Cameron Wade’s commanding presence. While she understood that their affection for the man was tied to their need for a strong male role model, Patricia herself found accepting his help rather like swallowing an aspirin without water. The fact that it was good for her didn’t make it go down any easier.

  She had no desire to become reliant on any man—especially one guaranteed to be miles down the road the instant the terms of his contract were fulfilled. Three months might not be enough time for Cameron to accomplish miracles around the place, but it certainly offered ample opportunity for her children to be irreparably hurt when their hero hit the road without thought to what he was leaving behind in his aftermath.

  Considering that fact, Patricia decided it would be best for everyone concerned to limit her foreman’s duties to work outside the house. It was hardly fair to expect more of him. The running of her household and raising of her children were to remain completely her domain. And if that meant she was tired and out of sorts at times, then so be it. She was not about to relinquish control of her family to some drifter whose eyes glittered with promises he had no intention of honoring.

  Cameron tucked himself into bed blaming the painful bout of nostalgia that hit him with such force earlier in the evening upon that silly old Dr. Seuss book. It had been one of his favorites as a child. The mere sight of it evoked memories of his mother holding him on her lap and reading to him. It grieved him to realize that such golden moments could never be regained—unless, of course, a man was fortunate enough to be allowed to repeat them with children of his own.

  It was the most startling thought Cameron Wade had ever entertained in his entire life. One he was certain would have never entered his mind before this special family had begun to work their sorcery upon him.

  He hardened himself against it, remembering the way Patricia had recoiled from her children’s attempts to include him in their nighttime rituals. After she’d made such a point to let him know what a bad influence she considered him, he’d be darned if he’d let her see how much it would have meant to him to read her kids a stupid bedtime story. He had noticed how she’d bristled when Johnny had asked for him to help with his homework. Cameron suspected she would be up half the night rechecking his work. That she might think him too dumb for fourth grade math blistered his ego.

  He told himself that he d
idn’t care. If the fool woman was so determined to get along without any help from him, why should he bother trying to change her mind? It had been his experience that logic didn’t stand a chance against raging hormones and female stubbornness.

  On the roof or in the kitchen, Patricia Erhart seemed eminently capable of fending for her family all by herself. That she was too proud for her own good was none of his business. Cameron told himself he would do well to remember that he was neither husband nor father around here, but merely a hired hand. And as nice as being included in the circle of this family’s love would be, it was in his best interests never to forget that despite being born and raised here, he was for all intents and purposes an outsider. He had been since the day his family had relinquished their control over this land and would be until the day he formally reclaimed it. Until that happened, he suspected there would always be a little boy trapped inside him. A little boy with his nose pressed against the window of his own home. Begging to get back in.

  The lonesome sound of coyotes baying at the moon set the emus outside his window to squawking in distress. Cameron wished the coyotes would hurry up and make a finger-licking feast of feathers and flesh before the morning light. Unfortunately, he suspected the predators were far too wily to be lured so close to danger for such a measly mouthful of fluff. He pulled his pillow over his head. What with all the racket going on, he doubted whether he’d be able to get a minute’s honest sleep. Maybe if he were lucky, the sound would drown out that dull ache in his heart.

  He didn’t have to look far for an excuse to stay as removed from the house as possible. The following morning at the breakfast table, Patricia assessed him through bleary eyes.

  “Have you ever been exposed to chicken pox?” she asked.

  “My brother and I had ’em at the same time when we were kids. Why?”

  “Because sometime between two and three this morning Amy came down with them.”

  No wonder she looked so completely exhausted. Cameron figured that Patricia must have been awakened by her daughter’s cries just about the time he was finally drifting off to sleep.

  “Luckily,” she continued over a yawn, “the boys both were exposed when they were babies.”

  Despite his resolve to remain detached from this lady’s plight, sympathy tugged at Cameron’s heartstrings. She looked beat. Still remembering the disaster that had been made of the kitchen the last time he’d volunteered his assistance in the kitchen, he was reluctant to offer his services.

  “Anything I can do to help out?”

  “No.”

  It hadn’t been a full eight hours since she’d vowed not to let this man undermine her confidence in her ability to take care of things on her own. But the thought of having to awaken Amy after she’d just now gotten her back to sleep was almost more than she could bear.

  “That is, unless you wouldn’t mind taking the boys to the bus stop for me?” she added weakly.

  “I’d rather do that than be stuck here with a sick baby certain to wake up the instant her mother pulls out of the driveway,” he replied honestly. An image of a child covered in red blisters bawling her head off for the better part of a half hour made him long for the relative tranquility of bull riding.

  “All right!” Kirk beamed, obviously delighted with the thought of spending more time with Cameron. Over a bowl of cold cereal, he shared a smile with an older brother who did nothing to hide his own enthusiasm with these arrangements.

  “I’d appreciate it,” Patricia said.

  Cameron wondered if she would choke on the words.

  “I’ll try my best not to be too bad an influence on them while you’re not there to oversee my role modeling.”

  A night of tossing and turning beneath a heavy conscience and a heightened libido hadn’t done much for his disposition, either.

  Patricia opened her mouth to respond with an appropriate snappy comeback, but the sound of her daughter crying out in the next room replaced it with a worn-out sigh.

  The slump of her shoulders as she headed for the stairs made Cameron regret the harsh tone of his words.

  “Come on, boys,” he prompted. “Your mother’s had a rough night. Let’s clean up the kitchen for her and get out of her hair just as quick as we can.”

  By the time Patricia got the baby calmed down, the dishes were done and the boys were on their way to school. There was just enough time for her to sneak in either a shower or a catnap before Cameron returned. Though one look in the mirror told her that both were needed, Amy nonetheless refused to allow her mother out of her sight for a single second. Scratching at the blotches on her face only made them itch worse, and Patricia’s attempt to protect her by putting socks over her hands infuriated the tot beyond all reasoning.

  “Hush,” Patricia implored.

  She grabbed a tattered medical volume off the shelf and perused the section on chicken pox while trying to soothe the toddler in her arms with a gentle rocking motion. The book did little more than remind her of the bell her next couple of days was going to be.

  Recommended treatment included lots of rest, liquid, and patience on the part of the caretaker. Unfortunately, although Amy was burning up, getting liquids down her was like trying to put out a forest fire with a squirt gun. The girl resisted any attempt to be put to bed and fought like an angry cub when her mother tried slathering her with lotion.

  Patricia managed little more than to run a brush through her own hair before Cameron returned from dropping the boys off at the bus stop. Looking and feeling the way she did, she was glad when he went straight to work without stopping at the house first

  As much as she hated depending on anyone else, Patricia was grateful to him. His offer to take care of the boys this morning had truly been a godsend, and the amount of work the man produced was nothing short of amazing. The roof was as good as new, the storm windows were up and ready for the first blast of Wyoming winter winds, the deepest, most dangerous ruts in the driveway had been filled in, and he’d begun repairs on the front porch with an almost reverential attitude.

  When he failed to stop for lunch, Patricia assumed he either didn’t want to bother her when she was tending to a sick child or he was still mad that she had expressed her concerns about his influence upon the boys. She was too tired to spend much time pondering it. Wrapping his sandwich in cellophane, she hoped he wouldn’t mind having it for dinner.

  Her head was ringing with Amy’s incessant crying and lack of sleep. Her nerves were shot. She’d accomplished little more all day than keeping the girl from scratching herself into a bloody pulp and maintaining a tenuous grasp on her own sanity. On top of everything else, a sharp little tooth was trying to pop through Amy’s tender gums.

  At around three o’clock in the afternoon, Cameron opened the front door and hollered, “I’m going to pick up the boys from school now.”

  Patricia dragged herself to the entryway. She hadn’t asked him to assume her duties as chauffeur and couldn’t quite believe he’d remembered the appointed time on his own. A Post-it note stuck to Hadley’s forehead couldn’t have accomplished as much.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You don’t have to be afraid to come in, you know. We’re not exactly quarantined here.”

  “I know,” Cameron said, but he took a step backward nonetheless.

  Feeling like a leper, Patricia ran a tired hand through her hair.

  “How about if I run on into town and pick up a pizza so you don’t have to cook tonight,” he suggested.

  Had she not already had a stew simmering in the Crock-Pot, Patricia would have taken him up on the thoughtful offer. In between bouts of Amy’s wailing she had managed to chop up enough vegetables to cover the soup bones at the bottom of the pot. It might not have been much, but it stood as a fragrant reminder that she was still capable of managing on her own.

  “Thank you, but I have everything under control.”

  Feeling as useless as a crumb beneath her feet, Cameron wondered how long i
t would take her to sweep him away like Bonnie had. His gaze hardened. “Of course you do,” he drawled.

  Was he making fun of her? Patricia took a swipe at the dark circles beneath her eyes. The tips of her fingers felt as rough as the timbre in Cameron’s voice. As rough as the sound of gravel crunching beneath the heels of his cowboy boots as he turned his back on her and strode off without another word.

  Patricia appreciated the fact that Cameron kept the boys occupied and out from under her feet right up until dinnertime. Thick and hearty, the stew stood alone except for a hunk of cheese served on the side. Cameron ate every drop and even polished off the dried-out sandwich he’d missed at lunch without complaint. Cranky and teething, Amy refused to eat anything but Popsicles.

  “Stew again?” Kirk asked, making a face at the enormous amount of vegetables dominating his bowl.

  “Mind your manners,” Cameron warned.

  “How come she doesn’t have to eat stew?” the boy whined, nodding in his sister’s direction.

  Grape Popsicle juice running down her chin in purple rivulets, Amy pounded on her high chair like it was a drum.

  “Uh, Mom?” Johnny interjected sheepishly. “Did I forget to tell you I need some cupcakes for the class bake sale tomorrow?”

  Patricia rested her head against the palms of both hands and counted to ten to keep from screaming.

  As deep as the rumble of a big engine, Cameron’s voice soothed her jangled nerves. “If you boys’ll finish up all your food, I just might be persuaded to take you into town for ice cream cones at the Dairy Barn. I bet we could even pick up a dozen cupcakes at the bakery while we’re in town.”

  Although not above bribery herself on occasion, Patricia glowered in his direction. Was it so completely obvious that she was coming apart at the seams? She wished she had the energy to show him by whipping up a delicious batch of homemade goodies for her son’s class. Wished her pride didn’t stick in her craw so. Wished Cameron had asked her to come along for ice cream, too. Wished she could better resist his reckless, thoughtful charm.