Cowboy in Charge

by Barbara White Daille

  Then those envelopes had come back to him one too many times, and he’d finally given up sending them. Given up hope. Given up thoughts of ever seeing his son.

  He shoved his hand into his back pocket again, grazing his wallet and running the details of the newspaper clipping inside it silently through his mind.

  Scott Andrew Slater.

  Born not to Layne McAndry but to Layne Marie Slater. She’d taken back her maiden name and put not one mention of his in the birth announcement. She had very likely wiped his memory from her mind.

  Just as he’d forced himself to do to her for all these years.

  * * *

  JASON RAISED HIS fist in front of the apartment door, flinched as second thoughts hit him, and lowered his arm again.

  Removing his Stetson, he scrubbed his forehead with one hand and assured himself he was doing the right thing. Close contact with two kids within two days last week had to mean something.

  Yeah, something like fate deciding to rear up and head-butt him in the face, the way Burning Sage had almost done in that final ride in Cheyenne. The bull had wanted to take him down. Fate most likely just wanted to knock some sense into him.

  Too late for that. He was here.

  He raised his fist again and rapped on the apartment door. The wood sounded hollow, just the way his chest felt—if you didn’t count his heart banging against his ribs.

  Inside the apartment, a television’s volume dipped, then a little boy’s voice cried, “Mommy!” in stunned outrage. A second later, the doorknob rattled. The door swung open, and he stood staring at the girl he’d left behind.

  The wife he’d left behind.

  She looked like hell warmed over twice.

  Her beautiful golden-brown hair had been pulled up and stuck every which way by a couple of plastic combs. Her skin was paler than he remembered, her nose glowed as red as the taillights on his truck, and her sky blue eyes looked as glassy and bloodshot as if she hadn’t slept for a week.

  Those eyes... In this situation, most folks’ eyes would have widened in surprise. Instead, she blinked once and went blank-faced, the way she had always done when confronted with something that shocked or alarmed her. Right now, he imagined she had received a double dose of both.

  “Jason?” Her voice came out in a croak. She reached up to rest her hand against the gaping neckline of her fuzzy blue robe.

  The ragged tissue she held couldn’t hide the sight of creamy skin patterned with a few small freckles. The vision did more for him than a slip-sliding blouse or skintight leather. It also triggered memories and feelings he forced himself to push aside. This conversation would be hard enough. He didn’t need his body following suit. To combat the reaction, he took another deep breath and let it out. “Layne.”

  She covered a rattling cough with her forearm. “What do you want?”

  Though he should have expected it, he was taken aback by the belligerent tone. He hadn’t been ready for the question, either. Despite the long drive from Dallas, Texas, to Cowboy Creek, New Mexico, he hadn’t prepared much for this meeting. Big mistake. He sure couldn’t tell her he’d come back to make certain his son was in good hands. “I know it’s been a while—”

  “A while?” She coughed again, then shook her head, most likely in annoyance at him. “It’s been almost four years since we’ve seen each other, and we’ve had no contact except filing for the divorce—”

  “And—”

  “—which made the split permanent.”

  “I know it did, but—”

  “Legally permanent,” she said heavily, leaning forward as if to emphasize her point.

  He frowned.

  She kept coming. The quick glance he caught of her suddenly greenish pallor clued him in. She was halfway to unconsciousness and ready to drop.

  As he caught her to him, the door behind her swung open. A little boy stood just inside the frame. And somewhere in the apartment behind the kid, a baby let out an earsplitting screech.

  * * *

  LAYNE DID THE best she could with toothbrush and mouthwash and comb, but it wasn’t much. And it was quick.

  The symptoms she had been battling for two days now had gotten worse instead of better, and the short time on her feet showed her just how shaky this flu had left her. She gave thanks that when she had gone to answer the door, she hadn’t been holding the baby.

  The last thing she remembered before passing out was the look of alarm on Jason’s face. When she had come to, she found herself cradled like a baby herself in his arms. She had fainted for only a second, he assured her. Still, ignoring her protests, he carried her into the small living room and deposited her on the couch.

  Moments later, her stomach had heaved and she had bolted and here she was now, hiding in her bathroom the way she and her friends had hidden in the girls’ room at school when they wanted to exchange gossip about the boys.

  The only boy she’d ever had eyes for was Jason.

  She heard her son’s footsteps as he marched down the hall. He came to a stop in the bathroom doorway. As awful as she felt, she couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him. He and Jill were the lights of her life. Suddenly, he frowned, his eyebrows bunching together. She inhaled sharply, which led to another bout of coughing. Scott had her blue eyes and brown hair, but his frowning expression was pure Jason.

  “Mommy sick?” he asked.

  “Mommy’s better,” she said. She just didn’t know how long that would last.

  “I’m hungry.”

  The thought of food made her stomach quiver. “No problem, honey. How about—”

  “Soup?”

  She nodded. Luckily, she had made chicken soup a few weeks ago. The surplus she had stored in the freezer had gotten her through these past couple of days. She still had a large bowl of the soup in the refrigerator.

  “Yes-s-s. Es-s-s. Soup for Scott for supper,” he chanted in a singsong, laughing. He was learning the alphabet from his babysitter, who ran a day care from her house. To reinforce his lessons, here at home she played sound and word games with him. The sentence game was his favorite, and she had been so proud of him the day he’d created that sentence all by himself.

  “Yes, soup for Scott for supper,” she repeated in a singsong. “That sounds super, sweetie.”

  He laughed again. “That man will have soup, too?”

  She froze. No, that man will be long gone by suppertime. “I’m not sure about that.” She looked at the small clock she kept on the bathroom vanity and realized it was time to wake her daughter from her nap. “Come on, let’s go get the baby and start that soup.”

  “Start soup for Scott for supper,” he chanted, his voice fading as he went back down the hall toward the living room.

  She tightened the long belt of her fuzzy robe and took one last look in the mirror. The teenage girl who had once fallen for Jason cringed and longed to reach for her makeup bag. But the woman she’d become lifted her chin and nodded at the reflection in the mirror.

  Let him deal with her just the way she was now. It served him right for showing up unannounced after all this time.

  She wasn’t about to recall the way her heart had pounded and her head had swum and a tremor had run through her when she had opened the door to find him standing in the hallway. They were all simply reactions to the flu—and anyone could have passed out after getting hit with all those symptoms.

  She also wasn’t about to dwell on the past or worry about the intervening years or feel embarrassed by what had happened just a few minutes ago. She was going to get rid of Jason. Again. And hope this time he stayed gone.

  As she turned to leave the bathroom, Scott began to yell. “Help! Help! You’re not my daddy! Leave my sister alone!”

  Every single word he screeched made her heart sink faste
r. She hurried down the hall and burst into the living room.

  The baby lay in her playpen on the opposite side of the room, closer to the kitchen. Her beet-red face and gleaming eyes were sure signs she had woken up cranky and crying.

  And, lost in thought, her mommy hadn’t heard a peep.

  Scott had taken a stance with his back to the playpen and his arms outstretched toward Jason as if holding a wild animal at bay. Jason stood a couple of feet from him, his hands patting the air presumably to calm her son.

  Fighting another wave of dizziness, she put her hand on the door frame. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

  Chapter Two

  Jason froze. Wasn’t it bad enough to have the kid yelling and fending him off as if he were a tiger ready to pounce? He didn’t need Layne standing there looking at him as if she considered him something much worse.

  With a jerky movement, he showed her the yellow plastic pacifier he was holding. “I didn’t know how long you’d be, and she looked like she was getting ready to start bawling up a storm again.”

  “Again?”

  Confusion replaced her rebellious tone, making him swallow his irritation. She must not have recovered from her earlier fainting spell as completely as he’d thought she had. He nodded. “She was crying when I carried you in here and going even stronger when you bolted.”

  “Oh.” Still looking shaky, she started across the room.

  “Sit on the couch. I’ll bring the baby to you.”

  When he moved forward, the boy tensed. “You’re not my—”

  “It’s okay, Scott,” Layne said quickly.

  “But Miss Rhea says—”

  “I know. But I’m right here, and I know this man.”

  Still eyeing him suspiciously, the kid stepped aside. “Okay. We can have soup now? I’m hungry.”

  The baby let out another screech. Jason put the pacifier in her mouth and bent over to lift her, supporting her head with one hand the way he’d seen Greg do with his daughter. Good thing he had. She couldn’t have weighed much more than a kitten, but she was twice as wiggly and not nearly as cute with that red, wrinkled face. Sort of like her mama right now.

  He’d think about that—and worry about whose kid she was—later. Layne looked ready to drop again, but if he didn’t move soon, she would probably refuse to wait until he carried the baby over to her. He hurried across the room. “Sit,” he said gruffly. “You don’t want to take the chance of standing with her and passing out a second time, do you?”

  She sank to the couch and took the baby from him. The girl immediately stopped crying and nuzzled the front of Layne’s robe like a calf looking for her mama’s milk.

  “What’s that about soup?” he asked.

  “That’s okay. I’ll get it in a minute.”

  “Mommy, I’m hung-ry,” the boy called. He still stood near the playpen as if he were afraid to get closer.

  “You’re not the only one, honey.” The baby nuzzled again, and Layne raised her hand to her robe.

  “Hey.” He backed a step. “I’m just standing around taking up space. My cooking skills stretch as far as opening a can and putting a pot on the stove.”

  “Thanks,” she said stiffly, “but we’ll do just fine on our own. I hate to ask you to leave...”

  I want you to go. Her eyes, looking like a couple of cold blue stones, got her point across as loud and clear and emphatically as her words had done a few years ago. Then, he had turned and walked out. Because he’d been a complete ass. Not without provocation, however. Seeing his packed bags at the front doorstep when he got home had warned him what to expect. Layne’s response when he’d entered the apartment had underscored the message.

  “Mo-mmy.”

  She looked past him to the boy and then back again. Now her gaze didn’t quite meet his. “All right. The soup’s not from a can. It’s homemade. And the bowl is on the top shelf of the fridge.” The baby let out a screech.

  He half turned to the boy. “Come on, pardner, let’s go get you some supper.”

  The boy looked at his mama, who offered him a nod of encouragement. Then he gave Jason a long, frowning look. “Okay,” he said finally, his brow clearing. Getting that seal of approval made Jason stand taller. “Soup for Scott for supper.”

  “Yeah. Show me the way to the kitchen.” The boy took off at a trot past the playpen. Jason’s boots pounded against the bare flooring as he followed at almost the same speed. He sure didn’t want to be around to watch Layne taking care of the baby.

  Red nose, rumpled hair and bloodshot eyes aside, she was still the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Seeing any more of her as she opened her robe would only stir up memories best tucked away for good.

  He found the soup where she’d directed and snagged a pot from the cabinet the boy pointed out to him.

  “I help.” His designated assistant...his son walked him through finding cups and bowls and spoons.

  In amazement, Jason watched the little guy. Once that front door had opened, events had moved too rapidly for him to take everything in. Now the situation hit him and, for a minute, his legs threatened to go out from under him the way Layne’s had.

  Back in Dallas, his thoughts had been on making sure the boy was okay, that Layne was taking proper care of him and not just shutting him out of her life, shunting him to a sitter. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d convinced himself that having this confirmation would help make up for his own shortcomings.

  Now he was home again and standing in an apartment not unlike the one he and Layne had shared when they got married. And he was getting supper ready...with his son.

  His legs felt shaky again.

  “I get napkins,” the boy said.

  “Sounds good.”

  He watched the child move around the room, seeming confident for a kid his age. That was the difference between being taught to be independent and having it forced on you, overwhelming you with the effort needed to survive. Assuming Layne had instilled that confidence in the boy, he gave her a lot of credit.

  They set the table together. The room was filled with the sounds of spoons clanking against the table and the smell of chicken broth wafting from the pot on the stove. He wondered if someone had brought the soup over for Layne. Maybe she had made it herself. If so, she had turned into more of a homebody than she’d been when they had gotten married. Back then, they had stayed too busy in the bedroom to give her a chance to develop much skill in the kitchen.

  Other memories he would do better to tuck away.

  Scott stood looking at the almost neatly laid table. He frowned. “We can eat supper on the couch? And watch TV?”

  “I don’t know about that. Your mama and your sister have taken over those seats right now.” Recalling the words the boy had screeched at him made him wince. He knew the worries the kid would have, thanks to what Miss Rhea—whoever she was—had taught him. Understandably, he’d feel nervous, especially after watching a man he’d never before seen carry his mama into the apartment, and then seeing her run away. No wonder he was worried about that same man going near his baby sister.

  Keeping an eye out for strangers had been one of the first things he’d learned as a child, and since then, the world had become a much scarier place. He didn’t know how Layne took care of the kids by herself.

  If she was on her own. There was the infant to account for, after all.

  But if she had a man in her life, surely as sick as she was and with two babies to care for, the guy wouldn’t have gone off and left—

  He shoved the rest of the thought aside before it could take root in his mind.

  What a jackass he’d once been. What a predicament he was in now.

  This extended reunion had derailed his plan to take care of business and move on. Instead, he
needed to take charge.

  * * *

  SHE HADN’T EXPECTED Jason to put on enough soup for all three of them, but he announced he had done exactly that. And when Scott came to take her hand to lead her to the kitchen, she couldn’t say no. To tell the truth, with nothing in her stomach, she needed the nourishment, needed to get her strength back so she could take care of the kids and get Jason out of her life again.

  Their awkward dinner would have taken place in near-silence if not for her son’s chatter all through the meal and dessert.

  She focused on getting her few spoonfuls of soup to her mouth without spilling anything...and on trying to keep her gaze on her soup bowl and away from her ex. And failing miserably. Every time he walked away from the table, she couldn’t help sneaking a peek, couldn’t help watching the way his muscles flexed beneath his gray T-shirt as he reached for dishes from the cabinet and the way his faded jeans pulled tight when he leaned down to pull the container of milk from the refrigerator.

  When Scott had finished eating, Jason rose and began gathering up the dishes. He had taken control of her tiny kitchen and, worse, dominated her space. She was finding it hard to breathe, let alone keep her head upright. “Leave the dishes, please,” she said. “I can take care of them.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He locked gazes with her. She managed to take a steadying breath and turn to Scott. “Honey, how about you go and get into your jammies for Mommy?”

  “No, Mommy. I play with cars. Please?”

  She smiled. “Well, we’ll see. But jammies first. They’re on your bed. You go get started, okay?”

  He slid from his booster chair and left the room.

  Slowly, she turned to face her ex-husband again. He had set the dishes in the sink. Hips settled back against the counter, he stood with his arms crossed and his biceps bulging against his T-shirt sleeves and his frown looking too much like Scott’s for her liking. This situation was all too much for her and had been from the moment she had seen him standing in her hallway.

  “Jason.” Anger at him and irritation at herself made her hiss his name. “Just who do you think you are to tell me what I can and can’t do in my own kitchen?”