That Cowboy's Kids

by Debra Salonen

  She brushed back a lock of hair. “Forget it. The money you sent with Angel was fine. Everything was on sale, except for the quilt, and that was my gift.”

  He watched her inspect the house, not surprised by the small knot in the pit of his stomach. Despite Maria’s cheerful wallpaper and lace curtains, there was no disguising the basic simplicity of the house. To the left of the front door was the living room, to the right a nook Tom had intended to use as an office. Maria’s sewing machine and various baby paraphernalia made it look cluttered.

  A sudden cry from the bundle in his arms brought three females out of the woodwork. Abby, he noticed, instinctively started forward but stopped herself.

  “He’s probably hungry,” Maria said, plucking him from Tom’s arms. “I’ll go feed him. Do you girls want to come?”

  Tom started to intervene, remembering how Lesley liked to nurse Angel in private—he didn’t know if she’d nursed Heather—but Maria and his daughters were up the stairs and out of sight before Tom could open his mouth.

  “You’re good with babies,” Abby said.

  Tom heard a stiltedness in her tone he didn’t understand.

  He reached for his long-ignored beer and took a drink. “Ugh,” he said, making a face. “Warm. I know where Miguel keeps his stash. Wanna come?”

  She didn’t answer but followed him through the sunny, south-facing kitchen to the back porch where a red plastic ice chest sat beside a wooden swing suspended from the rafters. When Tom bought the place, the ratty appendage had housed two broken washing machines and a dysfunctional freezer. He’d immediately replaced the screens and installed the swing, picturing a romantic spot where he and Lesley could smooch and grow old.

  He plucked two dripping cans from the icy water and sat down on the swing, leaving plenty of room for Abby to join him. The heat of the previous week had eased off when a Delta breeze swept southward, bringing blue skies and moderate temperatures. The view was as picturesque as a postcard.

  “How charming! I love porches. This is a great place,” she said, sitting stiffly against the upright back.

  Her praise relaxed a knot in his stomach and opened a door to feelings he’d been trying valiantly to ignore. “Thanks. It was a labor of love.”

  At her puzzled look, he said, “Didn’t you know? This house is mine. I bought it ten—no, eleven, years ago. It was pretty run-down and I fixed it up.”

  A dark look crossed her face and he saw her fingers tighten around the can. He didn’t understand her reaction.

  “Is there something wrong with that?”

  “No,” she said firmly.

  “You seem upset.”

  “Just surprised.” She took a small sip of beer. “You never mentioned it before. It’s a wonderful house. You could have moved in here and saved the headache of building the addition.”

  “And kick these guys out? Not my style.”

  Her gaze dropped to her hands as if embarrassed. “Of course not.”

  Tom fought the urge to lift her chin and kiss her.

  After choking down a big gulp of beer, he pointed toward the fenced pasture spread out behind the small barn and detached garage. Half a dozen horses grazed on the irrigated land. “The house came with fifteen acres. I could have put in almonds or pistachios, but Miguel and I decided to go together on a little breeding operation. Quarter horses.”

  “Really? Land baron and breeder?” She shook her head, obviously bemused by something. “You play your cards pretty tight to the vest, as they say.”

  Puzzled by her tone, Tom cocked his head and waited for an explanation.

  “My grandfather died before I was born. Everyone says he was kind and generous to a fault…” Like his granddaughter, Tom would have added, if she hadn’t plowed ahead. “But he never discussed finances with his wife and, when he died, he left my grandmother penniless. Worse, actually, since he was hospitalized for several months with no insurance. Grammy had to move in with my folks and basically start from scratch.”

  “Are you saying I’m like your grandfather because I didn’t tell you about this house?”

  She held up a hand. “It’s your business, and I know you’re not comfortable talking about finances.”

  He bit down on a smile. She was so damn pretty, especially when she got a burr under her saddle.

  “I admit I’m a little closemouthed about money—mainly ’cause I don’t have much, but we can talk about it if you want.” A sudden thought struck him, something his father used to tell him: “Marry a woman you like to talk to. When you get older you’ll be doing a lot of it.”

  She shrugged one shoulder regally. “The point is…”

  Tom decided to cut to the chase. “The point is, something’s going on between us that’s got you nervous, so it’s easier to make up reasons not to like me.”

  A flash of color swept across her features; her eyes changed to a stormy gold-green that would haunt his dreams tonight.

  “I…I like you.” Chin up, defiant, her protest lost impact when her gaze slipped to his chin. “You’re a very nice man. A gentleman.” She almost didn’t get out the last word because Tom leaned over and pressed his lips to hers. Still moving, butterfly-like beneath his own, their sweetness, even flavored with beer, sent a shaft of desire burning through him.

  Undoubtedly startled, she put up a hand to push him back, but as he deepened the kiss, tasting her, she left the hand resting against his shirtfront. Her response pushed him further than he meant to go.

  When he looped his arm around her shoulders, she jumped back as though electrocuted.

  “This is terribly unprofessional and I apologize,” she said, rising and moving away a step on what looked like wobbly legs.

  Tom wasn’t too steady himself. “I kiss you, and you apologize? How come?”

  She peeked through the square of glass in the kitchen door before turning back to face him. The glow in her cheeks made him long to pull her into his arms and finish what he’d started—it would be sweet and hot and…. He shook his head, making himself focus on her words, not her lips.

  “…your daughters’ advocate. I have a job to do and it’s unprofessional to—you know what I mean, Tom. This is the real world.”

  He didn’t like her cool, professional tone. Or the truth behind her words.

  “Angel and Heather are the only ones that matter here,” she said.

  He couldn’t fault her commitment to his children, but he sensed something else in her reaction and the way she couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his gaze. He’d never met anyone like her, so complex, so caring and so damn sexy in the most understated way.

  She sighed. She eyed the seat beside him but opted to sit on the cooler instead. “Tom, we haven’t spoken about this, but I’m thinking of quitting my job either this fall or next spring so I can go back to school.”

  One part of him yipped in glee—if she wasn’t his daughters’ advocate, she could be his…something else. Another part realized she was talking about leaving.

  “Why?”

  She tucked a swath of hair behind her ear. He hadn’t paid close attention to her ears before, but they were perfect. Not pierced, he noticed.

  She cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her eyes. A man could never grow tired of looking at those eyes. “A lot of reasons. All personal.”

  Her tone slammed the door on his speculation and fantasy.

  “This shouldn’t have happened, but since it did we need to put it behind us for your daughters’ sake. They’ve made a lot of headway, but they’re not through the woods yet. There are four seasons of grief. And they’re just starting summer.”

  Her words were more effective than his midnight cold shower.

  “You’re right. The girls need you, and I don’t want to do anything that messes that up.” He hunched forward, careful not to touch her. “I like you, Abby. A lot. And we both put something in that kiss, but…I know my duty. It won’t happen again.”

  “HIS DUTY
,” Abby muttered, snatching a container of Ben and Jerry’s out of Donna’s freezer.

  Abby slammed the door of the bottom freezer compartment, kicking it for good measure.

  “Why am I letting this get to me?” she asked, ignoring Donna’s bemused look. “It was just a little kiss, and he backed off when I told him to.”

  Donna’s sandy eyebrows shot up. “Because you’re disappointed? You didn’t really want him to stop.”

  “No. Yes. Was that a question?” Abby shoveled a spoon into the frozen block of calories. “You know I wouldn’t get involved with a client. We’ve already had this talk.”

  Donna fenced her spoon against Abby’s. “Talk is cheap. Unless you’re on the phone with a lawyer. Speaking of lawyers, I saw Daniel at the arts council fund-raiser last night. The man looks fabulous in a tux.”

  Abby shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about Daniel. I’ve got to have a talk with him—he’s just not my cup of tea, although I promise to be more diplomatic than that.” She swallowed a bite of frozen nectar. “Did I tell you I think I made a real breakthrough with the girls?”

  “And their father.”

  Abby stuck out her tongue. “It was so neat this morning. They opened up to me about their mom. They might be moving into another stage of grief.”

  “What stage is Tom in?”

  Abby looked for cynicism in her friend’s tone but couldn’t find it. “I don’t know. You know it must have been very hard for him not to share in Heather’s birth. He loves babies. You should have seen him holding baby Rey. His hands are so big, you’d think he’d be clumsy, but he was gentle as a surgeon. I’ve never seen a man as comfortable with a baby.”

  Abby read Donna’s speculative look. “What?”

  “You’re in love with the man.”

  Abby’s mouth dropped open but the words of denial wouldn’t come. She couldn’t move past the image of Tom, after dinner, tenderly rocking the restless baby until Rey’s whimpers diminished. Watching the scene, an old pain surfaced, reminding her of a heartache she’d buried years before. A yearning so poignant and sharp, all breath left her lungs, making her turn away before she humiliated herself by falling to her knees crying.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said wistfully.

  “Yes, you do. But I’m not the person you need to talk to.”

  Abby looked away from the truth in her friend’s eyes. “What’s wrong with me, Donna? I thought all this was behind me.”

  Donna squeezed her arm supportively. “Old wounds that aren’t quite healed can lie dormant for years, slowly festering. It only takes a pinprick to make them open up, gushing all that toxic waste.”

  Abby groaned. “What a disgusting metaphor!”

  “It’s late. Come back tomorrow and I’ll have a better one, but I’ll have to charge you full price.” She eyed Abby with a look Abby knew all too well. “Why are you so sure Tom would be scandalized by something that happened almost ten years ago? Something you had no control over?”

  Abby swallowed. “Tom epitomizes old-world sensibilities, Donna. He wouldn’t condemn me, but he wouldn’t understand. Women in his world don’t have abortions.” She said the words in a rush, inwardly sickened by the memories they provoked. “He’d be kind and sympathetic but secretly horrified.”

  Donna shook her head. “We could go into the history of this if you need to, but I’m more curious why you’re so convinced Tom’s response would be negative. Maybe you’re more afraid he would understand. What would you do then?”

  The truth of her friend’s words brought already raw emotions even closer to the surface.

  Donna walked to Abby’s side and looped her arm around Abby’s shoulders. “I don’t know Tom well enough to say what he’d think, but, honey, if you can’t be open with him, you can’t go forward in the relationship. And if you can’t go forward, you can’t get involved. He’s not another Landon.”

  Abby almost smiled at the ludicrous comparison. “I know that.”

  In a tone Abby remembered from her time as a patient, Donna told her, “Then you need to begin distancing yourself from that family, Abby. For all of your sakes.”

  Abby closed her eyes. “I know.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  MUD MADE gulping sounds around his boots as Tom finished unearthing the recently soaked dirt covering the lid of the new septic tank. Once the plumbing was hooked up, this larger tank would serve the bunkhouse and addition as well as a new shower and toilet added to the barn. Late Friday afternoon the construction crew backfilled the gaping hole to avoid any accidents, and thoughtfully soaked the dirt to assure compacting.

  Unfortunately, someone forgot to cover the open flange, a three-inch-wide black plastic hole in the floor of what would soon be Heather and Angel’s new bathroom. How—why a kitten would crawl into such a small, uninviting opening was beyond him, but Heather’s kitten somehow managed to do just that and now it was his job to rescue the little thing.

  “Gad, it’s hotter than Hades and not even noon,” Tom said, swiping at a grimy rivulet coursing down his cheek.

  He dropped to his knees in the mud, leaning forward to gain purchase for his lever. A muscle in his lower back sputtered, warning him not to go there.

  They’d already spent a futile hour at the other end of the pipe, dangling bits of salami on a string like a fishing lure, listening to mournful meows.

  “I can hear her, Daddy,” Heather said, one ear flat to the ground. “She knows you’re coming.”

  And she’s probably backing up even farther in the pipe, he groused silently, trying to figure out how he was going to coax the frightened creature into the tank.

  “You’ve gotta save her, Daddy,” Heather pleaded, dirt highlighting streaks of tears. “It’s dark in there, and she’s scared. I know she is. Oh, please, Daddy, please get her out.”

  Heather’s wail multiplied Tom’s frustration factor. The kitten wasn’t the only one fearing the outcome of this rescue—Tom didn’t know how he’d live with himself if he failed to save his little girl’s pet.

  Using the flattened end of a crowbar, he pried open the lid. Grimacing, he upended the heavy cover, letting it topple to the mound of odoriferous, baking mud. He stretched out perpendicular to the inky crater, pebbles and twigs poking his chest.

  Craning into the pit, he eyeballed the black hole at the top of the concrete tank.

  “Here, kitty, kitty,” he called.

  The hollow chamber echoed like a tomb.

  “Do you see her, Daddy?” Heather asked, flopping down beside him. “Is she okay? Is she safe? Why doesn’t she come out, Daddy? What if she’s stuck?”

  An image of his little girl crashing headfirst into the empty cavern made him elbow her back. Rising to his knees, he drew Heather to her feet and gave her a gentle shake to stop the panic he could feel building inside her. “Run get Angel, honey. She’s helping Janey with paperwork. I’ll have to drop this ladder in here. She can fit down there easier than me.” He maneuvered the fiberglass ladder into the hole, propping its protruding rungs against the far side of the opening.

  “Abby’s coming, Daddy,” Heather said, watching him. “She could do it.”

  “Abby? Who called her?” He regretted his angry tone and flinched at Heather’s puzzled look, but the last thing he needed today was Abby. She seldom left his thoughts as it was, but, at least, he’d managed to avoid any face-to-face meetings throughout the past two weeks.

  “I did, Daddy. She helped me name Esmy, remember? She has to be here.” Esmeralda the kitten was named for a character in The Hunchback of Notre Dame video—Abby’s halfway-through-Rainbows gift to the girls. Despite the awkwardness stemming from Tom’s impromptu kiss, Abby continued to work on his daughters’ behalf, as well as running interference on the remodeling job by keeping tempers cool and optimism high. He’d have had an ulcer by now if it weren’t for Abby, but that didn’t mean he was ready to see her.

  “I know, honey, but you shouldn’t have both
ered her. Saturday is her day off.”

  Heather tilted her head, eyeing him as if he were suddenly spouting Greek. “Daddy, we’re not her work. We’re her family.”

  Something hot and painful burned in his throat, and Tom had to look away. Fortunately, the dogs alerted him to Abby’s approach and he had several seconds to get control of his emotions before a cloud of dust preceded a screeching Honda into the yard.

  Abby flew out of the car and raced to the mud pit.

  Tom squinted against the white glare of the noon sun reflecting off gravel, trying to see more than a willowy shadow. When she squatted to hug Heather, his mouth turned to sandpaper; his knees would have buckled if he hadn’t been flat on his belly. Tank top, no bra and skimpy shorts that barely covered her fanny. Even his fantasies hadn’t come up with that one.

  “Hi,” she said breathlessly. “I came as fast as I could. Is Esmy okay?”

  “Still meowing,” he replied, when he found his voice. “Heather, go get your sister.”

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  In the yawning silence Tom swore he could hear his sweat forming. A rivulet inched past his ear. His T-shirt felt like a soggy body cast and smelled like ripe horse manure.

  Something white dangled in front of his salt-blurred vision. He blinked. A pristine tissue extended from Abby’s long, graceful fingers—half moons of dirt beneath each nail. “You’re going to evaporate in this sun,” she said. “Isn’t there some other way of getting the kitten out?”

  Her concern didn’t lessen his frustration. “We’re going to try Angel in here on the ladder.”

  “I could—”

  “No,” he snapped. He already owed her too much without adding to the debt. He grabbed the first thought that came into his head. “Liability. Couldn’t risk it.”

  The tissue slipped from her grasp, fluttering like a dead dove to the bottom of the tank.

  A clatter of metal and a chorus of voices interceded on his behalf. He twisted around to see Ed and Angel lugging a white net bag between them. Janey and Heather brought up the rear, moving at a slower pace. Janey, at home for a two-week hiatus between cancer protocols, looked wan but determined to get on with her project of researching her family tree. She’d proven a real lifesaver by hiring his bored and belligerent elder daughter as a secretary and assistant.