Heart of a Cowboy

by Kristin Vayden

  “So, what’s your specialty? Most guys have this one thing they are epic at making. Or is it grilling? My brother is King of the Grill. Granted, he named himself that, but we go with it as long as he grills the steaks.”

  “There’s nothing better than grilled steak.” He sighed appreciatively. “But I’m actually pretty good at most things I set my hand to.” He shrugged. “I watched a lot of cooking shows going up and experimented a lot. It was a good way to keep off Jack’s warpath.”

  “It was your escape.” Laken spoke quietly as they entered the barn. Margaret stopped by her stall and nickered as if telling them to please get off her and get her some oats.

  “One of the many.” He slid from the mare’s back and dusted off his jeans. He lifted a hand to Laken, offering help.

  She shouldn’t take it. To slide off would be simple, yet the desire to simply touch him overpowered her common sense, and she grasped the warm, callused hand. Rather than guide her, as soon as she started to set her foot in the stirrup, he reached up around her waist and eased her down effortlessly.

  Dear Lord.

  Laken could feel her heart pound as his hands spanned her hips, slowly setting her on the barn floor. Frozen, she took a shallow breath then forced a step away.

  Turning, she offered a small smile. “Thanks.”

  Cyler nodded once, his gaze cool yet anything but indifferent.

  Taking a step backward, she cleared her throat. “I’ll, uh, just be inside.”

  “I’ll be there to help in a moment.” He turned away, breaking the intense gaze, and freeing her.

  Spinning on her heel, she forced herself to walk slowly to the house. As she swung open the door, she heard the TV. The sound wasn’t overly loud, but she could hear Jack flip through the channels restlessly.

  “Nothing good on. Ever.” Jack sighed. “How did it go? Is Margaret doing well?” he asked, crossing one foot over the other and regarding her from his favorite recliner.

  “She’s fine. Cyler’s taking care of her now. She had a nice ride, and he was super gentle.” She glanced away, feeling like she was a teacher giving a good report on a student.

  “Good, good.” He sniffed. “Uh, so—” Jack wiped his fingers along his mustache, smoothing it. “Do you know if he’s planning on staying at all?”

  Laken hesitated. It really wasn’t any of her business nor was it her place to tell Jack about Cyler’s plans, or was it? “I think you better talk with him about it.”

  “Throwing me under the bus, eh?”

  “Let’s just say I have more faith in you than you have in yourself. You guys can talk, can’t you? Not fight, not argue, not throw punches”—she arched a brow—“but talk.”

  “I tried!” Jack threw his hands in the air.

  “Try again.”

  “It’s hard.”

  “So?”

  “So…” He trailed off. “Can’t a man have his last days in peace?”

  “You’re not on your last days yet. So, no.” She grinned, earning a scowl from Jack. “I’m going to go get us something to eat, okay?” She patted his shoulder and walked toward the hall.

  “Damn woman, trying to kill me one way or the other,” Jack mumbled.

  “I heard that.”

  “I’m not sorry!” he shouted back, and Laken grinned in spite of herself.

  Once in the kitchen, she pulled out a container of frozen, pre-cooked pulled pork and a bag of rolls. “Honestly, I can’t mess this up.”

  Quickly she warmed up the meat in the microwave and set the rolls in the oven. It really did suck that she wasn’t great at cooking. Each patient she’d worked with had required different meal plans, and it was the most tedious part of her job. Most of the time, she just ordered the assembled food from a center that worked with cancer patients or even the hospital cafeteria. Patients who were taking chemo usually wanted spicy or very strong-tasting food. Chemo could wreak havoc on taste buds. Others were diabetic and required special menus. But Jack? He didn’t fit into any of those categories, so here she was, totally out of her element.

  The microwave dinged, and she opened the door and groaned. The lid to the barbeque pork had melted slightly. Pulling the container out, she shook her hand from the slight burn of the plastic on her fingertips, and tossed the lid aside. A quick fork prick showed her the middle of the dish was still cool. “Shit.”

  “I’m sure it’s better than that.” Cyler’s voice came from the doorway of the kitchen. He leaned against the wall, his blue eyes reflecting the grin he wore.

  “It’s close. Okay, you. Fix this.” She waved her hand over the stupid container and stepped away.

  “Did you defrost it or just cook it?” he asked as he walked over to the counter, his brows furrowed slightly.

  “I’m not sure.” Laken blushed and called herself a million types of idiot. Seriously, did she just do something that stupid? Who in the world doesn’t know how to operate a microwave?

  Me.

  Only. Me.

  “So, uh, get me a pan, would you?” he asked as he unbuttoned his sleeves then rolled them up. A partial tribal tattoo wrapped around his forearm, the rest of it hidden under his sleeve on his bicep. Shaking her head, Laken grabbed a pot from the overhead rack and set it down.

  “Close enough.” He tossed the contents into the pot and set it over the gas stove, the lighter clicking as he turned it on. “What else have you got going?”

  “Rolls.” She pointed to the oven.

  Biting her lip, she waited for smoke to billow out as he opened the oven door. Thankfully, no smoke emerged.

  “Looking good. What else?” He faced her.

  “What do you mean, what else? Oh! I can slice up an apple! And—”

  Cyler held up his hand. “Jack hates apples. Wait, yeah, go chop some up.” He headed toward the fridge.

  “Who hates apples? Seriously?” Laken marched over to the fridge and put a hand on the door, halting Cyler’s intentions. “Mature. What? We slice them up and watch while he doesn’t eat them? Really?”

  His eyes narrowed, his full lips twisting in a wry grin. “Damn it, you’re right.”

  “I hear you talking about apples! You better not be hiding them in my food, you son of a bitch!” Jack shouted from the living room.

  “As if one little apple could kill the devil himself,” Cyler shot back, but some of the heat was missing, giving Laken a small sliver of hope.

  “Wait. Is he allergic?” she asked, skeptical.

  “Possibly.” Cyler turned away, walking back toward the simmering pot on the stove.

  Goodbye hope. “So, you were thinking of giving him an allergic reaction? Lovely. Between him throwing punches and you trying to poison him, I’m way out of my league.” Laken braced herself on the counter with her hands, taking deep breaths. She’d experienced family drama, just not any this insane!

  “I promise I won’t try to poison him.” Cyler’s tone was bored. “At least not tonight.”

  “Ever. You mean ever.” Laken lifted her head and glared at his broad back.

  “Whatever makes you happy. Hey, can you see if there’s any garlic powder in the cabinet? I need cumin and cinnamon as well.” Cyler started to whistle quietly as he stirred the pork.

  After casting a suspicious glance at his back, she went to the spice cabinet, pulled down a few bottles, and set them beside the stovetop.

  “Perfect. Thanks.” He started to add in small amounts of each spice, and soon the room began to fill with a delicious aroma.

  “Cyler’s cooking, eh? Should have known. Girl, you’re going to have to make sure I’m not poisoned. Though, by the smell of it, poison might be a better way to go than cancer. Just sayin’.” Jack sauntered to the small kitchen table and pulled out a chair, the legs scraping against the wooden floor.

  “As if I’d give
you an easy way out,” Cyler shot back then pulled open the oven and took out the rolls. With effortless grace, he pulled the rolls apart, releasing puffs of steam. “Plates?” he asked, turning to Laken.

  “There.” She pointed to a cabinet to the left and went to fill water glasses while Cyler finished putting the food on plates.

  Soon they were all sitting at the table, and that sliver of hope started again as Laken watched Cyler sit beside his father, no punches thrown, no insults—at least not yet.

  “Damn, I miss your cooking, boy. Is that cinnamon? Perfect.” Jack spoke with appreciation.

  “I didn’t do it for you.”

  “Never said you did.”

  “As long as we’re clear.”

  “I think we’ve established our mutual aversion to one another.”

  “Aversion is a pretty tame word.”

  Jack glared at his son. “There is a lady present.”

  “And that stopped you before? Fine. Aversion.” Then Cyler mumbled under his breath, “Aversion my ass.”

  “Okay! We’re done.” Laken eyed both men, giving her best glare, only to have both men grin back unrepentantly. “It’s going to be a long night,” she remarked, feeling the previous night’s sleeplessness weigh on her, combined with trying to keep the fighting at bay.

  She was torn; half of her wanted Cyler to stay, to be that redemption for both him and his father. Heaven only knew that as the end approached, they would both need that closure. Yet the other half wished he’d leave, and quickly. He was already wreaking havoc on her heart and self-control, let alone his established animosity toward Jack. Yeah, it was messy all around.

  She bit into the pulled pork sandwich, her mind momentarily forgetting about all the issues at hand. Damn, the guy could cook. Add one more sexy trait to that list. Maybe if he stayed, it wouldn’t be so bad. At least then I wouldn’t have to cook, right?

  Just then, Cyler glanced up, meeting her gaze. He winked seductively, and Laken almost choked on her bite.

  Leave. He definitely had to leave.

  And damn it all, he needed to leave soon. Or else what self-control she had was going to melt away like that stupid lid.

  She needed to find her balance; she needed level ground.

  She needed to call Kessed.

  But something told her that Kessed wasn’t exactly going to be on her side.

  Chapter 9

  The sound of footsteps pulled Cyler from sleep. Pausing, he listened intently, piecing together why there would be footsteps in his house. Had he gotten drunk last night? Was there a burglar? His hand clenched as he slowly reached under his pillow only to feel the vacancy where his 9 mm usually rested. What the hell?

  Soft humming distracted him, and he opened his eyes and stared into a vaguely familiar wall. Red wallpaper dotted with flowers brought back a menagerie of random childhood memories, and everything finally clicked.

  Jack, Laken, the ranch—hell. He’d woken up in hell. And oddly enough, it was utterly voluntary. The humming sounded again, and he rolled over and saw shadows flicker from under the door. He picked up his phone and groaned.

  Why the hell is she up at six a.m. on a Saturday?

  Rising from the bed, Cyler glanced around the guestroom at the ranch. As a kid, he hadn’t ever been allowed in this room; it had been kept nice for company, not that they ever had much. His mother had been many things, but especially an optimist. Stretching, he glanced around for his jeans then slid them on. His belt clinked as he cinched it, and he shrugged on a new shirt from his duffle bag. He visited the adjoining bathroom and then slipped into the hall.

  A flash of blond hair disappeared out the front door and he strode toward the window. Laken got into her Honda, pulled on to the driveway, and disappeared behind the hill.

  “Wonder where she’s off to,” he muttered. The coffeepot in the kitchen beeped, and he glared in the general direction. Hell no was he going to drink that tractor oil Jack called coffee. After heading back to his room for his wallet, key, and phone, he darted out the door as well. Starbucks.

  He thought about parking in the small lot, but instead chose to park at the gas station across the street. It had been hell getting out of that parking spot last time, and he didn’t want to have to navigate that again if it wasn’t necessary.

  The roads were silent as he crossed the street over to the blessed green sign. A familiar Honda caught his eye as he passed the parked cars, and a grin tipped his lips.

  He should have known.

  Was this her everyday routine? He couldn’t blame her. With a smile, he opened the glass door and paused as Laken’s voice carried across the aromatic air.

  “I’m dying, seriously. This job might kill me.” Laken groaned as she lifted her cup in a salute. “To my sanity. I think I need stronger,” she muttered to the barista. She was the same coffee-girl as yesterday, a brunette with almond shaped eyes hinting at Asian ancestry.

  Those eyes slid by Laken and widened slightly as they focused on him.

  “Well, it looks like your day is getting better and better.” Her lips tipped into a suppressed grin as she glanced back to Laken.

  “Because of coffee,” Laken replied, lifting her cup and inhaling deeply.

  Cyler shook his head, amused. He sauntered across the tiled floor and stood beside Laken. “Aw, and here I thought she was talking about me.”

  Laken’s head whipped around, her eyes widening as a pretty pink blush stained her cheeks.

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t over hear much. Your secrets are safe.” He chuckled. “Pike Place, venti, no room,” he ordered and pulled out his phone.

  “Sounds familiar,” the barista murmured, almost too low to hear, but she cut a sharp gaze to Laken, smiling widely.

  “I take it you two are friends.” Cyler glanced between the two, waiting for someone to fill in the blanks.

  “She’s my dealer.” Laken shrugged.

  “I rock her world.” The barista winked. “It doesn’t take much.”

  Laken rolled her eyes. “Yeah, friendship timeout.” She pointed between the two of them.

  “Well, then I’ll just have to talk with blue eyes over here.” She turned to him. “You must be Cyler?”

  Laken groaned. “Thank you, Kessed.”

  His lips widened into a knowing grin. “So, you know me, huh?” He turned to Laken, clicking his tongue in a scold. “Whatever happened to client confidentiality?”

  “You’re not my client.”

  “Thank the Lord.” He shook his head, still grinning. “So, Kessed, is it?” He leaned against the counter, softening his gaze, and turning up the charm. “Well, what did she say about me? You can’t believe everything you hear, you know.”

  “This is so not happening. And you, you are not talking. Because there’s nothing to say!” Laken pointed to Kessed then stalked off to a table.

  Kessed shrugged and made a locking gesture with her hand across her mouth then tossed the pretend key to Laken, who acted like she caught it.

  “Please?” he asked, lowering his chin so that his gaze sharpened.

  Kessed visibly swallowed, her gaze flickering to Laken then back to him. “Uh, you know. I seem to remember something about you cooking?”

  “You know what? I need to get back to the ranch. Cyler? You coming too?” Laken was glaring daggers at her friend, all while stepping toward the door.

  “Hmm, I’m really enjoying my time here. And I haven’t exactly gotten my coffee yet.” He let the words linger, watching as the barista jumped as if shocked she had forgotten his order.

  She then quickly poured him a cup. “We can’t have that now, can we?” The barista recovered, handing him the steaming venti.

  “Nope, it would ruin a very promising start to the day.” He bit back a grin, loving the way Laken had responded to his teasing. It was endea
ring, and sexy as hell with that pink blush staining her cheeks. It had been a long time since he’d seen a woman blush, let alone find pleasure in some innocent flirting.

  “Okay, you have your coffee. Now let’s go.” Laken pointed to the door once more.

  “Bossy, isn’t she?” Cyler turned to the barista.

  “You have no idea.” Kessed rolled her eyes. “But entertaining.”

  “I’m starting to see that.” He took a tentative sip of his coffee, hissing as the hot brew singed his tongue.

  “I’m leaving. I’ll see you back at the ranch.” Laken started to open the door.

  “Actually, you won’t,” he called to her, taking a more cautious sip of his coffee as she paused.

  “Oh, well then, uh…I guess…goodbye?” She took a hesitant step back inside the shop, her expression unreadable.

  It was frustrating not being able to determine her reaction. Was she happy he was going? Disappointed? And why the hell did it matter?

  “I need to check on a few things at home, but I left my bag at the ranch. I expect I’ll be back in a few days, just to check on things. Jack hasn’t sprayed the back roads that wind around the property, and I saw the Kochia weeds making themselves a nuisance. I don’t expect stuff like that is included in your duties.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Wow, that’s really kind of you. I didn’t notice. And even if I had, I wouldn’t know the first thing to do about it.”

  He scoffed. “It’s not kind. It’s necessary. When the old man says sayonara, that ranch is mine, and I don’t want it to go to hell in a handbasket.”

  Laken’s gaze dropped and she sighed. “Should have guessed. Okay. Good enough then.” She gave a forced grin, one that didn’t reach her eyes.

  Part of him wanted to give her what she wanted, a sort of hope that he and Jack would reach some kind of truce, but that was impossible. Better to be honest; let her know exactly what he was thinking. No one would get hurt; no one would expect more.

  Cyler took a breath, hesitating. “Uh, in the meantime, just do me a favor and make sure Margaret is combed? Last night I spent more time than usual currying her. It hadn’t been done in a while. And call Vince, the farrier. She’s more than due for a good shodding.” He gave a decisive nod and lifted his cup to his lips, needing something to do to distract from the way her lips parted as if hesitating about saying something or the way intuition flashed across her green gaze. Yup, he needed to run fast from this one.