Welcome Home, Cowboy

by Karen Templeton

  “I was still real little the first time I went with my brothers and father to move the cows closer to home before they calved. Maybe five? Nearly froze my butt off.” A melancholy smile stretched his mouth. “Never had so much fun in my life.”

  “This was before things went south, then?”

  Her directness somehow deflated what’d been so blown up in his mind all these years. Somewhat, anyway. “Yeah. But you know, even after the bad stuff started, long as we were working cattle, he was okay. Better, anyway. It was like…I can’t explain it. Like all that space…it seemed to absorb the craziness, somehow. Or at least dilute it. Maybe that’s why I love the sky so much. The openness.” He hesitated, then said, “Nowhere else I went could even begin to compare.”

  “Then why not stay?”

  Why her question threw him, Cash had no idea. It wasn’t personal. Or even particularly prying. In fact, she wasn’t even looking at him, her long fingers moving like lightning as she picked the little tomatoes. Then he realized, it wasn’t the question bugging him. It was the answer.

  “Because there’s been too many changes,” he said quietly. “I don’t recognize anything anymore. Don’t recognize myself. I guess I thought, if I came back, maybe I could…I don’t know. Start over. Pick up the missing thread. Except strangely enough, nothing waited for me to do that.”

  Emma straightened, fisting her lower back as she frowned at him, like she was puzzling something out. “But does starting over mean taking up where you left off? Or being open to new beginnings? Seems to me life’s all about going forward, don’t you think?”

  Damn the woman for being logical. Worse, for being right.

  “I brought over a guitar for Hunter,” he said, fresh heat surging up his neck as he looked away. “It’s just a student acoustic, nothing fancy, but decent enough to learn on. I was lucky to find a three-quarter size, though—I noticed his arms are too short for a full-size—”

  “You bought him a guitar?”

  “Used. Cheap,” he said, eyes pinned to hers, daring her to go there. She took the hint and didn’t. “I figured,” he continued, “since it was raining and I knew the kids were off school, today might be a good time to start his lessons.”

  Emma gave him one of those long, unsettling looks, then nodded. “I’m sure that’ll be fine with him. On one condition.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You let me feed you first.”

  “You’re assuming I haven’t eaten.”

  One brow lifted. “Have you?”

  “Toast and coffee.” His stomach growled. “Two hours ago.” She laughed, and Cash grinned in spite of himself. “You don’t give up easy, do you?”

  “Would be a pretty lousy farmer if I did,” she said, setting aside her tray and dusting off her hands. “Not to mention a mother. Now. Would you rather have French toast or pancakes with your bacon?”

  If nothing else, Cash had always been clear about what he wanted. Always. Stay or run like hell, didn’t matter as long as he knew which was the right choice. Now, for the first time in his life, both of those were screaming in his head with equal shrillness, that old survival instinct warring with a yearning the likes of which he hadn’t encountered in more years than he could count.

  “French toast, if it’s not too much trouble,” he said at last, earning him a grin that made him simultaneously feel on top of the world and like total slime.

  At this rate, his head would explode before the week was out.

  Zoey was still half-asleep—she felt all stuffy again, like she was getting another cold—when she heard the commotion from the living room. Propping herself up on one elbow, she sneezed, blew her nose, then bent her head. Sure enough, she heard Cash’s low voice, then Mama’s. Then Hunter’s. What the heck?

  The sneeze unblocked her nose enough to make her feel like getting up to see what was going on. Besides, she was hungry and it smelled like bacon. Which meant there’d probably be French toast or pancakes or maybe even waffles to go with it. Yay.

  Nobody noticed her at first, but that was okay because she wasn’t an attention hog, as Granny put it. In fact, Zoey hated being fussed over. Especially when people did it ’cause they felt sorry for her, which only made her feel creepy and uncomfortable instead of better. Why didn’t people get that? Honest to Pete.

  Anyway, Cash’d brought Hunter a guitar so he could learn how to play. Huddled inside her fuzzy sweatshirt—the rain had made it all cold again—Zoey grinned. Hunter had been wanting a guitar for forever. He loved music and was always singing, and now he could play, too. Zoey didn’t feel the least bit jealous. Music wasn’t her thing, anyway. She had her art.

  What she did feel, though, between all the scrumptious cooking smells and Hunter’s grin as he turned his new guitar over and over in his hands, and Mama, standing in the doorway to the kitchen looking actually happy, was like things were good again. Almost like they’d been before Daddy died.

  Happiness fizzing up inside her, Zoey ran across the room to give Cash a big old hug. For a moment she couldn’t tell if he was mad or just surprised. But then he smiled, too, and she knew everything was gonna be okay.

  After breakfast, Annie banished Emma from the kitchen to do the cleaning up. When Emma protested, the old woman smacked her with a dish towel. “Hiding’s for wimps,” she said. “Now git.”

  So she got.

  “Move, cat,” she said, shooing the Other Gray One out of the only armchair in the tiny room to lower her bulk into it. Immediately Zoey brought over a footstool, giving her a stern look until Emma put her feet up. The fire in the woodstove lazily hissed and snapped, competing with the drum of rain on the now-repaired roof. Perched on the edge of the worn plaid sofa, Hunter quivered with excitement as he watched Cash tune his “new” guitar. At their feet, Zoey plopped down on her stomach, chin in hands, absolutely riveted, neither she nor Cash apparently any the worse for wear from her spontaneous show of affection earlier.

  Never mind that Emma had nearly dropped the baby right then and there.

  Now, lulled into a full-bellied, fire-warmed stupor, she sank farther into the old cushions, even as her eyes watered from missing her husband. Until, through the blur, she noticed the look of expectancy on her children’s faces, the twinkle of what could only be called mischief in Cash’s eyes.

  “Okay, now,” he said. “This song’s real easy, it only needs three chords. First one’s a G.” He placed three fingers on the fret. “You see that?” Hunter nodded, then tried to mimic where Cash had placed his three fingers. “Hold on, guy, I’ll show you in a minute. Just listen, okay?”

  At Hunter’s emphatic nod, Cash sang, pulling a funny face, switching chords from time to time. “On top of spa-ghe-tti, all covered in cheeeese…”

  Both kids started to giggle.

  “I lost my poor meat-ball, when somebody sneezed. It rolled off the ta-ble, and onto the floor…and then my poor meat-ball, rolled right out the door…”

  Both kids dissolved into peals of laughter, and Emma’s pregnancy hormones ran amok. Cash had the same off-the-wall sense of humor as Lee? Who knew?

  The song was old as the hills, but for whatever reason neither of her kids had heard it. Kids who’d clearly inherited their father’s propensity for wince-worthy jokes. Hunter took enormous pride in knowing every knock-knock joke ever created, the vast majority of which he’d gotten from his father.

  Remembering all the times Lee used to make her laugh hard enough to wet her pants, she suddenly understood how this man and her husband could have been best friends. Beyond the outcasts-bonding-together thing, that was.

  They were both nuttier than fruitcakes.

  Still, was Cash tapping into memories of Lee’s sense of the absurd to entertain the kids? Or into something long buried inside himself, something that being around the kids brought to the surface? Whatever it was, as he continued singing, making the kids laugh harder than they had in way too long—Emma did not remember hearing that last v
erse before—gratitude rose up inside her for far more than his handiness around the farm.

  “Show me, Cash!” Hunter said, about to burst from excitement. “Show me!”

  “Now, honey,” Emma said, “don’t be discouraged if you don’t get it right away. Learning to play an instrument takes a lot of practice.”

  “Your mama’s right,” Cash said. “I was terrible when I started. And for a long time after that. Then again, I didn’t have me for a teacher.” Emma groaned and Cash grinned at her, and she once more bemoaned the unfairness of life. “Anyway…here’s how you make that first G chord,” he said, then helped Hunter curl his stubby fingers around the fret. “Now strum the strings with your other hand, like this… Okay, your top finger slipped a little, that’s all. There. Now try again.”

  After two more less-than-stellar tries, Hunter frowned at Cash. “Why can’t I make it…sound like when you…play it?”

  Cash chuckled. “Because I’ve been doing this for more than twenty years and you’ve done it for five minutes. You gotta be patient with yourself, buddy. It’ll happen, I promise.”

  But Hunter scowled at Emma and Zoey. “You two are making me ner-vous. Go away. Please?”

  “Yeah, Mama,” Cash said, clearly amused, “you’re cramping the kid’s style.” Clearly not amused, Zoey scrambled to her feet and stomped off. “I didn’t want to listen to your stupid old lesson, anyway!”

  “Zoey!” Emma called, struggling to her feet as Annie scooted out of the kitchen and down the hall, waving her hand in Emma’s direction.

  “Got it covered, y’all just go on about your business.”

  “The joys of family life,” Emma said without thinking, then flushed. “I’ll, uh, be out in the barn if anybody needs me.”

  Not that anybody would.

  The rain had finally stopped, like somebody’d turned off the spigot, encouraging a couple of the nannies to venture forth from their nice, warm happy place to beg for cookies. “Sorry, girls, fresh out,” Emma said, earning herself a pair of disgruntled expressions. Of course, that might have something to do with the size of their bellies. Poor gals. But—after a quick inspection—it appeared their misery was about at an end.

  If only hers was. In soooo many ways.

  Emma went into the barn to check on the others, where lights and heaters gently hummed. Suddenly drained, she lay down in a patch of sunlight from the single, high window, on an eviscerated bale of sweet-scented hay, not even caring when the Smelliest Dog in the Universe collapsed beside her.

  And here’s where the going-with-the-flow thing and the practical thing don’t mesh, she thought, tangling her fingers in the dog’s thick fur.

  Because she could no longer pretend her feelings weren’t growing for Cash. Like weeds. After all, even weeds can be attractive. But every gardener knows you can’t let weeds take over, no matter how pretty they might be.

  And letting those feelings get out of control, feelings she didn’t choose, that she’d been startled to realize she was even ready to entertain so soon after Lee’s death…that would be just plain dumb. Even if Cash’s return eventually coughed up whatever it was he was looking for, who knew how long it would take before he came to terms with it? If he ever would. Besides which, whether he resumed his career or not, he obviously had no interest in returning to the boonies on a permanent basis.

  Crazy, she might be, forming an ill-advised attachment to a man who in all likelihood wasn’t even in the same book, let alone on the same page. Not so far gone, however, that she couldn’t see that Cash Cochran was about as solid as sand. He barely knew who he was, let alone what he wanted. If—if— she were to let another man take root in her heart, it had to be someone ready and willing to commit a hundred percent to her, her kids, this life.

  Of his own free will.

  Okay, then. That settled, Emma nestled more deeply into the hay, pulled Lee’s coat closed over her belly and flung one arm around her dog. A few minutes rest, was all she wanted, the goats’ soft bleating paving her path to sleepyland…

  “Shh, boy,” Cash whispered to the dog, who’d jumped to his feet, tail swishing, when Cash walked into the barn. “Don’t wake her.”

  Oh, man. This was bad. Real bad.

  Having the hots for a woman, he knew all about. And God knew Emma had provoked the more-than-occasional bite of desire—even in sloppy farm clothes, even a hundred months pregnant, there was no missing the proud-to-be-a-woman sass to her every move. Nothing sexier than a woman who liked her body. And undoubtedly knew what to do with it. But the tender stirrings inside him at the sight of Emma asleep in the sunlight with straw in her hair…

  Holy hell. This was worse than those naked-on-stage dreams he had when he was starting out. Especially since those weren’t real.

  Dodging Bumble’s flicking tongue, he crouched beside her. Carefully brushed a snarl of hair off her cheek.

  “Emma—?”

  She shrieked and sat bolt upright. “What is it? Is everything okay—?”

  “Everything’s fine. But Zoey came out here, saw you were asleep, and came back to get me. She also said one of the goats was acting funny, so I checked.”

  She blinked, her reddened cheek creased from the straw. “Somebody’s in labor?”

  “Yep.”

  Flailing, she tried to stand, except still half-asleep she couldn’t get her bearings. Cash hauled her to her feet, her baby-filled belly crashing into him before she charged unsteadily across the barn, checking each open stall.

  “Which one…? Never mind. You mind dragging over that bale so I can sit? Ohmigosh, go get the kids! Mine, I mean.”

  “You sure?”

  “I doubt Myrtle much cares who’s watching—”

  “Mama!” Zoey said from the barn door. “Is it time?”

  “It is, baby,” she said, waving Zoey and Hunter over. Zoey squatted beside her mother, her eyes wide, but Hunter hung back beside Cash, slipping his hand inside Cash’s. Cash gawked at the kid’s head for a second, then squeezed his hand. Hunter looked up, his smile turning his eyes into slits behind his glasses. Then he frowned, focusing again on the kidding goat.

  “Does it…hurt her?”

  “I’m sure she’d much rather be eating cookies,” Emma said, “but it’ll be over pretty fast.” With a reassuring smile, she stretched to clutch his other hand. “So no worries, okay?”

  “Do we need to help?” Zoey asked.

  Emma drew her daughter close to lay her cheek on her little girl’s head, and the yearning rushed up inside Cash, nearly choking him. “So far everything seems to be going good. In fact…look, guys!”

  The first kid slid out onto the straw, shrouded in the birth sac. But before the nanny could lick her baby, she started pushing again.

  “What’s go-ing on? Is she o-kay, Cash?”

  “It’s a two-fer,” Cash said, chuckling, grabbing a towel from a nearby stack to dry off the newborn. Only Hunter took it from him, vigorously rubbing the kid until it was all fluffy.

  “Ma-ma told us we can’t let the ba-bies get cold, or they might die.”

  “Ohmigosh!” Zoey said, giggling, as the kid staggered to its feet with a vague Whoa, what just happened? look on its face. “It’s so cute—!”

  “Annnd here’s his brother or sister!” Emma said, now on her knees in the straw as the twin slipped out. Only this time Mama was on the case, licking and nudging her baby until he, too, stood on wobbly legs to get a drink. Shortly after, his sister minced over to get her share, and Emma laughed, clearly relieved.

  “We have to name them,” Hunter said. “How about…Hansel and Gret-el?”

  “Done,” Emma said, then looked up, and Cash had to armor himself against her twinkling eyes. Her big heart. “One less thing for me to do,” she said with a shrug, then wrapped her arms around her son as they watched the babies nurse.

  “You’re gon-na feed the baby like that, huh?” Hunter said, and Emma sputtered a laugh.

  “Not standing up i
n the barn munching hay, no. But close enough. Okay, nothing else happening here for a while, so you two may as well go do the rest of your chores. I’m gonna stay here with mama and her babies for a while to make sure they’re okay. You can visit again later.”

  As soon as Hunter and Zoey left, though, Emma levered herself back onto the bale to sag against the stall’s wall. “One down, five to go. What’re the odds the rest of ’em will kid during the day?”

  “Slim to none?”

  Emma made a sound that might’ve been a laugh. “Not that it makes much difference, since I’m already up half the night, anyway. Sweet Tater here is into middle-of-the-night aerobics.”

  “You look beat.”

  “Comes with the territory,” she said, yawning into the back of her hand.

  Cash hesitated, then said, “Why don’t I bring over a sleeping bag, camp out in the barn until it’s over? Save you going back and forth half the night, checking.”

  “This isn’t your problem, Cash—”

  “It’s not anybody’s problem,” he said sharply, eyes on the goats and not her. “And tell me Lee wouldn’t do the same thing.”

  “You’re not Lee!” When his gaze swung to hers, she sighed out, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded—”

  “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “No, you don’t! I’m not comparing you with Lee, Cash. I’d never do that. I just meant you’re not in the same position he would’ve been. As my husband, as co-owner of the farm. None of this is your responsibility. And—”

  When she didn’t finish her thought, Cash twisted to see her pressing her fingers into the sides of her nose with her eyes shut, shaking her head. “Never mind,” she said, as her hands dropped. “It’s not that I’m not grateful for the offer, but not being able to take care of my own obligations makes me feel like a wimp. And that’s making me very cranky.”