A Cowboy to Come Home To

by Donna Alward

  If he told her everything about the night he’d confronted Scott, she’d finally understand the real reason he’d acted the way he had. But she would also wonder if his offer to be her donor was his way of making his move, insinuating himself into her life.

  And while that hadn’t been his initial intent, he wondered that himself. Spilling his guts would take the tenuous trust they’d built lately and crush it to dust. And yet going on without telling her the truth was unthinkable. If nothing else, they had to reestablish their friendship with total honesty. Lack of honesty had been what had driven them apart in the first place.

  He shut the door behind him and shook the water off his hat and shoulders. Maybe it was time he stopped letting his feelings for Mel make him look like a fool. But if he hadn’t figured out how to do that in ten years, he wasn’t too confident in his chances now, either.

  * * *

  Thanksgiving Monday came smack in the middle of a Chinook. The cloud arch formed to the west, cutting the sky in a precise arc, and the westerly wind was mild, bringing back an echo of summer. Mel was surprised to see extra cars already parked at the Ford house. For a moment she considered scooting away and then calling and making her apologies.

  Instead she reached back into her car for the flower arrangement she’d brought, as well as a long, rectangular gift bag containing a bottle of wine. Why should she be alone today? The idea of roasting a single turkey breast and making boxed stuffing for herself sounded horrible. Especially when she had a perfectly good invitation.

  She rang the bell and wished she had a free hand to run over her hair. She’d put it up in a simple twist, but was sure the blustery Chinook wind was ripping it to shreds. A piece flew free and stuck to her lipstick. Perfect. She was already unspeakably nervous about today, about seeing Coop again. To let him know her decision. She’d done nothing but think about it since the last time they spoke.

  The door opened and Cooper stood there, dressed in jeans and a starchy-looking red plaid shirt, the front of his body covered by a cotton apron with the words Mr. Good-Lookin’ Is Cookin’ emblazoned on the front.

  “You came.”

  “You thought I wouldn’t?”

  He grinned. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle and chased away some of her nerves, filling her with warmth and gladness. “I wondered if you’d turn coward.”

  “Shows what you know,” she retorted, but she was smiling. “Do you suppose I could come in?”

  “Oh, sure. Sorry.”

  He stood aside and she stepped into the foyer. Voices echoed from the kitchen and then there was loud laughter. “Uncle Jason is here with Aunt Sheila, and so is Aunt Rae. It won’t be a quiet dinner.”

  Mel was thinking that was just fine. It would save awkward conversations and she could melt into the background a little. But then she stepped into the kitchen and was immediately pounced on by Bob, who was feeling rather jovial—perhaps after a predinner cocktail.

  “Look who’s here! I don’t know what’s prettier, those flowers or the roses in your cheeks.”

  So much for blending in.

  She put the flowers down on the end of the island and couldn’t help but chuckle. Bob was dressed similarly to Coop, only his apron boasted a picture of a bull and the message Aged to Perfection.

  “Nice,” she commented. “But if you two are cooking, I’m not sure I want to stay.”

  Coop pressed a hand to his heart. “Oh, you wound me!”

  Jean came from the pantry with a jar of pickles in her hand. “They’re under my direct supervision, Melissa. Don’t you worry.” She came forward and kissed Mel’s cheek. “Glad you could make it. Coop will be on his best behavior.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  Like Coop and Bob, Jean had on an apron, too. It seemed this was a family tradition. And in typical rodeo queen fashion, the former barrel racing champ had on a pink apron with the caption Barrel Racer, Cowboy Chaser.

  The aunts and uncle were out on the back deck enjoying a drink. Mel handed over the bottle of wine and asked Jean, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Not at the moment. Oh, Melissa, did you bring those flowers? Of course you did. They’re gorgeous!” She fussed over the arrangement, a bigger version of the one Mel had created just over a week ago at her shop.

  “It was no trouble.”

  “You’ve got such a talent.” Jean moved the flowers to the dining room, putting them in the center of the table and moving the candles to either side. “You were a real smart cookie, starting up that business.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jean paused in the doorway to the dining room, close to Melissa. She reached out and put her fingers lightly on Mel’s arm. “We were so sorry when...well, when things weren’t going so great for you. But you picked yourself up again and got back in the saddle, and we’re real proud of you. We probably should have said it before, but we knew you and Coop...” She colored a little. “Well. You know.”

  “It’s okay. I’m glad you told me now.”

  “We’re just glad you and Coop are...well.” She laughed. “I’m usually not so bad at putting words together. Anyway, you were always good friends and it’s nice to see you bury the hatchet. And not in his back. Not that he didn’t deserve it. He should have told you what was going on.”

  “You knew he knew?” All this time Melissa had been under the impression that they’d been in the dark about Coop’s involvement.

  “Oh, not at the time. He told us one day ages ago when we asked why you weren’t friends anymore. Anyway, water under the bridge and all that. How about I fix you a drink? Pumpkin lattes are the warm-up beverage of the day.”

  “That sounds lovely,” Mel replied, already warmed by Jean’s awkward but welcoming speech.

  The drink was delicious, blending coffee, pumpkin, spice and cream with a dash of toffee liqueur that made it taste more like a dessert than a cocktail. The kitchen smelled of roasting turkey and savory and sage from the stuffing. Everyone sat in the sun on the deck for a little while until Jean went inside to put on the vegetables. Mel offered to help and Coop’s mother insisted she wear an apron so she didn’t get anything on her good clothing.

  She slid the loop over her neck and tied the strings behind her back, then looked down and burst out laughing.

  “It’s mine,” Jean said with a grin.

  It said Cowgirls Ride the Hide.

  “Let me guess, you collect them?”

  “I have a whole drawer full. It’s kind of a tradition now. They usually show up in Christmas stockings.”

  Together they turned the burners on beneath the vegetables, took the turkey out of the oven to rest before carving, and put the brussels sprouts in to roast.

  While Jean uncorked a bottle of wine, Mel spooned cranberry sauce and pickles into bowls and placed them on the table. She sliced and buttered fresh buns and arranged them in a wicker basket, and filled water glasses while Jean went to work whipping cream for the pumpkin and pecan pies. The sprouts came out of the oven, the carrots were drained and the potatoes mashed. Bob came in and carved the turkey, and the aunts poured wine and carried bowls to the table while Coop got a lighter and lit the candles flanking Mel’s flowers.

  And then they all finally sat down at the table, Bob at one end and Coop at the other, Jean at Bob’s right elbow and Mel on Coop’s, with the aunts and uncle rounding out the sides. Mel tried not to notice that she was seated in the mirror position of Jean and Bob, though she and Coop were not a couple. And yet, as they took their seats, her knee bumped his beneath the table and something exciting shot up her leg. Oh boy.

  “Cooper, won’t you give a toast?” Jean asked.

  Coop raised his glass, then waited until all the glasses were lifted before he said, “To family, to friends, being together and our many blessings. Happy Th
anksgiving.”

  The sound of tinkling crystal echoed in the dining room, and Coop leaned slightly sideways and touched his glass to Melissa’s. “Happy Thanksgiving,” he said quietly, meeting her gaze.

  She was so used to him teasing, to seeing the twinkle in his eyes, that she was quite mesmerized by the soft, serious quality she found there. “To you, too,” she replied, and that swirly feeling intensified as they each took a sip of their wine with their gazes locked.

  Coop’s suggestion echoed in her mind: The usual way? Would you want to?

  Yes, she thought. Oh yes, she would. And wasn’t that a huge surprise. Because ever since Scott left she hadn’t felt any burning desire to get caught up in someone that way. Especially Coop. She dropped her eyes to her plate, hoping her thoughts weren’t reflected in her gaze. Something her mother always said kept nagging at her, too. She’d always claimed that hate was as passionate an emotion as love. And Melissa had hated Coop for a long time, until it became a habit. Now she was beginning to realize that she hadn’t really hated him. She’d had a whole bunch of other emotions where Coop was concerned, hurt and betrayal that had been devastating. She’d called it hate because that had been easier than dealing with her true feelings.

  “Mel? Potatoes are to you.” Coop nudged her hand with the bowl and she wondered how long he’d been holding them, waiting for her.

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  She made a point of filling her plate and eating, always aware of Coop on her left. He laughed and smiled a lot, teasing his family and getting as good as he got. He’d taken off the silly apron and had rolled up his sleeves. She noticed he wore a watch but no other jewelry, no rings, no nothing.

  Coop, she realized, hadn’t changed that much at all. He was still a no-fuss kind of guy who didn’t feel the need to put on a show. But then, he didn’t need to, did he? He was the kind of man who seemed to command attention without even trying.

  “More wine, Mel?”

  She looked up at him. He was holding the bottle and waiting for her response. She shook her head. “I probably shouldn’t. Not after that dessert masked as a cocktail earlier. I have to drive later.”

  He put down the bottle. “We still on for that ride?”

  The meal was delicious, but at his question her appetite started to fade. So far this afternoon she’d ignored the fact that later on they were going to have an uncomfortable conversation.

  “Why not? I haven’t ridden for a long time. It’s a good day for it.”

  “Give us a chance to work off dinner,” he added.

  “No kidding. I haven’t had a turkey dinner with all the trimmings since last Christmas at Mom’s. I almost had to roll myself home. I can’t eat like I could when I was sixteen anymore. I look at a meal like this and gain five pounds.”

  His gaze swept over her. “Naw, I doubt it. You look as good as you always did, Mel.”

  Her cheeks warmed and his leg brushed hers again. Whether it was intentional or by accident, the ripples still felt the same. Oh, she’d definitely made the right decision. Finding the right way to tell him, though—that was going to be a real challenge.

  When the main meal was over, Mel joined the women in clearing the table of plates and then serving pie and coffee. She was slicing into the pecan pie when Coop stepped up behind her and put his hand over hers on the knife, sliding it farther to the right to make the piece bigger. “That’s about right,” he said.

  His breath was warm on her ear, his body close behind her so that if she backed up even an inch, her spine would be pressed against his broad chest. She swallowed and told herself to breathe normally. “Are you sure you don’t want a smaller one so you can have a piece of each?”

  He leaned in closer. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.” His lips brushed her ear. “There’s a second pumpkin pie hidden in the fridge for later.”

  She shivered. And she knew he knew, because she felt his lips curve in a smile against her ear.

  She shrugged him away. “Oh, stop pestering me and let me cut the pie, or else you won’t get any!”

  “You tell him, Mel!” Bob cheered her on and Aunt Rae laughed beside her.

  “Get on with you, Cooper,” Aunt Rae chided. “You always were a torment. I’m with Melissa on this one.”

  He took his piece of pie and got a scoop of whipped cream for the top from his mother, then left the kitchen for the comfort of the dining room again.

  But Melissa couldn’t help feeling as if the family was pairing them up today, and Cooper’s actions did nothing to deter that line of thinking. And that simply couldn’t happen. A guy like Cooper flirted without even realizing it. It was second nature to him; she’d seen him turn that smile on girls for as long as she’d known him. It annoyed her a lot that she wasn’t any more immune than those other girls had been.

  But it ended here. He didn’t really mean it. He never did. And it was why there couldn’t be anything between them, and exactly the reason he could never be the father of her child. In the end she’d be the one to pay. She’d start to care too much and she’d be the one hurt.

  Once was enough for that, thank you very much.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHE NEARLY BACKED OUT of the plans to go riding, but doing so would put her in an awkward position. Granted, she hadn’t had a lot to drink at dinner, but she’d had the latte and then a full glass of wine, and wasn’t quite sure she should drive yet. The dishes had been put in the dishwasher and the aunts had insisted on washing up the rest as Mel and Jean finished clearing the table. When Cooper said they planned to go riding, they’d practically been shooed out the door.

  Now Melissa was astride Misty and finding it hard to be sorry. When they’d been kids, they’d gone riding a lot. Misty had been younger then and full of beans, as Bob used to say. But he’d trusted Mel with her, and while Melissa’s equestrian skills were rusty now, it all felt very familiar as she relaxed in the saddle and held the reins easily in her hands.

  “Where to?” Coop asked. He was astride Sergeant, a ten-year-old sorrel stallion with strong hindquarters and a wide, muscled chest. The horse tossed his head a little, his mane shivering in the wind, and danced a bit to the side. Without breaking his gaze from Mel, Coop settled the animal with barely a movement of his body or hands.

  “Up to you,” she replied. There were tons of places on the ranch. They could head east and wind their way along the creek to the butte, or north past the pastures and on to the slough, where there was shelter in the trees. Or they could follow the creek the other way, down into the gulley.

  “Let’s go west,” he suggested. “Then we’ll have the wind at our back on the way home.”

  He led the way and she couldn’t help but admire the figure he made in the saddle. He was all long legs and lean hips, with a perfectly straight back and relaxed, wide shoulders. He’d put on his jean jacket again and when he turned his head to follow the path of a flock of geese, the brim of his hat nearly touched the collar. Once they were out of the yard, Coop looked back and grinned, and then nudged Sergeant into a canter. The speed was nothing Mel couldn’t handle, and she settled into the rocking gait easily. He was letting the horses get some exercise, and it was fun, too. She caught up to him and moved alongside, then gave Misty a nudge and opened her up to a gallop. She heard Coop’s laugh behind her, but only for a short while. In no time he’d brought the stallion forward and they rode neck and neck, heading nowhere fast and loving every minute.

  Before long they reached the narrow, snaking creek and slowed to a trot, then a walk. They rode beside it for a long time until a narrow path appeared, leading down into the secluded gulley.

  The rock along the creek bed was multicolored, a unique striation of geological layers that had been formed over millions of years. The Chinook wind didn’t reach the sheltered canyon, and the creek meandered through, unhurrie
d on this lazy autumn day.

  Coop halted his horse at a particularly wide spot and dismounted, letting Sergeant walk forward to get a drink from the cool creek. Mel followed suit, her hand loosely on the reins as Misty dipped her nose in the water. Instead of mounting up again, Coop grabbed Sergeant’s reins and started walking, leading him along the creek.

  They kept on, silent, until they reached a small stand of trees just barely hanging on to their bright yellow leaves. Coop looped the reins around a branch and then secured Misty as well. Then he held out his hand to Melissa and said simply, “Walk with me.”

  She hesitated. Coop’s hand was still there, waiting for her to take it, and she wanted to and was afraid to all at once. Didn’t he realize he was playing with her feelings here? And yet...it was only holding hands, and she was twenty-seven years old. Maybe she was making far too much of things.

  She put her palm against his and his fingers tightened around hers.

  They didn’t go far, just ambled up the creek a little. The stream burbled and whispered over rocks strewn on the bottom, and Coop’s steps were slow and lazy. When Mel felt they had to say something or she would surely burst, he paused, turned to face her and said, “I’m sorry, Mel. I can’t wait to do this any longer.”

  Her lips were still open with surprise when his mouth came crashing down on hers. Oh glory, he tasted good. Like rich coffee and sweet brown sugar and one hundred percent man. Every rational thought she possessed, every rehearsed line she’d practiced in her head, was pushed out by the reality that was Cooper. She did the only thing she could in the moment—she responded. She kissed him back, planting her booted feet in the gravel and gripping the shoulders of his jacket to pull him closer.

  He leaned his weight against her, forcing her to take a step backward. She nearly lost her balance when she realized he was guiding her, pushing her step by step to the rock wall that kept them secluded from the rest of the world. The cold, smooth surface touched her shoulder blades, supporting her weight, and still Coop’s mouth made its magic against hers. Her eyes were closed and every nerve ending in her body was at full attention. It would be so easy to let go. To lose control. It had been so long....