“What bird lays eggs?” Lexie asked Cody.
“A chicken,” Cody promptly replied.
“That was a trick question,” she said, her blue eyes crinkling with laughter.
Cody cocked his head, then grinned and said, “All birds lay eggs! But we eat eggs from chickens.”
She gave him a high five and said, “Right! Of course, people around the world eat eggs from other birds, too.”
“Like ducks?” Cody asked.
“How smart you are,” Lexie said. “Let’s think of some more.”
Rye realized she was teaching Cody as she played with him. When he compared the behavior of the woman he’d scorned for the past five years to the behavior of a woman who supposedly loved him, he realized he’d been fooling himself. Sherry would never make a good mother for Cody, much less a good wife for him. He took her aside and said quietly, “Thank you for coming, Sherry. I know you were busy today.”
“It was time well spent,” she said with an effervescent smile. “I made a sale—that forty-acre property that’s mostly wetlands I haven’t been able to unload.”
“I think maybe we better call it quits.”
“What?”
She looked shocked, and he had to admit this was coming out of the blue. He hadn’t known himself until a few moments ago that he was going to break up with her. He did his best to let her down gently. “I think it’s time we went our separate ways.”
“You’re breaking up with me because I won’t babysit your kid?” she asked in a voice so shrill the surgical desk nurse looked up from her paperwork.
He kept his voice calm and level. “I’m breaking up with you because we obviously have different ideas about what’s important to us. Do you want me to walk you out?”
The stunning redhead stood there for a moment, looking incredulous, her false eyelashes fluttering, then said, “I think I can find my way to the parking lot, Rye. And I know I can find a better relationship than this one.” She marched away, her nose in the air, her very high heels click-clacking a brisk, furious farewell.
Rye watched her leave, surprised that what he felt first and foremost was relief. He approached his mother and said, “Do you have a friend who might be willing to help take care of Cody while you’re here at the hospital with Mike? I’ve got cattle that have to be moved back across the river, and with Mike not available to help, I’ll have to do it myself.”
She frowned. “My friends all have busy lives. What about Vick?”
“What about her?”
“Have you thought about asking her to keep Cody?”
“Cody will be sleeping in his own bed, if I have anything to say about it,” he replied. “And I do.”
“Why not ask Vick to come stay at the Rafter S? She can bunk in Amy Beth’s room.”
“She’s probably not available. She’s got a job that takes her out of town pretty regularly. Or had you forgotten?” he asked with a pointed look.
“Ask her,” his mother insisted.
Rye stalked off to stare out the window at the distant mountains, his right hip canted, his arms crossed protectively over his chest. Having Lexie stay at the ranch was the best solution for Cody. It irked him that he still couldn’t get himself to call her Vick, even after all these years. Despite how her relationship with his son had started out, she clearly loved Cody now, and his son adored her. Rye sighed. It just stuck in his craw to ask Lexie Grayhawk for anything.
But his cows had all dropped calves, and he needed to keep an eye on them, especially considering the “endangered” wolves and bears ready to make a meal of his newborn livestock. He might as well bite the bullet and ask her to move in. The instant Mike was well enough to come home, she’d be out on her very attractive fanny.
Lexie was still sitting on the other side of the hospital waiting room with Cody in her lap, his son talking animatedly to her.
“Hey, Cody,” he said as he approached them. “Gram needs you.”
The little boy gave Lexie a hug, then slid from her lap and took off running.
Lexie’s eyes stayed longingly focused on Cody until Rye spoke. She suddenly turned her gaze on him, and he felt a flood of desire that shook him with its intensity.
He swore under his breath. That was why he’d kept his distance over the past five years. That was why he’d done his best to avoid meeting her during those weekend handoffs. That was why every conversation he’d had with her over the past year since she’d relocated to Montana was awkward and uncomfortable. He’d never stopped wanting her. Not for one minute. He’d been afraid his hormones would overcome his good sense, so he hadn’t put either one to the test. Every time Rye thought of how much he desired her, he reminded himself of the choice she’d made to walk away from their child.
He could never forgive her for that.
Rye had learned from his father— Shit! From whoever the hell it was who’d raised him from the cradle, that black was black and white was white and there was no room for anything in between. Lexie had been there for Cody once a month for four-and-a-half years, but who was to say whether she might take off and leave him behind if something more exciting caught her attention. The chances of that were probably slim at this point, but any chance at all of it happening wrung his insides. He just didn’t know her well enough to be sure.
His muscles were taut as he fought his attraction to the mother of his son. How the hell was he going to get through several weeks, or months, of seeing her every morning at the breakfast table? Watching her read a book by the fire? Having her in his home every minute of every day?
But he didn’t see a better solution to having a responsible caretaker for Cody while he was out on the range. Assuming, of course, that Lexie was willing to step in and help him out. After the way he’d treated her in the past, doing his best to avoid her entirely and speaking tersely when he couldn’t, he wouldn’t blame her if she spit in his face.
He balled his hands into fists, realized what he’d done, and let them hang loose at his sides. He made himself meet her gaze and felt his groin tighten. “Mom wants to stay in Kalispell until Mike can leave the hospital, which might be a while.”
“Of course,” she said, her eyes filled with concern he found disconcerting.
He gritted his teeth before continuing, “I don’t have anyone to get Cody off to kindergarten in the morning or be there with him after school until my workday is done.”
She looked at him with guileless eyes. “I see.”
He kept his gaze locked on hers. “Do you?”
“Oh.” Her brows lowered in confusion, then rose in surprise. “Are you asking me to take him home and keep him while—”
“No.” His voice sounded harsh in his ears. That was no way to solicit her help. He cleared his throat and began in a more conciliatory tone. “Actually, what I was wondering…What I wanted to ask…My mom suggested I ask…”
An amused smile grew on her face at his inability to say what he wanted to say. He felt flustered and realized this was exactly why he’d kept his distance from her. “Can you come stay at the ranch and take care of Cody while my mom keeps an eye on Mike here in Kalispell?”
Her mouth, her very kissable mouth, dropped open in shock. He resisted the urge to tip her chin up and cover her lips with his own.
“You want me to move in?”
He heard the distrust in her voice and resented it, even if he probably deserved it. “Yeah. If you’re going to be around.”
She looked down at her hands, which he noticed were twisted together in her lap. “I do have some travel scheduled.” She looked up, pinning him in place with eyes the sort of blue that made you look twice, because they were so unusual. “But I’ll rearrange it.”
“You can sleep in Amy Beth’s room.”
“How long will you need me?”
He s
hrugged and realized how tense his shoulders were. “I have no idea. Mike’s injuries are…” He swallowed over the sudden painful knot in his throat. Devastating. Grisly. Likely to kill him. “Bad,” he managed to say. “I’ll need you a couple of weeks at least. Maybe a month.” He couldn’t imagine what he would do if a month turned into six weeks. Or, God forbid, two months.
She lowered her long, dark, but very natural lashes to cover her eyes and caught her lower lip in her teeth, an affectation he’d learned she employed when she was thinking.
A moment later, her startling blue eyes were fixed on him, and he almost had to take a step back, the joy on her face was so radiant.
“So I’ll be making all of Cody’s meals and dressing him and tucking him into bed every night?”
Rye nodded. He felt his heart jump and took it for what it was: a warning that his feelings could quickly get out of hand if he didn’t keep a tight leash on them.
“Then, yes! Of course I’ll help. I’ll have to go home and pack a bag, but I can meet you at the ranch later tonight. Shall I take Cody now?”
He realized that made the most sense. After all, it was her weekend to care for their son. “Sure.”
She took a step forward and then backed up, and he realized she’d restrained herself from giving him an impulsive, and likely exuberant, hug.
Then she did it anyway.
Her arms surrounded his neck, and he felt her soft breasts pillowed against his chest and her smooth cheek against his stubble of beard.
His hands just naturally encircled her tiny waist and held her close enough for his body to come to vibrant life.
“Thank you, Rye,” she whispered in his ear.
He was surprised to hear her speak his first name, because she always called him “Sullivan.” Maybe that was her way of keeping him at a distance. Then she almost yanked herself free and hurried over to say goodbye to his mother. A few moments later, she disappeared down the hall, his son’s hand tucked confidently in hers.
He waited for her to glance back, but she kept right on going. He was already having second thoughts, and she probably figured if she gave him a moment to reconsider, he’d change his mind.
“Sonofabitch,” he muttered. Rye had no idea how he was going to survive having a woman he’d fantasized about for way too many years sleeping right down the hall.
VICK ENTERED THE chilly Sullivan ranch house through the unlocked kitchen door, a vestige of frontier days, when travelers might seek refuge at the nearest home in bad weather, like the forty-below blizzards that threatened life and limb in Montana.
When she paused to look around, Cody tugged urgently on her hand.
“Come on, Mommy! I want to show you my room.”
Vick was familiar with the Sullivans’ enormous kitchen, which hadn’t been updated for thirty years. A trestle table that seated eight in sturdy wooden chairs took up most of the room. Rose wallpaper had faded in the bright sun that streamed through a large, uncurtained window over the farm sink. She could see the Whitefish Mountains to the north and the Kootenai Range to the west. Most of Montana, Vick had discovered, was composed of lush green valleys and sky-blue rivers and lakes edged by colossal mountains.
The wide-planked pine floor creaked as she and Cody headed toward the back of the house, which felt as empty as it was. The ancient Coldspot refrigerator hummed behind her, and she heard the heater click on.
She’d stepped into the kitchen to pick up Cody on the few frigid winter days when no one could drop him off at her place. But after that initial, week-long period, while she’d learned Cody’s routine as a baby, she’d never been beyond that room. Sullivan had made it clear she wasn’t welcome in his home. She’d expected him to soften his attitude toward her when he saw how committed she was to being a good mother. He hadn’t.
Vick was wide-eyed with interest, looking for any changes made over the past five years, as Cody led her through the living room. It still smelled of beeswax and was filled with the same rugged wood-and-leather furniture. A brindle cowhide took up most of the floor in front of the river-rock fireplace, while a new oil painting of a cattle drive held a place of honor above it. Sullivan’s oak desk, messy with papers, faced the picture window, with a view of a forbidding—she wouldn’t want to get lost in it—evergreen forest.
Cody led her down a long hall, and in the moments she had to peer into each bedroom, it was easy to tell which ones belonged to Mike and Amy Beth and Darcie, who’d been widowed seven years ago, when Rye’s father, Patrick, had an embolism. The door at the end of the hall was closed, as it had been during her weeklong visit to the house four-and-a-half years ago, and she was left to wonder what Sullivan’s room looked like. Cody pulled her into the small room next to it.
It was clear Sullivan had spared no expense for his son. The kitchen might not be updated, but this room was filled with everything a little boy might want or need. It looked strikingly similar to the room she’d prepared for Cody in her log cabin, except there were no frilly curtains covering the window, and the bedspread was more grown-up and masculine, while she’d bought one with Cody’s favorite cartoon characters.
Vick sat on her son’s bed and listened to him chatter excitedly as he showed her each toy and book, marveling that this moment had, at very long last, arrived. Her one weekend a month with Cody, while wonderful, was not enough. She’d missed doing all the normal things, like making her son a sack lunch, or dropping him off at kindergarten, taking him for his doctor’s visits, or hosting a playdate with his friends, whose parents she’d only recently begun to meet.
Most of all, because their time together was so short, just Friday at 5 p.m. until Sunday at 5 p.m., she hadn’t spent much time with her son when he was grumpy or exhausted, angry or petulant. She knew he must have all those moods, and she knew most people would say she’d been lucky to be spared them. But she’d felt like a visitor in her son’s life, much as he’d been a visitor in hers.
Whenever she’d suggested to Sullivan that she would like more time with Cody, he’d reminded her that she was lucky to have any interaction with his son, and that her work schedule, that is to say, her travel schedule, was still both busy and unpredictable. Since she was one of the strongest advocates for protection of the grizzly, and the giant bears were within a year or so of losing their “endangered species” protection in Montana, she hadn’t been willing to cut back on the time she spent working.
But for the next few weeks, or perhaps a little longer, the grizzly would have to wait. She was going to devote herself to being a mother. She was finally going to know what it felt like to wake up every day and perform all the tasks a mother would do for her son. She’d be combing mussed-up hair and taming a cowlick, coaxing her son to eat a healthy breakfast, urging him to enjoy his day at school, and finally, tucking him into bed at the end of each day and reading a storybook they’d chosen together.
“How’s it going?”
Vick rose abruptly, feeling as though she’d intruded where she didn’t belong, and turned to face Sullivan, who was standing in the doorway. His posture made it clear he didn’t want her there, his arms crossed over his broad chest shouting the message: Keep your distance. She couldn’t help noticing the size of his biceps where his shirt was pulled tight, or remembering what it had felt like to have those very strong arms gently folded around her, gathering her close to a male chest that was ripped with muscle.
It took her a moment to realize she’d been invited here and hadn’t done anything wrong. She lifted her chin and said in a cool, composed voice, “Cody was showing me his room.”
“What about supper?” he asked.
“What about it?”
“Mom usually fixes it. Is that something you’re willing to do?”
“I don’t cook.” As soon as she spoke the words, Vick realized how spoiled they made her sound. But she’d grown up i
n a home where either her eldest sister, Leah, or one of the maids prepared all her meals, that is, when she wasn’t being fed at some Swiss boarding school. And she ate out whenever she was traveling for business, which was most of the time.
When Cody was visiting she made hot dogs on the grill or soup from a can or something from a package. “I mean, of course I cook. But just plain stuff, like steak and a baked potato or salad or macaroni and cheese.”
“I love macaroni and cheese!” Cody piped up.
“Do you have a box of—” she began.
“There’ll be some leftovers in the fridge I can warm up,” Sullivan said, cutting her off. “Go wash your hands, Cody, and you can help.”
To her surprise, Cody didn’t jump up and race for the bathroom she’d seen halfway down the hall. Instead, he dropped the book he’d been holding on the bed and confronted his father. “I want macaroni and cheese.”
“Gram isn’t here to make it, and I don’t know how,” he said.
“You don’t have the box kind?” Vick asked.
Sullivan shot her an irritated look. “Even if I did, and I don’t, I’ve already told him what we’re having for dinner. And it isn’t mac and cheese.”
Cody stomped his booted foot on the hardwood floor. “I want mac and cheese!”
“Too bad,” Sullivan said. “Wash your hands and meet me in the kitchen.”
To her amazement, Sullivan turned his back and walked away. To her utter horror, Cody threw himself facedown on his bed and bawled as though his father had beaten him with a stick.
She sat down beside him, desperate to soothe him, and patted him on the back. “Come on, Cody. Let’s go help your father make supper. It’ll be fun.”
He rolled over and sat up, his face contorted, his lashes dewy with tears, and shouted, “Daddy doesn’t like you here! That’s why he won’t make me mac and cheese. You need to go away. Now!”
Sullivan's Promise Page 3