Cowboys Don't Marry Their Enemy (Sweet Water Ranch Western Cowboy Romance Book 9)

by Jessie Gussman

Cora’s cheeks heated. Why did she care that Abner might have heard her snore? She put a hand to her head. Her hair stuck out all over the place, straggling out of her messy bun. No worse than open-mouthed snores. She wiped her lips. Or the drool track on her cheek.

  Yeah. It was a good thing she didn’t like Abner and didn’t care what he thought about her.

  Although it was nice of him to cook supper and start feeding the boys. Watching them all afternoon.

  “We went to the hardware store.” Andrew’s eyes gleamed.

  “We fixed the toilet,” Derrick added proudly.

  “That’s great. Thanks.” She meant it, but her voice lacked enthusiasm, and she turned around without looking at Abner. She was a mess, and he made her feel like a failure.

  She was a failure.

  She’d managed to have six kids to three different men, and not one of those men could stand her long enough to stay more than a year. Meanwhile her kids hero-worshipped any man who paid the slightest bit of attention to them while she couldn’t pull herself together long enough to have her family ready to attend the viewing of the woman who had been the closest thing they’d had to a grandmother.

  Yeah. Definitely a failure.

  Tears pricked at her eyes, and she fought them. She could cry later, but right now, she had a lot of work to do in the next forty-five minutes.

  She needed the clean clothes that were in the bathroom slash laundry room off the other side of the kitchen.

  Biting the insides of her cheeks and feeling like she was walking the gauntlet, she pivoted and strode to the door.

  “Cora.”

  She wanted to ignore him. But her feet stopped without her telling them to.

  Still, she wouldn’t look at him.

  “I’ll help.”

  His words, only two, filled her chest and pushed her throat closed. She sucked in air.

  “You’ve already cooked supper.” She directed her words to the doorknob in front of her. Looked new. “That’s more than enough.”

  Forcing her feet to move, she pushed through the door and grabbed the basket of clean clothes along with Abner’s freshly washed laundry that she’d folded and put on the shelf. She set his things on the closed lid of the washer.

  “Your clean clothes are in on the washer,” she said.

  “Thanks,” he replied. “The boys took baths, but I didn’t know what clothes you wanted them to wear. They said they didn’t know, either.”

  “You two finish eating. I’ll lay your clothes on your bed.” She rushed out of the kitchen.

  Aunt Sandy was just leaving the living room, and Cora almost collided with her. She shuffled the basket. “Sorry. Running late. But I ironed your dress last night and it’s hanging behind my door.”

  Aunt Sandy nodded. “I’m getting a shower,” she said in a voice that sounded rusty and sore.

  Cora’s heart sank. She should have showered while her kids were sleeping. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep and be down all afternoon. Four of her kids needed to be bathed, too.

  “Okay,” she said in the most pleasant voice she could muster. “We’ll be ready for the bathroom when you’re done.”

  Aunt Sandy wasn’t known for her quick showers or speedy beauty routine. Cora usually made sure she was done with the bathroom first. How had she managed to drop the ball today of all days?

  Definitely Cora was not getting a shower before the viewing.

  She hurried up the stairs; ten minutes had gone by, and all she accomplished was uniting her children with their clothes. But it was kind of dumb to put dirty kids in clean clothes.

  “I’m hungry.” Summer stood in the doorway of Aunt Sandy’s room, rubbing her eyes.

  Cora’s stomach rumbled in response.

  “You go on down to the table. Mr. Abner has cooked and your brothers are already eating.” She was glad Abner hadn’t waited on her to start feeding the kids.

  Summer’s lip stuck out, but she shuffled to the steps.

  Kohlton’s eyes were open, and his thumb was stuck in his mouth. “You want something to eat, sweetie?” she murmured as she stroked his hair. She was in a hurry, but from experience, she knew it was next to impossible to hurry sleepy children.

  He nodded without moving the rest of his body. He was always slow to wake up.

  “There’s food downstairs.” She scooped Luna up, who snuggled into her arms. With a glance at Claire, who was awake but not moving, she shifted Luna and picked up Kohlton.

  Smiling and bouncing them, she carried them down the stairs, catching up to Summer and having them all laughing by the time they reached the kitchen.

  When one of her boyfriends had left—she couldn’t even remember which one—she had realized that the kids’ moods depended almost solely on the adults’ moods. It was one of the things she was trying to change about herself. She wasn’t dependent on having a man to give her self-worth, and she could choose to be happy.

  Funny how when she chose happiness, her kids did, too. They might be pressed for time, but they could still laugh. She shoved her irritation and anxiety out of the way and plopped Kohlton down in his seat.

  Abner slid a plate in front of him before she even stood back up. He smelled like the wind and leaves and solid goodness. A different scent than she remembered from high school. Better. It felt like a scent she could depend on. She looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you,” she said, sincerely, from her heart.

  He returned her smile and her heart somersaulted while warmth spread through her chest. She’d never wanted to do this by herself. She’d always wanted to be part of a team. But she couldn’t fool herself that Abner would want someone like her. Plus, there was the promise she’d made to herself to stand on her own.

  Still, she couldn’t deny his smile warmed her soul.

  She put Luna in her booster seat and ran back up the stairs for Claire, whose fussing was getting louder and threatening to turn into full-on crying.

  Her diaper was wet and needed to be changed, but Cora wanted to give her a bath, so she carried her downstairs, grabbing clothes and her baby towel. Feed her, bathe her, and then the baby would be done.

  Still trying to figure out the logistics of how she’d get everyone else clean and fed, she nuzzled Claire’s neck, blowing raspberries and getting Claire to decide to laugh rather than cry.

  Out of breath, she hurried into the kitchen. All of her kids were eating. Whatever he’d made smelled good, and she remembered that she was hungry. She didn’t have time to eat.

  Strapping Claire into the highchair, she wondered if there were any vegetables in the fridge she could feed her.

  Abner set a bowl down. “I mashed up some of the carrots and peas for her.”

  “Thank you.” It was all she seemed to say to him. “I really appreciate your help.”

  “I’ve missed this.”

  “This craziness?”

  “Since I left my Amish home, I’ve always wanted to be part of a big, busy family. Thanks for letting me.”

  Their eyes held for just a few moments. They could have been teenagers again with all the crazy things she was feeling in her chest.

  She moved away, setting the towel and clothes on the counter and coming back to the other side of the highchair.

  “I’ve got the kids, and I’ve already eaten. Grab something for yourself and eat.” Abner’s voice was full of command.

  She didn’t have time to eat. Walking to the sink, she grabbed the big dishpan that doubled as a baby bathtub out from the lower cupboard and turned the water on to rinse it out.

  He’d washed the dishes, too.

  She promised herself a good cry later. Maybe she and Abner wouldn’t have worked out, but she’d been in love with him and thought he’d loved her, too. Things had changed when she’d done what she did because of Andrew, and it made her angry and sad and frustrated at the same time. Abner might have been her husband, and these could have all been their children, and this surreal experience of having another adult in
the house who was actually helping her could have been her reality.

  Could have been.

  Dumb to even think it.

  She dumped the water out of the tub and started filling it with warm water, tapping the stream with her wrist every once in a while to make sure it wasn’t too hot or too cold.

  When it was full, the kids were still eating. Abner sat by the highchair feeding Claire. She didn’t allow her eyes to linger on his big brown hands and the way they contrasted with her little pink baby. Wouldn’t acknowledge the stirring in her chest and the longing that crept through her heart. The attraction that made her blood heat.

  No. Not going there again. Not ever again.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said and hustled out of the kitchen, taking the steps two at a time.

  At least she didn’t have to wonder what she was going to wear. She had one good skirt, black, thankfully, which was great for funerals and not so good for weddings, which suited her social schedule just fine since no one invited a single mother with six small children to their wedding anyway, and one nice top to wear with it. One pair of dress shoes. They were brown, but she wore them with her black skirt, defiantly, perhaps. Maybe someone would kidnap her and put her on one of those makeover shows on TV where they’d make fun of her fashion choices but provide a new wardrobe.

  Wouldn’t do her any good. She’d end up selling whatever clothes she came home with to buy things for her kids.

  She could have finished her design project during naptime if she hadn’t fallen asleep along with her kids.

  Too late.

  She threw her clothes on, ran a brush through her tangled hair, flipping it into a bun secured by elastic bands that wouldn’t fall out if little hands grabbed it, and made a mental note to brush her teeth and wash her face downstairs while she was giving the kids a bath.

  She laid all the clothes out for the kids, taking Luna’s down with her so she wouldn’t have to run back up the stairs for them.

  Where had she left her purse? Her gaze swept the room, but she didn’t see it. She’d have to check downstairs.

  Rushing down, she hurried into the kitchen, passing Aunt Sandy headed up the stairs to change.

  Abner stood at the sink, holding Claire in the dishpan as the baby splashed and cooed. He looked like he’d bathed a million babies as he swiped the washcloth under her chin, wiping along the deep wrinkles that were so easy to miss and down her tummy.

  His hands weren’t the hands of a man who worked in a daycare, and he’d said he didn’t have children. Maybe he’d lived with a woman who had kids.

  She didn’t want to care, didn’t want to like him, didn’t want to feel anything for him, but she couldn’t deny the curiosity that tumbled in her brain.

  Couldn’t get their few shared moments out of her head and didn’t want to ignore the gratitude in her heart.

  Remembering what he’d said about wanting the big family, she said, “You look like an expert at that.” Then she hurried into the bathroom, scrubbing the kids down quickly and sending them up for their clothes. She almost had Andrew and Derrick help but realized that Abner had put them to work clearing off the table and doing the dishes in the sink beside the one he was bathing Claire in.

  Fifteen minutes later, they were all ready. Abner was with them, and he, along with Aunt Sandy, stepped out with her and her children and walked slowly to the church where the only grandmother her children knew lay in a coffin.

  Chapter 8

  Officially, the viewing had been over for fifteen minutes. Unofficially, it was still going strong.

  Abner stood in a corner, beyond the head of the body in the casket.

  His grandmother had been a good woman, beloved in the church and respected in the community.

  He’d watched as his birth mother greeted and spoke with the well-wishers. He didn’t know most of them. This hadn’t been the church he’d gone to nor had he lived in this town when he’d moved around with his mother after he left the Amish. She’d settled in with her mother sometime after he’d walked.

  Doug, his other half-brother, had come in just a few minutes ago with his wife and two girls. Doug had recognized him but hadn’t made his way over. Abner didn’t go to him, content in his corner.

  Watching.

  Cora had rounded her children up and was getting ready to leave, carrying the two youngest.

  He should help her.

  But that unfamiliar anger swirled in his chest again.

  Stephen had made an appearance.

  He’d been as close to Stephen as he’d been to Doug and Jason. Which was to say not that close.

  But the word had been that Cora had used Abner to catch Stephen’s eye. She’d admitted it to him. When Abner had heard that she was pregnant, he’d always assumed the baby was Stephen’s.

  He was pretty sure Stephen was Derrick and Summer’s father. Stephen had left the woman and cute little boys he’d arrived with to go over and pat those two on the head. He’d ignored Cora for the most part and walked back to his current family.

  Abner had been annoyed at that but not angry.

  The anger came when Cora’s eyes had followed Stephen back to his wife and kids.

  She’d managed to work beside Abner, getting her six kids ready for the funeral, and barely looked at him at all. But her eyes trailed after that man.

  Abner blew out a breath, crossed his arms over his chest, keeping his gaze straight ahead, and wondered for the millionth time in two days why he couldn’t get that woman out of his head and heart.

  Doug had talked to Cora some. An animated conversation that seemed to drain the starch out of her shoulders and age her a decade. Abner would’ve liked to have heard what they said.

  Doug finally made his way over, and they chatted. Not about Cora. Abner avoided mentioning her. Doug had helped set Cora up with Stephen while she was still seeing Abner, but Abner couldn’t hold that against him all these years later. Having been raised by the Amish, Abner had been different. Too trusting, maybe. More interested in being a man than playing teenaged games. Maybe he’d been gullible.

  It seemed ridiculous to hold a grudge. Especially since Doug had gone out of his way to call Abner and apologize.

  So, they parted, if not friends, then at least no longer adversaries. Abner wasn’t sure he’d ever see Doug again after the funeral tomorrow, and the reconciliation felt right.

  When only the preacher and his mother were left, Abner left his post in the corner and walked to his mother’s side. His brothers had left shortly after nine. Abner noted Jason had avoided Cora. She’d turned her back to him as soon as she saw him then proceeded to ignore him.

  “Ready to go home, Mom?” he asked, putting his hand on her arm.

  The pastor backed up respectfully. Abner had already spoken with him earlier.

  Some of his Amish teaching had been easier to let go of than others. Humility before God and man had been one that he’d struggled with. The Amish didn’t pray in front of people, and Abner had never even uttered the word “amen” with another person around.

  Except in their own home, with their own family. It hadn’t been a consideration for Abner, because he hadn’t had a family of his own. Ever, really.

  So, when the preacher asked him if he had anything to say at the funeral tomorrow, he’d declined. Nothing to say. Nothing to pray. He just wanted to leave.

  His mother swallowed, her hands shaking. He’d guess she wanted a drink. He’d bet it wouldn’t be too long from now and she’d be passed out on the couch. At least she was a quiet drunk.

  She nodded, and he acknowledged the preacher with a tip of his head before he took her arm and walked out beside her.

  The house was quiet, with only a light on in the kitchen when they walked in. Cora wasn’t anywhere downstairs, so he assumed she’d gone to bed with her kids.

  Or put them to bed and snuck out with someone.

  No. He wouldn’t think like that. Whatever she did was fine with him. An
d whatever she was, she was an excellent mother. He admired that about her. Wanted it in his own wife. Wished he’d had it growing up. She’d never leave her kids alone.

  His mother set her purse on the table and collapsed into a chair. “I have a bottle upstairs in my closet. Go get it, son.”

  Abner stopped, his back to her, his hand on the faucet where he was just about to wash his hands.

  He didn’t want to judge. He’d seen the effects of alcohol and made a conscious and deliberate decision not to have it in his life. He’d felt it was the right one, despite the fact that it almost made drinkers angry to be around a non-drinker. He didn’t care how angry people got. They were free to make their own decisions. As was he.

  He didn’t bash them for their decisions. But his mother? Especially since, from what he’d seen since he came, she was an alcoholic. Still, he couldn’t deny her the crutch she needed since her mother was lying in state just a couple hundred yards away from where she sat and the casket would close forever on her body tomorrow.

  He didn’t want a drink, wasn’t even tempted, but he did need a walk.

  Without saying anything, he washed his hands, dried them, and walked out. Up the stairs.

  Up to Cora.

  It wasn’t a mystery which room was his mother’s. The door was open, and Cora sat on the bed, the blue light from her laptop filling the room.

  “Knock, knock,” he said softly.

  Her eyes flew open, and her head yanked up. “What?” she whispered fiercely.

  He stepped in. “Getting a bottle for my mom.”

  Her brows shot up, and he remembered the hard time he’d given her when she’d done the exact same thing. Maybe he’d come up here less on principle and more because he wanted to see Cora.

  Disgusted with himself, he scanned the dark room, finding the door that must be the closet and getting the bottle from above the clothes rack easily.

  He wanted to ask what she was doing, how she felt, what he could do tomorrow to help her, but she didn’t want him, didn’t even like him, and he didn’t like her, either.

  Just loved her as well.

  She didn’t say anything to him, but her eyes followed him.