The Cowboy's Family

“Fun. Where should I park?”

He pointed to the carport near the barn. “That’ll keep it a little cooler. I have to finish feeding and the girls have to get dressed.”

“Can I help?”

Hadn’t she helped enough?

“No, I can do it.” He walked away because it was a lot easier than staying there to answer more of her questions. He knew it probably seemed rude, but she didn’t have a clue.

She didn’t know that he was rebuilding his family and that it took every bit of energy he had. Everything he had went to his girls, into making them smile and making their lives stable.

As he walked into the barn he glanced back. She leaned to talk to Kat. Curls fell forward, framing her face, but a hand came up to push her hair back. She smiled and leaned to kiss his daughter on the cheek. And then the three of them, Rachel, Kat and Molly, headed into the house.

He walked into the shadowy interior of the barn and flipped on a light. He breathed in the familiar scents. Cows, horses, hay and leather. He could deal with this. He couldn’t deal with Mary Poppins.

Chapter Three

If it hadn’t been for Kat and Molly she wouldn’t have climbed into this truck and taken a ride with Wyatt. But the girls, with their sweet smiles and tight hugs, they were what mattered. Little girls should never hurt. They shouldn’t hide their pain in cheesecake or think their self-worth depended on the brand and size of their jeans.

Oh, wait, that had been her, her childhood, her pain.

“You aren’t carsick, are you?” Wyatt’s voice was soft, a little teasing. Yummier than cheesecake. And she hadn’t had cheesecake in forever.

She glanced his way and smiled. “I don’t get carsick.”

“Good to know. The girls do. Not on roads like this, fortunately.”

“We keep a trash can back here.” Molly informed her with the voice of young authority. Rachel heard the tap, tap of a tiny foot on plastic.

She looked over her shoulder at the two little girls on the bench seat behind her. Kat’s eyes were a little droopy and she nodded, her head sagging and then bouncing up. Molly looked as if she had a lot more to say but she was holding back.

Poor baby girls. Wyatt loved them, but there was an empty space in their lives that a mom should have filled. And they wouldn’t even have memories of her as they grew older. They would have pictures and stories their dad told.

If he told stories. She chanced a quick glance in his direction and thought he probably didn’t tell stories about the wife he’d lost. He probably had a boat load of memories he wished he could lose.

“Here we are.” He flipped on the turn signal and smiled at her as he pulled into a gated driveway. “Can you pull through and I’ll open the gate?”

“I can open the gate.” She reached for the door handle and opened it, ignoring his protests. It was a lot easier to be outside away from him. A soft breeze blew in warm spring air and she could hear cattle at a nearby dairy farm.

She loved Oklahoma. Growing up she’d lived just about everywhere, but mostly in bigger towns and cities. She’d never felt like she belonged. Maybe because she had always been the pastor’s kid, poor in wealthy subdivisions, trying to fit in. Or maybe because deep down she’d always wanted to be a country girl.

She had wanted to jump out of trucks and open gates. She had studied about sheep, wool and gardening. Pitiful as it sounded, she’d watched so many episodes of The Waltons, she could quote lines. She couldn’t think about it now without smiling.

The truck eased through the gate and stopped. She pushed the gate closed and latched the chain. When she climbed back into the truck, Wyatt wasn’t smiling.

“I said I’d get it.” He shifted into gear and the truck eased forward again.

“I don’t mind.”

“No, you don’t.”

Oh, no, he hadn’t! She shot him a look. “I’m not five. I don’t mind opening gates. I really don’t have to mind you.”

His brows went up. He reached for the hat he’d set on the seat next to him and pushed it back on his head. The chicken wasn’t going to comment. She glanced back at the girls and smiled. Kat was sleeping. Molly stared out the window, her eyelids drooping.

Wyatt parked next to the barn, still silent. But when she glanced his way, she saw the smile. It barely lifted the corners of his mouth, but it was there.

“This shouldn’t take long.” He opened his door and paused. “I think you and the girls can get out and look around.”

“Thanks, we’ll do that. If you think I can handle it. After all, I’m five.”

“You’re not five. You’re just…” He shook his head and got out of the truck. He didn’t say anything else. He opened the back door of the truck and motioned for the girls to get out. He set each of them on the ground and then glanced back in at her. “Getting out?”

“Yeah, I’m getting out.”

She’d been crazy to stop at his house. She was still trying to figure it out. He smiled at something Kat said. Oh, that’s right, now she remembered. It was that smile. She wanted him to smile like that at her.

“Wyatt, good to see you.”

She turned to face the man who’d spoken. He stood outside the barn and everything about him said “rancher.” From his dusty boots to his threadbare jeans, he was a cowboy. His skin was worn and suntanned, making deeper lines around his mouth and crinkles at his eyes. His hair was sun-streaked brown. He winked at her.

“Jackson, I’m surprised to see you here. I thought your brother was meeting me.” Wyatt stepped toward the other man, hand extended.

“Yeah, he’s at the bank. You know, he’s Mr. Work-aholic.”

“Got it. So what are you doing these days?”

“Oh, trying to stay away from trouble. But most of the time, trouble just seems to find me.” He smiled at Rachel. “Hi there, Trouble.”

Heat climbed her cheeks.

“Jackson Cooper, meet Rachel Waters. Her father is the pastor of the Dawson Community Church.”

If Wyatt had used that introduction to put the other man in his place, Jackson Cooper didn’t look at all embarrassed. “If our pastor’s daughter looked like you, I might just get right with God.”

Wyatt wasn’t smiling. “Okay, let’s look at the bull.”

“You gonna ride him?” Jackson laughed.

“I doubt it.”

“Chicken?” Jackson Cooper obviously didn’t know about backing down. She thought it might be a family trait; not backing down. She had heard about the Coopers. There were about a dozen of them: biological and adopted.

“Nope, just smarter than I used to be. I haven’t been on a bull in a half-dozen years and I don’t plan on starting again.”

“There’s a lot more money in it these days,” Jackson continued, his smile still in place.

“Plenty of money in raising them, too.” Wyatt turned to his daughters. “You girls stay with Rachel and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”