In a Cowboy's Arms

Jenny walked over and gathered the placemats together. “What happened?”

Ty kept wiping, scrubbing at a nonexistent spot on the table. “So, how many units of insulin did you give Morgan today?”

She put her hand on his forearm, sending warmth up his arm and into his body. “I think the table’s clean,” she said, her voice soft and devoid of reproach. “I’m sure you’d like to change the subject, but I think I have the right to know what happened with Morgan’s mom.”

He jerked his brows together, then abruptly straightened, glaring at her. “Oh, really?”

She glared back. “Yes, really. Your ex-wife not only left you, she left Morgan. As her nanny, I think I should know some details.”

He hated to admit it, but she had a point. Even though it raised the bile in his throat to discuss his ex-wife’s appalling actions with anyone, maybe he needed to let Jenny in on what had happened. For Morgan’s sake only, of course.

He paced toward the sink. “Andrea wasn’t happy living way out here.” He flung the sponge into the sink, familiar, overpowering bitterness rising in him. “Said it was boring and dull. Even after Morgan was born, she was restless and took off for Portland every other weekend to shop and visit friends. Still, we had a daughter, and I had hope.” For love. Peace. A happily-ever-after.

He stopped and shook his head. “I was a fool for hoping for anything. The second Morgan was diagnosed with diabetes, Andrea was out of here, saying she couldn’t handle having a child with a chronic disease.” He snorted. “Just like that she left, and I haven’t seen her since.”

Jenny remained quiet for a moment. “She deserted you,” she said in a monotone. It was a bald-faced, razorsharp statement that cut deep.

His hackles shot to the roof. “Dammit,” he ground out, swinging away, floored by her tactless statement. “No kidding she deserted us.”

Jenny placed her small hand on his rigid arm for a moment. “No, that came out wrong. What I meant was that I’m just…incredulous that a woman would willingly throw away her husband and child.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry for being so blunt. It’s just that as a widow who had no control over my loss, I can’t imagine choosing to walk away.”

Slowly his hackles relaxed. “That makes sense,” he said, seeing the pain and contrition in her eyes. “Sorry I overreacted.”

She smiled, then bent down and pushed the dishwasher closed. “I understand. It’s easy to overreact when the wounds are fresh, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “I guess it is.” He rolled a shoulder. “Although, I don’t like to think of myself as wounded.”

“I guess that’s my perspective.” She hung the dish towel on its hook on the refrigerator. “Jack’s death left a wound that I’m not sure will ever heal.”

For some reason, the thought of this vibrant woman being wounded for the rest of her life bothered him. “So does that mean you’re never planning on marrying again?” Strange how the question seemed suddenly very important.

She was quiet for a second, then softly said, her voice tinged in sadness, “That’s right. I loved and lost once. I don’t plan on ever doing that again.”

He straightened the chairs around the table, again somehow saddened that a beautiful young woman like Jenny was planning on being alone for the rest of her life. Funny how he could imagine himself that way, but not her. “Hey, I get that.” Boy, did he. “Depending on someone will burn every single time.”

She turned around and leaned back against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest. “Seems we have a lot in common, don’t we?”

Before he could reply to her statement, Ava called out, asking Jenny to come see the funny doggy on TV. With an understanding smile that Ty liked way too much, Jenny left the kitchen, leaving him alone, one disturbing thought running around in his brain.

They did share a connection. She’d been trampled by love, just like he had. She undoubtedly understood him on a level he had never expected, in a way that made him feel open and vulnerable.

And that scared him to death.

Chapter Three

The next day, which had dawned full of blue sky and warm sunshine, Jenny sat on the patio in the backyard, watching the girls play on the yellow-and-green plastic play structure. Again, she was thankful the entire yard was protected by a four-foot-high chain-link fence, keeping the girls in and any dangerous farm animals out. Just the thought of Ava or Morgan escaping into the working part of the ranch and getting hurt—she was thinking large horses and cows and dangerous equipment—sent shivers of dread down her spine.

She’d just fed them a lunch of leftover macaroni and cheese. They’d play for a few more minutes, then she’d put them down for their naps. Given that she’d been awake most of the night, thinking about a certain blue-eyed cowboy, she’d probably take a snooze, too.

Though she’d tried to keep her thoughts on taking care of Ava and Morgan, all day long she’d been repeating her nighttime musings, dwelling instead on what Ty had revealed to her the night before.

His wife had deserted him and Morgan.

And that broke her heart.

As she’d told Ty, because of her personal experience with loss, she had a hard time wrapping her brain around how a woman could willingly walk away from her family. She had no comprehension of what Ty’s wife had done. She doubted she’d ever understand the woman’s heartless actions.

What she did understand was the pain she’d seen clouding Ty’s blue eyes.

They were a lot alike.

That thought quickly led to another, more bothersome, conclusion.

She couldn’t deny that he appealed to her. He was quickly shaping up to be a man whom she was incredibly drawn to, a man who might tempt her down a road she never wanted to travel again. That was a risk she didn’t even want to think about.

She bit her lip and crossed her arms over her chest. Ty was dangerous. As long as she remembered that, she’d be fine. Thank the Lord he didn’t spend much time at home. If she could make it through occasional dinners he showed up for, she could always manage to sneak away into her room the second the girls went to bed.

A screech drew her attention away from her dire thoughts to the girls. Ava was running around with Morgan’s favorite stuffed bunny in her hand and Morgan was chasing her, screaming. Morgan, who was taller and faster, caught up to Ava and ripped the bunny out of her hand with a howl, then turned and ran away with her prize. Ava burst into tears and plopped her diaper-protected bottom onto the ground and sat there, wailing. Morgan ran to the far corner of the fenced yard, then turned around, her bunny clutched close, and glared at Ava. “My bunny!” she shrieked.

Jenny sighed and stood. Nap time. With some soothing words to both overtired kids, Jenny scooped Ava up and took Morgan by the hand and led them inside for their naps.

Luckily, both girls were dead tired. After a quick diaper change, Jenny settled them both into their cribs, Morgan in her room, Ava in Jenny’s, and they both drifted immediately off to sleep.

Intending to nap, too, Jenny went to the kitchen for a glass of water before heading back down the hall to her room. As she was leaving the kitchen, Dusty burst through the front door, his face red, his battered cowboy hat askew.

“Where’s Sam?” he asked, his eyes darting around the front room. “Emergency!”

Jenny’s stomach fell. Before she could react, Sam stepped into the living room. “I’m right here,” he said, his mouth pressed into a grim line. “What’s he done this time?”

“Old Roscoe jammed him in the ribs.” Dusty took off his hat, shook his head, then replaced the dust-coated thing. “Man that bull’s mean.”

Jenny stood frozen, ice-cold panic seeping into her. “A…a bull has hurt Ty?”

Sam moved past her. “Looks like it.”

She swallowed the bitter taste of fear coating her throat. “Where is he?”

Dusty hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Right outside in the back of the rig. I had a helluva time—uh, pardon me, ma’am—getting him in there. Ty wanted to walk back.”

Jenny put herself into motion, hurriedly following a muttering Sam out the front door. Her knees shook. Bulls could gore people, could kill them with one swipe of their horns, could trample a man in seconds. Dear heaven, had that happened to Ty? No, no. Dusty had said Ty wanted to walk. His injury couldn’t be that bad. She hoped.

Dusty had pulled the dented truck right up in front of the house. By the time Jenny arrived, Sam was already lowering the liftgate of the truck to reveal an ashen-faced Ty, strung out on his back in the bed of the truck on a threadbare blanket like a fallen soldier.

Jenny relaxed a bit when she didn’t see blood or any other obvious signs of goring. Aside from the dirt smearing his flannel shirt and jeans, he was relatively clean. Although the scowl on his face and the grim shadows in his eyes made it clear he was angry as well as in a great deal of pain.

Sam climbed into the back of the truck. “What happened?” he asked, kneeling down next to his son.

Ty shifted and tried to lift a broad shoulder, grimacing. “Just dealing with Roscoe.” He gingerly pressed a hand to his lower chest and closed his eyes briefly. “Think my ribs might be broken.”