Читать книгу Second Chance Courtship - Glynna Kaye - Страница 9

Cowboys ain’t nothin’ but trouble.

The oft-heard parental warning echoed through Kara Dixon’s head. No surprise, for in the dim light and blowing snow outside a Canyon Springs, Arizona, restaurant, her eyes had fastened on the back of a broad-shouldered, dark-haired specimen of the cowboy variety. The Western hat and shear-ling jacket might be mimicked by wannabes, but the horse trailer hitched behind a big, silver Ford pickup vouched for his authenticity.

A cowboy. Yet another reason she had to get out of this town and back to Chicago. The sooner the better, too. She’d yet to run into a bona fide wrangler on the streets of the Windy City, which suited her just fine.

But how could she not take pity on the poor man? A man who valiantly endeavored to hand-brush fast accumulating snow from his crew cab pickup—while juggling a wailing toddler in one arm and making frequent grabs for a wandering preschooler with the other. Poor guy. Women shouldn’t send their helpless men out into the world without adequate kid training. And back up.

She sighed. She didn’t have time for this tonight. Customers straggling in late with cross-country ski rental returns had delayed the closing of her mother’s general store, Dix’s Woodland Warehouse. Much longer and Mom would start wondering why she hadn’t brought home the promised Friday night dinner from Kit’s Lodge. A quick call would put her mind at ease, but being accountable to Mom again was already getting old. It was bitter cold, too, with wind whipping out of the northwest in buffeting gusts. No, it wasn’t a good night to stop and offer a helping hand.

Nevertheless, she returned to the SUV she’d borrowed from her mom and retrieved a heavy-duty snowbrush. Then, securing her jacket’s insulated hood, she approached the struggling male and raised her voice over that of the squalling child.

“Could you use some help?”

He swung toward her, his face in shadow.

She waved the snowbrush.

“Oh, man, thanks.” His own raised voice held a note of grateful surprise as he endeavored to calm the unhappy little girl now flinging herself back and forth in his arms. “Didn’t know it snowed so much while we were inside.”

“That’s mid-January in mountain country for you.”

Before Kara could register what he was intending to do, the man stepped forward and thrust the flailing toddler at her. What? She didn’t want to hold the kid. All she’d intended to do was help clean off the guy’s truck. But the bundled-up, squalling tyke was stretching out arms to her. Even though she was irritated with “Daddy,” Kara reluctantly relinquished the snowbrush and gathered the tiny screamer into her arms. Lovely.

The man snagged the sleeve of the older child and gently pushed her toward Kara as well, then turned to the truck and set to work. Through the passenger-side front window, she glimpsed a lop-eared, mixed-breed mutt taking in the outside activity with interest. Almost as if laughing at her.

Kara awkwardly jiggled the bawling little one and fished in her pockets—in vain—for a tissue to wipe the miniature nose. She winced as slobber-wet fingers brushed her face. Where was the kid’s mitten? Kara glanced at the snow-covered ground but saw no sign of it, then caught the tiny, sticky hand in her own.

Hurry it up, Cowboy.

As she warmed the little hand, she caught the older child staring at her. Even in the dim light it was clear she didn’t think this stranger was handling her sibling with any degree of expertise. Kara bestowed a weak smile. It was hard to tell through the dim light and pelting snow, but the face peeping out from under a hood looked familiar.

Kara made shushing sounds at the youngster in her arms, then raised her voice over the howls. “What’s your name?”

“Mary.”

“Mary what?”

“Mary had a little lamb.” The preschooler giggled and danced away.

Kara forced another smile. A comedian. She turned her attention again to the toddler who, for whatever mysterious reason, had abruptly quieted. Thank goodness. She’d pulled her tiny hand free, rubbed her nose and was now studiously exploring Kara’s facial features with the tip of a moist finger. The girl giggled. Sniffled. Then hiccupped.

Kara turned her face aside to see what had happened to Cowboy. She shifted the kid and squinted through the steadily falling snow. Oh, there he was. On the far side of the pickup.

“Uh, you about done over there?”

“Almost. Hang on.” He said something else but the wind snatched away the words.

Cowboy made a few more swipes with the brush, then limped around the front of the truck to open the passenger-side back door. He motioned to the older girl. “Hop in, Mary.”

With a boost from him, the child obeyed. Then, tucking the snowbrush under his arm, he leaned inside the truck to harness her in a car seat.

“What’s your phone number, sweetheart?” he called over his shoulder to Kara. “9-1-1-Kid-Help?”

He chuckled.

Her heart dipped. Then stilled.

She knew that laugh.

She shook her head, in part to loosen the toddler’s fingers now snaking into the hair under her hood, but mainly to dash away the foolish imagining. Being back in Canyon Springs made her jumpy. Paranoid. And at the present moment, a little sick to her stomach.

It couldn’t be him. No way. She’d have heard if he was back in town, wouldn’t she? Then again, for the past six weeks she’d been buried alive managing the Warehouse for her mom. Taking on the household tasks and transporting her parent to out-of-town physical therapy appointments. There hadn’t been a single moment to catch her breath, let alone catch up with in-the-know locals.

But maybe that’s why the little girl looked familiar? He’d returned after all—had kids now? Her mind flashed back a dozen years to a tall, lean high school senior who’d moved to town her sophomore year. He’d had her female classmates swooning over a slow, lazy smile that she remembered well. T-shirt. Jeans. Western boots. Attitude.

But although she’d lain awake far too many nights dreaming about him, she’d steered clear. Mostly anyway. After all, he was a cowboy. Just like her no-good dad. That “troublemaking preacher’s kid” the townspeople had labeled him.

Thanks mainly to her…

Please, God, don’t let it be him.

“Ouch!” Cringing, she grabbed her earlobe and pried away tiny fingers. “Not the earring, kid.”

The child pulled back and frowned, studying her a long moment. Big dark eyes. Another hiccup. Then the tiny face crumpled and the wailing began again.

Kara stepped to the open truck door. “Okay, Daddy, time to reclaim your kid.”

“That’s not Daddy,” the older girl objected from the backseat, her tone indignant. “That’s Uncle Trey.”

Kara’s breath caught.

The man backed out of the truck and turned to her, both of them now illuminated by the vehicle’s interior light. Steady blue eyes met hers. In that flashing moment his gaze reflected the surprise of mutual recognition. A recognition that rocked her to the core, all but knocking the wind right out of her.

He’d changed. Filled out. Matured. Laugh lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes. The crooked nose he’d broken from a fall off a horse still imparted a rugged, reckless air to his countenance. Same strong jaw, now in need of a shave. Every bit as handsome as he’d ever been. And then some.

“Kara?”

Her gaze riveted, struggling for breath, she could only nod. He didn’t try to jog her memory as to who he was. He knew she’d remember. He’d have read it in her eyes.

Oh, yes, she remembered Trey Kenton.

After a too-long moment, he gave a wry chuckle. “Didn’t figure I’d ever run into you again.”

She swallowed and held out the now-whimpering child. “I don’t imagine you did.”

He accepted his niece and handed over the snowbrush, but his eyes searched Kara’s. For what? Confirmation that she was sufficiently ashamed of the cowardly lurch she’d left him in those many years ago?

Oh, yes, she remembered. Would never forget. Or forgive herself. So why should he?

She broke eye contact and motioned to the child fussing in his arms. “She lost her mitten.”

How lame. She owed him an apology, not an evasive, impersonal observation.

He dug out a handkerchief and wiped the sniffling toddler’s nose, then enveloped the tiny bare hand in his large gloved one. “She hasn’t had a nap in days and now we’re all paying for it.”

Could he be as uncomfortable as she was? After all, the last time they saw each other… Her cheeks warmed at the memory.

“Come on, Uncle Trey. Let’s go home.”

“Hang on, Mary.”

He focused again on Kara with a look she could only interpret as wary. Couldn’t blame him.

“So, Kara, you’re back in Canyon Springs.”

She tightened her grip on the snowbrush. “Not for long. Helping my mom get back on her feet. She hasn’t been well.”

“Heard about that. Sorry.”

Was he? Sharon Dixon and Trey Kenton hadn’t exactly been a match made in heaven. Cowboy types didn’t easily endear themselves to her mom. Or her.

The wind kicked up again, swirling a stinging mix of snow and ice pellets into their faces.

“Need to get these kids home and tucked into bed.” He turned to the truck and eased the toddler into the empty car seat next to that of her sister.

Kara stepped away on unsteady legs. Was he visiting? Just babysitting for his brother and sister-in-law? Surely he hadn’t moved back to Canyon Springs. No way. From the moment he’d set a booted foot inside the city limits as a teen, he’d been determined to put the mountain community in his rearview mirror.

With speed that likely rivaled his best record at roping and tying a calf, Trey buckled in his niece. Then he shut the back door and turned to Kara once more, his face again shadowed. “Thank you kindly for your help.”

With a brisk nod and a tip of his hat, he limped around the front of the truck to the driver’s side and climbed in.

He didn’t have a limp in high school.

Heart pounding in an erratic rhythm, she could only stare stupefied at the pickup as another gust of wind slammed into her. She hardly felt the cold creeping in around the neckline of her jacket or the wind-driven snowflakes pelting her face.

That was it? A coolly polite “thank you kindly for your help”? She took another step back, absently glancing down at the frosty ground—and spied a pint-size mitten lying half-buried in the snow. She knelt to pick it up with a trembling hand.

But before she could return it to its diminutive owner, the truck started—and the man whose life she’d all but ruined drove away.

Whoa. Trey gave a low whistle as he and the girls headed out of town to his brother and sister-in-law’s place, the windshield wipers battling the pummeling snow.

Kara Dixon. Hadn’t bargained on that one tonight.

He’d been in and out of Canyon Springs the past several months and knew she’d returned at Thanksgiving. Heard she was an interior designer with some big firm in Chicago. Had even glimpsed her a few times, helping her mother out of a car at the grocery store. Unloading boxes at the Warehouse. Dashing coatless across the street to Camilla’s Café.

He’d intentionally kept his distance—even stayed away from town most weekends—but she wasn’t a woman who’d be easily overlooked. Not with that toned figure and long, red-blonde mane of hers caught up in a ponytail. Strawberry blonde. That’s how his sister-in-law described it. And Kara was model-tall and leggy, too, like a thoroughbred. He’d forgotten how it initially amused his seventeen-year-old self that ill-fated night when, in a sassy show of bravado, she’d walked right up to him, all but able to look him straight in the eye.

Just like her old man did to him now.

Well, maybe not just like. Her father’s blustery shot at intimidation didn’t send his heart galloping off like a wild mustang or his brain hurtling into a bottomless, fog-filled canyon. Didn’t make his mouth go as dry as the Sonoran desert before summer monsoons kicked in.

Trey took a deep breath, still reliving the shock of turning to face her. No, he hadn’t bargained on running into Kara up close and personal. And he sure hadn’t bargained on feeling as if he’d collided with rock-hard Mother Earth, compliments of an irritable bronc. Even after all this time, even after what she’d done to him, he couldn’t shake the impact of those beautiful gray eyes.

He let out a gust of pent-up breath. What was wrong with him anyway? He wasn’t a kid anymore with a crush on the prettiest girl he’d ever seen—yet his heart was doing a too-familiar do-si-do, the rhythm beckoning him back through time.

He slammed the heel of his hand into the rim of the steering wheel, startling his dog, Rowdy, who rode shotgun on the seat next to him. He gave the Gordon setter-collie mix a reassuring pat and a feathered tail wagged in understanding.

Kara. No way was he going down that road again. He’d come back to town to lay the past to rest, not resurrect it. Thank the good Lord it sounded like she didn’t plan to linger much longer. Just popping in to check on her mom. He needed to stay focused on the business at hand. Business, in fact, that Li’l Ms. Dixon wasn’t going to be much pleased about once word got around. Which it eventually would in a tiny place like this.

In spite of himself, his mind’s eye drifted to that long-ago night that now once again seemed like yesterday. The look in her eyes. The sweet scent of her hair. How she felt in his arms…

“Uncle Trey, why did you drive past our road?”

The accusing voice of his older niece carried from the shadowed recesses of the backseat, jerking him into the here and now.

“Just takin’ the scenic route.” He glanced into the rearview mirror at Mary, all the while racking his memory as to how much farther he’d have to drive to turn around with the empty trailer hitched to the back.

Kara Dixon was already messing with his mind.

“It’s dark.” Mary’s petulant voice came again. “I want to go home.”

She sounded as tired as he was. Three days playing both Mom and Dad had just about done him in. One more day to go.

“Your wish is my command, princess.”

“I’m your princess?”

“You know it.”

He glanced again at Mary, then over his shoulder at Missy and smiled. Sound asleep. He’d drive all night if it would keep her snoozing. What a day. He shouldn’t have dragged them all the way to Holbrook this afternoon to look at that pony.

Seemed like a good idea at the time, but that was before a stronger cold front plowed into the region. Before he’d discovered the advertised pinto was an ill-tempered beast, certainly nothing he’d want his nieces having anything to do with. Then there had been the diaper dealings. A lesson learned the hard way. No, not a day he cared to relive anytime soon. His sister-in-law would laugh her head off.

It was just as well, though, that the trip was a bust. His brother would have killed him if he’d bought the girls a pony. With the parsonage remodel in town coming along on schedule, Jason and his wife wouldn’t be staying at the cabin and acreage out in the boonies much longer. Which meant, too, he needed to give serious thought about what to do with himself. There wouldn’t be any space at the parsonage for a tagalong brother.

At least he’d soon be able to move his horses to the equine center he and a group of investors were renovating. Last week his working-from-home office assistant had submitted the final documents for a permit to board his horses, so at least he didn’t have to worry about that. Just needed to find office space until the facility’s remodel was completed—and a place to throw down his bedroll until a house caught his fancy.

A couple of miles farther on, he pulled into the snowy, graveled lot of a long-abandoned bait and tackle shop. He got himself turned around and headed back in the right direction.

“What was that lady’s name, Uncle Trey?” Mary piped up again.

“What lady is that? The pony woman?”

“No. The pretty one. Who was holding Missy.”

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Her name’s Kara Dixon. We went to high school together.”

“Did you kiss her?”

Memory flashed with an accompanying kick to his gut. Yes, he’d kissed her. Once. And fool that he was, a million other times in his dreams.

“Mommy said Daddy kissed her in high school when they were sixteen—on Valemtime’s Day—and then they got married.”

He smiled at her mispronunciation of the holiday.

“How old are you, Uncle Trey?”

“You’re awfully full of questions tonight, squirt.”

“Mommy says you need to kiss a girl and get married so you’ll stay in Canyon Springs.”

“Your mommy—” He stopped himself. Nothin’ he’d like better than to settle down close to “his girls.” That was the plan, but he didn’t want to set Mary up for disappointment if it didn’t work out. No point either in attempting to enlighten a four-year-old on his thoughts regarding the relentless mission of his sister-in-law. Except for the one date he’d managed to pull off behind her back, he’d steered clear of Reyna’s match-making, and females in general, since his return to town.

He didn’t need her hounding him about Kara Dixon. No siree. He wanted no part of the grown-up version of the girl from his past. The gray-eyed gal with a kissable mouth—who’d left him sittin’ high and dry when the cops showed up.