Читать книгу Her Lone Cowboy - Patricia Forsythe, Patricia Forsythe - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

“WE WOULD LOVE to join you,” Laney told him with a warm smile. All right, so he hadn’t exactly invited them in to join him, but he hadn’t kicked them out, either. She was thrilled. This was going much better than she had anticipated given their earlier encounter.

He stood there, staring at her openmouthed for a moment. Then, abruptly, he turned toward the kitchen.

Laney’s gaze followed him. This was the first time she’d seen him walk a few steps and she noticed that he did it with a pronounced limp that favored his right leg. She wondered if he’d had this since birth or if he’d been in an accident. Somehow, the stiffness with which he walked told her he was still getting used to this change in his body and she wondered if it was a fairly recent injury. But she knew she couldn’t ask.

Earlier, she’d been too frantic about her son to really notice the man, and then she’d been furious with him and his rudeness.

Now, as she watched him, she saw that he was a few inches taller than she was, putting him at maybe six feet. His face looked tough, she would even say hard, but she hadn’t really been able to get a good look at him earlier because the sun had been in her eyes and his face had been shaded by his hat. She had thought his eyes were filled with shadows, but maybe she’d been attempting to give him characteristics that would account for his prickly attitude.

Glancing around, she saw that Sam was busy scratching Bertie’s stomach. The dog had rolled over onto his back and hung his paws in the air. His head lolled to the side and his tongue protruded in cartoonish contentment. Sam looked equally ecstatic. Knowing he would be therefore safe for a little while, she followed Caleb from the room.

Laney looked around Caleb’s kitchen without appearing to be examining it as closely as she was. The house was about the same age as hers, but nothing here had been upgraded or freshened up. The wallpaper was a splash of huge flowers in avocado green and harvest gold à la 1970s. The appliances had to be that old, too, as was the worn linoleum. The kitchen was squeaky clean, though.

On the scrubbed top of the wooden table sat a bowl of some dark substance and two beers.

She turned to him in consternation. “Oh, we’ve interrupted your dinner.”

“It wasn’t worth eating.” Caleb set the cake down on the counter, found some small, mismatched plates and opened a drawer. He took out three forks, gazed at his collection of knives and then at her.

“Any one will do,” she said with a smile. “Would you like me to cut it?”

“Sure.” He handed over a knife and while she cut the cake, he removed the bowl from the table.

“What’s wrong with the chili?”

“You could recognize what it was?”

Her eyes twinkled. “The beans gave it away.”

“I guess I’m not much of a cook. It looks weird and it’s way too salty—and too full of cayenne.”

“If you have a potato, you can cut it up and simmer it in the chili. Remove it when it’s soft and it’ll take out some of the salt. If you’ve got more diced tomatoes, you can add those, too. They’ll help the appearance and the taste and water down the saltiness—though probably nothing will tone down the spiciness.” She handed him a plate. “And while it’s simmering, you can enjoy a chocolate cake appetizer.”

For the first time his eyes met hers. She saw that they were dark gray like the sky before a summer rainstorm. Sadness and regret lurked in them. She’d been angry at him because he’d been rude to her and Sam, but the torment she thought she’d seen in his eyes at their first encounter and again now told her his moodiness came from deep pain. His expression was wary and guarded. As she looked at him, really seeing his features for the first time, she noticed the scar that ran down the side of his face and ended at the right corner of his mouth. What had happened to this man? Her heart filled with compassion.

He must have sensed what she was thinking because he glanced away. “I’ll try that,” he said. “Like I said, I’m not much of a cook.”

He set his plate down, grabbed a potato from a bin beneath the sink, scrubbed and sliced it and put it in the chili pot, along with a can of diced tomatoes.

Laney placed small slices of cake on two other plates and called Sam in to join them. He came, bent at an awkward angle, half dragging, half walking with Bertie, his arms still wrapped around the long-suffering animal’s neck. “Can Bertie have cake, too?”

“No, dogs can’t eat chocolate,” Laney said. “It’s bad for them.”

“Can I have his piece?”

“No.”

Sam’s arms fell away from Bertie’s neck and dropped stiffly to his sides. “Why can’t I have two pieces?”

“It’s not your cake. Mr. Ransom is kindly sharing it with us. You can have one piece.” She waved the plate gently in the air. “Or you can have none.” She hid the plate behind her back.

His bottom lip started to jut out but Laney gave him a steady look that helped his decision. “One,” he said as if he’d thought of it himself.

“Good choice. Wash your hands.”

“Where’s the bathroom?”

She looked questioningly at Caleb, who pointed the way, and Sam skipped off in that direction.

Laney considered following and assisting him, but knew she needed to give him a little bit of leeway without hovering. When she heard the sound of water running, she turned back to the kitchen table.

As soon as she did, Sam broke into a loud, off-key rendition of the alphabet song.

She winced. “Sorry. There’s something about running water that always makes him want to sing. I taught him the ABC song and told him he had to sing it all the way through while washing his hands. That made him love water, I guess. He would live in the shower if I’d let him.” She pressed her lips together as she realized she’d shared way more than he could possibly want to know.

Caleb’s eyes were steady on her face. “He’s quite a kid.”

She rolled her eyes. “You have no idea. I sometimes have the horrible feeling that he’s already smarter than I am.”

Caleb smiled; a lift of the lips that curled up more on the left. Laney realized that the scar must have changed the way he smiled, stiffening the right side of his mouth. It was crooked and endearing. Her heart gave an unaccustomed flutter.

Disconcerted, she turned away. Sam shut off the water and quit his song in midsyllable. He dashed into the kitchen and clambered onto a chair. “I’m ready!” he sang out as if the world had been waiting breathlessly for his return. “Can I have some of that?” he asked, pointing to the beer. “Uh, please?”

Taken aback, Caleb said, “No.”

“Samuel John!” Laney said.

The little boy divided a confused look between them at what he clearly considered to be an overreaction. “What can I have to drink?”

“I’ve got lemonade. It’s powdered.” Caleb gave Laney a questioning look.

“Lemonade would be great,” she said, not able to imagine having beer with cake.

Caleb took two tall glasses from the cabinet, looked at Sam’s small hands, put one glass back and removed a plastic juice glass. After filling both glasses with ice and lemonade, he brought them to the table, stopping to give his chili a stir.

When Caleb joined them, Sam picked up his fork and said, “My mom makes cake real good. But you have to use a napkin to wipe your face. It’s rude to lick off the frosting. I used to do that when I was a little kid.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at Caleb. “You’re not gonna lick off the frosting, are you? ’Cause that’ll make my mom mad. You don’t wanna see her get mad.”

“Sam...” Laney said in a warning tone.

He gave her another questioning look, wondering what he’d said wrong this time.

“I’ll remember that,” Caleb said, his eyes meeting Laney’s. He picked up his fork and took a bite of cake. “He’s right. It’s good.”

Pleased, Laney ate her own piece. The three of them sat in companionable silence. She thought this was a very domestic scene for three people who had been at odds a couple of hours ago.

“Are you settling into your house okay?” Caleb asked awkwardly. Small talk was clearly not his forte.

He reminded her of one of her freshmen students, giving a presentation in front of the entire class for the first time. She decided to take pity on him since teachers are accustomed to taking charge of a conversation.

“Yes. We lived in a small apartment before, so we didn’t have much to move in and it was easy to get settled. There are still some things I want to do.” She launched into a description of her plans for her house, which she realized couldn’t possibly interest anyone but her, but as she talked, she saw him relax.

“We’re gonna put pictures of cowboys on my wall in my new room,” Sam announced. “Can I put your picture on my wall? You and Bertie?” He glanced down at his new best friend, so he missed the look of consternation that flashed across Caleb’s face.

Laney couldn’t imagine what had caused their new neighbor to look like that. She felt as if she was picking her way through booby traps, careful not to get caught by one or to let her son get hurt. And yet there was something about the way Caleb looked at Sam that told her he would never hurt the boy—a sort of sad longing mixed with regret. And it clutched at her heart to see that Caleb could only look at Sam for a few seconds before glancing away.

“We’ve got plenty of cowboy pictures, Sammy,” she said. “If you’ve finished your cake, why don’t you take your plate to the sink so I can wash it before we go?”

Sam hopped down to do as she asked, then hurried back to Bertie, who had pulled himself to his feet. The dog walked into the living room with Sam trotting along behind.

She turned back to their host, whose haunted eyes followed her son. This was a troubled man. It was clear to her that coming here had been a mistake. She had done the neighborly thing, but it was over now. From this point on, she and Sam would keep their distance.

She stood and said brightly, “Sam and I had better be on our way. I’ll wash these dishes up before we go.”

“No, that isn’t necessary. I’ll take care of it.” Caleb surged to his feet, his right leg twisting awkwardly. His breath hissed from between his teeth and he reached out to grab the back of his chair, but it skidded away from his grasping fingers. He would have fallen if Laney hadn’t leaped to his side, wrapped her arm around his waist and braced herself against him.

There was nothing for Caleb to do except put his arm around her shoulders. She heard his ragged breath rasp in his throat as he tried to gain control over the surge of pain she knew must be racking his body. His arm spasmed and his hand gripped her shoulder. When she looked up, she saw that sweat had popped out on his face.

Turning carefully, she reached for his chair and pulled it close so he could sit. It took him a minute, though, because he had to rest all his weight on his left leg as he stretched out his right. A tight, pale line appeared around his mouth when he clamped his lips together—probably to keep from crying out in pain.

Turning, she grabbed another chair, pulled it close and then bent to lift his leg. Holding the back of his knee with one hand and his ankle with the other, she gently raised his leg to rest on the chair. She knew he probably would have protested if the pain hadn’t obviously stolen his breath.

“Thank...thank you,” Caleb said when he could get air back into his lungs.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked, stepping back because she instinctively knew he would hate it if she hovered.

He shook his head, his eyes avoiding hers.

“Then I suppose Sam and I had better go. I have to read him Goodnight Moon and then half a dozen books about cowboys before he goes to sleep...” Her voice trailed off. The man clearly wanted to be alone and she was only prolonging things. “Well, good night.”

Caleb’s eyes finally turned to her, guarded and full of pain. She fought the urge to bustle around getting him an ice pack or a hot compress for his leg—to do something to help. She mustn’t, though. He didn’t want her help and he certainly didn’t want her pity.

“Thank you,” was all he said.

She didn’t know if it was for the cake, the visit, for catching him so he wouldn’t fall or because she was finally leaving. Feeling as if she was abandoning him, she turned, crossed into the living room and collected her son, scooping him up from his place beside Bertie and setting him on his feet.

“Time to go, sport,” she said brightly, capturing his hand. “Say goodbye.”

“Aw, Mom. Me and Bertie was gonna...”

“Say goodbye,” she repeated, sweeping him toward the door.

“Goodbye—”

The word was barely out of Sam’s mouth before she whirled him out the door and closed it behind them. She hustled him across the porch and down the steps to the Jeep, lifted him inside and strapped him into his booster seat. She jumped in behind the wheel, fastened her seat belt and had them on their way within seconds.

“Is somebody chasing us, Mom?” Sam asked. He tried to twist to look behind them. “Is it the bad guys?”

She laughed and hoped it sounded genuine. “No, of course not. It was time to go, that’s all.”

“Oh, okay.” He sat back. “I love Bertie,” he said with a sigh of happiness.

“Okay, but you don’t go visit him without being invited.” She didn’t know how to tell him that such an invitation almost certainly wouldn’t be forthcoming. All she could do was hope he’d forget about Bertie if she kept him busy with other things.

Her neighbor wanted to be left alone to deal with whatever was bothering him. She would respect that and she would do her best to make sure Sam understood.

As she turned into her drive, though, she wondered how recent the injury to his leg was and how it had happened. Although she was pretty sure it hadn’t been that long ago, the faint scar on his face wasn’t new. What on earth had the man been through?

* * *

CALEB’S EYES JERKED open with a start, his right hand flying out to search for his rifle. When his hand didn’t close on the familiar stock, he came fully awake, his heart pounding as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He didn’t need his gun. He needed to find that kid—the little dark-haired boy with the big grin who’d invaded his dreams. He shook his head, trying to free himself from the image of the child waving then disappearing in the flash of a fireball. He groaned, trying to orient himself.

Home. He was home at his own place, not on guard or on patrol in Afghanistan, not sleeping on the ground beneath a Hummer with O’Malley’s stinking feet near his face.

He started to turn over, but a strong twinge from his bad leg had him falling back against the pillows with a sharp breath whistling between his teeth. After several minutes the spasm passed and he was able to sit up, massage his tortured leg for a while, then turn to put his feet on the floor and sit with his elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands.

When the pain subsided, he lifted his head to glance at the clock. Midnight. He’d only been asleep a couple of hours. It was those blasted painkillers. Whenever he had to take them, as he had right after Laney and Sam had left, they knocked him out, but then he’d jerk awake too soon, sure he was back in a war zone. He’d be half off the bed, looking for his soldiers, before reason would kick in and he’d know where he was.

Most of the time he could keep the memories at bay, but often they’d plague his sleep, coming in nightmare form, seeping under his defenses like smoke curling beneath a closed door. He knew if he opened the door, the memories would blaze up in a flash fire to consume him.

Taking a painkiller before he slept almost always triggered the nightmares, but they came more often when he took nothing at all.

Caleb rubbed his palms over his face, shoved his feet into the worn-out slip-ons he kept next to the bed and then stood cautiously, waiting for his leg to become accustomed to his weight once again, before walking through the house to work out the stiffness. Down the hall, past the two empty bedrooms, he moved into the living room, where he stood in front of the big window—uncurtained because he had no clue how to go about buying drapes and had no desire to learn.

As he stared out at the yard, he heard coyotes, the bothersome pack that roamed the area and had probably been responsible for the disappearance of many domestic animals. No doubt, the predators had dens in the nearby Mule Mountains, where they hid out, waiting for some unsuspecting cat or jackrabbit to happen by—

A sudden scream split the air, sparking a shiver up Caleb’s spine. That sound wasn’t made by a coyote, but he didn’t know what had made it since he’d never heard it before.

It came again, high and sharp. It wasn’t human, but it ignited a memory of a fire fight, of Mack, wounded, fallen, clutching his side as he tried to swallow cries of anguish that would attract more enemy fire to their position.

Memories overwhelming him, Caleb rushed to the door, grabbing his rifle on his way out. He didn’t know where the attack would be coming from, but he was ready. Crouching, moving stealthily, he slipped off the porch and hunkered down into a shooting stance as far as his bad leg would let him. His gaze swept the yard then the area beyond.

He saw something ahead of him, moving through the low bushes, too fast and steady to be a man doing the belly crawl. What was it?

The creature turned its head. Caleb saw the flash of yellow eyes. It wasn’t human. But what was it? Confused, he stepped forward. The crack of a stick breaking under his foot snapped in the air and jerked Caleb back to reality.

Whatever he’d seen in the yard disappeared with a gentle whoosh of sound.

He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs, working to recall why he was standing out in the yard in his underwear. He glanced down. He held a piece of one-by-two-inch board, the one he used to prop open the living-room window.

Hands falling to his sides, he stood for a minute, concentrating on his breathing, letting his waking nightmare dissipate as he shoved the memory back into the mental vault where he kept it under lock and key.

His gaze moved out past the yard and the barn to the pasture where he’d encountered Sam and Laney earlier, then beyond to their house where a porch light speared the darkness. He couldn’t even see the outline of the house, only the glow of the light, a faint beacon of reassurance.

Reassurance? He didn’t need reassurance. He needed to be left alone.

He lifted the board, holding it up in front of his face. He’d thought it was his rifle; that he was going to protect his home with it.

No. He couldn’t be a neighbor. It wasn’t time yet.

He turned back to the house with a sound of disgust, returned the board to the sill of the window, which he double-checked to make sure it was closed and locked.

Bertie, asleep on his favorite rug, raised his head as if willing to commiserate, but then apparently decided that Caleb was doing a good enough job of being miserable on his own. He dropped his head on his paws and sighed.

Caleb looked down at the old dog. “Yeah, buddy, that’s how I feel.”

He wandered into the kitchen and poured a glass of water. Leaning against the sink, he drank it down, grateful for the miracle of clean, good-tasting water, so unlike the filtered, never-quite-right stuff they’d had in Afghanistan.

Like all the other military personnel, they’d consumed bottled water by the gallon, along with electrolyte drinks. When he’d come back to the States, he’d never been able to get enough clean water into him and he still drank more than he ever had in his younger years. He set the empty glass down and stood with his hands gripping the edge of the sink. The memories were close tonight and he couldn’t seem to shove them away as he usually could. He’d been back for more than a year and a half, but as his mother had said, he’d left the war but he’d never really come home.

Pushing away from the sink, he wandered back to the living-room window and stood, arms crossed over his chest, staring into the darkness while he thought about his new neighbors.

“What do you think, Bert? You think she ever had a husband?”

He glanced down. Bertie’s gentle snores told him that this man’s best friend couldn’t have been less interested.

In spite of that, Caleb continued with his speculation. “Did the guy abandon her and Sam? Didn’t care that he had a wife and kid?”

Caleb’s eyes narrowed as he thought it over. “Maybe she was impossible to live with.” He straightened, his arms dropping to his sides as another thought came to him. “Or did she always want to be a single mom so she got some clinical assistance?”

He ran his thumb along the stubble on his chin. “Nothing wrong with that, Bert. But, nah, I don’t think so. I think...that I’m losing my friggin’ mind.”

Caleb admitted he was out of his element and had been for a while.

At one time he’d had an unerring sense of direction, a built-in compass that could point him the right way even if it was pitch-black outside and only safe to move a few inches. Now he tried to defend his home from night noises with a stick and stood staring at his neighbor’s house.

And he didn’t even care about his neighbors.

He turned, headed back to bed, giving in to the twinge in his leg that told him he’d been on it too long and ignoring the one in his gut that told him he was a liar.

* * *

BY THE NEXT afternoon Laney thought she may have convinced her son that he wasn’t to visit Caleb, or Bertie, until he was invited. She had left him inside to play with a building set he was using to make a replica of Caleb’s place.

Sam had only seen the yard and the house, but in his imagination it contained endless corrals made of snap-together pieces of plastic fencing, as well as a barn of cardboard and masking tape.

With a few minutes to herself, she decided to take a break from organizing her house and get her turn-outs ready for the coming fire season. During the summers when school was out, Laney was a wild-land firefighter, a member of Fire Team 8, currently an all-woman group that fought wildfires during the summer. There had been men on the team in the past and there probably would be again, but right now, it was all women who, like Laney, had families and additional jobs. The money from fighting fires paid for both necessities and luxuries.

She spread her coat, pants and boots out on the patio attached to the back of the house and examined them closely for damage. Her fire boots appeared to be in good shape, as did her coat, but there was a rip in her pants caused when she’d fallen over a log last summer and snagged them on a broken branch. She thought she could mend it.

Laney stepped back into the house for her sewing kit, calling out to Sam as she went.

“Sam, everything okay?”

Silence.

Whirling around, she hurried to his room. His construction project lay scattered across the floor, but he wasn’t there. His black cowboy hat was gone from the top of the dresser where he left it when he wasn’t wearing it. That told her exactly where he was headed. He was so taken with the whole cowboy mystique that he wouldn’t have left without that hat if he had gone to visit Caleb and Bertie, and she was sure that was exactly what he had done.

He had probably only left a few minutes ago, but she knew from long experience that he could move like the wind when he wanted to. If she took the Jeep and hurried, she might make it to Caleb’s house before Sam did. Having his mother greet him when he arrived would be an unpleasant surprise that might make him think twice about going over there without permission again.

“And maybe pigs will fly,” Laney muttered as she ran to get her keys. “So much for keeping our distance from Caleb Ransom.” She had tried to impress on her son that their neighbor wanted to be left alone, but clearly she hadn’t succeeded.

Laney knew that in this rural area, neighbors often had to depend on each other, but Caleb didn’t want that. She thought he was probably embarrassed that she had seen him in pain last night, had seen him weak and vulnerable. Having Sam pop up there again, with her chasing him, might make things even more strained.

That wasn’t her biggest worry, though. She was most concerned that Sam had gone back to the pasture where Caleb kept his horses. She ran out to the fence, climbed up to balance herself on the rail and scanned the area for the mare and her foal. She spotted them quite close by with no little black cowboy hat bouncing toward them, so she knew Sam probably wasn’t in the pasture.

“Thank heaven,” she murmured, jumping down and running for the Jeep.

Starting the engine, she wheeled out of the drive and headed for the Ransom ranch.

Only a few yards down the single-lane road she had to squeeze past a car pulled over and stopped partway in a ditch. Driving past, she saw that someone was inside so she stopped, jumped out of her car and hurried back to ask if the driver had seen Sam.

When she recognized the driver, her steps slowed and her heart sank in dismay, but she forced a smile. Monette Berkley had been her neighbor in the tiny apartment building where she and Sam had lived in town. She was a busybody, a long-time social worker employed by Arizona’s newly revamped and name-changed Department of Child Safety, and she delighted in spying on her neighbors.

She was a definite oddball, but Laney didn’t think she meant any harm—although she couldn’t imagine what the woman was doing out here, and there was no time to find out. As she approached, she noticed that Monette’s appearance, always haphazard, was approaching sloppy. Her hair slid out of a loose topknot and the front of her blouse was stained with what looked like coffee.

Leaning over, she said, “Hello, Monette. Did you see my little boy on the road?”

“Your little boy? You mean Sean?”

“Sam,” Laney corrected. “Yes. He’s the only little boy I’ve got.”

“What’s he doing off by himself?” the woman demanded, her dark eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Why aren’t you watching him?”

“Monette!” Laney cried in exasperation. “Did you see him?”

“No,” the woman answered, looking miffed. “I only stopped a second ago. Did he run away?”

Laney whirled around. “Of course not. He probably went to visit the neighbor.”

Or at least the neighbor’s dog, she thought, rushing back to her car.

Monette called out to her, but Laney ignored her as she put the Jeep in gear and sped down the road to Caleb’s driveway.

* * *

CALEB MOVED CAUTIOUSLY toward the front door where he’d heard scuffling noises and then a soft knock. Since his leg had seized up on him last night, he’d been moving much more carefully, trying to handle the pain and outlast the muscle seizures without resorting to more of the painkillers the doctor had given him. Aside from making him woozy and giving him nightmares, they’d probably caused him to stand by his window gawking at his neighbor’s house. Besides, the pills didn’t really cure anything, so why bother with them?

He finally reached the door and swung it open, his curious gaze at eye level. Seeing no one, his focus swung down to right above knee height where Sam Reynolds grinned up at him.

“Hi, Mr. Rasmon.”

“Ransom,” Caleb corrected automatically.

“Ransom. Can Bertie come out and play?” Sam’s huge smile and big brown eyes begged him to agree.

From behind him Bertie shuffled up, tail wagging and mouth open in his own big, doggy grin. He wiggled past Caleb to greet his new best friend, giving Sam a lick on the cheek that sent the eager boy into peals of laughter. Sam threw his arms around Bertie’s neck and sighed blissfully. “I love you, Bertie.”

These two were made for each other, Caleb thought sardonically, stepping onto the porch. He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms. “Sam, does your mom know you’re here?”

Into Bertie’s furry neck, Sam mumbled something that sounded like “Maybe.”

Caleb wanted to pull the boy away and get down at eye level with him, but his weakened right leg wouldn’t let him do that. And if he fell, he might land on the boy. Instead he reached down, cupped Sam’s chin and brought the boy’s face up until their eyes met, the way he’d seen Laney do the day before. He tried to make his voice sound as firm as hers had without resorting to his army sergeant’s voice.

“Sam,” he repeated, “does your mom know you’re here?”

“Sorta.”

“Sam...”

“Maybe, sorta.”

“That means no, doesn’t it?” Caleb said then jerked when another thought jolted him. “Did you come through the pasture? The same pasture where Addie and her filly are? That I told you to stay out of?”

Sam wrinkled up his nose and squinted as if he was thinking about it. “You mean where that pony is? No. I came on the road. I ’membered the way.”

Caleb threw his hands in the air. “That’s just as dangerous. What if a car had come along?”

“I woulda moved,” Sam responded as if he was talking to someone who wasn’t too bright. He went back to petting Bertie, who was eating up the attention.

Caleb stared at him. As an only child of parents who had both worked long hours, he knew what it was like to be lonely and to need distraction, but this had to stop. Why didn’t his mother keep him away? He was still trying to figure out what to say when he became aware of a vehicle on the road. A rooster tail of dust kicked up behind Laney’s fast-moving Jeep and gravel scattered as she turned into his drive. Caleb could see her sitting forward, peering anxiously over the steering wheel, and then visibly relaxing when she saw Sam standing on the front steps with Bertie and Caleb.

On the lane behind her, he saw another car slow at his gate, wait for a few seconds, then turn around and head back the way it had come. Caleb didn’t have time to ponder who that could have been because Laney was headed straight for them.

Sam turned to see his mom’s fast-approaching car. “She looks mad.”

“Ya think?” Caleb fought the urge to laugh at the crazy situation. He didn’t want them here, didn’t want to get caught up in the struggle between this lovable kid and his attractive mother. He knew the more he saw of them, the more he was going to get pulled in.

He was adamant about not getting pulled in, he reminded himself. He had everything carefully planned, exactly what his life would be like and who would be in it—or not.

Laney stopped the Jeep and jumped out. She strode over to the steps; her gaze never leaving Sam, whose face was buried in Bertie’s accommodating neck.

“Samuel John Reynolds, what do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“Visitin’ Bertie and Mr. Ramsun.”

“Ransom,” Laney and Caleb said in unison. Their gazes met and skittered away from each other.

“You weren’t invited. Go get in the car. We’ll talk about this at home when I’ve had time to calm down.”

Sam looked at her for a second. “Bertie wants me to stay.”

“I want you to go. Now move,” she said, tilting her head toward the Jeep.

That ended any argument. Sam trudged toward the car. She turned back to Caleb with a look of consternation. “I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll find some way to keep him off your property.”

Her gaze went to his leg as if she wanted to ask him how it was.

Questions, sympathy, pity were things he didn’t want. He straightened, belying his need to lean against anything for support.

He looked her straight in the eye. “Keep him off my property.”

With a nod, she went back to her Jeep and got her son and herself inside in record time. She started the vehicle, turned in a wide circle and was gone.

By his feet, Bertie whined. Caleb braced himself against the doorjamb once more and leaned to run his hand over the old dog’s head. “It’s better this way, Bert,” he said. “We don’t need them complicating our life.”