Читать книгу Her Lone Cowboy - Patricia Forsythe, Patricia Forsythe - Страница 9
ОглавлениеWHAT WAS THAT? Caleb Ransom pulled on Cisco’s reins and brought the horse to a stop. He stood in the stirrups and looked across the pasture to where he’d seen something black moving along at a steady clip. Was it a dog? A coyote? One of the barn cats?
Whatever it was, it was heading toward Addie and her new filly.
Caleb’s eyes widened when he identified the little boy he’d seen hanging over the fence the past couple of days—and the boy was moving straight for the most overprotective mare Caleb had ever seen.
Sitting back down, he spurred Cisco into action. They galloped across the field, Caleb leaning forward in the saddle, urging his horse on.
* * *
WHERE WAS HE?
Delaney Reynolds hurried down the front steps of her house and made a frantic sweep of the front yard.
“Sam!” she called, as she had been calling for the past five minutes. Her son was one fast-moving four-year-old. He’d been equally fast at three, two and one. He had walked at nine months and she hadn’t had an easy day since. Her dearest hope was that she would be able to bring his adventurous nature under control and he would live to grow up.
His favorite hangout was the rail fence between her property and the one next door, whose owner kept cattle and horses. Sam was desperate to make friends with those horses. She had warned him away and threatened that he would find himself sitting in the “naughty chair” in the corner of the kitchen for a very long time if he disobeyed, but she had the sick feeling that his enthrallment with the horses had overcome his fear of forced immobility.
Laney climbed the fence and from the top rail, gazed out over the pasture, searching for Sam.
A hundred yards in front of her she finally saw a little black cowboy hat bouncing through the tall brush and grass toward a mare and her baby. Coming from the opposite direction was a horse and rider, heading straight for her son.
“Sam!”
Clamping her hands on the fence rail, she pushed off and ran, arms pumping, feet pounding.
* * *
CALEB KNEW THAT if he didn’t reach the kid before he got to Addie’s foal, there was a good chance the mare would turn aggressive. She hadn’t let Caleb near her foal for the first three days of its life and still watched him nervously, hooves dancing and head tossing when he came close or approached with a less-than-soothing voice. There was no way she would let this pint-size stranger touch her filly.
Caleb’s advance, at right angles from the child’s, would spook Addie, but there was nothing he could do about that. He could only hope that if she spooked, it would be away from the little boy.
As he’d expected, the sound of Cisco’s pounding hooves caught Addie’s attention. She lifted her head and swung it around to see what was going on. Her gaze fixed on Caleb and Cisco, but then, unerringly, her attention focused on the little boy who was closing in fast. She shook her head vigorously, then lowered it, a sure sign she was going to head-butt the child. Snorting, she pawed the ground.
Alarmed, Caleb saw that the boy was oblivious to the danger he was in because he wasn’t stopping or even slowing down. Addie, used and abused by drug smugglers and then abandoned, pregnant, in the desert, was already wary of people. Caleb couldn’t begin to guess how she might react to this kid, but he expected it wouldn’t be good.
Addie moved to stand between her baby and this small, determined human.
Before she could take more than a step toward the boy, though, Caleb was there, reins in his right hand, left arm outstretched, leaning over in the saddle as far as he could. He clamped his right leg against Cisco’s ribs as he bent, hoping that his weakened muscles would hold and not cramp up on him. With a mighty swing, he snagged the little boy by the back of his shirt and swept him up in front of him.
The kid shrieked in alarm as he was swung up and set just behind the saddle horn.
Caleb kept Cisco at a gallop as he wheeled around and away from Addie.
When they were far enough, he pulled his horse up, set the little boy on the ground and dismounted. Cisco, always happy to eat, ripped up a mouthful of grama and began chewing the grass placidly.
Caleb dropped Cisco’s reins, then took off his hat and clapped it against his leg. It wasn’t dusty, but he needed to do something to calm himself. He knew that turning this kid over his knee and paddling his little butt wasn’t an option. His heart was still pounding and alarm prickled along his nerve endings as he thought about what could have happened to the boy.
He placed his hat on his head and took several deep breaths. When he could trust himself to speak he said, “What were you doing?”
To his surprise, the boy took off his own cowboy hat and clapped it against his leg. Then he resettled it on his head just as Caleb had done and took a few deep breaths, too. Caleb would have thought the boy was mocking him if he hadn’t had such a solemn expression on his face.
Finally the kid said, “I wanted to see the pony.”
Caleb didn’t bother to correct the child’s misconception by telling him the difference between a pony and a week-old filly. He had a more important goal in mind.
“You’re trespassing,” he said.
The kid’s big brown eyes grew indignant. “Not trepsassing,” he said then frowned. “What’s trepsassing?”
“Being where you’re not supposed to be.”
“I was visiting.”
“You could have gotten hurt.”
The kid gave Caleb a look that appeared to question Caleb’s sanity. “That little pony couldn’t hurt me.”
“Her mother could and she would have, too, if I hadn’t come along and grabbed you.”
The little boy’s face lit up and he gave a little hop of excitement. “That was fun! Can we do it again?”
“No!”
Stymied, Caleb stared down at the boy. He didn’t seem scared or even intimidated. He thought the whole terrifying episode had been fun!
The boy tilted his head back to look up at him and then stuck out his hand. “My name’s Sam,” he said. “Me and my mom live over yonder.”
Yonder? Who had this kid been talking to? Caleb put out his hand to shake Sam’s but before they made contact the noise of someone crashing through the brush caught his attention. He looked over to see a woman racing toward them. She barely seemed to notice the greasewood and acacia branches that whipped against her legs and plucked at her jeans and shirt as she ran. When she saw that Caleb knew she was there, she slowed to a fast walk, her chest heaving with the effort of fighting for breath. She lifted a hand in acknowledgment.
As she neared, Caleb had the chance to observe her. She was tall, maybe five-eight, and more full-figured than skinny. Her hair was dark brown shot with sorrel red and pulled back into a ponytail that swung as she moved. Her features were strong, with a straight nose and full lips. He would call her good-looking rather than pretty, if he was going to call her anything—which he wasn’t. He could tell right away where her son had gotten his big brown eyes.
Because he found himself admiring her looks, he scowled at her. He didn’t want this kind of complication, didn’t need it and didn’t need this woman and her kid right next door. He’d liked it when the old Reynolds place had been empty and forlorn. It suited his purposes—and his disposition—just fine.
“Thank...thank you for gr-grab...bing him out of the way,” the woman said, gasping for breath as she hurried up to them. She pressed a hand to her side where she must have developed a cramp. “I...I didn’t realize what was happening. I th-thought you didn’t see him and might run him down...then I saw that mare and colt.”
Against his will, Caleb was touched by her concern for her son and by the flush of exertion on her cheeks.
“It’s a filly,” Caleb said.
She blinked and her head drew back. “Oh, of course, a filly.” She looked at him for a couple of seconds as if she expected him to say more. When he remained silent, she turned to her son, going down on one knee in front of him and grasping his shoulders so that he was forced to look at her.
“Sam, what did I tell you about leaving our property?”
He screwed up his face. “What’s property?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you try to be tricky. I’ve told you many times in the past few days that our property is our house and yard and that’s where you’re supposed to stay.”
The little boy turned his head, avoiding his mother’s firm gaze. “Maybe I forgot.”
“Maybe?”
He jerked his small thumb toward the mare and her foal. “That pony wanted me to come play.”
“How do you know that?”
“’Cause I just know,” he said stubbornly.
She sighed. “Never mind what the pony wants. I want you to stay in our yard.” She forced him to keep eye contact with her for a few more seconds. When his gaze skittered guiltily away from hers, she said, “We’ll talk about this at home. You’re going to be in time-out.”
“Aw, Mom,” Sam said in an injured voice, sticking out his bottom lip and crossing his arms over his chest.
She turned to Caleb and held out her hand. “I apologize for my son. I’m Delaney Reynolds—Laney to my friends—and this is Sam. You’re Caleb Ransom, right?”
Caleb looked down at that hand—long-fingered with unpolished nails. It looked competent, as did she. Deep inside him something stirred, reacting to the intensity of her. He hadn’t experienced this emotion for a long, long time, but he knew it for exactly what it was—longing.
He kept his arms firmly at his sides until her open smile faded.
She finally dropped her proffered hand to her son’s head.
“Yes, I’m Caleb Ransom,” he acknowledged with a nod. “This is my property. Your son could have been in real danger.”
Again her head pulled back at his curt tone and she stammered out an apology. “I realize that and I’m very sorry...”
Caleb tilted his head toward Addie. “That mare doesn’t like anyone coming around her foal. She’ll hardly let me come near. If Sam had gotten too close, she would’ve head-butted him or, worse, kicked him.”
Her face had been flushed from running, but now it paled. “I...I didn’t...”
“Have either of you ever been around horses before?”
“Yes, of course.” Her arms came up to cross over her chest, mimicking her son’s stance. Caleb decided not to see how charming that was.
“Then you should have some idea how dangerous it is for a little kid like this to run up and surprise a mare. You don’t have any idea what could happen, do you? Which is why you need to stay on your own property.”
Anger sparked in her eyes.
Good, he thought. Maybe that meant she’d stay away.
“We will certainly stay on our own property,” she said, reaching to take her son’s hand. “Won’t we, Sam?”
Silence. Both adults looked down at the bent head hiding under the black hat. Laney cupped her son’s chin, lifting his face so that his eyes met hers. His brow wrinkled and his nose crinkled as he gazed at his mom.
Caleb wondered if the little guy was trying to figure out how to sound as though he was agreeing with his mom without really agreeing with her.
“Won’t we, Sam?” she repeated.
“Okay, Mommy,” he said.
She looked up and met Caleb’s gaze. “Thank you again for saving my son’s life. We’ll stay off your property and leave you alone.”
“It’s best if you stay out of this pasture,” he said, emphasizing this point. She, and this boy, disturbed him. “Be a good idea if you passed that along to your husband, too.”
Her dark eyes flashed angrily. “I’m not married. Goodbye, Mr. Ransom,” she said, turning and pulling her son with her. The boy went willingly enough, but after a few steps, she swung him up into her arms, transferring him smoothly to her hip, her head bending close to his as she walked, his short legs bumping against her with each step.
Caleb wondered if she was reminding her son to stay off the neighbor’s land, or if the two of them were discussing what a mean old grump he was. Either way, he didn’t care so long as they left him alone.
He swung onto Cisco’s back, ready to ride away. It was impossible for him to keep his eyes off the pair of them, though. Their heads were close together, her dark hair shining in the sun. She strode confidently ahead, her arm holding the boy safe. They were a solid unit of two.
Suddenly, Sam twisted in his mom’s arms, whipped off his hat and lifted an arm to wave at Caleb.
“I’ll see you later, Mr. Ramson,” he called, mangling Caleb’s name. His big brown eyes, shock of dark hair and wide grin were like a punch to Caleb’s gut. He nearly doubled over in the saddle.
Memory washed over him, making his breath cut through his lungs like a sharp blade. With iron will, he shoved the image that had seared his mind back to the place where he kept it secured. Still, it was several long seconds before he could wrestle the image of desert sand, hot sun and the face of a grinning little boy into the vault. Finally he straightened and gathered Cisco’s reins into his hands.
He’d worked long and hard to get this peaceful little corner of the world, and he wasn’t going to let them disrupt it. He clucked his tongue and headed Cisco toward home.
* * *
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER Sam was still sitting in the time-out chair, stealing sidelong glances at his mother and punctuating the air with aggrieved sighs. For her part, Laney had almost stopped shaking from the combination of fright for her son and anger at her neighbor.
“The man certainly has the right to his privacy,” she muttered as she trimmed shelf paper to fit a kitchen cabinet. “But does he have to be so rude?”
“Maybe he needs to sit in the naughty chair,” Sam said brightly. “I could go tell him.”
Laney pointed a purposeful finger at him. “You stay right where you are, young man. You’re not going anywhere.”
Sam frowned and settled down with another sigh. He spread his knees out to each side of the small chair seat and leaned over to look underneath it. Then he started to kick a leg with each foot, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump in rhythm.
“Wish I had somebody to play with,” he said, peeking at his mom. She didn’t respond. “I wanna play with Logan and Shane.”
“You’ll see them soon enough.”
“Does Mr. Ramson have kids?”
Laney paused and glanced at him. Sam had scooted so far forward on the chair and stuck his head so far under the stool that he was in danger of landing on his head.
“It’s Ransom,” she corrected him. “Now, Sam, sit up straight.” When he complied, she said, “And I don’t know if he has kids for you to play with.”
“He looked mean.”
Laney wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t want Sam to be afraid of their neighbor, but she didn’t want him to be a pest, either. She certainly wanted Sam to stay on their property. It was impossible to keep him safe if she didn’t know where he was. Raising a boy was a bigger challenge than she’d ever anticipated.
Sam was right. Ransom did look mean.
“What’s that guy’s problem, anyway?” Laney muttered. She finished lining the shelf, stacked the plates neatly inside and closed the door with a satisfied snap, then ran her hand over the worn surface of the birchwood.
The cabinets were probably much older than she was, no doubt original to the house, which had been built in the early 1950s by her great uncle, Calvin Reynolds, and left to her when he passed away last year. Everything about the place showed its age, but it was solidly built, the roof was only a few years old and her dad, brother and friends had gotten together and surprised her with a new paint job, inside and out. Somehow, they’d known her favorite colors and which ones to paint on the walls of which rooms. That had probably been her mom’s influence, since she and Vivian had spent hours discussing décor, design and color choices.
But best of all, the house was hers; security for Sam and for her. Now the money she’d been spending on rent for that apartment in town could go into savings and into Sam’s college fund, where most of the child support money from Sam’s father went. It was another brick in the solid foundation of protection she was building for her son.
She had a good job—two good jobs—friends and family. She had a retirement fund, life insurance and a will giving custody of Sam to her brother Ethan and his wife if anything should happen to her. Now she had a house and land. There was a good pasture she could rent out to a neighbor if she wished, with a small freshwater stream—a rarity in southern Arizona—that dried up or just trickled most of the year but ran full during the summer monsoon rains. She remembered playing in the creek as a child and hoped to give Sam that same pleasure in a few weeks—if she could keep him in one piece until then.
She was grateful for the financial security she now had and for the family members who had stood by her, helped and supported her throughout her life and throughout every stupid mistake she had made. They had showed her love and compassion every day of her life. They had also ingrained in her the belief that God had put people on earth to help each other.
She glanced up guiltily, her gaze traveling to Caleb’s pasture, which she could see from her kitchen window. Maybe she should give some consideration to showing her neighbor some compassion.
Caleb Ransom. She had barely given him a moment’s thought since she’d moved in, but now that she’d met him she couldn’t get him off her mind.
Laney tried to think back over what she had heard about him. She had been so busy with her move that she hadn’t given much thought to any of her neighbors. She already knew Chet and Karen Bartlett who lived in the first house nearest the road and had named their lane after themselves. Their son had been in her English class—she taught high school in Sweetsilver. It was a town where everyone knew everyone else, but few people knew Caleb Ransom.
Bartlett Lane dead-ended at his place. Anyone who went that far was only going to his ranch. In the few days she’d been in her house, no one had passed on their way to see Caleb. No one seemed to interact with him except maybe Don Parkey, the local vet who took care of everyone’s animals—unless Caleb doctored his own animals as she knew many ranchers did.
Either Caleb was naturally a grump or he was a deeply troubled man. And she had seen something in his eyes, a spark of...something that had both puzzled her and drawn her to him. He’d extinguished that spark with a frown, but it had only ignited her curiosity about him.
In spite of his attitude, though, he had saved Sam’s life. He didn’t want her and Sam to trespass, but she felt she owed him gratitude for saving her adventurous little boy. And then there was that insatiable curiosity of hers that she probably shouldn’t feed—but knew she would.
Laney glanced over at her son, who had now moved off the chair except for the tip of his big toe, which was still touching one of the legs. She knew she should warn Ransom that today’s visit probably wouldn’t be the last he’d receive from her son.
Sam must have felt her gaze on him because he looked up. All Laney did was point to the chair and he climbed back on with another wounded growl.
Ignoring his theatrics, she returned to the cabinet and took down a bowl. She knew how to make a terrific chocolate cake.
* * *
CALEB LOOKED INTO the pot of chili he’d been attempting to make and wondered what had gone wrong. Maybe he’d put in too much chili powder. Except that it wasn’t red like chili powder. It was dark, really dark, and resembled industrial waste. He had to eat it, though, or go into town and buy a meal, which meant being around people—something he wasn’t willing to do. Meeting his neighbor and her kid today had fulfilled his quota of socializing for the month, unless Don Parkey showed up with another half-dead horse.
Resigned, he took a bowl from the cupboard and used a coffee cup to ladle out a generous portion. He knew he couldn’t go without eating. He’d learned that in Afghanistan when he’d been on patrol for hours with no food and very little water. Light-headedness didn’t allow good decision-making. He only hoped this chili didn’t taste as bad as it looked, but he was afraid that it probably did. Grabbing a spoon from a drawer and two cold beers, because it would take more than one to choke down this stuff, he sat at the table, took a deep breath and dug in.
The first mouthful gagged him and brought tears to his eyes. Salt. He’d put in way too much. And he’d put in chili powder, all right, along with a big dose of cayenne. Caleb dropped the spoon and stared down at the mess.
“Face it, Ransom. You can’t cook. You’ll be eating canned and frozen for the rest of your life, or worse, army surplus MREs,” he said. Even the Meals Ready to Eat he’d hated the most had tasted better than this.
He looked across the kitchen to where his dog, Bertie, a mystery mix of breeds, lay sleeping. As if the animal could read his thoughts, he raised his head and gave Caleb a look that clearly said, “Don’t even think about it.”
“You’re not interested, either, huh?”
Before Caleb could give any more thought about what to do, Bertie lumbered to his feet and emitted a low woof to indicate someone was coming. His duty done, he collapsed back onto his rug and closed his eyes.
Caleb’s chair scraped on the linoleum as he stood and went to the window. It couldn’t be Don; he never showed up this late in the day. Through the uncurtained window, he saw a well-traveled Jeep pull up. After a few seconds his new neighbor and her son stepped out.
The little boy looked around, spied a stick on the ground and picked it up. He waved it around for a few seconds, then tossed it in the air with a whoop of laughter and watched it land near the porch.
“No,” Caleb grumbled. His gut roiled. Hadn’t he been clear that he didn’t want company? What kind of woman came back for more? And brought her child. A desperate one? A crazy one?
Or, the most unthinkable prospect, one who wanted to rescue him?
“Oh, man,” he said, running his hand through his hair and looking around. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t home. The light was on and his truck was out front. If she looked in the kitchen window, she’d see him standing there, gaping at her.
He watched as she opened a back door of her Jeep and carefully took something off the seat. When she straightened and slammed the door with a swing of her hip, he saw that it was a cake. A chocolate one.
His traitorous stomach growled in anticipation.
He walked to the front door and opened it. Sam bounced up the steps and greeted him with a big grin.
“See, Mr. Ramson?” the boy said. “I told you I’d see you later. Mom says this is later, but it’s not tomorrow yet. ’Cause I checked.”
Flummoxed, Caleb looked down at the eager little boy. He’d cleaned up since their encounter in the pasture. He carried his cowboy hat and he wore a pair of blue shorts and a bright red T-shirt with a bronc-riding cowboy on the front. In place of the boots, he wore sandals and his thick hair had been inexpertly slicked down and combed. No doubt, he’d done it himself.
He looked so happy, healthy...whole, that a huge lump formed in Caleb’s throat. Well, he’d shoved away the memory earlier that afternoon and he wasn’t going to let it surface now. He glanced away from the boy and into the half-apologetic face of his mother.
She had changed clothes, too. Instead of the jeans and T-shirt she’d worn to chase her son across the pasture, she wore a simple, sleeveless blue dress that buttoned up the front and fell in a swirl of skirt to below her knees.
Laney gave an ironic little twist of her lips. “Before you say anything, yes, you made it clear that you don’t want company or trespassers, and I’m not ignoring what you said, but I came to thank you again for keeping Sam from getting hurt.”
Caleb looked at the sincerity in her eyes and the gentle curve of her lips. Her face looked ready to break into a smile with the tiniest encouragement from him. He glanced down at Sam, who returned his regard with a big, innocent grin. The scent of chocolate nearly sent him to his knees.
Caleb wanted to take the cake from Laney and shut the door.
“I know seeing him in danger of being attacked by your mare probably scared you. Whenever he scares the life out of me, I feel snappy, too.” Her smile widened, lighting her eyes, inviting him to share her rueful humor at her son’s actions.
This woman was willing to credit him with an excuse for his rudeness.
Behind him, he could hear Bertie’s nails clicking on the linoleum. “A dog!” Sam shrieked, scooting past Caleb and into the living room, even as his mother tried to call him back. Laney hurried after him, trying to make a grab for her son, but was hampered by the cake she still carried. Focused on the little boy, she shoved the cake at Caleb, who had no choice but to take it.
Before Laney could pull Sam away, her son fell on Bertie like a long-lost best friend. He threw his arms around the animal’s neck and gave him a hug.
Bertie turned his head and gave the boy a lick on the side of the face that sealed their bond. Laughing, Sam wiped his cheek. “He likes me. I want a dog,” he told Caleb with a sigh. “But my mom says I’m not ponsible.”
Puzzled, Caleb looked at Laney, whose cheeks had reddened. “Responsible,” she answered his unspoken question.
“What’s his name?” Sam asked. He sat back on his heels to admire what he certainly considered to be the most beautiful animal on earth.
“Bertie.”
Sam buried his face in the canine’s neck. “I love you, Bertie.”
“I’m sorry about this,” Laney said. “Come on, Sam. We need to go and leave Mr. Ransom alone.” She indicated his big rancher’s hands. “I hope you like chocolate cake.”
He looked down at the thick swirls of frosting. All he wanted was to be left alone, to stop her and her son from trespassing.
If he took this cake, he’d be taking a step forward he wasn’t ready to take.
For the second time that day.
