Читать книгу Cowboy Be Mine - Tina Leonard - Страница 9

“Now, then,” Chili said, giving Michael’s dark suit a final brush across the shoulders, “you just drive over to the Dixon house and surprise that little gal by picking her and her brood up for church.” The fence-sitters had converged on him with Plan A as he was eating breakfast, before he’d even had time to gulp enough coffee to wake up good.

Michael shook his head. “I don’t know that this is such a good idea. Bailey and I have never gone anywhere together, much less church.” Something about these three advising him to go to church with a woman struck his suspicion nerve very hard. He never went to church. Whatever he had to say to the Lord he said on his property amongst the trees and the stillness. Saying it in front of a bunch of people didn’t mean the Lord’s ears were open any further to him.

But the townsfolks’ ears and eyes would be wide open if he appeared with Bailey Dixon. There were two types of couples who paired up for church—good friends comfortable celebrating the Sabbath with each other, often seen in Fallen’s Baptist church with its social congregation, and those affianced or about to be who attended church to start their marriage out on the right foot. He’d noted the Fallen Methodists tended to do a lot of that.

He was neither Baptist nor Methodist, nor much of anything that required a commitment. And he wasn’t friends with Bailey, nor trying to start a relationship with her aligned on the straight and narrow path. It was too late for that, he supposed.

He’d have to go to the Catholic church with Bailey, and that was enough to make him nervous. Bailey and her six siblings—thankfully she had felt condoms were necessary for the relationship they’d shared. The Rodeo Queen had been right about one thing—the Dixon family was like a very full cup, which runneth over and spilled down the table leg and flooded a good-size room. He wondered if there was a sermon in that.

He just hoped five-year-old Baby didn’t bring her lamb to church. Surely Bailey made her leave her pet at home. Sheep turds in the nice Lincoln town car his father had owned were likely to turn his stomach this early in the morning.

“Michael, I know you’re not eager about this,” Fred said, carefully standing off the toes that still pained him from last night’s putting debacle. “This is the only day you have before Bailey starts work for Gunner, so it’s an opportune time to make your move and make yourself look good. Bailey’s going to drag those young ’uns to church, and you just think about them shivering in that rattletrap metal truck bed she totes that family around in when they could be warm in your car with its heater and cushioned seats. The inch of snow we had last night isn’t going to stop Bailey from seeing those kids get proper churchin’.”

Michael sighed, and it was an unwilling sound of resignation. “Couldn’t I just drop them off and pick them up?”

“No!” Curly stated emphatically. “You know, Michael, it’s not going to kill you to spend an hour with the top of your head being reviewed by the Lord.”

“Why aren’t you going, then?” Michael demanded.

“We ain’t in the trouble with Bailey that you are.” Chili crossed his arms. “You’re the one who wants to save her from herself. Taking her to church is the best way I can think of to start the process—and you get the jump on Gunner. She may start work for him tomorrow, but she’ll have been to church with you today.”

It might not be the proper thought, but he’d much rather Bailey be in bed with him tonight. Still, he couldn’t say that to the cowboys—they were in their fatherly capacity, which they’d adopted as of last night’s agreement to save Bailey.

“Guess I wouldn’t want those kids to freeze to death.” He jammed on a black felt hat, which matched his formal suit, clothes he hadn’t worn since his father’s funeral. He felt stiff and out of place in these duds, and the sensation was sure to increase in the next few moments.

He warmed up the car, then backed down the driveway and headed to Bailey’s. Leaving the roomy car running, he strode up the bent-in-the-middle porch and stabbed the doorbell impatiently.

Baby opened the door, her little lamb at her side. Michael held back an inward groan. “Where’s Bailey, Baby?”

“Upstairs.” Baby put her finger in her mouth, which Michael thought couldn’t be all that sanitary considering the beast beside her. But she was dressed for church, just as the cowboys had predicted.

Brad appeared in a suit that was frayed at the cuffs and shoes that were wafer-thin in the sole. Michael felt slightly ashamed of his dude’s suit he’d just been thinking ill thoughts over. It was nicer than anything anyone in this house owned, and it didn’t matter that he felt like the Grim Reaper in it. He should be more appreciative of what he was able to buy. This family was up to their eyeballs in trying to pay off the tax man.

“Come in, Michael. How can we help you?” Brad asked.

That gave Michael a start. How can they help me—and then he realized that it was always his family or the cowboys who went to the Dixon house for one thing or another. Not once had they come to the wealthy Wade holding for assistance of any kind. The thought was humbling, and slightly embarrassing. “I thought to offer your family a ride to church,” he said gruffly.

“You don’t go to our church.” Brad looked at Michael curiously.

“Won’t hurt me to go once to any church.” Michael instinctively stiffened as four more children grouped around him, all dressed in hand-me-down clothing. “Got the car warming. What do you say?”

“It’s up to Bailey.” Brad shifted the burden of decision-making to his sister, jerking his head toward the stairs. “I’ll ask her.”

Bailey appeared at the top of the stairs at that moment. “Michael? I thought I heard your voice.”

She walked down, and he felt more nervous than he had at his first high school dance. She was plainly startled to see him, and her blond brows arched over large blue eyes. The tiny freckles he thought so sassy lightly sprinkled her nose. And that glorious hair he loved fell shiny and bright as new gold to her waist, without a hint of curl in it.

She was so sexy she made his knees feel like they might start knocking together. He tried to smile, but his hands were trembling and he was afraid she’d notice, so the smile slipped away. Having never asked Bailey to go anywhere with him, this was one tough assignment the cowboys had sent him on.

“Thought I’d take your crew to church. It’s mighty cold outside.”

“You needn’t have worried about us.” She looked at him steadily, a light scent of soap carrying from her skin. “We’ll manage.”

So true to this stubborn woman’s nature not to accept anything from anyone. How had Gunner managed with such ease? By not stepping on her pride. He cleared his throat. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to church,” he said softly, his eyes on hers. “Wouldn’t mind sitting with friends.”

She smiled, happiness crinkling the corners of her eyes and lifting the sides of her beautiful lips. “Well, if you can handle sitting in church with my crowd, then we’ll be happy to accept your offer.”

He nodded, but his insides were singing with joy. Gunner didn’t have anything on him for slick and burr sticky! He’d get it all figured out soon enough; practice made perfect, and he might even start to enjoy his new role as Bailey’s protector.

BAILEY HAD TO FIGHT giggles all through the hour-long service. Michael had no idea what he’d gotten himself into with his generous offer! She hoped he had a patron saint keeping watch on him, because during the last fifty-five minutes, his lap had been a continual seat for one Dixon child or the other. The nine-year-old, Beth, was too big to sit in his lap so she settled for sitting beside him, proudly helping him find where he should be reading in the church booklet or the hymnal. Brad stared straight ahead, but Bailey had seen the sides of his mouth twitching. The big cowboy from the Wade ranch could handle steers, but he had his hands full with little people.

Bailey closed her eyes, the smile erased from her lips. He’d really be bowled over if he knew a tiny person was on the way, one that would bear his features in some fashion. Her insides went cold. She couldn’t refuse his request to sit with friends, as he’d put it, knowing how uncomfortable he’d be in a church by himself. His father had been more likely to have a pact with the devil than peace with the Lord, and that was true even before his wife left him. Before they separated, the Wades didn’t attend church with their only child. Mrs. Wade had once confided to a town gossip that she didn’t reckon she could sit beside her husband for an hour anywhere without getting into an argument.

Bailey pressed her lips together. No, she would never have turned Michael away, knowing how miserable he’d be forcing himself to walk inside a church alone and sit there for an hour the subject of scrutiny. Afterward, single women would take advantage of the opportunity to flirt with him and cozy up to the Wade fortune. Like a deer tentatively making its way from the cover of woods, he’d be a prime target in the clearing for manhunters.

But she was going to have to figure out a way eventually to inform him that they were far more than friends.

They were soon-to-be parents.

WHEN THE HOUR was over, Michael breathed a huge sigh of victory. He’d made it! Only one crayon had rolled under the pew—rescued—one child’s shoe clattered loudly to the floor—rescued—and one bulletin had fluttered from a child’s hand to the floor in front of the altar. Rescued, by the kindly priest, who smiled at him and the passel of kids who insisted on sitting in his lap. Why did the Dixons have to sit in the front row, in front of the entire congregation and the choir and the religious personnel? Though they didn’t make a peep, the children were like a shifting landscape, never still except during the sermon.

That still had him amazed.

And only one bathroom break had been required—Bailey’s, to his astonishment. She hadn’t looked well when she hurried suddenly to the back of the church. Her skin had taken on a pasty look, pronounced by the bright sunlight streaming through the stained glass. Maybe she wasn’t getting good food to eat.

He could fix that.

Outside the church, as they all crammed into his Lincoln—had he ever thought this car was roomy?—he said, “Let me take everyone to the pancake house as my way of thanks.”

He slid his gaze to Bailey, who stared over Baby, planted firmly between them. Brad sat in the back, the extra children packed on and around him and breaking the law for seat-belt safety, no doubt. Some kids were double-belted, some perched on his lap, but Brad seemed oblivious to the crowding.

Michael admired his patience. Bailey was shaking her head to his offer, and he was afraid he’d lose his.

“You need not treat us for such a simple thing as going to church together. We’ve already had the enjoyment of your car, and that’s enough,” she said firmly.

But he’d heard the gasps from the back seat. The children likely hadn’t been out to eat in their entire lives. A pancake house was temptation beyond belief. “Please, Bailey,” he murmured, “let me do something small for the children.”

“It’s not small!” she replied under her breath. “Feeding all of us will cost a fortune, and we don’t have any way of splitting the tab with you.”

He saw the steel in her posture. But he was determined to have his way on this, now that he’d heard the delight from the too-well-mannered children who wouldn’t dare erupt in pleas, but who were no doubt hoping he’d somehow change Bailey’s mind.

“Bailey.” He made his voice low and pleading.

“You wouldn’t enjoy a meal with this bunch.” She turned her head and looked out the window. “Thank you, but no.”

Her stiff spine said clearly, We’re not a charity case.

Surely she knew he didn’t feel that way. There had to be something else making her dig in and refuse to share a few five-pancake stacks at Miss Nary’s Pancakes and Dairy. “I have good table manners,” he told her.

“Michael!” A smile tried to edge her lips, but she refused it.

“A man can’t always eat alone. It’s bad for the digestion,” he said, his voice innocent.

“Michael.” Her eyes turned soft and slightly worried. “Stop. Please.”

Between them, Baby was still as a pebble. She clutched her ragged doll to her breathlessly. Michael could almost feel the energy of her hope radiate straight inside his soul, and the children in the back seat listening avidly.

“Guess I could go home and scrounge something to eat by myself,” he complained pathetically and without shame.

“Maybe you could eat leftover peach pie.” Bailey’s gaze stayed relentlessly on his.

So she was jealous! That’s why she wouldn’t accept his offer. Well, he could fix that, too. “I sent it over to Gunner’s. I am a thoughtful neighbor.” His expression turned pitiful. “But I haven’t been to the grocery in two weeks, and a man gets tired of canned soup three meals a day—”

“All right,” Bailey interrupted. “I shouldn’t reward your underhanded tactics, but…did you really send Deenie over to Gunner’s?” She stared at him with hopeful eyes.

“Yes. He needed some glitter in his life, and I did not.” He started the car. “Let’s go get some pancakes.”

The back seat exploded with noisy happiness. Michael smiled. He liked being the hero. He liked getting Bailey to give in. The indirect approach definitely worked with her.

He wondered how he could manage to keep her from going to Gunner’s in the morning. Michael had sent Deenie and her peach pie to his rival; it seemed unnecessarily neighborly to hand over Bailey, too.

Maybe all this indirect approach was the right way to find out why Bailey had suddenly ceased her nighttime visits to his bed. He glanced at her, but she was fussing with Baby’s hair. Bailey still looked kind of peaked, which worried him. Her usually sparkly blue eyes seemed dimmed and tired. Maybe it was a womanly thing, a monthly function bothering her in some way.

Maybe she needed to go to the doctor, but couldn’t because she didn’t have the money!

Michael felt ill suddenly. If she needed to see a doctor, he’d carry her kicking and screaming and pay the bill himself. Maybe he should just directly ask Bailey why she’d quit coming around.

There was a time to be direct and a time to sidestep. He missed Bailey in his bed—and maybe he’d just best say so. Clear up any miscommunication on that matter they might have had.

Perhaps it would be even better to endure a month of Sundays hauling her flock to church.

Anything—including sticky pancakes with the numerous Dixon children—to get her upstairs and under the sheets with him again.

BAILEY KNEW it was a bad idea to go to the pancake house. It wasn’t the tab alone that bothered her; it was knowing that she probably wouldn’t be able to hold her stomach down. She’d had to leave during the service and hurry to the rest room. In all her life, she’d never been ill like this. It was like a flu she couldn’t get over. At Gunner’s she’d gotten sick from the aroma of sausage links and tacos, similar to the rich aromas in a pancake house. But she’d heard the gasps of joy over Michael’s invitation—and there’d been no way she could deprive her siblings of such a treat.

She prayed for just one hour of calm sea.

“Howdy!” Deenie’s father came to stand by their table with a big smile, eyeing their group with interest. “Brad, you’ve got yourself quite a gathering this morning.”

“I do, Dan.” Brad grinned at the man and motioned to a seat. “Sit down and join us for a cup of coffee.”

“I’ll do that. Deenie, grab a chair and sit yourself down so I can bend Brad’s ear.”

The momentarily calm sea rose in Bailey’s stomach, threatening to pitch as Deenie looked down on all of them. She slid into the empty seat between Michael and Brad, staying far away from Bailey and the children.

“How’s the collection coming along?” Dan Day asked.

“Fine, fine.” Brad nodded and stirred his tea. “I’ll be ready for the show. I think you’ll be pleased.”

“Show? What show?” Deenie halted her ogling of Michael and stared at her father. “Daddy, you’re not doing a show for him, are you? You said you never backed starving artists, only ones with real talent.” She sent a dismissive look around the table at the motley clan.

“Brad has real talent, Deenie.” Her father lowered his brows at her. “You’d be surprised at his work.”

The look on her face said she’d be shocked if he could paint with more than one primary color. Her mouth was wide open with distaste. Bailey didn’t know how much longer she was going to be able to hold onto the love-your-brother homily she’d just enjoyed in church. Pouring her water glass over Deenie’s hair-sprayed head wouldn’t be loving, but watching the hard-packed shellac turn into rivulets of glue would be very satisfying. She bit her lip to keep from snatching up the glass, though it was difficult when Deenie’s hand roamed over to Michael’s.

“Everybody’s doing their part to help the Dixons with their tax problem,” she said smoothly. “It’s nice of you to buy them Sunday brunch.”

“Mind your manners, Deenie,” her father commanded swiftly. “The whole town’s offered to do craft shows and bake sales to help them out, and Bailey’s turned ’em all down flat. I’m not doing this show for charity. I’m doing it because it’s gonna make me a huge pile of frijoles. And I’m picking up the tab for ya’ll’s meal today.” He threw a hundred-dollar bill on the table and waved Michael’s protest off. “It’s minor compared to the money you’re going to bring me at the showing, Brad. Consider it a slight advance.”

“Oh, Daddy.” Deenie’s tone was disbelieving and demeaning. Clearly anything the Dixons had couldn’t be worth much.

“I’ve never seen an artist of Brad’s talent. He’s worth showcasing. One day, you’re going to see his work in the most fashionable homes in Hollywood.”

“Hollywood!” Deenie breathed. “I don’t believe it.” But her gaze fastened on Brad with sudden, calculating interest.

“I think your father’s being a bit of a salesman,” Brad said modestly.

She snapped her head around to stare at her father. “Are you, Daddy?”

“Nope,” he said simply. “My wallet started jumping the minute I laid eyes on Brad’s work.”

“Oh, my,” she said in a silky whisper. “Daddy never does anything unless it’s going to win big.” Her eyes went doe huge on Brad as if she’d never seen him before. “Can you paint me?”

“Well—” Brad glanced at Dan hesitantly.

“I’ve always dreamed of Hollywood,” Deenie said, pleading. “You could paint me in my best evening gown, with my Judith Lieberman sparkly shoes and my heirloom jewelry. I’d look like a movie star. Would you, Brad?”

Bailey lowered her eyes at Brad’s predicament. Her stomach felt like it might heave any second. The children were all sitting quietly, staring at Deenie and big Mr. Day, who was smiling at his daughter as if she’d had an idea as bright as her silvery bleached hair.

Bailey felt a hand cover hers suddenly. She glanced up to see Michael mouth the words, “Are you all right?”

She nodded briskly, trying not to think how comforting and warm his skin felt on hers. He withdrew his fingers, and her shoulders sagged. Suddenly, the overwhelming combination of pancakes and eggs and sausage and Deenie’s disdain washed over her in a tidal wave, prickling her skin with chill bumps and the panicked realization that she was going to be sick again.

“Excuse me,” she blurted, leaping up from the table. She flew to the washroom, painfully aware of all the pairs of eyes watching her mad dash.

Ten minutes later, she collected herself enough to return to the table. Deenie and Mr. Day had departed. Michael stared at her in consternation. Brad looked away to save her from embarrassment. The children, well used to her frequent dives into a bathroom, barely looked up from the food they were eating.

Bailey knew she wouldn’t make it through another minute in the pancake house. “Do you mind if I go sit in your car?”

Michael stood at once. “Of course not.” He helped her into her coat and escorted her out into the bracing, fresh, crisp air. “Are you all right?”

She nodded weakly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” He opened the car door so she could slide in, then closed it and went around to the driver’s side and got in. “You left church this morning, too. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just something I ate, probably.” The story she hadn’t really been willing to tell Gunner didn’t fall any easier from her lips now. Somehow she had to tell Michael the truth.

“You didn’t eat anything.” He brushed her hair from her face. “You’re pale, Bailey. You need to see a doctor. I’m taking you over to Doc Watson’s house right now and tell him he needs to take a look at you.”

“No!” Bailey shook her head. “Don’t disturb him on Sunday, Michael.”

“He’s a doctor, that’s what he’s for.” Michael took a deep breath. “Let me run you to the emergency room, then.”

“I’m fine. I already saw Doc Watson this week, anyway.”

Michael looked at her suspiciously. “You did?” It was obvious he didn’t believe her. “What did he say?”

“It’s just a stomach flu.” Now was not the right time to tell him the truth, so she could only hope that this little fib right after church wasn’t going to do her chances for heaven serious damage. But she was more ashamed and upset than ever. Dread of his reaction dried her mouth. He certainly wouldn’t be delighted with their predicament, that much she knew.

“You’ve had a stomach flu that’s making you this ill for as many days as it’s been since you’ve seen the doc.” He shook his head. “Doc Watson’s getting old. You could have something more serious, Bailey, like appendicitis or something.”

“I don’t!” she snapped. Ashamed, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bite your head off. I’d really just like to go home and lie down.” She rolled her head against the headrest to look at Michael. His worried gaze went deep into her heart. She had to tell him soon, and the truth of what was wrong with her made her feel that much worse.

The Dixon family left the pancake house and tumbled into the car. Five little pairs of hands reached up to stroke Bailey’s face. “Are you okay?” the children asked, petting her hair and her shoulders and every other part of her they could reach.

“You usually love pancakes,” Beth pointed out with nine-year-old common sense.

“I know.” Bailey closed her eyes. “I’m sorry I cut everyone’s breakfast short.” Especially the only time some of her siblings had ever been out for a meal.

“You didn’t.” Brad belted in the kids and himself. “We were almost finished, anyway.”

“Bailey’s been sick all week,” six-year-old Amy told Michael, her blue ribbons bouncing importantly. “Her tummy’s upset.”

“Like a volcano,” seven-year-old Sam informed him. “We watched a video of one in school, and that’s exactly what Bailey erupts like.” The freckles on his face were darker than Bailey’s and smudged with syrup.

Eight-year-old Paul shook his head. “She’s more like a geyser. They spew all the time.” His tone was righteous with the superiority of greater age.

“She erupts,” Sam insisted belligerently.

“Spews!” Paul stated authoritatively.

“Erupts!” Hating to be wrong, indignant because he was younger than Paul and stinging from Paul’s know-it-all tone, Sam launched a sneaky fist at his brother.

“Spews! Bailey, Sam hit me!” Paul cried.

Bailey didn’t see the hitting, but the back seat warfare made her want to slide under the floor mat.

Suddenly, all the well-behaved Dixon children were shouting, the din like loud surround-sound in a movie theater.

“Paul’s looking at me!” Sam shrieked. “He’s making those wolf fangs you told him not to!”

Baby began crying in the front seat. “I want my lamb baby!”

“Hey!” Brad tried to pin arms and separate bodies, but the commotion swelled out of control. Beth screeched at the top of her lungs, pressing against the car door to keep herself safe from flying limbs and starting to cry because her freshly ironed dress was getting mussed. Bailey was so weak she could only groan. She didn’t want to move and risk the nausea returning. The smell of syrup and bacon clung to the occupants of the car, and with the uproar behind her, she seriously feared her stomach would have another heave of volcano or geyser proportions and illustrate Sam’s and Paul’s argument more vividly than they were.

“Enough!” Michael roared.

The car quieted instantly. Even Bailey rolled her head to stare at him. No one had ever heard Michael raise his voice.

“Now, if you can’t behave—Paul, don’t look at Sam—I won’t take any of you with us the next time I take your sister out.”

Bailey’s lips parted. Take me out? Is this a date? It certainly sounded that way!

Apparently, Michael thought so, too. “Your sister and your brother,” he amended quickly. “If you can’t act like big people, you don’t get to go with us. Got it?”

There was a chorus of yes, sirs, and the back seat remained quiet.

“Now. About your virus, which got this whole debate started, Bailey.”

She felt Michael’s gaze on her, questioning. “It’s nothing,” she reiterated.

“It’s something. You’re not skimping on going to the doctor because of money, are you?”

“No. I told you, I went to Doc Watson.” She didn’t dare look at him.

“I’m taking you home,” Michael said, his voice strong and determined. “And I’m checking on you tonight, after I’ve done my chores. If you’re not better, if you’re not looking a lot more like the Bailey I know, I’m hauling you into Dallas to a first-rate physician.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he put a restraining hand on her leg. “I mean to have my way about this, Bailey. It doesn’t do your family any good if you don’t take care of yourself, and money shouldn’t be an issue. You’ve rarely been sick a day in your life, but if one of my cows was as sick as you are, I’d be calling out the vet. And if you’ve been ill like this for a week, you need a good, thorough going-over by a qualified city doctor. In fact, I’ve got a good mind to call Doc Watson and tell him you need a prescription to get you on the road to recovery. I’ve got my cell phone with me, and—”

“Michael! Please just take me home!” Bailey realized he was about to call Doc Watson. “I promise I’ll be better soon.”

He slowly turned off the cell phone. “Okay. But much more spewing or erupting, and off you go. If the kids get sick with this bug, you’re going to have a real mess on your hands.”

Bailey tore her gaze away from his. She had one. He just didn’t know how serious the mess was.