Loving A Lonesome Cowboy

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Relief and guilt warred within him. This was the first time he could remember thinking about her without a knife slicing through his heart. Time would lessen the pain and grief, his friends and neighbors had told him. He hadn’t believed them. Hadn’t wanted to believe them. Emily deserved more from him.

His gaze strayed toward the house, his thoughts toward the little spitfire inside. She may look small and fragile, but she had muscles in her arms that would put some of his ranch hands to shame. Still, her biceps weren’t all that big, more unexpected because she looked so feminine with all that flowing red-gold hair and full wide mouth, and it got him wondering about where else she might have a muscle or two that would surprise him.

Disgusted as he was with his thoughts, he couldn’t let go of them. Sara’s smile had somehow dug a groove in the replay area of his brain and kept bushwhacking him when he least expected it. Like last night in the shower, and then after he’d hung his hat for the night. What he had to do was get the hell out of here. Go string some fence. Chop wood. Take Jet for a long ride. The stallion hadn’t been exercised today.

And when Ethan was finished, he’d go straight back to his shack in his own corner of the world and stay put until it was time to pick up the girls. He glanced at his watch. Erika and Denise would be here in less than twenty-four hours and he’d have more than he could handle. Sam could give Sara a check out of the ranch account and Ethan wouldn’t have to see her again.

He patted his shirt pocket for his keys. Then his jeans pocket. No keys. He patted his shirt again. What in the hell had he done—

“Mr. Ethan?”

He turned abruptly at the sound of Misty’s soft voice. She immediately turned pink and half hid behind the white picket gate to the sidewalk.

Oh, hell. He cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

“Are you coming back?”

His gaze rose over her head. Had Sara put the girl up to this? “Does your mom know where you are?”

Her eyes got big, and she shook her head.

“She’s not going to like you being out here alone.”

A shy smile lifted her tiny lips. “I’m not alone. I’m with you.”

Something in her tone and face tugged at him. Something akin to trust. It pierced a corner of his ice-encased heart, shattering it, the pieces melting faster than he knew how to respond. “Well, I’m not sticking around, so you’d better go inside.”

He expected her to bolt for the house. He didn’t want her trust. Didn’t deserve it. Emily had trusted him. Look where it got her.

Obviously he hadn’t sounded as gruff as he thought. Misty’s expression didn’t even waver. “When are you coming back?”

He passed a weary hand over his face. “I don’t think I am.”

Alarm widened pretty blue eyes so much like her mother’s. “Who’s going to bring us dinner?”

Surprised, Ethan frowned, then started to chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not polite to laugh at somebody.”

“I’m sorry.”

The corners of her mouth started to lift again. “Mom says you’re a nice man. You’re not really a grouch. Just maybe sad about something.”

Ethan’s humor fled. What did Sara think she was doing analyzing him?

From inside the house, Sara’s panicked voice called out for her daughter. Misty spun toward the sound, then she looked back at him. “Don’t tell her I was out here, okay?”

He nodded.

“Promise?” She was halfway down the sidewalk but she stopped and waited for him to answer.

“Promise.”

“Then cross your heart,” she said, walking backwards toward the house.

Using his index finger, he made an X on the left side of his chest where his heart should have been. At least someone still thought he had one.

AS SOON AS SARA saw Ethan’s truck in the drive that evening, she let go of the drapes so he couldn’t see her waiting. At least she assumed the dust that had been kicked up belonged to his truck. The dusky twilight hampered her vision and easily camouflaged the dark-colored pickup.

She was glad Misty was still changing into her pajamas, just in case Ethan put up a fight. Not that he’d win. Sara pushed back her sleeves, then leaned against the door and listened.

A minute later she thought she heard the truck’s engine and possibly the door opening. She didn’t hear it close, but that didn’t surprise her. The coward had probably left the driver’s door open and the motor running.

When she heard the steps to the porch creak, she flung open the door. The astonished look on Ethan’s face was priceless. He’d been just about to set a picnic basket on the porch, but he immediately straightened.

“Here,” he said and tried to hand her the basket.

She didn’t take it. “What’s this?”

He shrugged. “Supper.”

“How nice.” She opened the door the rest of the way and stepped back. “Come in. I’ll set an extra place at the table.”

He rolled a shoulder, and tried to pass her the basket again. “I’m not staying.”

“Why not?” She tilted her head to the side and eyed him quizzically. What in the heck did he think she wanted from him other than a job?

“I have things to do.”

“I see.” She straightened her back. “Thank you, Mr. Slade, but we don’t accept charity.”

He put his booted foot in the door when she attempted to close it. “What are you talking about?”

She eyed his boot meaningfully, and he drew it back. “I thought you were bringing some food to share so that we could all sit down together, not make a charitable deposit.”

“A what?”

“I’ve already made something for our dinner, but thank you, anyway.”

He still didn’t move so she turned around and headed for the kitchen. As she passed the hall, she called to Misty that dinner was on the table. Behind her, she heard Ethan mutter a curse.

She bit back a smile and kept on going.

When they got to the kitchen and all that was on the table were crackers and cheese, a nearly empty jar of peanut butter and a cut-up apple that was beginning to brown, her bravado faltered. Embarrassment swelled in her chest until it blocked her throat. What kind of mother did he think she was? He wouldn’t know that eating like this for an entire month would still be better than staying under Cal’s cruel and controlling thumb.

Without a word, Ethan set the basket in the center of the table, sat down and started unloading the food. A ribbon of steam spiraled up from the slab of ribs he unwrapped, and the pan of baked beans was also still hot, judging by the way he handled it. Two large ripe tomatoes and a bag of baby carrots had been carefully kept away from the hot stuff.

When he pulled out the lattice-topped pie, her stomach rumbled indelicately. Horrified, she turned away and got out another plate and silverware.

“Wow!” Misty walked into the kitchen, her eyes wide and focused on the table. “I’m having seconds.”

Sara smiled, but the ache in her chest grew. She should be the one providing this meal for her daughter. “Maybe you’d better have firsts first, huh? After you say hello to Mr. Slade.”

Misty looked shyly at him. “Thanks, Mr. Ethan.”

He winked at her, a rare smile curving his mouth, and a flutter replaced the ache in Sara’s chest. Then she watched in amazement as Misty, who was normally shy around men, took the chair closest to him.

Putting Ethan’s plate and silverware in front of him, Sara nodded to her daughter. “Let’s see your hands.”

Misty held up both palms.

Sara vaguely acknowledged they were clean. Standing so close to Ethan, she’d gotten a strong whiff of a musky pine scent that made her understand her daughter’s attraction to the man. When his gaze warily lifted to her face, she knew she’d lingered too long.

Unnecessarily, she reached over and fussed with the stack of napkins. “This looks great.” Her voice sounded high, unnatural. She cleared her throat. “Did you make it?”

“Only the beans.”

“Oh.” She sat down and lamely passed the plate of crackers to Misty, who looked at her as if she were insane. “The drinks,” Sara said abruptly and started to jump up.

Ethan laid a hand on her arm. “Here.” With his other hand, he brought out a carton of orange juice.

Sara stared numbly at it. He hadn’t released her arm yet, and his warmth was doing strange things to her thought process. “Glasses,” she said weakly.

“I’ll get them.” His hand trailed away from her and her entire body tightened.

Sara swallowed. How pathetic. A man treated her with decency and she turned into a disgusting puddle of need. She helped Misty fix her plate, noticing that Ethan had gone unerringly to the cabinet where the glasses were kept. He took three down and was about to turn toward the sink when he realized she’d already washed them all.

Their eyes met and she quickly looked away.

“That’s enough, Mom.”

Sara stared down at Misty’s plate. She’d dished up enough food for three linebackers. Quickly, she put the filled plate in front of her own chair and fixed Misty a new one.

Ethan sat down and glanced at the mound of food. She thought she saw a twinkle of amusement in his eye, but he said nothing, just silently poured three glasses of juice.

“Thank you,” she said, and Misty immediately echoed her.

They ate in silence for the next few minutes, Misty eating so fast that Sara had to put a restraining hand on her arm twice. Sara’s own appetite had dwindled as she worried about what Ethan must be thinking.

She wanted to explain to him she really wasn’t a bad mother, that her daughter had a good appetite, that she really wasn’t starving…that she was far better off today, homeless and poor, than she was a month ago, living in the Conroy mansion.

Sara reminded herself often enough. It was essential in order to fend off the self-doubt that had been so intricately molded and sculpted by years of criticism and belittlement.