Cowboy Come Home (10 page)

“And it doesn’t hurt that they’re wealthy and handsome,” he added with sarcasm.

She stared at him solemnly. “You know, when I first came here, I might have agreed with you. They’re all you said and more. Just as you are. But it’s their values that are the real catch. A woman wants more than a handsome face. She wants to know that her husband will be there tomorrow, no matter what it brings. She wants to know that he’ll always love her, that he’ll never intentionally hurt her.”

She’d had enough. It had been a long day. “But, as I said, I’ll have to look elsewhere.” Then she stood. “I’m going to bed now. The children will be up early.”

“Camille—” he began, but she was already at the door, and she didn’t wait to discuss her future anymore. Certainly not with him. Because he wouldn’t be a part of it, which happened to make it look pretty bleak.

IN SPITE OF her early bedtime, Camille hadn’t gone to sleep right away. When she finally did fall asleep, it was deeply. So deeply, in fact, it took several minutes for Torie’s crying to awaken her.

Panicked, she shoved back the covers and ran for the baby’s bedroom without even turning on any lights.

And ran smack into Griffin, bare chested, rumpled sweatpants the only clothing he wore.

His arms shot out to keep her from falling, and she shivered. “The—the baby!”

“You thought I was out for an evening stroll?”

She ignored his sarcasm, opening the door to the baby’s room. The night-light seemed too bright after the darkness, but it showed baby Torie clinging to the side of her crib, crying.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s all right,” Camille hurriedly assured the baby. Picking her up, she cuddled the little girl against her.

“Damn it, Camille! Don’t you own a robe?”

Camille turned to stare at him. He was standing there bare chested, chastising her for not wearing a robe? “I was in a hurry,” she said. “You don’t have one on, either.”

“No, but I’m not standing in front of a light in a little piece of material that reveals more than it conceals!”

Chapter Eight

T
he woman was driving him crazy! All day long, he’d watched her cuddle the babies against her breast, smile, laugh, love the children.

And he was jealous!

Now she was standing before him practically naked and didn’t even realize it.

But he did.

With flushed cheeks, she squared off at him, Tone clutched to her shoulder. “Don’t look!”

“How can I help it?”

“I don’t need you here. Go away. Then you won’t be bothered.”

Her chin was in the air, which, he’d already learned, meant she was in her stubborn mode. She might not be blood kin to the Randalls, but she had that particular Randall trait mastered.

Her words also showed how little she understood the male psyche. Like he would be able to forget her tempting body just because he wasn’t in the same room with her.

Or the same state.

He pulled his stare from her, upset at how reluctantly he did so. “Do you want me to get a bottle for Torie?”

“No! You might think I was trying to seduce you when I took the bottle.” She glared at him.

“Camille, I didn’t mean—”

“What makes you think I’d
want
you to many me?” With a sniff that she tried to hide by turning away from him, she added, “I don’t have any money left to attract a man, so I think I’ll manage on my own.”

He couldn’t remain across the room. In seconds he’d crossed the space between them and wrapped his arms around the woman and child. Rocking her head back against his shoulder, he soothed her attempt to pull away. “Cammy, sweetheart, any man who only wanted your money, not you, is a fool. He threw away the most valuable thing.”

Another sniff. “You don’t believe that.”

“Oh, yeah, I do. Just because marriage isn’t for me, doesn’t mean—All four of my cousins believe it. Isn’t that enough? Can’t you see how much they believe in the relationship they have with their wives?”

“Yes. So why can’t you believe it?”

He stiffened.

She lifted her head and stared into his eyes. “Please, I’m not suggesting you marry me. But—I’ve watched you. You fight against believing in love and marriage. And yet you expect me to believe?”

His breathing grew labored. How could he answer her? “I want you to believe. I want you to have what my cousins have.”

“But you don’t believe it will last?”

His hold around her tightened, as if by holding her close he could convince her. “My mother taught me feelings weren’t reliable. I do well in the stock market because I never let my feelings intervene. I analyze, I use logic, I reduce everything to fact. I never use gut feelings, like some people.”

He swallowed, fighting the warmth flooding him as he pressed her against him. “Feelings are transitory. They don’t last. As happy as my four cousins are now, in five years they could be ripped apart, children separated from one parent or the other, anger, animosity where love once was.”

“No!” She buried her head in his shoulder, and Torie whimpered. “Don’t even say such a thing. I won’t believe it. It won’t happen.”

His lips caressed her temple, and he inhaled her scent. He wanted to deny his own words, but he couldn’t. He’d been taught too well. “Cammy, there are no guarantees.”

She lifted her head and stared at him, her blue eyes flooded with tears. “You’re wrong, Griffin Randall. If there ever was a group whose marriages won’t fail, it’s your cousins. They’ll beat the odds.”

“Why? What makes them so different?” He wanted her to convince him, to give him facts that made a difference.

“Because they love each other more than themselves. I’ve seen all of them put the other first, do chores for the other even though they were tired. Reach out for each other when there was need. I’ve seen it!”

“And when one of them stops?”

“They won’t! They won’t!” she almost shouted, and Torie, feeling the tension, whimpered again.

So there they were. No facts. Nothing to analyze. Just emotion. And he didn’t trust emotion. “I’ll go get Torie’s bottle,” he muttered, and stepped away from the warm bundle he’d held.

And felt an immediate loss.

He hurried out the door to the kitchen, where he could concentrate on material things, like bottles, dishes, food. Anything but feelings.

CAMILLE OPENED HER EYES the next morning to find two little boys staring at her. “Richard, Russell, what time is it?”

“Breakfast,” one of them announced with a happy smile.

She checked her watch to discover she’d overslept, something that seldom happened with kids. “Oh, Toby has school. Go wake up Toby, would you, guys? And I’ll get dressed and start breakfast.”

“Breakfast,” one of the twins repeated—Richard, she thought. Then they ran from the room.

Camille grabbed jeans and a shirt and scrambled into them. No time for a shower now. As soon as she tied her tennis shoes, she sprinted for the door. Time to do a quick check on Torie, Elizabeth and Caroline before she went downstairs.

It occurred to her that she should awaken Griffin, but after their midnight confrontation, she dismissed that idea. All three girls were still asleep, which surprised Camille. When she reached Torie, she leaned over to tuck the cover a little closer to her baby cheeks and felt a warmth that seemed excessive.

She ran her hand over the baby’s head and recognized fever, even as inexperienced as she was.

“Oh, no!” Her decision not to awaken Griffin was immediately thrown out. “Griffin?” she yelled as she picked up the baby and headed toward the door.

He met her in the hallway, his eyes wide with shock. He was bare chested again. “What’s wrong?”

“Feel her,” she insisted, hoping he would tell her she was wrong about Torie’s fever.

Puzzled, he reached out a hand. “She’s hot. Do you think she has fever?”

“Yes. I’m going to call the doctor. Can you get Toby up for school? I sent the twins, but they—”

“I’ll manage,” he assured her, turning her in the direction of the stairs. “Go ahead.”

A quick conversation with Doc Jacoby took some of the panic away, but suddenly all the experience Camille had gained in the past few weeks seemed woefully inadequate. She was so afraid she wouldn’t be able to care for little Tone.

She searched the shelves and found the baby Tylenol. Then she fixed a bottle of water, dropping the medicine into the bottle so the water turned pink.

All the movement had awakened Torie, and she was complaining. Her mewling sounded a lot like her behavior last night. Camille suddenly panicked, wondering if the baby had been sick last night, but she and Griffin had been too involved in their own difficulties to notice.

The sound of boots tumbling down the stairs reminded her that Toby had to be sent off to school. When Griffin and the three boys came through the door, their first thoughts were of Torie, not breakfast.

“What did the doctor say?” Griffin asked. His concerned look was reflected in Toby’s gaze.

“I’m giving her medicine, and Doc is on his way. He said it probably wasn’t anything serious.” She tried to smile, hoping to reassure them, but she felt the smile wobble around the edges.

“I can’t go to school if Torie’s sick,” Toby said, his brows knitting together. “You might need me to help. Sometimes I hold her.”

Griffin and Camille exchanged a look before he knelt down beside the eight-year-old. “You are a terrific help with Torie, Toby, but Doc says it’s not serious. And you know your mom expects you to be in school.”

“But—”

“After school, I’ll be waiting for you to come home,” Camille told him, “because you’ll be able to relieve me by rocking her. So don’t get too tired at school.”

“Okay. I’ll skip recess today so I’ll have energy,” he solemnly assured her.

Camille couldn’t help it. Toby might not be much for hugs but he was getting one now. “You are such a terrific boy, Toby Randall.” She even kissed his cheek.

When she released him, he looked at Griffin, his cheeks red, and protested. “Girls.”

“Yeah,” Griffin said in sympathy. “But she’s right. You’re a good man, Toby.”

The boy ducked his head, and Camille did what she could to relieve his embarrassment. “Time for breakfast. Could you guys eat cereal this morning? I don’t have—”

“I’ll take care of breakfast,” Griffin said. “You take care of Torie.”

Much to her amazement, he began frying bacon, while Toby, with the doubtful assistance of the twins, set the table. Toby even filled the small, roly-poly juice glasses the twins used with orange juice. Then he buttered toast as it popped up.

Camille set in the rocker, cuddling Torie and trying to get her to swallow the water, and watched the menfolk take care of the food. Then, just as Griff was scrambling eggs, she heard one of the girls.

“Oh, Toby, could you check on the girls? I think they’re waking up. Just bring them down here in their pajamas. I’ll help them dress later,” Camille instructed.

The little boy raced upstairs. A couple of minutes later, as Griffin was putting the eggs on a plate, Toby reentered the kitchen, holding each little girl’s hand.

“I don’t think Caroline feels good,” Toby whispered to Camille as he approached her.

With shaking fingers, Camille reached out to touch Caroline’s flushed cheeks. “Oh, no. Griff?”

He looked up from the stove, distracted. “Yeah?”

“Caroline’s sick, too.” She tucked the bottle for Torie under her chin and reached out to hug Caroline.

Griff quickly settled the three boys at the table, with Toby in charge of the twins, then put Elizabeth in her high chair.

“Do you think it’s the same problem as Torie?”

“I don’t know. Doc should—” Camille heard a car drive up. “Maybe that’s him now.”

She’d met Doc Jacoby at church, so Camille recognized his cheerful face as he entered the house without knocking. “We’re glad you came, Doc.”

“Easier than having you gather all these young’uns up and come to the office. How are we doing?” he asked as he approached Camille and Torie.

“We seem to have two sick ones. Caroline is running a fever, too, we think.” She nodded her head toward the little girl cuddled in Griffin’s arms.

Doc pulled up a chair next to the rocker and extended his hands for Torie. “We’ll start with this little one and then we’ll get to Caroline.”

Camille hoped Doc was okay working with an audience. Even Elizabeth stopped eating her toast to watch him examine her cousin.

“Well, now, little girl, you’re going to be just fine,” he muttered, and Camille breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s not bad?” she asked.

Doc chuckled. “Oh, it’s going to be bad for you two. Torie has chicken pox. She’s going to be mighty fussy before it’s all over. And so will the rest of them. Toby, you had chicken pox in kindergarten, didn’t you?”

Toby frowned. “I think so. Is that when you get bumps all over your body?”

“That’s right.”

Camille remembered her own childhood bout with chicken pox and shuddered. “What can we do to help them?”

“There’s a special oatmeal bath you give them twice a day. Calamine lotion will help ease the itchiness, too. Mittens will keep the little ones from scratching too much.” He paused and looked at her and Griffin. “Mostly, you just have to wait it out.”

“Should we call their parents? I hate to ruin their vacation,” Camille said.

“Naw, no need to do that. You got enough help here?”

“Yes, we have two ladies coming every day to clean, and Red cooked a lot of meals and froze them. We should be all right.”

Griffin didn’t sound as sure. “Do you mean all the kids are going to come down with chicken pox?”

“Well, now, Toby shouldn’t, though I’ve heard of some kids getting it twice. But the other five probably will. Looks like Torie’s having a light case of it, but you never can tell. I’ve seen kids get scabs in a lot of strange places, even inside their noses.”

“Don’t you think I should stay home and help?” Toby asked anxiously.

Camille held her breath, hoping Doc would deal gently with the little boy’s concern.

“That’s a mighty nice offer, Toby, but the babies are mostly gonna sleep. Your mom will want you in school. Then when you get home, you can help these two.”