Must Love Cowboys (22 page)

Kentucky winters were nothing like those in Wyoming. If I stayed where I was, I would be snowed in the bunkhouse for weeks, perhaps even months, with these guys. How would I cope with a life so far removed from my usual stomping grounds, a lifestyle so different from my own?

Finding no answers to my questions in my own head, I took a seat in the mess hall. A sweeping glance around the table revealed myriad expressions—some introspective, some laughing, some simply neutral as they ate their food. It struck me then that I truly could spend a winter with these men, and I doubted I would ever experience any boredom whatsoever.

That thought cheered me, and I caught myself smiling—or rather, Bull did.

“Someone looks mighty damned pleased with herself this morning,” he said, his usual bombastic tone carrying a touch of suggestion.

In another phase of my life, I would have blushed. Now, I simply responded with a serene smile and a softly uttered, “With good reason,” before returning my attention to my plate. I'd outdone myself on the scrambled eggs that morning, tossing in a few extra seasonings I'd never included before. Apparently sex with Wyatt had improved my creative spirit along with my mood.

Bull gaped at me, openmouthed. “That's all you're gonna say?”

“Yep.” As a coworker, I was under no obligation to tell him anything, and I doubted I would have said very much, even to a friend. From a need-to-know standpoint?
Zip.

I turned my still-serene smile on Sonny, who was giving his plate a very thorough scraping with the side of his fork. “Did you get enough to eat?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he replied. “Just making sure I got it all.”

“Glad to hear it.” Recalling the one spurt of Wyatt's semen that wound up on my neck instead of in my mouth brought on a sudden bout of tingles. “We wouldn't want anything to go to waste.”

I followed that statement with a meaningful glance at Wyatt, whose barely audible chuckle proved he'd understood me perfectly. Even a napkin pressed to his lips couldn't hide his grin.

I'd gotten a taste of the inside joke experience with Dean, but for some reason it was far more satisfying with Wyatt.

Some reason?

Who was I kidding? I knew exactly what that reason was.

I was falling in love with Wyatt McCabe.

With breakfast over and done with, I fixed lunch for the guys and sent them on their way. Wyatt gave me one heck of a smooch before he left. Apparently being sucked off by your girlfriend tended to put a guy in a grateful mood.

After I finished cleaning up the kitchen, I took a peek through the door to the mess hall. Calvin was sitting in one of the recliners, reading a book.

“Need anything?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not unless you know how to turn the clock back twenty years.”

“Sorry. No can do. Be a neat trick, though.”

“That's the trouble with getting older,” he said with a wistful smile. “The mistakes you've made tend to stand out more than the things you did right.”

Although I hadn't reached that point and didn't share his perspective, I couldn't recall ever having made any glaring mistakes. On the contrary, staying that first night in the bunkhouse had turned out to be one of my better moves, and it had taken precedence over just about anything else I'd ever done—good or bad. A brief flashback to
It's a Wonderful Life
brought on a smile. Jimmy Stewart's character had wished he'd never been born. While that particular wish had never crossed my mind, neither had I ever considered my life to have had much of an impact on anyone else's.

But it had. The man sitting there comfortably reading a book was living proof of that.

“I've been thinkin' about Jeannine,” he went on. “I never shoulda run off like that—cut myself off from the only family I had.” He paused, frowning. “Too late now.”

“Does that mean you don't want to talk to her lawyers?”

“Haven't decided yet,” he replied. “If she did leave me something in her will, I'm not sure I should accept it. Just doesn't seem right to benefit from her death when I've done my best to avoid her for so long.”

“If I read those letters correctly, your estrangement was as much her fault as it was yours. Maybe this is her way of trying to make amends.”

Calvin shifted in his chair and fidgeted with a page of his book as though reluctant to put his thoughts into words.

“More like easing her conscience,” he finally said. “My only mistake was in letting her have her way; letting her ignore her own kin while she pretended to be something she wasn't.”

Obviously he still felt some animosity toward his sister, even after her death. “Wouldn't hurt to talk to them, though, would it? I mean, if you don't want any part of the inheritance, you need to tell them so. There might be a secondary beneficiary who's hanging from a limb waiting for you to be found.” I didn't add my suspicions that if he refused the bequest, whoever that person was might stop trying to kill him.

I wished I'd known Calvin better. I'd barely met the man before he was carted off to the hospital, which made knowing what to say and when to say it that much more difficult. The suggestion that he might have been the victim of an attempted murder could cause all kinds of worries, many of which might prove to be groundless.

“True,” he said. “I'm still not sure I want to get mixed up in any of it. You know how rich people are.”

Never having known any, I could only guess at what he meant. However, if the news media reported anything accurately, Wyatt's comment about wealthy people hanging on to their money tooth and nail was probably spot-on.

“I don't blame you for not wanting to open a can of worms, but—” How on earth could I sound convincing without alarming him or seeming paranoid? I paused for a moment to regroup. “What if she just wanted closure of some kind? To put your mind at ease or even to apologize?”

“Could be. But once you've opened a can of worms, it's damn near impossible to put the lid back on.”

I certainly couldn't argue with that. “True.” I waved a conciliatory hand. “It's up to you to decide.”

“I'll let you know if I change my mind.” With a brief nod, he leaned back in his chair and reopened the book in a manner that announced quite clearly that the subject was closed.

And he thought my grandfather was stubborn.

“Any idea what you'd like for lunch?”

“Doesn't matter,” Calvin said. “I'm sure it'll be delicious.”

I was a little surprised that he was so…compliant. So willing to sit back and let me wait on him with minimal input. He'd obviously been a hard worker all of his life and had seldom heeded doctor's orders. Had his near-death experience changed him that much? “Did your doctor say how long he wanted you to take it easy?”

“I'm supposed to see him again in two weeks,” he replied. “Guess I'll hear all about that then.”

From that I could assume I would be staying on for at least another two weeks, which meant I wouldn't be home for the Derby. I could watch the race, of course, but it was a safe bet that Wyoming television stations didn't give it the same kind of all-day coverage we got in Louisville. Cowboys probably didn't have much interest in that sort of horse race.

When my trip was in the planning stages, I'd seen something about rodeos being held regularly in Jackson Hole during the summer, but I had no idea whether there was one big rodeo the entire state celebrated the way Kentucky did with the Derby. I made a mental note to look it up when I had the chance. In the meantime, I couldn't imagine Wyoming would have much going on in late April, unless it was the birth of about a bajillion calves, in which case everyone would be too busy to do much partying.

Fortunately, I had the day's menu planned out ahead of time, which eliminated a lot of time-consuming guesswork—until I remembered the pork chops. I could make butterscotch pies in my sleep, but the pork chops were another issue altogether. Fried, grilled, or baked? Breaded or plain? Barbecued or marinated? By the time I got around to contemplating this dilemma, the pies were already chilling in the fridge and the guys were gone for the day, so I asked Calvin.

“Fried,” he replied. “I just throw them on the griddle with a little salt and pepper.”

Somehow, I thought I could be more creative than that, but at least I knew what the men were used to.

“Sounds good. I'm going to run into Rock Springs this morning. Do you need anything besides a pill organizer?”

“Prob'ly not—unless you can find me some more books to read.”

Judging by the cover, the book he held was a western.
Big surprise
. “I'll see what I can come up with.” The thump of Ophelia's tail drew my eye to where she lay stretched out beside the potbellied stove. “Want me to leave Ophelia here to keep you company?”

He nodded. “She looks pretty happy there.”

She would also provide some decent protection. At the very least she could warn him of any intruders. I was trying to think of an excuse for him to keep a gun handy when I spotted a pistol on the table beside him, along with a cleaning rag and a can of oil. Someone might have left it there intending to clean it later, but given Wyatt's concerns, I suspected its presence was as deliberate as the box of bullets sitting next to it.

“My cell phone has a good signal in town. Give me a call if you think of anything you need.” I handed him the wireless phone from the extension in my room. “I put the number on speed dial. All you have to do is press zero-one.”

“I'm impressed.” He set the phone on the arm of the recliner. “Never did figure out how to do that.”

I doubted he ever had much need to call anyplace but the main house. Nevertheless, I couldn't help chuckling. “Hey, I'm a computer geek. Remember?”

“I surely do.” His eyes took on a wistful, faraway expression as though gazing back through time. “Your grandpa was mighty proud of you.”

“He'd have been proud of me if I'd been a ditch digger.”

“He would at that.” With a nod and a fond, reminiscent smile, he settled back and opened the book again, although his focus didn't appear to be on the page.

“Back in a bit,” I said and left him to his thoughts.

The drive to Rock Springs already seemed shorter than it had the last time. I was also acclimating to the town, finding a pharmacy without any difficulty and not even missing the turnoff to the grocery. For someone who'd rarely ventured beyond the outskirts of Louisville, I wasn't doing too badly.

Calvin and Ophelia were both snoring when I returned, so I set three new books on the table beside him, then went ahead and filled up the pill organizer with the appropriate dosages. When I compared the mess of bottles in his medicine cabinet to his new prescriptions, I found two that had similar generic names, but none that were exactly the same. On closer inspection, I noted that some of the tablets didn't even match the descriptions on the labels. God only knew what they were. Having dealt with Grandpa's meds after he died, I figured the best thing to do with Calvin's pills was to return them to the pharmacy for disposal on my next trip into town. With that in mind, I put them in a bag and stuck it in a cubbyhole in the desk in my room. I doubted that Calvin would ever take the old ones by mistake, but I thought it best not to take any chances.

I fixed a cucumber and tomato salad for lunch, half expecting Calvin to turn his nose up at it. However, true to his word, he offered no complaint, cleaned his plate, and helped himself to more.

“Thanks, Tina,” he said when he'd finished. “That was tasty…for a salad. Guess I should get used to eating stuff like that.”

“Same here,” I said. “I probably ought to stop making desserts too—although Nick about had a stroke when I mentioned sugar-free Jigglers.”

He chuckled. “That boy has quite an appetite.”

“I've noticed.”

I was about to comment on
his
good appetite when he cleared his throat, seeming slightly embarrassed. “Thanks for the books, by the way—and the pill box. I'd have thanked you sooner if I'd been awake.” He paused, grimacing. “Sorry I'm such lousy company.”

“Don't worry about it,” I said. “I don't need to be entertained. Besides, you need your rest.”

He acknowledged his “need for rest” with a shrug and halfhearted nod. “Never realized how quiet it was around here during the day. You must've been lonely here all by yourself.”

Of all the things he could have said at that moment, a remark about my loneliness was the last thing I would have expected.

It shouldn't have been, though—especially after the bed-making episode had made my liaison with Wyatt common knowledge. To say I'd been
entertained
was putting it mildly. No wonder he'd seemed embarrassed.

“Not really,” I said. “I had plenty to keep me busy.” Reading his letters to Grandpa had taken up any spare time I'd had. “Or is this about Wyatt?”

“Wyatt's a good man, Tina. You could do a lot worse. But he has…issues.”

“Yeah. I figured that. Especially after the guys were so anxious to get him out of the bunkhouse and into my room.”

“Has he told you anything about himself?”

I nodded. “Maybe not the fine details, but yeah. I know the gist of his past—what happened to his parents and why he gave up firefighting and came here.”

Calvin put down his fork and leaned back in his chair while studiously avoiding my eyes. “You'd be taking on a lot with him. I just want to make sure you know that.”

“I do, and I'm okay with it. Everyone has baggage, even someone like me who's led a relatively sheltered life. And, really, we've only known each other for a few days. No telling what sort of future we might have together. Maybe all we'll ever have is the here and now.”

“Never knew you were such a philosopher.” His smile and jesting tone both faded as he continued, “'Course that's all any of us ever have…the here and now. Never the when and if.”

I longed to lighten the mood but had no idea how to do it. In the end, I simply got to my feet and began gathering up the dishes before stating the obvious. “Guess we'd better enjoy it while we can.”

Calvin went on as if I hadn't spoken. “You're the kind of woman Wyatt needs, and you'll be good for him. I'm just not sure he's the right man for you.”

Despite believing that Calvin had my best interests at heart, my temper rose slightly. “Yeah, well, so far he's the
only
man.” I started to add
beggars can't be choosers
, but I didn't feel like a beggar. I felt like I'd been given a rare and precious gift—a gift I wasn't sure I deserved.

He raised a placating hand. “No need to get riled. I'm just telling you what I think.”

“Objection noted.”

I carried the dishes into the kitchen, trying to decide whether I was truly angry. Wyatt had saved the man's life, and Calvin didn't think he was good enough for me? Geez, it was as if Grandpa had somehow been reincarnated in Calvin's body when he was resuscitated—although considering the fact that everything Calvin knew about me had come from that source, I shouldn't have been surprised to find they had similar opinions.

Then again, perhaps Calvin's reasons were different from the typical “no man is good enough for my little girl” stance, whether I was his granddaughter or someone else's. Did he object because he didn't believe I would stay on the ranch, or that Wyatt wouldn't want to leave? Or did he want me to go because he didn't want me taking his job?

A moment later, I recalled how Calvin had lost his family and the last shred of my anger evaporated. Grandpa hadn't lost his wife—not like that, anyway—and he certainly hadn't lost his daughter. No, Calvin's objections were based more on his own experiences and what he knew about Wyatt.

But I wasn't Calvin. I didn't have his past. I may have shied away from men in general, but not because I was afraid to love or feared it wouldn't last. I wasn't shy or timid anymore. Not with Wyatt or any of the others. Somewhere on the Circle Bar K, I had discovered my courage, which was perhaps the greatest gift of all.