Her Lone Cowboy Read online

  “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.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “WE WOULD LOVE to join you,” Laney told him with a warm smile. All right, so he hadn’t exactly invited them in to join him, but he hadn’t kicked them out, either. She was thrilled. This was going much better than she had anticipated given their earlier encounter.

  He stood there, staring at her openmouthed for a moment. Then, abruptly, he turned toward the kitchen.

  Laney’s gaze followed him. This was the first time she’d seen him walk a few steps and she noticed that he did it with a pronounced limp that favored his right leg. She wondered if he’d had this since birth or if he’d been in an accident. Somehow, the stiffness with which he walked told her he was still getting used to this change in his body and she wondered if it was a fairly recent injury. But she knew she couldn’t ask.

  Earlier, she’d been too frantic about her son to really notice the man, and then she’d been furious with him and his rudeness.

  Now, as she watched him, she saw that he was a few inches taller than she was, putting him at maybe six feet. His face looked tough, she would even say hard, but she hadn’t really been able to get a good look at him earlier because the sun had been in her eyes and his face had been shaded by his hat. She had thought his eyes were filled with shadows, but maybe she’d been attempting to give him characteristics that would account for his prickly attitude.

  Glancing around, she saw that Sam was busy scratching Bertie’s stomach. The dog had rolled over onto his back and hung his paws in the air. His head lolled to the side and his tongue protruded in cartoonish contentment. Sam looked equally ecstatic. Knowing he would be therefore safe for a little while, she followed Caleb from the room.

  Laney looked around Caleb’s kitchen without appearing to be examining it as closely as she was. The house was about the same age as hers, but nothing here had been upgraded or freshened up. The wallpaper was a splash of huge flowers in avocado green and harvest gold à la 1970s. The appliances had to be that old, too, as was the worn linoleum. The kitchen was squeaky clean, though.

  On the scrubbed top of the wooden table sat a bowl of some dark substance and two beers.

  She turned to him in consternation. “Oh, we’ve interrupted your dinner.”

  “It wasn’t worth eating.” Caleb set the cake down on t
he counter, found some small, mismatched plates and opened a drawer. He took out three forks, gazed at his collection of knives and then at her.

  “Any one will do,” she said with a smile. “Would you like me to cut it?”

  “Sure.” He handed over a knife and while she cut the cake, he removed the bowl from the table.

  “What’s wrong with the chili?”

  “You could recognize what it was?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “The beans gave it away.”

  “I guess I’m not much of a cook. It looks weird and it’s way too salty—and too full of cayenne.”

  “If you have a potato, you can cut it up and simmer it in the chili. Remove it when it’s soft and it’ll take out some of the salt. If you’ve got more diced tomatoes, you can add those, too. They’ll help the appearance and the taste and water down the saltiness—though probably nothing will tone down the spiciness.” She handed him a plate. “And while it’s simmering, you can enjoy a chocolate cake appetizer.”

  For the first time his eyes met hers. She saw that they were dark gray like the sky before a summer rainstorm. Sadness and regret lurked in them. She’d been angry at him because he’d been rude to her and Sam, but the torment she thought she’d seen in his eyes at their first encounter and again now told her his moodiness came from deep pain. His expression was wary and guarded. As she looked at him, really seeing his features for the first time, she noticed the scar that ran down the side of his face and ended at the right corner of his mouth. What had happened to this man? Her heart filled with compassion.

  He must have sensed what she was thinking because he glanced away. “I’ll try that,” he said. “Like I said, I’m not much of a cook.”

  He set his plate down, grabbed a potato from a bin beneath the sink, scrubbed and sliced it and put it in the chili pot, along with a can of diced tomatoes.

  Laney placed small slices of cake on two other plates and called Sam in to join them. He came, bent at an awkward angle, half dragging, half walking with Bertie, his arms still wrapped around the long-suffering animal’s neck. “Can Bertie have cake, too?”