Page 11 of The Cowboy and the Baby

4

NOELLE

Comfort and the smell of Grandpa’s aftershave lulled me to sleep. Exhausted from the flight, Lily slept hard until four, when I gave her a bottle, changed her diaper, and she slipped to sleep again.

We both woke up sometime around eight. Lily fussed as I dragged myself out of bed to study the old bedroom with a fresh set of eyes.

Dear heavens.

What happened to this place?

Fresh sunlight streamed through holey curtains, pulled partially shut. The edge of a dresser pushed into the middle and prevented them from closing entirely. What appeared familiar and reminiscent last night was dusty and mildly horrifying in morning light.

Lily’s fussing increased, so I padded to the closet. I’d made a bed for her on the ground. Not ideal, but safest. She flailed, fists waving, while I gathered her up, checked for bugs on her—found none—and hurried into the kitchen. Her protests slowed, but the reprieve wouldn’t last long. When hungry, this gal bellowed.

“Just like your mama,” I said with a pat on her bum.

She gurgled.

My hand stopped halfway to the cupboard where I thought their pots and pans might be. I moved by muscle memory—it had been years since I came here—but a part of my brain sparked to life as I futzed my way around. Grandma’s cast-iron skillets remained on the range, where they always had been. She left. They didn’t.

I paused.

Something wasn’t . . . right.

The rustic, love-filled house felt different. Whirling around, I took in the kitchen with fresh eyes. Had it always been this run down? Ragged came to mind. Ancient and cracked and half-dead. No, it hadn’t. After Grandma died, it appeared as if the beating heart had been carved out, and everything withered without her.

A mild panic brewed deep in my gut.

Oh, no.

Bringing the old house up to date was one thing. I could clear the old diorama, replace the hollow-legged table, and slap up some paint on the walls. But daylight made it clear that the problems in this house extended far beyond cosmetic.

Everything was fading.

The fridge. The sink. The stove. Fixing these problems wouldn’t be plausible for Lily and me. Not even a little. Not with an infant, a limited budget, and a desperate need for a job.

What had I expected? The safe haven from my childhood come to life? Well, yes. Like in the past, I ran to Grandma and Grandpa’s to escape reality and find a safe place to burrow in for a few days. Weeks.

Years.

It made sense why Bart and Marsha invited me to the reading of the will in their place. Since my father had cut himself off from the family and would claim nothing, whether bestowed or not, they would receive the ranch. Or, rather, they would receive the burden.

With widening eyes, I nosed through a few more cupboards to find Grandpa’s favorite foods—Spam and canned green beans—in one. Expired, half-filled medicine bottles in the others. Bowls and plates that must have come from the seventies. A vintage collector would have a riot.

Lily brought me back to earth with a lusty cry, affronted by her hunger pains. Shaking my head, I returned my focus to the cupboard with the pots and pans and rummaged up one I could use to heat water. They had no microwave. The idea of it offended Grandma.

Ten minutes later, I sat on a rickety kitchen chair while Lily worked at the bottle. I tried not to panic as I let my eyes drift over the cracked wall, the old fixtures, and the peeling linoleum. My phone rang.

Marsha.

I tapped accept faster than lightning. “What is this place?” I asked.

A pause answered.

“Well, hello there, Noelle dear. Is the ranch every bit as charming as I expected?”

“You call this charming?”