Page 29 of The Cowboy and the Baby

Wyatt spoke first, a fork in one hand, a biscuit sandwich of bacon and dripping gravy in the other. “We’re here for anything you need, ma’am.”

“Noelle is fine. Ma’am is my mother.”

“Sorry, ma’am.” Wyatt’s young eyes caught Cade’s, and slid back to mine. He smiled. “Can’t.”

Cade nodded once with a stubborn purse of his lips, and I understood the silent message. Both rambunctious boys couldn’t be much more than seventeen. They had a streak of wildness in their eyes that reminded me of colts. Cade must be what, early thirties? Their dynamic reminded me of young brothers who idolized the eldest. For his part, Cade was doing a good job whipping them into a gentlemanly shape, but I had no idea what they were to him. Not brothers, I’d wager. Their looks were too disparate.

Cody cracked a joke about Cade’s surly disposition when the cowboy gentleman’s code was broken, and an easy conversation vaulted between the two knuckleheads. Cade interjected well-timed quips—and even better-timed chortles—every now and then. Their ease with each other was a testament to a deep brotherhood.

Once they finished eating, Cade motioned to Cody with a hand.

“Cody is a whiz with wood and horses, and Wyatt isn’t too bad with anything controlled by gasoline or batteries. Between the four of us, we’ll figure it out.”

“So it’s real?” Cody swirled his milk with a smile. “You got the ranch?”

Cade nodded.

Wyatt whooped, remembered the baby, and repeated it more quietly. “About dam . . . age. About damage time.”

The gibberish made no sense until I heard Cade kick him under the table. Swearing must be against this elusive Cowboy Code.

“Say that curse word and you’ll stuff another five dollars in the curse jar,” Cade threatened, and the intensity in his voice drove it home.

Wyatt shrugged carelessly. “Sometimes, a good swear word is worth the five dollars.” He grinned, clearly testing Cade.

Cade didn’t back down.

“Not with a lady present,” he growled. “Curse all you want in the barn with the livestock, but not in my house.”

Like a dog submitting to his alpha, Wyatt relented with two hands held up, head tipped down.

Not for the first time, I hid my smile.

“The ranch is real enough,” Cade muttered, casting an eye overhead, “and I have a feeling it’s just waiting to go wrong.”

11

CADE

A scratching sound led me into our only working bathroom later that week. I stared at the fiberglass tub that Morgan had rarely cleaned. It sat beneath a window, and white tile covered the front and sides. The sound stopped.

From the radio playing in the kitchen, I could hear the edges of a news report announcing blizzard-like conditions this evening, and temperatures plummeting into the negative twenties. The bathroom pipes had a habit of freezing up during the cold spells. It hadn’t been that big of a deal for Morgan. Or for myself, when it was just me living here, but now that a mother and a baby were in residence, it needed to be taken care of, and fast.

The scratching sound returned, and I scowled.

This kind of noise in hollow wall cavities, during the depths of winter, in an isolated Wyoming ranch, was the definition of undesirable. Whatever critter that took up residence must have gotten in there somehow, which might explain why the pipes kept freezing.

Noelle asked, “Everything okay?”

She peered into the bathroom, eyebrows high. I’d left her in the kitchen, where she had sprawled out paperwork and a laptop, and clattered away at the keys while Lily lounged in her chair, peering quietly at the world. She’d go to bed soon in keeping with her schedule, if history repeated itself.

With a baby, one never knew.

“Cold front is coming.” I tapped the tile wall with the toe of my shoe. “I anticipate the pipes will ice up in this room.”

Her eyes grew.

“What?”