Tempting the Cowboy (13 page)

He refused to turn and look at her, just swung himself up into the saddle. “I can’t, Rylan. I’m sorry.”

He was the world’s biggest asshole. He knew it as he rode off. But all he could think about was putting space between them before anyone got hurt.

Chapter Fourteen

“We’ve got to get up in the high pastures and bring the herd down.” Tucker pulled his gloves off and threw them on the ground so he could untie a rope knot. The ranch’s property ran far up into the mountain range, where scattered stretches of pastureland spread between the valleys and peaks. It was almost time to bring the herd down to closer pasture anyway, but the unusual storm system slated to hit their area in the next five days made it more urgent.

Cole braced a broken gate panel on a log so he could repair the bolts that held the brackets in place. Birdie’s birthday was today,
now
to be exact, and Tuck wanted to talk about a two-day endeavor?

“If you want to round up a crew, go ahead. I’ll have to sit this one out.” Cole banged a wrench against the bolt, driving it into the bracket.

Tucker snorted while he looped rope. “Like hell you’re sitting out.”

Cole looked up, and they locked eyes. “Ma isn’t doing well at all, if you haven’t noticed. Who is going to watch Birdie while I’m up on the mountain?”

“Isn’t that what we pay Rylan for?” Tucker coiled the rope and put it over his shoulder. Cole stood so fast, Tucker jumped back, Cole’s head nearly knocking him in the nose.

“No, that’s not what we pay her for!” Cole threw the wrench on the ground, a small tornado of dust welling up from the impact. “Don’t mention it again.”

Tucker leaned against the fence. “Can I ask why?”

“No!” Cole grabbed the wrench and resumed banging the bracket. The bracket that would have worked fine if he wasn’t beating it to death now. He needed to hit something, and it was either Tucker or the gate. Metal bled and complained less.

“Dude…” Tucker laughed. “What the hell is going on with you two?”

“Nothing.” Cole warned him with a look as Tucker opened his mouth. Cole pointed a finger. “Unless you want a split lip, I’d shut up right now.” In true Tucker fashion, he stood to his full height, back straight and arms bulging. Tucker was built like some Neanderthal ancestor, and shit if he didn’t like to use his size to impress and intimidate. Good thing Cole wasn’t intimidated.

He stood and faced his brother, already sick of whatever this was. He just wanted the gate fixed and his personal life quiet, so he could get on with Birdie’s party.

“Hell, Tucker, can we do this later? I’ve got things to do.”

“Yeah, like getting those cattle down here pronto.”

Cole shook his head in exasperation and gathered his tools. Tucker was close behind as Cole dumped his gear in the barn and stomped off to the house. He was so worked up his neck muscles screamed with tension. Rylan and her confessions. Rylan and her tears. Rylan and her soft, supple, naked body. He hadn’t stopped thinking of any of those things, stayed up most of the night aching to make it right somehow.

Cole slipped into the house as cars pulled into the yard. Knowing Maeve, she’d invited every cousin and friend of the family to come celebrate Birdie’s fifth birthday. Before long, the place would be crawling with family and friends, and he’d be going nuts surrounded by all those people. But it would make Birdie happy, and for her, he’d endure it. Keeping his relationship with Rylan quiet in front of all those people would be harder when all he wanted to do was drag her off somewhere and find the right things to say.

He had no clue what to say. All he knew was that the thought of her hurting was tearing him up inside. He’d caused her hurt by walking away from her confessions, but he had to protect Birdie’s interests. Knowing what exactly to apologize for and what not to had become a blurred mess.

Rylan came out of the kitchen with a huge tray of pink and yellow frosted cupcakes. He was standing right there—Cole knew she saw him—but Rylan didn’t look up and she didn’t acknowledge him. Her usually soft face was tight as she set the tray on the long dining room table and wiped her hands on her ripped blue jeans. Cole should have gone on to his room and his shower but he stayed where he was, watching Rylan sway back down the hall, returning a moment later with more cupcakes.

Streamers and bright-pink decorations hung all over the dining and living room. The table was set in true little-girl party fashion. Seeing Rylan dusted with flour, remnants of frosting smeared on her old T-shirt, he had no doubt she’d taken care of most of the decorations and baking herself while Maeve rested. His brow fell as he looked around once more. He thought about the bear she’d helped Birdie make at the mall for Levi and the tender way she’d cared for Birdie when she’d been hurt. She’d done it all—for a child she claimed she couldn’t let into her heart.

He moved so he blocked her way. She finally looked at him, frowned to see a puff of dust roll off his boots and onto the gleaming wood floor. She made a little half turn as if to avoid him but Cole reached for the tray.

“I’ll take those.” That got her attention.

“No!” Rylan swerved the tray out of his reach. “Your hands!” Cole wiped his grimy hands on his jeans and took the tray, despite her protest. He set the tray next to the other, turned to follow her as she walked into the hallway. His hand found her wrist.

“Look at me.” His hand slid up her arm and over the tendon of her shoulder, relief flooding him at the warm feel of her body. Car doors slammed outside, the timbre of voices wafting in through the open windows. Rylan glanced around nervously at the sound. Her gaze flickered up at him for a moment, sadness heavy in her eyes.

He gave her a gentle but insistent squeeze. “You did all this for my daughter. Don’t tell me that you don’t care about her a little bit—”

Rylan glanced around, her voice rushed and low. “I didn’t say that I don’t care about her. I said that I’m—”

“How long did it take you to do all this?
Hours
. Hours spent on making sure Birdie’s party is beautiful.”

He didn’t know why desperation clamped so hard on his gut when Rylan shook her head. Confusion played across her face, her head tilting just a bit.

“Why does it even matter? It’s not like we want a relationship, Cole.” She blinked fast. “I mean, I thought we—”

Tucker came into the hall, a brown package in his hand. He stopped when he saw them, one foot in mid-step. Cole swore, let his hand drop from Rylan’s shoulder.

“What?” he snapped.

Rylan spun and went down the hall to the back door. He tracked the sway of her hips until she was out of sight, held himself back from following her as the door opened and closed.

“Don’t ask,” he warned.

Tucker cleared his throat with an amused tone. “I won’t, but I do ask that you don’t swing at me when I give you this. It came in today’s mail.” Tucker thrust the package at Cole. “It’s from Livy. For Birdie.”

Cole grabbed the package as the outside deck filled with voices. Knowing he would be missed if he was late to the festivities, and not wanting to miss a moment of it, Cole stormed into the kitchen and tossed the package in the trash before he headed to the shower.

…

Birdie was still on a sugar high from the birthday cake, cupcakes, soda, and cookies at her party the day before. He looked at Birdie, his heart swelling at the sight of her little face. He sympathized with Rylan. How could he not? She’d lost her daughter, and that kind of pain was nothing he had experience with. He hadn’t felt it when Livy left or when his father died. His grief had been more of a stabbing ache that pounded him in suffocating bursts and then went away, finally, fading altogether. But losing Birdie—that was agony he couldn’t fathom. He had no doubt that it would kill him.

He tried to keep his mind off Rylan as they finished their errands, but every spare second, his thoughts strayed to the look in her eyes when she told him about Rachel, to the heartfelt ache in her voice when she confessed to being scared. He was scared, too.

Scared of how he hated every hour that passed that he didn’t see her.

Scared of how hard his heart beat when someone said her name.

Scared she was going to walk away.

She was perfect for him and for Birdie. She was. He knew it in every quiet moment he’d had to reflect on the things he wanted—to build a home of his own, a family for Birdie. The thoughts included Rylan’s hand in his until the day they put him in the ground. He’d been good at brushing it off, but he didn’t want to ignore it anymore.

“Daddy?” Birdie tugged on his wrist. Cole glanced down—he’d stopped in the middle of the sidewalk of the strip mall. His pulse beat hard against his neck. When had this happened? His brain raced through an album of the moments he and Rylan had shared, flashes of the minutes and hours flickering like a faulty television. Even if he could have focused on one particular moment, it would have been the wrong one because there wasn’t one
exact
moment. It was the accumulation of them all. They’d agreed to nothing more than what they shared in bed, but now feelings were creeping in. Big feelings.

The wonderful, warm, syrupy way he was slipping into love with her.

Oh, God.

“Daddy!” Birdie pulled harder this time. She jabbed her pointer finger to the window of the Western store. She loved fingering the fringed chaps and vests, and playing with tooled silver buckles and conchas. Cole rubbed his face and focused on his daughter. He grinned. She pulled him inside and made a beeline for the pair of red cowboy boots in the display window.

Her little hands snatched the tiny toddler pair and hugged them to her chest. “Look!”

He bent to her level, prying one boot from her death grip. He could never say no to her. If she wanted the boots, he’d get her the damn boots.

“These are some red boots, baby.” Bright crimson with a light-red thread used for floral-pattern stitching all over the boot shaft. Birdie wiggled off a sandal and shoved her foot into the wrong side. Cole shook his head and found a pair to size, then helped her try them on. He had to admit, his little blond daughter rocked those red boots. Without missing a beat, Birdie ran down the aisle to the adult section and found the same boots on the shelf.

“Ry’s boots?” She struggled to pull a box down, nearly toppling over. Cole caught her with one hand.

“Whoa, there. You think Rylan needs boots?” Still a little shell-shocked over his realization of how much he was falling for her, a little plan formed in his mind. Birdie opened the box, pulling out a red boot with triumph on her face. “Ry’s boots!” One foot popped out and she held the adult boot next to her own. “See? They match!”

“They sure do, honey.” He could imagine Rylan in the boots…just the boots. They’d look great with her summery tan skin, dark hair falling down her back. As much as he loved that idea, he had one better—let Birdie give Rylan the boots as a gift and, maybe, help her see that letting Birdie into her heart wouldn’t be a bad thing. If she opened up a little more, he’d know that he was taking steps in the right direction with his growing emotion for her. If she resisted, he’d know to rein it in. Tonight, the three of them could spend time together, maybe take a ride and see what happened.

Even as he tried to solidify a plan in his mind, the fear that Rylan wouldn’t be able to love Birdie spoke the loudest.

He guessed at Rylan’s size and paid for both pairs of boots with a lightness in his chest he hadn’t felt in a long time. Birdie clomped on the concrete, hugging the too-big box for Rylan in her arms. He knew she’d spill the beans the minute they pulled up to the house. Cole smiled as he buckled her into her car seat and headed out, listened to Birdie sing a song to her boots. As they drove to the feed mill to place an order, Cole tried to imagine Rylan’s reaction to the boots. It was time to just let things unfold. And he hoped the loud voice in his head—the one full of doubt—was wrong.

Chapter Fifteen

Rylan leaned closer to the bathroom mirror to check her makeup, wishing she felt more enthusiastic about going out. Maeve’s new medication seemed to be working, and she was eager to flex her newfound strength by venturing out a little. When she’d asked Rylan to join her and Jim Gilfoyle for dinner in Greenbrook, Rylan had eagerly accepted. But as time ticked on, she felt less and less like going.

The twinkle in Maeve’s eyes when she spoke about Jim made Rylan pretty sure Maeve had some serious underlying feelings for him. It was sweet and agonizing to see her so obviously smitten and trying to hide it so hard. Rylan fingered her hair while staring at herself in the mirror. Her eyes seemed a little blank… Broken? She looked at herself harder, focusing more intently on the shadows in her eyes.

She was smitten and hiding it too. Hiding it because she had to. Because he didn’t know just how much she was falling for him. Because it was against the rules for her to be involved with him in the first place. Even as she thought it, the strength of that taboo wasn’t as potent as it used to be.

Rylan’s brow fell as realization slid home. If that was her soul looking back at her in the glass, it was telling her it was time to complete the change. She’d come here to get better, to heal. She’d come here to find peace—happiness, even—and she had. But she’d found so much more.

Cole.

The way he’d touched her, the way she’d allowed it and gloried in it, felt so naturally fulfilling and satisfying. She hadn’t craved his touch as a fill-in for all the pieces missing inside her soul. No, she’d wanted his hands on her, his lips on her skin, his body molding against hers, all of it, all of him, the way a woman does when she wants a man.

Rylan pulled back from the mirror but didn’t look away. Rachel’s image came to her mind’s eye so easily, in a flash and with mostly complete recall every time she drummed a memory up. Even after she’d helped Birdie with a bath or showed her how to fold towels. Birdie’s existence hadn’t done anything to steal Rachel’s memory, but could she trust it not to happen eventually?

Rylan brushed the thought away and grabbed the keys from her purse. There was no sense in dwelling on it. Frustration seeped into her. Cole hadn’t come out and said how he felt about her, or what he really wanted from her. True, he’d hinted at it, led her round and round, and she was damn dizzy from not knowing. But there was no sense in even attempting to let Birdie into her heart if she and Cole were just fuck-buddies. Her heart fell at the thought. As perfect as their intimacy was, she didn’t know if it would be enough, and it skewered her. She’d told him she wouldn’t press him for more, that she didn’t need more. But the more time she spent with Cole, the more she realized she was wrong. She wanted all of him, body and heart.

“Ry!” The sound of footsteps racing toward her room pulled Rylan away from her thoughts. She stepped out into the hall to see Birdie, a huge smile on her face, and Cole with a box under one arm. “You have a present!” Birdie grabbed the hem of Rylan’s navy linen shirt.

Cole stopped behind Birdie, and Rylan held her breath for a fraction. His dark hair shone in the sunlight, his eggplant button-down and dark blue jeans a perfect accompaniment to his long, muscular body. The battered brown hat dangled from one hand, the tips of his black boots peeking out from the hem of his jeans. She remembered how incredible that day-old stubble on his jaw felt against her bare skin—

Birdie grabbed the box from Cole, threw it on the floor, and sat with it between her knees. “Open it!”

Rylan looked from Birdie to Cole, an uncomfortable flutter spreading in her chest. She checked her watch, hesitating. Cole’s warm smile faded a little and Rylan’s discomfort spread even more.

“You look nice,” Cole said lightly. “Going out?”

“Open it!” Birdie hollered again, lifting the top of the box.

Rylan nodded. “I’m having dinner with Mr. Gilfoyle…” Cole’s look of disappointment and blasé response cut her off before she could add, “and your mother.”

“I see.”

“Is that a problem?” Her hands hovered over the lid of the box as Birdie pushed it closer to her. Cole shook his head, all relaxation gone from his stance and expression.

“Ry, open your boots!” Birdie demanded. Rylan looked down and gave Birdie what she hoped was a smile that said “just a minute.”

“I never said that.” His arms crossed. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was jealous. Frustration burst through the surface, bringing everything else from the past few days with it.

“That’s just it! You never said
anything
!”

Birdie shoved the box against her ankles. Rylan put a finger up to the child as Cole took a step toward her. His expression told her he knew exactly what she was talking about.

“What the hel—heck did you want me to say?” he whisper-shouted. “You told me you couldn’t be a mother again, and I took that to heart, Rylan. As I pointed out at the birthday party, I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself. It’s not up to me to realize, though—it’s up to you.”

Rylan crossed her arms and straightened her spine. She pushed out any hint of truth in what he said. Forcing her voice low and even, not wanting to do this in front of Birdie, but feeling powerless to stop it, Rylan rubbed two fingers to her brow.

“I hoped—” She shook her head.

“You hoped what?” His eyes were pleading, and her heart flipped to see it. Her gaze fell to his lips while her own parted and tingled, wishing he’d both move closer and go away.

“I just hoped you’d understand why I feel the way I do,” she said quietly, eyeballing Birdie.

Cole’s face was solemn, as though he’d been on the verge of something remarkable and stepped in a steaming pile of shit instead. Birdie was flipping the top of the boot box like a snapping alligator. He leaned over Birdie, patting her head with a soft hand. “Just a minute, baby.”

Cole’s hot breath washed over Rylan’s neck as he leaned into her ear. His voiced gentled. “I do understand, Rylan. I do. But she already loves you, do you know that?”

“Daddy, give Ry her boots now?” Birdie scrambled to her feet and grabbed Rylan’s leg. Rylan swallowed hard and forced her eyes away. There was no way she’d ever knowingly hurt Birdie—either of them. Rylan leaned back, Cole’s searing eyes on her like a physical caress. She held out her hands for the box, and Birdie struggled to lift it up. Instead, Rylan knelt and opened it. Birdie moved the tissue paper aside with great fanfare and pointed, jumping up and down.

“See? Our boots match!” Birdie stuck one little red boot under Rylan’s nose and wiggled it. The red boots inside the box were, indeed, a perfect match. Rylan took out one, her breath catching at the beauty of the craftsmanship and the cardinal color. Her lower lip trembled, despite her best attempt to hide it.

“Why…why did you get me these?” She gently grabbed Birdie’s hand.

“Daddy said your flip-flops are—” Birdie glanced at Cole and bit her bottom lip before turning back to Rylan and whispering, “
crap
.” Cole chuckled, the sound blowing away the ash in her heart.

Before a tear could let loose, Rylan gathered Birdie in her arms and hugged her. She tensed, expecting to feel anxiety at this closeness with Birdie, but there was none. It was just a sweet, simple hug.

“Try ’em on!” Birdie held out the other boot and wagged it until Rylan slipped out of her ballet flats and into the boots. They were a perfect fit. Cole’s thumbs were hooked in his pockets, the deep-purple shirt stretched nicely over his chest.

“Thank you,” Rylan whispered.

Cole held his hand out to Birdie and gave Rylan a nod and a soft, lingering look. “Come on, Birdie. We don’t want to make Rylan late for her date.” Birdie bounced and grabbed her father’s hand, clicking her heels on the floor.

“Ry looks pretty in her boots, Daddy.”

“She sure does, baby.”

And Rylan’s heart cracked in two.

…

Rylan plopped the clothes basket on the love seat and then sat down next to it. The laundry room was too confining, and she hoped folding clothes in the bigger space would help her restlessness some. The open floor plan between the dining and living room gave Rylan a perfect early-morning view of the mountains from the French doors.

Since her run-in with Cole the night before, her nerves had been in a shambles. She smoothed and folded shirts, wishing she could go for a run, a long walk, anything to give her a break from the conflicting emotions warring inside her. She liked this family, all of them. A lot. When she lay in bed at night, surrounded by quiet, she could picture herself here, at Cole’s side, a part of them. More, she could remove everyone and everything—the ranch, the cattle, the horses—and just have Cole and Birdie remain, and it was enough. In her heart, it was enough.

They were the family she wanted so badly.

The French doors in the dining room opened, letting the sun stream in. Rylan tossed a pair of folded socks into the basket and looked up. Straight into Cole’s eyes. His stare was hard for a beat before he looked away. Birdie led Cole to the little white wicker table she’d dragged into the dining room last night. He sat dutifully. Within seconds, he had a tiny pink teacup in one grubby hand. Birdie gave him a white paper napkin and sat a teddy bear on his lap.

“Cross your legs, Daddy,” Birdie chided.

Cole grunted. “I’m not a girl, Birdie. Only girls cross their legs.”

“But you have to have manners.”

Cole crossed his legs and pretended to drink from the cup.

“Not yet!” Birdie snaked a hand to his arm with a frown. Cole put the cup down. His long body stuffed into the little chair made Rylan wonder how he was going to get out without breaking it to bits. Cole gave his daughter all the attention she craved and then some. He glanced up at Rylan once more before turning back to Birdie, who was oblivious to Rylan’s presence across the room. She watched them eat pretend cookies and drink water from little cups. Then came a plate of sloppy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and Rylan knew where the mess in the kitchen had come from.

“Grape?” Cole said with a faux frown. “You know I only eat strawberry jam.” He winked.

“Ry likes strawberry.” Birdie giggled. Cole grunted. Rylan smiled to hear herself woven into the conversation. When Birdie dabbed Cole’s mouth with a napkin, her heart melted a little more.

The only thing that would make Cole sexier at this moment was a wedding ring.

Rylan stopped folding laundry as that little gem burst into her mind. It was a symbol of commitment and love, all the things women craved. She’d just never expected to see Cole in that light. Her brow crinkled. He’d already been down that road. So had she, and it hadn’t worked out for either of them. As blurred as the lines were between her and Cole, thinking about more than the sparks-flying sex between them was a setup for pure disaster. She grabbed a handful of socks from the basket. Wasn’t it?

Cole set his plastic cup down with a
clunk
. “Birdie, Daddy and Uncle Tuck have to ride out for a couple of days. Auntie Penny can’t come get you because she got sick. You need to stay here with Grandma and Rylan.” Cole struggled to sit straighter in the tiny chair. He patted his knee and Birdie flew onto it. Her little arms wrapped around his neck, and he kissed her hair.

“I come, too.”

“No, baby. We’re going to peak at the high pastures. It’s not safe for you to ride that high up with us.”

“But—”

Cole tapped Birdie’s nose with a finger. “Promise me you won’t do what you did last time.” Rylan paired socks, wondering what had happened last time. Birdie squirmed on Cole’s lap before burying her face in his neck. Rylan heard mumbling but couldn’t make out the words. Then, Cole rubbed her back in little circles and said, “That’s my good girl.”

Cole stood and helped Birdie clean up the tea. “When I get back, I’ll take you shopping. Grandma says you need a new quilt. You can pick something out, all right?” The deep timbre in Cole’s voice made Rylan’s skin tingle. He could lead a drove of angels straight into hell with that smooth, reassuring voice.

Birdie jumped up and down, shouting about princesses and horses and getting new curtains, too. Rylan resumed folding, disappointed when the duo left the room.

She snapped a towel and did it again just to hear the sound. Cole was the perfect father. Doting, attentive, protective. No matter how busy Paint River was on any given day, he’d come in to have breakfast with Birdie, even if it was just a cup of coffee. He’d read to her most nights, tucking her into his armpit and cuddling her close. More than once, Rylan had found them both asleep on the couch, Cole’s head lolled off the edge, Birdie curled in a tiny ball at his side. It was painfully beautiful.

Envy and jealousy raged bright and hot, and Rylan struggled to stomp them down. She had no right to feel that way about what Cole and Birdie had, but she did. Peter had been attentive to Rachel only when it fit into his schedule or proved convenient. He’d never gone out of his way to hold her when she cried or soothe her or take her comforter shopping. All the emotional work had been left to Rylan, and when Rachel died, the spine of Rylan’s emotional skeleton was ripped from her soul.

The moment Rachel’s little body slipped out of her own in a tangle of blood and pain, Rylan knew she’d have the love she’d always craved. It was wrapped up in a squealing pink bundle, and the intensity of being a mother sustained her. It fed her soul and showed her what unconditional really meant. Cole understood that, too. She saw it on his face every time he looked at his daughter.

And Paint River was doing that for her now, wasn’t it? She loved it here, loved the people. Though her time at the ranch had been short so far, it seeped into her in a way she’d hoped for but had not been expecting. Moving here to let life happen hadn’t come with any guarantees, but it ended up being exactly what she’d been looking for. She felt grounded and needed, and had a purpose. Life here was simple but required hard work, and at the end of the day, her soul was full and satisfied.