Tempting the Cowboy (5 page)

Chapter Five

Birdie was determined to keep Rylan company. While she studied the binder of responsibilities and expectations for her role at the kitchen counter, the little girl sat on the floor and colored. When she walked through the house, memorizing the layout, Birdie tagged a short distance behind. Being in the constant sight of a four-year-old was unnerving. Rylan was struggling with the fact that there was a child under the same roof, a child she’d come into contact with every single day, and it was harder to try to acclimate to that when said child wouldn’t leave her alone.

Part of the reason she’d left Wisconsin was to try to restructure the memories of her daughter. She’d hoped that by getting away from the place where Rachel had been born and lived, her memories would lose some of their bitter edge and turn sweeter. Maybe she’d even finally come to terms with her guilt over how Rachel died.

Only her second day at Paint River and she was immersed in crayons, dolls on the living room floor, and a little sprite playing cat and mouse with her emotions. Only eighteen months old when she’d died, Rachel would have looked a lot like Birdie did now, Rylan imagined. Blond curls, round cheeks, perfect little lips—she would have probably followed at her heels, everywhere, too. Damn, this wasn’t fair. How could she reconcile with her past when a ghost was staring at her?

Just when Rylan thought she couldn’t handle the ache in her chest any longer, Maeve wrangled Birdie down for a nap, and then pulled Rylan in for sweet tea and a break. Rylan didn’t touch her tea, could barely make eye contact with Maeve as she struggled with memories of Rachel that left her arms aching and empty.

“I’m sorry if she got underfoot,” Maeve said around sips of tea. “Cole and Birdie’s mother divorced when Birdie was an infant. She’s never known her mother, and my sister, Penny, and I are the only women in her life. She’s just curious about you.”

The mention of Cole threw her further into a tangled web of restlessness. She’d loved the smile on his face yesterday in the barn, how he watched her as she’d gotten to know Sisko. Most of all, she’d loved his company—how at ease she’d felt. Considering how they’d met, “relaxed” wasn’t a term she associated with Cole Haywood. She guessed she shouldn’t have been surprised when he’d gone back to impatient and unfriendly, giving her a good reminder that she’d come here to work, and heal, and figure out what to do with her life next. She needed to focus, not worry about how Cole or anyone else regarded her beyond her role as their housekeeper.

She spent the rest of the day finding her stride as she went through her chore list, pleased with the sense of satisfaction she’d experienced over having something to do. All that time hiding in her house, pacing and sitting idle and flipping through television channels, completely erased her sense of purpose, while very nearly erasing her sense of self. She’d gone from a full-time police officer to a full-time mother to a woman with nothing except time on her hands.

As she helped Maeve get supper on the table that night—pot roast, green beans, coleslaw, fresh bread, and molasses cookies—Rylan felt as if she’d completed something important. For the first time in way too long, she’d had a remarkably productive day.

Birdie was sitting at the kitchen table and shrieked when Cole walked in. She slipped off the chair so fast to run into his arms, she nearly fell face-first. “Daddy!”

Cole scooped Birdie up and spun her in a circle, smiling as she giggled and nuzzled into his neck.

“Did you wash your hands, little girl?” He made a great show of flipping her hands over and inspecting each finger. Cole frowned and held up his own hands. Birdie made a disgusted face.

“You wash your hands, Daddy. Come on.” Birdie tugged his sleeve, pulling him to the hallway bathroom. Tucker came in next, looking no less dirty than Cole. He went to the kitchen sink, filled one side with water and dunked his face right in. Rylan snickered a little, recalling how her father and brother would come into the house grubby from milking cows and cleaning the barn. Her brother would hose his face with the kitchen sink sprayer when the summer heat made the grime stick hard to his skin. Nostalgia tiptoed in and left dirty footprints on Rylan’s satisfaction.

Maeve gave a pleased smile, then turned it on Rylan. “It’s about time we all get to eat together. I told them to be in for supper, or else.”

Last night, Rylan, Maeve, and Birdie had eaten at the breakfast bar together, leaving plates for the men in the oven. Tonight, the table looked fit for a holiday feast. Rylan helped Maeve finish setting out the food as Cole and Birdie came back in. Cole’s hair was wet, his bangs slicked back over his head like he’d been running his fingers through it, the ends curling every which way. He glanced her way as Birdie propped herself up on his knee. He bounced her. She giggled. Rylan’s heart swelled and threatened to burst right in half.

Cole poked Birdie’s nose. “Love you, baby girl.”

Rip
.

Rylan skirted back to the kitchen and did busywork, trying to ease out the twist beneath her ribs. Seeing them all together—especially Birdie wrapped so sweetly in her father’s love—had tears clawing at the backs of her eyes. It was a blatant reminder that she was alone. That she had nothing.

“Rylan, come sit if you’d like,” Maeve called warmly. Chairs moved, dishes clinked, voices connected. Rylan froze, braced herself with one arm on the far counter, wishing a gaping cavity would open in the floor and suck her right the hell outta there.

“Rylan?” Maeve’s chair scooted across the hardwood floor. Rylan’s pulse pumped.

“Oh, no, thank you.” She edged out of the kitchen into the back part of the house and to the laundry room. In the solitude, Rylan organized a shelf of cleaners, folded a load of towels, and paced the perimeter of the space, but the anxiety inside didn’t die. This restlessness was an all-consuming constant since Rachel’s death. There wasn’t anything she could do when the little sphere of unrest bounced around inside her except let it wear itself out.

When she crept back to the kitchen an hour later, everyone was gone. Guilt sliced through her when she saw the table cleared and the dishes neatly stacked. Maeve hadn’t said but Rylan considered cleaning up after meals her responsibility, even though it was past her 6:00 p.m. end-of-day. She loaded the plates and glasses that were left into the dishwasher and tidied up. Each time she glanced at the table, she saw Birdie on Cole’s knee, and the panic would rise with renewed force.

It was getting dark outside, but screw it. She needed a run.

Rylan changed into shorts and running shoes. There was just enough daylight for her to run the unease away. She’d run until she dropped or the craze within subsided. A quick stretch and she sneaked out the back door before anyone spotted her. Guests and ranch hands were milling about as Rylan walked away from the house, past the cabins to a trail marked with a blue hiking sign. She started at a jog, pleased to see the open-prairie trail was marked every few feet with the blue-tipped posts.

Then she ran. Hard and fast—harder than she had in weeks. She ran as a habit of police training. She ran to forget. Running soothed her like nothing else by forcing every single thought from her head except the tasks at hand: placing one foot in front of the other and breathing. In and out, in and out, steady and calm. When she finally stopped, dusk had claimed the mountain and the flat expanse ahead. Rylan doubled over, hands to her knees.
Damn, that felt good.
It was stupid to go this far with dark falling, but she didn’t care—her body was alive with adrenaline, and the bubble inside was momentarily quelled. She was going to revel in it. She rested a bit and eventually started walking back to the house as dusk thickened.

And then the dark came, fast and complete, and her belly quivered with the first full realization that she was alone. In the middle of an open plain. Just as her brain conjured images of ravenous grizzly bears and prowling mountain lions, the vibration of pounding feet up ahead made her pulse thrum so hard it hurt the side of her neck.

“Rylan! Shit, woman!” She recognized Cole’s voice a second before a flashlight beam hit her square in the eyes. He cussed. She swore from the pain eating her eyeballs.

“What the hell got into you, coming out here like this? You’re lucky one of the men told me you went this way.”

Rylan rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the dots. “I’ve known you literally two days, and I hate you a little more each minute,” she hissed.

Cole leaned down in the saddle and grabbed her arm. “Get on the horse!” Alarm jumped her, followed by an excited little tickle between her legs. Aghast, Rylan smacked his hand. A dark henley stretched across his torso, showing off the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

“Don’t manhandle me!” She pulled back, her sweat-slick arm sliding free from Cole’s grip.

The squeak of leather filled the air as he dismounted his horse and grabbed at her again. He made a disgusted sound and let go, wiping his hand on his thigh. “I said, get on.”

His high-handedness inflamed her stubborn side. Rylan ignored him, taking huge strides to get in front of him, the excitement racing through her body getting stronger. If she got on the horse with him, her thighs would be wrapped around Cole’s, her chest pressed into the firm heat of his back… She shook her head, thrust up a palm to put space between him and her thoughts. No.
Hell
, no.

“You could have gotten turned around. Worse, wolves like to come this way at night. Now mount the hell up so we can get back.” The base of her neck prickled at the mention of wolves, but she steeled herself and kept on walking in the beam of light Cole threw down the trail. She imagined her breasts tight against his back, his rigid abdomen warming her palms. Rylan made fists in response to the thought.

“I’ll walk.”

He pulled the back of her T-shirt this time. Furious, and more than a little flushed by the feel of his grip on her, Rylan spun to face him, her shirt popping free from his clutch.

“You’re infuriating!” Cole snapped.

“Yes,
you
are!” Rylan shot back.

Cole took a step that nearly obliterated the space between them. His body heat radiated to her, his scent of sage and summer air heady and making her veins flush hot. The beam of light reflected off the ground, casting a soft glow over his face—just enough that Rylan could see his anger fade into something else, something that made her thighs clench and her lips tremble and ache. Her chest clamped with the inability to breathe. Just when she thought she might lean forward and fall into him, Cole stepped back.

“We need to get back.”

She swallowed hard and nodded, her mouth too dry to form words. The light led the way as she fell into step beside Cole, his horse walking behind him. The ground was a little uneven, causing Rylan to misstep and bump into him. She moved a little farther away but not before she’d felt the goose bumps that rose on his skin when her bare arm had touched his.

“So, what’s with missing out on a perfectly good dinner?” Cole’s voice was like warm whiskey, slow and luxurious on the intake and pure heat going down. Being beside him, wrapped in his voice, made the last licks of fear over the dark fade away.

“I don’t do family time.” It might have been the horse, but she was pretty sure Cole grunted at her.

“Family time? It was just dinner.”

“Yeah, with your
family
there. I prefer…to be alone.” And away from any reminder of the family she’d lost.

“We just happened to be related and starving. Pure coincidence.” The lilt in his voice tripped her up inside. She was running full speed ahead on irritation and he threw a little lightheartedness in throw her off. She glanced at him, his profile strong even highlighted in shadow. His mouth hinted at a smile, and the promise was just as sexy as if he’d really let that grin loose. Maybe…if the circumstances were different—if he weren’t her boss and she weren’t so broken inside—getting to know Cole Haywood better might be something she’d pursue.

Light from the property peeked through the darkness, filling her with disappointment that their walk in the dark was almost over. She scrunched her forehead, knowing she had no business feeling that way. Her inner thigh muscles trembled from the hard run, her body ready to sink into bed and sleep off the exhaustion-dump her fading adrenaline had left behind. Cole looked at her and took a breath like he was going to speak.

Her right foot caught on a stone, and she twisted halfway to the ground. Cole leaned to grab her, one hand going to her lower back, the other to her belly as he righted her. Shivers bred like bunnies all over her body. She froze at the sudden pleasure of being trapped between his hands. She blinked hard—he was standing perfectly still, too. And then his fingers splayed across her abdomen, bunching the T-shirt and making her muscles clench. His other hand shifted to the curve of her lower back, the flashlight he still gripped banging against her bottom.

He was close enough that she could see the flash of desire in his eyes.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get yourself into my arms, Rylan.” His husky words punched the breath right out of her.

She shouldn’t be, but maybe…
Don’t go there!
Rylan smacked his hand away from her middle, and smoothed her shirt when he abruptly let go.

Her voice shook way more than she was happy about. “Your ego would like that too much,
Mr.
Haywood.”

He stepped back immediately, the reminder of her role having the effect she’d intended. Clicking to the horse, he walked ahead. Rylan purposely stayed two steps behind to give herself space. Her left arm ached where she’d bumped into him, her belly cold from the loss of his palm against it. When they reached the edge of the property, Cole turned to her.

“Next time, consider running in the daylight.”