The Cowboy SEAL (2 page)

Her faint smile didn’t reach blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

“In the flesh.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Long as you need me.” Or at least until his dad regained his faculties enough to kick him out again. To this day, his father’s hatred still burned, but the worst part of all was that Cooper didn’t blame him. Hell, the whole reason he worked himself so damned hard during the day was so exhaustion granted some small measure of peace at night.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” she noted from behind her own mug. “I always could see the gears working in your mind.”

“Yeah?” He dumped his coffee down the drain then started making a fresh pot. “Tell me, swami, what am I thinking?”

“About her.” She crept up behind him, killing him when she slipped her arms around his waist for a desperately needed, but undeserved hug. Her kindness made it impossible to breathe, to think, to understand that after all this time, why he was even here. “It’s okay, Coop.” She rested her forehead between his shoulder blades. Her warm exhalations sent shock waves through his T-shirt then radiating across his back. “I mean, obviously it’s not okay, but you have to let it go. Your mom was so kind. She’d hate seeing you this way.”

A dozen years’ grief and anger and heartache balled inside him, threatening to shatter. Why was Millie being nice? Why didn’t she yell or condemn him for staying away? Why didn’t she do anything other than give him the comfort he’d so desperately craved?

“Coop, look at me....” Her small hands tugged him around to face her, and when she used those hands to cup his cheeks while her gaze locked with his, he couldn’t for a second longer hold in his pain. What was he doing here? No matter what Peg said, he never should’ve come. “Honey, yes, what happened was awful, but it was an accident. Everyone knows that. No one blames you.”

A sarcastic laugh escaped him. “Have you met my father?”

“When your mom died, he was out of his mind with grief. He didn’t know what he was saying or doing. I’ll bet if you two talked now, then—”

“How are we going to do that? The man suffered a stroke.”

“That doesn’t mean he can’t listen. At least give it a try. You owe yourself that much.”

How could she say that after what he’d done? The world—let alone his father—didn’t owe him shit. “Coming here—it was a mistake. I never should’ve—”

“You’re wrong, Cooper. Your dad may not admit it, but he needs you. I need you.” She stepped back to gesture to the dilapidated kitchen with its outdated appliances, faded wallpaper and torn linoleum floor. “This place needs you.”

He slammed the filter drawer shut on the ancient Mr. Coffee. “More than you could ever know, I appreciate your kind words, Mill, but seriously? What does anyone need with a guy who killed his own mother?”

Chapter Two

Millie’s mind still reeled from the fact that her husband’s brother was even in the room, let alone the fact that he was here to stay awhile. His mere presence was a godsend. While she considered the tragedy that’d caused his mother’s death to be ancient history, for him it seemed time had stood still. Had he even begun to process the fact Jim was gone, too?

Before the coffee finished brewing, he pulled out the glass pot, replacing it with his mug. With it only half-full, he replaced the pot.

“Better?” she found the wherewithal to ask after he’d downed a good portion of the brew.

“Much.” His faint smile reminded her so much of her lost love that her heart skipped a beat. It’d been three years since she’d lost Jim, and while she thought of him often—would never forget him—in the time he’d been gone, more urgent matters occupied the space grief had once filled in her heart.

“Hungry?” she asked. “The kids got oatmeal, but if you want, I’ll cook you up something more substantial.” Busying her flighty hands, she rummaged through the fridge. “There’s a little bacon. We always have plenty of eggs. Pancakes? Do you still like them?”

“Coffee’s fine,” he said with a wag of his mug. He looked her up and down, then politely aimed his stare out the kitchen window. “Judging by your outfit, you haven’t done any of the outside chores?”

She reddened, clutching the robe close at her throat.

“I assume the routine hasn’t changed?”

“No, but you’re probably tired from your drive. Why don’t you nap for a bit, and after I check on your dad, I’ll head outside.”

“No need. Fresh air will do me good.”

“You do know you’re eventually going to have to see him.”

“Dad?”

“The Easter Bunny...”

He finished his coffee then put the mug in the sink. “Not if I can help it.” He nodded to the tan Carhartt hanging on a hook by the back door. “Mind if I borrow that?”

“Help yourself.” The duster-style coat had belonged to Jim. Sometimes when she felt particularly overwhelmed, she wore it to remind her of him. It used to smell of him—the trace of the tobacco he’d chewed. How many times had she scolded him to quit, afraid of losing him to cancer when instead he’d passed from a hunting accident?

“Was this my brother’s?”

Swallowing the knot in her throat, she nodded.

She wanted to rail on him for not having had the common decency—the respect—to attend Jim’s funeral, but she lacked the strength to argue.

“About that...”

“J-just go, Cooper.” She didn’t want to hear what he had to say, because no mere explanation would ever be good enough. No matter what, a man didn’t miss his own brother’s funeral. Just didn’t happen.

The set of his stubbled square jaw was grim, but then so was the inside of her battered heart. Peg might’ve told him what the past few years without her husband had been like for Millie, but he didn’t really know. Beyond the financial toll Jim’s death had taken, emotionally, she felt as if a spring twister had uprooted every aspect of her and her kids’ lives. And speaking of her kids, they’d never even had the pleasure of meeting their uncle Cooper.

“Okay...” he mumbled.

Never-ending seconds stretched between them. Her watering eyes refused to quit stinging, and her frayed nerves itched for a fight.

“Thanks for the coffee. Guess I’ll head outside.”

Only after he’d gone, leaving her with just the wall of brutal January air to prove he’d ever even been in the room, did Millie dare exhale.

From a workload standpoint, having Cooper back on the ranch might be a godsend, but would it be worth the emotional toll?

*

“H
EY
,
GIRL
...” C
OOPER
approached Sassy, the sorrel mare he’d been given for his eighteenth birthday. At the time, working this ranch, finding a good woman, having kids, had been all he’d ever wanted from life. Strange how even though he’d accomplished and seen more than he ever could’ve dreamed, he still felt like that kid who’d been run off in shame. “Long time, no see, huh?”

He stroked her nose and was rewarded by a warm, breathy snort against his palm. For this weather, he should’ve worn gloves and a hat, but pride won over common sense when he’d scurried for the barn’s safety.

Regardless of where things stood with his father, Cooper knew damn well he’d done wrong by his brother and sweet Millie.

It’d been ages since he’d saddled a horse, and it took a while to get his bearings. Having followed the routine since he’d been a kid, he knew the drill, just had to reacquaint himself with where everything was stored. He found leather work gloves that’d seen better days and a hat that looked like a horse had stomped it to death before it’d wrestled with a tractor. Regardless, he slapped it on his head, thankful for the warmth, but wishing the simple work didn’t leave his mind with so much space to wander.

Millie wasn’t flashy.

Hell, back in Virginia Beach, she wasn’t the sort of woman to whom he’d have given a second glance. Funny thing was, back at Tipsea’s, he’d only been on the prowl for one thing, and it sure wouldn’t have made his momma proud. A woman like Millie, who was as at home in a big country kitchen as she was out on the range, was the kind of catch a man could be proud to escort to a Grange Hall dance.

His brother had been damned lucky to have found someone like Millie so young. Little good it’d done him, though, seeing how he’d gone and died way before his time. What’d Jim been thinking, shooting from a moving four-wheeler? Had disaster written all over it.

Yeah? How many shots you taken from a Mark V at fifty knots, yet you’re still ticking?

Jim may have been hot-dogging, but it wasn’t a stunt Cooper hadn’t tried himself. Only difference was that Cooper had gone fast enough for the devil not to catch up.

Even when they’d been kids, Millie had been a feisty little thing. He couldn’t even imagine the fury she’d had with her husband for putting himself in that position. With two kids, he should’ve known better.

But then who was Cooper to talk?

His entire adult life had been based on a split-second nightmare from which he still hadn’t awoken.

*

“H
OW
ARE
YOU
this morning?” Millie asked her father-in-law, even though she knew he couldn’t respond.

He replied with a snarling growl.

To say Clint was having a tough time adjusting to his new reality was putting it mildly. Poor guy had been a powerhouse all his life. He was making progress in his recovery, but it was far too slow for his liking.

Millie hustled through the personal-hygiene routine Peg taught her to follow. The nurse would handle his primary bathing, but no matter how much her father-in-law clearly resented Millie invading his personal space, for his own well-being, the job needed to be done.

“You should’ve seen your naughty granddaughter trying to get out of school this morning.” While brushing Clint’s teeth, she kept up a line of running chatter. She couldn’t tell if her attempt at levity had any effect on the patient, but it at least helped calm her nerves. “It’s cold enough out there, we might have to break the smoke off the chimney.”

All her good cheer earned was another grunt.

“Your new therapist should be here after a while. I think she’ll be working on speech today. Peg’s got a whole slew of folks coming out to help.” She tidied his bedding. “It’s gonna be a regular Grand Central Station ’round here.”

More grumbling erupted from Clint, but she ignored him in favor of slipping his small whiteboard around his neck, along with the attached dry-erase marker. It was a struggle for him to smoothly move his right arm and hand, but as with the rest of his recovery, with each passing day he grew more adept at the skill.

“Now that you’re all cleaned up, I’m going to make your breakfast then be right back.”

She prepared a light meal of scrambled eggs with cheese and pureed peaches. Clint loved coffee, so she filled a lidded mug with the steaming liquid then added a few ice cubes before sealing the top and adding a straw. Would he notice it wasn’t her usual awful brew?

Peg said Clint’s hearing was fine.

Had he heard Cooper enter the house?

Millie didn’t have long to wait for an answer. She entered Clint’s room only to find he’d already been practicing his writing. On his board were the barely legible letters:
C-O-O-P?

His bloodshot eyes begged for an answer that left her wishing they’d found a way to install Clint’s hospital-style bed in the upstairs master bedroom as opposed to Kay’s old sewing room.

How much had Clint heard?

With an extra cantankerous growl, he waved the board hard enough to send the attached marker flying on its string. The writing instrument landed smack dab in the center of Clint’s eggs, which only made him roar louder.

Jerking the marker back as if it were on a yo-yo string, he drew a line through his former word to painstakingly write:
O-U-T!

*

“W
HO
ARE
YOU
?”

After a long day of checking the well-being of not just the cattle, but fencing and the overall state of the land, as well, Cooper had just finished brushing his horse when a pretty, freckle-faced girl, whose braids reminded him an awful lot of Millie’s back when she’d been a kid, raised her chin and scowled.

“Mom doesn’t like strangers messing with our livestock.”

The fire flashing behind her sky-blue eyes also reminded him of her momma. “You must be LeeAnn?”

“Yeah?” Eyes narrowed, she asked, “Who are you, and how do you know my name?”

A boy peeked out from behind the partially closed door. He had the same red hair Jim had had when he’d been about that age. Jim Junior? Or J.J., as Peg more often called him. Through emails, Cooper had seen the kids’ pictures, but they hadn’t done them justice.

His throat grew uncomfortably tight.

How proud his brother must’ve been of these two, which only made his actions all the more undecipherable. If Cooper possessed such treasure, he’d be so careful....

But then he’d treasured his mother and look what’d happened to her.

Cooper pulled himself together, removed his right glove, then cautiously approached his niece, holding out his hand for her to shake. “LeeAnn, J.J., sorry it’s taken me so long to finally meet you. I’m your uncle Cooper.”

“The Navy SEAL?” Seven-year-old J.J. found his courage and bolted out from his hiding spot. “Dad said you blow up ships and scuba dive and other cool stuff.”

Judging by LeeAnn’s prepubescent scowl, she wasn’t impressed. “Mom said you abandoned your family when we needed you most.”

How did he respond? Millie had only spoken the truth.

From behind him, Sassy snorted.

“You didn’t ride her, did you?” His pint-size nemesis followed him on his trek to the feed bin. “Because if you did, don’t
ever
do it again. Sassy’s
mine.
”

“Interesting...” He scooped grain into a bucket. The faint earthy-sweet smell brought him back to a time when he’d been LeeAnn and J.J.’s age. Everything had been so simple then. Do his chores, his homework, play with the dog. Speaking of which, he hadn’t seen their mutt, Marvel. Not a good sign. “Because Sassy was a birthday present for me.”

“You’ve gotta be like a hundred,” his nephew noted.

Most days, I feel like it.
“Only seventy-five.”

“That’s still pretty old....”

His niece narrowed her eyes. “That’s not true. I heard Mom talking to Aunt Peg about Grandpa, and she said he was in his seventies. That means you can’t be that old—probably just like fifty.”

Cooper laughed. “Yeah, that’s closer.”

LeeAnn wrenched the feed bucket from him. “Since she’s my horse, I’ll take care of her.”

“Be my guest.” Cooper backed away. “But since I’ll be here awhile, do you think we might work out a deal?”

“Like what?” She stroked the horse’s nose.

“Sassy’s allowed to help me with the cattle while you’re at school, then she’s all yours once you get home?”

“Sounds good to me.” J.J. took an apple from his backpack and sat on a hay bale to eat it, all the while watching the negotiation with rapt interest.

The girl nibbled her lower lip. Another trait she’d inherited from her mom. “I’ll think about it.”

“Fair enough.”

“LeeAnn!
J.J.!”
Millie called from the house.

“Bye!” Jim’s son bolted.

His sister chased after him.

Cooper gave Sassy one last pat, made sure the three other horses had plenty of food and water, then closed up the barn for the night. As the day had wound on, the weather had only grown more ugly. At five, clouds were so heavy that it was almost dark. Sleet pelted his nose and cheeks on his walk across the yard.

As miserably cold as the day had been and night now was, Cooper would’ve preferred to spend the evening in his truck rather than go back into the house. He didn’t belong there. At least in Virginia, he’d been part of a well-oiled team.

On the ranch, he wasn’t sure what he was. No-good son. Disrespectful brother. Forgotten uncle.

“Coop?”

He glanced out from beneath his hat brim to find Millie hollering at him from the back porch. Much like she had with her robe, she now clutched the lapels of a chunky brown sweater. Wind whipped her long hair, and when she drew it back, she looked so lovely in the golden light spilling from the house that his breath caught in his throat.

Lord, what was wrong with him? Appraising his brother’s wife? There was a special place in hell for men like him.

“Hurry, before your feet freeze to the yard!”

He did hurry, but only because he didn’t want her hanging around outside waiting for him.

“Thanks.” He brushed past her, hating that he once again noticed her sweet floral smell. He removed his hat and stood there for a sec, adjusting to not only the kitchen’s warmth, but also the sight of the space filled with industrious bodies.

J.J. sat at the round oak table, frowning at an open math book. LeeAnn sat alongside him, making an unholy mess with an ugly papier-mâché mountain.