Cowboy Daddy. Carolyne Aarsen
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you hadn’t agreed to take on the boys, if she would have stayed with you…” his mother’s voice trailed off, putting voice to the questions that had plagued Kip for the first two months after Scott had died.
“Scott begged me, Mom,” Kip reminded her. “He begged me to keep the boys on the ranch. I owed him. It was because of my horse—” he stopped himself there. He still couldn’t think of his brother’s death without guilt. He wondered if that would ever leave. “Besides, if Nancy had really loved me, she would have been willing to take on the boys as well as me.”
Mary nodded, but Kip could see a hint of sorrow in her assuring smile.
“I know you really liked her, but the reality is anyone who wants me will have to take the boys and the ranch as well—”
“And your mother and your little sister,” Mary added. She shook her head. “You took too much on when you took over the ranch after Dad died. You take too much on all the time.”
Kip gave her a quick hug. “I do it because I love you, and anything taken on in love isn’t a burden.” He heard the noise of the boys’ excited voices coming closer. “And now I’d better deal with Ms. Williams.”
He gently squeezed his mother’s shoulder, squared his own and went out the door.
Nicole was leading the boys up the walk, holding both boys’ hands. She looked up at him and Kip felt a jolt of surprise.
She had completely transformed. Gone was the suit, the tied-back hair, the high-heeled shoes. The uptight city woman had been transformed.
She wore blue jeans, a loose plaid shirt over a black T-shirt and cowboy boots. And she had let her hair down. It flowed over her shoulders in loose waves, softening her features.
Making her look more approachable and, even worse, more appealing.
He put a brake on his thoughts, blaming his distraction on his mother’s mention of his old girlfriend. Though he didn’t miss Nancy as much as he’d thought he would, there were times he missed having someone special in his life. Missed being a boyfriend. He’d always wanted a family of his own.
“Hello,” Nicole said, her voice as cool as it had been in Ron’s office.
He acknowledged her greeting with a curt nod. “Okay boys, let’s go work on that tractor.”
“Yippee.” Justin jumped up and down. “Let’s go, Tristan.”
Kip glanced at his other nephew who was staring up at Nicole, looking a little starstruck. “I want to play with the puppies,” Tristan said. “Can you play with the puppies with me?” he asked Nicole.
“I thought you wanted to help me,” Kip said to Tristan with a forced jocularity. Tristan was never as adventurous as Justin, but he always came along.
Tristan shook his head still looking up at Nicole. “I want to be with Auntie Nicole.”
Auntie Nicole? The words jarred him, and he stifled a shiver of premonition. She had already staked a claim on his boys.
“So do I,” Justin shouted out.
Nicole glanced from Kip to the boys. “Your Uncle Kip said I had to help him with the tractor.” She shot him an arch look. “Unless he was kidding.”
“Nope,” he said, deadpan. “Absolutely serious.”
“Then I’ll come,” Justin said, turning on his allegiances as quickly as he turned on his feet.
“What are those,” Nicole asked, as they walked past two of his wagons parked beside the barn. Grass had grown up a bit around them. He’d parked them there last fall and hadn’t touched them since.
“Chuck wagons.”
“What do you use them for?” Nicole asked.
“Uncle Kip used to race them,” Tristan said. “Before my daddy died.”
“Race them? How do you do that?”
“You don’t know?” Justin’s astonishment was a bit rude, but Kip didn’t feel like correcting him.
“I’m sorry. I do not.”
Kip wasn’t surprised. Chuck-wagon racing had originated in Calgary, and while it was an integral part of the Calgary Stampede, it wasn’t a regular event in all the rodeos scattered around North America. He’d grown up with it, though. His father and his uncle and his grandfather all competed in the chuck-wagon races. It was in his blood.
He knew he should be teaching the boys so they could carry on the tradition. It was in their blood too. They were as much Cosgroves as he was.
“Uncle Kip will have to show you, won’t you, Uncle Kip?” Justin said.
“Maybe,” was his curt reply.
Since Scott died, he hadn’t worked with his horses. Hadn’t competed in any of the races. Chuck-wagon racing took up too much of the time he didn’t have anymore.
He felt a pinch of sorrow. He missed the thrill of the race, the keenness of competing, the pleasure of working with his horses.
“Uncle Kip was one of the fastest racers,” Tristan said, pride tingeing his voice. “But he doesn’t race anymore. He says it’s not ’sponsible ’cause now he has us.”
“Well, that sounds like a good way to think,” Nicole said.
Kip shot her a glance, wondering if she was serious. But he caught her steady gaze and she wasn’t laughing.
“So where’s the tractor?”
“Just over here.” He was only too glad to change the subject. Chuck wagons were in his past. He had enough going on in the present.
“What do we need to do?” Nicole asked as they walked across the packed ground toward the shop.
Kip gave her a curious look. “You don’t have to help.”
“Of course I do.” She gave him a wry look, as if to say “you asked for it.”
Their eyes held a split-second longer than necessary. As if each was testing the other to see who would give. Then he broke the connection. He didn’t have anything to prove.
Yet even as he thought those brave words, a finger of fear trickled down his spine. Actually, he did have something to prove. He had to prove that Justin and Tristan’s were Scott’s boys. That they belonged here on the ranch.
Kip pulled on the chain and the large garage door creaked and groaned as light spilled into the usually gloomy shop. He loved working with the door open and today, with the sun shining and a bright blue sky, was a perfect day to do so.
“This is where the tractor is,” Justin said. “Uncle Kip took it apart and he said a bad word when he dropped a wrench on his toe.”
“Did he now?” Nicole’s voice held a hint of laughter and Kip made a mental note to talk to the boys about “things we don’t tell Ms. Williams.”
“Tristan, you can wheel over the tool chest. Justin, you can get me the box of rags,” Kip said, shooting his blabbermouth nephew a warning look as he rolled up his sleeves.
“I got the rags the last time,” Justin whined. “How come Tristan always gets to push the tool chest? I never do.”
As Kip stifled his frustration, he caught Nicole watching him. As if assessing what he was going to do.
“Just do it, Justin,” he said more firmly.
But Justin shoved his hands in his pockets and glared back at him. Kip felt Nicole’s gaze burning on him. For a moment he wished he hadn’t insisted that she visit the kids here. Now everything he did with the boys would be with an audience. A very critical audience who, he was sure, would be only too glad to see him mess up.
He tried to ignore