Rescuing the Cowboy. Cathy McDavid
Читать онлайн книгу.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” A deep male voice interrupted her. “You left your groceries.”
She rose and pivoted, emitting a small gasp at the sight of the cowboy from the market standing so close to her. He held out a plastic grocery sack.
“Wh-what?”
“Your groceries. You forgot them.”
She shook her head in confusion. “I didn’t buy them.”
“It’s okay.” He shrugged.
“Did you pay for these?”
Behind Summer, Teddy shifted. He could hear the man even if he couldn’t see him from under the hat’s wide brim. She prayed that he didn’t have another meltdown.
“Don’t worry about it,” the man said. “I could see you were...in a hurry.” Not a trace of reproach or disapproval or shock colored his deep voice.
She blinked, then stared. Who was he?
“Look,” she began to explain. “It’s not what you think.”
“I don’t think anything, ma’am. It’s none of my business.”
Still, she felt the need to explain. The man had been kind, unlike the women who’d been curious and interfering. “My son is autistic and struggles in social situations.”
In her support group, she was encouraged not to make excuses for her son. If people didn’t understand, or if they poked fun at her and Teddy, well, that was their problem. Not hers. Still, it wasn’t easy.
“I understand. I struggle myself at times.” There was an honesty in his statement that took her momentarily aback.
He was handsome. Handsome enough that if Summer wasn’t preoccupied with her son, she’d be intrigued. Brown eyes with flecks of gold studied her intently. Broad shoulders and muscled arms emphasized the snug fit of his black T-shirt. Scuffed cowboy boots added an inch to his already impressive height. Stubble darkened his strong jawline. That, along with a noticeable scar beside his left eye, lent a mysterious, if not dangerous, element to his looks.
“Let me pay you.” Summer reached for her purse, which she’d left on the ground.
“It’s not necessary.”
“Yes, it is,” she insisted as she handed him several bills.
He hesitated before accepting. Stuffing the money in his jeans pocket, he tugged on the brim of his hat.
“See you around.”
Would he? She almost hoped that were true. After a moment, she came to her senses. Summer didn’t date. Ever. Not that she wouldn’t enjoy being in a relationship. But she and Teddy were a package deal. It wasn’t easy finding an understanding and patient guy who’d accept and love a boy who wasn’t his. Finding a guy who’d accept and love a special-needs child who wasn’t his was nearly impossible.
“Thank you again,” she said.
He seemed almost disappointed, as if he’d expected her to ask him to stay. Before she could say another word, he turned and left, disappearing into the store.
Summer stood and watched him go, the grocery sack growing heavy in her hand.
“Maw Maw.”
Teddy calling her by name. He was definitely feeling better.
“Let’s go home, honey. What do you say?”
She slowly removed the cowboy hat and laid it on the car floor. Getting behind the wheel, she pulled out of the parking lot. There was still time to make the cookies before the party.
“Man,” Teddy said from the rear seat. “Wide haws.”
“That’s right. The man was a cowboy and rides horses.”
Her thoughts drifted to him. She recalled his strong, compelling features. His kindness. The scar by his eye—surely there was a story there. Not that it mattered, but it was too bad she’d forgotten to introduce herself. Neither had she gotten his name.
Only when she reached her driveway did she realize she’d also forgotten the vanilla extract.
* * *
THREE DAYS AT Dos Estrellas Ranch, and Quinn Crenshaw felt as if he’d been living there for months. No, that wasn’t entirely accurate. He felt as if he was home, in a way he hadn’t felt at home for a long, long time.
The hammer rested easily in his hand, fitting perfectly in the crook of his palm. Raising it, he brought the head down hard on the nail, enjoying the loud thwang and the reverberation running up the length of his arm.
This was good work. Real work. Meaningful work. He’d missed it during the last two years, three months and fourteen days. For the majority of that time, he’d labored as a janitor, earning pennies an hour. Prisoner wages. Most of it was spent in the commissary. The remainder of his savings, thirty-two dollars and change, had been given to him when he was released six weeks ago.
His parents had funded his trip to Mustang Valley. Without their help, he couldn’t have afforded the gas for the fourteen-hour drive and the new tires his six-year-old pickup had desperately needed. Nor would he have had the cash to purchase the woman’s groceries earlier today at the market. He hadn’t wanted to take her money, but he could see it was important for her to repay him.
She was pretty, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since their encounter. Freckles were his undoing, and the small sprinkling across her nose and cheeks was the perfect amount. She also appeared devoted to her son and was dealing with difficult circumstances to the best of her abilities.
Both were qualities Quinn admired and appreciated. His parents hadn’t wavered once in their support of him during his arrest, trial and imprisonment.
Granted, he was reading a lot into a brief meeting and could be coming to a wrong conclusion. Quinn would bet, however, that he was right about the woman. Too bad he’d likely never see her again. And if he did see her, he was hardly in a position to pursue more than a casual acquaintance. He was innocent of any crime and completely exonerated thanks to new evidence. That didn’t change the fact he was an ex-con with a record, one not cleared yet.
She’d said her son was autistic. Quinn had heard of the disorder, but his knowledge ended there. He might learn more while at Dos Estrellas. The equine therapy program that operated at the ranch currently had over thirty special-needs children enrolled, some coming from as far away as Scottsdale, Fountain Hills and Phoenix. Cara had told him as much yesterday. She was his cousin Josh’s fiancée and the head of the therapy program. Quinn would be one of the groomsmen in their wedding next month.
“What are you doing, mister?”
Hearing a child’s voice, Quinn straightened. He’d been bent over the wooden arena post, repairing a loose railing, and hadn’t heard the girl and horse approach.
“Fixing this.” He pointed at the railing with his hammer.
“Why?” She spoke with a pronounced lisp.
“It was loose. Now it’s not.”
The girl, an adorable pixie, giggled impishly from where she sat atop a brown mare. Ten or twelve—he wasn’t good at judging ages—her distinctive almond-shaped eyes narrowed to small slits as her smile widened.
Quinn grinned in return, something he rarely did. The girl was responsible. Children were open and much more accepting than adults. He could relax around them.
What did his daughter look and act like? Was she cute and bubbly or shy and quiet? The questions plagued Quinn constantly and angered him on those nights when sleep eluded him. The private investigator he’d hired hadn’t located his daughter or her mother, claiming they’d gone into deep hiding. Quinn couldn’t disagree. His own efforts had failed to produce results.
Running