Cowboy In Charge. Barbara Daille White
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“You’re not the only one, honey.” The baby nuzzled again, and Layne raised her hand to her robe.
“Hey.” He backed a step. “I’m just standing around taking up space. My cooking skills stretch as far as opening a can and putting a pot on the stove.”
“Thanks,” she said stiffly, “but we’ll do just fine on our own. I hate to ask you to leave...”
I want you to go. Her eyes, looking like a couple of cold blue stones, got her point across as loud and clear and emphatically as her words had done a few years ago. Then, he had turned and walked out. Because he’d been a complete ass. Not without provocation, however. Seeing his packed bags at the front doorstep when he got home had warned him what to expect. Layne’s response when he’d entered the apartment had underscored the message.
“Mo-mmy.”
She looked past him to the boy and then back again. Now her gaze didn’t quite meet his. “All right. The soup’s not from a can. It’s homemade. And the bowl is on the top shelf of the fridge.” The baby let out a screech.
He half turned to the boy. “Come on, pardner, let’s go get you some supper.”
The boy looked at his mama, who offered him a nod of encouragement. Then he gave Jason a long, frowning look. “Okay,” he said finally, his brow clearing. Getting that seal of approval made Jason stand taller. “Soup for Scott for supper.”
“Yeah. Show me the way to the kitchen.” The boy took off at a trot past the playpen. Jason’s boots pounded against the bare flooring as he followed at almost the same speed. He sure didn’t want to be around to watch Layne taking care of the baby.
Red nose, rumpled hair and bloodshot eyes aside, she was still the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Seeing any more of her as she opened her robe would only stir up memories best tucked away for good.
He found the soup where she’d directed and snagged a pot from the cabinet the boy pointed out to him.
“I help.” His designated assistant...his son walked him through finding cups and bowls and spoons.
In amazement, Jason watched the little guy. Once that front door had opened, events had moved too rapidly for him to take everything in. Now the situation hit him and, for a minute, his legs threatened to go out from under him the way Layne’s had.
Back in Dallas, his thoughts had been on making sure the boy was okay, that Layne was taking proper care of him and not just shutting him out of her life, shunting him to a sitter. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d convinced himself that having this confirmation would help make up for his own shortcomings.
Now he was home again and standing in an apartment not unlike the one he and Layne had shared when they got married. And he was getting supper ready...with his son.
His legs felt shaky again.
“I get napkins,” the boy said.
“Sounds good.”
He watched the child move around the room, seeming confident for a kid his age. That was the difference between being taught to be independent and having it forced on you, overwhelming you with the effort needed to survive. Assuming Layne had instilled that confidence in the boy, he gave her a lot of credit.
They set the table together. The room was filled with the sounds of spoons clanking against the table and the smell of chicken broth wafting from the pot on the stove. He wondered if someone had brought the soup over for Layne. Maybe she had made it herself. If so, she had turned into more of a homebody than she’d been when they had gotten married. Back then, they had stayed too busy in the bedroom to give her a chance to develop much skill in the kitchen.
Other memories he would do better to tuck away.
Scott stood looking at the almost neatly laid table. He frowned. “We can eat supper on the couch? And watch TV?”
“I don’t know about that. Your mama and your sister have taken over those seats right now.” Recalling the words the boy had screeched at him made him wince. He knew the worries the kid would have, thanks to what Miss Rhea—whoever she was—had taught him. Understandably, he’d feel nervous, especially after watching a man he’d never before seen carry his mama into the apartment, and then seeing her run away. No wonder he was worried about that same man going near his baby sister.
Keeping an eye out for strangers had been one of the first things he’d learned as a child, and since then, the world had become a much scarier place. He didn’t know how Layne took care of the kids by herself.
If she was on her own. There was the infant to account for, after all.
But if she had a man in her life, surely as sick as she was and with two babies to care for, the guy wouldn’t have gone off and left—
He shoved the rest of the thought aside before it could take root in his mind.
What a jackass he’d once been. What a predicament he was in now.
This extended reunion had derailed his plan to take care of business and move on. Instead, he needed to take charge.
* * *
SHE HADN’T EXPECTED Jason to put on enough soup for all three of them, but he announced he had done exactly that. And when Scott came to take her hand to lead her to the kitchen, she couldn’t say no. To tell the truth, with nothing in her stomach, she needed the nourishment, needed to get her strength back so she could take care of the kids and get Jason out of her life again.
Their awkward dinner would have taken place in near-silence if not for her son’s chatter all through the meal and dessert.
She focused on getting her few spoonfuls of soup to her mouth without spilling anything...and on trying to keep her gaze on her soup bowl and away from her ex. And failing miserably. Every time he walked away from the table, she couldn’t help sneaking a peek, couldn’t help watching the way his muscles flexed beneath his gray T-shirt as he reached for dishes from the cabinet and the way his faded jeans pulled tight when he leaned down to pull the container of milk from the refrigerator.
When Scott had finished eating, Jason rose and began gathering up the dishes. He had taken control of her tiny kitchen and, worse, dominated her space. She was finding it hard to breathe, let alone keep her head upright. “Leave the dishes, please,” she said. “I can take care of them.”
“I don’t think so.”
He locked gazes with her. She managed to take a steadying breath and turn to Scott. “Honey, how about you go and get into your jammies for Mommy?”
“No, Mommy. I play with cars. Please?”
She smiled. “Well, we’ll see. But jammies first. They’re on your bed. You go get started, okay?”
He slid from his booster chair and left the room.
Slowly, she turned to face her ex-husband again. He had set the dishes in the sink. Hips settled back against the counter, he stood with his arms crossed and his biceps bulging against his T-shirt sleeves and his frown looking too much like Scott’s for her liking. This situation was all too much for her and had been from the moment she had seen him standing in her hallway.
“Jason.” Anger at him and irritation at herself made her hiss his name. “Just who do you think you are to tell me what I can and can’t do in my own kitchen?”
“Just the guy who carried you back into the house after you passed out.”
“It was only for a second. You told me that yourself.”
“I lied.”
Her breath caught. “Why?”
“The baby was wailing and the boy looked scared to death and you sure didn’t seem in any shape for more bad news at that moment. The moment right before you ran off to toss your cookies. Remember that?”
“Yes,”