Twins For The Rebel Cowboy. Sasha Summers
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wanted me to get better acquainted with the wall of the arena. So I obliged and flew straight into the pipes.” He held up his wrist. “Just a sprain. Almost healed up now.” Ryder cocked an eyebrow, his crooked smile doing a number on her. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head over me.”
She sighed, loudly. He laughed.
“Did it h-hurt?” Cody asked, staring at his wrist.
“Nah.” Ryder shook his head. “After breaking my collarbone, this was nothing.”
She remembered visiting him in the hospital then. “You were in so much pain.”
“Your lemon bars helped,” he answered, with a wink.
“I imagine the pain meds did, too.” She shook her head.
“Ma’s l-lem-mon bars are great,” Cody agreed.
“Totally.” Ryder nodded, sitting at the table. “And, since you’re asking so nicely, I’d love to stay for dinner.”
“Ma,” Cody sat. “Can I take T-T-Tom for show-and-tell?”
“Tom, huh?” Ryder asked, serving Florence some spaghetti.
Cody nodded, watching Ryder.
“Good name.” Ryder nodded at the boy.
And, just like that, her son was grinning from ear to ear. She loved to see him smile like that, as if he was a carefree five-year-old. “We can’t take animals to school, baby.” She grinned at him, cutting up Grandma Florence’s spaghetti. “But you can take in a few pictures if you want.”
Cody nodded. “’Kay.”
“Lady Blue’s ready. Parts came earlier this week,” Ryder said around a mouthful of spaghetti. “She’s purring like a kitten—” He winked at Cody. “Good as new.”
“Great.” She poked at the pasta on her plate. If Lady Blue was ready, then so was the bill. She still had almost twenty thousand to pay off on Grandma Florence’s last hospital stay. But she’d figure something out. She always did. “Guess it’s a little harder to work with an injured hand?”
“Not really. I’m good with both my hands.” His words made her warm all over.
“How’s Mags, Teddy?” Grandma Florence asked Ryder. Teddy was Ryder’s father, Mags his mom.
“She’s fine, Flo.” Ryder didn’t miss a beat.
“You tell her I’m still waiting on her chicken pie recipe. That recipe...” Florence sighed and shook her head.
Dinner conversation flowed. Ryder had funny stories from his latest rodeo stint, how his cowboy hat had a hole “clean through it” after getting hooked by a bull. Somehow he managed to make his almost serious injury into a comedy. Cody could hardly wait to show Ryder the model car he was building. And Grandma Florence told them that there was a flasher running around the retirement home.
Sunday nights were her favorite. She didn’t let herself think about the next day, the stress she was feeling—she tried not to.
She’d spent the past year being the principal Stonewall Crossing needed, and hopefully that was enough for the school board. But try as she might, she couldn’t ignore that her assistant principal Ken Branson knew the right people, had money, and a wife and kids. He was the total package. And serious competition for the job—if he applied.
She realized Ryder was watching her and shrugged off her worries. Her worries would keep until the company was gone and Cody was in bed.
She stood, clearing the table while the others chattered on. When that was done, she pulled out the apple pie she and Cody had made earlier that day. The scent of cinnamon and sugar filled the air and soothed her nerves. She loved baking. She loved cooking. There was something about preparing a meal and feeding friends and family that made her happy.
She cut two decent pieces for Cody and Grandma Florence and a larger piece for Ryder.
He nodded at her when she put the plate in front of him, his blue eyes lingering on her face a little longer than normal.
“You got your momma’s gift in the kitchen, Annabeth.” Florence reached for Annabeth’s hand.
Annabeth took it, kneeling by her chair to savor her grandmother’s moments of clarity. “She said she learned everything from you.”
Tears filled Florence’s eyes. “’Course she did. It’s a momma’s job to train her daughter in the kitchen. What sort of a wife and mother would she be if she couldn’t take care of her menfolk?” She winked at Ryder and smiled at Cody. “She’d be so proud of the woman you’ve become. Your daddy, too.”
“I’m trying.” Annabeth smiled.
“I know, Annabeth.” Grandma Florence shook her head. “You work too hard sometimes.”
“I do what needs to be done.” Annabeth kissed her cheek.
Grandma Florence shook her head. “Who takes care of you?”
Annabeth couldn’t answer that.
“Me,” Cody piped up, kissing her on the cheek. “Right, Ma?”
Annabeth nodded, hugging him to her. “Yep.”
“Lemme see that kitty o’ yours, Cody.” Grandma Florence patted Annabeth’s hand. “Thank you for dinner, Annabeth. You never forget our Sunday dinner.”
“It’s something I look forward to every week, you know that.” Annabeth held her grandmother’s hand in both of hers. This woman had been the one to teach Annabeth what it was to be strong while keeping a sense of humor. There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t hear one of Grandma Flo’s bits of wisdom in her head, guiding her.
“Here he is, Grandma,” Cody announced. Tom was squirming in his arms but settled down once he was placed on Grandma Flo’s lap.
“Well, he’s a fine tomcat.” Grandma Florence held the cat up, turning the mewling animal this way and that. “He’ll have long legs. A good mouser.”
“He will be fast.” Cody babbled on, his stutter barely tripping him up he was so excited. And Grandma Florence, bless her, didn’t say a thing.
Now if Annabeth could get the boys at school to stop teasing him, Cody might not be so quiet all the time.
* * *
RYDER PULLED THE dish towel off the hook by the sink. He smiled as he fingered the row of lemons stitched along the trim of the towel. No doubt Annabeth had stitched each one herself. Lemons were Annabeth’s thing. She had a yellow kitchen with lemon-print curtains and lemon-print towels. Hell, she even smelled fresh and sweet like the fruit itself. He swallowed, her scent tickling his nostrils as she leaned closer to place a dish on the rack.
“You don’t have to,” Annabeth murmured. “Rest your wrist.”
He didn’t say anything, just dried off the plates she’d stacked in the dish rack.
What would she say if he told her the injury was her fault? After he’d left the kitten in her hands, he’d spent the rest of the night drinking. He hadn’t had more than a couple of hours’ sleep when his riding and drinking buddy DB picked him up and took him to the rodeo. If he’d been thinking clearly, not torn up with guilt yet wanting her, it wouldn’t have happened. He’d have been thinking about the ride, not her. Not that she’d see it that way. No, she’d argue with him, tell him he was a grown man capable of making his own decisions...
She sighed as he dried another dish. He smiled.
It was the least he could do after inviting himself to dinner. Annabeth always made something special for Florence’s Sunday-night dinner. Annabeth always made him feel welcome. Florence and Cody made him feel wanted. Two things he never felt at his father’s table. He’d stayed away the past few