Falling For The Rebel Cowboy. Allison Collins B.
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up for a hug. “Good mornin’, Uncle Wyatt.”
Wyatt picked her up, and she smacked his cheek with a kiss. “Morning, sunshine,” he said and ruffled her long dark curls. “How you doin’?” He’d never been one for kids, but he’d grown to love this little girl who shared her heart with everyone.
“Good,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck and giving him her one-of-a-kind hug. He had to admit it was nice having a niece to spoil along with his four nephews.
“Where’s Kelsey?”
“I got her to go back to bed. Morning sickness hit hard today,” Nash said.
“Does she need a doctor?”
“She says it’s normal,” Nash said, but damn if his voice didn’t waver a bit, and he looked a little queasy himself.
His brother had been injured and angry at the world when he got home from Afghanistan. Kelsey was the best thing that could have happened to him, and he’d fallen hard and fast for her. Now they ran a therapy program for veterans, and Nash was responsible for the horses on the ranch.
“So what’s wrong?” Nash asked.
“For some reason, Pop doesn’t think I know what needs to be done around here. He keeps sending emails and texts for chores that I’m already working on or planning to do. It’s like I didn’t grow up on a ranch with the rest of you.” He handed Maddy to Nash.
“Need some help?”
“Nah. I’ll just keep plugging away at it,” he said, his lip curling. “Well, see y’all later. Need to get to work.” Wyatt yanked open the sliding door of the equipment barn, and metal screeched. One more thing to tack on to his growing to-do list.
He slapped the wall and ran his hand up the row of switches, turning the lights on and banishing the shadows cast by the ancient tractor. The smell of oil and gasoline mixed with sawdust and wood permeated the air. It was familiar, comforting to him in many ways. Each barn had its own smell depending on what it was used for. And he loved them all.
He shucked his denim jacket and hung it on a peg by the door, then strapped on his tool belt. As he crossed the floor to the tractor, the tools clinked and jangled with every step, creating a beat in his head. He cocked his head, listening as he walked, already committing it to memory until he could get his hands on his guitar.
Sadie walked to the side of the barn where he’d set up a bed for her. She stepped onto the pad, turned around three times, then plopped down, sighing as if she’d just run a marathon with a pack of wolves. He watched her for a few minutes, made sure she was okay. He’d found her wandering one of the meadows a while back, and when no one claimed her, decided to keep her. She made a great roommate, but now their little family would be growing when she gave birth.
He turned his attention to the first item on the list. Another tractor with a problem. This one was older than the one he’d fixed the day before. He started taking the tractor’s engine apart, piece by prehistoric piece, convinced there were still more years left in her. He refused to let anyone haul it off to the junkyard. One of the bolts proved stubborn, and he grabbed his hammer and banged on it, letting loose a stream of profanities.
“Hey, mister! What’s that mean?”
The kid’s voice startled him, and he pounded his thumb instead of the bolt. He jerked around, sticking the tenderized thumb in his mouth, and saw Frankie’s kid.
“Hey, Johnny,” he mumbled around his stinging thumb.
“You okay, mister? I didn’t mean it,” Johnny said, hanging his head.
“Not your fault, kid. My fault for getting mad at the da—dang-blasted tractor.”
His thumb finally stopped throbbing, and he stuck the hammer back in his tool belt, then looked around for Frankie. “Is your mom with you?”
Johnny shook his head. “She’s working.”
Great, a kid wandering around a big ranch alone? Not good. “Isn’t someone watching you?”
“No, sir. I was at day care. I’m bored. Can I help?”
Wyatt shook his head, knowing the child-care worker at the lodge would be frantic trying to find him. The kid was a hoot—four years old, he guessed, going on forty, with proper grammar, pressed clothes and everything. Wyatt’s mom would have called the kid an old soul.
Which was a shame.
“How about I take you back up there? You don’t want to miss out on any fun, do you?”
The kid looked up at him, his eyes a piercing blue. “I want to stay here.” He scuffed his shoe—a loafer, for Pete’s sake—at something invisible on the barn floor.
Wyatt bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh even as he felt sorry for the kid. Way too young to already be like a little old man.
Sadie woofed, and Johnny looked at her. “You got a dog?” he asked, already racing over to her side. He stopped short, then reached a little hand out for her to sniff. Sadie looked up at the boy, and Wyatt could have sworn she smiled.
“Mister, can I pet her?”
“Sure. Her name’s Sadie.”
Johnny crouched down next to her and patted her head. “I love dogs.”
“You and your mom have a dog?”
Johnny shook his head, his chin wobbling. “No. We can’t have one.”
Poor kid. “Come on, let’s get you back to the lodge before they call out the big guns.” He walked to the door and waited while Johnny said goodbye to Sadie.
The boy patted Sadie one last time and walked to the door, dragging his feet and looking as if Santa and the Easter Bunny had just crossed him off their nice lists.
Wyatt squashed the guilty feelings down deep. Sure, he had nephews and a niece, but what did he really know about kids? The boys had been born while he’d been gone, so he was still trying to get to know them.
But a guest’s kid? Not his pint of beer.
They reached the lodge and Wyatt took him inside to the day care, made sure Mrs. Dailey had him in hand, then retraced his path to the barn.
As he walked inside, he checked on Sadie, and damned if she didn’t look like she was frowning at him.
Grabbing the wrench off the seat, he went back to working on the tractor in peace. He settled back in to work, losing himself in the task of stripping the engine bare to find the source of the problem.
Sometime later he surfaced as a scuff quietly echoed, the noise sending goose bumps prickling along his back. The sound transported him back to a time when he’d been helpless, no defense other than his fists against men bigger than him.
He gripped the wrench tighter and casually reached for the hammer with his free hand. No one would ever take him by surprise again.
He jerked around, weapons raised, scanning for the intruder. His eyes searched the shadows until Sadie gave a soft woof, and he moved enough to see her and Johnny staring at him. How had the kid made it all the way inside the barn making so little sound?
“What are you doing back here?”
“I dunno,” Johnny said, his arms going around Sadie’s neck.
“You can’t keep running off like that, kid. Mrs. Dailey will get upset, and your mom...well, let’s just say I don’t want to see her bad side.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” Wyatt said, setting the tools down on the wheel of the tractor and pulling his phone out of his pocket. He dialed the day care lady and asked for Frankie’s—Francine’s, he corrected—phone number.
Entering the number on his phone, he texted her to say Johnny