Ooh Baby, Baby. Diana Whitney
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leave, but she’d still have to dip into her small savings for food, baby supplies and medical costs until she could return to work.
And then what? Even if she could afford the exorbitant price of good day care, how could she hand her precious children over to strangers?
How could she not? She had to work, had to support her babies.
“Oh, God, Mama,” she murmured into the darkness. “I wish you were here.”
Then she turned into her pillow and wept.
* * *
The moon was out. Travis thought that a good sign. No more rain, at least for a while. Grand Springs could dry out, clean up. Clear the roads.
The last item was the most important, at least to Travis’s mind. He gazed past Sue Anne’s frilly curtains to the sturdy pickup with the weatherproof Fiberglas shell that had served as his permanent home for more years than he cared to remember. It was a good truck, dependable as a well-broken roping horse. He and that old diesel had ridden a lot of miles together, seen a lot of fine country. Grand Springs was a nice-enough place, but it was small, kind of stifling for a career cowboy like Travis John Stockwell.
Travis John.
He smiled, turning away from the window, savoring the image of a screwed-up little face framed by wispy feathers of auburn hair. His namesake. Lordy, the thought sent a proud shiver down his spine. It was almost like being a daddy.
Or, at least, it was as close as Travis would ever get, since fatherhood had been crossed off his list a long, long time ago. Kids were too special, too vulnerable to be stuck with a broken-down rodeo bum—Peggy Saxon’s decisive voice boomed into his mind. I take umbrage at the term ‘bum.’ You’re a fine man, and I won’t allow you to make light of yourself.
Properly chastised—again—he felt himself flinch, then grin stupidly into the darkness. No one had ever scolded him for thinking too little of himself. Truth was, he kind of liked it, liked the spitfire spunk in Peggy Saxon’s eyes as she’d stood up to him without a second thought. Most women were kind of wishy-washy, always trying to please a man, butter him up with wiles and such. Not Peggy. She wasn’t afraid to stand up in a man’s face and tell him what was on her mind. Travis liked that.
And he liked her, too. Feisty women intrigued him. He admired their spunk and independence. Most of all, he liked that they didn’t need him.
Not that he minded helping folks out now and again, but he didn’t want to be needed, to be smothered by the clingy weakness of those who didn’t have enough gumption to face the world on their own.
Peggy Saxon wasn’t like that, he decided. She was a tough woman, and smart, too. He liked the way she spoke, using educated speech the way rich folks used money—by tossing it around without a worry in the world. He admired that, admired her. There was just one small problem. Travis couldn’t seem to get the gutsy little redhead out of his mind. For a man who’d already taken the road as his lady, that was bothersome. And it was scary.
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