The Baby And The Cowboy Seal. Laura Marie Altom
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shifted the baby to her other hip. “It’s just been a while since I’ve encountered anyone quite so rude.”
Sorry, is what he should have said. It’s nothing personal. It’s me, not you. What came out was, “I’m busy, and wasn’t expecting company—especially not a herd of llamas.”
“Whatever. Can you please at least help me get them back home?”
“I would, but...” Wiley had a white-knuckled grip on the porch rail for support. “Like I said, I’m busy.”
“You’re not busy.” She narrowed her gaze. “You’re just a big old horse’s behind. Forget I asked.” She put her fingers to her mouth and whistled. “Chris, Sabrina, Kelly, Jill! Let’s go! Charlie, you, too!”
Even though Wiley had spent his entire adult life helping others in need, on this day, he stubbornly held his ground—not because he didn’t want to help, but because pride wouldn’t let him.
* * *
“...AND THEN HE told me he couldn’t help round up my llamas because he was busy. Who says that?” After the morning she’d had wrestling her mischievous livestock back to their pasture, Macy was all too happy to unload on her parents who lived in Eagle Ridge—the nearest town to her grandparents’ cabin and acreage. The hodgepodge A-frame and ranch combo where she’d spent her childhood was always sun-flooded and usually scented by some sort of baked good. On today’s menu—zucchini bread.
“Word around the VFW is that Wiley hasn’t been the same since his last trip to the Middle East.” Her father, Steve, jiggled a giggly Henry on his knee.
“What happened to him?” her mother, Adrianne, asked from the dining room table, where she worked on her scrapbooking obsession. She belonged to a club, and the one-upmanship sometimes got a little out of hand.
“Guys down at the VFW say he came darned close to losing his leg in Syria. He was in one heck of a skirmish—won just about every medal a man can for bravery and valor. But he’s not right up here.” He tapped his forehead with his index finger.
“Now, Steve, that’s not nice. We can’t know that.”
“I served in the first Gulf War, and plenty of the men I came home with were never the same—you hear about it all the time—think about those poor guys who served in Vietnam. Personally, when the time is right, I wouldn’t mind talking to Wiley about what he’s been through. I know we had our differences, but that was back when he was a teen and our daughter was moon-eyed over him. That said, I’d feel more comfortable if Macy kept her distance—especially with the baby.”
“Dad...” Macy sat beside him on the sofa, and took Henry’s tiny hand. “The Wiley I knew was strong, and filled with self-confidence, and maybe even a little wild—but never dangerous.”
“Yeah, well, you knew him as a teen—and I didn’t much like him then. Now, he’s a Navy SEAL—or at least was—you don’t know what kind of hell those special ops guys go through. Stuff probably straight out of the movies. As far as I’m concerned, you’d be better off safe than sorry. Just stay away.”
“Is Wiley still handsome?” Adrianne asked. “You used to have the worst crush on him. Your grandparents once bought you one of those disposable cameras and when we had it developed, the whole thing was full of sneaky pics you’d taken of him.”
“Mom!” Macy’s cheeks no doubt glowed from excess heat. “That’s so not true. I remember that camera, and I had lots of horse pictures, too.”
“Whatever you say. You know how I love my pictures. If you’d want to launch a friendly wager, I’m sure I can find them around here somewhere.”
Macy rolled her eyes. “You’re acting nuts. I don’t know why I even came over.”
Her dad snorted. “You’re here for free dinner.”
Adrianne laughed. “True! And don’t think you’re getting out of here without telling me if Wiley’s still handsome.”
“He’s okay.” And by okay, she meant, good Lord, was he hot!
Macy wasn’t even sure where to start.
That morning, Wiley hadn’t been just easy on her eyes, but steal-her-breath-away gorgeous. His brown gaze was so intense she’d had to look away. He wore his dark hair on the long side, and judging by his scruffy facial hair, he hadn’t shaved in days. And his body—whew. His broad shoulders barely even fit in his faded PBR T-shirt she remembered him getting when his grandpa took him to the Vegas finals.
“Just, okay?” Her mom frowned. “That’s disappointing. I had visions of a romantic reunion.”
“Don’t encourage this,” Steve said. “Do you want our girl to get hurt?”
“Oh, quit being a worrywart.” Adrianne waved off her husband’s concern. “Wiley’s a fellow veteran. I would think you’d give him your respect.”
“He has my highest admiration and thanks. One day, I’d be honored if he considered me a friend. But when it comes to giving my blessing for him to marry our daughter and become Henry’s stepfather, can you blame me for wanting to be cautious?”
Macy sighed. “Hate to interrupt this charming debate, but you two are aware of the fact that at no point when Wiley ordered me, Henry and our llamas off his land did he ever once propose?”
* * *
WILEY HAD NEVER been a morning person, but his leg pain made it especially tough to get out of bed with a smile. The constant ache shaded his life in gray, and turned even cheery sun dull.
He tossed back the sheet and quilt to ease from the bed. The cold plank floor nipped the soles of his feet. Having spent the past decade on base in Virginia Beach, and in mostly hot-as-hell Middle Eastern locations, the chilly mountain starts to his days took some adjusting to.
After using the bathroom, then splashing cold water on his face, Wiley wound his way through the four-room log cabin to the kitchen. The place had been in his family for three generations, and though it had been updated with modern plumbing and electric, the hand-hewn logs held on to the original character. Age made them glow with a golden patina.
He rummaged through the fridge, but shouldn’t have bothered. No food fairies had shown up in the night. He settled on a protein bar and steaming mug of half coffee, half whiskey to dull his pain.
With his second serving of fragrant, fresh-brewed java and Jim Beam, he wandered out to the covered front porch only to get a shock.
Macy was hard at work in his garden.
She’d woven her mane of wild red hair into a loose braid, and hummed while planting green beans that looked larger than the ones her llamas had eaten.
Baby Henry sat beside her, happily shrieking each time he raked his fingers through the soft soil.
The sight of mother and child both incensed and mesmerized him.
Why were they on his property when he’d told Macy he didn’t need help? Why couldn’t he look away from the quintessential slice of normalcy they represented? Lord help him, but he envied her ability to find joy in the simple work.
He shouted from the porch, “I told you I could handle replanting.”
“Good morning!” Her pretty smile didn’t help his dour mood. “Gorgeous day, isn’t it? But I hear it’s supposed to be rainy by tonight—which is good. We could use a good old-fashioned toad strangler.”
“Why are you here?”
“Aren’t you cold with no shirt? It’s chilly.”
She’d pulled this same crap when they’d been kids—purposely ignoring him until she wore him down to do her bidding—usually, manipulating him to give her a ride on his horse or hike to the mountaintop lookout where Dot and Clem had forbidden her to ever go alone.