Allison B. Collins - Falling For The Rebel Cowboy

Not for fancy treatments and crap.

Which made him think of Frankie and her hot-pink-polished toes and those long legs, a forbidden temptation.

No sense thinking about her. She’d drop him faster than a bronc busts a greenhorn once she found out about his past.

Chapter Two

Wyatt strode to the equipment barn, heels pounding like a hammer setting stakes in the ground. His dog trotted next to him and woofed. He slowed down so Sadie wasn’t exerting herself in her pregnant condition.

It was a pretty day, with the sun shining, birds singing, a crisp autumn breeze lifting the hair off his neck. Yet he was too pissed to enjoy it. His lesson that morning hadn’t gone well. He was finally doing something about getting his diploma, but how could he succeed when he had trouble comprehending what his tutor was teaching him?

He felt stupid.

He hated feeling stupid.

Damn learning problems.

And after that, the long email his dad had sent listing chores, talking about Wyatt’s place on the ranch, had made him so mad the letters got all jumbled up when he’d tried to read it. He knew he had to wait till he calmed down to revisit it.

He huffed out a breath. After nine months of hard work, his dad still didn’t trust him. He’d never get the foreman job he was hoping for.

Maybe if he was more like Kade. His second-oldest brother got along with their dad best—he was ranch manager and damn good at it. Luke, a year younger than Wyatt, did his part as the ranch veterinarian. Then there was Hunter, his youngest brother. Charmer, jokester and the glue that held everyone together. He’d missed them all while he was gone, was still trying to find his place now that he was back. He’d hoped the foreman job opening up would be it. He genuinely wanted it, and it’d prove to his family he was here to stay.

But his dad wasn’t giving him a fair chance—he looked at Wyatt and saw a screwup. Acting out as a teen was one thing, but Wyatt hated thinking about his time in Texas. What had happened down there had been out of his control—his family knew it—but it didn’t erase the mark that dark period had left on him, or the way his dad looked at him now. “Why’d I bother to come back here?” he muttered.

“’Cause it’s your home,” Nash said.

Wyatt glanced around at his oldest brother, ready to let loose with a blast of cusswords, but saw Nash’s six-year-old stepdaughter, Maddy, standing next to him. She beamed at him and threw her arms 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.