Deb Kastner - The Cowboy's Forever Family

“Slade.” Grant Beckett emerged from the kitchen and extended his hand for a firm shake. “Good to see you, son. Join us in the kitchen. Carol’s making cookies, and you know how she gets when she starts baking. She’s already made enough baked goods to feed a small army.”

“Be happy to take a few off your hands, sir.”

“Thought you would.” Grant slapped Slade’s back affectionately.

Slade entered the kitchen and immediately tensed when he saw Laney propped on a stool next to the counter, laughing at something Carol had said. They looked like a couple of giggly schoolgirls with their heads close together, sharing secrets.

His gut churned and he frowned, remembering the promise he’d made to Laney. Once again he wished he wouldn’t have made it, if only for the fact that he could use some advice right now—like what part he might be able to play in giving Brody’s baby everything he or she deserved. What he could do for the child.

Brody’s baby.

There it was again, glaring before him, as clear and bright as looking straight at the midday sun. The inherent happiness in Laney’s brown eyes and the way she shared that pleasure with Carol—the knowing . The anticipation. The joy.

Brody’s baby.

A link to his friend that went far beyond words or memories. Slade swallowed hard against the emotions pummeling him.

Laney’s presence wasn’t doing the Becketts any harm, he realized. Not now. Not until she up and left town, which Slade was fairly certain she would do. The real danger wasn’t that she’d upset them now, but that she’d abandon them later. How would Carol and Grant feel when their status as grandparents—their only living link with their beloved son—was relegated to some back burner so Laney could move on to the next thing in her life? She’d split with Brody fast enough when he didn’t fall into line with her silly expectations even though she’d claimed to love him. How much easier would it be for her to walk away from his parents?

The mixture of grief and excitement he’d experienced only moments earlier was quickly replaced by a panic that made his pulse roar in his ears. As bad as he felt for Grant and Carol at the thought of them losing access to their grandchild, there was yet another reason for him to worry.

What if he had no part in the baby’s life?

Personally, he thought she was a pain in the neck, but when other people looked at her, they probably saw Laney as a young, attractive woman. She’d won Brody’s heart, after all. She was bound to meet a man, get married again and settle down far away from Serendipity. Brody would be nothing more to her than a sad, distant memory, one she’d likely tuck into the back of her mind as she moved on with her life. It hurt his heart just to think about it.

“There’s the man of the hour.” Carol beamed at him as she passed him a plate piled with warm oatmeal cookies. “I understand we owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“I’m sorry?” he asked with a confused glance toward Carol and then to Grant. Man of the hour? Gratitude? What were they talking about?

“Heard tell you rescued our princess from danger today.” Grant grinned at him and wagged his eyebrows.

Still unable to decipher what they were talking about, Slade’s gaze flashed to Laney, but she only rolled her eyes and shrugged.

They were talking about Laney?

Princess?

Yeah, right. Laney was a regular damsel in distress. And that would make him—what? Prince Charming? A knight in shining armor? The Becketts were barking up the wrong tree with that one. He scoffed at the nonsensical notion.

“There he goes,” Carol said, nodding her head as if she’d disclosed some major secret. “I told you he was going to make light of his actions. He never admits the good he does. Has to maintain that tough cowboy image, you know. Never lets on that there’s a kind heart underneath that gruff exterior.”

Slade barked out a laugh and everyone joined him. Whatever else he could be accused of, and there was plenty, making himself into something he wasn’t was not even on the list. And kindness wasn’t something he was often accused of, either.

“Laney would have been fine,” he assured the Becketts. Maybe that wasn’t entirely accurate, but he didn’t want them making too much of his actions, which hadn’t been entirely altruistic. “She just got a little turned around. I’m sure she would have found the fence and made it back to the house with no problem. Please. It’s no big deal.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Carol said, shaking her head. “But I’m grateful all the same, and so is Laney.”

He very much doubted gratitude was what Laney was feeling for him. Not from the frown she flashed at him when she thought the Becketts weren’t looking.

Slade bit into a cookie and groaned with pleasure. His own mother didn’t cook a lick, and since there was no other woman with a constant presence in his life, the only fresh baked goods he ever got besides Carol’s occasional but heartfelt forays into baking were Phoebe Hawkins’s fare from Cup O’ Jo’s Café in town. Phoebe was a professional chef and her baked goods were delicious, but they lacked the significance of being baked just for him, with love.

He poured himself a tall glass of ice-cold milk and took a long drink, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand to prevent a milk mustache. He caught Laney’s gaze and she lifted a brow.

What? Was she laughing at him?

“You’ve never heard of milk and cookies?”

She smirked. “You’ve utterly ruined your tough-guy cowboy image for me, you know.”

He shrugged, trying to make light of her comment, even if it was a direct strike to his ego. “Don’t knock it until you try it.” He met her gaze, speaking without words. Or knock me when you don’t even know me.

She glared right back at him, and her gaze was no less telling. It stated clearly that she knew him well enough to judge him and find him wanting.

“Consider the cookies and milk the least we can do as your reward for a job well done,” Carol said, grinning mischievously and seeming completely oblivious to the silent war brewing between her two guests.

“If I’m going to get cookies and milk every time I’m good, you can count on me to rescue fair damsels every day of the week.”

He was joking, of course, and the Becketts chuckled along with him, but instead of joining in the laughter, Laney frowned.

“I am neither fair nor a damsel in distress,” Laney remarked. Slade wondered if Carol and Grant could hear the ice in her tone or if she only sounded cold to him.

Apparently he was the only one who’d interpreted her frostiness because if anything, Carol’s eyes sparkled not with surprise, but with concern for the woman. “We’re just grateful you’re here with us, Laney. We only wish the circumstances were better.”

Laney’s expression fell and for a moment even Slade felt sorry for her. She looked thoroughly devastated at the reminder of Brody’s death. He’d known his fair share of female deceit in his life, but could a woman fake that kind of pain?

“Speaking of,” Slade inserted, seeing an opening to ask what was really on his mind. Maybe it was wrong of him to take advantage of the moment, given Laney’s current vulnerability, but he wasn’t sure how else to bring up the subject. It was now or never. “How long are you staying, Laney?”

Hmmph. So much for casual. He couldn’t have sounded worse if he’d tried. Every eye in the room turned on him in surprise. He wished he had figured out a more tactful way to ask the question, but he was as good at being tactful as the proverbial bull in a china shop, bumping around and smashing things—feelings—with his words.