Lynnette Kent - A Family In Wyoming

Having him in the room while she worked would be...distracting. But she couldn’t just shoo him away. “Those will be heavy. You shouldn’t—”

Without a word, he lifted the pile and, following her lead, set it down on the mattress. They worked together in silence for a few minutes, moving back and forth past each other, sometimes brushing shoulders, until Susannah’s nerves got the better of her.

“I didn’t realize ranching involved so much paperwork,” she volunteered in desperation.

“Most of it is done on the computer now. But I often refer to Henry MacPherson’s record books. They cover more than four decades.” Wyatt moved another set of papers. “I started out on paper, because he was teaching me. About five years ago I switched to the computer.” He surveyed the contents of the bed. “Doesn’t look like it, I guess. I’m still transferring relevant information from paper to digital.”

“What kind of information?” Conversation made him seem less overwhelming. “What do ranchers keep track of?”

“Everything to do with the cattle—breeding, birthing, weaning, vaccinations, weigh-ins, culling, castrating, branding, health records, sales and purchases. Files on the machinery and vehicles we use, plus purchase forms and maintenance. Tax documents and all the receipts to go with them.” He slid the keyboard and screen for the computer on the desk out of her way, so she could dust underneath. “And then there are deeds and notices for the grazing land we lease from the government. A couple of those piles of paper are from the Bureau of Land Management—and that’s from just this year.”

“Amazing.” Moving between the desk and the wall, she cleaned the window frame and sill, and then she started on the panes. “You said Mr. MacPherson taught you, but you must have the education to manage such a complicated business. Not to mention knowing how to use the computer software. Did you get a business degree?”

Behind her, Wyatt chuckled. “Not hardly.”

Susannah looked at him over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I quit school when I was sixteen to go to work. I’ve been a cowboy ever since.”

She pivoted to face him. “I didn’t realize. You were that young when your dad died?”

He nodded. “Dylan was eight.”

“The four of you grew up without your parents. And you’ve learned to manage all this—” she said with a gesture at the view of the rolling pastures framed by the window “—on your own.”

“Henry taught me pretty much everything I know.”

“Is this what you always wanted to do? Did you dream of being a cowboy as a little boy?”

His gaze seemed to turn inward. “Not that I remember. We played soldiers, or ball games, I think.” He shrugged. “But ranch work was available when I needed a job, so that’s what I did.”

“Still...” The scope of his responsibilities amazed her. “You raised your brothers by yourself. From such a young age.”

“We raised each other. That’s why we stick together.”

Some men were just born to be responsible. And some men weren’t—like her husband.

Coming out from behind the desk, she didn’t realize she’d revealed her state of mind until Wyatt said, “What’s brought that frown to your face?”

“Oh.” Her turn to confess. “Thinking about Travis, of course. His parenting skills—or lack of them.”

“A good reason to keep him out of your life as much as possible.”

“That’s not—”

A sudden clatter sounded in the front of the house, followed by Amber’s voice. “Uh oh.”

Susannah rushed down the hallway and into the dining room. “What happened?”

Amber stood by the wall, a coloring book dangling from her hand. At her feet lay a laptop computer.

Wyatt’s laptop computer.

“I tried to go over it,” she said, pointing to the cord, which was plugged into the wall. “But my foot catched it.” Judging from her big eyes and frightened expression, she understood the seriousness of the problem.

Wyatt joined them. “I can’t get down there with this stupid brace on,” he said in a quiet voice. “Could you set it on the table?”

Susannah bent to pick up the computer. As she straightened, she glanced at the machine and gasped. The screen was cracked and crazed, the image totally destroyed.

A long, low whistle escaped Wyatt’s lips. “That doesn’t look good.” She put it on the table and he pressed some keys, typed a string of letters. The screen went dead. “Not good at all.”

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