Linda Ford - The Cowboy's Ready-Made Family

She leaned on the garden fence. If only she could enjoy watching the land being prepared for planting, but it was impossible. Her gaze drifted again and again to the man doing the work. His muscles bulged beneath the fabric of his shirt, emphasizing his strength. He stopped, wiped his brow with a handkerchief and rolled his sleeves to his elbows, exposing bronze skin the color of an old penny. Jim had told her the Harding boys’ mother had been a full-blooded Indian. She knew only fragments of the story. Just enough to know the woman had been injured and rescued by Tanner’s father. It seemed very romantic and caring.

Which meant nothing in the scheme of things. All that mattered to her was providing for and protecting these children. And her own heart.

Tanner turned the horse and harrows around and faced her. Their gazes caught. She couldn’t pull from his look. Couldn’t draw breath. Couldn’t make her brain work. The children played, their happy sounds but a melody in the background.

He tipped his head slightly and drove the horse from the garden.

She breathed again and sagged against the fence, feeling as if her protective walls had been threatened.

His footsteps thudded across the yard and she jerked to attention and gathered up the twine, but before she could pick up the stakes, he did. He reached for the twine and she relinquished it without a thought.

Sucking in a deep breath, she told herself to refuse his help. But, while she gathered her thoughts, he trotted to the garden and drove the stake in on one end, affixed the twine and hurried down the length to drive in the second stake, pulling the line taut.

He returned and picked up the hoe.

He meant to help plant the garden.

“You don’t have to do this. I can manage.”

He stopped. The air stilled and the children grew quiet. “Do you object?” Something in his voice made her pause and consider her answer. It wasn’t exactly fear she heard; she was quite certain Tanner would never admit fear. Did he think she objected on the basis of his mixed heritage? She’d already informed him it was the least of her concerns.

As she’d often said, actions proved one’s words.

She had to prove her words by her actions, as well.

“I have no objection.” She tried unsuccessfully to quell the turmoil in her heart.

She prayed she wouldn’t live to regret this arrangement.

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