Laura Altom - The Baby And The Cowboy Seal

The notion that Macy had uprooted her plants for him had him all messed up inside.

Who did that?

Sure, they’d been friends back in the day, but they were nothing now—less than acquaintances. Which begged the question, why had he spewed all that personal BS? And why did he now feel like crap over the fact that yet again he’d sent poor little Macy skittering as if she was Beauty and he was the Beast?

So what? Why did he care?

Maybe because that story she’d told about her cheating ex hadn’t set well. She deserved better. With that crazy-colored hair of hers and freckles that looked as if angels sprinkled cinnamon atop the bridge of her button nose, she was more than pretty. In fact, there had been a point before his grandfather died when Wiley had started to look at Macy in a much different light than merely the pesky little kid from next door.

She’d been fourteen, and he’d just turned eighteen—too old for her, yet incapable of turning away from the kid-transformed-into-sexy-young-woman stealing the show at his high school graduation party.

Macy had tagged along with Dot and Clem.

He closed his eyes and saw her as plainly as if he’d stepped back in time.

The night was unseasonably warm and scented with a bouquet of feminine perfumes. A thunderstorm approached and lightning backlit the partiers making good use of O’Mally’s deck. Every so often thunder boomed. Eagle Ridge had only four restaurants, but this was his favorite, which was why his parents held his party there. So many people had come that the event spilled out of the private dining room and the local band his dad hired set up on the covered stage located just off the spacious deck. The stage was two-sided, which allowed whoever was playing to perform inside or out. In the winter, a garage door closed it off from the snow, but tonight, that door stood open for the band currently performing a Bon Jovi classic.

Liquor was flowing, and Wiley’s grandfather kept sneaking Wiley and his friends steady rounds of whiskey shots and beer.

“Hey, Wiley,” Macy said when she left the dance floor for a cup of his mother’s virgin punch. She looked different—better. “Excited to be out of school?”

“Hell, yeah.” He couldn’t stop staring. What had she done to transform herself from pain-in-his-ass to hottie? When had she gotten boobs?

“Got big plans?”

“Nah. Grandpa needs me to help on the mountain. I figure I’ll do that in the off-season, then hit the rodeo circuit. You know I won my last three bull-riding events.”

She rolled her eyes. “Duh—like you’ve only told me ten times. Get a new story.”

“Kiss your mom with that sassy mouth?”

“Nope, but I wouldn’t mind kissing you.” She raised her chin, and the challenge in her eyes did funny things to his stomach. She’d put her long curls up, and instead of her usual T-shirt and jeans, she wore a blue sundress that made it all too easy for him to peer down at her female assets. Her mounded boobs had him not only hitching his breath, but shifting his weight to hide the instant action beneath his fly.

“You’re just a kid,” he mumbled.

“Not anymore.” In the shadows with the band now playing a slow country song, she sidled up close—uncomfortably close. Not because he wanted her to go away, but because in that moment, he didn’t want to let her go.

She escaped his hold to dance solo, waving her arms above her head, which only put more of a strain on her dress’s thin fabric. Lord, her boobs were nice. How had he never noticed?

Thunder cracked.

Other guests shrieked while running inside to get out of the sprinkles promising to soon be a downpour, but she stayed.

The rain made good on its promise, and even though the band had stopped playing to move their gear inside, Macy danced to her own music, swaying and laughing with her eyes closed. As long as he lived, Wiley doubted he’d ever see a more beautiful sight. Her hair had fallen and her soaked dress had turned see-through. She wore no bra, and in the light cascading through the windows, nothing was left to his imagination.

She was no longer Little Macy, but a girl he had to have.

“You’re wild!” he called above the storm.

She giggled. “I know.”

“I’ve got to kiss you.” Wind pushed him closer, and with his hands on her sweet ass, he pressed himself against her, needy for release.

“It’s about time.”

A gust stole his straw cowboy hat, but he hardly noticed on account of how badly he wanted her. He leaned in for that kiss, but then her dad charged onto the deck and grabbed hold of the back of Wiley’s shirt.

“Boy, what the hell are you doing?” To his daughter, Steve barked, “Macy, get inside!”

“Y-yes, Daddy.” Her teeth chattered.

“I—I’m awfully sorry, sir. It—this, won’t happen again.”

“Good. It better not,” Steve said. “Get out of this rain and sober up. You smell like a damned brewery.”

“Yessir.” In the packed restaurant and bar, the increasingly drunken crowd turned rowdy, but Wiley’s brief interaction with Macy’s angry father turned him sober.

Wiley tried finding Macy, but her whole family was gone.

Hours later his parents were, too—only forever.

Having had too much to drink, his father had taken a curve too fast on the slick, winding mountain road leading to their home. The car careened off a steep embankment, and according to the sheriff, his folks had died instantly.

By all rights, Wiley should have been with them, but he’d been back at the bar, shooting pool and drinking beer with his friends.

A week later, Wiley joined the Navy and didn’t return to Eagle Ridge for ten long years until his grandfather’s funeral—which, considering what a great man his grandfather had been, pretty much made Wiley scum. Now, four years later, the only thing that had brought him back was his bum leg. Otherwise, he would still be doing the job he loved, with the friends he loved. He sure as hell wouldn’t be back on this mountain where everything he saw and touched reminded him of all he’d lost.

Not just his health and way of life, but his entire family.

It was too much loss for him to cope with, let alone understand, so he finished in the garden, then retired to the front porch with a bottle of Jim Beam. And he drank and drank until the whiskey’s warmth dulled the physical and emotional pain, and Macy was no longer an attractive, vibrant woman from whom he still craved that long ago stolen kiss.

Chapter Three

“Ever going to spill the real reason why you dragged me out here? I doubt you needed help finding just the right cucumbers for your new pickle recipe.”

“Busted.” Macy cringed, hating that her mother knew her so well. It was Saturday, and while her dad had stayed home with Henry, Macy and her mom strolled Eagle Ridge’s farmer’s market, winding their way past vegetable and fresh-cut flower and artisans’ stalls. A local bluegrass band played in a cordoned-off section of the parking lot. A trio of bare-bellied, long-hair hippy-types from a local commune danced with tambourines and streaming ribbons. Sunshine and cool mountain air laced with pine and incense reminded Macy why she’d come home from Billings after Rex had gone.

It had been two days since she’d last seen Wiley, yet their simple hug—and the electric jolt she’d received from that most basic touch—had been branded into her short-term memory. As for her long-term memories? Those were a tad more complex.

Macy said, “I have a question for you that Dad’s not going to like. So please don’t tell him, okay?”

“Promise, my lips are sealed.” Adrianne pretended to lock her lips.

“Thank you, but the last time you used that gesture, your lock turned out to be made of Silly Putty. I still have nightmares about what Dad said he’d do when or if he ever sees Rex again. You didn’t need to tell Dad he cheated.”