Karen Templeton - Welcome Home, Cowboy

He let out a little hunh. “I imagine the music world will get along just fine without me for a few weeks.”

The baby shifted; Emma rubbed his spine. “If you’re sure …”

“I am.”

“Then, all right. I can at least offer you three meals a day—”

“No! I mean, thanks, but this isn’t about …” Cash looked away. “This isn’t about getting close. Nothing personal, but that’s part of the deal. You tell me what needs doing, and I’ll do it. But that’s it.”

Emma was tempted to point out that if part of his goal was to rejoin the human race, staying aloof from the family might not be the best way to go about that. Then again, maybe it was just as well, for many reasons. Like, oh, for instance, the kids getting too close. Especially Hunter, who glommed onto everyone he met. Who’d cried for a week solid after his father’s death.

“One thing, though,” Emma said. “First time you show up drunk or high, you’re gone. I absolutely will not tolerate any of that tomfoolery around my children. Understood?”

Cash’s jaw dropped for a second before he let out a laugh. “Emma … I swear I’ve been squeaky clean for more than seven years. Ever since I wrapped my car around a tree on a back road in North Carolina and realized how bad off I was. You’ve got nothing to worry about on that score, I swear. So … I was thinking you probably want some of these fences repaired first so the critters can’t get at the plantings. Or maybe get those fruit trees pruned?”

“You know how to prune fruit trees?”

“Yes, ma’am. First winter after I left, I ended up at a ranch in east Texas. Small operation, everybody did everything. Aside from the cattle, they also had a decent-size orchard. Peaches and pecans, mostly. So I know my way around a pair of loppers.” He grinned, and Emma’s chest clutched. Seeing that smile on video was nothing compared with seeing it in person. “You can watch me do the first tree, how’s that?”

Finally she laughed. She couldn’t help it. There were a quadrillion reasons why his being here was a bad idea, but none of them trumped her relief that the cavalry had apparently arrived.

“When can you start?” she asked, and the grin brightened to the point where it nearly sparkled. Oh, dear.

“I take it there’s tools around here somewhere?”

“In the shed behind the greenhouse. Mr. Cochran—”

“And you can forget that ‘Mr. Cochran’ stuff,” he said softly. “Name’s Cash.”

“Cash, then,” Emma said, having no idea why she was blushing. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said with a short salute, then strode off, leaving Emma to wonder what she’d gotten herself into. Not to mention what on earth had gotten into Cash. She went back inside to find Annie, dressed now, feeding cats in the kitchen. The old woman looked up from the writhing, furry mass meowing at her feet as she dumped something stinky into a large, flat bowl.

“I take it we’ve got us some help?”

“How do you know that?”

“Turned my ears on high,” Annie said, tapping one hearing aid as Emma lowered herself onto a kitchen chair. “Heard everything clear as a bell. Especially through that pathetic excuse for a window. Wind leaked through my bedroom window so bad last night I thought I’d freeze.” Carefully she bent over to set the plate on the floor, dodging the feline swarm attacking it. Much hissing and swatting ensued. That, Annie ignored. Emma’s conflicted expression, however, she didn’t. “You havin’ second thoughts?”

“Heh. God knows we need the help, but I don’t need the complications. And trust me, Cash Cochran is the definition of complicated.”

Annie poured herself a cup of coffee, poured in a hefty helping of cream and three spoonfuls of sugar, then shuffled over to sit across from her. The Red One immediately jumped up into her lap, giving Emma a smug kitty grin.

“Honey,” Annie said, over the cat’s slit-eyed, Ohmigodyes! purring when she started scratching his head, “God made humans complicated to keep himself amused.” At Emma’s groan, the old woman leaned over to grasp her hand, her expression earnest. “That young man needs us, Emmaline. Probably a lot more than we need him.”

Yeah, Emma thought on a sigh. Exactly what she was afraid of.

Another few days, Cash thought, squinting at the fruit trees as he yanked on a pair of heavy-duty work gloves, and it would’ve been too late to prune them. Waiting until April was pushing it as it was; any farther south, they would’ve already bloomed by now. But the stubborn winter had actually worked in Emma’s favor, keeping the trees dormant.

Almost like they’d been waiting for him.

Oh, hell, no, Cash thought as he hefted the pole saw and trudged across the muddy field to the first tree. Destiny, fate, divine intervention, whatever you wanted to call it … nothing but people’s ways of trying to find purpose in coincidence.

“I could die a happy man,” he said to the giant dog, who’d tagged along—out of boredom, Cash supposed, “if I never heard ‘It was meant to be’ ever again.”

The dog seemed to shrug, then plunked down in the dirt where he could keep one eye on the goats. Or ear, maybe, since his eyes closed almost immediately.

The high, bright sun quickly burned off the morning’s chill; by ten Cash had shucked both his jacket and long-sleeved shirt. By noon sweat plastered his T-shirt to his back and chest, even though it was probably barely above sixty degrees. But at seven thousand feet there was a lot less atmosphere to buffer the sun’s rays.

And absolutely nothing to buffer his thoughts as he cut out the dead wood, opening up the trees to coax a better yield. It’d been ages since he’d worked this hard. No doubt he’d be paying for it tomorrow, he thought as he took a break for another swallow of now-warm water from a liter-size bottle, in time to see Emma headed his way with a towel-covered plate and a thermos.

“What’s that?”

“Food.” She stripped the towel from the plate to reveal a couple of sandwiches, an apple, another piece of pie. “One’s leftover ham from Sunday’s dinner, the other’s peanut-butter-and-jelly. Since I didn’t know what you liked.”

“I thought I said—”

“You said you didn’t want to eat with the family. Not that I couldn’t feed you. Oh, and that’s sweet tea. Annie insisted I bring you some.”

Cash’s stomach growled. He’d figured on going back into town to get something, but refusing her offering would be rude. Not to mention dumb.

“Thanks,” he said, removing the gloves to take the plate. “Appreciate it.”

“I used mustard on the ham, I hope that’s okay—”

“It’s fine. Picky, I’m not.”

One side of her mouth lifted. “You want me to leave?”

And, oh, he wrestled with that one for a good long while. Because God knew he really was in no position to be forming attachments. Especially with his best friend’s widow. But, damn, it’d been forever since he’d simply enjoyed the company of another human being. At least, not without there being a million strings attached.

“No, it’s okay, you can stay. I guess.”

Cash realized his mistake the instant humor sparkled in Emma’s eyes. She tried to wrap up more tightly in a long sweater that didn’t come anywhere near to covering her belly. “Should I feel honored?”

“Doubt it,” he said, and she laughed. A rich, from-the-belly laugh that took him by surprise. Still chuckling, she surveyed his work, nodding in what he took for approval. She’d combed her hair—it’d been a tangled mess before, probably because he’d shown up earlier than was socially acceptable—but instead of leaving it down she’d bunched it all up at the back of her head in a sloppy bun. If it hadn’t been for the freckles, or her eyebrows being nearly the same color, he wouldn’t’ve believed that color red really existed in nature. But somehow he didn’t see Emma as somebody who faked anything, least of all her hair color. He found it hard not to stare at it.