Suzannah Davis - The Rancher And The Redhead

His words made Roni swallow hard with sudden emotion, part genuine admiration for his determination and willingness to take on such a commitment, part pure envy that he should have such a rare opportunity to explore the trials and joys of family love. To cover an unexpected prickle of tears, Roni glanced down at the sleeping child. “Have you got a bed made for her?”

Sam pulled his hands free of his pockets and gestured toward the hall. “I put her playpen in my old room.”

Nodding, her composure restored, Roni rose carefully and followed him into the cluttered bedroom next door. The small lamp on the bedside table illuminated wall-hung bookshelves filled with high school athletic and rodeo trophies won by Sam and his brother. Sam’s parents had never really recovered from Kenny’s death. They were gone now, too, and apparently not even Shelly’s brief occupancy had made an impact on this old room. Now an ancient, but still-prized saddle sat on the desk and Sam’s rodeo and cattle breeding journals lay strewn on the twin bed and floor.

Roni laid the baby in the playpen, covered her with a crocheted blanket, then stood back. “She’s a beautiful child, Sam.”

Sam placed an arm around Roni’s shoulder in a familiar, companionable gesture. The heat of his body and the fresh scent of soap enveloped her as they gazed down at the sleeping infant.

“Yeah, she’s a heartbreaker, all right, and I’ll admit I’m smitten. I want to do what’s right for her, Curly.”

“I know you will.” Twisting the knob on the lamp, she led him from the room, leaving the door cracked behind them. Pausing in the hall, she gave him a mock-serious look. “You’re going to have to do something about that decor, you know. Little girls need frills and lace, bonnets and patent-leather shoes, baby dolls and kittens.”

“As I recall, Miss Tomboy, you never did.” Now that things were back under control—at least for the moment—Sam shot her a glance sparked with a glimmer of his usual laid-back mischief and gave a lock of her unruly hair a teasing tug. “Blue jeans and horses and hauling it around hell-bent-for-leather after the rest of us boys was the only thing that ever interested you coming up.”

“Could I help it if I was the only girl in a ten-mile radius? Besides, there’s an exception to every rule.” Despite their close friendship, there was a thing or two Sam Preston didn’t know about her and her intimate likes and dislikes. Inwardly amused, she made her tone mild. “And you might be surprised what catches a girl’s fancy.”

“I know I’ve got a lot to learn.”

“Oh, yes, indeed.” Roni counted items off on her fingers. “Ballet lessons, hair bows, kissing scratched knees, wiping tears, not to mention those talks when she hits puberty, buying her first bra and warning her about what boys are really after—”

“Good God.”

The dismay on Sam’s face was so comical, Roni laughed aloud. Impulsively, she laid a hand on his bare shoulder and came up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “You’re a good man, Sam Preston, and I’m a fiend to tease you when you’re so exhausted. I’ll go, but I’ll check on you first thing in the morning, okay? Maybe Krystal can recommend some names for the housekeeper’s position.”

“Uh, Curly?”

“Yeah?”

“You want a cup of coffee or something? Or how about a beer?”

Roni frowned. “Do you know what time it is?”

“We could turn on the late show and shoot the breeze for a while. Anything happen down at Rosie’s I should know about?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow. I’m going home to bed.”

“Uh...do you have to?”

Brown eyes narrowed, Roni gave Sam a searching look. Could what she spied darting behind his brilliant blue gaze be...fear? Not Sam Preston, the man who could coolly face down a maddened Brahma bull and never bat an eyelash. Not strong, silent Sam, the bulwark of the community, the man who’d taken his wife’s walking out on him because she couldn’t stand small-town life with such quiet dignity, he’d earned the admiration of the whole county.

Roni’s lips quirked, and her respect for little Jessie’s feminine wiles went up several notches. Was that really big, bad Sam Preston quaking in his bare size twelves at the thought of being left at the mercy of one tiny little girl?

“You don’t really want to watch the late show, do you?” she asked, holding back her laughter with difficulty.

“Have a little pity, will you, Curly?” His lean cheeks heated with consternation. “What if I don’t hear Jessie cry? You know what a hard sleeper I am. And what if she gets sick during the night? I’d just have to call you again.”

Inspecting her paint-stained nails, Roni gave an airy reply. “I could always take my phone off the hook.”

Sam’s expression turned sour. “You’re going to make me beg, aren’t you?”

She did laugh then. “No, I think I’ll reserve that pleasure for when you’re really desperate.”

“Then you’ll stay? Just for tonight? So I can find my sea legs?”

Having already made an emotional connection with Jessie, Roni’s answer was a foregone conclusion, but she wouldn’t let Sam off that hook that easily. “Well...if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Oh, it will.” Relief made his deep voice husky. “You don’t know.”

“I can guess.” She chuckled. “I’ll even take the bed in her room. There’s one condition, though.”

“Anything.” At her devilish look, he added hastily, “Within reason.”

“You know, Sam,” she mused, running a goading finger down his hair-dusted breastbone, “another woman might try to take advantage of this situation. Having you over a barrel could be very...profitable.”

He caught her wrist, shaking his head in warning, his own grin twitching the corners of his mouth as the familiar give-and-take of their usual teasing reasserted itself.

“If you play with fire, lady, you might get burned. So spit it out. You want a trade? Okay, I’ll pick up the tab at Rosie’s for a month. How’s that?”

“Penny ante,” she scoffed. “Up the stakes a little, you cheapskate.”

“I’ll see that the fence down on the south boundary line between our places gets patched.”

“You were going to do that anyway.”

He shook her arm gently, growling, “So what do you want?”

“Diablo.”

Thunderstruck, Sam stared, his sandy eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Hell, I’m not going to give you my prize stallion!”

“I just want to ride him.”

“Uh-uh. No way. He’ll break your neck.”

“I ride as well as you do!” she protested, tugging free of his grasp. “Well, almost.”

“Look, Curly, I value your hide too much to risk it atop that devil.” Sam perched his fists on his lean hips and glowered down at her. “And don’t tell me all those years in New York art school and then working out in L.A. didn’t take the edge off your skills, because I won’t buy it. You’ve got to have a little common sense about such things.”

“Any second now,” she warned darkly, “I’m liable to burst out in a chorus of ‘Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better.’”

“Curly, I swear—”

She laughed suddenly at his exasperation. “Relax, Sam, I won’t press you if you feel that strongly, but one of these days, me and Diablo...” She winked at him. “Until then, I’ll just have to make my own fun getting you riled up.”

“And one of these days I’m going to throttle you.”

“No, you won’t,” she retorted, smug. “Who else’ll baby-sit for you for free? You’re going to have to think about these things now.”

“You may have a point.” He stifled a yawn.

“Go to bed, Sam,” she said kindly. “I know where you keep your linens, and I can help myself. Remember, little children have a tendency to get up with the sun.”