Teresa Southwick - The Way to a Cowboy's Heart

“No. As a matter of fact, I think we have a duty to stay.” PJ. shot him a meaningful glance. “We have to help him get to know kids.”

Emily frowned. “I don’t know how. Travis Wilkins always pulls my hair. I ask him nicely to stop, but he won’t. How can I help Mister Cade?”

“By doing what you’re told,” P.J. said.

The child nodded. “I can do that.”

Cade shook his head, mystified. As easy as that she would behave, he thought. But his cynicism quickly returned. Emily was young yet. Give her time. Rebellion would set in and he’d like to be around to see Ms. Cool, Unruffled, Idealistic P. J. Kirkland deal with that. If Emily was half as much trouble as he’d been, he figured her pretty mother would have her hands full.

They entered the kitchen and he watched P.J. look around what would be her territory for the next three months. The approving light in her chocolate-brown eyes told him the spacious ceramic tile countertops and center island work area appealed to her. The side-by-side refrigerator would hold plenty of food for the three boys who would be boarding for the summer. The only thing he knew about young boys was how much they could eat—that he remembered. At the far end of the room, sitting on the oak-plank floor, was a table with eight chairs. That should give them enough space for eating.

He reached into the closet beside the pantry and pulled out the broom, handing it to Emily. “This is pretty big. Can you carry it?”

“Yes, sir.” She tilted her head back to look at him, then quickly glanced away. “Mister Cade, can I ask you something?”

“I guess.”

“Will I fall over backwards if I look up at you all the way?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You’re awful tall. I feel like I’m gonna tip over backwards if I do.”

“I promise if I see you going over, I’ll grab you. Fair enough?”

She nodded. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Sure. Shoot.”

“Do you have a boy or girl of your own?”

“No.” Cade stared at her, not sure where that had come from.

PJ. quickly ran interference. “Emily, you’re procrastinating. It’s time for you to go start sweeping up.”

Cade raised an eyebrow. “Do you understand those twenty-dollar words?” he asked the little girl.

“Not always. But Mom helps me.” She smiled at him. “You’re really a cowboy?” she asked doubtfully.

“Yes.” Hadn’t they already covered this?

“But you’re not wearin’ a hat.”

“You don’t have to wear a hat to be a cowboy.”

“But on the way here in the car, Mommy said cowboys wear hats. Do you?”

“Yes.”

“White or black?”

PJ. moved forward and put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Enough questions, chatterbox. Go clean up your mess.”

“I will, Mom. First I gotta know what color his hat is.”

“Brown,” Cade answered.

Emily’s forehead wrinkled as she thought that over. “Does that mean you’re a good guy or a bad one?”

He mulled that for a moment, then answered truthfully. “Bad.”

After reading Emily a bedtime story, P.J. wandered out on the front porch. Cade had put them upstairs in the room next to his. There were two other bedrooms down the ball from her and Em where the boys would stay. With a sigh, she sat on the swing. Suspended by thick ropes, the redwood frame was covered with a cushioned canvas pad. Moonlight combined with the lamplight spilling through the window to bathe her surroundings in a silver glow. Sighing again, she closed her eyes and relaxed her body into the cushy softness as she swayed gently back and forth. It had been an unsettling day, but this peace and serenity almost made up for it.

“Evening.”

Her eyes snapped open. The sound of that familiar deep voice shot tension up her spine faster than she could say this town ain’t big enough for the both of us. He was just emerging from the shadows beyond the circle of light from the house. “Cade. I didn’t know you were out here.”

“Didn’t mean to startle you.” He walked up the steps. “Before sundown I always do a last look-see around the ranch to make sure everything’s quiet.”

“Emily asked me to tell you good-night.”

“She settle in all right?” he asked, removing his brown hat.

She remembered his words about being a bad guy. She didn’t buy it. Would a bad guy care if a little girl was all right, or pick up her mess so she wouldn’t cut herself? He leaned back against the porch support beam, and rested one hip on the railing beside her. It was a blatantly masculine pose that did strange things to her stomach.

“She couldn’t keep her eyes open long enough to hear the end of her favorite story.”

He set his hat on his thigh and rubbed the brim between his fingers. P.J. would never peg him as the nervous type, but, all the same, she sensed that something was eating him.

He cleared his throat. “If I gave you a bad moment today, I apologize, PJ.”

“What do you mean?”

“About the job and all. With the kid to think about, and needing the work since your husband passed away—”

“What?” she asked, sitting forward on the swing.

“Emily said she didn’t have a dad. I just assumed he was—You know.”

“He’s alive and well. I need this job because it allows me to save money on child care. Even if I could find it now. All the good camp programs are full by the time summer starts.”

“What about her dad?”

“I support Emily by myself.”

“He doesn’t see her or help out?”

The mingled surprise and outrage in his voice startled P.J. Earlier she had thought him slipshod and actually called him irresponsible. Geez, she didn’t know what to make of this man who was obviously steamed about Emily’s absentee father.

Thoughts of Dave Kirkland steamed her up too. Annoyance vibrated through P.J., pushing her to her feet. “I don’t want him seeing my daughter.”

“Did he hurt her?” His voice was just this side of an angry growl.

“Not physically.” She folded her arms over her chest, wondering why she was going to tell him. There was no reason she should, but the words still came pouring out. “He’s a charming, good-looking airhead. Flaky as a French pastry.”

“What did he do?”

“It’s more what he didn’t do. He was forever making plans to see Em and not showing up. I couldn’t stand to see the disappointment on her little face when he broke promise after promise.” She wrapped a strand of hair around her finger and was irritated to see that her hand was trembling. “To his credit, he was the one who decided to bow out and stop hurting her. At least he knew his limitations.”

“How did Emily take it?”

“It’s been a couple years since she’s seen him. She appears to have accepted the situation.” Better than I did in her shoes, P.J. thought. But thinking of her daughter made her smile. “Sometimes she seems far too mature for her age.”

“That so?” he said.

She glanced at him. “She’s had to grow up fast, maybe too fast. Sometimes I wish she could be a completely carefree kid.”

“You? Miss Take-Your-Responsibilities-Seriously.”

She grinned sheepishly. “I’m sorry if I came on a little preachy. I just like kids. I believe every one deserves a chance.”

“So do I. With someone else.”

Puzzled, she shook her head. “You’re so cynical. Beats the heck out of me why Emily’s taken such a shine to you.”

“Me?” he asked, sounding shocked. “She has?”

“Just ask her.”

“No, thanks.”

His rigid posture drew P.J.’s gaze to the impressive width of his shoulders and chest in his plaid work shirt. Moonlight accentuated his rugged face and the frown he wore so comfortably. The pain she saw in his eyes tore at her. He was clearly a man in conflict.