A Rugged Ranchin' Dad. Kia Cochrane

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      Rocky returned to the porch, carrying a tray with the pitcher of lemonade and three glasses. There were also three different kinds of cookies. “Field went with me to the store this morning,” Rocky said with a wink.

      “Don’t you like your lemonade, Dad?” Field asked, staring up at his father. Stone leaned against the porch railing, absently rubbing his fingertip along the rim of the glass he held. “I made it,” the little boy announced, a slight trace of defiance in his voice. “All by myself.”

      “It’s good,” Stone said after taking a hasty sip. “Excellent.”

      “I cut the lemons in half with a knife.” Field was eyeing Stone carefully. “And, boy, was it sharp!”

      Dahlia’s breath caught in her throat. She saw Stone dart a swift glance in his brother’s direction.

      “I was in there watching him,” Rocky said hurriedly, shifting uneasily on the porch railing where he was perched.

      “But even if he wasn’t,” Field chimed in, “I could’ve done it. Because I’m not a baby.” That last statement came out as if he dared someone, anyone—especially Stone—to disagree with him.

      Stone must have realized it, too, because he stated quietly, “No, you’re not a baby. And knives aren’t dangerous as long as you know how to use them.”

      “I know how. Uncle Rocky taught me,” Field added helpfully, his gray eyes brightening.

      Nearby, Dahlia heard Rocky’s low, rueful groan. Her gaze darted to her husband. Stone had practically raised his youngest brother, and now he fixed him with a long, level look of reproach.

      “Uncle Rocky said you gave him a knife when he was my age,” Field piped up, making matters worse.

      Dahlia saw the startled look in Stone’s gray eyes. He slowly set his glass of lemonade down on the porch railing. “Did Uncle Rocky give you a knife?” he asked gently.

      Field hesitated, then darted a sudden sheepish look at Rocky. The little boy looked back at his father and slowly nodded. Pulling a small leather pouch out of the back pocket of his jeans, Field said, “He gave me the one that you gave to him.”

      Instead of taking the knife away from his son, Stone merely asked, “And Rocky taught you how to use it?”

      Field nodded. “This morning while we waited for the lemonade to get done.”

      “After you finish drinking your lemonade, why don’t you ask your uncle Rocky to give you some more lessons?” Stone surprised everyone by saying.

      Dahlia’s heart surged with hope as she saw the look of pure joy enter Field’s eyes.

      Field and Rocky finished their cookies and lemonade in record time, and headed toward the barn. If she turned around, Dahlia would be able to see them. And she could certainly hear them as Rocky patiently taught the little boy how to handle the pearl-handled knife. She smiled at the laughter that drifted up to the porch.

      “That was a wonderful thing you did, letting Field keep the knife,” Dahlia said, smiling cheerfully.

      Stone shrugged. “A boy needs to learn how to handle himself. That includes weapons.”

      “It means more than learning how to handle himself, Stone,” she said earnestly. “Letting him have the knife means you trust him.”

      Stone drained the last of his lemonade and set the glass down on the tray. “It means I think he’s old enough to go away to school.” His voice was carefully low and even. “He’s right. He isn’t a baby. And he’ll do just fine at boarding school.”

      “But, Stone—”

      His gray eyes leveled on her. “He leaves two weeks from today.” Then he scooped up her suitcase and headed for the screen door. “I’ll put this in your room.”

      Stone entered the house and shut the screen door behind him. It was more gentle than a slam, but much harder than merely closing the door, Dahlia noticed wryly.

      Two weeks. In two weeks Field would be sent away.

      Dahlia turned around in the swing, fixing her gaze on Field, out by the barn. Basil said if she didn’t return within three weeks, then she couldn’t return. One week had already passed. In the hospital.

      So she had two weeks left.

      She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. If she could only stop Stone from sending Field to that boarding school in San Antonio, if she could convince him that living on the ranch would not put Field in danger—then maybe he’d regain his faith that he could protect his son.

      She sighed, watching Stone’s little boy practice throwing his knife at the barn door, over and over and over again, determined to make his mark on the paper target. And Dahlia knew that keeping Field on the ranch wouldn’t alone solve the problem.

      It was a start, but she now clearly understood the mission Basil had entrusted to her. She had to restore Stone’s faith in himself, and in his ability to take care of his family—even if it meant letting go herself.

      Chapter Two

      The Tyler family and the ranch hands mingled freely at the barbecue later that night. Three picnic tables had been placed end to end on the brick terrace, laden with bowls of barbecued chicken, potato salad, baked beans and barbecued ribs. A separate picnic table held the desserts.

      Stone stood to one side, a bottle of beer in his hand that he didn’t really want, and watched the camaraderie of the others. Music played softly in the background, a mix of jazz and classical. Rocky had confiscated some of Dahlia’s favorite CDs from her collection.

      Stone had a sudden, intense memory of dancing in the rose garden with Dahlia on summer nights. Dancing in the moonlight, with only the stars for company and a CD player for the soft music she loved.

      And when she’d touched him, the world had spun and split and lightning had flashed.

      He sighed heavily, his thoughts stumbling reluctantly back to the present. Stone knew Dahlia couldn’t help what she felt—or what she believed. One of the doctors thought it could be a combination of her head injury and the trauma of Brooke’s death. That believing she was an angel was Dahlia’s own way of dealing with her grief.

      And it was about time she did deal with it, Stone knew. For the past year, Dahlia had been in a major state of denial, behaving as though nothing had changed. When everything had.

      Brooke was gone and there was nothing any of them could do about it.

      Stone continued to stand there on the terrace, the relentless music stirring his blood and making him think about days, and nights, that weren’t all that long ago. And he had the urgent need to escape from all this family fun and togetherness.

      Before he forgot this wasn’t real life.

      Real life was hard work.

      And if Stone hung around having fun and feeling relaxed and mellow, he would want more—and he’d want it to last.

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