Nevada Cowboy Dad. Dorsey Kelley

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СКАЧАТЬ the men were finished, they released the calf, which lurched to its feet and trotted over to its bawling mother. The mama cow sniffed her calf, determined it was fine and wandered off, trailing the reassured young animal.

      Still on horseback, Rusty caught sight of Lucy and signaled for one of the others to rope the last calf. He coiled his rope and guided his horse to where she stood holding Baby, on the other side of the rail fence.

      Drawing rein before her, he leaned one forearm on the horn and the other atop that. Nudging back his hat with a thumb, he observed, “I see you’ve made Baby’s acquaintance.”

      “I certainly have,” she acknowledged, a tart hint of warning in her voice.

      She was so pretty, he admitted for the second time that day. Her jet hair blew attractively across her face and the skin of her cheeks and lips had pinkened in the crisp fall air. Another man, one who might be interested in pursuing a woman like Lucy, would definitely think her lips kissable. If she thought her oversized sweatshirt was hiding the thrust of her breasts, she was mistaken. And her slim thighs and hips were damn near hugged by her snug jeans.

      Stiffly he straightened in the saddle. It was a good thing he wasn’t interested in her. He was her reluctant business partner, and she was someone who would find herself tossed off the Lazy S in twelve short months.

      “She’s quite a little surprise,” Lucy went on. “I wonder how it is that you didn’t mention her before.” She waited, eyeing him steadily and not, he thought, with an approving expression.

      He grinned, enjoying her discomfort. “Aw, you’ll get used to her. We’re all crazy about Baby around here.” He guessed he’d have to start some sort of adoption proceedings soon, make things legal.

      As she juggled the squirming child with inept hands, Rusty’s grin widened. She’d been married, but obviously didn’t have any kids. Hadn’t she ever coped with a six-month old?

      She glared at him over the top of the auburn head, her annoyance palpable in the air between them. “You might have told me.”

      “Why?” He shrugged. “You were so anxious to buy into the place—Well, Baby comes along with it.” He leaned forward, saddle creaking, and murmured to the child in cutesy tones he hoped would irritate Lucy.

      Hearing his familiar voice, Baby gurgled happily, and when Rusty’s sorrel gelding snuffled her head, she launched into a bout of giggles that ended in hiccups.

      Lucy had her arms full, and by her awkwardness, Rusty’s original thought was confirmed: it was plain as the whiskers on his gelding’s nose that the woman had no experience at all with children.

      Baby jounced happily, banging the top of her head against Lucy’s chin. Lucy freed a hand to rub her jaw, her scowl at Rusty intensifying.

      He tried not to laugh. It served her right, forcing him to sell her half the Lazy S as she’d done. Too bad it wouldn’t do her much good. In twelve months’ time, he’d have the money—no question about it. And fetching as Lucy was, she would not be allowed to dissuade him.

      Myriad fund-raising ideas filled his head; tonight he’d make calls and see if he could sell gypsum, a produce used for insulation, plaster and wallboard, from a pit on the farthest reaches of the property. His brothers had always resisted mining on the Lazy S, but Rusty knew they’d made poor decisions. He realized, grimly and with some pain, that he could no longer afford to stand on principles.

      The baby jounced again and Lucy nearly dropped her. At last Rusty took pity. “Take Baby back to the house. Fritzy can handle her.”

      Instantly he knew his phrasing had been poor. Over the baby’s head Lucy’s glare became a glower.

      “I can handle her just fine,” she retorted, obviously stung.

      Rusty nodded soothingly. He hadn’t meant to insult her. “Sure.”

      Just then his gelding decided to blast a whinny to its companion in a far pasture. The shrill noise surprised Baby, who jumped, then screwed up her eyes and began to waiL In seconds her face turned shrimp-red, and tears streamed down her plump cheeks.

      “Rusty, how could you?” Lucy accused him in shocked tones.

      She hugged the infant to her protectively—as if he’d let out the damned whinny himself!

      “I didn’t do anything,” he said.

      “You could have stopped him. Didn’t you see he was going to do that?”

      “Don’t know how,” he mumbled, at a loss. The child was crying in earnest now. “Sorry.”

      “And what is Baby’s real name, anyway?” she asked above the wailing din.

      He shrugged, suddenly feeling on the defensive. “We just call her Baby. I don’t know if there’s something formal on her birth certificate—or if she’s even got one.”

      “She doesn’t have a proper name?” Lucy demanded, shaming him. “I can’t believe this.” Stroking the child’s head, Lucy rocked her back and forth. “Never mind. I’m going back to the house.” Turning tail, she sent him one last disapproving glance that managed to make him feel lower than a slimy night-crawler. He rubbed at the stubble on his cheeks, knowing she was right. Baby should have been given a real name long ago. He’d just always thought there was time. How had six months passed so quickly?

      Lucy stalked away, her trim rear end twitching angrily in new blue jeans. Baby’s cries calmed.

      Rusty watched, perplexed at his reaction. Only moments before he’d been laughing at Lucy, feeling satisfyingly superior, but in two minutes she’d managed to cut him down to size. How had that happened?

      

      Lucy fought down disappointment when Rusty carried his dinner plate into his office and shut the door with hushed finality. He stayed closeted in there all evening.

      Then Fritzy announced she never ate before her favorite talk-show came on television at eleven-thirty. Since the efficient housekeeper had already bottle-fed the baby at six, then put her to bed for the night, Lucy was left alone.

      Melancholy settled over her. This scattering at suppertime was not how she’d envisioned her “family” meals. Delicious though it was, she picked at her chicken and glanced around the empty room. In seconds she made up her mind to change things—at least a little—on the Lazy S.

      

      A masculine face came at her. Fury flushed his skin ruddy, his features stiffened in an aggressive mask of anger. The familiar face, twisted in rage, snarled and shouted, called her “Bitch.”

      “No!” Lucy cried, cringing, “don’t say that. I’m sorry. Please—”

      The man ignored her pleas. Actually, he seemed to relish them, and his taunts became even more insulting. “You’re stupid, you hear? You’d be nothing without me to straighten you out. Nothing! If people knew how incompetent you are at even the simplest tasks—why, they’d laugh.”

      Shoulders slumping, she felt the black void of anguish and despair threaten to engulf her. “I’ll try harder next time,” she defended weakly, already knowing it would СКАЧАТЬ