Single Dad Cowboy. Brenda Minton

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      Chapter Two

      Harmony stood in the old barn that had been a part of the Cross Ranch for as long as she could remember. Her parents had bought the place twenty years ago, when her dad had first made a name for himself in Nashville. They’d wanted a place to go where life was still normal. Where the Cross kids could be kids and the family could do what other families did. Attending church on Sunday, rodeos and the local diner.

      And because Harmony needed to find that part of herself that still believed in something, in who she was, or wanted to be, she had returned to Dawson and to the old farmhouse with all of its good memories.

      She loved this place because it hadn’t changed. No matter what else happened in life, this house remained the same. Her parents had updated it, but they’d kept it as original as possible. The barn was solid with red-painted wood siding, a hayloft, a few stalls and a chicken pen off the back. The chicken pen was empty, and there hadn’t been animals in the barn for years. There were cows in the field only because the Coopers leased the land.

      Even though the barn had stood empty, it still smelled of cedar, straw and farm animals. Today there would be a horse. She smiled as she opened one of the few stalls. It had a door that led to the corral and it was roomy.

      She’d found one bale of straw, probably left over from the fall decorating her mother had done the previous year. She broke up the bale and scattered a few flakes in the stall for bedding.

      After she’d left the Tanner’s she’d stopped at the feed store in Dawson and ordered some grain and hay to be delivered. It was already stacked in the feed room. She was all set. But her heart was a little jittery as she thought about what she was taking on and why. She knew the dangers of getting involved with Dylan Cooper. Her heart couldn’t handle his charm, and she knew he was best left alone. Her dad used to say the same thing about poisonous plants and poisonous snakes. Leave well enough alone and you won’t get hurt, he’d warn.

      In the peaceful country stillness she heard a trailer rattling up the driveway. She stepped out of the stall, closing the door behind her. When she walked out of the barn, Dylan nodded a greeting as he pulled past her.

      He backed the trailer up to the gate of the corral. The horse stomped and whinnied his displeasure at being moved. Harmony stepped a little closer as the truck stopped moving. The horse pushed his nose out of an opening of the trailer and whinnied again.

      “It’s okay, boy, we’ll get you fattened up and you’ll be happy to be here.” She reached to pet his nose and he pulled back. She got it; look but don’t touch.

      “You think he’s going to be all happy that you rescued him?” Dylan walked around the trailer and opened the gate. “Because all men fall at your feet, Harmony Cross?”

      “Maybe I was wrong, maybe you haven’t changed.”

      He smiled a little and she saw the lurking sadness again.

      “Oh, I think we’ve both changed.” He swung the back of the trailer open. “And I’m sorry for baiting you that way. Old habits and all.”

      “You’re right. Maybe we should call a truce?”

      A truce? They’d had an adversarial relationship for years. He’d once loosened the cinch on her saddle just to watch it slide as she tried to get on her horse. She’d put mud in his boots. All in good fun. But it had gone a long way in cementing their relationship.

      A truce would mean, what? Being friends? The idea felt a little bit dangerous.

      The horse wasn’t coming out of the trailer. Dylan backed up and whistled. The poor animal stood his ground, trembling. Harmony stepped a little closer and spoke softly. The horse listened, his ears twitching and his head moving just the slightest bit to look at her.

      “I’m not sure exactly why we need a truce,” Dylan said as he stepped up into the trailer and reached for the gelding’s tail. “Come on, Beau, head on out of there.”

      “His name is Beau?”

      Dylan nodded, stepping back and pulling a little on the scraggly black tail. The gelding backed out of the trailer, his hooves clanking on the floor. When he hit firm ground he turned and trotted across the corral. He might have kept going but he noticed the green grass and immediately lowered his head and started to graze. He would pull at a mouthful of grass, and then look around at his new surroundings, ears twitching.

      “He’ll settle in.” Dylan closed the back of the trailer and then the gate. “You understand you can’t ride him.”

      “You understand that I’m very aware of what I can and can’t do.”

      “Is that your idea of a truce?” He shook his head and exhaled loudly with obvious impatience. “I don’t mean to tell you what you physically can and can’t do. I’m telling you, that horse can’t be ridden.”

      “Why?”

      “Why are you so defensive?” he countered.

      She watched the horse for a minute. From inside the truck she heard the lilting voice of the little girl, her Texas accent a welcome distraction.

      “Well?” He pushed for an answer.

      “Because I’m here to get away from people who feel I need to be told at every turn what I can and can’t do. Since I got home from the Tanners’, I’ve had three phone calls. One from your mother, one from my mother and one from my older brother. I’ve been warned three times that I have to be careful with the horse.”

      “So what you’re saying is, you’ve had all of the advice you can handle for a lifetime?” He smiled. “I guess we have more in common than you’d like to admit.”

      She didn’t want common ground. “So, about this horse...”

      “He was a saddle bronc horse that Terry bought from a stock contractor. Terry had ideas that this horse was special.”

      They both looked at the dark horse with the white splotch on his rump and little to recommend him other than a pretty-shaped head and nice eyes, even if they were a little wild at the moment.

      “Well, whatever the reason he bought Beau, I’m glad he did. Beau might not be all that special, but I think we need each other.”

      “It happens that way sometimes.” He glanced at his watch and then there was a cry from his truck. “I have to go.”

      “What are their names?” She should have let him leave but she followed him to the truck. There was something about his situation that gave them a bond.

      “Callie, she’s four. Cash is almost two.” He looked in the window at the two kids in the backseat.

      Harmony stepped close to his side to get a better view. Cash smiled past the thumb in his mouth. Callie gave her a seriously angry look. The little girl still held that kitten from Bill and Doris Tanner’s. Both kids watched them with big blue eyes. They were sweet, perfectly sweet.

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