Loving A Lonesome Cowboy

The kitchen, he wasn’t ready to face. Emily had spent too much time there, cooking and canning and proudly gazing out at her vegetable garden. The patch of land was surely nothing but weeds now, but the memories would still be thriving.

He hadn’t managed to lose the lump in his throat that had formed when the house had come into view, and the sooner he got out of here the better. “This room here—”

He frowned at the empty hall behind him, then started to retrace his steps. Where the hell was Sara?

She was standing in the middle of the family room, slowly running her hand over the intricate details of the mahogany rocker his grandfather had carved. For whatever reason, it was the only piece of furniture in the room not covered by a white sheet.

She looked up. “This is beautiful.” Her gaze wandered toward the dirty windows framing a portion of the San Juan Mountains. “And the view…” She shook her head. “It’s a shame no one lives here anymore.”

“You can look at all this later,” he said gruffly, which earned him a quizzical look. “I want to show you the bedrooms, then I have to go.”

“All right.” Her hand fell from the chair, and she started toward him. But then she stopped, and so did he.

“What now?”

She was staring at the stone fireplace. “Over in that corner,” she said with a jerk of her chin. “Is that where you’re putting the tree?”

“What tree?”

She looked at him like he’d grown a horn in the middle of his forehead. “The Christmas tree, of course.”

Ethan groaned and rubbed his eyes. “I’m not getting one. We don’t have any ornaments anyway.”

She shrugged. “It might be fun for the girls to make some.”

“No tree.” He stalked down the hall without turning to see if she’d followed. But she sure as hell had better be right behind him, or…

She was. “Why not?”

He briefly closed his eyes. “Because I don’t have time to find one or worry about decorations.”

“I can do that.”

“You won’t be here.”

“Oh.” She drew in her lower lip for a moment, then opened her mouth, but at his warning look, promptly shut it again.

He opened the bedroom door, and musty, dusty air poured out, throwing them both into fits of coughing. Quickly, he brought his attack under control, but Sara seemed to be gasping for breath.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, coughed, then gasped.

He circled his fingers around her upper arm and drew her away from the room. She felt tiny, fragile, where her arm should have been more meaty.

Peanut butter and crackers.

Was that her staple? Was that all she could afford?

He kept his hand wrapped around her arm, not sure if she needed him to steady her, as he opened a window. Frosty air snaked down the hall, but at least she’d stopped coughing.

She took a couple of shallow breaths and shifted her arm. He got the message and released her.

“Okay?” he asked, ducking his head to get a better look at her face. Her color was high and her eyes too bright but she quickly nodded.

“I’m fine, really.” She took a deeper breath. “I had a touch of asthma as a child and occasionally I have a slight attack. Nothing to worry about,” she added hastily. “I outgrew it in my teens.”

The information bothered Ethan. He wasn’t sure she should be doing this kind of work. “Look, Sara—”

She touched his arm, alarm in her eyes. “Please, don’t withdraw the job offer.” She lifted her chin. “I need the work.”

Ah, hell. Why did she have to look at him with those big pleading blue eyes like that? “Wait here a minute.”

He returned to the room, flipping on the ceiling fan on his way to the window. Good thing Sam had talked him into keeping the utilities turned on. Of course Sam thought Ethan would have tired of the caretaker’s shack and returned by now. It wasn’t that simple.

The window was old and stubborn from lack of use, but he finally managed to open it halfway. More cold air swirled through the room, but it sure beat letting the musty stagnant air suffocate them.

He went to the next room and did the same thing. On his way out to call Sara, he saw Emily’s sewing basket sitting on the oak dresser. His heart thumped as memories of them sitting by the fire sliced through him as cleanly as a knife through pudding.

She’d loved working with her hands, and she’d loved Christmas. Around July she’d always started sewing and knitting presents. He still had every sweater she’d knitted him. They were all in boxes he never opened.

“Ethan?”

He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there staring, when Sara’s troubled voice drifted to him. Silently he cleared his throat as he saw her in the doorway. Her nose was still red from her coughing fit, and so were her cheeks. She looked about sixteen. “I was trying to air out the rooms.”

She sniffed. “It’s better already. I take it this is the other room you want me to get ready?” She started to cross the threshold, but he stepped forward, causing her to stop.

“Let’s give it a few more minutes to air out. I’ll show you where the bathrooms are.” His tone was apparently too abrupt because she looked at him with a mixture of concern and fear, and took a wobbly step backward.

He didn’t have the words to fend off her fears, so he merely gave her a wide berth as he passed her. “I think one bathroom will be enough for the girls,” he said as he peered through the open door just down the hall.

The walls were covered with a startling pink wallpaper, the tile floor only a couple of shades lighter. It was one of two guest bathrooms, and Emily had insisted on the colorful decor. He’d truly hated it the first day she unveiled her handiwork, but she’d said bright colors boosted her spirits. And that had been enough for Ethan.

He thought he heard Sara chuckle, and he glanced over his shoulder. She smiled, her teeth perfectly straight and as white as new snow.

“How old did you say your older niece is?” she asked, a sparkle of amusement in her eyes.

“Twelve. Maybe thirteen.”

“I wouldn’t count on one bathroom being enough.”

He rubbed the side of his neck. “Why not?”

There was that twinkle in her eyes again. Made her look real pretty. “Because girls that age notoriously take hours getting ready.”