Her Guardian Rancher. Brenda Minton

in on Jamie and he unleashed one of those trademark smiles that might charm a woman, any woman besides Emma. Any woman who had time for romance. If her favorite top wasn’t in the rag pile, stained with throw-up, and if her daily beauty routine consisted of more than a ponytail holder and sunscreen, a woman might give Daron a second look.

      But a woman going to bail her grandfather out of the city jail didn’t have time for urban cowboys in expensive boots, driving expensive Ford trucks and wearing... Oh goodness, what was he wearing? It smelled like the cologne counter at the mall, something spicy and Oriental and outdoorsy, all at the same time. The kind of scent guaranteed to make a woman want to drop in and stay awhile.

      No! She’d done this once before. She’d believed Andy, that he would help her, fix her life, make things all better. And he didn’t. When things had gotten tough, he bailed. He hadn’t been prepared for reality.

      “Go away, Daron.” Emma pushed past him with her daughter, because she was decidedly not the woman who wanted to lean into him and stay awhile. She didn’t have time for anything other than reality.

      Daron McKay was a nuisance and he’d been a nuisance for three years, since he got back from Afghanistan. He’d involved himself in her life because he’d come home and Andy hadn’t. But Andy had left her long before then and Daron just didn’t understand.

      Andy had left her here alone.

      Alone, broke and pregnant. Of the three she could handle alone. Other than with her granddad, Art Lewis, she’d been that way most of her life. Her parents had died in a car accident when she was ten. Art had been the only one willing to take her on.

      Now, eighteen years later, the tables had turned, and she was taking care of her granddad.

      “I can’t go away.” Daron followed her, reaching his arms to her daughter. Jamie, not knowing any better, went straight to him. He’d been hanging around for three years. Her daughter thought he was the best thing ever.

      “Why can’t you just go away?” she asked, knowing she shouldn’t. “And how did you know?”

      The wind, strong and from the north, whipped at her hair, blowing it across her face. She pushed it back with her hand and gave the man next to her, who towered over her by nearly a foot, an angry glare. Not because he was a bad person, but because he was always there. Always catching her at her worst, when she felt weak and vulnerable. He’d been in the waiting room the night Jamie was born. He’d been there when Jamie had the croup. He was always there. Like he thought they needed him.

      He’d brought groceries, bought Christmas presents, provided hay for their cattle. He was kind. Or guilty. Maybe he was both. She didn’t know and she really didn’t have the time or energy to figure him out.

      She did know he wasn’t the least bit fazed by her attempt to push him away. “I heard the call on the scanner. And I can’t go because I’m carrying Jamie. And she happens to think I’m amazing.”

      He smiled down at her and added a wink that made her roll her eyes.

      “That makes two of you,” Emma quipped, barely hiding a smile as she averted her gaze from the too-sure-of-himself rancher with his Texas drawl, sun-browned skin and sandy curls.

      He laughed off the comment. “Yep, me and Jamie, we think I’m pretty amazing.”

      “It’s time for you to cut the strings and realize I don’t need you, Daron. I’m not your problem. You don’t owe us anything. We’re taking care of ourselves.”

      His smile faded and he glanced away, his gray eyes looking a lot like the clouds rolling over the horizon. “I’m here. Like it or not.”

      “I think you’re upset that you’re here instead of Andy. You are upset every time you take a breath. You have to let it go.”

      “He was a friend.”

      She looked at Jamie, then shook her head. “I’m not doing this again. We can’t go back. I can’t help you soothe your guilt. You have to let go.”

      “Your granddad ran a tractor off the road. He was fiddling with his stereo. He said they need to play more Merle and less of this stuff they call country these days. All of the good ones are dying off, he said.”

      Emma brushed a hand across her cheek, not wanting to think about the good ones dying off or songs about who would take their place. “I’ll take care of it.”

      “There’s damage to the tractor.”

      “Okay, thank you. You can go.”

      Daron remained next to her, matching his giant steps to her smaller ones. “Your granddad let his insurance lapse. It hasn’t been paid in two months.”

      Emma sighed. “Could this get any better?”

      It would get better, though. She knew in time they’d work through this. Jamie would be healthy and Emma would be able to work full-time. Things always got better. Sometimes they just had to get worse first.

      “They mentioned having him evaluated.” Daron reached to open the door for her. “They think it’s time he gave up his license.”

      “Of course they do. But he’s only eighty and he’s usually careful.” She held her arms out to her daughter, but Jamie ignored her, preferring instead to rest her head on Daron’s shoulder. “We have to go now, sweetie.”

      “I’ll go in with you.” He glanced down at the child in his arms, her blond curls framing her face. Put a hand to her cheek as if he knew the routine. “Is she sick?”

      Emma briefly closed her eyes, because for a brief moment she’d forgotten what Lily told her. “She has a virus.”

      And then she took her daughter and walked through the open door, leaving him alone on the sidewalk. When she got to the desk where an officer was doing paperwork, Daron was still behind her.

      “Can I help you?” The officer, his name tag told her his name was Benjamin Jacobs, looked past her to Daron.

      “I’m Emma Shaw. My grandfather, Art Lewis...”

      The officer grinned and held up a hand. “We know Art. He’s in the back entertaining the guys with stories of the trouble he got into when he was overseas during the Korean War. We’ll get him processed and you can take him home.”

      He hit the intercom and told someone in the back that Art’s granddaughter was there to get him.

      “Do you have the name of the person he hit? I’m under the impression there are damages and Art’s insurance has lapsed?”

      “It’s taken care of.” The officer went on with his paperwork.

      “It can’t be taken care of. He doesn’t have insurance. If you’ll give me the name, I’ll handle it. Or will we see them in court?”

      “They didn’t press charges.”

      She spun around to face Daron. He had taken a step back, but he was still close enough to poke a finger into his chest. “I said stop.”

      “Stop what?”

      “How many times have I told you—you don’t have to rescue us. We’re fine.”

      He held both hands up in surrender. “I know you are.”

      A door behind them opened and closed with a click. She glanced back and saw her grandfather with the police chief. He’d lost weight and his overalls hung a little loose. He was wearing slippers instead of his farm boots. She drew in a breath, aching because he was getting older. Why had she thought he’d be with her forever, always picking up the pieces and keeping her safe?

      “Granddad, what in the world?” She hiked her daughter up on her hip and closed the distance between herself and her grandfather. “Are you okay?”

      He scratched the gray whiskers on his chin. “Well, I reckon I am. What are you here for?”