His Little Cowgirl. Brenda Minton

a freshly mown lawn. Bailey glanced out the window again, eyeing the mower still sitting next to the shed, and then her gaze shifted to the man who had done the mowing. He walked out of the barn, his hat pushed back to expose a suntanned face.

      It should have felt good, seeing the work he’d done in the two days since her dad had come home from the hospital. Eggs frying and coffee brewing should have been normal things, signaling a normal morning on a working farm. Instead these were signs of her weakening attempts at keeping things under control. Make breakfast, do the laundry, dust the furniture, which would only get dusty again, the little things that signified life was still moving forward.

      She reached into the cabinet for a plate and slid the eggs out of the skillet. A light rap on the back door and her back instinctively stiffened.

      “It’s open.”

      The screen door creaked and booted footsteps clicked on the linoleum. And then he was there, next to her, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Had she actually dreamed of this, wanted this to be her life—Cody in her kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee, sitting across from her eating breakfast?

      If so, the dream had faded. Now she dreamed of other things, of making it, and of a stable full of other people’s horses to be trained, and money in the bank. Romance was the last thing on her mind, especially when she hadn’t even brushed her teeth this morning and her hair was in a scraggly ponytail.

      It didn’t help that he smelled good, like soap and leather. Maybe romance wasn’t the last thing on her mind. This opened the door for other thoughts, the kind she quickly brushed away, reminders of his hand on her cheek and the way it had felt to be in his arms.

      “Are you going to work today?” He turned and leaned against the counter, his legs crossed at the ankles and the cup of coffee lifted to his lips.

      “I can’t work.” She answered his question as she flipped a couple of eggs and a few slices of bacon on the plate with already buttered toast.

      “Can’t work? Why?”

      “Because my dad needs me here. I can’t leave him alone with Meg.” She handed him the plate.

      Cody set his plate down on the counter. He turned to face her, his jaw muscle working. Bailey shifted her gaze from the storm brewing in his blue eyes. She picked up the dishrag and wiped crumbs from the toaster off the counter. A strong, tanned hand covered hers, stopping her efforts to distract herself. She slid her hand out from under his and looked up.

      “I’m here, Bailey. I’m trying to help you.”

      “Why, why are you here now?”

      “I want to be here.” He sipped his coffee and then set the cup on the counter. “I know I can’t stay forever, but I’m here and I want to help.”

      How many people had tried to help and had accepted her refusal, and her insistence that she could do it herself? How long had she been holding on to the reins, telling herself she could do it all, while everyone called her stubborn? It wasn’t stubbornness; it was determination, and maybe a survival instinct she hadn’t recognized until recently.

      It was a mantra of sorts. Keep going, keep moving forward, don’t slow down or you might not make it. She had become a horse with blinders, able to only focus on the job at hand. She didn’t want to lose focus.

      “I ordered supplies to fix that north fence.” His carelessly tossed-out words jerked her back to the present.

      “I didn’t ask you to do that. I can’t afford it right now.”

      “I’m paying for the materials.”

      “Cody, you have a career. You can’t let go of your place standing.” She let her gaze drift away from his. “And really, I don’t expect you to foot the bill around here.”

      He mumbled under his breath and walked away from her.

      “What about your breakfast?” she called out after his retreating back, noticing the dark perspiration triangle between his shoulders. He’d been up for a while, working.

      “I don’t think that cooking my breakfast is your problem.” He turned at the door. “Bailey, you push me further than any woman ever has. On so many levels. Get in there and get ready for work. If you don’t, I’ll load you up and drive you myself.”

      And then he was gone. The sound of his retreating footsteps sent a shudder up her spine. When she glanced out the window, she saw him walk into his camper, the door banging shut behind him.

      “Sis, you’re going to have to let someone help—it might as well be Cody.”

      Bailey turned, fixing her gaze on her dad. He had hold of the back of a kitchen chair, his knuckles white with the effort. She turned back to the normal thing, fixing breakfast and pretending her dad would be around for another twenty years.

      “I know, Dad. I know that I need help, we need help, but I don’t know…”

      “How to accept help.” The chair scraped on the linoleum as he sat at the kitchen table, pushing aside yesterday’s paper and a pile of mail. “You learned that stubbornness from me. Now let me teach you something new: Let someone help you out. It’ll make the burden that much lighter.”

      He paused for a long time. Bailey turned with his plate and a cup of coffee. His head was buried in his hands, and his shoulders were slumped forward. Bailey put the plate down on the table and touched his arm. His hand, no longer steady, came up to rest on hers.

      “Sis, it would make my burden lighter if you’d let him help.”

      And that was the way he shifted it, from her to him, no longer her problem. She knew he had planned it that way. He knew that she’d do it for him when she couldn’t do it for herself. She leaned and kissed the top of his head.

      “For you, Dad.” But it wouldn’t be easy, not when the long-forgotten memories of a Wyoming summer were starting to resurface, reminding her of what dreams of forever had felt like.

      

      The light rap on the thin metal door of the RV announced her arrival. He had seen Bailey crossing the yard, her mouth moving as she talked to herself, more than likely about him and the unpleasant things she’d like to do or say.

      He opened the door and motioned her in. She stood firm on the first step and didn’t accept his offer. The hair that had been held in a ponytail was now free, blowing around her face, and the slightest hint of pink gloss shimmered on her lips.

      “I’m going to work.”

      “Okay.” He knew it couldn’t be easy for her, letting go of pride and having him be the one who stepped in to help.

      She shoved her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “I need to show you his medication and how to give him the injections. Can you handle that?”

      “Bailey, you know that I can.” He’d given more shots than a lot of veterinarians. Growing up on a ranch, he’d doctored his own livestock. There hadn’t always been a vet on duty, or one that could get to them fast enough.

      “You’ll have to make lunch. I won’t be home until after two.”

      “I know that.”

      “Meg will need a nap.”

      “I can handle it.”

      She chewed on her bottom lip, her brown eyes luminous as she stared up at him. He reminded himself that he was here because he had a daughter, not because he meant to become a part of Bailey’s life.

      Other than that summer in Wyoming, he’d never really been a part of any woman’s life. He hadn’t allowed himself those forever kinds of entanglements. He wasn’t about to find out he really was his father’s son. But then, hadn’t he already found that out? He had walked out on Bailey, and he hadn’t been there for Meg.

      Neither of his parents had really taught him about being there for a person,