Cowboy In Charge

Jason stared at her over the rim of his tea mug. “I’m staying,” he announced.

Chapter Three (#ulink_5ef88131-6459-5158-8ae1-edb4d610ff91)

The bull bearing down on him let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Jason jolted awake, jumped up from his seat in the armchair, cracked his shin against the coffee table and tripped over his boots, all at the speed of light. Another scream later, he made the connection between the onrushing bull and the baby down the hall.

He stumbled toward the bedroom Layne’s kids shared. The glow of the night-light she had turned on showed him the way. But who needed a night-light when the high-pitched cries left no doubt about the right direction.

Scott lay curled up in a ball on the bed, apparently oblivious to the noise. His sister flailed her arms and legs and continued to scream, her face beet red in stark contrast to the pale yellow crib sheet.

He lifted the wriggling mass of baby. Afraid he would drop her, he brought her against his chest. She hiccupped a few times, then started rubbing her cheek against his shirt.

No way. He knew the game she wanted to play, and he didn’t have the right equipment.

Reluctantly, he left the room and headed down the hall.

By now, he expected to see Layne coming to meet him, but there was no sign of her. He frowned. Considering what he’d heard about most new mothers, she would have to be comatose not to respond to her baby’s screams.

He hovered in the doorway of her room. When he’d announced he was staying, he had expected a scream from her, too, or at least a healthy protest. Her sighing acceptance and quick disappearance into her room after she’d put the kids to bed surprised him. They were also sure signs of how sick she must feel.

Her bedside clock read 2:38 a.m.

He hated having to wake her, but he had a hunch the baby’s screams had halted only temporarily, and when they started up again, he would be in a worse predicament than he was now.

“Layne?” he said from the doorway.

She didn’t move.

“Hey, Layne. The baby’s hungry.” And needing a change, judging by the warm weight of the pajama-clad bottom against his palm.

No sign of movement across the room. He went to the bed, then rested his hand on her shoulder and shook gently. “Hey, babe... Layne. Hey, Layne, wake up.” Was that the sound of desperation in his voice? Over the suddenly renewed screams from the infant, he couldn’t tell.

Now she stirred, rolling over onto her back. The pink sleep T-shirt she’d worn to bed twisted across her chest, leaving the deep neckline askew and barely covering her. He averted his gaze and tried to soothe the squirming baby, who had begun wriggling and twisting against his chest.

In desperation, he clicked on the bedside lamp. “Layne, wake up.”

She blinked a few times. Squinting in the light, she shifted to a seated position and leaned against the headboard. She reached up to take the baby from him. “Oh-h-h,” she cooed to the child, “somebody needs a change.”

Her voice was low and sleep-sexy and made him think of things he needed, too. Another list of thoughts that were best forgotten. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

She didn’t answer immediately, and he knew she didn’t want to tell him the truth. “Awful,” she said finally. She gestured toward the dresser. “Can you toss me that baby blanket, please? And there’s a diaper bag on the shelf just inside the closet.”

He handed her the lightweight blanket and found the bag.

“Normally,” she murmured, her attention fixed on the baby, “I’m up and out of bed the second Jill lets out a cry. And now I didn’t even hear her wake up.”

“You’ve got reason.”

Still looking away, she nodded. “I have to admit, I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t here. Thank you.”

“No problem.” But there was a problem. What good was gratitude if she gave it grudgingly? If she couldn’t even look him in the face?

She finished diapering Jill and cuddled the baby to her. In a low voice, she asked, “Why are you here?”

And there was another problem.

He had been about to lean against the edge of the dresser. Her question made him freeze. He still couldn’t tell her the complete truth—not without the risk of having her kick him out again.

He told her a half-truth instead. “I wanted to see how things are going with you.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Why not? We’d been together for—”

“Jason,” she said quietly, “please don’t try that one on me.”

“All right, then. I wanted to see my son.”

“My son,” she corrected. “For all the contact you’ve had with him, you could have been a sperm donor.”

* * *

JASON STOOD IN the doorway of the kids’ room and watched his son rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Sitting in the middle of the double mattress, he looked so young and innocent. So small. Almost as small as the stuffed teddy bear and dilapidated panda taking up space on either side of him.

A minute ago, he had heard Scott calling for him and come at a run, hoping to keep the boy’s cries from wakening the baby and, in turn, the baby from wakening Layne. Considering the occasional sounds of Layne’s bedsprings creaking and, once, of her footsteps padding to the bathroom and back in the early hours, it had taken her till daybreak to get to sleep again.

“Morning now?” Scott asked.

“Yeah,” Jason confirmed.

This morning had come fast and furiously for him, with no sleep at all once he had left Layne’s room.

Furious couldn’t begin to describe his reaction to her verbal slam. Sperm donor. A helluva thing to say to a man. Even if there had been one grain of truth in it, she had no call to dump the full silo load of responsibility on him. He wasn’t the only one involved in how things had turned out.

He reached for the teddy bear for something to occupy his mind and hands. The bear looked well loved, with its fur matted in some places and its cloth body worn bare in others. Had Scott gotten the bear as a birthday gift? Had he slept with it ever since? Did he like it better than the panda he had just grabbed from the bed?

“Have to hug Teddy,” Scott said.

“What?”

“Morning now. Have to hug Teddy,” Scott said again. He wrapped his arms around the panda hard enough to squeeze the stuffing from it. “See?”

Jason froze. He was a rodeo rider and a hard-riding wrangler, and he didn’t hug anything that wasn’t female and wearing a dress and willing to hug him back. He didn’t do stuffed animals.

“Have to hug Teddy,” Scott said yet again.

He could hear the slight tremor in the boy’s voice and see his puzzled frown. Evidently, Layne had made those early-morning hugs a family tradition. He swallowed hard, trying to ease the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Hug Teddy.” Feeling like a fool, he wrapped his arms around the little cloth body. Feeling worse, he watched the smile brighten his son’s face and wished he could hug his boy instead.