The Baby And The Cowboy Seal

“Feeling’s mutual, buddy...” Wiley struggled to get a guide rope around the beast’s neck and eventually succeeded.

His back and leg still hurt like hell, but as he’d been taught through his SEAL training, if you have a job, do it.

No excuses.

He refused to use the four-pronged cane he’d been sent home from the hospital with, so he once again needed the hoe for leverage while opening Charlie’s pen, then tugging him toward the barn door.

After pushing and pulling the damned creature to the gate between his grandfather’s property and Macy’s, Wiley slipped off the guide rope and encouraged the llama with a light pat to his ornery ass to be on his way.

Judging by his gallop, Charlie felt right as rain and didn’t suffer any lingering pain from his previous day’s injury.

Wiley wished he could say the same for himself.

He hobbled back to the barn to check on the momma and her pups.

“You didn’t eat much,” he said to the hound. He topped off her water and food, then moved both bowls close enough that she could snack without having to upset her suckling brood.

When he rubbed between her ears, she gave him an appreciative few licks.

“You’re a good girl.” Because stooping hurt, Wiley pulled over a hay bale to perch on. “What’s the problem? You don’t like Doc’s food?”

She cocked her head. Lord help him, but her soulful brown eyes stirred something he hadn’t experienced in a long time—the desire to do a worthwhile task that didn’t involve sitting around feeling sorry for himself.

“Tell you what...” He gave her another rub. “I’m about out of the proverbial dog that bit me, so how about I grab you a treat while I’m in town.”

She wagged her tail.

* * *

MACY PUT THE VASE of wildflowers she’d plucked from a nearby meadow in the table’s center, then stood back to admire her handiwork. She’d covered the kitchen table in a green-and-white-striped cloth, then set two place settings using her grandmother’s rose-patterned wedding china and good silver. Alongside each plate were salads made from the season’s first lettuce and tomatoes, as well as rose glass tumblers filled with fresh-brewed iced tea.

It wasn’t every day she had company for lunch and she looked forward to Doc Carthage’s visit—all the more so since Charlie seemed fine. The last she’d checked on him, he’d been happily grazing in the pasture, surrounded by his angels.

“What do you think?” she asked Henry, who sat in his high chair, working over a teething biscuit.

“Arrrghuulah!” He bounced and kicked, and as always, her heart melted from the sight of his smile.

“You are too cute,” she said in a singsong voice.

He grinned all the more.

The house smelled cheesy-wonderful from the lasagna she’d made that morning, and every wood surface shone from polishing.

The cabin might be small, but every inch was filled with love—from the whitewashed walls to the wide-plank oak floor and low beamed ceilings. Antique curio and china cabinets held her grandmother’s treasures and built-in bookshelves framing the river stone hearth cradled her grandfather’s beloved books.

When the crunch of tires on gravel alerted her that her guest had arrived, she gathered Henry in her arms, then bounded to the front porch to greet the vet.

Macy was all smiles until she caught sight of Doc Carthage’s passenger.

Why in the world had he brought Wiley?

“Hey, little fella.” Upon exiting his truck, Doc made a beeline for Henry. “I swear he’s gotten bigger since yesterday.”

“He sure feels like it,” Macy said with forced cheer. Yesterday’s encounter with Wiley had been more than enough for her. Never had she come across a man who was more downright uncivilized—well, not counting her ex, but then that was a whole ’nother story.

Wiley took his time easing from the truck, clearly favoring his leg, but taking great pains not to show it.

“Look who I found out in his yard, tending that junk pile.” The vet slapped Wiley’s back. “I figured if you’re anything like your grandma, Macy, you made plenty enough to share. And if Wiley’s half as bad a cook as his grandpa, he needs all the good home cooking you can spare.”

“Yes, sir,” Macy said with forced cheer. “Grandma always taught me the more the merrier.” Although Macy was pretty sure that in Wiley’s case, the old saying didn’t apply. “Wiley, you’re welcome to join us.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t look any happier to be there than Macy was at the intrusion.

“You two go ahead and get started.” Doc Carthage waved on his way to the pasture where he’d spotted Charlie. “I’m going to check on my patient, then I’ll be right in. Macy, girl, whatever you cooked smells good enough that my stomach’s already growling.”

It was on the tip of Macy’s tongue to beg the vet not to go, but it was too late. He was already gone.

Wiley cleared his throat. “About yesterday. Sorry.”

“Save it.” She turned her back on him to head inside.

There was another place to set and salad to make. She had no time to stand around listening to an apology that didn’t come anywhere near reaching Wiley’s dark eyes. His hair was too long, and he needed a shave, yet his raw good looks took her breath away. As much as she currently hated him, she’d always pined for him, even loved him, which made his current salty behavior all the harder to bear. Oh sure, she didn’t love him, as in true love, but she felt the kind of love that came from years of companionship and togetherness and deep-down caring that refused to go away just because she dearly wanted it to.

“Really.” He limped after her, which made her feel bad when he was the one who’d misbehaved! “I am sorry. And hungry. Whatever you made smells delicious. I never would have come, but—”

“You shouldn’t have.” She spun to face him. “But since you did, wash your hands, then make yourself useful by sitting down and holding Henry.”

For the longest time he stared at her as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her new take-charge demeanor, but then a smile tugged at his lips and on the way to the kitchen sink, he shook his head. “Damn if you aren’t still a pistol.”

“Don’t curse in front of the baby.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He washed his hands, then grabbed for Henry, but then backed away, as if he’d changed his mind. Afraid he might drop him? Macy respected him more for swallowing his pride to admit to at least himself that there could be a potential problem. He sat at the table, stretching out his bum leg, then held out his arms. “Want to deliver him to me?”

Macy did.

But when Wiley held her son as if he were as exotic as a three-headed calf, Henry pouted, huffed a bit, then fell into a full-blown wail.

“I didn’t do anything,” Wiley said.

“That’s the point.” Macy didn’t want to get close enough to Wiley to recognize his old familiar scent, but for the sake of her son, she cautiously approached, taking the baby from him, only to turn Henry around so that he faced Wiley. “Hold him like you mean it, otherwise, he’ll be scared. Like this...” She bit her lip while positioning Wiley’s arms around Henry.

The mere act of touching the cowboy brought back so much she’d rather forget—the electric awareness that years earlier she’d chalked up to raging teen hormones was still there. The simple brush of forearm to forearm, fingers to fingers made her whole body hum. The simple touch reminded her how long it had been since she’d been with a man—if ever, considering the fact that she no longer considered her ex to be anything more than a self-centered man-child.

“How’s this, little fella?” Wiley’s voice had turned hoarse. Could he be as confused as she?

“If you’re sure you’re okay with Henry, I’ll grab an extra place setting and make your salad.”

“I don’t need a salad—or anything special. A paper plate will do.”