The Baby And The Cowboy Seal

“I’m thankful for your help with the garden—but mostly, for you being you. I’ve been so wrapped up in feeling sorry for myself, I never stopped to consider just how many folks have it worse than me. Raising Henry on your own can’t be easy.”

“It’s not, but...” Did he really equate her son with his having a disability? Just when they’d taken a baby step forward in behaving civilly toward each other, why did she feel as if they’d now taken two giant leaps back? “You do understand that no matter what happened with my ex, Henry’s a blessing?”

“Oh, sure. I meant that we all have our own crosses to bear.” He conked his forehead. “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean to imply you’re not a great mom, and your baby’s not cute as a button—just that it’s tough enough caring for your livestock and garden on your own, caring for a baby alone must be ten times harder.”

“True. But I don’t dwell on the fact. I prefer to look on the bright side, which is that I’ve been gifted with an angel to remind me how sweet life can be.”

“Wish I were able to share your optimism.” He looked down. “Right now all I can see is about three steps ahead, and that’s scary. I’ve always believed I could weather any storm, but this thing with my leg is different. From the start, it was totally out of my control—and I hate that. If something’s happening in my life, I ought to be able to confront it head-on.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “What you’re going through—I can’t imagine. But things are going to be okay. They always are.”

His gaze turned cold. “Wish that were true, but it’s been my experience that a lot of times, shit goes from bad to worse.”

“I think you were right...” It was on the tip of her tongue to scold Wiley about cursing in front of her baby, but why waste her breath? Considering his dour frame of mind, he’d only do it again. “It’s probably best if we keep to our own parts of this old mountain. All the plants I owe you are in my wheelbarrow in your side yard. I’ve got the roots wrapped in damp paper towels, but you’ll probably want to get those in the ground sooner as opposed to later. Leave the wheelbarrow by my gate. I’ll come around to get it.”

Before she lost her resolve, Macy hiked Henry higher on her hip, then took off across Wiley’s yard.

“Aw, hell...” She barely heard Wiley mutter. “Macy, wait!”

“Can’t!” she called with a backward wave after stooping to pluck Henry’s backpack-style carrier from where she’d left it in the garden.

And that was the God’s honest truth. She no more trusted herself to turn around for one last look at Wiley than she did not to eat an entire plate of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies.

He’d always represented something larger-than-life. Years before he’d been a hotshot SEAL, he’d possessed a cocky swagger. A way of squaring his shoulders and jaw that had not only mesmerized her, but alerted her to the fact that he was beyond her reach—not that he’d ever said it in so many words, but in her heart, she’d known.

Even when she was fourteen and more than ready for her first kiss, she hadn’t dared hope to experience the feel of her lips grazing Wiley’s. He was destined for better than her—a greatness she’d recognized even all those years ago. At the time, she’d predicted he’d one day be a famous bull rider—maybe even a movie star—and considering he had a face handsome enough to charm the devil, Macy figured Wiley would end up with a rodeo queen or a brilliant doctor or lawyer. Never in a million years would he end up with a girl as ordinary and plain as she.

And yet now, walking away from him, she recognized the tables had been turned. Oh, he was still every bit as handsome as he’d ever been. And his slight limp didn’t bother her in the least. What she did find inexcusable was his attitude. She was sorry for what he’d been through—couldn’t even imagine the horror. But that didn’t give him the right to abandon life. Where his gaze had once been vibrant and sparking with energy, those same brown eyes now looked dead. And that scared her.

* * *

FOR ABOUT FIVE SECONDS, Wiley considered chasing Macy, but what was the point? They’d said all they had to say—he’d spilled far more than he’d ever planned to share with anyone—let alone the firecracker who’d tormented him for as long as he could remember.

He exchanged his flannel pajama bottoms for jeans and a red plaid shirt, rammed his bare feet into socks and then cowboy boots, then headed to the garden.

The notion that Macy had uprooted her plants for him had him all messed up inside.

Who did that?

Sure, they’d been friends back in the day, but they were nothing now—less than acquaintances. Which begged the question, why had he spewed all that personal BS? And why did he now feel like crap over the fact that yet again he’d sent poor little Macy skittering as if she was Beauty and he was the Beast?

So what? Why did he care?

Maybe because that story she’d told about her cheating ex hadn’t set well. She deserved better. With that crazy-colored hair of hers and freckles that looked as if angels sprinkled cinnamon atop the bridge of her button nose, she was more than pretty. In fact, there had been a point before his grandfather died when Wiley had started to look at Macy in a much different light than merely the pesky little kid from next door.

She’d been fourteen, and he’d just turned eighteen—too old for her, yet incapable of turning away from the kid-transformed-into-sexy-young-woman stealing the show at his high school graduation party.

Macy had tagged along with Dot and Clem.

He closed his eyes and saw her as plainly as if he’d stepped back in time.

The night was unseasonably warm and scented with a bouquet of feminine perfumes. A thunderstorm approached and lightning backlit the partiers making good use of O’Mally’s deck. Every so often thunder boomed. Eagle Ridge had only four restaurants, but this was his favorite, which was why his parents held his party there. So many people had come that the event spilled out of the private dining room and the local band his dad hired set up on the covered stage located just off the spacious deck. The stage was two-sided, which allowed whoever was playing to perform inside or out. In the winter, a garage door closed it off from the snow, but tonight, that door stood open for the band currently performing a Bon Jovi classic.

Liquor was flowing, and Wiley’s grandfather kept sneaking Wiley and his friends steady rounds of whiskey shots and beer.

“Hey, Wiley,” Macy said when she left the dance floor for a cup of his mother’s virgin punch. She looked different—better. “Excited to be out of school?”

“Hell, yeah.” He couldn’t stop staring. What had she done to transform herself from pain-in-his-ass to hottie? When had she gotten boobs?

“Got big plans?”

“Nah. Grandpa needs me to help on the mountain. I figure I’ll do that in the off-season, then hit the rodeo circuit. You know I won my last three bull-riding events.”

She rolled her eyes. “Duh—like you’ve only told me ten times. Get a new story.”

“Kiss your mom with that sassy mouth?”

“Nope, but I wouldn’t mind kissing you.” She raised her chin, and the challenge in her eyes did funny things to his stomach. She’d put her long curls up, and instead of her usual T-shirt and jeans, she wore a blue sundress that made it all too easy for him to peer down at her female assets. Her mounded boobs had him not only hitching his breath, but shifting his weight to hide the instant action beneath his fly.

“You’re just a kid,” he mumbled.

“Not anymore.” In the shadows with the band now playing a slow country song, she sidled up close—uncomfortably close. Not because he wanted her to go away, but because in that moment, he didn’t want to let her go.

She escaped his hold to dance solo, waving her arms above her head, which only put more of a strain on her dress’s thin fabric. Lord, her boobs were nice. How had he never noticed?

Thunder cracked.

Other guests shrieked while running inside to get out of the sprinkles promising to soon be a downpour, but she stayed.

The rain made good on its promise, and even though the band had stopped playing to move their gear inside, Macy danced to her own music, swaying and laughing with her eyes closed. As long as he lived, Wiley doubted he’d ever see a more beautiful sight. Her hair had fallen and her soaked dress had turned see-through. She wore no bra, and in the light cascading through the windows, nothing was left to his imagination.

She was no longer Little Macy, but a girl he had to have.

“You’re wild!” he called above the storm.

She giggled. “I know.”

“I’ve got to kiss you.” Wind pushed him closer, and with his hands on her sweet ass, he pressed himself against her, needy for release.

“It’s about time.”

A gust stole his straw cowboy hat, but he hardly noticed on account of how badly he wanted her. He leaned in for that kiss, but then her dad charged onto the deck and grabbed hold of the back of Wiley’s shirt.

“Boy, what the hell are you doing?” To his daughter, Steve barked, “Macy, get inside!”

“Y-yes, Daddy.” Her teeth chattered.

“I—I’m awfully sorry, sir. It—this, won’t happen again.”