Aiming for the Cowboy

The concept crippled her. So instead, she put the e-reader in a drawer and told herself she’d deal with it later.

Her logical electronic engineer dad had helped get her finances in order, and had generously contributed to her dwindling bank account so she no longer had to worry about funds. Her cousins, aunts, uncles and benevolent friends had all rallied around her with support and nonstop love. Helen felt truly blessed.

Now all she had to do was tell Colt Granger he was the father, a fact that everyone in her circle kept nudging her to do, but she kept resisting. Each time she had screwed up enough courage to tell him, she found a hundred reasons why she couldn’t make the phone call or drive that long hour to Briggs. Add to that an element that he might not believe her, and it was everything Helen could do to even think about how she would broach the subject.

What finally forced her to have to cowgirl up and face him was an official phone call from Mrs. Milton, one of the owners from the riding school. After thirty years in business, the school, land and private home was up for sale. The owners had decided to retire, a fact that saddened Helen more than she thought possible. The M & M Riding School had been her summer home for most of her teen years and the arena at the school had served as her main training ground ever since she’d taken cowboy mounted shooting seriously.

She was informed that Tater was one of only three horses still left that needed to be moved. “We kept him as long as we could, honey, hoping that we’d get a quick sale and you could board him with the new owners. Unfortunately, that isn’t the case, so you’ll have to move him in the next few days. Sorry to put you under such pressure, but our new house in town is ready and we want to get settled in before the holidays.”

“Not a problem,” Helen told her, thinking she’d move him over to her cousin Milo’s place in Briggs until she could find him a more permanent home. She knew he wouldn’t mind. He’d boarded Tater before and loved him almost as much as Helen did.

The call required immediate action, and so did her growing condition.

It was time she took charge, moved her horse and told Colt the truth despite her apprehensions.

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” she told Mrs. Milton. She disconnected, walked out onto her parents’ back porch, gazed out at the bright blue sky, the surrounding mountains and contemplated Colt Granger.

She hadn’t seen or heard anything about Colt since Joey’s birthday. He’d called a couple times, but she hadn’t returned his calls. She’d been thrown into a lifelong responsibility with a man who was dating other women, Jenny Pickens just to name one. Now that he’d started dating again, who knew how many more women were chomping at the bit to be in his little black book. For all she knew, practically every single woman in the entire county had made the cut. It was only a matter of time until he found Ms. Right, and it certainly wouldn’t be her.

Helen was more in the Ms. All Wrong category, and for now, that suited her just fine. They’d made love exactly once. Okay, so it was powerful and more passionate than what she’d ever experienced with any other man, but that didn’t mean they could ever have a viable relationship. For starters, he had three sons, three ornery, unmanageable sons. She had fears and apprehensions about one child, let alone three more.

Her baby moved and kicked as she sat back rubbing her tummy, grateful that she could trust her family with her secret until she was ready to tell Colt. She decided to spend a few days with her cousin Milo Gump in Briggs. Everyone in the family had an open invitation to stay on Milo’s ranch. He liked the company, especially now that his parents had retired to a smaller place in Oregon, and his sister had moved to Austin, Texas, with her new husband.

Her thirty-year-old cousin was a man who was generous to a fault, and the one person in the entire world she could trust with a secret.

* * *

“YOU TOLD MAGGIE GRANGER, Colt’s sister-in-law, that I’m pregnant?” Helen couldn’t believe Milo could betray her after she’d told him several times not to tell anyone until she personally broke the news to Colt.

“You can’t exactly hide it,” Milo said, staring at her prominent belly. She wore a stretchy green top that caressed her baby bump, boot-cut maternity jeans and her favorite tan-colored cowgirl boots.

“That’s not the point. I drove straight here. No one in this gossip-centered town has seen me yet.”

“Jackson is only a hop-skip away. It ain’t exactly out of drivin’ range. Anyone from Briggs could’ve seen you.”

“If someone had seen me, I would know about it.”

“Calm down,” Milo said, a look of guilt on his chubby face. “I merely told her you’d been taking it easy for a while, staying with your parents in Jackson until the baby came. I didn’t say a word about Colt being its daddy.”

Helen stared up at Milo from the brown leather sofa in his Western-style living room. She had finally gotten somewhat comfortable after having spent the past hour getting her stomach to settle down long enough so she could eat a bowl of vegetable soup he’d prepared for her that was now getting cold on his coffee table.

She’d driven in the previous night, and ever since she’d arrived her already sensitive stomach seemed to be in a continual state of agitation.

Sort of like her nerves.

“How could you think this information wouldn’t get back to Colt?”

Milo plopped down in his recliner across from her, the chair groaning under his weight. He was one of those big guys, not really fat, just big-boned, with a six-foot-five height that would intimidate almost anyone who came his way. He had a sweet face that told anyone who came near him that he was a teddy bear, until you got him riled. Then he was a force to be reckoned with.

Still, Milo was a gentle giant, and Helen loved him to pieces...until this very moment.

“She’s the one who asked me why you wasn’t at the fair. You know it’s Spud Week and everybody’s down to the fairgrounds for the fair. It’s obvious that you’ve been missing. ’Specially since you didn’t participate in the Spud Tug this year. Our team won, by the way.”

The Spud Tug was a tug-of-war over a pit of mashed potatoes instead of mud. Helen usually participated on Milo’s team.

“Your team always wins.”

“I know,” he chided and Helen gazed over at his latest Spudphy, a six inch high golden-colored russet potato man wearing a cowboy hat, cowboy boots on his tiny legs and a belt around his wide midsection. There were at least ten Spudphys perched on Milo’s bookshelf, along with many other potato-oriented awards.

Next to Christmas, Spud Week in Briggs was the biggest celebration going. Schools closed, businesses shut down early and everyone headed out to the fairgrounds in honor of the almighty potato.

“You could have told her that I took a fall and injured myself. That I’m suddenly allergic to potatoes. I don’t know. Anything would’ve been better than telling her the truth. Did she say anything after you told her?”

“All she said was, I understand. And then she walked off to meet up with her sister, Kitty.”

“She said, I understand.”

“Yeah, that’s good, right?” His face lit up, and he looked like a little boy eager to please with his curly dark hair falling over his ears, and down his collar.

Helen stood, anxious to get to the fair to find Colt. She knew he’d be there all day with his boys. There were always a lot of games for kids to participate in and she knew from previous years that his boys liked to join in as many as they could.

“No, that’s very bad. I’ve got to get to Colt before rumors start to fly.”

“Well, I told you to tell him when you visited months ago.” He slid into a reclining position and turned on his favorite TV show on the food channel, its glamorous host, who he would run away with in a heartbeat, popped up on the screen. Today she would be cooking up a backyard picnic and Milo had every intention of sitting and watching the entire show with his notepad and pen at the ready.

“I know, but the timing wasn’t right. Joey had just nearly killed himself.”

The opening shots of the chef’s Texas ranch came up on the sixty-inch flat-screen TV. Milo increased the volume. He loved her Italian theme song.

“She’s chopping pineapples and cabbage today for coleslaw, and I love to watch her chop things. Best part of the show.”

“That’s a little sick.”

“No, it ain’t. Not the way you think anyway. I’m a horrible chopper. She’s a master.”

The theme song ended and the host stood in her kitchen, picked up her chopping knife and began chopping away.

“Look at the way she handles that cabbage, and that big knife. She’s got a real talent for chopping. It’s an art.”

Helen stared at Milo in disbelief.

“Since when do you care about slicing vegetables?”

“Since I entered the show’s contest. If I win, I get to fly to Texas to her ranch for a full two days of cooking lessons, then dinner with her out on her private veranda. That would be heaven.”

“You only eat hot dogs, burgers, spuds and an occasional steak.”

“Yeah, but a man can dream, can’t he?” He closed his eyes as the show went to a commercial. After a second or two, a wide smile creased his lips. “Besides, I’m learning how to cook because of her.”