Her Lone Cowboy

He jerked his small thumb toward the mare and her foal. “That pony wanted me to come play.”

“How do you know that?”

“’Cause I just know,” he said stubbornly.

She sighed. “Never mind what the pony wants. I want you to stay in our yard.” She forced him to keep eye contact with her for a few more seconds. When his gaze skittered guiltily away from hers, she said, “We’ll talk about this at home. You’re going to be in time-out.”

“Aw, Mom,” Sam said in an injured voice, sticking out his bottom lip and crossing his arms over his chest.

She turned to Caleb and held out her hand. “I apologize for my son. I’m Delaney Reynolds—Laney to my friends—and this is Sam. You’re Caleb Ransom, right?”

Caleb looked down at that hand—long-fingered with unpolished nails. It looked competent, as did she. Deep inside him something stirred, reacting to the intensity of her. He hadn’t experienced this emotion for a long, long time, but he knew it for exactly what it was—longing.

He kept his arms firmly at his sides until her open smile faded.

She finally dropped her proffered hand to her son’s head.

“Yes, I’m Caleb Ransom,” he acknowledged with a nod. “This is my property. Your son could have been in real danger.”

Again her head pulled back at his curt tone and she stammered out an apology. “I realize that and I’m very sorry...”

Caleb tilted his head toward Addie. “That mare doesn’t like anyone coming around her foal. She’ll hardly let me come near. If Sam had gotten too close, she would’ve head-butted him or, worse, kicked him.”

Her face had been flushed from running, but now it paled. “I...I didn’t...”

“Have either of you ever been around horses before?”

“Yes, of course.” Her arms came up to cross over her chest, mimicking her son’s stance. Caleb decided not to see how charming that was.

“Then you should have some idea how dangerous it is for a little kid like this to run up and surprise a mare. You don’t have any idea what could happen, do you? Which is why you need to stay on your own property.”

Anger sparked in her eyes.

Good, he thought. Maybe that meant she’d stay away.

“We will certainly stay on our own property,” she said, reaching to take her son’s hand. “Won’t we, Sam?”

Silence. Both adults looked down at the bent head hiding under the black hat. Laney cupped her son’s chin, lifting his face so that his eyes met hers. His brow wrinkled and his nose crinkled as he gazed at his mom.

Caleb wondered if the little guy was trying to figure out how to sound as though he was agreeing with his mom without really agreeing with her.

“Won’t we, Sam?” she repeated.

“Okay, Mommy,” he said.

She looked up and met Caleb’s gaze. “Thank you again for saving my son’s life. We’ll stay off your property and leave you alone.”

“It’s best if you stay out of this pasture,” he said, emphasizing this point. She, and this boy, disturbed him. “Be a good idea if you passed that along to your husband, too.”

Her dark eyes flashed angrily. “I’m not married. Goodbye, Mr. Ransom,” she said, turning and pulling her son with her. The boy went willingly enough, but after a few steps, she swung him up into her arms, transferring him smoothly to her hip, her head bending close to his as she walked, his short legs bumping against her with each step.

Caleb wondered if she was reminding her son to stay off the neighbor’s land, or if the two of them were discussing what a mean old grump he was. Either way, he didn’t care so long as they left him alone.

He swung onto Cisco’s back, ready to ride away. It was impossible for him to keep his eyes off the pair of them, though. Their heads were close together, her dark hair shining in the sun. She strode confidently ahead, her arm holding the boy safe. They were a solid unit of two.

Suddenly, Sam twisted in his mom’s arms, whipped off his hat and lifted an arm to wave at Caleb.

“I’ll see you later, Mr. Ramson,” he called, mangling Caleb’s name. His big brown eyes, shock of dark hair and wide grin were like a punch to Caleb’s gut. He nearly doubled over in the saddle.

Memory washed over him, making his breath cut through his lungs like a sharp blade. With iron will, he shoved the image that had seared his mind back to the place where he kept it secured. Still, it was several long seconds before he could wrestle the image of desert sand, hot sun and the face of a grinning little boy into the vault. Finally he straightened and gathered Cisco’s reins into his hands.

He’d worked long and hard to get this peaceful little corner of the world, and he wasn’t going to let them disrupt it. He clucked his tongue and headed Cisco toward home.

* * *

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER Sam was still sitting in the time-out chair, stealing sidelong glances at his mother and punctuating the air with aggrieved sighs. For her part, Laney had almost stopped shaking from the combination of fright for her son and anger at her neighbor.

“The man certainly has the right to his privacy,” she muttered as she trimmed shelf paper to fit a kitchen cabinet. “But does he have to be so rude?”

“Maybe he needs to sit in the naughty chair,” Sam said brightly. “I could go tell him.”

Laney pointed a purposeful finger at him. “You stay right where you are, young man. You’re not going anywhere.”

Sam frowned and settled down with another sigh. He spread his knees out to each side of the small chair seat and leaned over to look underneath it. Then he started to kick a leg with each foot, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump in rhythm.

“Wish I had somebody to play with,” he said, peeking at his mom. She didn’t respond. “I wanna play with Logan and Shane.”

“You’ll see them soon enough.”

“Does Mr. Ramson have kids?”

Laney paused and glanced at him. Sam had scooted so far forward on the chair and stuck his head so far under the stool that he was in danger of landing on his head.

“It’s Ransom,” she corrected him. “Now, Sam, sit up straight.” When he complied, she said, “And I don’t know if he has kids for you to play with.”

“He looked mean.”

Laney wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t want Sam to be afraid of their neighbor, but she didn’t want him to be a pest, either. She certainly wanted Sam to stay on their property. It was impossible to keep him safe if she didn’t know where he was. Raising a boy was a bigger challenge than she’d ever anticipated.

Sam was right. Ransom did look mean.

“What’s that guy’s problem, anyway?” Laney muttered. She finished lining the shelf, stacked the plates neatly inside and closed the door with a satisfied snap, then ran her hand over the worn surface of the birchwood.

The cabinets were probably much older than she was, no doubt original to the house, which had been built in the early 1950s by her great uncle, Calvin Reynolds, and left to her when he passed away last year. Everything about the place showed its age, but it was solidly built, the roof was only a few years old and her dad, brother and friends had gotten together and surprised her with a new paint job, inside and out. Somehow, they’d known her favorite colors and which ones to paint on the walls of which rooms. That had probably been her mom’s influence, since she and Vivian had spent hours discussing décor, design and color choices.

But best of all, the house was hers; security for Sam and for her. Now the money she’d been spending on rent for that apartment in town could go into savings and into Sam’s college fund, where most of the child support money from Sam’s father went. It was another brick in the solid foundation of protection she was building for her son.

She had a good job—two good jobs—friends and family. She had a retirement fund, life insurance and a will giving custody of Sam to her brother Ethan and his wife if anything should happen to her. Now she had a house and land. There was a good pasture she could rent out to a neighbor if she wished, with a small freshwater stream—a rarity in southern Arizona—that dried up or just trickled most of the year but ran full during the summer monsoon rains. She remembered playing in the creek as a child and hoped to give Sam that same pleasure in a few weeks—if she could keep him in one piece until then.