She of many dragons, p.6
Rugrats and Rawhide, page 6
With strict orders for him to remain in the truck, she perched her kids on the fence, then rolled two of the fifty-gallon barrels he used to train horses for barrel racing into the holding pen and laid them on their sides.
“What in the hell is she doing?” he mumbled under his breath as he watched her disappear into the tack room. His curiosity got the better of him and he climbed from the truck, snagged his crutches and hobbled over to the fence in time to see Joanie reappear, dragging two saddles through the dirt behind her. After strapping the saddles onto the barrels, she motioned for the kids to climb down from the fence and join her.
J.D. started to chuckle when he realized her intent.
“Okay, guys,” she said as she plopped first one twin, then the other onto the saddled barrels. “Ride as long as you please. If you need me, I’ll be in the barn with J.D. cleaning out the stalls.”
“Pretty creative,” he murmured in approval as Joanie stepped through the gate, then turned to lock it behind her.
“Mothers have to be,” she replied. Wiping her hands on the seat of her jeans, she turned to him. “I saw a front-end loader parked at the far end of the barn. Is that what you use to haul the muck from the stalls?”
“Yeah.”
She heaved a deep breath, then turned and headed for the barn. “You drive. I’ll shovel,” she called over her shoulder.
“Now wait a minute,” J.D. argued and swung the crutches into motion to catch up. “I can’t ask you—”
Joanie whirled so fast J.D. had to rock back on his crutches to keep from mowing her down. “You didn’t ask. I offered. Now where do you keep your shovels?”
Since all that was required to operate the front-end loader were two good hands and a foot, it made sense for J.D. to be the one to operate the machine…but it grieved his manly spirit to have a woman doing the manual labor while he sat on his butt pushing levers. Just the same, he gave in, knowing she was right. “They’re hanging on pegs by the north door,” he replied sullenly.
To compound his guilt, he soon discovered it didn’t take him nearly as long to drive from the barn to the manure pile out back as it did Joanie to shovel out stalls. As a result, he spent a lot of his time sitting and watching while she worked.
For a woman, he had to admit, she handled a shovel like a pro. Dressed in jeans and boots, the tails of her sleeveless shirt knotted at her waist, she moved like a whirlwind from stall to stall, filling the bucket on the front-end loader, then spreading fresh straw in the stalls.
Though watching her work so hard made him feel lower than dirt, looking at her was certainly no hardship. With each dip and thrust of the shovel, the muscles in her bottom tightened, drawing his eye there. He didn’t have to stretch far to imagine the feel of those muscles, bare beneath his hands. He’d experienced the pleasure firsthand only hours before and more thoroughly a couple months back. The memories of that night of loving in San Antonio surfaced, haunting him with the pleasures they’d shared. It was all he could do to stay on the front-end loader and not hop down and pin her against the wall of the stall and sink his fingers into that sweet flesh again.
Sounds of the kids whooping and hollering from the holding pen drifted through the barn’s open doors and J.D. gave himself a hard shake, tearing his gaze away from Joanie’s backside. It wouldn’t do to let himself consider for even a minute a relationship with her. She was a mother twice over, and though J.D. had played with the idea of striking up a relationship with Joanie over the weeks since he’d bedded her in San Antonio, he sure as hell wasn’t interested in taking on any kids.
One of seven himself, he knew what a responsibility kids were and what a drain on the pocketbook they could be. Hadn’t he heard his old man complain of that often enough over the years to know? That was one of the reasons he’d remained single for so long, choosing instead to spend his time and money establishing a first-class quarter-horse farm rather than starting a family. He’d watched his father’s frustrations as he’d struggled to make ends meet while his dreams of being a number-one horse breeder remained just out of reach.
Though J.D. didn’t share much with his father, he did share his old man’s dream of owning a top-notch quarter-horse farm, and he refused to make the same choices—or mistakes, depending upon how a man chose to look at them—as his father had made. He’d made his sacrifices, riding the rodeo circuit for years, for the most part living out of his truck while he stashed his prize money in the bank, saving for the day he could buy his own place. Sixteen years and several broken bones later, he finally had his dream.
Now, same as then, his number-one priority was his farm. He wouldn’t lose sight of that dream because of some pretty little woman with an enticing backside.
Especially one with kids.
Marissa lay on her stomach on a hay bale opposite the one J.D. sat on, her chin propped in her hands and her feet kicked up in the air, watching while he soaped halters.
“What are those initials on the back of your belt for?” she asked.
J.D. jabbed his rag into the can of saddle soap, then slapped it against the strip of leather and rubbed, his ears ringing from the constant flow of questions shot at him. Before he could respond to this one, Shane chimed in, saving him the bother.
“It’s his name, silly,” he called from above them, where he walked the top plank of the stall as if it was a tightrope.
Marissa clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled. “What’s the matter?” she asked in a sassy voice. “Afraid you’ll forget your own name?”
J.D. glanced up at her from beneath his brows and scowled, inwardly praying that Joanie would return soon from her trip into town and save him from these two before he went stark raving mad.
Shane jumped to the ground, then stood, dusting loose straw from his jeans. “No, stupid. All cowboys wear their names on their belts, don’t they, J.D.?”
J.D. pretended disinterest, hoping they’d leave him out of their conversation. “I suppose,” he mumbled.
“Well, you don’t have a belt with your name on it, Mr. Smarty Pants,” Marissa taunted her brother. “So you must not be a cowboy.”
J.D. watched out of the corner of his eye as Shane ducked his head and kicked at the loose straw on the barn floor and knew how badly the comment hurt the boy. With four sisters of his own, he’d learned from experience what a pain in the butt a smart-mouthed little sister could be. Knowing this, he tossed the rag aside and leaned over to hang the bridle on the hook. “He just hasn’t earned his yet,” J.D. said, coming to Shane’s defense. “He’ll get his one day.”
Marissa looked at him suspiciously. “How?”
J.D. shrugged as he screwed the lid back on the can of saddle soap, stalling while he tried to think up a good explanation. “There’s no one particular way,” he said, making the story up as he went. “You just have to prove your worth as a cowboy. My daddy gave me my first one after I saddle broke my first horse.”
Marissa sat up, wrapping her arms around her legs and tucking her knees under her chin. “Shane won’t get one that way ‘cause we don’t have a daddy.”
Shane spun to glare at his sister.
“Well, it’s true,” she said defensively. “We don’t have a daddy.” With a haughty lift of her chin, she turned her attention back to J.D. “He ran off and left us when we were just babies,” she explained for his benefit. “He comes to see us every once in a while, but mama says it doesn’t matter ‘cause she’s got enough love in her heart for both a mama and daddy put together.”
J.D. wasn’t sure he wanted to hear any of this, but it didn’t appear he had much choice as Marissa seemed bound and determined to spill her guts right there on the barn floor.
“Mimi, that’s my daddy’s mama, keeps hoping that he’ll come back and live with us again and be our daddy. Pawpaw says it’ll never happen, that my daddy doesn’t have a responsible bone in his body.” Her forehead pulled into a frown as a new thought formed. “Do you suppose he broke it, like you did your leg?”
“Broke what?” J.D. asked, having a tough time keeping up with her train of thought.
“His responsible bone.”
J.D. sputtered a laugh, then quickly sobered when he saw the earnestness in Marissa’s expression. “No, sugar,” he said kindly. “There’s no such thing as a responsible bone. That’s just an expression.”
“Oh,” she said, her shoulders sagging. “I was hoping that maybe if we put it in a cast like the doctor did your leg, we could fix his responsible bone and maybe he’d come back.”
“We don’t want him back,” Shane mumbled, surprising J.D. with the amount of anger in his voice.
“Do, too,” Marissa argued.
A shadow fell across the tack-room floor. All three glanced up to see Joanie standing in the doorway. J.D. felt a pang of guilt at the sight of her. She looked tired. Dead tired. Her eyes were shadowed with dark circles, a sign, he was sure, of the sleep she’d lost the night before while looking after him.
“What are you two fussing about now?” she asked, fisting her hands on her hips.
Suspecting that she might not like the idea of her kids sharing the intimacies of her private life with him, J.D. leaned over to ruffle Marissa’s hair, praying the kids would follow his lead. “Marissa here seems to think that I have to wear this tooled belt with my initials carved in it so I won’t forget my name. Isn’t that right, Marissa?”
The child turned her gaze on J.D., her eyes bright, obviously enjoying the attention turned her way. “Yeah,” she agreed, then grinned, her eyes sparking with mischief. “What does J.D. stand for anyway?”
J.D. sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he’d succeeded in diverting the conversation to a less intrusive one. “Well, nothing,” he said. “That’s just my name.”
Obviously, Marissa didn’t buy his explanation because she turned to her mother for verification. “Do you know what it stands for, Mama?”
Joanie shrugged, unable to remember J.D. being called anything other than that—J.D. “I don’t know, probably something awful like John Delbert.”
“John Delbert!” the twins echoed, laughing.
“Before you bust a gut laughing so hard,” J.D. replied dryly, “John Delbert is not my name.”
“Well, what is it, then?” Marissa asked.
“J.D. Plain and simple.” When they continued to look at him as if they didn’t believe him, he threw up his hands. “Can I help it if my mother didn’t have much of an imagination?”
Joanie just shook her head, chuckling. “Okay, you two,” she ordered, waving the kids toward the door. “Time to head for the house.”
“Do we have to?” Marissa whined.
Joanie dipped her chin, giving her children one of those mother looks J.D. remembered his own mother owning. “You certainly do. It’s time to get baths, eat your dinner and hit the sack.”
“But we’re not tired,” the twins chimed in harmony.
J.D. watched Joanie’s shoulders droop and remembered the hours she’d spent mucking out the stalls and feeding. Backbreaking work even if a person was used to it. He struggled to his feet, swaying slightly after sitting for so long. “Boy, I sure am,” he said, hoping to save Joanie a battle she obviously didn’t have the energy for. “Marissa, honey, would you hand me my crutches? And, Shane, would you mind putting that can of saddle soap back on the shelf, son?”
Both kids hustled to do his bidding, then fell in beside him, chattering like magpies as they vied for his attention while they escorted him out to the truck.
Joanie stood in the tack room, staring after them, her jaw slack, wondering what spell J.D. had cast over her children.
Or better yet, what spell her children had cast over J.D.
J.D. sat in his recliner, frowning at the television while Joanie sat perched on the sofa, her feet tucked beneath her, smelling like a damn rose garden. He sniffed and folded his arms across his chest, trying to pretend he didn’t notice. But, hell, how could he keep from noticing her?
Fresh from a shower, her cheeks scrubbed to a healthy glow, she wore nothing but a light cotton robe, a feminine thing covered in tiny pink rosebuds with a shawl-like collar that veed at her breast. A belt at the waist kept its panels modestly in place…until it reached her knees. There it gaped, revealing the feminine curve of her leg and just enough bare thigh to whet a man’s curiosity.
Careful not to let on that he was watching her, he studied her out of the corner of his eye. She sat with his jeans gathered in her lap while she nimbly threaded the strip of leather through the holes she’d punched in the split leg of his jeans. Light from a floor lamp beside the sofa panned the gold from her hair while offering her enough light to see the almost invisible holes. She kept her head tilted at a slight angle to keep from throwing a shadow on her work.
He couldn’t help wondering if the woman ever sat still. She and her kids had been in his house for three days, three lo-o-ng days, and he still hadn’t figured out when she found time to rest.
When he awoke each morning, she was already in the kitchen cooking breakfast and usually had a load of laundry chugging away in the washing machine. At the barns she worked right alongside him, cleaning stalls, feeding the stock, and even helped hook the horses up to the walker for their daily exercise while still managing to throw something together for a midday meal.
After lunch she always succeeded in browbeating J.D. into elevating his leg to cut down on the swelling while the kids took their afternoon nap. Instead of putting up her own feet and taking advantage of the quiet, Joanie started dinner.
A lock of hair refused to stay in place and kept slipping from behind her ear to spill across her cheek. He watched in growing fascination while she paused again and again in her work to twist it behind her ear.
Drawn by the movement, he stared, mesmerized by the delicate pink shell of her ear. Turning slightly, he let his gaze slip down the slender column of her neck to the spot on her cotton robe right at breast level, where the fabric moved with each rhythmic beat of her heart. Budded to a tight knot of temptation, her nipple pushed against the thin fabric. He felt a tightening in his jeans and jerked his gaze away with a muffled curse.
Joanie glanced up. “Did you say something, J.D.?” He grunted an unintelligible answer that Joanie took for a no. A soft smile curved at her mouth. “You’re not accustomed to having people around all the time, are you?”
He kept his eyes glued to the television screen, pretending interest in the news. “No.”
She chuckled. “From a man who grew up with six brothers and sisters, I find that hard to believe.”
“Yeah, but that was a long time ago. For the past sixteen years, I’ve lived alone.”
Joanie poked the leather strip into a hole, then slowly pulled it through. “Why did you never marry?”
“I am married.” He let a heart-stopping second pass before he added, “To my farm.”
Joanie let her breath ease out. “An odd choice in a mate.”
“It suits me.”
Joanie smiled again. “Yes, it does.” She threaded the leather strip through another hole. “But still, I’d think that a man who loves women as much as you do would have taken a wife by now.”
“Can’t have both.”
Surprised by the comment, Joanie let her hands and her work drop to her lap. “Why not?”
He scrunched down in his chair, not liking the direction the conversation was taking. “Takes a lot of money and time to build a first-class breeding farm and that’s exactly what I intend to own—a first-class facility. A wife and kids would only hold me back.”
Joanie could only stare, surprised by the almost venom-like tone of his voice. She remembered her exhusband spouting almost those same words, but instead of a horse farm, he’d just wanted the freedom to pursue a good time. “And how would you know a family would hold you back since you’ve never had one?”
His mouth curled in a scowl as he continued to frown at the television screen. “I don’t have to have one to know. I was part of one that kept my father from realizing his dreams. Nobody is going to stand between me and mine.”
Chapter Four
If Joanie had needed confirmation that a marriage proposal wouldn’t be forthcoming when she finally found the courage to tell J.D. about the baby, his comment certainly offered it. It also put a hiatus on her plan to tell him about her pregnancy that night.
She stuffed the leather through the last hole, then glanced his way. He still sat in his recliner, scowling at the television set.
She swallowed hard. I’ll tell him when he takes us home, she promised herself. It was a cowardly act, she knew, but she didn’t relish the idea of having to be around him for any length of time once he knew he was about to become a father.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go back and get those crutches?”
J.D. heaved a weary sigh, but kept his eyes set on the end of the corridor and the door that led outside, anxious to get out of the hospital. “No, Joanie, I don’t. That’s why they call it a walking cast. You walk on it.”
“I know, but it just seems so soon to be putting weight on that leg.”
“For crying out loud, it’s been a week!”
“A week isn’t that—”
“Joanie!” a voice called.
Joanie glanced up to see Doc Reynolds making his way around the corner of the nurses’ station and heading her way. Her pulse skittered into a nervous rhythm at the sight of him, and she was tempted to run, but she stopped, forcing a smile as she waited for him to reach her. “Hi, Doc.”
“What are you doing here at the hospital? You’re not having any problems, are you?”
Joanie shook her head. “Oh, no. I just drove J.D. over to get his cast changed.”
Doc stepped closer, lifting his chin to study her through his bifocals while he buried his hands in the pockets of his white jacket. “You’re looking a little peaked. Are you getting enough rest?”
