Page 19 of The Cowboy and the Baby

Setting aside the obvious issues down here—leaking ceiling, peeling wallpaper, stained flooring—its core structure wasn’t so bad. The furnace was another story. It was making weird noises, and its walls were barely warm.

I wasn’t an interior designer by trade, but I could see how the rebirthing process in the house was a simple matter of layering one process on top of another. Removing debris. Organizing. Decluttering. Replacing.

Thoughts coalescing, I moved upstairs again, grateful for abundant light and heat. Before he left, Cade brought more firewood into the house. Though not entirely sure how to navigate a fire, I added a few more logs and opened the door to Lily’s room to admit the heat.

At this point, my response to Cade’s plea seemed inevitable. While I didn’t know much about decor, renovation, or building, I did know how to manage a team, organize a project, and move a goal forward.

I did exactly this in my job where I worked with physicians, patients, and regulatory agencies as we pushed out new clinical trials for cancer drugs. But keeping that job would have been almost impossible now that I had a needy newborn and family-from-without attempting to swoop in and take Lily from me.

But this?

This might be the best alternative route forward I never would have found.

“You’re no clinical trial for a new oncology drug,” I said to the wrought-iron picture frame of Grandma and Grandpa on their wedding day, “but you could be just as transformative.”

And the gentleman cowboy smack dab in the middle wouldn’t be too bad, either.

Dinner warmed on the stove, and a lighthearted country song played through my phone, when Cade returned later that evening.

Snow and cold air swept him through the back door and into the kitchen. He’d stomped his feet off outside, but brought flurries with him. Two boxes of diapers and several bags of groceries filled his arms. I abandoned the simmering rice dish and accepted the bounty.

“Goodness,” he cried. “What is that delicious smell?”

“Dinner! Oh, thank you, Cade. Those diapers are so helpful. Can I pay you back?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But—“

“Consider the box of diapers as a Welcome-to-Iron-Creek-Ranch gift. They’re not a big deal. I wasn’t sure what you liked to eat, so I grabbed a little of everything. If you don’t like any of it, I promise the boys will gladly inhale it.”

He shook the snow off a few bags, then set them on the floor by the fridge.

“Double thanks.”

His brow furrowed when he cast a long glance at the window, as if he could stare past the weather to places far beyond.

“The storm is really picking up out there, so I bought extra with the thought that we’d better be safe than sorry. Winter turns on a dime.”

The reminder of the precarious situation out there sent a shiver through me, reaffirming that the decision to stay was the right one. Not only did I not want to deal with driving to Marsha and Bart’s on the other side of the country—nor flying with a baby on a plane packed with strangers again—but living in the middle of a city.

Cade offered a very real, protective bubble.

The idea of not being alone, of having a gentle, helping hand, was almost too delicious to release. Cade might be a stranger to me, but Grandpa loved him. Trusted him enough to grant him his most precious gift. That alone gave me the courage to see this through.

I set the diaper box in the hallway and returned to sort through the groceries while he tromped outside. Pleasant aromas filled the kitchen, overturning my hungry stomach. Hopefully, he didn’t mind me taking over the cooking.

A tentative uncertainty lay in the air between Cade, me, and two ranch hands I had yet to meet. How would we navigate living in the same house, but with no definable relationship? My growing awkwardness didn’t seem to touch Cade, because he brought the rest of the groceries inside, gave me a quick smile, and asked, “Where’s Lily?”

“She should be waking up soon.”

A hint of disappointment showed in his beautiful eyes before he nodded. “Glad she’s getting some rest. Must be hard, all that growing.”

I laughed. “Yes, a very difficult life indeed. Being snuggled endlessly. Kept warm. Fed. Played with.”

“Terrible.”

His light-hearted humor soothed my concerns. Cade stuck his nose in the air, sniffed. “You fixed dinner?”