Page 9 of The Cowboy and the Baby

Morgan grumbled constantly about his absent children, their absent gratitude, and their lack of know-how around the ranch. It’s why he relied so heavily on me. I had a feeling things were about to get dicey in the Morgan family.

And then what?

I had to kick out a woman with a baby?

Exhaling, I closed my eyes and rubbed a hand over my face. I probably wouldn’t get much sleep on the couch, with a baby and a beautiful woman in the nearby master bedroom.

Flight attendants bustled around, handing out water, coffee, and collecting garbage, while Noelle dozed lightly in the seat, head drooping near my shoulder. Lily hadn’t budged once, lost to a milk-induced torpor.

What am I going to do with you both? I silently asked them.

The house that Noelle planned to inherit was no place for a young baby and new mother. And if I had to place my bets, ownership of the ranch wasn’t going anywhere near Noelle, Bart, or Marsha.

Tomorrow, we would meet with the attorney, Kinoshi, and find out.

I had a feeling we faced a sticky situation.

Noelle yawned four times between the moment she sat in the truck and I pulled out of the airport parking lot. Her bleary-eyed expression didn’t clear as we hurtled down the county highway, lined with fresh snow and powdery skies. Evening lay across the mountains like a blanket, and clouds built up like foam against the stone behemoths.

My bunched-up insides finally settled.

Home.

Space and sky. Hay and horses. Ditches and durangos. All the things that settled my wild pulse when surrounded by too much civilization. Suitcases rattled behind my seat, and Lily snoozed in the stroller that converted into a car seat, which I’d hauled through the Jackson City airport. The truck was warm; snug against the bitter Wyoming winter.

“It’s an hour drive,” I said as I flipped on the brights, but Noelle had already fallen back to sleep.

Chuckling, I placed my attention on the road. An hour later, I pulled onto the mile-long driveway. Cody, the calmer of the two ranch hands, had turned the porch light on, because Wyatt’s mind wouldn’t settle long enough to think of that detail. I rolled the truck to a stop right next to the porch, reached for Noelle’s shoulder, and set my hand lightly on top.

“Noelle?”

She jerked awake with a gasp, eyes wide. I nudged my hat higher so she could see my eyes.

“We’re at the ranch.”

“Where’s Lily?”

“In the back. Sleeping. She hasn’t stirred.”

Noelle relaxed against the seat. “Okay, thanks,” she whispered in a breathy voice, and brushed the bangs out of her eyes. I let my hand drop from her shoulder.

“I’ll grab Lily.”

“Thanks.”

Eyes glued outside, Noelle reached for the door handle and slid out. She huddled in her coat, drinking in the terrain. There wasn’t much to see this late at night. I unsnapped the car seat while Noelle regarded the house with a sleepy mixture of nostalgia and not-quite-awakeness. Lily stirred when I draped a blanket over the top and delicately hauled her out.

Noelle drifted across the porch, eyes dragging across the patio furniture and rugs draped over the railing. Morgan had burned his dinner and then spilled it all over the kitchen rug weeks ago. After cleaning it up, we didn’t know what to do with the rug, so we draped it across the porch railing. Winter froze it in place, and I doubted we’d peel it free soon.

When we stepped inside the house, the smell of canned meat and burned green beans wafted out, hitting like a sucker punch. Until I considered the house through Noelle’s eyes, I hadn’t realized what a man cave it had become. An old-man cave, which was worse by innumerable measures. I simply slept here, and that was it. Once the ranch became mine, I’d start renovations immediately.

Noelle hesitated in the doorway for only a moment before pressing on. With the blanket still over Lily, I set her off to the side, near a mustard yellow couch beneath a clock with arms shaped like cat paws.

“My goodness,” Noelle said, “they didn’t change a thing.”

Her fingertips ran over yellowing wallpaper. Floorboards creaked beneath her weight. You couldn’t make a subtle movement in this house—the floor announced everything. It was worse in the basement.

“When were you last here?” I asked.