How to Kiss a Cowboy (26 page)

Brady's truck shook, rattled, and rolled over the bone-jarring road to his friend Pete's place. He figured the physical punishment the road dished out was good practice for dealing with Pete's twin boys, who seemed to view Brady as a combination jungle gym, climbing wall, and punching bag.

It was actually Teresa's place now, and Derek and Sam were Teresa's boys. Pete was long gone, which was why Brady and his brothers pitched in and did their best to give the kids some reasonably responsible male role models.

Pete had been a fellow foster kid. He'd aged out of the system about the time Brady and his brothers moved to Decker Ranch, but with no father and no responsible role models in his life, he'd become a bar-brawling, bull-riding biker who lowered his life expectancy every time he set foot in a bar or hoisted himself up on a bull. Shane claimed Pete had had a death wish, and Brady thought he was probably right.

But when Pete met and married Teresa, a slim beauty from the nearby reservation, he changed almost overnight. Teresa was delicate as a summer wildflower, but she somehow took on Pete's demons and won. Marriage and the military settled down the wildness in him, and he scored an assignment as a pilot, flying Apache helicopters.

But the death wish he'd left behind when he'd fallen for Teresa followed him into his new life. Around the time the boys started school, he was deployed to Afghanistan, where he was shot down the third time he flew. No survivors.

Teresa did the best she could to get along on her own, but Brady, Ridge, and Shane checked in on her now and then. Recently, someone had given the boys a couple of ponies. Teresa was worried about the boys' safety, but Brady was more concerned about the animals. They were stout little critters, ill suited for the wild gallops the boys demanded. He spent a little time with them several days a week, teaching them some horse sense and kindness while he held them to a training schedule that would increase the ponies' stamina.

Pete might have passed on, but his memory was everywhere at Teresa's. His old work boots still slumped casually on the doorstep, and his jacket was draped over a chair. And the two little boys' dark eyes glowed with the same mischievous light that had lit their daddy's gaze.

If a man wanted some appreciation, all he needed to do was ruffle the boys' hair, or give them a high five. Derek and Sam were seven now, and they hadn't had a man around the house since they were less than five. They adored their Uncle Brady and tussled madly for his attention. When he looked in their eyes, he saw a totally undeserved hero worship that made him sad. He was just a cowboy. The boys' father was a real hero, and he made sure to remind them of that often.

The kids rode their new ponies with all the fearlessness of their Arapahoe ancestors. Brady dreamed up games that would channel their energy into competition. He also taught them some rudiments of horse care, so they wouldn't kill the poor animals with their high jinks.

“Thank you,” Teresa said on Wednesday, when he brought the boys back into the house. She was still a beauty, with her dark hair and eyes and her slight but strong figure. He was surprised she hadn't taken up with some man by now, but she was careful because of the boys. He had to respect her for that.

“Come in the kitchen. I made you some brownies.”

“Thanks. But you don't have to do that.” He patted his stomach. “Give 'em to the boys. They need the energy.”

She laughed, leaning against the door frame. Her light cotton dress was almost transparent in the sunlight, and her long hair hung loose. Then she gave him a sly, sideways glance with her dark eyes.

“You still seeing that girl? The barrel racer?”

“Uh-huh.”

It suddenly occurred to him that being Uncle Brady and helping the boys with their riding might be a sort of audition for the role of husband and stepfather. He averted his gaze from the outline of Teresa's body, so clearly visible under her dress.

“She doesn't appreciate you.” Teresa's gaze held his and he realized his hunch was dead-on.

“Suze has a lot going on,” he said. “The accident and all. It's kind of hard to appreciate the guy who put you in the hospital and screwed up your career.”

“It was an accident.” Teresa's dark eyes flashed. “You're only with her because you feel responsible. But it wasn't your fault.”

Brady kept his eyes steady on hers, doing his best to make sure she understood that he meant what he said. “That's not true. I'm with her because I love her.”

Shoot. He did?

He did.

But, man, he shouldn't have told Teresa before he'd told Suze.

“You should move on.” Teresa gave him a sweet sideways smile that told him exactly where she thought he should move to. “You're a good man, Brady.” She reached over and ran one finger up his forearm. “In so many ways.”

Okay, now he knew for sure what she was trying to do. He needed to put a stop to it before she embarrassed herself.

“I'm not moving on,” he said. “I belong to Suze. Okay?”

“Okay.” She thrust out her lower lip in a pretty pout that told him it was definitely not okay. If this kept up, he'd have to stop coming for a while. But that wouldn't be fair to the boys.

She suddenly changed from a languorous seductress to a bundle of energy, grabbing a grocery bag from the closet and heading for one of the bedrooms.

“Are you going to Cheyenne anytime soon?” she called out.

“Next week, probably.”

She bustled out of the bedroom, the grocery bag now packed full.

“Could you drop off this stuff at Goodwill?” She thrust the bag into his arms.

“Sure,” he said. “What is it?”

“Just some old clothes.” She stood there, hands laced behind her back, swaying side to side like a little girl.

He cleared his throat.

“Okay,” he said. “Well. Ah, see you soon.”

Teresa was just another example that showed Brady didn't understand women. He knew she was still in love with Pete—or at least with his memory. But he also knew she struggled, both financially and as a parent. The boys were a handful, and without a man in the house, they ran wild.

He hoped she'd find someone—someone decent, who'd be a good stepdad. It would be a big job, but Teresa, with her dark beauty and pretty ways, would be worth it for somebody. Maybe he'd try and match her up with one of his buddies. She deserved someone to love.

He just didn't think that someone should be Uncle Brady.

Ridge Cooper steered the Phoenix House van past the Decker Ranch, heading for the Carlyle outfit. His wife, Sierra, believed deeply that her little brood of foster kids needed to give back to their community in order to grow roots and feel a part of it. She always said the town would save the kids, and the kids would save the town.

She'd sure saved Ridge, so he figured she knew what she was talking about.

She'd saved Sharlene too. He'd taken her out to Cooter's place the day after he and his brothers rescued Speedo. Sharlene was as easy to spook as a wild deer. She wouldn't say how old she was, and she didn't want to go home to her parents any more than she wanted to stay with Cooter, so Sierra had talked the girl into staying at Phoenix House for a little while.

She and Ridge were checking missing persons reports in towns along the rodeo road, hoping somebody was looking for the kid. Meanwhile, Sharlene became a part of Phoenix House, acting as a big sister to Sierra's unruly army of boys.

Now that Sharlene was taken care of, Ridge's wife was determined to save Suze Carlyle, and she'd decided it was Isaiah she'd send to the wrecked rider's rescue, whether he wanted to be a pint-sized knight in shining armor or not.

Ridge was surprised when Sierra chose Isaiah for the job. Suze had a bit of the devil in her, just like Isaiah, and he couldn't see the two of them getting along. But Sierra had pointed out that Isaiah was the only boy at Phoenix House who could stand up to Earl Carlyle, and Ridge knew she was probably right. Carter might have done okay—the boy was so endlessly cheerful, Earl's hostility would probably slide right off him—but Isaiah was the only kid who had the guts to answer back.

In fact, Ridge would pay money to see Earl and Isaiah go toe to toe. It would be better than an MMA match.

But right now, his job wasn't to speculate on the final outcome of the matchup. His job was to convince Isaiah that the matchup was a great idea.

Unfortunately, Isaiah's life experience had taught him to be deeply suspicious of everything and everyone. He'd come a long way in a year at Phoenix House, but he still questioned authority on every possible occasion.

Glancing at the kid in the rearview mirror, Ridge thought of a neighbor lady who'd declared the boy had devil's eyes in an angel's face. He could sure see the devil today. Isaiah's features were so delicately sculpted that he looked almost elfin, but his dark eyes looked straight through anybody who tried to trick him or lie to him or even shade the truth.

Which was exactly what Ridge and Sierra were doing now. Dealing with Earl, and Suze too, would be a challenge even for Isaiah, but Sierra was determined to think positive.

Isaiah? Not so much.

“So if this Suzy Q is such a nice lady, how come she needs me to help her?” he asked. “Doesn't she have a boyfriend?”

“Her name is
Suze. Suze Carlyle
, not Suzy Q,” said Sierra. “And maybe she doesn't want a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, maybe she's a lesbian.” Isaiah folded his arms across his skinny chest and nodded, as if the problem was settled to his satisfaction.

“It's none of your business,” Sierra said.

“Yup.” The boy nodded sharply. “Lesbian. I thought so.”

Ridge kept his eyes resolutely on the road. One of these days, Isaiah was going to drive him straight off a cliff. Or crazy. One or the other.

Maybe both at once.

“Isaiah.” Sierra's tone was a warning in itself.

“Okay, so she's not.”

“Isaiah…” Her tone was even darker this time.

“Well, how am I supposed to help her if I don't know what she needs?” Isaiah bounced in his seat, briefly acting his age before the old soul took over again. “Sounds like she needs a boyfriend. How 'bout if I set her up with one of those Match.com accounts?”

Ridge could almost see Sierra's blood curdling. Isaiah was her biggest challenge, and Ridge tried to help when he could. Right now, that meant changing the subject.

“You met Suze once,” he said. “She came to pick up her horse when you kids were at the ranch. Remember? It was the first time you met my brothers.”

“Was she the blond with the nice—”

“Watch your mouth,” Ridge warned.

“I was going to say she had a nice trailer,” Isaiah said, all indignation.

Ridge doubted that had been the boy's intention. Even now, the kid said the word
trailer
in a way that seemed to signify something else. At his age, he probably didn't know what he was saying half the time, but he sure enjoyed saying it. Anything to rile people up.

“Yes, she was the one with the nice trailer.” Ridge flushed as he said it. Dammit, now he'd never be able to look at Suze's elaborate horse trailer without thinking of the girl's caboose at the same time.

“Well, she wasn't a nice lady,” Isaiah said. “She was mean.”

“When was she mean?”

“She was mean to Brady. And he likes her.” Isaiah might be a pint-sized package of trouble, but he was fiercely protective of those he loved, and he loved Brady. Of course.

Everybody loved Brady.

“I don't know why Brady likes her,” the boy mused. “She treats him like dirt.”

“How do you know how she treats him?” Ridge didn't know how he ended up in these crazy conversations with Isaiah. The kid just knew how to push his buttons. As a matter of fact, Isaiah knew how to push everyone's buttons. He'd make a great lawyer when he grew up—if somebody didn't strangle him first.

“You didn't even remember who she was a minute ago,” Sierra pointed out.

“Yeah, but now I do.” Isaiah pooched out his lower lip, an expression that didn't bode well for anyone. “I like Brady. He's the funnest one of your brothers. He's way more fun than your big brother, Shane.”

Ridge grinned. Anything he could rib Shane about was a good thing. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Shane likes to boss folks around. I wasn't put on this earth to be bossed, you know. Not by him or anybody else.”

“I noticed that.”

“Yeah. And Brady's a lot funner than you too.”

“Why?”

Ridge hated to admit it, but he was a little jealous whenever the boys cottoned to either of his brothers. He was married to Sierra, the group mom for Phoenix House. That practically made him the group dad.
He
ought to be the favorite.

“Why is Brady funner than me?”

“'Cause he talks. You don't hardly ever say a word if you don't have to.”

“I'm talking now.”

“Yeah, but that's only because I'm goading you into it.”

Ridge didn't know if he should laugh or bang his head against the steering wheel in frustration. Fortunately, they'd reached the Carlyle place.

As he turned in the drive, he saw Suze's father, Earl, outside, sitting on the front porch.

“Who's that mean old man?” Isaiah asked.

“That's Suze's dad,” Sierra said. “What makes you think he's mean? You haven't met him yet.”

“He just looks mean,” Isaiah said. “Look how his eyes and nose and mouth are all squizzened up into a little knot in the middle of his face. And how his chin sticks out like he wants to fight.” Isaiah nodded. “He's mean, all right. I got my work cut out for me at this place.”

As the van rocked up the pitted drive, Suze's father stood and peered at the vehicle, using one hand for a sunshade. Ridge wondered if the old man really was spoiling for a fight. If he was, he just might find himself on the losing end of things.

Because Sierra was right; if anyone could take on Earl Carlyle, it was Isaiah.

* * *

Suze had always liked Sierra Cooper. She'd blown into town as the temporary group mom for Phoenix House, and stayed to marry Brady's brother Ridge. The sunny social worker and the gruff, laconic cowboy were an odd match, but they seemed to make it work.

So the sight of the Phoenix House van pulling into the driveway wasn't unwelcome. Rising from her seat in the shadows of the broad front porch, she tucked her crutches under her arms and limped down the steps and past her father to make sure Sierra and her cargo got a happier greeting than her dad would provide. Earl had been sulking on the porch steps all morning. Sure enough, as she exited the shade of the porch, her father stomped into the house.

The big side door to the van opened and a boy stepped out and stood in the drive with his hands on his hips, gazing around the Carlyle ranch like a pint-sized real estate mogul. He was a skinny kid with skin the color of a triple-shot latte and bright eyes that seemed to take in every dilapidated detail as they flashed from the barn to the house to the front door, which was still blocked by Ellen's old chair.

When the kid turned to Suze, his dark brows arrowed down over his eyes to make him look almost comically angry.

“What is this, some kind of crazy house?” He pointed at the recliner. “You got a chair stuck in the door, there. How're people supposed to get inside?”

“Isaiah,
hush
,” Sierra said. “That's rude.”

But as she approached the house, Sierra looked from Suze to the chair and back again. Suze didn't know what to say. How could she explain the series of events that led to the chair jammed in the doorway?

“It's kind of a Brady thing,” she finally said.

“Oh.” For Sierra, that seemed to be enough of an explanation. She ducked under the chair and motioned for the boy to follow. “Isaiah, it would be much nicer if you offered to help with the chair, now, wouldn't it?”

“I can't help with that chair,” the boy said. “That thing's dang near as big as I am.”

Suze couldn't help smiling. The kid was all city smarts until he cussed like a born cowboy. He'd evidently spent some time hanging around Decker Ranch.

“Why don't you and Ridge go visit Suze's horses?” Sierra asked.

“Because I'd rather find out what's going on with that chair.” Isaiah's bright eyes flashed. “Our teacher said there's stories everywhere, and I bet there's one in that chair.”

Sierra gave the kid a hard look. “That wasn't a suggestion.” Her tone was mild but evidently effective. Isaiah headed straight for the barn and Ridge hastened to follow.

“How are you, Suze?” Sierra asked as Isaiah's chatter faded into the distance. “I heard about the accident and thought maybe I could help.”

Great
. She
knew
Brady wouldn't listen to her. He'd gone around behind her back and told folks how pathetic she was. “Brady sent you, didn't he?”

“Not really. He told Ridge and me what happened, of course. He feels awful about it, but I'm sure you know that.”

Sierra headed over to the long bench that sat in the hallway beneath a row of hooks that held jackets, hats, and various implements ranging from an ancient flyswatter to an assortment of dog leashes. Relieved to get off her feet, Suze joined her.

“I'm afraid my motives aren't entirely pure,” Sierra continued. “I've been looking for ways the boys can give back to the community, and I couldn't help thinking this was a great opportunity.”

“An opportunity?”

“A chance for them to help someone.”

“Someone less fortunate.” Suze picked at her cast, trying not to let the implication of what Sierra was saying bother her. She'd suddenly become less fortunate than a bunch of motherless, fatherless foster kids. When had that happened?

“It's not like that.” Sierra touched Suze's arm, and the look of compassion in her green eyes made Suze feel a little ashamed of herself.

Which was an improvement over feeling sorry for herself. Maybe she was evolving. They always said adversity made you a better person. This was the first hopeful sign she'd seen.

“Everybody sees these kids as charity cases, and they know it.” Sierra kept her voice low, even though Isaiah had gone off with Ridge.

Suze knew she couldn't let Isaiah volunteer here, no matter how bright and amusing he was. She didn't want the poor kid running afoul of her dad. Isaiah would be scarred for life.

“So it's important for them to help others,” Sierra was saying. “It gives them a feeling of self-worth, and makes them feel like a part of the community.”

Just then, Suze heard Ridge's voice hollering, “
Isaiah! Get back here!
”

A youthful voice piped up in the living room. “Whatcha watching?”

Suze realized Ridge was too late. Isaiah had found the back door. She braced herself for her father's answer, but there was no response.

Isaiah didn't give up, though. “Hey, your chair matches the one in the doorway. You oughta bring that one in here and then you'd have a matched set. You could maybe even invite a guest to sit down, so he doesn't wear himself out watching TV standing up. Right?”