The Cowboy's Sweetheart (13 page)

That wouldn't do. But neither did the other version of the dream, the one where she and Ryder were together but he resented her, resented their child because the ring on his finger kept him tied to them.

As she drifted on the edge of sleep she told herself that wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to Ryder that she was putting him in the role of villain. Ryder had always been honorable. He had always been there for her.

But having a baby, neither of them knew how to approach this mountain. She had made mistakes in her life, mistakes that she knew God had gotten her through, helped her to overcome. As she laid there she thought about her baby and she couldn't call a child a mistake.

The baby was a choice they had made. It might not have been the right choice, but it was one they would work through. And it would never be the baby's fault. She would never let that happen.

A truck door slammed and she jumped but then settled back onto the couch. She listened to boots on
the wood front steps, a rap on the door and then Ryder walked into the living room. He had shaved and his hair was damp and curled a little.

“Wake up, sweetheart, you're going outside.”

“What?” She sat up, but she didn't reach for the flip flops on the floor next to the sofa.

“I'm going to work Dusty, but I thought you'd like to go. You can sit on a lawn chair out there.”

“You think that would be okay?” She reached for her shoes.

“Don't stand up.”

“What?” She held her shoes and then he was standing in front of her, leaning to pick her up.

“I'm going to carry you.” He scooped her up and she grabbed quick, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I'm too heavy.”

“You're not heavy.” He laughed and jostled her, shifting her. “No, you're not heavy. I've picked up bales of hay that weigh more.”

“Thanks, I'm a bale of hay.” She leaned and he did smell better. Soap, aftershave and the minty smell of toothpaste. He turned a little and they were face-to-face, practically nose to nose.

“You're not hay,” he whispered. He touched his forehead to hers and then looked away, his arms tensing, holding her close.

What was she to him? Okay, she got it, she wasn't hay. But if she asked, what would he say? Best friend, pain in the neck, or was she now just extra baggage that he wasn't sure how to handle?

Andie wasn't heavy. She held him tight, her arms around his neck, and her head close to his. He carried her down the hall and into the kitchen. Etta was sitting at the table with a basket of yarn, knitting needles in
her hand and something partially made. She looked up as they walked into the room.

She set the knitting needles and yarn on the table and stared for a moment before shaking her head. “What do you think you're up to?”

“Going outside.” He stopped at the screen door and waited for Etta to tell him he was crazy and why he shouldn't do this. But the more he thought about Andie stuck in the house, the more he knew he had to get her outside.

“She has to stay down,” Etta warned.

“I'm not going to let her walk, just letting her get fresh air. We can't keep her locked in the house for nine months.”

Andie moved in his arms. “I don't think I'll be on bed rest for seven months.”

“Well, probably not, I'm just saying that you could use some fresh air.”

Etta shook her head again. “I think the two of you were meant for each other.”

Meant for each other.

Ryder couldn't respond to that. He pushed the screen door open with his hip and slid through. Andie pushed to keep the door from hitting them on their way out. She was easy in his arms, and he'd never thought of the two of them as a couple. As “meant for each other.”

Or maybe he had. Maybe he'd pushed it from his mind because it was easy to be her friend and the idea of breaking her heart had been the thing that scared him the most. He'd never let himself think about the two of them together. She had always been his best friend.

He'd picked safe.

“What?” She quizzed as he sat her down in the lawn chair, cradling her close as he settled her in the seat.

“Nothing.”

“Whatever. I think I've known you long enough to know when nothing is really something. You're jaw is clenching because you're grinding your teeth. You do that when you're mad about something.”

“I'm not mad.”

“Are too.”

“Not right now, Andie. I can't have this conversation with you right now.”

“Yeah, I guess we're talked out.”

No, he thought they probably had plenty to talk about, just nothing they wanted to talk about. “When's your next doctor's appointment?”

“Next week.” Her hand went to her belly and she looked away from him.

“Are you,” he squatted next to her, “are you having pains?”

She drew in a deep breath. “Some twinges, but nothing too bad. Sometimes I'm afraid…”

He'd never heard her admit that before. “I know, me, too. But I'm praying.”

“You're praying?”

“Every time I take a breath.” He couldn't stop looking at her belly, because his baby was in there. He'd never thought it could change him like this, that child and Andie needing him.

“One of us has to be strong, Ryder.”

“You can count on me.” He stood and she was staring up at him. “What do you need me to do with Dusty?”

He backed away, hoping she'd let the conversation end.

“I think lunge him in the arena. He doesn't like it when you ride him.” She pulled her sweater closer around herself.

“Yeah, I seem to remember the last time I rode him. I think I still have the scar on my arm where he dumped me.”

She smiled at that and picked up the cat that had left the barn and was circling her chair. When her smile faded and her eyes clouded over, he knew he should have left when he had the chance.

“Ryder, what if I lose the baby?”

How was he supposed to answer that? Two months ago having a baby was the farthest thing from his mind. And now she wanted to know what they'd do if she lost it? Having that baby meant changing his life in ways he hadn't planned.

Now, not having it felt like the change he didn't want to face.

“We're not going to lose the baby.” He bent and kissed the top of her head. “I'm going to catch Dusty.”

She might have whispered “chicken” as he walked off. He couldn't be sure of that, and he wasn't positive it wasn't just his own thoughts calling him names.

But yeah, he was a chicken. That was something he was just now figuring out about himself. He was a big old chicken. He was afraid of conversations with obstetricians. He was afraid to talk about having kids with Andie.

He was not afraid of a horse. He whistled and Dusty didn't even lift his head. That horse was not going to make him walk out into the field and catch him.

T
he house was quiet. Andie hated the quiet. She hated being inside. She hadn't been out since the day Ryder had carried her outside to watch while he worked Dusty. He'd meant it to be a good thing, but instead it had ached inside her, watching him work her horse.

At least she'd gotten to go out.

Since then it had been daily visits. He showed up with food from the Mad Cow or movies for her to watch. He'd sat with her while she dozed. He constantly asked how she was and if she needed anything. Her heart was getting way to used to him being around.

Today it was raining, a cold rain that blew leaves against the windows while thunder rumbled in the clouds. And everyone was gone. Alyson was in Tulsa with Etta, getting the finishing touches on her dress. Ryder was selling off a herd of year-old steers. She'd promised she would stay on the couch. She had food. She had a thermos of cold water.

She had cabin fever like nobody's business.

Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, the sound getting swallowed up by thunder and rain beating on the
roof of the porch. Andie strained to listen. She heard it again and then a cow.

Normal farm sounds, she told herself. Dogs barked and cows mooed. The only thing that wasn't normal was her, and the fact that she couldn't go check and see what was going on.

The barking got louder, more frantic.

“Okay, I can't sit here.” Andie picked up her cell phone and slipped her feet in tennis shoes by the door. She grabbed a jacket off the hook on the wall and walked outside. For a moment she stood on the front porch, protected from the rain. Of course the dog stopped barking when she walked outside.

Andie walked off the porch and headed across the yard, in the direction of the most pitiful mooing she'd ever heard. Her stomach twisted, because she didn't know what she'd find, and because she shouldn't be up.

But she hadn't had pains for two days. That had to be a sign that things were getting better. She was close to finishing her first trimester.

She scanned the fence, looking for the cow and the dog. They were quiet for a minute and then it started again. The dog barked an excited bark, not angry. Picking up her pace she headed for the clump of brush and stand of trees near the corner of the fence. The dog barked again. And then she saw the cow on the ground. It bellowed, low and pitiful, sides heaving. The dog was crouched on the ground, tail wagging. It turned to look at her, tongue hanging out. It didn't leave the cow.

Now what?

Andie slid between two rows of barbed wire and approached the cow, talking quietly to calm the poor
heifer. “I know, it's scary, isn't it? Poor thing, you don't know what's happening to you.”

The cow looked up, her eyes huge, her mouth opening in a pant that became a low moo. Andie squatted next to her, running her hands over the animal's heaving sides. Cows never picked good weather or good conditions to calve. And if they were going to have problems, which they often did, it always happened at the worst possible time.

Andie had pulled a calf two hours before her senior graduation. That's how life worked on the farm. She'd pulled a calf, and then she graduated from high school.

But this was different. A cow in distress, but Andie's baby, needing a chance, needing to be safe.

One hoof was out. Andie couldn't begin to guess how long the cow had been down or how long she'd been trying to push this baby out.

It was her first calf and she was obviously going to be like her mother, having difficult deliveries. But Andie couldn't help her. Any other time, but not today. It wasn't a difficult decision to make. It really felt like the only decision.

Etta had ordered her to call Ryder if anything happened, or if she needed anything. He had his cell phone on and was just minutes away. This qualified as an emergency, as needing something. She let out a sigh, because she hated having to call him away from what he was doing. To take care of what she needed to have done.

But this wasn't about her. It was about the baby.

She stood up.

The dog, a stray that had showed up in town a year or so ago hurried to her side, wagging his entire back end. He hadn't run the cow, she was sure of that. He'd
just been sending out his own alert. He sat down next to her, proud that he'd done his job.

Andie pulled out her cell phone and dialed. Ryder answered after a few rings. “Andie?”

“Ryder, I have a cow in labor. I think the calf is going to have to be pulled.”

“Are you outside?”

“Yes, I'm outside.” She wiped rain from her face but it kept coming down, soaking her hair and clothes. “I had to see what was going on.”

A long pause and then he spoke. “Andie, get back inside.”

She could hear sounds in the background. Laughter, conversations and dishes rattling. It riled her that he was ordering her back into the house. When had he ever done that?

“I can't leave the cow.”

“You have to leave her.” His voice got loud, firm. “I'll be there in five minutes.”

“Fine.” She slid the phone back into her. “Help is on the way, girl.”

The cow mooed and raised her head. “You're right, I'm not going to leave you alone.”

No one wanted to be alone in a situation like this.

Andie backed up to a tree that was just a few feet away. It gave her a little protection from the rain, a little shelter. But the whole time she stood there, waiting, she felt mad and guilty. She didn't want to feel, either.

 

Ryder grabbed the ticket for his lunch at the Mad Cow and reached into his pocket for his wallet. He was trying to look casual, as if this was something he did
every day, getting calls from Andie and leaving in the middle of lunch.

But lately, nothing was what he'd been used to doing every day. He looked at the guys he'd had lunch with—Clint Cameron, Adam Mackenzie, Reese Cooper and a couple of others. They were all taking their lunch break at the Mad Cow. A few of them were getting ready to go to the livestock auction. Reese was getting ready for the rodeo finals in Vegas. They were all still living the lives they were comfortable with.

Without warning, Ryder's life had become something so upside down he didn't recognize it. Church yesterday with Wyatt and the girls and afterward he'd taken lunch to Andie. A couple of weeks ago he'd found out he was going to be a dad. And each and every day he was climbing up the biggest mountain of his life, trying to find his way back to God and his way forward in this situation with Andie.

For a while it had been like wearing someone else's boots. But he was adjusting. And everyone at the table was looking at him like they thought maybe he was going to lose it if they didn't hitch him to an anchor.

Clint reached for the ticket Ryder was still holding.

“You go on, that sounded like something that needs to be taken care of. I'll buy your lunch.”

“Andie has a cow down.” He picked up his burger to take it with him.

“Do you think you'll need some help?” Adam MacKenzie grabbed the ticket from Clint and pulled out his wallet. “I'll get lunch.”

Clint laughed. “Will he need help with what, Andie or the cow?”

Ryder threw money on the table for the tip. “You guys are hilarious. I don't think I'll need help with either.”

Reese, chair tilted back on two legs, was grinning. And Ryder kind of wanted to hit him, because Reese had dated Andie back in their college days. He'd dated her and cheated on her. It had mattered then, it mattered more now.

“I never thought you'd be the guy falling like this.” Reese finally commented. Clint jerked his chair back and Reese scurried to get his feet back under him as the chair went to the floor with a crash that had people staring and Vera running from the back.

The owner of the Mad Cow glared at them and then she headed toward Ryder with foam containers. “Are you heading out?”

“Yeah, Andie called.” He shot Reese a look. “She has a cow down. I need to run but Adam's buying lunch.”

“I wasn't worried about you skipping out on a bill, Ryder. I was worried about Andie. I saw you here and I know Etta's in Tulsa, so I made Andie up some of my special cashewed chicken. Take this to her. And let me have that.” She grabbed a napkin out of the holder on the table and reached for the burger he was about to take a bite of. Before he could object she opened the Styrofoam and put the burger inside. “There, now you're all set to go. And you'd better hurry or she'll be hooking up a pulley to her truck and pulling that calf on her own.”

“I know.” He kissed Vera on the cheek. “You're the best.

He pulled into Andie's a few minutes later. She was sitting on the porch, out of the rain. She didn't stand up when he pulled up to the house. Worry knotted in his stomach. He should have ignored her when she said she didn't need him here. He could have found someone to do his work at home and he could have sat with her while Etta was gone.

He jumped out of the truck, grabbing the container of food before he shut the door. Andie crossed her arms over her front and glared as he hurried toward her. She was mad. He guessed that was a plus.

“What took you so long?”

“Had to get our food.” He felt the need to defend himself. “And it didn't take that long. Here's your lunch. Vera made you some of her cashewed chicken.”

She took the container from him. “The cow is over there, near the corner post and that clump of brush.”

“She'll be fine, Andie. Why don't you go inside?”

“I couldn't sit in there. I'll sit on the porch. This isn't walking around. This isn't doing something.” Her hands clenched into the sleeves of her sweater.

“I know.” He took a few steps back to keep from holding her when he knew being held was the last thing she wanted. He knew her, knew she was close to tears that she was fighting hard against. There were times to hold a woman and let her cry. He knew this wasn't one of those times.

“I'm so tired of this.” She brushed her hands over her face and didn't look at him. “I'm so tired of not being able to take care of things. And having to call someone to take care of things I can usually take care of. And then there's the guilt because I got up to see what was wrong.”

“It's okay to be sick of this, you know.”

“But the baby…” she began.

“Is going to be fine. You're going to be fine.”

“You don't know that,” she insisted.

Now was when a man held a woman and let her cry. He sat down next to her on the wicker bench that always creaked with his weight and she leaned into his side. He heard the cow mooing and tried to ignore it.

“Andie, we're almost to the three month mark. What have we got, another week or two?”

“Yeah.”

“So, we're going to make it.” He held her and felt her tense and pull away.

“You have to go deliver that calf. I can't lose that calf.”

“I'm going.”

He hurried out to his truck and found rope, a coat and some old towels. He kept the metal toolbox on the back of his truck stocked with just about everything he might need in an emergency. As he dug around inside the box he found a rain poncho that he'd never taken out of the package. Now that was prepared.

The dog greeted him as he walked across the yard. The scruffy looking terrier cross was mud-caked but happy. He'd never seen a dog like this one, one that always looked as if it was grinning. He guessed if everyone in town was feeding him, he'd be pretty happy, too.

The cow was still laboring. He climbed the fence and eased toward her. The wild look in her eyes warned that she wasn't going to be pleasant about dealing with him. Good thing she was nearly worn out. That was a bad thing, too. It meant she wasn't going to be a lot of help pushing this calf out.

“How is she?” Andie had moved to another seat on the porch and she leaned out. He knew it was killing her, this inactivity, and not taking care of her farm.

“She's having a baby, Andie. Now give me a minute.” He looped the rope around the tiny hooves that were trying to poke out.

It wasn't the worst case he'd ever seen. It wasn't going
to be the easiest. He probably should have taken Adam up on his offer to help.

“Do you want me to call for help?” Andie asked.

He shook his head and she'd have to deal with that answer for now. The cow tried to get to her feet but couldn't. Oh man, that wasn't what he needed. He turned back to Andie and she was still leaning out, still watching.

“Call Clint.”

He got the calf delivered before Clint got there, but the cow was still down. “Momma cow, we need you to get up and take care of this baby.”

It happened sometimes, a cow got down, got sick and that was just the end of it. He couldn't look at Andie, sitting on the porch. He knew she'd be out there fighting to save that heifer if she knew what he suspected.

Clint's truck pulled into the driveway and Adam was right behind him. Ryder had never had a sentimental day in his life, but right at that moment, it was a pretty good feeling to be from his hometown. It was good to be where people knew him and where he didn't have to go far to find a helping hand.

The two were armed with calf starter in a bottle for the calf, several bottles of medication and a needle to give the cow the necessary shots. They climbed the fence as Ryder dried off the calf. It was the most pitiful looking little black baldy calf he'd ever seen. Black with a white face, its sides were caved in from dehydration and it kept coughing from the gunk in his lungs.

“That's a shame.” Clint had lowered himself next to the cow and he injected her with antibiotics. “She's a good little heifer.”

“Yeah, and if we don't do something, Andie's going to be down here trying to get her on her feet.” Ryder
took the bottle that Adam carried and pushed it into the little calf's mouth. It moved away a few times and then finally started to suck. It didn't take long for the little guy to put down the two liters of milk.