The Cowboy's Sweetheart (9 page)

Ryder nodded because he didn't know what to say. He dismounted and handed Red over to Clint. “You and Willow are pretty amazing.”

“Willow's amazing.” Clint had hold of the roan and the horse was flighty, more flighty than Ryder liked from a roping horse.

“Ryder, up in two.”

Ryder took the bull rope that Adam tossed at him. “Might want to borrow rosin from one of the other guys.”

“Got it.” Ryder pulled a glove out of his pocket. At least he'd remembered that. As he walked up to the chutes, he didn't look at Andie. Instead he took the Kevlar vest that Clay Cooper offered.

“It's one of Willow's bulls. Think you can handle him?” Clay asked with a grin that didn't do much to impress Ryder. Someone needed to take that guy out back and knock some of that vinegar out of him.

“I think I can handle him.” Ryder pulled on the vest.

The bull that came through the chute was a big brindled bull with too much Brahma in its DNA. He didn't like to ride Brahma bulls. Not because they were meaner, bucked harder or went after a guy. He didn't like the hump. It knocked him off balance, made it hard for him to stay up on the bull rope.

As he settled onto the bull's back, Clay snickered, like he'd meant to put Ryder on the worst bull in the pen. He worked rosin into the bull rope and then Clay pulled it, tight, so Ryder could wrap it around his gloved hand.

The bull hunched in the shoot and then went up, front legs off the ground, pawing at the front of the chute.
Ryder grabbed the side of the chute and pulled himself up, out of danger. The bull went back down on all fours. They started the bull rope process again.

As soon as Ryder had the rope around his hand and the bull was halfway sane in the chute, he nodded and the gate opened. The bull spun out of the chute, nearly falling and then righting himself. Ryder fell forward but got himself back into position when the bull bucked into his hand. Foam and slobber flew from the bull's head. The force of four hooves hitting the ground jarred his teeth.

He kept forward, his head tucked. The bull jerked him to the side and his body flung off the side of the bull, his hand still in the rope. A few jumps, a few hops and then the buzzer. He jerked his hand loose and rolled.

A bullfighter, another Cooper brother, jumped in front of the bull, giving Ryder a chance to run for his life. That Brahma bull didn't play nice. It was stomping, trying to get his feet, get his legs as he scurried to get away.

As he jumped over the fence, Andie was there. Pale, shaking and pretty darned mad. He'd never seen her like that before. He considered going back in the arena with the bull.

He dropped down on her side of the fence and walked away, dragging the bull rope behind him. She followed. He couldn't do this here with everyone watching, wondering what was going on between them.

When he got to the back of the arena, to a spot where they could talk, he waited.

Andie walked up to him, her blond hair short and blowing in the soft, Oklahoma breeze. The air was dry, but still warm and the sun was starting to set. He didn't know why, but suddenly when he looked at her, he saw
someone he hadn't seen before. He saw a woman with soft edges and a look in her eyes that could have sent him running if he hadn't known her better.

They'd gone places together, all of their lives they'd been together. Tonight felt different. Tonight they were one of the couples. He shifted a little and her mouth opened, like she was going to say something, and he was afraid to hear it.

His back hurt and his shoulder throbbed. He didn't need lectures.

“Don't.” He shook his head a little and her mouth closed. And he'd hurt her. He hadn't meant to do that. “Not yet, Andie.”

Not yet with a rush of female emotions and words, not from Andie. She'd drown him in that stuff and he wouldn't know how to make it work, not with a ton of emotions and hormones hitting him over the head.

He couldn't think like that.

“Fine.” She walked away, slim and athletic, but always graceful. He remembered her in a leotard, forced to take ballet because Etta worried that she was too much of a tomboy. She'd hated it, but he remembered going to her one and only recital. She punched him in the gut that day, because he told her she looked pretty.

He watched her walk away. Gut punched. Sometimes she didn't even have to touch him. And every now and then, like right at that moment, he wanted to kiss her again. Even if it landed him on the ground.

Maybe later. He let the idea settle in his mind, even imagined holding her close on Etta's front porch.

“Hey, Andie, come back.”

She stopped walking, but she didn't turn to face him. “You said not right now.”

“I didn't mean for you to walk away. I meant for you to give me a chance to take a deep breath.”

She turned, the wind catching her hair. She held it back with her hand and waited for him to walk up to her.

“I didn't know you were going to ride a bull tonight.” She bit down on her bottom lip and looked away from him.

Her dad. He wanted to swear but he didn't. She'd seen her dad broken up a few too many times. She'd always disliked it when he rode bulls, said it brought back too many memories that she'd rather forget.

“I didn't plan on it, but Clay…”

“Pushed you into it?” She shook her head, not buying it. “Yeah, kind of. I can't believe I let a twenty-one-year-old kid get to me that way.”

She wiped his face. “Dirt on your cheek.”

“Right.” He wiped it again, in case she didn't get it all. And because it was a lot less disturbing when he did it.

“Ryder, would you mind if we went home. I really don't feel like I can do this tonight.”

“Yeah, we can go home. Stay here while I get my horse.”

 

Andie waited for Ryder. When he came toward her on the big roan gelding, she smiled. He rode up close and reached for her hand. She looked up, and he winked. Like old times, she thought. And she needed some old times. She took his hand and he moved his foot, giving her access to the stirrup.

He pulled and she settled behind him, her arms around his waist. The horse sidestepped a few times
and then trotted a bumpy trot toward the trailer. Andie didn't mind the trot, not when this was the most normal thing that had happened to her in days.

As they rode past the arena and down the drive toward the trailer, Ryder slowed the horse to a walk. Andie leaned, resting her cheek against his back, against the soft cotton of his shirt. She breathed in deep of his scent and then she felt silly, because it was Ryder.

The horse came to a stop at the trailer, but neither of them moved. Andie didn't want to move, to break the connection between them. Ryder glanced back but he didn't say anything. But his hands touched her hands that were clasped around his middle.

“You okay?”

“I'm good. This is just the most familiar place I've been in a while. You know, riding like this with you. Remember when we used to take your old gelding out at night for long rides.”

“Yeah, I remember.” His back vibrated with the depth of his voice.

“Those were good times.”

“They were. And they aren't behind us, Andie. We're going to have a kid. We can teach him to ride a horse, and to rope a steer.”

“Her.”

“Right, her.” He laughed and she sighed, but then she moved.

Time to leave the familiar for what was real now. “We should go home.”

“Give me your hand.” He held her hand and she dropped to the ground. “Andie, we'll have more good times.”

“I know.” She blinked fast to chase away the tears that sneaked up on her.

Ryder landed on the ground next to her. He led the horse back to the trailer and tied it while he pulled off the saddle. Dusty whinnied a greeting because he'd been left behind, tied but not saddled. She untied him and led him to the back of the trailer.

“So, are you okay?” She handed the horse over to Ryder.

“I'll be sore tomorrow. I'm sure everyone will say that I had to leave early because I'm getting soft.”

“That's never bothered you before.”

“No, and it still doesn't.” He led her horse into the trailer. “Go ahead and get in the truck. I'll have them settled and ready to go in a minute.”

Andie nodded and she didn't argue. Tonight it was okay to let Ryder do this for her. She climbed into his truck and waited.

A few minutes later he was behind the wheel of the truck and they were easing down the driveway and then turning on to the road that led back to Dawson. It was only minutes before they reached the city limits and tiny Dawson. As they drove past the Mad Cow, Ryder slowed and pulled into the parking lot. There were a half dozen trucks and teenagers sitting on tailgates.

A dozen years ago, they had been the teenagers hanging out in Dawson, not going to Tulsa or Grove on a Friday night because the drive was too far, the gas too expensive. Dating in Dawson had been cheap and easy; hanging out in town, going to a rodeo, or riding practice bulls from a local stock contractor's pen of livestock.

More often than not they ended up somewhere like the Coopers', where it wasn't for prizes or money, just for fun and practice.

Memories piled up and Andie smiled as Ryder parked his truck next to an old Ford. She understood. For a few
minutes he wanted to be that kid again, wanted those easier days back. She got out with him and walked to the front of the truck.

One of the kids had set up practice horns at the outside of the circle of trucks. They were farm kids in roper boots, faded jeans and T-shirts, their girlfriends were hanging together on the back of one truck, girls in tank tops and cutoff shorts. Dawson hadn't changed in years.

The boys grouped around Ryder and Andie leaned against his truck to watch, the way she'd watched years ago. But years ago Ryder had flirted and she'd pretended it didn't matter because they were just friends.

“What are you guys up to?” Ryder took the rope that one of the boys held out to him. He ran it through his hands.

“Just hangin' out and practicing up for next weekend. Ag Days is next Saturday and the Junior Championship Rodeo.” A tall boy with straw-colored hair and acne spoke up. Andie recognized him as a kid who had moved with his parents to a neighboring farm. “That sure is a nice stud horse you've got now.”

Ryder shrugged off the compliment and Andie wanted to ask the questions, about the horse and when he'd gotten it. He'd never bought a horse without telling her.

She'd seen a load of cattle come in, too. The big trailer had hauled the livestock down his driveway and turned them loose in his empty pasture, the one he didn't use for alfalfa. The cattle were there, now, grazing around oil wells that pumped a slow steady stream of crude oil into holding tanks by the road.

Now he was roping fake horns, as if he was going through some kind of midlife crisis. Because of her.

Ryder looped the rope again, swinging, letting it go. It slipped through the air, landing effortlessly on the horns. She remembered watching a few minutes of an outdoor program about fly-fishing in the northern states. There had been a beauty and grace to the casting of the line. Roping, effortlessly the way Ryder did it, had the same grace.

After freeing the rope from the horns, Ryder handed it back to the kid and then gave them a few pointers. He watched as they took turns, and then he gave them more advice.

When had they grown up, she and Ryder? When had they become the older people in town? Andie sighed at the thought of how far, and yet not so far, her life had come from the days of high school.

A dozen years ago Ryder had been one of these kids, under these same bright streetlights on the same dark pavement. Like these kids, he'd been dreaming of the future, dreaming of the best horse, the buckle, the money. No, never the money for Ryder, but winning. He'd always wanted to win. He'd won in basketball and baseball. He won in the rodeo arena.

As much as he'd won, she knew he'd lost a lot, too. His life hadn't been charmed. His parents had seen to that. And losing them, he still hurt over that loss. She could see the shadows of the pain in his eyes. There were days that he looked like the loneliest guy in the world. He had a quick smile, though. It flashed easily, creating that dimple in his chin. It was disarming, that smile. If a person didn't know better, they'd think he'd never felt pain, never been hurt. She knew better.

Two months ago she had seen the lonely look in his eyes.

A quick cramp in her stomach ended the memories.
She drew in a deep breath and fought against the knife-sharp pain. Ryder turned, his eyes narrowed and he didn't say anything. He patted the boy with the straw-colored hair on the shoulder and said he'd be back soon.

As he walked toward her, she saw his fear, felt her own. Fear or relief?

She closed her eyes because she didn't want to know, didn't want to recognize the look in his eyes, or look too deep into her own heart.

“You okay?”

She nodded, because the pain had passed. “Yeah, I'm fine. But I think I'm ready to go home.”

S
unday morning Ryder pulled his truck up the driveway of Etta's house, fighting a serious case of nerves that matched any that he'd met up with on the back of a bull. He couldn't imagine feeling worse on his wedding day, if he'd ever planned on getting married.

Going to church for the first time in over a dozen years was definitely up there on the list of things that were hard to do.

And that thought pulled his attention off the road and drew it to the glove compartment where he'd tossed the ring that Andie had rejected last week. Last week when he'd thought having a baby meant two people ought to do the right thing and get married. Obviously Andie was of a different mind. And that should have cut him loose, should have sent him back down the road and on his way to a team roping event in Dallas.

Instead he was as determined as ever to prove to Andie that he could be a dad, even if she didn't think he could be a husband. A dad did the right thing, even went to church. He was pretty sure that's what an upstanding dad did. No, he took that back. His own dad had gone to church.

He was going to do better than that.

As he parked, the front door opened. Etta stepped onto the porch, a vision in purple and yellow, a floppy straw hat on her head. She waved with a hand that sparkled with jewelry and went on with the green plastic watering pot, tipping it to water plants that turned her front porch into some kind of crazy jungle.

He was lucky if weeds grew in his flower gardens. At least weeds covered up the bare spaces and had blooms that added some color to the place.

He got out of his truck and walked across the lawn, the grass turning brown, but autumn mums bloomed in the flowerbeds. Etta set her watering can down and waited at the top of the steps. He clunked up the steps, his boots loud on the wood.

“What has you up here so bright and early on a Sunday morning?” Etta grabbed her watering can again and moved to a planter overflowing with purple blooms that he didn't recognize.

“I guess I'm here to go to church.” He glanced off in the direction of the barn, trying to make sense of the crazy turn his life had taken. A calf was mooing and somewhere a dog barked. He wondered if the animals needed to be fed and how much damage Andie would do to him if he did those things for her.

Etta chuckled a little. “You're going to church?”

“Isn't that what you've been telling me to do for the past eighteen years?”

“I guess I have. But why now?”

“Because it's the right thing to do.”

“Oh, I see.” She headed back into the house, carrying the green watering can. The open door let out the aroma of coffee and something baked with cinnamon. He followed Etta through the door.

“You don't think I should go?” He followed her down the sunlit hallway.

“Of course you should go.” She set the can next to the back door and kicked off her slippers. “Grab a cup of coffee and a muffin. Don't take the chocolate chip muffins, those are for our new pastor.”

“Gotcha.” He walked into the kitchen, always at home here. He didn't have to search for a cup, didn't have to ask where Etta kept the sugar. He'd been a part of this family for as long as he could remember.

But the idea of going to church had settled in the pit of his stomach like old chili. He'd been talked about his entire life. His family had been talked about. His dad had kept the town loaded with reasons to gossip. He should be used to being a conversation piece for the people of Dawson.

He hadn't worked too hard on his own life, to make himself different. He'd dated women whose names he couldn't remember. He'd spent his teen years chased from fields by farmers who didn't want their hay crops ruined by a kid with a four-wheel drive truck.

Now it was different. He sipped the coffee that he'd poured for himself and stood at the sink, looking out the kitchen window. Etta's barn needed to be painted. He sighed and set down his cup.

“What are you here for?”

He turned, bumping his cup but grabbing it before it slid into the sink and spilled. He held it as she walked across the room. He'd never looked at her this way, in the early morning, seeing her as a woman and not his best friend. She'd always been his best friend.

Today she was definitely a woman. Her dark blue dress touched her knees and curved in the right places.
Her blond hair framed her face, the color of the dress making her eyes more vivid. Her belly was still flat.

“Don't look at my stomach.” She grabbed a cup and poured herself a cup of coffee.

He swallowed more emotions than he could name. She was standing next to him, not looking at him. And she was soft and feminine. She didn't smell like leather. Instead a floral scent floated in the air around her. It swished his way when she moved.

When she turned to look at him, lifting a brow and giving him a look that asked what in the world he thought he was looking at, he shrugged. And he took a step closer. That wasn't a Sunday morning thing to do, stepping closer, sliding his arms around her waist.

She wiggled free and pushed him back.

“Back off, cowboy.” She moved to the other side of the kitchen and picked up a muffin.

“You aren't supposed to eat the chocolate chip muffins,” he warned.

“Why not?”

“They're for the new pastor.”

“Well, I'm pregnant and I'm eating it.”

He shrugged again. She'd have to deal with Etta. He watched as she took a few bites, closing her eyes as she chewed. And then there were footsteps on the stairs. Andie's eyes flew open. She grinned, a wicked grin that should have been a warning, and tossed the muffin at him.

He barely caught it, and then Etta walked into the kitchen.

“What are you doing eating those muffins after I told you not to?”

Ryder glanced at Andie and her smile was a little
wicked, a little sweet. He had to take the fall for her. “Sorry, I couldn't help myself.”

“No, I guess you couldn't. Self-control doesn't seem to be your strongest character trait lately. Well, come on, let's go to church.” Etta grabbed the basket of muffins and slid them into a bag. “You can drive.”

As they walked out the door, he slid close to Andie. “You owe me.”

“I don't think so.”

Her voice was soft and her arm brushed his. Everything was changing. Or maybe he hadn't let himself notice before that Andie made everything in his life feel a little better, a little easier.

On the way out the door she paused for a second, closing her eyes and leaning a little toward him.

“Andie, are you okay?”

She nodded. “I'm fine. We need to go or we'll be late.”

He hadn't expected to feel this way, as if he needed to protect her, even if he didn't know what to protect her from. But this was the second time in a week he'd seen that look on her face, and the second time he'd felt a stab of fear he hadn't expected to feel.

 

Andie sat next to Ryder on the third pew from the front of the church. Etta liked to joke that the power of God was down front, so the people in the back were missing out. Andie felt as if the power of two hundred pairs of eyes was in the back and it was all focused on her. And Ryder. It had been eighteen years since they'd been in church together.

His father's actions had pushed them away from God. Her actions had brought them back. Because as much as she'd tried to be angry with God for what had happened
to Ryder's dad, she couldn't hide from His presence or her need for this place and faith.

When it had all crumbled in around her, she hadn't wanted to run from God. Instead she'd run to Him. Which is exactly what Etta had always said would happen. And, as Etta liked to remind, she happened to be right most of the time.

“I'd forgotten what it felt like here.” Ryder leaned close, his shoulder against hers. She closed her eyes and nodded, because everything hurt too much. Him never loving her hurt. Her stomach hurt. She looked forward, telling herself the pain that had started earlier meant nothing.

“It feels like peace,” she whispered, wanting that peace.

“Yeah, that's what it is.” Ryder raised his arm and circled her, pulling her closer to his side. The choir sang the closing hymn and Pastor Jeffries smiled out at the congregation. His style of ministry was different than that of Pastor Todd. It was less like a best friend, more like a father.

Final prayer. She needed that prayer. She need for the service to end. As the congregation filed out of their pews, down the aisle, Andie leaned forward, resting her head on the back of the pew in front of her. She took a deep breath and waited for the pain to pass.

“Honey, what's wrong?” Etta's strong voice whispered near her ear. People around her were talking.

“I think I need to leave.” She stood up, ignoring Ryder's concern, his hand reaching for hers and Etta standing up behind her. “I have to go.”

Panic was shooting through her, making breathing difficult and mixing with the pain that cramped in her lower abdomen. She wiped at tears that slid down her
cheeks and tried to smile at the people asking if she was okay, trying to stop her with a cautious hand. Ryder was right behind her, not touching her, but he was there.

As she hurried down the steps of the church toward Ryder's truck, he reached for her arm and pulled her to a stop. Her eyes were blurring with unshed tears and his face hovered close. She wanted to sink into his arms.

“What's wrong?” His voice was hard, but barely above a whisper and his hands held her arms tight, as if she would have escaped. But escape wasn't her plan, not from him, just from the crowds of people in the church, asking questions or staring after her with questions in their eyes.

“I think I need to go to the hospital.”

And then Etta was there. Andie drew in a deep breath, breathing past the stress and through the pain. It had been a twinge that morning, but had gotten worse during church.

Etta took her by the arm and led her to the side as people walked past.

“What's wrong?”

Andie drew in another deep breath. “Cramping.”

“Then we're definitely going to the hospital.” Etta herded them toward Ryder's truck as she talked.

“I don't want to…”
lose my baby.
She couldn't say it. “Things happen in a pregnancy, Andie. There are different phases and pains. This could be completely normal.” Etta pulled the truck door open and motioned for Andie to climb in. “You're going to be fine. The baby is fine.”

Andie nodded as she got into the truck, into the seat next to Ryder who was already starting the truck, practically backing out before Etta got the door closed.

“Maybe you could let an old lady get in the truck before you start driving.” Etta hooked her seat belt. “Ryder, take a deep breath and just consider this as practice. Lots of unexpected things happen when we have children.”

Andie closed her eyes. Prayers slipped through her mind, getting tangled with guilt. Guilt because she shouldn't be having a baby and because, after thinking that she didn't want this, now she was going to ask God to take care of her child?

They drove the thirty minutes to the hospital in twenty. Andie opened her eyes to the flashing lights of an ambulance ahead of them, pulling through the drive in front of the emergency room. This was reality. She touched her stomach and wondered, even though she didn't want to, if she would still be pregnant when she left the hospital.

And if she wasn't… She closed her eyes against the pain that moved to her heart, if she wasn't how would she and Ryder look at one another tomorrow?

Ryder pulled up in front of the door and stopped. He glanced at her as he turned the truck off, his smile strong, the look in his eyes telling her that everything would be okay. And she was a kid again, worried that her dad wasn't coming home. But Ryder was there. Always there for her.

“We're fine, Andie.”

“I know.”

He was out of the truck and when she tried to step out next to him, he shook his head and scooped her up. He carried her into the building like she was a little girl with a scraped knee and she tried to tell him she could walk. He shook his head each time she opened her mouth.

“I can walk,” she finally managed to say.

“I don't want you to talk.”

Etta was next to them, breathing fast as she hurried to keep up with Ryder. “Don't argue. For once in your life, don't argue.”

“I'm too heavy.” She leaned into his neck and he held her closer, tighter. Her doctor met them at the doors to the E.R. That was the great thing about small towns, and switching to a doctor closer to home.

“What's up, Andie?” Dr. Ashford motioned them into an exam room.

“I've been cramping. It was light at first and I wasn't worried, but today it's worse.”

“Okay, let's examine you and see what we can find out.”

Ryder practically dumped her on the hospital bed. And then he was gone, the curtain of the exam room flapping behind his exit. Andie shook her head. So much for her hero. Her knight in shining armor. The Lone Ranger. No, wait, that was more like it. The Lone Ranger always rode in to rescue the woman and then hightailed it out of town before he could get too attached.

She couldn't let it bother her. She knew Ryder, knew why he bounced from relationship to relationship. She knew him well enough that she should have known better than to attach even the vaguest of dreams to him.

But then, he had just carried her in here. And she wasn't light.

“Andie, I'm going to do an ultrasound and examine you.” Dr. Ashford stood next to the bed. “Do you want someone in here with you?”

Andie shook her head. “I'm a big girl.”

But her body trembled from shock as reality set in.
She was losing her baby. Ryder being with her wouldn't stop that from happening. And if she was going to fall apart, she wanted to be alone.