The Littlest Cowboy (15 page)

As the water flowed into the bath, Chelsea remembered the way Garrett had looked in here yesterday, shirtless, soaking wet and grinning like a fool as he bathed little Ethan. And she tried to think of why he’d been so nice to the baby. What could he be hoping to get out of him?

Nothing, of course. And it couldn’t have been to impress Chelsea because he hadn’t known she’d be watching. How could he have known?

God, could it be the man was just genuinely nice?

Nah.

Chelsea stripped off her clothes and sank into the bathtub, resting against the cool porcelain as the hot water slowly rose around her.

“W
ell, Jessi, so much for that stupid scheme you and Elliot came up with!”

Garrett slapped his dusty hat onto the back of a chair. His little sister set Bubba down and promptly knocked Garrett into the same chair.

“Sit still so I can look at this.” She tore his shirtsleeve off, grimacing. “This is nasty, Garrett.”

“It’s nasty all right. I told her I wanted her to stay. Now she thinks I’m some kind of sex maniac.”

Jessi pressed her lips tight, but a gurgle of laughter managed to escape anyway. She turned quickly to the sink, taking a clean cloth from a nearby drawer and wetting it down.

“Oh, yeah, you think you’re so smart.”

“Well, jeez Louise, Garrett, you can’t just blurt it out like that. You gotta build up to it. Give her some time.”

“I don’t have any damned time. She wants to leave today, for crying out loud!”

Jessi came over and pressed the damp cloth to the cut on his shoulder. “Sounds like that would really bother you.”

“Only because it might get her killed.”

Jessi’s hands stilled on his shoulder. “Killed?”

“Vincent de Lorean would do anything to get his child back,” he said grimly, “including murder.”

Jessi’s eyes opened wider. “God Almighty, Garrett, we can’t let him!”

“No, we sure as hell can’t. And we won’t. We just have to convince Chelsea to stay put until I can figure out how.”

“Guess you’ll just have to sweep her off her feet.”

He grunted. Then he stilled, searching her face. His little sister was dead serious here.

“Tell her she can’t leave until tomorrow, Garrett. Make something up. Tell her the flights out today are all booked. Anything. Then, tonight–”

“Tonight she isn’t speaking to me.”

“Tonight you’ll give her an evenin’ she’ll never forget.”

Garrett shook his head. But his sister’s eyes were sparkling, and he had a feeling he wasn’t going to have much say in the matter.

“Now, about this stampede….” she began as if it was all settled. Sure. Just leave it to Jessi. She’d take care of everything. God help him now.

D
inner was a strained affair. Garrett was damned near squirming in his chair when he thought about what he had to do tonight. He wasn’t eating with the others. Just sitting here for the company and the conversation, really. He’d eat later.

Jessi had worked it all out.

And there was this whole other matter to contend with. Lash. Elliot had been raving about how terrific the man had been with the spooked cattle. Even Wes had grudgingly admitted the guy knew his stuff. The damage to the fences had been worse than Elliot had realized, so the three had only come in briefly for a quick sandwich and then headed right out again. Elliot couldn’t stop talking about Lash and his way with the cattle.

Even Jessi seemed impressed. She’d gone oddly quiet and suddenly learned some table manners. She was smiling more than usual, too.

Lash looked at her as if he was looking at a little kid, which was yet another mark in his favor.

Hell, Garrett would have hired the stranger in a minute under any other circumstances. But with the threat of danger hanging over all their heads, he didn’t think he could afford to trust a stranger.

Even one who’d saved his life.

Maybe later, after all this was worked out and Chelsea was safe.

Chelsea.

She hadn’t come down for dinner. She’d said she’d rather skip the meal and go to bed early. He hoped that was because she was mad at him and not that she actually wanted to go to bed early. Because that was certainly not what she was going to get.

C
helsea wore an oversize T-shirt she’d snatched from the clothesline out back in response to the sweltering heat outside. She’d have preferred to remain wet and wear nothing at all, but there were simply too many males in this house. So she closed the bedroom door firmly and lay in the bed in the T-shirt, with the window wide open. She tried to rest, but she couldn’t get comfortable no matter which way she turned. Everything hurt. She couldn’t relax, either, because she kept expecting someone to come through that door to put little Ethan to bed.

It was late before she heard the hum of vehicles rumbling away. A few minutes later came footfalls on the stairs, then the knob turned and the door opened.

Garrett Brand stood in the doorway with his hat in his hands. “You awake?”

“Yeah.”

He came the rest of the way inside, flicking on the light as he did. “We need to talk.”

“You think so?”

“Yup.” He nodded to a chair near the dressing table. “Mind if I sit?”

“It’s your house.”

He pulled the chair close to the bedside, sat down slowly, then frowned, his gaze fixed on her bare thigh. She felt her blood rush a little more loudly in her ears. Then she followed his gaze and saw the vivid purple bruise and realized his look wasn’t lecherous.

“I thought you said you didn’t get hurt.”

“It looks worse than it feels.”

He got to his feet, headed out of the bedroom and returned within five seconds carrying a white plastic jar with a black lid. He didn’t settle back in his chair again. Instead, he lowered his bulk to the edge of the bed, and Chelsea battled the urge to brace her feet against him and give a good shove.

He twisted the cap off the jar and scooped out a gob of ugly brown stuff with his fingers. She caught a whiff of it then and wrinkled her nose.

“What is that? It stinks.”

“Liniment. Jessi made it up for the horses.”

“The horses?”

“Yeah. They get stiff sometimes, go lame. It’s good stuff. Trust me. Jessi’s studying veterinary medicine, you know.”

“I trust you about as far as I can throw you,” she said.

And when he set the jar aside and moved his handful of goo toward her thigh, she pulled her leg away. “Wait a minute! You’re not putting any horse liniment on me.”

He met her eyes, and his held a definite twinkle. “Just lie still. It’ll make you feel better.”

She had a feeling this was a form of petty revenge for her determined low opinion of him. But she decided it might not be, and that maybe it was worth the risk. Anything was better than the way she ached right now.

He put his fingers on her thigh and gently rubbed some of the stuff onto the purple bruise. And though it should have hurt just to be touched there, it didn’t. The ointment–or was it his fingers?–spread warmth over her flesh. Warmth that seemed to penetrate and slowly sink into her.

“Better already, isn’t it?”

She released the breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding and relaxed back on the pillows. “Yeah. It is.”

“I told you.” He scooped out more gunk and leaned over to her other leg, this time massaging the stuff onto the sore spot on her shin. Chelsea closed her eyes. Then his other hand slid behind her knee, lifting it until it bent upward. He started to rub some more of the liniment into the back of her calf, where some nasty cow had pinned it between a hard hoof and the ground.

An involuntary sigh escaped her. She bit her lip when she heard it, but it was too late.

“Where else?” he asked.

Her eyes flew open.

“Lift up the T-shirt, Chelsea.”

“Not in your wildest dreams, cowboy.”

His lips thinned. “You really think I’m gonna try something, don’t you?”

She didn’t answer, just looked into his eyes. But she saw nothing there to frighten her, or give her cause to mistrust him.

“I’m only trying to help you. You’re hurting and I want to make it better.” He shook his head, studying the brown gob on his fingertips. “Hell, maybe I am out of line. Taking care of people just…well, it’s sort of ingrained in my bones, you know? Got so used to doin’ it for the kids-”

“The kids?”

“Wes, Adam, Ben, Elliot…and Jessi. Especially Jessi.”

She swallowed hard; he’d reminded her of who he was. The man who’d raised five children and kept a ranch going single-handedly after his parents had been killed. The man who treated a little old lady in town like the queen of Spain and even worried about her cat. The man who’d taken little Ethan in when it would have been just as easy to turn him over to the local social services. And who had sheltered her from the battering heads and hooves of a horde of crazed animals—sheltered her with his own body.

Did she
really
believe he was anything like her father?

“You were holding your back before. I just thought….” His words trailed into silence as Chelsea stared at him, probing his eyes for answers, finding only more questions. She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, then nodded once. She rolled onto her stomach and lifted the T-shirt above her waist.

“Damn, Chelsea, you look like you’ve been beat with a club.”

“I feel like it, too.”

His fingers touched her then. Warm. Soothing. He rubbed the stuff into her lower back, and it felt good. Maybe a little bit too good. When he stopped, she started to lower the shirt, but he covered her hand with his.

“Shhb. Just be still.”

He began touching her once more, sliding one hand higher as he lifted her T-shirt with the other. He rubbed the ointment over both her shoulder blades and then the spot between them. She closed her eyes again, wondering if anything in her life had ever felt this soothing.

She’d never been touched this way before. She’d never expected a man’s touch could be anything but hurtful and cruel. But Garrett’s was gentle and healing and good.

He lowered the shirt down her back again. Chelsea rolled over, wincing as the gooey ointment stuck to the material.

“I’m ruining someone’s T-shirt with this stuff,” she said. She felt she had to say something, and that seemed like something safe.

“That’s okay. I have others.”

She blinked. “It’s yours?”

His eyebrows rose. “Who else around here would need an extra-extra large?”

Her throat went dry. Why? What was so intimate about wearing Garrett’s T-shirt? Why did she suddenly feel as if it was him wrapped around her, instead of just a piece of white cotton?

“What about your front?”

But he was pushing the shirt up carefully and slowly. She didn’t grab it and yank it back down. She waited, almost unable to breathe, telling herself this would be the proof she needed of what kind of man he truly was. When he yanked it up to her neck and tried to grope her breasts, she’d have no more room for doubt. And then….

He stopped, letting the shirt rest below her breasts. And though there was a definite yearning in his eyes as he gazed down at her bared waist, he didn’t grope. He didn’t make any lewd remarks. He didn’t smirk.