Aiming for the Cowboy Read online

  Her logical electronic engineer dad had helped get her finances in order, and had generously contributed to her dwindling bank account so she no longer had to worry about funds. Her cousins, aunts, uncles and benevolent friends had all rallied around her with support and nonstop love. Helen felt truly blessed.

  Now all she had to do was tell Colt Granger he was the father, a fact that everyone in her circle kept nudging her to do, but she kept resisting. Each time she had screwed up enough courage to tell him, she found a hundred reasons why she couldn’t make the phone call or drive that long hour to Briggs. Add to that an element that he might not believe her, and it was everything Helen could do to even think about how she would broach the subject.

  What finally forced her to have to cowgirl up and face him was an official phone call from Mrs. Milton, one of the owners from the riding school. After thirty years in business, the school, land and private home was up for sale. The owners had decided to retire, a fact that saddened Helen more than she thought possible. The M & M Riding School had been her summer home for most of her teen years and the arena at the school had served as her main training ground ever since she’d taken cowboy mounted shooting seriously.

  She was informed that Tater was one of only three horses still left that needed to be moved. “We kept him as long as we could, honey, hoping that we’d get a quick sale and you could board him with the new owners. Unfortunately, that isn’t the case, so you’ll have to move him in the next few days. Sorry to put you under such pressure, but our new house in town is ready and we want to get settled in before the holidays.”

  “Not a problem,” Helen told her, thinking she’d move him over to her cousin Milo’s place in Briggs until she could find him a more permanent home. She knew he wouldn’t mind. He’d boarded Tater before and loved him almost as much as Helen did.

  The call required immediate action, and so did her growing condition.

  It was time she took charge, moved her horse and told Colt the truth despite her apprehensions.

  “I’ll be there tomorrow,” she told Mrs. Milton. She disconnected, walked out onto her parents’ back porch, gazed out at the bright blue sky, the surrounding mountains and contemplated Colt Granger.

  She hadn’t seen or heard anything about Colt since Joey’s birthday. He’d called a couple times, but she hadn’t returned his calls. She’d been thrown into a lifelong responsibility with a man who was dating other women, Jenny Pickens just to name one. Now that he’d started dating again, who knew how many more women were chomping at the bit to be in his little black book. For all she knew, practically every single woman in the entire county had made the cut. It was only a matter of time until he found Ms. Right, and it certainly wouldn’t be her.

  Helen was more in the Ms. All Wrong category, and for now, that suited her just fine. They’d made love exactly once. Okay, so it was powerful and more passionate than what she’d ever experienced with any other man, but that didn’t mean they could ever have a viable relationship. For starters, he had three sons, three ornery, unmanageable sons. She had fears and apprehensions about one child, let alone three more.

  Her baby moved and kicked as she sat back rubbing her tummy, grateful that she could trust her family with her secret until she was ready to tell Colt. She decided to spend a few days with her cousin Milo Gump in Briggs. Everyone in the family had an open invitation to stay on Milo’s ranch. He liked the company, especially now that his parents had retired to a smaller place in Oregon, and his sister had moved to Austin, Texas, with her new husband.

  Her thirty-year-old cousin was a man who was generous to a fault, and the one person in the entire world she could trust with a secret.

  * * *

  “YOU TOLD MAGGIE GRANGER, Colt’s sister-in-law, that I’m pregnant?” Helen couldn’t believe Milo could betray her after she’d told him several times not to tell anyone until she personally broke the news to Colt.

  “You can’t exactly hide it,” Milo said, staring at her prominent belly. She wore a stretchy green top that caressed her baby bump, boot-cut maternity jeans and her favorite tan-colored cowgirl boots.

  “That’s not the point. I drove straight here. No one in this gossip-centered town has seen me yet.”

  “Jackson is only a hop-skip away. It ain’t exactly out of drivin’ range. Anyone from Briggs could’ve seen you.”

  “If someone had seen me, I would know about it.”

  “Calm down,” Milo said, a look of guilt on his chubby face. “I merely told her you’d been taking it easy for a while, staying with your parents in Jackson until the baby came. I didn’t say a word about Colt being its daddy.”

  Helen stared up at Milo from the brown leather sofa in his Western-style living room. She had finally gotten somewhat comfortable after having spent the past hour getting her stomach to settle down long enough so she could eat a bowl of vegetable soup he’d prepared for her that was now getting cold on his coffee table.

  She’d driven in the previous night, and ever since she’d arrived her already sensitive stomach seemed to be in a continual state of agitation.

  Sort of like her nerves.

  “How could you think this information wouldn’t get back to Colt?”

  Milo plopped down in his recliner across from her, the chair groaning under his weight. He was one of those big guys, not really fat, just big-boned, with a six-foot-five height that would intimidate almost anyone who came his way. He had a sweet face that told anyone who came near him that he was a teddy bear, until you got him riled. Then he was a force to be reckoned with.

  Still, Milo was a gentle giant, and Helen loved him to pieces...until this very moment.

  “She’s the one who asked me why you wasn’t at the fair. You know it’s Spud Week and everybody’s down to the fairgrounds for the fair. It’s obvious that you’ve been missing. ’Specially since you didn’t participate in the Spud Tug this year. Our team won, by the way.”

  The Spud Tug was a tug-of-war over a pit of mashed potatoes instead of mud. Helen usually participated on Milo’s team.

  “Your team always wins.”

  “I know,” he chided and Helen gazed over at his latest Spudphy, a six inch high golden-colored russet potato man wearing a cowboy hat, cowboy boots on his tiny legs and a belt around his wide midsection. There were at least ten Spudphys perched on Milo’s bookshelf, along with many other potato-oriented awards.

  Next to Christmas, Spud Week in Briggs was the biggest celebration going. Schools closed, businesses shut down early and everyone headed out to the fairgrounds in honor of the almighty potato.

  “You could have told her that I took a fall and injured myself. That I’m suddenly allergic to potatoes. I don’t know. Anything would’ve been better than telling her the truth. Did she say anything after you told her?”

  “All she said was, I understand. And then she walked off to meet up with her sister, Kitty.”

  “She said, I understand.”

  “Yeah, that’s good, right?” His face lit up, and he looked like a little boy eager to please with his curly dark hair falling over his ears, and down his collar.

  Helen stood, anxious to get to the fair to find Colt. She knew he’d be there all day with his boys. There were always a lot of games for kids to participate in and she knew from previous years that his boys liked to join in as many as they could.

  “No, that’s very bad. I’ve got to get to Colt before rumors start to fly.”

  “Well, I told you to tell him when you visited months ago.” He slid into a reclining position and turned on his favorite TV show on the food channel, its glamorous host, who he would run away with in a heartbeat, popped up on the screen. Today she would be cooking up a backyard picnic and Milo had every intention of sitting and watching the entire show with his notepad and pen at the ready.

  “I know,
but the timing wasn’t right. Joey had just nearly killed himself.”

  The opening shots of the chef’s Texas ranch came up on the sixty-inch flat-screen TV. Milo increased the volume. He loved her Italian theme song.

  “She’s chopping pineapples and cabbage today for coleslaw, and I love to watch her chop things. Best part of the show.”

  “That’s a little sick.”

  “No, it ain’t. Not the way you think anyway. I’m a horrible chopper. She’s a master.”

  The theme song ended and the host stood in her kitchen, picked up her chopping knife and began chopping away.

  “Look at the way she handles that cabbage, and that big knife. She’s got a real talent for chopping. It’s an art.”

  Helen stared at Milo in disbelief.

  “Since when do you care about slicing vegetables?”

  “Since I entered the show’s contest. If I win, I get to fly to Texas to her ranch for a full two days of cooking lessons, then dinner with her out on her private veranda. That would be heaven.”

  “You only eat hot dogs, burgers, spuds and an occasional steak.”

  “Yeah, but a man can dream, can’t he?” He closed his eyes as the show went to a commercial. After a second or two, a wide smile creased his lips. “Besides, I’m learning how to cook because of her.”

  She stuck a hand to her hip. “Be careful what you wish for, big cousin.”

  “As careful as you are, little cousin.” He opened his eyes and turned to her. “Now get yourself over to that there fair and tell your man you’re carryin’ his child. Then let him do the right thing and everybody’ll be happy.”

  “That’s not why I’m telling him.”

  “Oh?” His eyebrow went up.

  “He has a right to know, is all.”

  “Sweetheart, you’ve had a crush on Colt Granger since you was kids.”

  “Yes, and it’s still a crush.”

  He turned, looked down at her belly and grinned. “Seriously?”

  “It was just one crazy night. Nothing more.”

  “Looks like a lot more to me.”

  Helen sighed, turned on her heels, grabbed her purse off the coffee table and headed for the door. Sometimes her cousin could be so dang frustrating.

  * * *

  IT WAS A PERFECT Teton Valley fall day, a clear blue sky, a cool breeze skipping down from the surrounding mountains and the tall grasses elegantly bending with each breeze. The air smelled sweet, and the sun tried its best to warm Colt, but there was a deep freeze that clung to his heart. His sister-in-law, Maggie, had mentioned that Helen was pregnant. If it was true, he figured the father had to be some no-account cowpoke from the circuit, or why else would she be living with her folks?

  But Colt knew Helen fairly well so he absolutely refused to believe it, and wouldn’t believe it until he heard it from Helen herself. Colt knew enough about town rumors to know they were only half-truths, but with this bit of gossip he was hopeful the entire tale was a fabrication. And until he heard otherwise, he intended to try to enjoy the piglet races with his boys, who were somewhat behaved on this fine evening.

  Colt and Buddy, his oldest, who had to tell everyone he would soon be eight and a half, sat side by side in the third row on the metal bleachers. Colt’s other two sons, Joey and six-year-old Gavin, sat on the other side of Buddy. Normally, Colt would sit in the middle with his boys flanking his sides, but ever since the roof incident, and Colt’s stern warning before he tucked them into bed each night, his boys seemed to be more agreeable than pups in a basket.

  The piglet races were one of the highlights of the fair, and the crowded stands were testament to that fact. Black-and-white silks adorned the small oval track. Wood shavings encircled the floor of the track that couldn’t be more than a hundred and fifty feet around. With five rows of metal bleachers on three sides, it would soon be standing room only.

  Four baby oinkers adorned in various colors of brown, green, pink and black, with their big ears flapping, were hand-carried out onto the track from a colorful thirty-foot trailer, introduced to the excited audience, then placed in separate cages that sat on the starting line. Colt, his boys and the audience cheered, clapped and whistled as the Swinemaster, a rugged-looking cowboy sporting a handlebar mustache and a large white classic cowboy hat, announced the upcoming race.

  “Racing as piglet number one we have Bob Beboar. Number two is our darling Josephine Hoglarson, number three is Stephanie Porkman and finally number four is the lovely Olive Oinkly.”

  The crowd reacted with hoots and whistles just as Colt spotted Helen heading right for him. She looked about as pretty as the first spring rose. She wore her favorite straw cowboy hat and if he wasn’t mistaken, he could make out the necklace he’d given her around her pretty neck.

  His heart raced.

  His palms were clammy.

  Suddenly all he could think of was her naked body lying under him as he kissed her. The scent of her. The feel of her silky skin. Her warm touch on his—

  The crowd parted and he spotted her prominent baby bump.

  His breath hitched.

  “Hey, good-lookin’,” Lana Thomson said as she made her way toward Colt. He’d forgotten that Travis had set him up with Lana for the festival. It suddenly dawned on him that he was supposed to have met her near the front entrance to the wine booths a good twenty minutes ago, but with everything else going on around him at the fair, he’d completely forgotten.

  “Lana, hi!” he said, jumping up to greet her as he desperately tried to think up an excuse for why meeting her had completely slipped his mind. He wished his brothers would stop trying to pair him with every available girl in town. Of all people, Lana Thomson, who was about as right for him as a Vegas showgirl.

  “Good thing I ran into your dad or I would’ve thought you stood me up. I know I was a little late getting here, but that couldn’t be helped. A girl has to look her best on her first date with a Granger. The competition is steep, sweetie, but from what I hear, the rewards are just this side of heaven.” She gave him a slow once-over, lingering a little too long on body parts she shouldn’t be staring at in a public place, especially with his boys sitting next to him.

  Once again, because of his brothers’ incessant meddling, he found himself in a troublesome situation.

  “I need four volunteers from the stands,” the Swinemaster bellowed. “One from each section!”

  “Colt Granger, we need to talk,” Helen said as she approached. She spoke with such force Colt near about hopped forward as if he were on a spring.

  “Sure,” Colt answered as he tried to move around Lana. “Will you excuse me?”

  He couldn’t really get to Helen because of all the kids who were now standing around him, cheering and laughing in anticipation of the race.

  “You, sir, come on down to the front,” he heard the Swinemaster say.

  Colt’s son Buddy nudged him, giggling. “He wants you, Dad.”

  All three of his boys were hysterical with laughter.

  “He wants you to come down and pick a piggy for the race,” Gavin told him.

  “Pick number one, Papa, Bob Beboar. He’s the biggest,” Joey ordered, then burst out laughing again.

  But Colt couldn’t seem to move. Way too many things were going on at the same time.

  “Daddy, hurry up. You’re holding up the race,” Gavin ordered.

  “What? No. This is a kid’s race,” Colt mumbled, feeling like a first-class fool.

  “Come on down, sir. Come get your snout on,” the Swinemaster shouted, holding up a rubber pig snout attached to a white stretchy band. Then the Swinemaster proceeded to pick three other volunteers, kids well under the age of ten.

  Feeling completely discomfited, Colt made his way down the metal stairs with everyone cheeri
ng him on as they made a path for him to get by.

  When he passed Helen, he said, “I didn’t think it was true.”

  “That’s why we need to talk,” she said over the hoots coming from the crowd. “If you can tear yourself away from Lana Thomson long enough for a private conversation.”

  “What? No. You have the wrong idea. We’re not—”

  “It seems one of our team captains is holding up the race,” the Swinemaster bellowed. “Sir, we need you to pick out your favorite piggy.”

  Everyone in Colt’s section began hooting and yelling for him to get down to the front.

  “Don’t leave,” he told Helen, hoping she wouldn’t lose interest in talking to him because of Lana.

  “I’ll be here,” she said, but she didn’t look happy.

  He walked off toward the Swinemaster and the piglet cages at the start line. It seemed as if everyone in the entire arena was cheering for him. Of all the confounded situations for him to find himself in, this certainly was not one he had anticipated when he left the ranch that morning.

  The Swinemaster handed Colt and the three children, two boys and a girl, their rubber snouts. Colt stared at it for a moment, as if there was no way he was slipping the silly thing on his face, until the other kids started poking him to put it on. He really had little choice in the matter. He slipped off his cowboy hat, and snapped the contraption around his head, making sure his snout was securely in place over his nose.

  “Of all the crazy things...”

  The audience seemed to love the entire spectacle and continued to cheer and laugh. Whatever friends he had in the audience called out his name, then whistled. He wondered if he would ever be able to live it down.

  “And what’s your name, sonny?” the Swinemaster asked Colt, thrusting the microphone in front of his face, obviously milking the situation.

  “Colt.”

  “And how old are you, Colt?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope. How old are you?”