The Cowboy Soldier's Sons. Tina Leonard
Rancho Diablo for the night. I have to get back to Hell’s Colony. Mom’s not feeling well, and—”
“You didn’t say anything about that,” Shaman said.
“I shouldn’t have to,” Kendall retorted. “She’s old. She wants her son at home. No big shock, right?”
He recognized guilt as one of Kendall’s weapons, and pulled her to him so that he could rub her hair and muss it up, the way he had when they were children. And later, when they were teens. She shrieked predictably, making him grin. “That felt great,” Shaman said.
Kendall grabbed her purse. “I’m glad it was good for you. If Gage does come to pound your stuffings, I hope he succeeds. Goodbye, Tempest. Was that your name?” Kendall frowned. “It fits.”
Tempest smiled at her and reached out to shake hands. “Tempest Thornbury. It’s nice to meet you, Kendall.”
“Tempest...Thornbury?” She frowned again. “Not the Tempest Thornbury from New York, who used to sing and act on—”
“One and the same,” Shaman said cheerfully, loving the shocked expression on his sister’s face.
Kendall glanced at the picnic basket, then back at her. “No wonder you don’t want to come home, Shaman.”
He laughed. “And you thought I just spent all my time on the roof.”
“I think you’re crazy. But at least if she wants to have a baby, she won’t be after your money, too. I guess.” Kendall shook her head. “Be nice to my big brother, or I’ll send mean critics after you. Love you, Shaman. Please come home soon and give Xav a man-to-man chat. This well-planted daisy is on the level of Gage’s first wife, if you know what I mean. Bad all the way around.”
Kendall left, a smooth slide of silk and high heels moving out the door. Shaman followed, walking her to the car, then making sure she was safely belted inside. “I love you,” he told her. “I’ll come home at some point. I just don’t know when. And no family chats with Xav. It’s his life.”
“Make it soon.” She drove away, and Shaman went back inside.
Tempest was pouring two glasses of wine.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he told her, ignoring the wine and pulling her close.
“Really?” She snuggled against his chest, and Shaman closed his eyes, loving the feel of her in his arms.
“Yes. I miss you.” He kissed her hair, breathing the scent of her in. “You know, they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
Tempest ground his foot under hers, which didn’t do any damage because of the steel-toed work boots he wore, but he got the message. “So back to this baby talk you and Cat had.”
“It was Cat’s idea,” Tempest said, and he said, “Oh, come now, Cupertino, teenagers don’t think that kind of stuff up. Don’t blame my precocious niece.” He scooped her into his arms. “You carry the wine, and we’ll go talk some more about how babies are made. I want to see where you’re going with this.”
“Soldier, I think you know just fine.” Tempest grabbed the glasses and let him carry her down the hall.
Chapter Three
The funny thing was that once Tempest had mentioned “baby” to him, Shaman found himself actually thinking about it. A lot. Wasn’t a man supposed to run at the thought of a woman who wanted to get pregnant with his child?
He didn’t.
It had been a week since she’d been by with her picnic basket, and he was still mulling over her offhand comment. Maybe she’d been playing around. Maybe the baby suggestion had been her opening line, like sex talk. Sure, that was probably it.
It had worked. He’d made love to her all night.
A spray of water caught him in the face as he wandered around the barn, making him blink with surprise. “Cat! You little devil!”
He ran after his niece, dedicated to the idea of tossing her in the creek for her just deserts. She eluded him, jumping into the creek herself, fully dressed, and just as he began tugging off his boots to land the cannonball of all cannonballs on his niece, he realized they weren’t alone.
Fiona Callahan stood a hundred yards off, grinning at Cat’s square hit on her uncle. He’d bet Fiona had bought the water blaster for Cat. Seemed like something a woman who’d raised six Callahan boys would think was a necessary ingredient to childhood.
“Hi, Fiona,” Shaman said. “Good to see you again.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” she called. “I distinctly thought you were about to cannonball your niece.”
The thought was so tempting. “Best to do that when she doesn’t suspect,” he said, wiping his face, smiling at Cat splashing gleefully in the creek. “I’m sorry she’s not a happy kid.”
Fiona smiled. “Yeah. Miserable.”
“So, are you out here doing Jonas’s bidding?”
“Pretty much.” Fiona seated herself in one of the wrought-iron chairs permanently ensconced in the mushy dirt surrounding the creek. “Actually, Cat pleaded with her dad to let her come out here and see her uncle, and Tempest. I said I’d run her over here. Gage wanted to take Chelsea to the ob-gyn.” Fiona pulled out a wad of knitting from the bright pink plastic bag she carried. “Don’t let us keep you.”
Cat had grabbed a raft and was floating on her back, gazing up at the sky, a kid with no worry that winter was on its way.
“So what does Jonas want you to tell me?” Shaman asked.
Fiona didn’t look up from her knitting, studying it with a furrowed brow. One thing Shaman knew was how to knit, and he could tell she’d dropped a whole ton of stitches from her looped needles. Beginner’s mistake.
“He wants the barn up before the snows come. Probably late October. He wants to bring out more horses by then.” Fiona gave Shaman a kindly smile. “I thought I’d let you know, since you’re probably not aware of the weather in New Mexico.”
“Jonas hasn’t even chosen an architect or a plan.”
“You and Gage are responsible for that.” She shook her head at her knitting, perplexed.
“Jonas didn’t like the first set of plans. He wanted a different architect.”
“You’ll get it figured out.” Fiona sighed at the hot-pink ball of wool. It was a good quality yarn, but if she didn’t quit ratting at it, it wasn’t going to be fit for anything except lining bird nests.
“Here,” Shaman said, “let me see if I can help this along for you.” He sat in the wrought-iron chair next to hers and began unraveling stitches until he got to the place where she’d dropped a few. Then he reknit it. “Is this your first project?”
“It is, and I don’t think I’m much of a knitter.” Fiona looked depressed about that. “I was going to make my friends scarves this year, but it’s not quite as easy as I hoped it would be. Where’d you learn to do that?”
“From my mother. And believe it or not, there are times when knitting soothes the savage beast.” Knowing she was carefully studying his method, Shaman knitted a few more rows for good measure, then handed it back to her. “Okay, Fiona, you know as well as I do that a state-of-the-art barn can’t be ready in a couple of months. Jonas needs to select the architect and the plan. I only oversee the project. Why is he handing this off to me?”
“Because your brother Gage owns a small part of the property now. It was in their agreement. Gage would work here, and in lieu of a paycheck, he’d get some acreage. So Jonas knows Gage has skin in the game. And,” Fiona continued, “Jonas is busy. He’s a father,