Her Last Chance Cowboy. Tina Radcliffe
up in bed. Something was off. Normally, she woke to the spring scents of hyacinths, daffodils and lilac that floated into her furnished apartment from the florist shop downstairs.
Her searching gaze landed on Clementine, who slept soundlessly in the next bed, cuddled into a softly faded multicolored quilt with her pink stuffed horse clutched to her chest.
Hannah blinked against the dappled sunlight sneaking into the room through the blinds and realized she was in a guest bunkhouse at Big Heart Ranch. Today was Saturday. She yawned as Friday’s events came back to her.
“This is it,” Rue Butterfield had announced when they arrived at the bunkhouse yesterday afternoon.
Hannah had enough money for one night at the Rooster before they’d have to head back to Missouri. Staying at Big Heart Ranch was an answer to prayer.
“This is where we’re staying?” Hannah had asked Rue. The bunkhouse was a rustic log cabin cottage with six bunks, a small living room and a kitchen area. It was several paychecks nicer than her place above the floral shop in Dripping Falls. Yet, her grandmother would have been appalled.
“Yes,” Rue had answered. “This is the guest bunkhouse.”
Hannah had glanced across the room at a neatly made-up bed. “Who else lives here?”
“That would be me. I stay when I’m needed and, with summer coming up, that will be most of the time.” She paused. “Oh, and Dutch will bring up your car and your bags. He put gas in your Honda.”
“Dutch?”
“Dutch Stevens. Senior wrangler. Can’t miss him. He’s bowlegged and has a silver handlebar mustache.”
“Please tell him thank you. And thank you. For all this.” She had waved a hand around the room.
“You’re family, dear.” Rue smiled.
At that moment, something like shame had clawed at Hannah. Family. As far as she could tell, she might be the illegitimate daughter of Jake Maxwell. Family or not, she’d certainly put a pause and a huge question mark into everyone at Big Heart Ranch’s thoughts yesterday.
Hannah glanced at the clock. It read 7:00 a.m. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and looked over at the two battered suitcases that the wrangler had brought to the cabin yesterday. Nearly everything she owned had been shoved into those bags or into a cardboard box in the trunk of her car when she’d left Missouri for her grandmother’s funeral in Colorado.
She stared at the ceiling and considered the wisdom of leaving her job as a short-order cook at the all-night diner. The pay was regular and Clementine slept in the manager’s office during her shift, saving Hannah a fortune in childcare expenses.
It wasn’t the career she’d planned on, but there was no point in looking back. She’d learned long ago that the only thing certain in life was that she had to live with her choices. Big Heart Ranch it was. For now.
Just as Hannah swung her legs over the side of the bed, the strong waft of bacon, eggs and fried potatoes hit her full force. With one hand on her stomach and the other covering her mouth, she quietly headed to the restroom.
Morning sickness. She splashed cold water on her face and stood over the sink taking slow breaths, willing her stomach to calm down.
“What am I doing here, Lord? I hope this was Your nudge and not another mess up for You to get me out of.”
Patting her face dry with a towel, Hannah brushed her teeth before coming out to the main area again.
“Morning, Momma.” Clementine sat on the edge of her bunk, biting her lower lip as she concentrated on buttoning up her blouse.
“Well, look at you. No nagging you to get out of bed today.”
Clementine raised her head and smiled, brown eyes sparkling. “Miss Rue said to get ready. Mr. Tripp is coming by to take me to see the horses after breakfast.”
Hannah eased down next to her daughter on the bed and pulled a hairbrush from her purse. “Let me fix your hair.”
“I have a twisty.” Clementine held up a nylon hair tie.
“Good, because the snarls have taken over. I’ll brush it thoroughly tonight,” Hannah said as she pulled the springy orange curls into a ponytail.
“Thank you, Momma.”
Rue popped her head around the corner. “Breakfast is ready. I made eggs, bacon and my special home fries.”
“Toast would be good.” Hannah swallowed, praying she wouldn’t retch. “But you don’t have to cook for us.”
“I was making breakfast anyhow.”
“Coffee?” Rue asked once Hannah had changed into jeans and a T-shirt and was seated at the table nibbling toast.
“Water is fine. I’ll get it.” She stood and moved to the sink. The coffee smelled wonderful, and she’d kill for a mugful, but that would wait until she could get decaf.
“What a good eater,” Rue said to Clementine as she sat down at the table and picked up her coffee.
“She’s filling her reserve tank,” Hannah said.
The five-year-old scooped up another forkful of eggs and shoveled it into her mouth like a starving trucker.
“Whoa, Clemmie. Slow down there, good buddy,” Hannah said.
“This is really good, Momma,” Clementine said.
“Please don’t talk with your mouth full.” She put the water on the table and slid into the chair next to her daughter.
“Yes, Momma,” Clementine said over a mouthful of eggs.
Hannah looked across the table at Rue Butterfield. The woman’s serene smile said that all was well with the world. It was as if Hannah and Clementine belonged in this kitchen, at this moment. There was a peace in the room that Hannah hadn’t experienced in a long time.
“This was very nice of you, Rue. I’m not accustomed to someone cooking for me.”
“Mind if I ask how far along you are, dear?”
Hannah froze. “How did you know?”
“The morning sickness, and you turned positively green when you laid eyes on the bacon.” Rue smiled. “I’d have never noticed otherwise.”
“I’m eight weeks.” Hannah placed a hand to her stomach. “I can barely zip up my jeans.”
“You’re slim as can be.”
A knock at the door interrupted the conversation and had all heads turning. “Come on in,” Rue called.
Tripp opened the door and removed his hat. The lean cowboy stood in the threshold surrounded by the morning sunlight. The man had to be at least six foot five. An inch or so more and he’d hit his head on that low doorway. He ducked as he entered the kitchen. The man had a thick head full of toffee-colored hair, trimmed short and neat.
When Tripp turned a bit more, Hannah noted that with his stubbled shadow and strong jawline, he was almost perfectly handsome. The scar running down his face only added to his rugged and dangerous appeal.
Appeal in general, she corrected herself. Not appealing to her. Nope. Things only became complicated when there was a man in her life.
She placed a protective hand on her abdomen when Tripp’s frosty blue eyes assessed Hannah with an expression she couldn’t define. It seemed the man was constantly sizing her up and each time she fell short.
“Coffee, Tripp?” Rue asked.
He held up a hand. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Horses. Horses. Horses,” Clementine chanted. She jumped up from her chair.
“Hold it right there,”