Caught Up in a Cowboy, page 5
Max grinned up at him, his eyes bright behind his round glasses. “Hiya, Rock. Are you gonna be a pirate today?”
Rock chuckled. “Nope. Gonna be a cowboy.”
“Too bad. You made a pretty good pirate.”
He liked this kid. Squinting one eye closed, he did his best pirate imitation. “Thanks, matey. But I’m afraid I’m in trouble with the captain, and she’s gonna make me walk the plank.”
Max giggled and climbed over the bench seat of the picnic table. “You’re weird. But funny.”
“Yeah, he’s funny all right,” Quinn muttered as she took a seat next to her son.
Rock slid in next to her, lowering his voice and resting a hand on the small of her back. “You think maybe we can have a parley?” he asked, referencing the pirate term for truce. “If I tell you I’m real sorry and promise to swab the decks?”
“Fine, but you have to stop talking like a pirate.” Their legs were pressed next to each other, and Quinn discreetly slid an inch away, just enough that their thighs were no longer touching. She also removed his hand from her back. “And don’t even think about touching my booty.”
He chuckled, okay with the directive, for now. As long as she was talking to him again. Although he’d had plenty of thoughts the last few days about touching her booty, and all the rest of her.
Before he could come up with a clever response, Ham stood up at the head of the table and held out his hands, signaling the group to quiet down for the blessing.
Rock held out his hand to Quinn, who grimaced as if it had cooties, but took it anyway.
He tried to focus on Hamilton’s prayer, but all he could think about was the fact that he was holding her hand, the weight of it comfortable and familiar in his. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckle.
“Amen.”
“Amen,” she said, pulling her hand away and avoiding his gaze as she focused on helping Max with his plate.
Rock picked up the potato salad and dropped a spoonful on his plate. That was okay. At least he’d made progress, and it felt like they were back on good terms again. Tentative good terms, but good terms nonetheless.
He’d earned a smile, and that was enough for him.
* * *
Quinn let the lasso fly, and the loop sailed through the air and landed perfectly around the calf’s neck.
Her heart raced as she tightened her grip, pulling the rope taut as she sprinted toward the calf and wrestled him to the ground.
There was a certain rush to roping a calf, from the skilled precision of the lassoing to the physical contest of wrangling it off its feet. Her dad had taught her and her brother to rope when they were little, and they were both proficient.
Her skills were a little rusty, since she didn’t find a lot of use for roping anymore, but it was fun to participate in the annual branding ceremony.
And it was a ceremony, complete with the time-honored traditions of having a big meal together first, then setting up the branding pot and having a round of cigars while the branding irons heated.
A lot of ranches were using chutes to brand, but Hamilton Rivers wasn’t big on change and liked the traditional ways of doing things. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” was a common quote heard from his mouth.
Unless the new way saved him money, then he was much more amenable to a change.
Quinn sometimes liked the old ways too. There was something comforting about keeping to tradition, to teaching her son methods of doing things that her dad had taught her, and his dad had taught him as well.
She’d be fine if they let go of the cigar part of the tradition—although she might miss the sweet tobacco scent mingled with the propane and smoke that was all part of branding day.
And the scent of tobacco was preferable to the stench that the brand gave off when it hit the calf’s skin.
They had a system, and everyone had different jobs. She and Colt roped while Logan and Mason did most of the wrestling and holding the calf down while it was vaccinated, branded, and sometimes castrated. Ham and a couple of the hired men did most of that, and Vivi ran the branding station, keeping the irons hot and refilling syringes with vaccine.
They’d all done this together for the past few years and knew the system. Except for Rock. He was usually still playing this time of year and hadn’t been home for a branding in years. And not since the two ranches had started working together.
Vivienne had assigned him to do the vaccinations, a job that still required some strength and skill, but wouldn’t put as much of a physical strain on his already bruised and beaten body.
But she’d never known Rock to do things the easy way, and he was right in the thick of things—working next to his brothers and hers, doing the vaccinations, plus slinging rope and wrestling calves.
As much as she tried to ignore him, Quinn seemed to be aware of him everywhere he went—whether he was across the corral helping Mason or kneeling next to her, vaccinating the calf she’d just roped. His presence alone added another layer to the day, and detracted from the concentration she needed to do the job.
It was enough to keep an eye on Max, who was either running around with the dogs, reading a book, or advising Vivienne about how to fill the syringes with the exact amount of medicine.
He approached her now, running toward her, a rock held out in his hand. “Mom, check this out.”
“Max, get back!” she yelled just a second too late.
Chapter 5
Quinn’s warning came too late as Max charged toward her.
He knew better, but the excitement of whatever he’d discovered obviously outweighed his caution. He plowed forward, not paying attention to the calf on the ground in front of her, or maybe he saw it and subconsciously thought it was already tied and secure.
Regardless of what he was thinking, the calf’s feet were still loose, and one of them shot out, connecting squarely with Max’s thigh and knocking the boy to the ground.
His eyes went round, filling with tears as he cried out.
Quinn let the calf go, racing the loose length of rope as she ran to where Max had fallen.
Rock had been closer, and he was already picking the boy up and setting him on his feet. “You all right there, buddy?”
Max nodded, swallowing back the tears and rubbing at his leg.
“You gotta watch out for these damn little boogers. You get too close, they’ll git ya,” Rock said, patting the boy on the shoulder.
“You sure you’re okay?” Quinn asked, falling to her knees in front of Max and throwing her arms around his small shoulders.
Only the slightest tremble indicated his fright as he gave her a tight squeeze, then let her go. “I’m okay, Mom. I got too close, and the damn little booger got me.”
She raised an eyebrow at Rock, who was stifling a laugh.
“I see. Well, I’d prefer that you not swear, but in this instance, I’ll allow it. Don’t make it a habit.” She held back a grin, but it faded when she saw the bloody scrapes on his palms. “Let’s go in the house and get you cleaned up.”
“Quinn, we need you over here,” her dad called.
He must not have seen Max get kicked. Or maybe he had and didn’t think it was that bad. Hamilton Rivers was the kind of dad who thought skinned knees and bruises were part of the learning process and frequently told his kids to “buck up” and “shake it off.”
“I can take him in,” Rock offered.
Quinn lifted her head, searching Rock’s face to see if he was serious.
“What? I have two younger brothers. I can handle some antiseptic spray and a Band-Aid,” he assured her.
“Okay, but I’ll come in with you for a second. Just to take a look at his leg.”
Rock leaned down, offering the boy a ride on his back, and Max climbed up, clinging to his shoulders.
The main bathroom in the house didn’t seem that small until she was crowded into it with her son and the muscled bulk of Rockford James.
He set Max down on the counter and turned on the water. “Run your hands under there to wash the dirt off them,” he instructed the boy while Quinn rummaged through the medicine cabinet and pulled out a tube of antibiotic ointment and a box of Band-Aids.
She pulled off Max’s cowboy boots and stood him on the toilet seat.
“Mo-om,” he said, pushing her hands away as she reached for his jeans.
She pulled back, surprised by her son’s sudden modesty. “Sorry. I just want to check your leg.”
Max glanced up at Rock, who gave him a nod and turned his back, giving the boy some privacy.
Quinn gasped at the red bruise that had already formed. He was small for his age, and his thigh looked pale and thin against the fist-sized bruise.
Rock turned around and peered down at it. “Oh yeah.” He offered Max a manly grunt and held up his hand for a high-five. “That’s a good ’un.”
Max responded with a brave grin and smacked Rock’s outstretched hand.
“I’m going to get you a pair of shorts. And an ice pack,” she said, fleeing into the hall so Max wouldn’t see her cry. She closed her eyes and pressed her hands to her lips, swallowing the emotion of seeing the ugly bruise on her little boy’s skin.
“Just a sec,” she heard Rock say, then felt him step out of the bathroom and pull her against him in a hug.
His voice was soft as he whispered close to her ear. “He’s okay. I looked at it. It’s just a bruise. It’s a good one, but the skin’s not torn or scratched. He’ll be all right.”
She clung to him, letting herself take comfort in his strong embrace for just a moment before she pushed back and swiped the tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand. Taking a deep breath, she pulled herself together. “Thank you. I’m fine. Just give me a minute.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, just keep him company a second while I grab him some other clothes.”
“No problem.”
He turned and stepped back into the bathroom, and she hurried to Max’s room.
Returning a few minutes later with a first aid gel pack from the freezer and a pair of soft, cotton shorts, she sucked in her breath at the sight of Rock standing in the bathroom with his shirt pulled up as he showed Max the colorful array of bruises that covered his back.
Dang, but that guy did have some serious muscles. And rock-hard abs.
The bruises on his back tore at her heart, not in quite the same way Max’s had, but she hated to think of Rock being hurt.
She handed Max the shorts, and he pulled them on. “Why don’t you stay inside for a bit?”
“Ahh. But Grandpa needs us.”
Ham had spent the last week talking about how important today was, and Max had obviously taken his grandfather’s words to heart.
“He can get along without us for a little while.”
“Why don’t you go?” Rock offered. “Ham’s gonna be expecting you to come back, but he doesn’t care one way or the other if I’m there. I can stay inside with Max.”
She gazed up at him and noticed for the first time the weariness around his eyes. It was hard to imagine Rock as anything but the strong, capable man she’d always known him to be, but he had taken a major hit a few days ago and had a severe enough concussion that his coach had sent him home.
Maybe this would make Rock take it easy without making him admit that he might be tired.
“Maybe you could read him a few books and keep the ice pack on his leg,” she suggested, then lowered her voice. “Get him to lie down for a bit without using the word ‘nap.’”
“Sure. I can do that.” He lifted Max and carried him out of the bathroom. The boy looked small against Rock’s well-built frame. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine.”
She hesitated for a moment, weighing her decision to leave Max after he just got hurt with facing her dad’s annoyance and condescension about her babying her son too much. “I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.”
But Max didn’t seem concerned. Rock had set him down, and Max was already pulling him by the hand toward his room and telling him he knew exactly which books he wanted him to read.
* * *
Rock grinned as Max gave him a tour of his room, pointing out practically every toy he owned and every odd piece of junk he had collected and the significance behind it.
“And this is the rock that I found when we were on a hike a few weeks ago. I think it has a fossil in it.” Max handed it to Rock, who peered down at it and declared that it was indeed a fossil.
“Isn’t that cool?” Max said, putting the rock back and moving on to the next thing. “And this is my bank. See, it has three sections, one for saving, one for spending, and one for givin’ to the church. When I get my allowance or birthday money, I split it up and put some in each section.” The piggy bank was clear and shaped like three little buildings, a home, a bank, and a steepled church. Coins and bills partially filled all three sections.
Rock admired his dedication. “What are you saving for?”
The boy scratched his head and pushed his glasses back up his nose. “I’m not a hundred percent sure. I was saving for a bike, but I got a really neat one for my birthday, so now I’m either saving for this new Star Wars LEGO set or a Disgusting Science Kit.”
This kid cracked him up. “What’s a Disgusting Science Kit?”
“It’s like this kit that you can use to do experiments, like grow your own germs, or you can make stuff too, like fake snot.”
He chuckled. “That does sound disgusting.”
“I know.” Max grinned and finished the circuit of his room, then grabbed three books from his bookshelf. “Wanna read these? They’re my favorites.”
“Sure.”
Max’s twin bed sat in the corner of the room, and Rock sat down, taking a second to prop up the pillow, then leaned back against the headboard. Max climbed in next to him and snuggled against his arm.
Dang if he wasn’t a cute little bugger.
Rock positioned the gel pack across Max’s small leg, then peered down at the books. “Dinosaurs, a wizard kid, or time travelers. Which one should we read?”
Max arranged the books in a pile, then pointed to the one on top. “This one first, then the others.”
This one first? How long was this kid planning on him staying? All night?
“So, is this one of the books your dad reads to you?”
Ah, crap. Where the heck had that come from? He had no idea why he had just asked that and felt like a total shit as he witnessed the instant change in Max.
The boy stilled, his whole body transforming. His shoulders shrunk inward, and his spine went slack. His voice was soft as he answered, “No. My dad doesn’t read books to me. He doesn’t do anything with me.”
“Do you ever get to see him?” He said the words before he could stop himself. He wished he could take it back, but now that the door was open, there was no closing it.
“No. I don’t ever see him. I’ve never even met him.” His gaze stayed focused on his lap, and he picked at a seam on his shorts. “Sometimes I like to imagine that he’s a soldier in the army or maybe a spy. So then, the reason he is gone and doesn’t come around is ’cause he’s fighting for our country or saving us from terrorists. Like ’cause he’s a hero, ya know?”
Physical pain tore at his heart, and Rock wanted to scoop Max into his arms and protect him from the assholes of the world. Like assholes who got teenage girls pregnant then walked out on them, and like the deadbeats who walked away from their kids, from their responsibilities as men.
But he couldn’t say that—couldn’t take away from the hope this sweet kid was holding on to. “Maybe he is.”
“Did you know my dad?”
Rock shook his head. “No, not really. I knew who he was. I played a little football for my high school, just to stay in shape for hockey, and our schools played ball against each other, so I knew who he was, but I didn’t really know him.”
What he did know of the guy was that he had a reputation as a bully and a troublemaker. He knew he’d been in some trouble with the law, even as a teenager, and that he liked to pick on guys smaller than him.
And he definitely wasn’t a hero.
He wished he could get Monty Hill on the field against him now—or better yet, across the ice. He’d give whole new meaning to dropping the gloves and taking that guy out.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do a damn thing.
Except wonder what the heck Quinn could have been thinking when she hooked up with a guy like him.
The familiar anger churned through his gut. It happened every time he thought about Quinn with someone else, especially a loser like Hill. And knowing that Hill had hurt her, and he couldn’t do a thing about it, made the fury ten times worse.
If he were being honest, he knew that some of that anger was aimed at himself.
He’d hurt Quinn first—when he’d left her behind. Hell, he’d practically driven her into the loser’s arms.
He couldn’t blame her. She’d been young, and the guy she’d thought she trusted had just let her down. No wonder she’d fallen victim to a chump like Hill.
There was nothing he could do about it now. Hill was gone, but Quinn and Max were still here.
All he could do was try to prove to Quinn that he was here now, that he wanted to be her friend again. Maybe wanted to be more than friends again.
A niggling thought whispered inside of his brain that he wasn’t here for her. He was here now, but he was leaving again, as soon as his coach called him back to the team.
That thought caused his head to pound, so he pushed it away and focused instead on the little boy who curled against his arm, waiting for him to read a story.
“So, you say this book has some time travelers in it? That sounds cool.”
Max tipped his head up and grinned at Rock. “Yeah, it is. They go to different places in every book, and they’re funny.”
