Cowboy In Charge

Let him deal with her just the way she was now. It served him right for showing up unannounced after all this time.

She wasn’t about to recall the way her heart had pounded and her head had swum and a tremor had run through her when she had opened the door to find him standing in the hallway. They were all simply reactions to the flu—and anyone could have passed out after getting hit with all those symptoms.

She also wasn’t about to dwell on the past or worry about the intervening years or feel embarrassed by what had happened just a few minutes ago. She was going to get rid of Jason. Again. And hope this time he stayed gone.

As she turned to leave the bathroom, Scott began to yell. “Help! Help! You’re not my daddy! Leave my sister alone!”

Every single word he screeched made her heart sink faster. She hurried down the hall and burst into the living room.

The baby lay in her playpen on the opposite side of the room, closer to the kitchen. Her beet-red face and gleaming eyes were sure signs she had woken up cranky and crying.

And, lost in thought, her mommy hadn’t heard a peep.

Scott had taken a stance with his back to the playpen and his arms outstretched toward Jason as if holding a wild animal at bay. Jason stood a couple of feet from him, his hands patting the air presumably to calm her son.

Fighting another wave of dizziness, she put her hand on the door frame. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

Chapter Two

Jason froze. Wasn’t it bad enough to have the kid yelling and fending him off as if he were a tiger ready to pounce? He didn’t need Layne standing there looking at him as if she considered him something much worse.

With a jerky movement, he showed her the yellow plastic pacifier he was holding. “I didn’t know how long you’d be, and she looked like she was getting ready to start bawling up a storm again.”

“Again?”

Confusion replaced her rebellious tone, making him swallow his irritation. She must not have recovered from her earlier fainting spell as completely as he’d thought she had. He nodded. “She was crying when I carried you in here and going even stronger when you bolted.”

“Oh.” Still looking shaky, she started across the room.

“Sit on the couch. I’ll bring the baby to you.”

When he moved forward, the boy tensed. “You’re not my—”

“It’s okay, Scott,” Layne said quickly.

“But Miss Rhea says—”

“I know. But I’m right here, and I know this man.”

Still eyeing him suspiciously, the kid stepped aside. “Okay. We can have soup now? I’m hungry.”

The baby let out another screech. Jason put the pacifier in her mouth and bent over to lift her, supporting her head with one hand the way he’d seen Greg do with his daughter. Good thing he had. She couldn’t have weighed much more than a kitten, but she was twice as wiggly and not nearly as cute with that red, wrinkled face. Sort of like her mama right now.

He’d think about that—and worry about whose kid she was—later. Layne looked ready to drop again, but if he didn’t move soon, she would probably refuse to wait until he carried the baby over to her. He hurried across the room. “Sit,” he said gruffly. “You don’t want to take the chance of standing with her and passing out a second time, do you?”

She sank to the couch and took the baby from him. The girl immediately stopped crying and nuzzled the front of Layne’s robe like a calf looking for her mama’s milk.

“What’s that about soup?” he asked.

“That’s okay. I’ll get it in a minute.”

“Mommy, I’m hung-ry,” the boy called. He still stood near the playpen as if he were afraid to get closer.

“You’re not the only one, honey.” The baby nuzzled again, and Layne raised her hand to her robe.

“Hey.” He backed a step. “I’m just standing around taking up space. My cooking skills stretch as far as opening a can and putting a pot on the stove.”

“Thanks,” she said stiffly, “but we’ll do just fine on our own. I hate to ask you to leave...”

I want you to go. Her eyes, looking like a couple of cold blue stones, got her point across as loud and clear and emphatically as her words had done a few years ago. Then, he had turned and walked out. Because he’d been a complete ass. Not without provocation, however. Seeing his packed bags at the front doorstep when he got home had warned him what to expect. Layne’s response when he’d entered the apartment had underscored the message.

“Mo-mmy.”

She looked past him to the boy and then back again. Now her gaze didn’t quite meet his. “All right. The soup’s not from a can. It’s homemade. And the bowl is on the top shelf of the fridge.” The baby let out a screech.

He half turned to the boy. “Come on, pardner, let’s go get you some supper.”

The boy looked at his mama, who offered him a nod of encouragement. Then he gave Jason a long, frowning look. “Okay,” he said finally, his brow clearing. Getting that seal of approval made Jason stand taller. “Soup for Scott for supper.”

“Yeah. Show me the way to the kitchen.” The boy took off at a trot past the playpen. Jason’s boots pounded against the bare flooring as he followed at almost the same speed. He sure didn’t want to be around to watch Layne taking care of the baby.

Red nose, rumpled hair and bloodshot eyes aside, she was still the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Seeing any more of her as she opened her robe would only stir up memories best tucked away for good.

He found the soup where she’d directed and snagged a pot from the cabinet the boy pointed out to him.

“I help.” His designated assistant...his son walked him through finding cups and bowls and spoons.

In amazement, Jason watched the little guy. Once that front door had opened, events had moved too rapidly for him to take everything in. Now the situation hit him and, for a minute, his legs threatened to go out from under him the way Layne’s had.

Back in Dallas, his thoughts had been on making sure the boy was okay, that Layne was taking proper care of him and not just shutting him out of her life, shunting him to a sitter. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d convinced himself that having this confirmation would help make up for his own shortcomings.

Now he was home again and standing in an apartment not unlike the one he and Layne had shared when they got married. And he was getting supper ready...with his son.

His legs felt shaky again.

“I get napkins,” the boy said.

“Sounds good.”

He watched the child move around the room, seeming confident for a kid his age. That was the difference between being taught to be independent and having it forced on you, overwhelming you with the effort needed to survive. Assuming Layne had instilled that confidence in the boy, he gave her a lot of credit.

They set the table together. The room was filled with the sounds of spoons clanking against the table and the smell of chicken broth wafting from the pot on the stove. He wondered if someone had brought the soup over for Layne. Maybe she had made it herself. If so, she had turned into more of a homebody than she’d been when they had gotten married. Back then, they had stayed too busy in the bedroom to give her a chance to develop much skill in the kitchen.

Other memories he would do better to tuck away.

Scott stood looking at the almost neatly laid table. He frowned. “We can eat supper on the couch? And watch TV?”

“I don’t know about that. Your mama and your sister have taken over those seats right now.” Recalling the words the boy had screeched at him made him wince. He knew the worries the kid would have, thanks to what Miss Rhea—whoever she was—had taught him. Understandably, he’d feel nervous, especially after watching a man he’d never before seen carry his mama into the apartment, and then seeing her run away. No wonder he was worried about that same man going near his baby sister.

Keeping an eye out for strangers had been one of the first things he’d learned as a child, and since then, the world had become a much scarier place. He didn’t know how Layne took care of the kids by herself.

If she was on her own. There was the infant to account for, after all.

But if she had a man in her life, surely as sick as she was and with two babies to care for, the guy wouldn’t have gone off and left—

He shoved the rest of the thought aside before it could take root in his mind.

What a jackass he’d once been. What a predicament he was in now.

This extended reunion had derailed his plan to take care of business and move on. Instead, he needed to take charge.

* * *

SHE HADN’T EXPECTED Jason to put on enough soup for all three of them, but he announced he had done exactly that. And when Scott came to take her hand to lead her to the kitchen, she couldn’t say no. To tell the truth, with nothing in her stomach, she needed the nourishment, needed to get her strength back so she could take care of the kids and get Jason out of her life again.

Their awkward dinner would have taken place in near-silence if not for her son’s chatter all through the meal and dessert.

She focused on getting her few spoonfuls of soup to her mouth without spilling anything...and on trying to keep her gaze on her soup bowl and away from her ex. And failing miserably. Every time he walked away from the table, she couldn’t help sneaking a peek, couldn’t help watching the way his muscles flexed beneath his gray T-shirt as he reached for dishes from the cabinet and the way his faded jeans pulled tight when he leaned down to pull the container of milk from the refrigerator.

When Scott had finished eating, Jason rose and began gathering up the dishes. He had taken control of her tiny kitchen and, worse, dominated her space. She was finding it hard to breathe, let alone keep her head upright. “Leave the dishes, please,” she said. “I can take care of them.”

“I don’t think so.”

He locked gazes with her. She managed to take a steadying breath and turn to Scott. “Honey, how about you go and get into your jammies for Mommy?”

“No, Mommy. I play with cars. Please?”

She smiled. “Well, we’ll see. But jammies first. They’re on your bed. You go get started, okay?”

He slid from his booster chair and left the room.

Slowly, she turned to face her ex-husband again. He had set the dishes in the sink. Hips settled back against the counter, he stood with his arms crossed and his biceps bulging against his T-shirt sleeves and his frown looking too much like Scott’s for her liking. This situation was all too much for her and had been from the moment she had seen him standing in her hallway.

“Jason.” Anger at him and irritation at herself made her hiss his name. “Just who do you think you are to tell me what I can and can’t do in my own kitchen?”

“Just the guy who carried you back into the house after you passed out.”

“It was only for a second. You told me that yourself.”

“I lied.”

Her breath caught. “Why?”

“The baby was wailing and the boy looked scared to death and you sure didn’t seem in any shape for more bad news at that moment. The moment right before you ran off to toss your cookies. Remember that?”

“Yes,” she snapped. She appreciated that he had been there at the time, but she didn’t like having to feel grateful to him for anything. She didn’t want to feel anything for him at all. “Then, thank you for carrying me in and taking care of supper. But I’m fine now. You can go.”

He opened his arms wide, unknowingly allowing her a look at well-defined pecs and six-pack abs. He gestured around the room. “You’re on the verge of collapse, and you expect me to leave you by yourself with two kids? What kind of man would that make me?”

“As far as I recall, the same kind who walked out when I was pregnant with one of those kids.”

A muscle in his jaw worked hard, telling her he was having trouble holding back another response. The sight made her uneasy, not out of fear of him but from her memories of past fights. No matter how often they argued, he had almost always been better at hanging on to his anger than she had.

“You refused to talk to me,” he said finally, his tone harsh but even. “And you kicked me out. Have you got a recollection of that day, too?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “I remember it very well.”

“Great. Then remember this, too. I didn’t drop in only to say hello. I...I want to talk with you. But that can wait until you’re feeling better again. I’ll go. As soon as you call someone and they show up to stay with you.” He crossed his arms again. “Dammit, Layne, you always were the most stubborn...”

It was his turn to take a deep breath. She bit her lip to keep from responding.

“Look,” he continued, “you could barely handle the baby when she started squirming. And you were hanging on to the kitchen table with one hand while you stood up to strap her into her seat. You want to risk a serious accident while you’re alone with the kids?”

She flushed. “Of course not.”

“Then—”

“I don’t have anyone to call.”

“The baby’s daddy—”

“He’s not in the picture,” she said shortly.

She could see him hesitate, as if her admission had thrown him. But he simply said, “What about your brother?”

“No. Cole’s the best man in a wedding, and tonight’s the rehearsal dinner. Everybody I know is involved one way or another in prepping for the wedding. Or they’re working. That’s where I would have been, too, if I hadn’t called in sick.”

“You have a job, along with taking care of two kids?”

She nodded. “I waitress at SugarPie’s.” She had started working at the small sandwich shop in the center of town after Jason had left. “Which means they’re shorthanded without me there now, too.”

“Well, that settles it.” He returned to his seat across from her at the table and leaned forward until they were almost nose to nose. “You’ve got yourself an overnight guest.”

“No. I’ll find someone else to help me out.” Anyone else. She shot to her feet to stare him down. The defiant movement did her in. Light-headed, she staggered, then struggled to regain her balance. The small amount of soup she had eaten churned in her stomach. With one hand over her mouth, she fled from the room.

Even as she hurried toward the bathroom, she frantically ran down a mental list of all her friends. Surely she could find one person who wasn’t working and would come to her rescue.

Because Jason couldn’t stay here all night.

* * *

LAYNE AWOKE WITH a start to find she still held the cordless phone. Frantically, she looked around the living room. The baby lay asleep in the playpen. Scott sprawled on the floor with his toy cars spread out around him.

Across from her, Jason sat in one of the overstuffed armchairs. He was flipping through a newspaper but looked up as soon as she shifted upright. “You went out like a TV with its plug yanked from the socket,” he told her.

“Sorry.” Her voice cracked. She prayed the dry spot in her throat wasn’t the beginning of strep. The flu symptoms were enough to deal with. “How long was I asleep?”

“About an hour.”

While he sat there and did her job, watching over her kids.

Sighing, she turned her attention to her son. “Bedtime, Scott.”

He frowned. “No, Mommy. I play with cars. Look, my race cars.” He pointed to a sheet of cardboard propped up by some of his plastic blocks that seemed to be serving as a motorway for his entire auto collection. At that moment, she didn’t have the energy to argue, and an extra half hour or so of playtime wouldn’t hurt him.

What hurt her was having to see Scott and his daddy together.

“Very nice,” she managed. “Did you do that all by yourself?”

“No. Jason maked it.”

“Oh.” She looked at her ex. “Between getting supper and overseeing road construction, you seem to have maked yourself right at home.”

“You’ll thank me for that once I’ve gone and maked you a cup of tea for that throat.”

He laughed, and the sound did things to her insides that had nothing to do with the flu. She crossed her arms over her chest, fighting a sudden shiver she couldn’t blame on her illness, either. He frowned, and once again the resemblance to Scott made her breath catch. Over the years, she had tried not to notice the likenesses between her son and Jason. But seeing the two of them together only made the similarities between them undeniable.

Having the man right here in front of her only reinforced too many memories that had never completely faded.

“Have you got symptoms of anything else I should know about, besides flu?” he asked. “Judging by the way you crashed, I already suspect you’ve got sleeping sickness, too.”

“Not that. At least, not yet. The only other thing I’ve got is called middle-of-the-night nursing fatigue. And of course, just generally being a mom.” She swallowed, wincing at the dryness of her throat.

He rose. “I’ll take care of that tea. How do you drink it?”

“Milk, no sugar,” she said. As unhappy as accepting his offer made her feel, at this moment, she needed the warmth and comfort of the drink more than she needed control of the situation.

She ought to push him, to find out why he was here, to ask why he suddenly had something to say to her after all these years. At the reminder of his flat statement, uneasiness ran through her. But she just couldn’t face interrogating him right now. Her head was swimming and her eyes felt watery, and the chills—a brand-new symptom—couldn’t be a good sign at all, no matter whether they stemmed from her illness or her ex.

Jill continued to sleep peacefully and Scott sat engrossed in his car race. She took the opportunity to rest her eyes again until she heard the sound of the kettle whistling.

When Jason returned to the living room, he set two steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table.

“Jason, help,” her son called. She looked in his direction and saw the cardboard raceway had slid from its supporting blocks and lay flat on the rug.

Jason went down on one knee beside Scott. Their matching expressions of concentration as they surveyed the fallen raceway shouted the fact they were father and son.

The observation made her throat tighten to the point of dry painfulness again. She grabbed the mug of tea. The warmth stung her mouth but soothed her throat and eased her chills. By the time Jason came back to take his seat, she had pulled herself together. Mostly.

“Any luck with your calls?”

She shook her head. Before falling asleep, she had contacted everyone she could think of who might be able to help her tonight. She was reluctant to admit defeat, but what else could she do? Besides, though she had heard dishes clattering and water running in the background while she made the calls, in this small apartment chances were good he had overheard almost all of her conversations.

“My options were limited,” she confessed. “Most of the people I know are either attending the rehearsal dinner or involved in setting up for the wedding. Another few have plans for the night, and the rest have the flu bug themselves.” She slumped back against the couch.

She would never admit it to him, but all the phone calls had worn her out. Of course, he had probably caught on to that by now, too. How could she have fallen asleep? She bit her lip and winced as the skin burned. Probably a sign of dehydration.

What else could go wrong tonight?

Jason stared at her over the rim of his tea mug. “I’m staying,” he announced.

Chapter Three

The bull bearing down on him let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Jason jolted awake, jumped up from his seat in the armchair, cracked his shin against the coffee table and tripped over his boots, all at the speed of light. Another scream later, he made the connection between the onrushing bull and the baby down the hall.

He stumbled toward the bedroom Layne’s kids shared. The glow of the night-light she had turned on showed him the way. But who needed a night-light when the high-pitched cries left no doubt about the right direction.

Scott lay curled up in a ball on the bed, apparently oblivious to the noise. His sister flailed her arms and legs and continued to scream, her face beet red in stark contrast to the pale yellow crib sheet.

He lifted the wriggling mass of baby. Afraid he would drop her, he brought her against his chest. She hiccupped a few times, then started rubbing her cheek against his shirt.

No way. He knew the game she wanted to play, and he didn’t have the right equipment.

Reluctantly, he left the room and headed down the hall.

By now, he expected to see Layne coming to meet him, but there was no sign of her. He frowned. Considering what he’d heard about most new mothers, she would have to be comatose not to respond to her baby’s screams.

He hovered in the doorway of her room. When he’d announced he was staying, he had expected a scream from her, too, or at least a healthy protest. Her sighing acceptance and quick disappearance into her room after she’d put the kids to bed surprised him. They were also sure signs of how sick she must feel.

Her bedside clock read 2:38 a.m.

He hated having to wake her, but he had a hunch the baby’s screams had halted only temporarily, and when they started up again, he would be in a worse predicament than he was now.

“Layne?” he said from the doorway.

She didn’t move.

“Hey, Layne. The baby’s hungry.” And needing a change, judging by the warm weight of the pajama-clad bottom against his palm.

No sign of movement across the room. He went to the bed, then rested his hand on her shoulder and shook gently. “Hey, babe... Layne. Hey, Layne, wake up.” Was that the sound of desperation in his voice? Over the suddenly renewed screams from the infant, he couldn’t tell.

Now she stirred, rolling over onto her back. The pink sleep T-shirt she’d worn to bed twisted across her chest, leaving the deep neckline askew and barely covering her. He averted his gaze and tried to soothe the squirming baby, who had begun wriggling and twisting against his chest.

In desperation, he clicked on the bedside lamp. “Layne, wake up.”

She blinked a few times. Squinting in the light, she shifted to a seated position and leaned against the headboard. She reached up to take the baby from him. “Oh-h-h,” she cooed to the child, “somebody needs a change.”

Her voice was low and sleep-sexy and made him think of things he needed, too. Another list of thoughts that were best forgotten. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

She didn’t answer immediately, and he knew she didn’t want to tell him the truth. “Awful,” she said finally. She gestured toward the dresser. “Can you toss me that baby blanket, please? And there’s a diaper bag on the shelf just inside the closet.”

He handed her the lightweight blanket and found the bag.

“Normally,” she murmured, her attention fixed on the baby, “I’m up and out of bed the second Jill lets out a cry. And now I didn’t even hear her wake up.”

“You’ve got reason.”

Still looking away, she nodded. “I have to admit, I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t here. Thank you.”

“No problem.” But there was a problem. What good was gratitude if she gave it grudgingly? If she couldn’t even look him in the face?

She finished diapering Jill and cuddled the baby to her. In a low voice, she asked, “Why are you here?”

And there was another problem.

He had been about to lean against the edge of the dresser. Her question made him freeze. He still couldn’t tell her the complete truth—not without the risk of having her kick him out again.

He told her a half-truth instead. “I wanted to see how things are going with you.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Why not? We’d been together for—”

“Jason,” she said quietly, “please don’t try that one on me.”