Cowboy in Charge by Barbara White Daille

she couldn’t do that. “We’re taking a walk to SugarPie’s.”
    “Are you up for it?”
    “I’ll have to be. I’m going a little stir-crazy here.” She hesitated. “What brought you back again?”
    He hefted the duffel bag she hadn’t noticed he was carrying. “I changed my mind. If the offer’s still open, I’ll take you up on washing some of my T-shirts.” Before she could answer, he had stepped inside and set the bag on the floor beside the couch.
    She had already finished the load of shirts, but she had plenty of other laundry to do. And she had also acknowledged that she needed to pay him back for his help. “Yes, the offer’s open. But the kids are ready to go. If you can handle the washer on your own, feel free—”
    “No problem. We can run the load when we get back.” He plucked the handle of the carrier from her arm.
    “You don’t need to go—”
    “Jason come, too?” Scott asked.
    “Yes,” he said firmly, “Jason come, too. We didn’t have dessert after lunch, did we?”
    Scott laughed, shaking his head. “ De-e-e . Didn’t have dessert.”
    “I think we need some, don’t you?”
    “Yes!”
    Swallowing a protest, she followed them both from the apartment. She owed Jason for the groceries, and he had insisted on paying for lunch, too. The least she could do was take care of dessert.
    She gestured to the carriage sitting just outside the door. “I was going to put Jill in this.”
    “Got it.”
    By the time she locked the door, Jason had tucked Jill into the carriage and he and Scott had started off in the direction of Canyon Road, Cowboy Creek’s main street. Scott walked beside Jason with one hand on the handle of the carriage.
    With Jason shortening his steps to match her son’s, she easily caught up to them.
    They walked along together as if they were simply out for their usual stroll. Half of her wanted to believe in the fantasy. The other half of her wanted to call off this trip—this farce—and go home.
    The afternoon sun was strong enough to combat the January chill in the air. It just couldn’t do much about the shiver running through her. She crossed her arms over her chest and kept moving.
    “You cold?” Jason asked. He wore no jacket, just the T-shirt he’d put on that morning.
    “I’m fine,” she said. It was partly true. Whether her reaction had come from pleasure or apprehension, she certainly wouldn’t admit either possibility to Jason.
    What she should do was tell him to turn the carriage over to her and then go on his way. She didn’t want him getting more involved with her children. Considering their history, anyone would understand her feelings. And yet there were things she did want that didn’t make any sense.
    “I’d forgotten how quiet it is in Cowboy Creek,” he said.
    Not a car came down the side street, not a pedestrian walked in sight. Not even a dog barked anywhere within hearing.
    “That’s why I like this neighborhood. It’s quiet. Safe for the kids.”
    “You’ve lived here for a while.”
    He made it a statement, not a question, but she knew what he was asking. And what was the point of hiding the truth? “Just since my second divorce.” She looked sideways at him. “Where’s home for you nowadays?”
    “I don’t have a home.” She caught the bitterness in his tone. Then he laughed, and she realized she must have been mistaken. “Unless you call a bunkhouse full of cowboys a home.”
    “I suppose it is, if that’s where you sleep every night.”
    He glanced at her as if he suspected a double meaning from the comment. When she said nothing else, he shrugged. “To tell the truth, over the past few years, I’ve probably slept in my truck more than I have in the bunkhouse.”
    Scott gasped. “Go to sleep in a truck ?”
    “I sure do,” he confirmed.
    “Mommy, I can have a truck, too?”
    “I don’t think so, honey. It wouldn’t fit in your bedroom. And where would we put Jill’s crib?”
    “In my truck