The Cowboy's Ideal Wife

Chapter One

Yance Culhane was in no hurry. It was after four, his day’s work was done, he’d just left the feed-and-grain store in Elk Creek, Wyoming—the small town in which he’d been born, raised and spent all of his thirty-eight years—and he was headed home. Rather than rushing, he was more interested in checking out the sky that was thick with gray, low-hanging clouds.

We’re in for a long, cold winter, he thought as he turned up the truck’s heater.

The temperature outside was below freezing, nearly all the autumn leaves were off the trees and the animals had thicker coats than usual—a sign to any rancher that a hard winter was ahead. But he and his brothers were ready for it. Clint, Cully and he had been running the family spread since their parents had turned it over to them and taken off for warmer climates more than fifteen years ago. But Yance wasn’t altogether happy with the prospect of another tough season ahead.

Ordinarily he looked forward to the cold months. He liked the snow. Liked being snug and warm in the house he’d shared with both of his brothers—until recently.

Now Clint was married to Savannah Heller, and they were living in her old house, remodeling it to update it and make it bigger for the baby that was due before long.

Cully and his wife, Savannah’s sister Ivey, were living at the Culhanes’ main house with Cully’s two young daughters, Amy and Randa, and altogether they were a complete family. A complete family that didn’t need an uncle hanging around. Yance felt like a fifth wheel.

So rather than looking ahead to spending a cold winter watching ball games or playing a couple of hands of poker with his brothers, or entertaining his nieces, Yance would be on his own; everybody seemed well taken care of and entertained without him.

Yance couldn’t help suffering a twinge of jealousy.

He hated feeling sorry for himself. Hated it with a passion.

But there it was. He felt sorry for himself. Sorry for all he’d lost and wished he could have back. And damn if those gray clouds didn’t seem like they were hanging around his head.

He tried to shake off the doldrums by reminding himself that he’d have plenty to keep him busy in the next six months. He was doing some remodeling work on what had been the original Culhane house next door to the newer one his father had built thirty years ago. The older home had been vacant for most of that time, so it almost needed to be rebuilt rather than remodeled. Then, when the place was finished—probably early in the spring—he’d move and leave the current house to Cully, Ivey and the girls. But in the meantime it wasn’t as if he didn’t have one hell of a project on his hands to occupy him.

It was just that it was always so blasted quiet over there....

Yance turned off onto the driveway that led up to both houses. But he looked beyond the white rail fence that lined the way, staring instead at the bright, warm glow of light coming through the windows of the newer house and then comparing it to the cold darkness of the older one that would be his.

Oh, yeah, he was having a pity party for himself, all right.

Knock it off, he ordered, disgusted.

He drove past both houses to the big barn behind them and backed the truck all the way through the great door that had been left open for his return. Once he was well ensconced in the center aisle of the barn—the feed passage—he turned off the engine and got out, pulling on his heavy leather gloves and shrugging off the thoughts and feelings he’d been having on the way home. He just wasn’t going to indulge them.

He rounded the truck and unlatched the tailgate, letting it lie flat so he could reach in to haul out one of the dozen sacks of pig chow that he’d loaded up in town.

That was when he saw that the pig chow wasn’t the only thing in the rear of his truck.

What the...?

Yance took a closer look to convince himself his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, that he really was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

A boy.

Huddled among the burlap bags of feed was a small boy.

Come out of there, son, he said. He didn’t have a clear enough view to tell who the boy was. Especially not when the child’s face was covered down to his brows by a stocking cap and from the chin up to just below his eyes with the collar of his coat, which warmed the air he’d been breathing out in the open truck bed.

I’m not your son, the boy said with a full measure of contrariness to go with the dark, under-the-brow scowl he leveled at Yance. I don’t got no dad. He died.

Between that statement and finally being able to see the boy’s face, light dawned for Yance.

Billy Dennehy, he muttered more to himself than to the child. That’s you, isn’t it, Billy? Come on out of there, he said in a softer tone. What’re you doin’ stowin’ away in my truck anyhow?

The boy reluctantly uncurled from among the feed sacks and walked to the end of the truck bed looking as fierce as a six-year-old could.

But fierce or not, when Yance got a closer look at him, what struck him was the fact that the boy was obviously colder than he should be. His cheeks and nose were so chilled they were nearly purple, and Yance could hear his teeth chattering two feet away. Regardless of what had prompted him to hide out in the back of the truck, Yance knew after just that one glance that the boy’s temperature had to be what he addressed first.

Let’s go get you warmed up, he said without preamble, grabbing Billy under the arms to lift him down.

Once the small feet were on the ground, Yance kept a hand on the boy’s shoulder to keep him from trying to run as he guided him toward the main house’s back door.

Despite so many lights being on downstairs, no one seemed to be around when Yance ushered Billy inside. But the big country kitchen they stepped into, with its birch cupboards, white tile floor and marble counter-tops, was plenty warm enough, and that was all Yance was interested in at the moment.

How’re your fingers and toes? he asked as he closed the door behind them.

Cold, Billy said as if any idiot should know that.

But are they hurtin’ any? Or are they numb?

Just cold.

Let me see you wiggle your fingers.

Billy held out his hands and obliged. When Yance was satisfied that the boy wasn’t frostbitten, he said, Okay. I want you to leave on your coat and hat until you aren’t feelin’ cold at all anymore. And how ’bout some hot chocolate to help warm you up from the inside, too?

Billy scowled and shrugged. It seemed to be as near to an affirmation as Yance was going to get, so he pointed to the stools at the breakfast bar and told the boy to climb onto one of them while he microwaved a cup of cocoa with marshmallows already in the mix—an overly sweet concoction that his nieces were fond of.

So what were you doin’ in my truck? he asked as he set the mug in front of Billy.

I’m goin’ to Cheyenne to be a bronc buster and never go home again. Did I get there?

Sorry, Yance said as if he really was. We’re only about ten minutes out of Elk Creek, at my ranch, which is a pretty far piece from Cheyenne.

Oh.

You know who I am?

I think you’re Yance Culhane, Billy said. You’re one of my dad’s friends. But my dad died, he repeated.

I know that. And it’s a sad and sorry thing, Yance allowed.

If we aren’t in Cheyenne now, could you take me there to be a bronc buster?

I don’t think so. Not without your mom givin’ us the go-ahead first.

She won’t.

Probably some good reasons why not.

‘Cause she’s mean, and she don’t know nothin’ ‘bout nothin’, that’s why.

Hmm. She’s hard on you, is she?

If my dad was here, he’d take me.

To Cheyenne to be a bronc buster instead of makin’ you stay home and go to school? Think so? Yance asked conversationally and without any condescension to his tone.

But Billy just scowled at him anyway and took a sip of his hot chocolate.

Feelin’ warmer?

Another shrug and Billy’s pulling off his stocking cap were his only answers.

You know I’m gonna have to call your mom, let her know where you are, that you’re all right.

Call my granddad instead. He’ll come and get me.

Your granddad in Arizona? Where you and your mom and your brother and sisters have been livin’ for the last year?

Billy nodded vigorously.

Arizona is even farther away than Cheyenne. I don’t think it would do any good to call your granddad to come and get you. We’re just gonna have to call your mom, Yance said with authority.

He crossed to the wall phone, keeping an eye on the little boy the whole time in case he opted for running, altering his gaze only long enough to dial. He didn’t have to look up the number for the Dennehy residence. He still knew it by heart even though he hadn’t used it in the year since Bucky’s death from a sudden heart attack. But before that he’d called Bucky often enough to have memorized it. Like most of the thirty-something male contingent in Elk Creek, they had been friends. Good friends.

The phone only rang twice before a little girl answered. Since Yance couldn’t tell whether it was April or Ashley, Bucky’s daughters, he merely asked for her mom.

"She’s not here right now—oops, I’m not supposed to say that. I’m supposed to say she can’t come to the phone and ask if I could take a message. Could I take a message?"

This is pretty important, and I need to talk to her. Can you tell me where she is?

Looking for my brother.

Your brother Billy? Yance asked. Her other brother, and the last of the Dennehy children, was five-year-old Nic.

Yes, my brother Billy. Suspicion crept into her tone.

Well, this is Yance Culhane. Remember me?

Yes. Still suspicious.

Your brother Billy is with me. So if you could tell me how to get hold of your mom—

I’ll let you talk to my aunt Kansas, the little girl said in a hurry.

Yance could hear her relaying who he was and what he’d said, and then Kansas Heller got on the phone.

Yance?

Hi, Kansas.

April says you found Billy. The level of breathlessness mingled with relief let him know just how worried the family was.

He was nestled in with some pig chow in the back of my pickup when I got home from the feed store. He was hopin’ to get to Cheyenne. Something about bustin’ broncos.

Like Linc, I guess, she said, referring to her husband, who’d made his living riding rodeos until marrying Kansas and opening the local honky-tonk saloon. Della is in town looking for Billy. She took him and Nic in for new shoes, looked away for a minute and Billy was gone. She’s just about panicked. Can I track her down and have her come out to your place to get him?

Sure. Or I can bring him home myself. Save her the trip.

"Oh, that’d be great. You’ll probably have him home safe and sound by the time I find her. It would be a big relief—a huge relief—for her to be able to come home and have him here already."

No problem. He’s drinkin’ some hot cocoa now, and as soon as he finishes I’ll drive him into town.

Thanks. Thanks so much, Kansas said, following with a quick goodbye before she hung up.

I don’t wanna go home, Billy informed him as soon as the receiver was on the hook. Moms don’t understand nothin’ like dads do.

I’ll bet if you worked at it, she could learn, though, Yance said, man to man.

Once more Billy agreed only by not disagreeing. Then, after a moment of what appeared to be sizing Yance up, he said, Could you talk to her and tell her I’m not a baby no more and I can’t wear baby shoes?

Yance pretended to think it over. I could probably point that out to her, if you think it might help.

Good, the boy said victoriously.

And that small victory seemed to be all he needed to convince him to return home because he swallowed back the last of his hot cocoa as if it were a fortifying shot of straight whiskey and hopped down from the bar stool, ready to go.

Yance smiled at him, ruffled up his already unruly hair and said, Let’s see what we can do.

Parked in front of the children’s shoe store on Center Street, which was Elk Creek’s main thoroughfare, Della Dennehy made quick work of strapping her youngest son into his seat. Then she nearly ran around the car to the driver’s side. A simple shopping trip had turned into a frantic search for her other son until the sheriff had tracked her down to tell her that her sister Kansas had called. Billy had been discovered hiding in the back of Yance Culhane’s pickup truck, and Yance would bring him home.

That was good news. Great news. But she was still upset. And furious. And doubting her own judgment.

She’d been furious at Billy for throwing a temper tantrum in the shoe store because she wouldn’t buy him another pair of cowboy boots when he needed tennis shoes for school. Now she was furious with him for disappearing and putting her through four hours of agony during which she hadn’t known where he was, if someone had snatched him or if he’d just taken it upon himself to leave in a snit.

And she was doubting her own judgment because that behavior was due, in large part, to how spoiled she’d allowed all the kids to be in the past year since her husband’s death. A year she’d spent with her folks in Phoenix, where sympathetic grandparents had indulged everyone’s every whim.

She’d thought that staying away from home, from all the memories of Bucky, would help her and her four kids cope. And in some respects it had. But the grieving process had its own timetable no matter where the grievers were—there was no escaping it—and in other respects the year away had only caused complications. Like Billy’s fit of temper and his running off when she wouldn’t give in to his demands the way his grandparents would have.

But whether or not the decision to spend the last year away from Elk Creek had been wise or not, now that they were home again and the kids were in the school where they belonged, Della was determined to get back to life as usual.

Or at least to what would become life as usual on her own with four kids.

Not an easy thing, she thought as she pulled into her driveway.

But thinking about it only made it seem more daunting, so she tried not to. She’d learned in the past year to just concentrate on one thing at a time. On one day at a time. On the moment.

Which meant dealing with Billy when he got there. And trying not to let her anger get the best of her when she just wanted to shake him silly for doing something so foolish.

She stopped the engine and got out of the car, going around to release Nic’s seat belt. Can you carry your new shoes? she asked, forcing a calmness she didn’t feel into her voice.

Nic nodded his head and took the shopping bag into the house.

Della was just grateful that he went without one of the arguments all the kids were prone to these days.

Then she turned her attention to unloading the car.

Bags and packages were piled across the entire back seat, spilling over onto the floor, with even more of them crammed into the trunk. She opened the rear door and left it gaping while she unlocked the trunk lid and then put her keys in the purse she had slung over her shoulder to free her hands. After grabbing as many sacks and packages as she could manage, she headed in the direction of the big Victorian house where she’d grown up.

She loved the old house she and Bucky had bought from her parents when they’d decided to retire to Arizona. It was two full stories of red brick with dormer windows poking out of the steeply sloped roof that left the attic a usable third floor. A double-wide covered porch wrapped the whole lower level, lined at the outer edge with a white rail and thick posts. And on both sides of the oversize front door there were cantilevers that rolled around the corns of the place like huge, turned-out pockets that made for interesting alcoves and larger rooms inside.

The house also had numerous windows. Old-fashioned windows with tiled sills and crisply painted white sashes that should probably be replaced for energy efficiency. But they looked so homey and inviting that Della had never had the heart to update them.

Three tall chimneys stood proudly above the roof, and huge oak trees dotted the expansive yard that stretched ten feet to the east and west before the neighbors’ property began, twenty-five feet in back and twenty in front to the sidewalk, then another two feet on the other side of the sidewalk to the curb.

It was a great old house on a great piece of property.

Yet as much as Della loved the place, since returning from Phoenix she hadn’t once approached it without the same sinking feeling she felt at that moment.

How was she ever going to be able to handle it on her own?

Bucky had taken care of the yard. He’d cleaned the chimneys. He’d climbed the ladder to wash those dormer windows and clear the gutters of the leaves that fell from all those trees. He’d done most every repair the old place needed—and it always needed something—while Della had done the everyday upkeep.

But now the lot of it was on her shoulders. And every time she looked at it, she felt dwarfed by the prospect.

Aw, it’ll be okay, Del....

It was