A Daddy for Dillon (14 page)

“Of course not. I hadn’t planned on keeping you out late anyway.”

After Leyla had thanked Ernesto for the delicious meal and said goodbye to the cowboys, they started the long drive back to the ranch house. Between them in the booster seat, Dillon slept soundly, while Leyla was content to gaze out the windshield and recount the day.

“I’m sorry Dillon wasn’t on his best behavior this evening,” she said after they’d traveled several minutes in silence.

“Dillon was fine.”

“I don’t like for him to cry and whine.”

“He’s a little boy. And I hate that my being away from the house has affected him.”

“He has to learn that people can’t always be around just because he wants them to be.”

Pushing his hat back on his head, he rubbed a hand across his forehead. “You’re tough.”

A wan smile touched her lips. “That’s better than being hurt.”

“Yeah. I guess most anything is better than being hurt.”

He glanced over at her. “Did you mean what you said earlier? About you missing me?”

His question brought a blush to her cheeks. “I did mean it,” she said huskily. “See, I’m as bad as Dillon.”

“It’s nice to be missed, Leyla. Very nice.”

* * *

By the time they arrived back at the ranch Laramie’s boots should have been dragging with exhaustion. Instead he felt like he was walking on a cloud. Having Leyla and Dillon with him at the campsite tonight had been more special to him than he could have imagined.

Throughout the evening she’d asked him all sorts of questions about the roundup in general and the jobs of the cowboys and their horses. She’d seemed genuinely interested, which lifted his spirits higher than high. No matter how much he told himself he didn’t want a wife, he kept dreaming of the three of them as a family, of even giving Dillon a brother or sister.

Dreaming couldn’t hurt anything, he told himself. Until he began to want all those dreams to come true. That’s when the hurt might come. But tonight he wasn’t going to dwell on that thought. Tonight he wanted to show Leyla exactly how much he’d missed her.

Inside the house, he carried Dillon to the same bed that he’d placed him on the other evening. Laramie stood to one side while Leyla dealt with his shoes and clothing, then pulled the cover up to his chin.

“He’s probably dreaming about horses,” Leyla said as they left the bedroom.

Unable to ignore the need in him any longer, Laramie snared an arm around her waist and tugged her close against him. “And I’m dreaming about you,” he murmured.

“Laramie.”

His name was whispered softly, like an evocative plea that pulled on every masculine cell in his body.

“I’ve had a hell of a time working when all I can think about is kissing you,” he spoke against her lips. “Holding you close to me.”

Moaning softly, she rose up on her toes and slipped her arms around his neck. “Then maybe you’d better kiss me,” she murmured.

The invitation had him closing his eyes and fastening his lips over hers. This time the sweet familiarity of her taste was like coming home after a long, hard ride. The pleasure was a mixture of relief and triumph.

As his lips searched hers, he could feel her body stretching and straining against his, the mounds of her breasts pushing into his chest. Her willing response shot thrills of heat through his body and an ache deep in his loins.

He kept the kiss going until the need for oxygen finally forced them apart. But Laramie wasn’t content to let the embrace end. He swiftly scooped her up in his arms and carried her over to a long couch on the opposite side of the room.

Once he’d sat with Leyla comfortably cradled in his lap, she gently protested.

“Laramie, I’m too heavy for this.”

The low chuckle in his throat was a sound of pure desire. “You’re as light as a feather,” he murmured. “But maybe you need to stretch out after that long ride.”

Placing her on the cushions, he immediately leaned over her until their faces were mere inches apart.

“Is that better?” he asked huskily.

To answer his question she pulled him down beside her and pressed her lips to his. Her clear signal sent Laramie’s senses reeling and as he deepened the kiss, his hands automatically began to explore her soft curves.

It wasn’t until his fingers found their way beneath the hem of her T-shirt and began stroking her soft skin that she shifted away in protest.

“Laramie—I—I’m sorry,” she said in a tight, stricken voice.

Frowning, he sat up and raked a hand through his mussed hair. “Leyla, I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. If that—”

Quickly, she scrambled to a sitting position and gathered one of his hands between hers. “It’s not you, Laramie. I’m—” With an anguished groan, she looked away from him. “I need to tell you that I’ve not let any man touch me like that since—”

“Dillon’s father,” he finished flatly.

“Yes. And I guess it sort of scares me. I want you to touch and kiss me. Very much. But then my mind starts whirling with all those bad memories and I feel myself falling into a dark, scary pit.”

Gently, he gathered her chin between his thumb and forefinger and pulled her face back around to his. “I understand, Leyla. I’ve had a few of those scary pits myself. You just need time. Remember that I’ll always be around to catch you and keep you from falling into those dark places.”

Closing her eyes, she rested her cheek against his strong arm. “Not always. Eventually Reena will come back and my job here will be over.”

Did that mean everything between them would be over, too? he wondered. His brain refused to consider the idea.

“What do you plan to do then?”

Sighing, she lifted her head away from him, then slowly rose to her feet. “I’ve been saving all the money I can to start nursing school. I can get grants to help me, but I’ll still need extra money to make up for the working hours I’ll have to give up.”

Surprised by her revelation, he asked, “What makes you want to be a nurse?”

She moved away from him and the couch and began to amble around the small living room. “Several things. My aunt Oneida for one. I see how much it means to an ailing person to have someone care for them, even in the smallest way. And when Bridget delivered my baby under such harrowing conditions, I was amazed. And the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to be in the medical field so I could help people in the same way.”

“Those are admiral reasons. I’m just not sure—well, you’ve told me that you’re tough. But I don’t see you that way. The suffering you’d see in the medical field might squash your soft heart.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him and as Laramie’s gaze slipped over the long black hair, the tiny waist and flared hips, he wished he had the right to carry her to bed and show her that loving him wasn’t dangerous.

“In other words, you don’t believe I’m emotionally strong enough for the job.” She shook her head. “I might be afraid to have sex and fall in love. But the notion of nursing sick people doesn’t daunt me.” She turned her gaze to the darkened window. “And with a nursing job, I can buy a home of our own. One that no one can take away from us.”

After thinking about her words for only a few moments, he rose from the couch and walked over to where she stood. “I have a feeling you could make your home right here if you wanted to. Quint would be happy to—”

“I don’t want handouts,” she interrupted.

“Believe me, Quint expects anyone he hires to work. It wouldn’t be a handout.”

Shaking her head, she said, “Call me independent if you want, Laramie, but I want a house and property of my own. Something worthwhile to pass on to my son. Right now that’s my main goal in life. It’s what keeps pushing me forward.”

“So you think those material things will make you happy? I don’t think so, Leyla.”

Twisting around so that she was facing him head on, Leyla stared in amazement at him. “Laramie, you more than anyone should know how it feels to suddenly be thrust on your own. After Diego died you probably felt homeless—until you settled here. Am I so wrong in wanting a home for myself?”

“A home, no. A house and property, that’s something different. You need to stop and realize that a home can be anywhere as long as you’re with the people you love.”

Bending her head, she muttered, “At one time I had that with my family back in Farmington. Then I was pushed away and had to move in with Oneida. But by the time I started to feel as though my aunt really loved me and that I belonged with her, she suffered the stroke. I just feel like—” Her throat was suddenly so tight she had to stop and swallow. “I need something solid in my life, Laramie.”

Stepping closer, he laid his hand on her shoulder. “I understand how you feel, Leyla. Like you can’t depend on anyone but yourself. But this notion that a house will fix things—it isn’t right.”

Confusion flickered in her dark brown eyes and then with a torn cry, she flung her arms around his waist and buried her face against his chest. “I don’t want you to think badly of me, Laramie.”

Her anguished plea was muffled by his shirt. As Laramie held her close, something like love was filling up the empty space in his heart.

“I don’t think badly of you, Leyla. I just think you have your wants and your needs mixed up.”

And he probably did, too, he thought. But it was too late to do anything about that now. The need for a home was pushing her forward. Well, the need to have her in his life was pushing him forward and it wasn’t going to stop until he finally had her.

Chapter Eight

B
y the time Laramie and his crew finished the spring roundup and returned to the ranch, Dillon’s birthday had come and gone. Laramie felt badly about missing the boy’s important milestone. Especially after learning that no one but his mother and Sassy had been around to help the child celebrate.

Laramie had passed many a birthday without anyone around except Diego and he wanted things to be better for Dillon. Not that there was anything wrong with Diego. The old rancher had been a good man and a wonderful mentor to him, but Laramie had missed the softness a mother would have brought to his life. Yes, Dillon was missing out on a father’s touch, but at least when little Dillon grew to be a man he would know the woman who’d given birth to him. That was something Laramie would trade all the birthday parties in the world for.

Steering his truck through the busy Ruidoso traffic, Laramie darted a glance at the two boxes lying on the passenger seat. He’d paid the store clerk extra to have the items gift wrapped. Back at the ranch there was a pile of work waiting for his attention, but he’d not let any of it deter him from driving to town and buying Dillon a belated birthday gift.

The idea had Laramie mentally shaking his head. Finding a woman he could truly care about was something he’d given up on a long time ago. And he’d surely never pictured himself falling for a woman with a child. Hell, he was the furthest thing from a father that any man could be. But Dillon had become important to him. Along with his mother. Now he was asking himself just how deep he was willing to let his feelings keep growing.

Since the night she’d talked about her plans to become a nurse and buy a place of her own Laramie had been trying to tell himself he needed to put a whoa on his feelings for the woman. Jim wasn’t going to wear a cast on his leg forever. Soon Leyla and Dillon would be moving on and he’d be left alone. Laramie wasn’t a dreamer. He realized it was senseless to invest his heart in a relationship that couldn’t last. But his heart and his body refused to listen to logic. He wanted to be near Leyla, to touch and hold her, make love to her. Even more, he wanted to make her dreams and wishes come true.

If that meant that he’d already fallen in love with her, then he was in trouble. Unless he could somehow make her see that living on the Chaparral with him could be the home she was searching for.

* * *

That evening, Laramie purposely waited until after the three of them had eaten supper before he presented the gift boxes to Dillon.

“These are for you, Dillon. Happy Birthday, partner,” he said to the boy.

Wide-eyed, Dillon stared at the boxes sitting in the middle of the kitchen table, then quickly shook his head back and forth.

“Not today,” the child argued. “My birthday gone.”

Laramie tossed Leyla a rueful look. “He’s smart enough to know he doesn’t have a birthday every day.” Bending at the waist so that his face was on level with Dillon’s, he said to the child, “I know your birthday was three days ago. I wanted to be here then. But I couldn’t be. So I’m giving you gifts now. Okay?”

Dillon studied him for long moments, then touched a finger to one of the boxes. “Mine?”

Laramie chuckled. “Yes, those are yours. So tear right into them.”

Dillon looked to his mother for guidance and when Leyla nodded her permission, he quickly dove into the box sitting nearest to him.

While the boy ripped into the paper, Leyla shot a sidelong look at Laramie. “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. Taking us to the chuck wagon supper was enough of a treat for Dillon. He’s still talking about that night.”

“I’m glad he enjoyed it. But that was more of a treat for me.” Smiling slyly, he inclined his head toward the boxes. “These things are just for Dillon.”

Four days had passed since he and the men had finished their work on the range, and during that time he’d been working overtime. Most nights he’d come in very late to find his supper in the warming drawer on the range and the lights in Leyla’s apartment already off. As a result he’d seen her and Dillon only a few minutes at breakfast. Coming into a dark, empty house had reminded him just how attached he’d become to Leyla and her son. And how much he’d miss them if they weren’t in his life.

“It was very kind of you to celebrate his birthday with gifts,” she said.

While Dillon tugged at the last of the paper, Laramie edged closer to Leyla’s side. “I’ve been missing you,” he admitted in a low voice.

Her gaze remained on her son, but he could see her throat working as she swallowed.

“You’ve been leaving early and coming in late.”