The Littlest Cowboy (4 page)

“To a ranch called the Texas Brand in the town of Quinn,” Chelsea replied. Silently, she added,
to make one Garrett Ethan Brand sorry he ever heard the name Brennan.

I
nsistent wails broke through the satin bonds of sleep like a randy bull crashing through a fence to get to an in-season heifer.

Garrett pulled his pillow over his head and groaned. It was only Ethan’s second night in the house, and Garrett’s second without more than ten straight minutes of shut-eye. But it seemed as if it had been a year.

The crying didn’t stop. Ah, hell, no wonder. Poor kid was among strangers, in an unfamiliar place. Was probably missing his mamma. Garrett dragged himself out of bed and slogged into the hallway. He wore shorts and a T-shirt, having learned last night that getting undressed with Ethan only a beller away was as useless as teats on a bore-hog. His bare feet scuffed the braided runner as he headed to the bedroom across from his. Aside from Adam’s and Ben’s, this was the only empty bedroom in the house. It had been his parents’ room. Now it was reserved strictly for guests. Garrett had never had the heart to use his absent brothers’ bedrooms for visitors because he was always half-hoping they’d just show up, home to stay, one of these days.

Garrett crossed the hall, opened the door and scuffed inside. Ethan stopped crying the second Garrett leaned over the cradle. Not a single tear dampened the little demon’s cheeks. Not one. All noise and no substance, his crying. His eyes were far from red and swollen. No, they were bright blue, sparkling and wide.

They focused on Garrett’s face and twinkled at him. His little arms flailed as if he were trying to fly, and he flashed Garrett a dimply grin. Anyone would think the kid was glad to see him.

Garrett’s impatience melted like butter in a hot skillet as he bent to scoop the baby up, and was rewarded by an actual, audible laugh. “Just lonely, aren’t you, Bubba? Yeah, well, I know all about that.” He carried the baby out into the hall and down the stairs, hoping his siblings would appreciate the trouble he was taking to let them sleep in peace. The rocker seemed to be the key. Little Ethan hadn’t conceded to sleep last night until Garrett had rocked him.

Hmm, looked like ol’ Blue was one step ahead. The hound stood in front of the rocking chair, head cocked to one side, tail upright, as if awaiting their arrival. Garrett eased himself down, and Blue laid on his feet with a contented sigh. Damn dog seemed to think a baby was exactly what had been lacking in this house.

Garrett moved to shift Ethan onto his lap, but the baby’s face nuzzled into the crook between Garrett’s neck and shoulder, his little body cozying closer. Some very odd, kind of warm, fuzzy sensation washed over him at the feel of that tiny, clingy body, so relaxed and trusting in his big arms. He pulled the blanket up over Ethan’s shoulders and patted his little back slowly and rhythmically with a hand that spanned its width. He pushed the rocker into motion with his feet.

If someone had told Garrett a week ago that he’d be sitting here cuddling a little baby in the middle of the night—and
enjoying it
—he’d have had them tested for drugs or alcohol. So small. He’d never held onto anything so small and fragile before. He’d been awfully uncomfortable at first. Garrett was a big man, and people tended to take one look at him and just assume he was rough and dangerous. He went to extremes to be gentle, moving slowly and speaking softly to counteract the impressions made by his size. But he still felt big and clumsy around tiny, fragile things. He ran one hand over Ethan’s downy hair, as dark as Wes’s.

That woman who’d left this bundle on the front porch…what had she been thinking? Did she have any idea what she was giving up? At that moment, as that little child clung to him, Garrett knew there wasn’t a more precious treasure in the whole world than the one in his arms right now. And more love had never come in a smaller package. ‘Cause somewhere between yesterday and the moment Garrett had leaned over that crib tonight, this baby seemed to have decided to love
him.
He practically bubbled over every time Garrett went anywhere near him.

“Dabababa,” Ethan sang, his voice soft and sleepy as he cuddled closer.

Garrett rubbed circles on Ethan’s back and inhaled sweet baby smells as he rocked. “You’re just a little bird, aren’t you, Bubba? All the time singing.”

Ethan made a motor noise with his lips that resulted in Garrett’s T-shirt getting wet.

“Yeah,” Garrett said softly, rocking and patting in time. “Your mamma must have known what she was doing, huh? I got a feeling she wouldn’t have left you without some pretty big reasons.”

Ethan wiggled himself into a more comfortable position, snuggling close again as one tiny hand gripped a fold in Garrett’s T-shirt.

“She’s a smart lady, your mamma,” Garrett went on, his voice just a little above a whisper. “She had to know I’d realize you weren’t my flesh and blood. But she also must’ve known how it would look to the kids if I turned you away. What a bad example it would’ve set.”

Garrett didn’t know who the woman might be. He knew beyond a doubt
he
hadn’t fathered the child. Though knowing it wasn’t as pleasant a feeling as it ought to be. Hell, being a daddy to something this cuddly wouldn’t be much of a chore. Garrett wished to God he knew who the mother was, why she’d brought Ethan here. Only one thing was obvious. Whoever she was, she hadn’t left the child at just any old ranch house. She hadn’t chosen at random. Her note called Garrett by name. Hell, it went so far as to claim the child was named for him. So this action she’d taken had to have been well thought out, planned. She’d deliberately left her child in Garrett’s care.

He was having serious second thoughts about turning Ethan over to Social Services come Tuesday morning. After all, he was the town sheriff. There was no reason he couldn’t make a few inquiries on his own, try to find the woman himself. If she’d wanted Ethan in the system, she’d have taken him there, wouldn’t she? And suppose she came back for her baby in a week, or a month? Lord knows, once kids go into foster care, it’s sheer hell for a parent to get them back. All that red tape could be avoided if Garrett could just keep little Ethan here with him. Just for a short while. Just to give the woman a chance.

A little palm patted Garrett’s face.

Oh, yeah, he was changing his mind, all right. Hell, he was smitten by the little mite already, and he’d only had him a couple of days. What must it have done to Ethan’s mamma to leave him alone on that porch? Torn her insides out, Garrett figured. But she’d done it, and in doing it, she’d put her trust in
him.
No way was Garrett going to let her down.

He lowered his head to the side, so his cheek brushed Ethan’s silky hair. “Don’t you worry, little Bubba. I’m gonna make things right for you.” The baby heaved a deep sigh, and Garrett closed his eyes.

It was still dark outside when he heard a vehicle and felt the touch of headlights on his eyelids. He’d fallen asleep! Sitting right here in the rocker, holding that baby! Of all the idiotic things to do. What if he’d dropped Ethan on his head?

But his arms were still firmly anchored around the little body, as if they’d been on guard duty even as he’d slept. He squinted at the antique pendulum clock that sat on the mantel. Three a.m. He’d been asleep almost three hours!

And who the hell was pulling into the driveway at this time of night? Could be an emergency in town, maybe. He
was
the sheriff. But wouldn’t someone have called instead of driving clear out here?

Garrett got up real slow, and turned to lay Ethan on the couch. Then he pulled the nearest armchair up beside it, back first, so there was no way the baby could roll onto the floor. He was just tucking a blanket over the sleeping angel when he heard pounding on the front door. Not knocking.
Pounding.

His stomach twisted a little as he thought about his gun, clear out of reach upstairs, and he tried to recall if he’d arrested any particularly ornery characters lately. But hell, aside from the occasional drunk and disorderly boys over at La Cucaracha, he rarely arrested
anyone.
Quinn was a quiet little town. Not much happened there.

Garrett hustled through the dining room, casting one last glance over his shoulder at Ethan as he went. Still asleep despite the racket at the door. Good. He paused in the kitchen only long enough to flick on the outdoor light so he could get a look at the rude S.O.B. who was trying to knock the door off its hinges. He parted the curtain and peered out.

Hostile eyes looked back at him. Hostile…and then some. The creature who stared back at him seemed, in that first instant, to be nothing
but
eyes. Huge, round, and wild. The impact when those eyes met his sent him two full steps backward before he’d even been aware of moving. Like he’d been kicked hard in the chest. Those eyes…they were hurting. Hurting like he’d never seen anyone hurt before, and it looked to him as if they intended to hurt back.

Garrett blinked and gave his head a shake. Hell, he’d best get a grip and look again. There had been more there than a pair of stricken eyes.

He leaned forward again, this time flicking the lock and twisting the knob. No use with the locks. It was a woman, even if she was all eyes. And he could handle a woman, no matter how crazed.

The door opened.

She shouldered inside before he stepped out of the way, then stood toe-to-toe with him. “Are you Garrett Ethan Brand?”

Her voice was like cherry-tree bark—stringy and coarse.

She had burnished bronze hair that seemed as riled up as she was. Her clothes were dirty and her stockings full of runs. Mud clung to her high-heeled shoes. She was a mess. He figured she must have had an accident or something. But unless she’d lost a limb—which she obviously hadn’t—he couldn’t see any explanation for the pain and rage in her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m Garrett,” he told her. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll-”

He reeled backward at the impact of her fist—not her hand,
her fist—
connecting with his left cheekbone and snapping his head sideways so hard and fast he thought he’d probably need a neck brace.

“Damn, woman! What the hell was that—hold on a minute!” He caught her fist in his hands before she could land another blow. So she kicked him in the shins with those muddy, pointy-toed shoes of hers. He yelped in agony. Damned if he wanted to hurt any woman, but this one was pushing even
his
legendary patience. He dropped her hands just long enough to wrap his arms tight around her middle, pinning
her
arms to her sides. At the same instant, he pressed her up against the door and pushed his body tight to her considerably smaller one. So tight she couldn’t swing those deadly feet again. But even as he did it, he took great pains not to hurt her. She was so small he got the feeling she’d break easily.

And then he just stood there, his body plastered to hers, panting from the struggle and the surprise and, mostly to be honest, the pain. And he wondered what the hell to do next. Lord, her heart hammered like a scared jackrabbit’s hind feet. Her lungs moved in and out too rapidly. She had cheeks as pink as a tea rose and eyes that damn near put him on his knees just with the force of the emotions he saw roiling in them as he stared down at her from a distance of well over a foot.

He caught his breath in short order, though she still breathed as if she’d just run a mile uphill. “You want to tell me why you’re trying to cripple me now, ma’am, or on the way to jail?”

Her eyes narrowed and…they were green. Deep, forest green. Like pine needles in the sunlight. He’d never seen eyes like those.

“Where is he?”

Garrett blinked twice. “Where is who?”

“You know damn well who. Where is he?”

A bitter dread settled in the pit of his stomach. God wouldn’t be so cruel, would he? This crazy woman couldn’t possibly be little Ethan’s mamma…
could she?

He cleared his throat, trying to figure out a decent reason to lie to her, when Ethan made up his own mind. He let out a yelp. And an outright miracle happened. That wildcat in Garrett’s arms went limp as a noodle. The fury left her eyes, and instead they softened, melted. A look of utter longing and bittersweet relief took over, and the tension left her so fast it felt as if her bones had turned to water. He wasn’t sure she’d still be standing on her feet if he wasn’t holding her.

“Ethan?” she whispered.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s Ethan. But I’ll tell you, I’m not inclined to let anyone as violent as you within a hundred miles of him.”

Her eyes flashed up at him, anger flickering to life once more. Tempered now, though.

“Are, uh, are you his mamma?”

Soft auburn brows drew together. “You know perfectly well where his mother is, mister.”

“No, ma’am, I surely don’t.”

“Yes,
cowboy,
” she said, mocking his drawl and saying “cowboy” as if it were a cuss word. “You surely
do.”
Her voice lowered until it became little more than a harsh, tortured whisper. “She’s lying in a morgue in El Paso. And you put her there, you bastard.”

She was shaking—
shaking—
like a road sign in a killing wind. Vibrating with the force of whatever emotions roiled inside her right now.

The kitchen light flashed on, and Wes appeared at Garrett’s side. His open hand might look harmless to a stranger, but Garrett saw the way his fingers twitched just a little. He’d snatch that bowie from his boot at the drop of a hat.

“What’s going on, Garrett?”

He didn’t answer. His gaze remained fixed on the wild-eyed creature whose soul was crying, even if her eyes were not. “Ethan’s mamma is dead?”

She didn’t reply, only glared at him. He heard Jessi’s soft gasp behind him and realized she’d come into the kitchen, too. And probably Elliot, as well. The scent of baby powder told him one of them was carrying Ethan. That and the way the woman trapped between his chest and the door suddenly stared at a point beyond him.

“Answer me. Is she dead?”