A Daddy for Dillon
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Stella Bagwell
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Chapter One
The Chaparral ranch house was shrouded in darkness as Laramie Jones entered an atrium that also served as a back porch. The long room filled with plants and cushioned lawn chairs was faintly illuminated by a row of outside footlights, but he hardly needed a light to show him the way to the kitchen door. He knew the path by heart. This New Mexico ranch had been his home for nearly eighteen years, and for the past year he’d been residing right here in the Cantrell’s family home.
About to reach for the doorknob, he instinctively jumped back when the wood and glass panel burst open and a tiny person crashed directly into his shins.
“Whoa!” Reaching down, Laramie attempted to snatch a hold on the darting child.
“Dillon! Come to me. Right now!”
The female voice was soft but firm, and Laramie quickly looked around to see a very young woman standing in the open doorway. As he stared, trying to figure out who she might be, the wayward boy scampered to her side and latched a death grip around her leg.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “My son doesn’t normally run from me. I hope he didn’t hurt you.”
Her son! The boy appeared to be about three. From this limited view, she hardly looked old enough to be his mother. The light shining through the entryway silhouetted her petite figure and created a flame-colored halo around black hair that was pulled sleekly back from her face. Although her features were in shadow, he could see the faint shape of broad lips and a pair of very dark eyes. Neither of which were smiling.
“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “The little guy couldn’t hurt me if he tried.” Moving forward, he extended a hand toward her. “I’m Laramie Jones, the Chaparral foreman.” She took his hand and he was immediately struck by how small and soft it felt against his. Was this woman a guest of the ranch? Frankie, the mistress of the ranch, was still away in Texas visiting her sons and their families, so she couldn’t be a guest of hers, he decided. Perhaps she was connected to Reena Crow, the ranch house cook. This young woman was clearly Native American, as was Reena. The two might be related.
Her next words answered his questions.
“I know,” she said. “I was expecting you. I’m Leyla Chee. I have your dinner ready.”
She dropped her hand and quickly started back into the house with the boy in tow. Laramie stared after the two of them. This was the new cook? She had taken Reena’s place? A few days ago, Quint had mentioned the regular cook would be heading over to Apache Wells to replace his grandfather Abe’s cook, who’d had the misfortune to break his leg. But Laramie hadn’t dwelled on the matter. Who prepared his meals was the least of his concerns. Especially these days, when everything seemed to be going wrong on the ranch. Still, he’d hardly expected a young mother to be taking over the job. And where was Leyla’s husband? Had he moved into the house with her?
As Laramie followed her into the house, Leyla didn’t give him the opportunity to ask those questions. She and the boy quickly moved ahead of him, then passed through the kitchen doorway and out of sight. With a puzzled shake of his head, Laramie turned the opposite direction and headed upstairs to his bedroom.
Ten minutes later he returned to the kitchen, his dark hair damp from a shower, his dirty jeans and shirt replaced with clean ones.
The new cook was standing, her head slightly bent to one side as she adjusted a burner on the huge gas range. She was dressed in black jeans and a white blouse with the sleeves rolled up on her forearms. Her black hair, which must have been extremely long, was coiled into a braided knot and fastened to the crown of her head.
Immediately upon hearing his footsteps, she turned to face him and Laramie was once again struck by the youthful appearance of her face. Beneath the glow of florescent lighting, he could see her skin was a beautiful creamy tan, her lips pink, her eyes a shade just shy of black. High, rounded cheekbones were flushed with a deep rosy color and he wondered if that was a result of working over the heat of the stove or of seeing him.
Hell, Laramie, why should you make this young girl blush? She couldn’t be that shy around men. She has a child.
“In the dining room,” she said, pointing to an open doorway leading into the main part of the house. “Sassy is already finished cleaning for the evening. So I put everything in there for you.”
The dining room? This young woman was treating him like he was someone special. Hell, he was just the foreman. Maybe she was confused and thought he was a part of the Cantrell family. “Uh—look, Leyla, I’m sorry you went to all that trouble. I always take my meals here in the kitchen.”
As she walked toward him, he spotted from the corner of his eye the boy, who was sitting on the floor near the breakfast bar. He was a stocky child with sturdy shoulders. Brown hair, the color of powdered cocoa, fell across his forehead in thick, jagged bangs. A crayon was clutched in his little fist, and a sheet of lined paper lay flat between his outstretched legs. At the moment, though, the child was ignoring the crayon and paper and was staring at Laramie with a guarded expression.
“Reena said you are the boss man,” Leyla reasoned.
It was Laramie who suddenly found himself blushing as he looked away from the boy and back at her. He’d been called “boss” before by the ranch hands but not by a lovely young woman like her. It made him feel way overrated.
“Well—in a way. Quint Cantrell and his mother and sister own this ranch. I only manage it for them.”
“Then you are the boss. And Reena told me to serve your meals in the dining room.”
Laramie shook his head, and as he did his gaze swept across her hands folded loosely in front of her. There was no wedding ring or sign of where one had been. Did that mean she was single?
Feeling like an idiot for even wondering about the woman’s marital status, he said, “I don’t know why Reena would have told you such a thing. I never eat in there. That’s for the Cantrell family and their guests.”
The color of Leyla’s cheeks turned an even deeper red as she bit down on her bottom lip and glanced at her son. “I’m not sure why she told me that. Maybe I misunderstood her. Or she might have thought Dillon would bother you here in the kitchen.”
“The child won’t bother me,” he assured her. “I like kids.”
Even though it was hard to read the expressions in her features, he could clearly see a look of relief in her eyes, almost as though she’d expected him to be difficult to deal with or even mean-natured. The idea was bothersome, to say the least.
She said, “I’m sorry there was a mix-up. I’ll bring everything back here to the kitchen.”
She started toward the doorway, but Laramie quickly called to her. “No. Don’t go to that trouble now. It’s okay. I’ll eat in there for tonight.”
He quickly made his way to the dining room and found the wooden table, easily capable of seating twenty diners, was set for one. Not far from the plate, two fat candles were flickering and a huge bowl of fresh cut flowers decorated the center of the table.
Laramie had eaten in this room before, when the family was present and guests had been invited for one particular reason or another. To be taking a meal here alone, as though he was the patriarch of the place, felt ridiculous to him. But he’d endure it for one night to save Leyla unnecessary work.
He’d just sat and started filling his plate from an assortment of covered dishes when the cell phone attached to his belt broke the silence.
Pulling the instrument from its holder, Laramie saw the caller was Quint Cantrell. The owner of the Chaparral ranch had been Laramie’s friend for many years and they worked together more as brothers than owner and foreman.
“What’s up, Quint?”
“Believe it or not I’m on my way to the grocery store. Maura’s craving peanut butter and the boys cleaned out the last jar this morning. Like a good husband I offered to go get some for her.”
Quint had been married for a few years now to a beautiful red-haired nurse. They had two young sons, Riley and Clancy, who would no doubt grow up to be ranchers themselves. Now Maura was pregnant again with a third child who would be born in late summer. His friend had a perfect, loving family. Something that Laramie had never experienced.
“You spoil that woman of yours rotten,” Laramie joked.
“Aww, she treats me like a prince, so what’s a man to do?”
Laramie could have told Quint he was asking that question to the wrong man. His experience with women was the short, uncomplicated kind. Unless four dates in one month counted as long term, then he’d never had a lengthy relationship with a woman.
“I’d say you should do exactly what you’re doing.”
“Smart man,” Quint replied with a chuckle. “So what happened at the ranch today? Nothing major, I hope.”
Leaning back in the chair, Laramie swiped a hand through his damp hair. “Not today, thank God. In fact, we found those three missing horses. They were at the back of the property. Not far from Tyler Pickens’s boundary fence.”
“How in hell did they get back there? Did you find any downed fences between you and Pickens’s land?”
“No. But we’ve not yet had time to check every fence line.”
“That would take days,” Quint said. After a long, thoughtful pause he added, “And you don’t have the manpower to waste on that right now. You’re going to need all hands for spring roundup. Since the horses were found, let it be for now.”
For the past few months, the Chaparral had been experiencing incidents that couldn’t be explained. Like sick cattle, missing horses and perfectly good machinery suddenly going on the blink. Both Laramie and Quint wanted to believe the occurrences were just a string of bad luck, but as the problems grew, that idea was harder and harder for the men to accept.
“Right. Branding is more important. And there isn’t a man on the ranch who isn’t excited about roundup. I’d probably have a mutiny if I sent a few off on fence line detail.”
“Worse than a mutiny,” Quint agreed. After a moment’s pause, he went on, “Actually, the main reason I’m calling is to see if Leyla arrived.”
“I met her a few minutes ago. I’d forgotten you’d mentioned the change in cooks. I didn’t remember it was going to take place this soon.”
“Hell, Grandfather was having a fit to get Reena out to his place. I’m not sure she was wild about the move, but she doesn’t want the old man getting stirred up.”
“Abe is a tough old codger when he doesn’t get his way.”
“You’re right. I have enough on my plate without that. Especially with Maura pregnant again. You know, Laramie, I want this baby so much—just as much as our other two boys. But I worry about Maura because I can’t slow her down. She’s forty but acts like she’s twenty.” He suddenly paused, then let out an apologetic chuckle. “I’m sorry, Laramie. That’s enough about me. I should be asking if Leyla can cook. If not I’ll have to find someone else to suit you.”
“Can’t tell you that yet. I just sat down to eat when you called.”
“Damn, it’s late,” Quint cursed. “You should have quit work two hours ago.”
“Just like you keep sane hours?”
Quint let out a snort. “Maura tries to keep me on schedule. Sometimes I make it to the house by dark at least three evenings a week.”
“I’m not hurting myself.” And he would make it clear to Leyla that there was no need for her to hang around to serve his meals if he came in late at night.
Quint suddenly cleared his throat. “I don’t ask much of you, do I?”
Perplexed by his friend’s question, he frowned. “You don’t ask me to do anything that you wouldn’t do. Why?”
“This is probably going to sound crazy, but I hope that whenever you are in the house you’ll be easy on Leyla.”
A frown quickly replaced Laramie’s grin. “Why wouldn’t I be easy? I’m not exactly a ladies’ man, but I know how to be mannerly.”
“Yes, you’re always a gentleman. But I... Well, Maura and I would appreciate it if you’d be extra kind to her. She’s gone through some rough spots in her life. It’s time somebody treated her kindly.”
“Oh. Does she—” concerned that she might suddenly enter the dining room and hear him, Laramie lowered his voice “—have a husband?”
“No. The only family we know of her having is an aunt and Oneida is elderly and in the nursing home. My sister-in-law, Bridget, and her husband, Johnny, delivered Leyla’s boy in the backseat of a vehicle a few years ago. She’d been trying to drive herself to the hospital down on the res. The road was deep with snow and she’d gotten stranded. It was fortunate they found her. Otherwise, she or the baby might not have made it.”
Laramie was momentarily stunned. He couldn’t imagine the young woman enduring the pain of childbirth while being stranded in a freezing, snowbound vehicle. She must have been terrified. She must have felt the whole world had deserted her.
“Damn, that’s tough.”
“Yeah. She told Bridget that her family was dead. But we’re wondering if she might have folks somewhere and split from them for some reason.”
“You mean like she might have run away?”
“Nowadays who can tell? Whatever happened, it’s clear that no one is around to give her any support.”
“I see,” Laramie said, even though he didn’t. How could a woman like her be so alone? “And I promise not to give her a hard time.”
“Good. Now eat your supper and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Quint quickly ended the call, and after Laramie had put his phone away, he focused his attention on the food on his plate. But as he ate the roast beef and vegetables, his thoughts were spinning with Leyla and her young son.
Even if she’d separated herself from her parents, there was a man somewhere who’d gotten her pregnant. Why wasn’t he around? The boy needed a father. Just like Laramie had needed a father all those years ago, he thought.
But you had a father. Diego Jaime might not have planted the seed in your mother’s womb, but he’d cared for you, loved you just as though he’d been your father. You don’t have a right to feel cheated or sorry for yourself, Laramie.
He was trying to squash the little voice going off in his head when he heard footsteps entering the dining room. Looking up, he watched Leyla walking toward him, a pitcher of iced tea in her hand.
“Would you like your glass refilled?” she asked.
He placed the glass near the edge of the table to make it easier for her to reach. Still, she drew near enough for him to catch a whiff of her musky scent.
As she poured the tea, he said, “The food is delicious. You’re a very good cook.”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t realize Reena was going to be leaving so soon. You must have gotten here after breakfast this morning.”
Nodding, she said, “Mr. Cantrell was eager for her to get to Apache Wells. Jim, his cook, has a broken leg. They’re not certain how many weeks it will require a cast. So she’ll be there. I’ll be here.”
“Yes. Quint told me.”
Her lips pressed slightly together and then she looked away from him to a shadowy spot across the room. “I forgot. You’re the boss. You would know those things.”
He wanted to reiterate to her that he wasn’t the boss, especially not hers, but he kept the words to himself. She needed time to get used to him and her new surroundings without him correcting her on every little issue.
“Have you ever lived on a ranch?” he asked.
Her gaze was quick to return to his face. “No. Why do you ask that?”
Laramie wasn’t exactly sure why the question had slipped out of him. Except that she seemed a little lost. And after hearing what Quint had said about her, he didn’t want her feeling that way.
“Just curious. It’s a heck of a lot different from living in town.”
“I haven’t lived near a town in a long time. Before I came here I lived in the mountains on the res. Alone,” she added, her chin jutting slightly forward, as though he needed to understand that she could take care of herself.
Her spark of independence surprised him. It also caught his admiration. “That’s good. I mean, you should get along fine here, then.”
* * *
Leyla gave him a faint nod, then turned and left the room. Once she reached the kitchen, she set the iced tea in the refrigerator, then leaned weakly against the cabinet counter.
Reena had told her that Laramie was a nice man and that she wouldn’t have any problems with him. But the woman hadn’t warned her that he was young and so good-looking. No. Good-looking wasn’t exactly the right description for the ranch manager, she thought. With his tall, lanky frame and dark shaggy hair, he was more sexy than handsome.
Not since Dillon’s daddy had she looked so closely at a man. She’d even noticed Laramie Jones’s eyes. They were an unusual mixture of blue and brown with lights and shadows waltzing sensually in their depths.
Oh, my, this was the man she would be cooking for. She was going to have to be very careful around him. Careful not to let herself look or dream.
Reena had said he was single and stayed in this big fancy house. His room was upstairs. The maid, Sassy, had shown her which one just in case she should ever need to alert him in the night for an emergency. Thankfully, the young red-haired maid would be taking care of his room and laundry.
“Mommy, Mommy.”
The tug on her leg had her glancing down at her nearly three-year-old son. He was holding a piece of paper that she’d cut from his coloring book. The wild orange markings went from the pony in the middle of the page to the very edges.
“That’s a very good job, Dillon. You made the pony orange. Can you say orange?”
The boy puckered his mouth in an O as he pondered his mother’s request. “Orr-range. Orr-range.”
“Good. Very good.” She took his small hand and led him over to the kitchen table. “And because you colored such a pretty picture, I’m going to give you some cookies and milk. Want some?”
He nodded enthusiastically and Leyla lifted him onto one of the chairs and smacked a kiss on his cheek. Dillon was the hope and dream of her whole world. Her love for him was so great that just thinking of him brought tears to her eyes. It didn’t matter that his father had been a deceitful jerk. That he’d run fast and hard as soon as he’d learned Leyla was pregnant. Having her precious son made up for being discarded, for the lonely, solitary nights and for the long hard hours she’d worked to keep a roof over their heads.
“Cookies, Mommy! Eat.”
“Okay, hold your horses. I’m getting it.”
She’d served the boy fig wafers and milk and was cleaning the dirty pots she’d used for cooking when she heard boot steps behind her.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the ranch foreman carrying his plate and glass toward her.
“Here’re my dirty dishes.” He placed the dishes on the counter. “The meal was delicious. Thanks.”
She looked up and as her gaze connected with his, her heart beat very fast. “You don’t have to praise my cooking. Just tell me when something is wrong.” She turned back to the sink and began to scrub one of the pots with a copper scouring pad. “Would you like dessert and coffee? Or more tea?”
“Well, I do sorta have a sweet tooth. Whatever you have is fine and a little coffee with it would be great. If this young man will share his table with me, I’ll sit over here,” he told her.
Leyla glanced over, expecting to see her son jump from the table and race over to the safety of his mother’s side. Instead, she was slightly amazed to see Dillon stare curiously up at the big man sitting next to him.
“Is your name William or Dillon?” Laramie asked the child.
Confused and a bit insulted by a question he considered silly, he practically shouted. “Dillon!”
“Oh. Pardon me, partner. I thought you were William.”
Dillon shook his head and looked hopelessly to his mother, then back at Laramie.
Suddenly remembering the rancher was waiting for her to serve his dessert, she got busy collecting a mug of coffee and a piece of apple pie. Behind her, she could hear Laramie Jones chuckling softly.
The sound was low and smooth and pleasing like the call of a night bird on a still summer evening.
“How old are you, Dillon?” he asked her son.
As Leyla carried the food and drink to the table, Dillon held up one finger for Laramie to see.
“One. Hmm, I sure thought you were older than that.”
In response Dillon held up two fingers. “That many,” he said.
“Well, you sure are big for two,” Laramie commented.
“Technically Dillon is right. He’s two. But he’ll be three in a couple of weeks,” Leyla told him. She placed the pie and coffee in front of him while trying not to notice the scent of him—horses and leather, grass and sunshine all rolled together. It was a very masculine scent and one that she found far more appealing than something manufactured from a bottle.
“Oh. That’s what I was guessing. About three,” Laramie told her.
His comment surprised her. “You know about children, Mr. Jones?”
“Not much. But Quint has two boys and I’ve watched them grow up,” he said, then added with a frown, “and don’t call me Mr. Jones. I’m Laramie to everyone.”
Leyla felt herself blushing and she instinctively backed away from him. “Okay—Laramie.”
“And another thing,” he said. “Most days I work well after dark. There’s no need for you to hang around in the kitchen until I come in. Just leave something in the warming drawer on the stove.”
For some reason his instructions hurt. It was almost like he was telling her he didn’t want her or Dillon’s company. But then some men didn’t like the chatter of a child or a woman fussing around him. Perhaps Laramie was one of those men, she thought.
“It’s my job to serve you. That’s what Quint pays me for. If I don’t do my job I might as well move home.”
“Where is that?”
The wariness she was feeling about his question must have shown on her face because he suddenly shrugged and said, “Never mind. You don’t have to tell me that.”
Telling herself he was only making conversation, not digging into her past, she said, “My aunt’s house is on the reservation. That’s where I live.”
A faint grin curled up one corner of his lips. “Then you probably feel right at home here in the mountains.”
Leyla hadn’t felt like she was really home in a long, long time. She’d left her home near Farmington more than three years ago when she’d been four months pregnant with Dillon. Since then she’d not talked or corresponded with her parents. And she had only talked on the phone to her sisters on rare occasions. She missed her mother, Juanita, and two sisters very much. But she’d not been that close to her older brother, Tanno, because he was more like their father, George, a lazy man who thought being born a male made him superior to all women. Leyla had often considered contacting her mother, especially since Dillon had been born, but she knew to do so would only cause her to endure more misery from George. For now she had to be content with the fact that her sisters had informed their mother about Dillon and that her grandson was healthy and happy.
“Yes. I feel comfortable here,” she told him.
“Will you be living here in the house?”
She nodded. “In Reena’s rooms. The drive from the reservation would take hours. And my old car wouldn’t hold up.”
And that was enough talking with this man, she thought, as she turned and headed back to the sink full of dirty pots. She’d already exchanged more information with him than she should have. She would only be here on the ranch for as long as it took for Jim’s leg to heal and Reena to resume her position as Chaparral cook.
After that, she would return to the reservation and try to gather enough funds to start nursing school. So while she was here on this huge, fancy ranch, she would keep her mind on her own business and never forget her plans for the future. A future that only included her and Dillon.
It certainly didn’t include dreams of a tall, shaggy-haired cowboy with a crooked grin and fascinating blue and brown eyes.
The mere thought of the ranch manager had her peeping over her shoulder, and what she saw virtually stunned her.
Dillon, her shy little boy who rarely ever took to strangers, especially male strangers, was now sitting in Laramie’s lap as though he’d just found his daddy.
“Dillon!” she said with a shocked gasp. “What are you doing?”
“We’re eating,” Laramie explained with a grin. “You see, me and your son have just agreed we’re going to be saddle pals. And saddle pals always share their food.”
Leyla stared in wonder. The man had come in dirty and tired. No doubt he’d put in a very long day. Yet he was patient enough to take time out of his evening to show her son a bit of attention and kindness. The idea stung her eyes with tears and she swiftly turned back to her dishwashing before the rancher could see he was melting her heart.
Oh, why couldn’t she have met this man before her life had gotten complicated and she’d become a single mother?
She snuck a glance through the mist of her tears at Dillon sitting on Laramie’s knee. He was the sort of man her son needed for a daddy. But she’d be crazy to let that sort of thought grow. A man like him was out of her reach. Or was he?
