Ted Caldwell whistled as he put the horse he’d worked with all morning in his stall. “You’ll get it tomorrow, Yellowstone.” The horse had a long way to go, but Ted just gave the animal a grin and turned toward the tack room. Yellowstone was a natural bucker, and he’d be a fantastic bronco for the rodeo if Ted could get him trained up right.
He hung up the saddle, his stomach growling for something to eat. He hadn’t heard from Landon or any of the other cowboys, but Megan usually had something laid out for lunch at the homestead, especially in the summertime.
His cowboy boots made clomping noises on the packed dirt as he made his way past the exercise circle and the huge, covered horse arena. He was one of six cowboys that lived full-time at Brush Creek Horse Ranch, working and training horses for the rodeo circuit. Each of the cowboys had a different specialty, and Ted’s was getting the broncos set to win championships. It could take him a couple of years to get a single horse ready, and he never worked with more than three at a time.
Right now he only had two, which gave him a bit more time to help with regular ranch duties like working in the fields and making sure the pastures stayed fenced. His spirit warmed when he thought about the weekend before him. Tomorrow afternoon, he’d take his two broncs out to the pastures by the red rock buttes, where they’d stay for a couple of days. He’d been working the horses hard lately, and everyone—himself included—needed a break.
“Landon?” he called as he entered the homestead through the sliding glass door off the pool. “Megan?” The owners of the ranch, Landon and Megan had just had their third child. Megan had only been home from the hospital for about a week, and their four-year-old twins could usually be heard from anywhere on the ranch.
But Ted couldn’t hear anything right now. Neither Megan nor Landon seemed to be around, but all the sandwich stuff spread across the kitchen counter meant lunch was on at the homestead. Other cowboys had obviously been through the line, as the meat and cheese was out of the bags and the lids on the mayo and mustard had been popped.
Ted picked up his whistling again as he bustled around the kitchen, slathering mayo on white bread and then layering turkey, roast beef, and provolone on top of that. Instead of taking just a handful of chips from one of the bags, he snagged the whole, crinkly container and headed toward the front door.
The backyard baked in the Utah sun, so Megan had put a table and enough chairs for all the cowboys to eat lunch on the front patio, where the shade kept everyone cool. As Ted exited the house, with its blessed air conditioning, he remembered how little the shade actually did in mid-July.
He sighed and took a seat at the table beside Blake, the newest member of the cowboy team at Brush Creek. “How’s everyone?” He tucked a napkin into the front of his shirt and exhaled happily.
Blake chuckled. “You and that ridiculous napkin.” He swiped at it, but Ted dodged him and dug into his sandwich.
“This napkin keeps my clothes pristine.” He used it to wipe his beard and mustache. “And my beautiful beard lookin’ great.”
“For who?” Blake challenged. “Us? All the women out here are already married.” He glanced across the lane to the row of cowboy cabins, two of which now housed families and not just men. Ted hadn’t given much thought to expanding the residents in his cabin; he hadn’t dated in the five years since he’d arrived at the ranch, since he’d left the rodeo circuit after breaking six ribs and a leg. He didn’t walk with a limp, and he had enough money in the bank that he didn’t have to work at all. He counted his lucky stars everyday that he’d landed at Brush Creek and could still feel the calming influence of the horses.
Walker mentioned there were lots of available women down in town, and lunch concluded. Ted stayed at the table, having only been there for a few minutes. He stretched out and put both his hands behind his head. The blue sky with those puffy white clouds made him smile.
Something crashed in the house, and Ted got to his feet, curiosity burning through him. He wanted another sandwich anyway, so he re-entered the house, expecting to see Megan carrying her newborn and trying to keep the twins away from whatever she’d broken.
He didn’t see her, but another brunette, whose hair color obviously came from a bottle, along with the numerous lighter brown and blonde streaks that fell across her shoulders.
This woman crouched low to the ground, picking up pieces of a glass bowl that had broken. She muttered under her breath and didn’t seem to notice Ted as he approached—a real feat considering the size of his cowboy boots and the echoing tile floor.
“Do you need some help?” he said in his gentlest voice, the one he used on the wild horses when they first arrived at the ranch.
She jumped away from him, straightening and covering her heart with her palm. “You don’t have to yell.”
Ted blinked at her and looked around the house, as if someone would appear and confirm that he hadn’t yelled. “I’ll get the broom.”
“Never mind.” She looked annoyed, but surely she couldn’t have a problem with him. “I’ll just use a wet paper towel.” Her eyes didn’t land directly on his as she moved to the sink and ran the water over a half dozen paper towels. She wrung them out and then swiped the makeshift pad across the floor where the break had happened. “It gets all the tiniest pieces.” She threw the paper towels in the trash and finally faced him.
Her frown deepened and she wrinkled her nose as if he smelled like horse manure. Maybe he did. “Who are you?”
“Ted Caldwell. I work with the broncos.” He grinned at her, pleased when she allowed her lips to curl up slightly. “Who are you?” He allowed his eyes to travel down the length of her body, drinking in her tight jeans and billowy blouse. It was the color of shamrocks and covered with flowers.
She folded her arms. “April.” Her voice indicated that he’d just used the only question she’d allow. “Excuse me.” She started toward the steps that led to the basement, but her hip bumped into the sideboard and a vase teetered, tipped, toppled to the ground.
April froze as more glass, this time with real wildflowers and water, spilled across the floor. She turned back to Ted with a smile with the wattage of the sun. “Could you get the broom now?”
Ted thought he’d do whatever this woman asked, and he stepped over to the pantry like an obedient dog. He shook his head as he realized what track his thoughts had gone down. Confusion riddled through him. Ted Caldwell didn’t date. Hadn’t dated. Wasn’t interested.
But as he turned back to April, broom in hand, he wondered if maybe it was time to get interested. “What’s your last name, April?” he asked as he wielded the broom with precision to get all the bigger pieces of glass.
“Nox.”
“Where are you from?” He threw the broken glass in the trashcan and reached for the roll of paper towels.
April leaned against the back of the couch that bordered the living room and folded her arms again. As Ted wrung out the paper towels, he noticed a distinct bump beneath her arms. His fingers stuttered and he flat-out stared.
“Wyoming,” she said, her voice as sour as chokecherries. “And yes, I’m pregnant.”
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