Page 10 of Falling for the Cowgirl
Wyatt held his youngest child—a boy named Ryder—on his knee and bounced him up and down. The infant slapped his hands on the table and grinned with glee, revealing a couple of tiny teeth. Jericho didn’t have enough experience with children to guess ages, but the baby had to be younger than two since Greta had given birth right before he and Dylan had left.
“Just until you find something steady,” Wyatt added. “Reckon you’ll be wanting a foreman position like before?”
“Actually, I’m considering getting my own ranch.” Jericho didn’t like having to lie, but he had no choice with the kind of criminals he hunted, especially his newest. Rodney James was too intelligent and always managed to stay one step ahead of the law. They’d only been able to trace him by linking his victims. He cut out their tongues the same way he’d done during the war. Jericho suspected he did it so that if anyone lived, they wouldn’t be able to talk about him.
Maybe now was the time to change the subject and update the family on Dylan. He’d sensed how eager they were to hear about their brother, and he was grateful they’d given him a chance to eat first.
Before Wyatt or Greta could ask him any more about his plans or his reasons for being in the high country, he pushed aside his plate. “Suppose you’d like to know how Dylan is doing.”
“Yep.” Wyatt stopped bouncing his baby. “Been praying for that kid a whole heap, and I’m hoping you’re bringing good news about him buckling down and getting back on the straight and narrow.”
Jericho could feel all eyes on him and suddenly noticed Ivy wasn’t in the room. Where had she gone off to? Just the thought of her competing in the riding and roping contests needled him with fresh guilt. Not only was he lying about himself, but now he was lying for her too.
He tucked away his guilt and said what he needed to. “Dylan’s got a job as a police constable in Chicago.”
“Police?” Wyatt and Greta asked the question at the same time.
“He’s doing real well for himself.” Except for the women and the drinking. Good thing Jericho was already an expert at rescuing and taking care of drunks. The Lord only knew how many times he’d had to step in and drag his dad home from saloons after his mom died.
“Why Chicago?” Wyatt persisted.
“I took him to my home—to my dad.” Even though Jericho had told himself he’d never return, he’d gone because he had every confidence Elijah Bliss would keep Dylan safe from Bat and his gang.
“Didn’t know you were from Chicago.” Wyatt was watching him, as if he was waiting for more enlightenment. He was probably wondering why Jericho hadn’t mentioned he was from Illinois, especially since he’d known that was where Greta and Astrid had once lived.
Jericho couldn’t say much. Didn’t want word leaking out about his dad’s identity as a Pinkerton agent, not now that his own was connected so closely. But Wyatt and the family deserved at least the barest of explanations.
“Yes, I ...” He sat up, trying to think, but before he could formulate his answer, Ivy breezed into the room.
Instead of wearing the disheveled, half-buttoned, and damp garments from before, she’d changed her clothes and had on a light blue dress. It wasn’t fancy, but it wasn’t like any of the simple girlish outfits she used to wear. This one was tailored to fit. And fit it did. Giving him no excuse to think of her as anything but a woman ever again.
She’d brushed her dark hair, and it hung in long, damp waves over her shoulders and down her back, as thick and luxurious as the finest Arabian horse’s mane. Without the night or anything else obscuring her face, he could seethat her features had matured—her lips were fuller, her lashes thicker and longer, and her cheeks narrower and more defined.
She wasn’t just pretty. She was absolutely breathtaking. Any man who could mistake her for Buster Bliss was either blind or a fool.
He couldn’t tear his eyes from her as she crossed to the nearest of Wyatt’s children, a little girl who had Greta’s fair hair and silvery blue eyes. Ivy bent and hugged the child. “How’s my sweet Ellie?”
After a kiss, Ivy wrapped Wyatt’s oldest son, Ty, in a hug. If Jericho remembered correctly, the boy was about five, maybe six, years old and growing into a polite little man. He returned Ivy’s embrace with more reservation, while the youngest tyke held up his arms to Ivy and babbled, apparently not wanting to miss out on his aunt’s affection.
With a tender laugh, Ivy took Ryder from Wyatt and lifted him above her head. He squealed, and she laughed again. The sound of it nearly knocked the wind from Jericho.
“Looks like everyone missed you today, Ivy,” Wyatt said with one brow quirked at Jericho.
Jericho jerked his attention away from Ivy and down to his coffee.
“Well, I missed them.” With Ryder above her, Ivy blew a noisy kiss onto his belly, earning his giggles.
Jericho tried to focus on the sludge left in the bottom of his mug, but his gaze had a will of its own, and before he could stop himself, he was staring at Ivy once more. With her head bent back, every sweet inch of her womanly figure was right there for the viewing, including all that soft, creamy skin showing from the lace at her bosom to her neck.
He had a sudden vision of her in the river, the moonlight shining down on her. He hadn’t seen anything he wasn’t supposed to. But son-of-a-gun, his imagination was trying to head in a direction it shouldn’t.
Heat shot into his veins as it had earlier. No. That was lust, and the last thing he wanted to do was lust after Ivy McQuaid.
Even so, as she pressed another kiss to her nephew’s belly, he couldn’t keep from admiring her changes. Gone was the dusty, windswept girl. And in her place stood a tantalizing, almost-dangerous beauty of a woman.
Wyatt blew out a half laugh.
Jericho jerked his sights back to his coffee, trying to keep his expression emotionless even as his insides churned with feelings he couldn’t begin to name.
