It Takes a Cowboy

Scott leaned over to plant a kiss on top of her head. “Good night, Caro. Sleep well.”

“Carolyn seems very nice,” Blair said as Scott held her chair for her once they were in the beautifully decorated dining room. “Has she been with you long?”

“Four years. Things were really a mess around here before she took over. Now I don’t know what we would do without her.”

“And she’s content to live here—at the office, so to speak?”

“She gets away occasionally to visit family, but she prefers to stay here for the most part. Her rooms are upstairs where she has more space and privacy—I had an elevator installed for her behind the main staircase. She has a few health problems. Margaret cares for her when she’s ill.”

“Has she always been in a wheelchair?”

Scott’s expression turned grave. “No. She was in a terrible car accident seven years ago. Her husband and daughter were killed. Carolyn was hospitalized for a very long time. I’m told that it was practically a miracle that she’s recovered as well as she has.”

Blair’s heart ached with sympathy for the other woman’s tragedies—and admiration that she could still smile and tease and almost single-handedly manage Scott’s office responsibilities. “You said the accident was seven years ago and she’s been with you four years. Where did she live before she came here?”

“With her mother—Margaret’s cousin. But Carolyn doesn’t want to be cared for. She likes knowing she has an important job to fill.”

That didn’t surprise Blair. The woman she had just met looked like a person who would prefer to pull her own weight. And she seemed to do so quite admirably here.

Even as much as he relied on Carolyn, Scott was being very generous to provide her with a job and a home and facilities here—probably for as long as she needed them—just as he’d given Margaret a home, and who knew how many others. He’d donated his time to the bachelor auction and the charity rodeo, both for very worthy causes, and he’d been so kind to Jeffrey. It wasn’t easy resisting this footloose, but undeniably generous, cowboy. Somehow, she was going to have to find a way.

Margaret entered the dining room then to serve dinner. She kept up a running dialogue with Scott while she did so, making Blair laugh at their witticisms. The meal was as delicious as Scott promised—crisp salads followed by glazed ham with garlic-roasted potatoes and tender asparagus spears.

“Leave room for dessert,” Margaret ordered when she left them to their meals. “I’ve got strawberry shortcake.”

“If I keep eating with you, I’m going to have to buy new clothes,” Blair told Scott ruefully when Margaret returned to the kitchen. “My old ones are going to be too small.”

He smiled at her. “I wouldn’t worry about that. You don’t have an extra ounce anywhere.”

She hastily concentrated on her meal.

Margaret served the shortcake and then stepped back from the table. “Is there anything else I can do for you two this evening?”

“No, Margaret, you’ve already gone out of your way for us. Thank you,” Scott replied warmly.

“I’ll finish cleaning up the kitchen and then watch a little TV before bedtime. It was sure nice to meet you, Ms. Townsend.”

“Please call me Blair,” she said with a smile, uncomfortable with the formality in such an informal household. “The dinner was excellent, Margaret.”

The compliment seemed to please her. “I’m real glad you enjoyed it, Ms.—Blair.”

“She likes you,” Scott confided when they were alone again.

“I like her, too. You’ve assembled a very nice family here.”

He seemed taken aback by her wording. “It’s hardly a family. This is my staff, Blair.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, more taken with her own description. It wasn’t hard to envision Jake as a father figure for Scott, Margaret a mother to him and Carolyn an older sister. And the men in the bunkhouse—brothers? For a man who claimed to need no family ties, Scott had surrounded himself with them.

When they had finished their desserts, Scott stood. “Why don’t we move to the den? I’ll refill our coffee cups first.”

That sounded quite cozy—too cozy, perhaps. She glanced at her watch as she rose to her feet. “It’s getting rather late....”

He chuckled. “What’s the matter, Blair? Did your aunt give you a curfew?”

“No,” she admitted. “She said she would spend the night if I was very late, but—”

“Then let’s go get comfortable.”