Page 8 of Cowboy's Melody
Brooks
It figures the first woman I’m interested in since Samantha died is a country super star. Talk about unattainable. No matter how gorgeous Teddi is, we come from different worlds. I can’t get involved with someone who isn’t going to be around forever, who lives a life unlike the one I have here on the ranch. But the bottom line is, I won’t put Logan through the agony of getting attached to someone only to have them leave.
When my mom, Logan and Teddi come back from picking cherries, I already know I’m in trouble because I can see the love in Logan’s eyes. We’re both under Teddi’s spell. If I can keep myself in check, then this will be nothing more than a great memory for Logan, something she can brag about with her friends.
“Daddy! You have to see how many cherries Teddi picked!” Logan races forward with the basket swinging from her hand. Cherries pop out of the basket and onto the ground.
“Logan! Watch what you’re doing!” I call out before any more cherries wind up in the dirt. My daughter skids to a halt to see the tiny mess around her.
“Sorry Daddy,” she says with a sweet smile and a tilt of her head.
“Let me take that.” I reach down for the basket and we walk into the main house together, my mom and Teddi trailing after us.
I set the fruit down on the counter and look up just as Teddi walks in the room. Her cheeks are windblown and pink, and her blonde ponytail is a little messy. There’s even a little bit of dirt on her pristine white shirt. But it’s her smile and the way it fills her entire face that makes my heart skip a beat. And it’s the way she tugs on one of Logan’s braids and they laugh like they’re sharing an inside joke.
“Brooks, where’d you learn to braid like this?” She runs her thumb and forefinger down one of Logan’s braids. “My momma could never get this right, no matter how hard she tried.”
I’m secretly proud of being able to braid Logan’s hair. It’s not a masculine skill but I do it for her out of love. “My dad taught me.”
From the way Teddi’s mouth drops, she wasn’t expecting that answer.
“He used to show horses and he’d braid the mane and tail of his horse all the time. When I was old enough to help, he taught me.”
“Is there anything you can’t do?” Teddi murmurs.
“Bake,” I answer, even though I know the question was rhetorical. I pluck a cherry from the basket and bite the fruit from the stem. I give her a wink before walking out of the kitchen.
My mom and Logan spend the next few hours baking, with the occasional assist from Teddi. When the sun starts to set, I hear Teddi gasp. “Oh wow! What a sunset!”
I look out toward the back of the house, which is practically windows, and agree. The sunsets here are pretty spectacular. Everything is bathed in a golden orange glow.
“Daddy, will you build a fire tonight?” Logan hops down from the stool she’s perched on and rushes toward me, her lip already pouting. “We haven’t had a fire in forever.”
My mouth opens but then Logan bats her eyelashes and it’s hard to resist such a sweet face. “Alright,” I agree. “I’ll build a fire.”
“And can we have s’mores?”
I nod. “We can have s’mores.”
“And will you sing?”
“I will not sing,” I state firmly. “I’ve already embarrassed myself in front of our guest once, I don’t need to do it again.”
“Nonsense Brooks,” my mother interjects. “You have a wonderful voice.”
“It’s alright,” I say with a shrug. “Logan likes it, and that’s all that matters.”
Truth is, when Samantha died, I stopped singing. It was something she loved and after the car accident, I just couldn’t find my voice again. But when Logan was up crying in the middle of the night, singing was the only thing that could soothe her. And now, whenever she can, she suckers me into playing private little concerts in our living room. Or having dance parties in matching monster onesies.
“Daddy, youhaveto sing,” Logan begs. “We can’t have s’mores without songs.”
“Yeah, Brooks. We can’t have s’mores without songs!” Teddi echoes Logan and suddenly, I’m outnumbered.
“Only if Teddi sings too,” I challenge.
“Oh, I got songs cowboy, but do you have the melody?”
Her sass hits me right in the gut, and the heart. I meet her gaze dead on. The urge to kiss her is so strong, it takes everything I have not to walk across the room, haul her into my arms and cover her mouth with mine. I want to tug on her ponytail and feel her soft curves in my hands. I want her under me and over me, calling out my name in her sweet southern twang.
