Her Unexpected Cowboy (Unforgettable Cowboys Book 1) Page 5

  She snuck a glance at Jameson while cracking the first egg into the pan. His nose crinkled. She had planned to cook fried eggs this morning, but instead she grabbed the spatula and started scrambling the yolk with the tiny red dot showing the sign of fertilization.

  She pulled out a paper wrapped slab of ham and diced some up before tossing them into the pan along with the eggs.

  “Do you get that ham from the butcher?” he asked, nodding towards the paper.

  “Oh, uh, no. I have neighbor that I trade with. Every year they get a goat, and I get a half a hog. They butcher their animals themselves.”

  “Huh.” He sat back in his chair and watched her silently.

  She washed some peppers, mushrooms, and spinach, but as she began chopping the vegetables, a thought struck her. Many men she knew didn’t like vegetables. “Do you like veggies—ugh, I’m sorry.” She slapped her forehead as regret sat heavy in her belly.

  “Yes,” he answered quickly.

  Her eyes snapped back to him. “Yes?” she asked.

  “It came out instantly. It seems correct.”

  Sydney tore her eyes away from his endearing grin and did her best to focus on chopping. Yet, she couldn’t concentrate and kept looking over to the stranger who didn’t feel so strange anymore.

  “Ouch!” she cried out, instantly shoving her finger into her mouth.

  Jameson was on his feet and to her before she even had an idea of what had happened.

  “You okay?” he asked as he gently took her finger from out of her mouth.

  “Yeah, just a little cut,” she said, not knowing how to respond to his proximity or his concern. His hand holding hers faded any pain she had away like a fresh spring breeze. Little drops of blood began beading on her finger. “I...I’ll just go get a band aid. Could you please keep an eye on breakfast for me? I don’t want it to burn.”

  “Uh, sure,” he said, though his voice sounded anything but sure. His eyes scanned between the cutting board and the pan on the stove.

  Sydney quickly made her escape, trying to catch her breath while doing so. Her hand still tingled from where he had held it. Why did she always go for the bad boys? This guy didn’t even have a memory of how bad he actually was. He had nice manners, but she could feel it in her blood—he was a bad boy. Besides, nice guys don’t get left beaten in the middle of the road.

  The cut stung as she rinsed it off in the sink. She then held it tight with a tissue to stop the bleeding. Why did he have to show more concern than number one or number two? A small smile tugged at her mouth in memory of her friend making fun of her. She had replied to her, Yes, I numbered my exes. It’s better than saying their names and all the emotion wrapped up in them. Her friend had never bothered her about calling her exes by numbers again.

  Why did she compare them to Jameson anyway? Was she really that desperate for male company? All any man had done was cause her heartache and memories she wished she could bury. She didn’t want to go through all that again, even for a tall, dark, handsome stranger with magnificent green eyes and large hands. Yet, she had wished for that, hadn’t she. Might Jameson be worth a chance to try again?

  “Meow,” sounded with a scratch at the door. Saved by that cat. She opened the door and gave a few pets to the furry feline before she heard murmured curses from the kitchen. She strode down the hall to investigate with her heart pounding.

  She had only been gone a matter of moments but it looked like a tornado had landed in the kitchen. Vegetables looked hacked and destroyed all over the counter. Eggs had splattered out of the pan all over the stove. Coffee had spilled and been half cleaned with the rag still sitting in the puddle. Her mouth dropped, but when Jameson looked over with a sheepish, half-proud smile, she couldn’t keep the laughter from bubbling forth.

  “Well, I guess we know you aren’t a cook,” she teased while taking the spatula from his hand.

  “Here I thought I was doing a bang-up job.” His lower lip protruded slightly and urges she hadn’t felt in years sprang forth.

  Luckily the pan’s popping and sizzling woke her up from this playing-house moment. Sydney, you are losing it girl. Her heart hammered loudly while she did her best to focus on salvaging what she could of their breakfast.

  Jameson cleaned up the rest of the spilled coffee and wrung the dish cloth out in the sink. Then he relaxed in the chair again, watching her.

  “So, I guess I need to work on my cooking skills.” He chuckled lightly. “That’s not too bad of a flaw is it?”

  “No.” She laughed, thinking he did more than most men. In fact, she hadn’t experienced even one who had ever attempted to cook a meal that didn’t involve opening a can or using the microwave. “It was a good try.”

  “Hey, I could learn.”

  Her hand paused in the air, and she turned to face his brilliant green eyes. “You know, I think you actually could.”

  While they ate, she noticed Jameson scratching at his stubbled face with his thick fingers. He looked rugged with the starting of a beard, and maybe even a little more handsome. It obviously irritated him though.

  “I don’t think you’re used to two days without shaving.”

  He dropped his hand, but then immediately reached up to feel the bristly hair. “Yeah, I would gather not.”

  “Would you like to use a razor?”

  “No offense, Syd, but I doubt your lady blades would do much on this thick stubble.”

  She shrugged.

  “Maybe I’ll let it grow...” His eyes faded just as his voice did, and she wondered if he searched his missing memory for something.

  They continued to eat in silence. Sydney sensed he needed his space. It would be difficult to not constantly be thinking of what you didn’t know and what you should know. She chuffed lightly, thinking of all the things she would be happy to forget. Then her eyes caught the worn wooden table, the nicked chairs, the sun-faded curtains, and memories of happy summers consumed her. No, she wouldn’t want to forget those.

  ~5~

  Jameson’s frustration grew as Homer repeated the same words he had for what seemed like the hundredth time. He felt like he was a quick study, so why did trimming goats’ hooves sound like a foreign language to him. It didn’t help that he had felt preoccupied all morning.

  Between a gnawing sense that something or someone was coming for him and not being able to keep his eyes off his new boss, it was a wonder he could concentrate at all. He scanned the tree line again.

  “Hello, are you in there, Hotshot? How do expect to take care of Miss Sydney when you can’t focus enough to learn how to trim these hooves?”

  How could he expect to take care of Syd? With no memory and sure that trouble waited for him, he knew he was no good for her. An incessant tugging resounded in him, urging him to flee before that trouble found him and put Syd in harm’s way. His eyes found her again. He had no desire to leave her.

  The older man cleared his throat and looked pointedly at him.

  With a deep breath, he forced himself to pay attention to the man and learn how to accomplish the task that he could handle right now. This he could do. Everything else, he had no idea how to proceed.

  ~*~

  Sydney’s gaze strayed to where Homer instructed Jameson. She tried to focus on Olive, the goat it was taking her forever to milk. The animal looked back at her and bleated.

  “I know girl, I’m sorry. I’ll focus.” It took physical effort to do so, but she finished the milking and sent the goat off with the rest of the milking herd. She stretched her hands and her back before hauling the full bucket back to the barn.

  Right before she walked out of sight, she stole one more glimpse of Jameson. This time though, his intense green eyes connected with hers. She tripped over a divot in the dirt and barely caught herself before the milk pail turned over. He didn’t see that, did he?

  A quick glance showed his hastily averted eyes and a small sideways grin that he did his best to hide. He saw.

  Sh
e chastised herself the whole time she processed the milk. She would have enough extra that would age in time for Mountain Valley Farm Day.

  She was still processing cheese when she heard the rumble of Homer’s quad take off down the dirt road that led to his place. Only moments later she sensed the larger than life presence of Jameson in the doorway. His scent carried on a breeze from the open door, causing her knees to quiver. Focus girl.

  “There you are,” his deep voice flowed out.

  She nodded, not trusting herself to not blurt out something stupid.

  He leaned back on the doorframe. He was the picture of the sexy cowboy. All he needed to do was take off his shirt, and he would fit on one of those steamy romance books perfectly.

  “I gather this is the cheese-making room?” He scanned the cheeses in various stages strung up throughout the small room.

  “Yep,” she breathed out. Single words answers, I got this. Just don’t come any closer.

  He uncrossed his arms and slowly made his way to her. Had he heard her? Her heartbeat drowned out all the other sounds and her hands shook. She kneaded the cheese with more vigor to cover up the wavering.

  “Do you need help with this?” He stood so close behind her that the breath of his words caressed her neck, causing a few tendrils of hair that escaped her bun to blow in its breeze.

  “Nope,” she quickly chirped out. Knead, roll, knead, focus.

  “Well, then,” he scooted around to the side of her, scratched his chin, and pushed his hat further back on his head. “If you don’t mind, I would love to use your shower.”

  “Sure.” Yeah, that’s right, Sydney. One word answers, breathe.

  He watched her for a few more moments, eyebrows furrowed. Then he turned and left the room.

  Finally she could breathe again, but it took another ten minutes for her heart to slow to a less deafening roar. What was she going to do with this man working so close with her? Whether she was falling for him, or if it was because a lack of male attention for too long, she couldn’t seem to control her body whenever he got near. Well, not even when he was in her line of sight.

  ~*~

  The sun greeted Jameson with filtered rays skimming over the top of the regal pines. He took a minute to breath in the fresh spring air. This piece of property was a dream—mostly level land surrounded by a fortress of pines and spruces. The house, though small and older, held a sweet feeling of coming home, just like its owner.

  Jameson shook his head as he continued towards the house. The echo of his feet on the porch felt right. In less than forty-eight hours he already was at ease here. He tugged off both muddy boots and left them in the clean spot next to where Sydney kept hers.

  Sydney.

  His heart felt oddly light and fluttery thinking of her. She kept him on his toes, seeming to state her mind clearly, and yet like she just had a few minutes ago, make him wonder if he imagined the look in her eyes.

  She probably just watched him like she did to make sure he didn’t steal something or mistreat her animals. She sure seemed to love those creatures, not that they weren’t cute in their own way. Watching those babies romp around did put a smile on his face.

  The screen slammed behind him, causing him to startle. He was going to have to remember that it closed so aggressively. After a breath to calm his high alert response, his eyes went directly to the empty place on the wall. He still felt horrible for that picture breaking like it did. Sydney did her best to act like it was okay, but it obviously meant a lot to her. He would have to find a way to fix that frame.

  “Meow.” The cat rubbed against his pants, his purr filling the quiet house.

  “Well, hello to you too.” Jameson chuckled. He guessed he would talk to animals just like Sydney did if he was alone all the time.

  He gave the cat one last scratch on the head, and then strolled into the bathroom. He opened the cupboard where Sydney had cleared out a small shelf for the clothes she had Homer buy him. She really had been a blessing to find. Anyone else probably would have called the Sheriff right away or at the least sent him on his way. Why had she allowed him to stay?

  As the room steamed up while the water warmed, Jameson watched his reflection slowly disappear in the condensation on the mirror. He knew his face, his name, and he began to notice what type of man he was, but where had he come from? What was his life like before two days ago? And who in the world beat him up and left him on the side of the road?

  The hot water blasted his head as he leaned against the shower wall and let the dirt, grime, and sweat wash off him. He tried to let all the uncertainties follow them down the drain. Yet, even after he dried off and put on a pair of pants, the questions still haunted him.

  He wiped the mirror, but it immediately fogged back up. He opened the door and let the cool air rush in and the steam wisp out. Soon the mirror cleared and he leaned forward to look himself in the eye. Maybe if he searched hard enough, he would find himself in there somewhere.

  ~6~

  A smile crept across Sydney’s face when she saw Jameson’s boots by the front door. She pulled hers off and left them in their normal spot right next to his. A tingle shot down her spine. How could something as simple as a pair of boots cause such a reaction?

  Entering the house she was greeted by the scent of the humid shower. The steam escaped from the open door. Her heart seized. Oh my goodness, he didn’t shower with the door open, did he? No water sounded, but the light glowed into the short hallway.

  His voice, soft and mumbled, carried to where she stood frozen. No words could be made out really, only the tone. She thought of sneaking closer, but shook her head and turned toward the kitchen to see what dinner options might be. With someone else here, it made her actually cook rather than just grabbing a piece of fruit and some cheese or something. Before she lived here, she would have just poured herself a bowl of cereal. Life had changed drastically over the last almost two years.

  For the better.

  “Meow.”

  “Yes, Mr. Paws.” She poured some food in his dish. “Here you go.”

  The cat weaved in and out of her legs a few times before going to munch on his food. Sydney wondered what he and Guardian thought of the intrusion by this stranger.

  She needed to change out of her grubby clothes before she started on dinner, but fear rooted her socked feet to the wood floor. What would she see if she walked by that open, steaming door? Her active imagination filled in the blanks and heat burned her cheeks.

  With decision she took the meat out of the fridge and added seasoning to it before letting it soak in the marinade. Then she had nothing to keep her busy so she started with purpose towards the bathroom.

  “Who are you?” Jameson’s tortured voice crossed the distance, clear as day.

  She froze. Empathy washed through her and a heaviness landed in the pit of her stomach. Here she was, so worried about what to do with this hot cowboy in her life, and the poor guy struggled with so much more. She turned and tip-toed back outside, ensuring the screen door didn’t slam.

  Guardian ambled over to her after she sat in the porch swing and positioned himself so she could brush his head with each sway.

  “Hey boy,” she lamented with him. He nudged up under her arm as much as he could. “Yeah, I know.”

  “You know what?” Jameson’s deep voice startled her.

  She instantly stopped her feet from swinging her. His new clothes fit him well, but there was no hiding his wide build or built chest. She wondered if he used to work out.

  “Do you always talk to your animals like that?” he asked before relaxing against the railing opposite of her.

  “Yeah,” she said with a shrug. Keep the conversation about him, think about what he was going through. “When you’re alone it’s nice to have a conversation with someone.” She laughed, and he rewarded with his lopsided grin.

  “How long have you been...alone?” The way he hesitated made her look closer at him.

  “W
hat, now you ask about the man, or absence thereof, in my life?”

  “Just a question.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but the stiffness in his shoulders said something entirely different.

  “Almost two years.” She met his eyes, and then they wouldn’t let her go.

  “That’s a long time...to be alone.”

  “It would be if you liked people.” She forced herself to smile. Her statement held some truth, but looking at him, she knew once he remembered who he was and left, that feeling of loneliness would be overpowering. How quickly she had accepted his company.

  “You don’t like people?” he asked.

  “What’s with all the questions?” She stood and held her breath as she walked past him to the door. Breathing his scent in this proximity could undo her.

  He followed her into the kitchen where she finished the preparations for dinner. She tossed a salad together, wishing he would sit down at the table instead of leaning against the cupboards watching her.

  “When you,” he started, cleared his throat, and continued, “don’t have a memory of your own, memories seem more valuable.” He shrugged and crossed his arms across his broad chest. “Maybe listening to some of yours would somehow help me recall some of mine.”

  A long silence enveloped them. Sydney thought of all the memories she wished would disappear. She didn’t want to relieve those, much less share them. Better to stick with the past that brought those feel-good emotions. She wanted to keep conversations around him, but how could she deny his request?

  “When I came out here as a kid,” she said, and he took a few steps closer to her and resettled himself. His complete attention softened her heart. When was the last time someone really wanted to hear what she had to say? “It felt like freedom.”

  “Freedom?” His posture tightened.

  “Yeah,” she said. “It was so peaceful here.” A few goats bleated loudly. Perfect timing, she thought with a smile.