The Cowboy and His Baby

man trying to get them raised and married without calamity striking.
“We got the herd rounded up today,” he told Lance. “We only lost one more to the cold.”
“Thanks, Cody, but I didn’t call for an update.”
Something in Lance’s voice triggered alarm bells. “What’s wrong?” he asked at once. “Are there problems with the girls?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. We’re all fine, but you had a call here at the house.”
“I did?” He’d given the Treethorn number only to Jordan, with a direct order that it never be used except for a dire emergency. He knew his brother would never break that rule. His heart thudded dully as he waited for whatever bad news Jordan had imparted.
“Call home,” his boss told him. “It sounded pretty urgent. Your brother asked how quickly I could get a message to you. Obviously Jordan still doesn’t know you have a phone in your cabin.”
“No,” Cody admitted, grateful that his boss had never asked why he insisted on having such a buffer between him and his family. Lance was the best kind of boss, the best kind of friend. He was scrupulously fair. He lent support, but never asked questions or made judgments. There had been no hint of criticism in his voice when he’d commented just now on Cody’s decision to keep his private phone number from his family.
“I’m sorry he bothered you,” Cody apologized anyway.
“You know damned well it’s no bother. I just hope everything’s okay at home. Give me a call if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Thanks, Lance.”
Cody hung up slowly, thinking of the tiny picture that he’d placed in his wallet only moments earlier. Had something happened to Justin James? Or to Kelly? Why else would Jordan call? Damn, but he hated being so far away. What if…He allowed the thought to trail off.
“Stop imagining the worst and call,” he muttered out loud, finally forcing himself to dial his brother’s number, knowing that this call, whatever it was about, would shatter whatever distance he’d managed to achieve from his past.
Jordan picked up on the first ring. His voice sounded tired and hoarse.
“Hey, big brother,” Cody said.
“Cody, thank God. I was worried sick you wouldn’t get the message for days.”
Jordan, the most composed man Cody had ever known, sounded shaken. The alarm bells triggered by Lance’s call were clanging even louder now. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s bad news, Cody. Real bad.”
Cody sank onto a chair by the kitchen table and braced himself. The last time Jordan had sounded that somber was when their brother Erik had been killed in an accident on Luke’s ranch.
“Is it Dad?” he asked, hating even to form the words. Harlan Adams was bigger than life. He was immortal—or so Cody had always tried to tell himself. He couldn’t imagine a world in which Harlan wasn’t controlling and manipulating things.
“No, he’s fine,” Jordan reassured him at once, then amended, “Or at least as well as can be expected under the circumstances.”
“Dammit, Jordan, spit it out. What the hell has happened?”
“It’s Mother,” he began, then stopped. He swallowed audibly before adding, “She and Daddy were out riding this morning.”
He paused again and this time Cody could hear his ragged breathing. It almost sounded as if Jordan were crying, but that couldn’t be. Jordan never cried. None of them did. Harlan had very old-fashioned ideas on the subject of men and tears. He had set a tough example for them, too. He hadn’t shed a single tear when Erik died. He’d just retreated into stony, guilt-ridden silence for months after the loss of his son. The rest of them had coped with their grief dry-eyed, as well. If Erik’s death hadn’t caused Jordan’s cool, macho facade to crack, what on earth had?
“Jordan, are you okay?” he asked.
“No. Mother took a bad fall, Cody.”
Cody felt as if the blood had drained out of him. Hands trembling, he grabbed the edge of the table and held on. “How is she? Is she…”
“She’s gone, Cody,” Jordan said with a catch in his voice. “She never woke up. She was dead by the time the paramedics got to the ranch.”
“My God,” he murmured, stunned. Forbidden tears stung his eyes. Ashamed, he wiped at them uselessly. They kept coming, accompanied by a terrible sense of loss. “Are you sure Daddy’s okay? Why aren’t you with him?”
“Luke and Jessie are over at White Pines now. Luke’s got the funeral arrangements under control. Kelly and I will be going over right after I get off the phone. I wanted to stay here until you called back. How soon can you get here?”
Cody noticed his brother asked the question as if there were no doubt at all that he would be coming home. “I don’t know,” he said, struggling between duty and the agony that going home promised.
Disapproving silence greeted the reply. “But you will be here,” Jordan said emphatically. “I’m telling Daddy you’re on your way.”
Cody rubbed his suddenly pounding head. “I don’t know,” he repeated.
“Look, this is no time to be indulging in self-pity, little brother,” Jordan snapped impatiently. “Daddy needs you here, probably more than he needs any of the rest of us. He’ll need you to take up some of the slack at White Pines while he pulls himself together. He’s always depended on you. Don’t let him down now.”
Cody said nothing.
Jordan finally broke the silence with a sigh. “We’re scheduling the funeral for Saturday,” he said. “Be here, Cody.”
He hung up before Cody could reply.
Cody sat in the gathering darkness, silent, unchecked tears streaking down his cheeks. He had no choice and he knew it. Mary Adams might not have been the kind of warm, doting mother a child dreamed of, but Harlan Adams had worshiped her. He could not let his father go through this kind of grief without all of his sons at his side. It was the kind of loyalty that had been ingrained in him since birth. As badly as he wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, he knew better.