Oh, yeah! Cody thought about his biological parents, who’d been addicted to painkillers to the extent they could no longer take care of him. Cody was aware of all the pitfalls he may have inherited, but was also thankful he’d grown up in such a loving and nurturing environment, never tempted by bad habits.
“I’m glad Mia got away from Ricky. Whatever happened to open her eyes was worth it. Sometimes it takes a shake-up to realize what you’ve got right in front of your nose. I’m talking about all this.” Stevie waved a hand around to take in the whole bunkhouse. “I didn’t even have to ask, and your family came to our rescue like true friends. Addy sent shampoo, conditioner, and sweet-smelling bath salts, and Pearl changed the bedsheets,” Stevie said. “I shouldn’t be cranky, but I am.”
“We are all your friends.” Cody laid a hand on her shoulder. “Finish eating, go take a bath, and sleep off the crankiness. Everything will be just fine, and we’ll get you back in your own home as soon as we can.”
“As cold as it is right now, that might be spring,” Stevie grumbled, “but thank you for trying to make me feel better.”
“Anytime, Miz Stevie”—he grinned—“and since you set the table and got everything ready, I’ll take care of the cleanup.”
* * *
“That’s so sweet.” Stevie was surprised that she had gotten all misty eyed. She tried to convince herself that it was relief at being rescued, but down deep she knew that she would miss the time she’d spent with Cody in the tack room. “I don’t deserve it, but it’s nice to have friends.”
“Why wouldn’t you deserve friends?” Cody asked.
Seeing what she took as a look of confusion on Cody’s face, Stevie said, “I have been downright mean to you ever since you came home, and here your family is being nice to me.”
“Everybody needs a helping hand sometime,” Cody said. “Now finish up your breakfast and go run a hot bath.”
She cut her eyes around at him. “I don’t take well to bossing.”
“No bossing intended. I’m being selfish, actually. I want to take a shower and to sink down into one of those bunk beds over there, and you are holding me back by either arguing or being too grateful for little favors,” he said. “I’m not sure which it is.”
“You’ve always been blunt.” Stevie finished the last bite on her plate and picked up her empty mug. “I shouldn’t expect you to change now, should I?”
“I’m too old a dog to start changing, but, darlin’”—he dragged the endearment out—“you are the pot calling the kettle black, when it comes to bluntness.”
Stevie refilled her mug and topped Cody’s off, then put the pot back on the warmer. “You don’t change a zebra’s stripes.”
She carried her mug to the bedroom, stopped inside the door, and turned around. “Do you need to come in here and get clean clothing or anything from the bathroom?”
“Yep, I do.” He pushed his chair back, popped the last bite of a biscuit filled with strawberry jelly into his mouth, and crossed the room in a few long strides. It only took him a few minutes to gather up whatever he needed. “Have a good nap,” he said as he eased the door shut behind him.
Stevie took stock of the bedroom and adjoining bathroom. Back in the day when the bunkhouse was full, this would have been the foreman’s quarters, but both had been remodeled in recent years. She figured the closet had been built in since the original foreman stayed in this room, and most likely, the first foreman didn’t have a king-sized bed with a memory-foam mattress. The bathroom offered a nice claw-foot tub with a shower, a vanity with a mirrored medicine cabinet above it, and a toilet. Nothing fancy, but that tub looked like it had been dropped out of heaven to Stevie.
She adjusted the water in the bathtub and poured in some of Addy’s bath salts, then dropped her clothing in a pile on the floor. Before the tub was half-full, she sunk down into the water and closed her eyes at the wonderful sensation of warmth surrounding her body. She leaned her head against the end of the tub and had almost dozed off when she came awake with a jerk and quickly turned off the faucet.
“I would have felt terrible if I had run this tub over,” she muttered as she dunked her head under the water and then worked shampoo into her wet hair, rinsed, and used a coconut-scented conditioner. After that she just leaned against the sloped back of the tub and didn’t waste a single bit of the warmth.
Once the water went lukewarm, she stood up and wrapped a wonderfully thick and fluffy towel around her head, and another one around her body. Towel-drying her curly, shoulder-length hair, she noticed a hair dryer on the vanity, and a broad smile broke out across her face.
“So, cowboys do dry their hair,” she said to her reflection in the mirror. “Why does that surprise me. They are proud of their hair, and as women, we wouldn’t want to go out with a guy with nasty hair.”
You take time to make yourself presentable too, her mother’s voice in her head reminded her.
“Whose side are you on?” she asked as she used the dryer.
Her mother didn’t have anything else to say, so Stevie fumbled around in the suitcase at the end of the bed and brought out a pair of underpants and pajamas. The flannel brought back memories of long nightgowns in the same fabric that her mother always bought special for her at Christmas. Little girls, according to her, should wear a granny gown when they opened their presents from under the tree.
“Little girls?” Stevie smiled at the memory. “I was thirty years old when you bought me my last flannel gown. I still have it, Mama, even though I only wore it the one time for a picture beside the tree.”
Stevie crawled in between sheets that smelled like she imagined heaven would—all fresh and sweet like her mother’s did right out of the dryer. Cody said that good memories would help her find closure. Maybe he was right. She snuggled down into the pillow and closed her eyes.
In seconds, she was asleep and dreaming of that day all those years ago when Cody Ryan told her that he had to follow his dreams and help other people. Only instead of turning away with tears in her eyes, in the dream she wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a hot, steamy kiss on his lips.
Chapter Seven
In a work of literature, the villain defines the heroine.
Stevie had learned that in her English Comp class—which she hated. That idea came back to her as she unbuttoned the shirt of her flannel pajamas and then took off the bottoms. She tossed both pieces on the end of the bed and got dressed in borrowed jeans and a sweatshirt with a picture of Luke Bryan on the front. Evidently, Mia liked country music too.
If Stevie were writing a book with herself as the heroine, then who was the villain, and who was the hero? she wondered. She sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled on a pair of clean socks, another thing she would never take for granted again.
Is Cody Ryan the villain in my story? she asked herself and nodded while she stomped her feet down into her cowboy boots. “Maybe not is, but was,” she whispered.
Can a villain also be a hero? she asked herself as she braided her hair and let it hang over one shoulder.