1
“Dad, why don’t you have yourself a woman?”
Tyler McQuaid, in the middle of casting his fishing line, slipped on the wet stones beneath his waders. He threw out both hands and tried to steady himself, but the rushing river was too strong. In the next instant, he found himself falling backward into the mountain runoff, still icy cold for May. He landed with a splash, his fly rod falling from his grip into the Badger River.
A dozen paces ahead in the shallow water, Wyatt glanced over his shoulder, his innocent seven-year-old eyes widening. “What’s wrong?”
Sitting waist-deep in the river, Tyler could only stare at his son, a miniature version of himself with a stocky frame, dark-brown hair, deep-set eyes, and a strong, square jawline. The kid was wearing a black Stetson and was outfitted in his own waders and flannel shirt, just like Tyler’s.
“Dad?” Wyatt persisted as he swiped up the pole floating past him.
“Your question surprised me a little. That’s all.”
Perched on a log a short distance from the river, Anson guffawed obnoxiously. The old cowboy-turned-nanny paused in his whittling of mushroom replicas to lift his brows at Tyler, his eyes saying everything—that Wyatt’s question hadn’t surprised him justa little. No, it had surprised him so much that it had knocked him off his feet.
Anson’s long gray hair was slicked back and covered with a battered and sweat-stained cowboy hat that was probably as old as the cowboy himself. He was wiry and short and muscular, still fit from his days as a horse jockey.
As Tyler began to push up from the river, he glared at the man. “I don’t need any of your smart-aleck remarks tonight.”
Anson’s gap-toothed smile wrinkled his leathery face. “I didn’t say anything.”
“I asked the question, Dad.” Wyatt started wading upriver, his own child-sized fly-fishing pole in one hand and Tyler’s much longer rod in the other.
The slant of the sun coming off the western mountain range turned the water droplets into diamonds. The sunlight also glinted on the fir trees mingling with the aspens that were bright with new leaves and rustling in the mountain breeze. It was the most peaceful and most beautiful time of the day in the high country of Colorado.
Tyler sighed. Too bad they couldn’t ever just fish in silence.
But no. Wyatt usually had something to say. “At school today, Levi wanted to know why you don’t have a woman.”
“Why are you guys talking about a subject like that?” Water droplets rolled down Tyler’s water-resistant pants and boots, although he already could feel the chill and dampness of the water against his skin.
“He heard his mom talking about you and saying it was past time for you to have a woman.”
Tyler frowned. Nettie needed to be more careful what she was talking about around her son. Neither Levi nor Wyatt was old enough to understand anything about relationships, particularly about divorce. Wyatt had been only two when Stephanie left. He’d never known what it was like to have a mother around.
So why the curiosity now?
“Thirty-two’s not all that old.”
“It’s ancient, Dad.”
Anson chortled outright, the cackling rising above the rustling river and echoing in the stillness of the evening.
Tyler glared again at the cowboy nanny who’d been working for the family since Tyler was a boy. “I’m not as ancient as Anson.”
“Anson says he has all kinds of women.”
“Oh really?” Tyler cocked a brow at the old man.
Anson bent his head and studied his mushroom intently, smoothing away shavings and rubbing at it as if it were the most important thing in the world.
“Oh, that’s right.” Tyler didn’t let up. “Anson has all those girlfriends at his Saturday night senior bingo club.”
Anson spit on his thumb and then wiped a spot on the mushroom. “At least I got some pretty ladies who like me. That’s more than I can say for you.”
“I think Levi’s mom likes Dad.” Wyatt just shrugged. “At least, that’s what Levi said.”
Tyler shook his head as he neared Wyatt. “We’re doing all right without a woman, aren’t we?”
