Free The Cowboy SEAL by Laura Marie Altom Page A

order, but what about long-term? Would Millie and he ever again be on friendly terms? Would he grow as close to his niece and nephew as an uncle rightfully should?
    Then there was Clint...
    Cooper rose, heading toward his father’s room, careful to avoid the creakiest spots in the old wood floor.
    In the moonlight, his dad looked frail. His breathing was labored, and the cantankerous old goat had worked off all of his covers.
    Quietly and efficiently, Cooper straightened Clint’s linens, tucking them in hopes that they’d stay put through the night.
    His feelings where his dad was concerned were all over the map. Of course Cooper loved him, but that love was tainted by the alienation Clint had caused. But then was it fair to blame his father for their estrangement, when if Cooper hadn’t hurt his mother, nothing in any of their lives would’ve even changed?
    *
    M ILLIE WOKE EARLIER than she would’ve liked. At five-thirty, it was still dark and the wind still blew. Not up to dealing with chickens and the calf in her robe, she pulled on jeans and a hoodie, topping her thick socks with her most comfortable pair of pink cowboy boots.
    Jim had bought them for her as a first wedding anniversary present. She’d been so proud. They were decadent and impractical, and she still loved them as much as she did him. Only he was long gone, and over the years she’d found her remembered love changing. Sometimes, she loved him as a wife. Other times, almost in a mothering capacity when she wished she could scold him for having been so reckless with his precious life. Like his mom, he hadn’t had to die. If she’d stayed on the porch. If he’d stayed in his seat, both would’ve still been alive today.
    In the kitchen, she was surprised to find a few much-needed fortifications to their makeshift pens. Hay bales now formed a sturdier wall for the chickens, and a tent had been made from purple-striped disposable tablecloths left over from LeeAnn’s last birthday. She peeked under to find Barry and his harem still sleeping.
    “How are you?” she asked the tiny calf, stroking the top of his soft head.
    He also had a new hay bale enclosure, and while the width made the kitchen feel smaller, she was glad to know there wouldn’t soon be a stampede.
    When had Cooper done all of this? He’d never been so conscientious as a teen.
    “You probably need a bottle, huh? It’s been a while since your last feeding.” For optimum health, he’d need to be fed every twelve hours for the next three months. How many changes would’ve happened by then? Would Clint be walking or talking? Would the new chicken coop be done? Would she feel comfortable being in the same space as her brother-in-law? “Hard to believe it’ll be almost Easter when we get you back with the herd.”
    He looked up at her with his big, dark eyes, and she melted.
    “How could your mother not love you?”
    She rubbed his nose, smiling when his warm exhalations tickled her palm.
    By the time she finished warming the calf’s milk and feeding him his bottle, the chickens were waking with throaty gurgles. She was just about to launch a search for feed in the coop’s ruin when she noticed the bag leaning against the wall. The scoop was even inside.
    Cooper had thought of everything. Right down to bringing in the water and feeder bowls—she’d made do with a paper plate and plastic mixing bowl.
    She should be grateful toward him, so why the flash of resentment?
    Since Clint’s stroke, she’d single-handedly cared for the house and ranch. In her head she knew her brother-in-law was a godsend, but her heart told another story. For her, his mere presence was an admission that she couldn’t cope. Which honestly? Okay, was true. But her stubborn streak didn’t want to admit it—especially to of all people, Cooper.
    Scowling, she bypassed coffee in favor of her private cookie stash.
    In the dark living room, guided by moonlight reflecting off snow, she took her bag to the