Читать книгу Pine Country Cowboy - Glynna Kaye - Страница 13

Chapter Four

Monday morning Brett rolled over with a groan and felt around blindly on the nightstand for his ringing cell phone. Six o’clock. It was his day off, but he’d overslept by two hours. He had someplace he had to be. Early. Before the wind picked up.

“Brett?”

He recognized the voice of his sister Geri, one of the twins. Two years older than him, both sisters sported red hair, a sprinkling of freckles and energy that wouldn’t quit. He collapsed back on his pillow. “What’s up?”

“It sure doesn’t sound like you are yet. Oversleep?”

“I forgot to set the alarm.” A Singing Rock emergency had ensured he’d gotten to bed late, then he’d lain awake too long kicking himself for not taking Bill Diaz up on his lunch invitation yesterday. Abby had clearly wanted him to come with them, as he’d interpreted it anyway, to be a buffer between her and her father. Not a spot he cared to be in. But it had eaten at him the rest of the day, second-guessing his decision not to go along. He’d wondered about Abby’s sadness when he’d first met her and it seemed likely the father-daughter relationship played a role in it. There had been an evident tension between the two of them in the brief interchange he’d witnessed.

“You have to plan a weekend at Mom and Dad’s sometime soon,” Geri insisted. Despite being the bossier of the twins who often acted like a second mom to him, she was the sibling he felt closest to. Even though she had a look-alike playmate, she’d nevertheless loved joining him in his childhood adventures and they developed a special bond. Through the years Geri had become—and remained—his confidante.

“That’s not on my agenda. Why?”

“Amber, Erin and I were thinking about getting everybody together. We haven’t all been in one place since Thanksgiving. Maybe you could stop in Ashfork and pick up Grandma and Grandpa on your way.”

He scrubbed his free hand over his face, cognizant of the morning stubble along his jaw. A Marden family get-together at the ranch his folks managed was always an event to look forward to. He hated to miss out.

“You know summers are the busiest time of the year for me. That popular blog that’s been featuring our town jump-started the tourist season early, too. We have a lot of events scheduled at the equine center, and here at Singing Rock we’re already filling up.” He worked part-time at both locations, having been fortunate enough to snag accommodations as a part of the deal at the cabin resort, where he was usually on call evenings. “I’m still picking up work on the side and the kids’ camp is coming along, too.”

For a long moment his sister remained silent.

“What?” he prompted. But he could guess what she was thinking. He’d heard it enough times from all three sisters. And Mom. His three older brothers and Dad weren’t so disapproving of his choices.

“You’re still burying yourself in your work, Brett.”

Readying for a lecture, he reluctantly pulled himself up and propped the pillow against the headboard, behind his back. “It’s called being fond of eating and having a roof over my head. Oh, and providing the same for that spoiled horse of mine.”

After a too-long time in the city, it had been a joy to have a horse of his own again and to hit the forested trails surrounding Canyon Springs. Just him, Cinnabar, Elmo and God.

“I’m not making light of your situation, but it’s been seven years since you lost Jeremy and Melynda left you. Care to share when you’re going to let yourself have a life again?”

He had a life. Maybe it wasn’t how the happily married Geri with her two rambunctious kids thought it should be. But he had a good life. Interesting work and a kid-oriented project occupied his time, involvement with children being a step he’d once thought he’d never again choose to take.

“Does anyone there even know what you’ve been through? Offer support?”

He’d shared bits and pieces of his past with Janet Logan, who’d skillfully and compassionately pried them out of him. A no-nonsense, practical type, she hadn’t fawned over him and his losses. No stranger to heartache herself, she could be counted on to keep private what he’d confided to her.

“I’ve mentioned it to a discreet, older lady from church. But you know I don’t like people knowing my business.”

Geri made a scoffing sound. “Doesn’t that strike you as odd? I mean, you are one of the most open, gregarious men I know. Yet you’re still keeping all of this to yourself.”

“I don’t imagine hearing about it would brighten anyone’s day.” It hadn’t brightened Janet’s by any means, but her grandson’s challenges with cystic fibrosis had built a strong bond between them.

“Maybe not, but you’re not allowing anyone outside the family to serve as a support system. Don’t you dare tell me doing that is ‘a guy thing.’”

Why couldn’t the females in his family leave him in peace? He shook his head and leaned over to turn on the nightstand lamp even though sufficient sunlight peeped in around the edge of the curtains to make it an unnecessary effort. “I don’t need a support system. I’m doing fine. God is good. Life is good. And I’m better than good.”

Considering what he’d been through, that was the truth. He was happy...for the most part. Enjoying life. No, maybe it wasn’t all he’d once dreamed of, but did anyone ever have it all? Doubtful.

“You still aren’t seeing anyone, are you?” Not surprisingly, her tone rang with accusation. “No one special, I mean.”

Special. That meant letting a woman get close enough that you cared when she walked out. “In God’s time, Geri. I’m in no hurry to run ahead of Him.”

He hadn’t even been much tempted to. No woman had caught more than his slightest interest in a long time. Unbidden, the image of Abby Diaz reading the Sunday school lesson to the kindergarteners slid into his sleep-fogged mind. He could picture how the kids sat rapt, listening to the animation in her somewhat husky voice—a voice that could get under a man’s skin real quick if he let it.

He ran a hand through his hair, dismissing the memory.

“Maybe you’ve barred the door to God’s plan,” his sister persisted. “Have you ever considered that?”

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, the hardwood floor cool under his bare feet. He needed to replace the rug his overgrown pup, Elmo, had chewed up last week. “So now you’re evaluating my spiritual life?”

“Of course not. But a man who is looking for a wife—”

Where’d she get that idea?

“—doesn’t move to a town with a population of less than three thousand souls and hide out with his horse.”

He cracked a smile. “I lived in Phoenix for five years before coming here. Fifth largest city in the country, with probably half the population female.”

“And the whole time you were there you were hanging on to the hope Melynda would come back, so you didn’t date even then.”

“I was doing what I believed God wanted me to do.” Working full-time to pay off the medical bills and taking classes on the side didn’t cater to an active love life.

“If you hadn’t been funneling money to Melynda through her folks,” she chided, “maybe you could have paid the bills off sooner. Her folks blindsiding you with the news that she’d gotten pregnant and remarried proves she didn’t deserve your help.”

Brett held back the growl forming in his throat. Geri would have to remind him of Melynda carrying another man’s child. But helping his ex-wife financially was something else he’d felt led to do even though it hadn’t been a requirement of the divorce settlement. Up until two years ago when she’d remarried, he’d never thought of her as an ex. After all, he’d signed on for the long haul even if she hadn’t. He’d hung on to the belief that if she saw him living a convincing life of faith, walking in Jesus’s footsteps, she’d eventually give her life to God, too, and find her way back to her husband.

That had been his prayer anyway.

Hearing a robin’s insistent chirp, he moved to a window of the one-room cabin and pulled back the curtain to a day well on its way. His day off and he was already burning daylight.

“Face it, Geri. I could move to a planet populated entirely by women and not meet Ms. Right if it’s not in God’s timing.”

“You have to at least give Him something to work with. Canyon Springs is beyond remote.”

He let the curtain drop and headed to the kitchenette to get coffee started. “You’ve forgotten that Mom and Dad’s pastor met his better half on the mission field in Peru. God picked up another missionary and plopped her right down in the middle of that remote mountain village. When the time is right, it happens.”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m not saying God can’t do anything He wants to. I’m just saying—”

“That you love me and you want me to be happy.” He picked up a ceramic coffee mug from the stack of dishes in the sink, rinsed it and set it on the counter.

Her voice softened. “You’re such a wonderful guy, Brett.”

“I know. I try not to let it go to my head.”

She snorted. “I’m serious. You deserve to have a woman who loves you. You’re so good with kids, too.”

“I’m an uncle times fifteen, does that count?” With six siblings, the youngsters had added up fast, now aged four through nineteen years.

“It counts, but...you were such a great dad.”

Silence hung momentarily between them as they reflected on unspoken memories of son and nephew.

“Thanks, Geri.” He’d like to think his child had a father he could count on, that Jeremy had known he was loved beyond measure. Yeah, he’d see his boy again when he himself departed this world, but he’d long harbored a dream that he might one day hold another of his children in his arms in the here and now. His sisters meant well but, unfortunately, tended to forget one critical factor.

He again picked up the coffee mug, scrutinized it, then rinsed it out a second time. “It’s awkward to bring up in casual conversation with a woman you’ve just met that you’re a carrier of the defective cystic fibrosis gene. Even harder to suggest it might be a good idea that she get tested before a relationship progresses too far.”

He’d tried that once with a classmate he’d become friends with after Melynda remarried—it hadn’t gone over well. But the truth of the matter was that if both partners were one of an estimated ten million who were carriers of the flawed gene—as had been he and Melynda—each time you got pregnant you had a 25 percent chance of having a child with CF.

He couldn’t lose another child like that again.

“I’m aware it’s a challenging situation,” Geri resumed with a gentler tone. “But I’m praying and so is the whole family, that you’ll find your Ms. Right. Soon. Sometimes when I pray, I feel such an expectation that it won’t be long.”

A smile twitched. “Even if I’m hiding in Canyon Springs?”

“It’s a long shot,” she teased back. “But like you said, God can do whatever He wants. Just promise me, Brett, that when your Ms. Right shows up you won’t sneak out the back door and hit the road running.”

Most of the women he’d met here in town were married, engaged or obviously not a good match for any number of reasons. Like Britney Bennett. Or they were tourists briefly visiting mountain country to escape the heat in other regions of the state or visiting family. Like Abby Diaz.

He’d heard at Camilla’s Café last night that Meg hadn’t come home from the hospital yesterday after all. Which meant Abby might still be in town today...

He leaned back against the counter, the scent of coffee in the making luring him closer to a waking state. His big sis wanted him to promise not to sneak out the back door and hit the road running, huh? “We’ll see.”

“Brett! You have to cooperate. You know God doesn’t strong-arm us into His will.”

Would not canceling his commitment to paint Joe Diaz’s garage today be considered cooperating? He didn’t have any designs on his friend’s sister, but Abby would only be here for another day or two at most. He still felt bad about ducking out on lunch yesterday. It wouldn’t hurt to check in on her.

“We’ll see,” he said again, tamping down an unexpected flicker of anticipation. “We’ll see.”

* * *

“Davy! Breakfast is ready!”

Abby poured a glass of milk for her nephew and set it on the kitchen table. Then she popped a striped straw into Davy’s glass and stepped back to view her handiwork. What would he think of the colorful table setting she’d thrown together? She’d woven a place mat from wide strips of yellow and lime-green construction paper and cut out the toast with a round cookie cutter to make a smiley face. A blueberry-eyed peeled banana now stood on toothpick legs.

Davy had been disappointed when Joe came home late yesterday afternoon only long enough to shower and head back for a shift of work. His mother hadn’t come home at all—the doctors wanted to keep her another night for observation. But maybe the whimsical breakfast table would start his day on a positive note and after school his mom would be home.

She could hear him bumping around upstairs, but she hadn’t let the dog in last night so that shouldn’t be the cause of his delay this morning. Is this how Meg always started her day? Trying to get out the door to work while rounding up a foot-dragging Davy? Nevertheless, Abby couldn’t help a twinge of envy. Meg was mother to an adorable stepson and soon to give birth to a baby girl. Would Jori have Joe’s smile? Meg’s eyes?

“Here I come!” Davy hollered, footsteps pounding as he clambered down the stairs. He dashed into the kitchen, then came to a halt in front of the table, eyes wide. “Is it your birthday or something, Aunt Abby?”

She laughed. “No. I thought you might enjoy an extra happy breakfast.”

“My toast has a jelly smile,” he pointed out as he pulled out a chair and sat down. “Can I eat it?”

“Yes, you can eat it. I’ll dish up your oatmeal when you’re done with that.”

“Awesome. Is Brett coming to breakfast, too?”

She certainly wouldn’t invite Brett to breakfast, especially not after he’d turned down the invitation to lunch yesterday. She couldn’t decide if she was more disgruntled with him for not helping her out when she’d practically pleaded or with herself for looking to a stranger to ease tensions between her and Dad.

“What makes you think he’d be coming to breakfast?”

Davy leaned over to grasp the strings attached to the drapery rod and drew back the curtains of the French doors overlooking the patio. He pointed to the detached two-car garage at the rear of the spacious treed lot. “I saw him from my window upstairs.”

Sure enough, there was Brett, a cowboy hat topping his head as he hauled a ladder from the back of a gray pickup. What was he doing here? Shouldn’t he be on his way to work?

“Maybe he’s hungry.” Davy took a bite of his toast. “Brett’s always hungry at the church potlucks.”

Abby looked down at the festive table, where she’d been about to join Davy. Toast. A banana. Soon-to-be oatmeal. Hardly enough to sustain a man the size of Brett.

She moved closer to the glassed door. “Where’s he going with that ladder?”

“Dunno.”

She watched a moment longer, then returned to the stove to stir the oatmeal. “Go ahead and eat. He won’t be expecting breakfast, and you need to finish getting ready for school.”

Davy took another bite of toast, then again leaned back in his chair for a better view of what was going on outside. “Oh, man, he brought Elmo.”

“Who’s Elmo?” She doubted a Sesame Street character had accompanied Brett but, if the sudden onslaught of barking was any indication, she could almost guess the answer.

“His black Lab. He and Camy are best friends.” Davy stood up. “Look at her. She’s going crazy to get out of her pen.”

Abby moved to the door once more, then looked up at the wall clock. Seven-fifteen. The neighbors probably loved the canine serenade, but the two young dogs did seem particularly pleased to see each other, tongues lolling as they cavorted on either side of Camy’s enclosure.

“Sit down and eat, Davy. You can’t be late for school.”

“I don’t want to go to school.” But he nevertheless slumped back into his chair. “Nobody would miss me if I stayed home and played with Camy, Elmo and Brett today.”

She again returned to the stove and dished up a bowl of oatmeal, then set it in front of him. “There are three more days of school left and these last days before summer vacation are always the most fun. I doubt Brett and Elmo will be here long. It looks like he’s dropping off a ladder for your dad.”

Davy didn’t look convinced.

They were finishing breakfast—Davy had only to eat his banana and he’d be done—when a knock came at the back door off the utility room.

“Brett!” Davy jumped up, but she reached out to stay him.

“Sit down, please. I’ll get it. You just eat.” Meg and Joe were trusting her with Davy. She couldn’t allow him to be tardy on the one day she saw him off to school. Not surprisingly, when she opened the door Brett stood on the back porch, hat in hand.

To her irritation, her heart beat faster at the sight of his cheerful smile.

“Mornin’, ma’am. Sorry for the ruckus a bit ago. I guess the pups were happy to see each other.”

“I got that impression, too, as I’m sure the neighbors did, as well.”

His eyes sparked with amusement. “I thought I’d better stop by and give you warning that Elmo and I’ll be around the property painting Joe’s garage today.”

Didn’t he have a job at the equine center? “So your dog’s good with a paintbrush?”

A dimple surfaced. “Probably as good as I am, sad to say.”

She glanced over his shoulder toward the building in question. Joe hadn’t mentioned Brett would be doing handyman work. From where she stood, the garage didn’t look like it needed paint. But what did she know? “So, you’re telling me this will be a ‘pardon me, ma’am’ day?”

He cocked his head in question.

“That’s what my mother calls it when you have a repairman popping in and out interrupting you. You know, pardon me ma’am but may I borrow a wrench? May I use your restroom? May I have a drink of water?”

Brett grinned. “I shouldn’t need any wrenches.”

But he’d be underfoot all day. She glanced again at the garage. Did it truly need sprucing up? “It’s nice of you to paint Joe’s garage.”

His eyes twinkled. “Not really. He’s paying me.”

Should she invite him in? Offer a cup of coffee to start his day? She couldn’t afford to have him engage Davy in lengthy conversation and risk making him late for school.

“Do you want my banana, Brett?” Davy called from the kitchen table, just out of the cowboy’s line of vision.

Brett’s amused gaze momentarily caught hers, then he called back. “Thanks. But I’ve had breakfast. That banana’s all yours.”

“I don’t like bananas.”

Great. He’d kept quiet about that.

“This one has legs, too.”

Brett raised a brow and she nodded.

“And eyes,” Davy added.

As Brett’s disbelieving gaze questioned her, Abby sighed and stepped back from the open door. “Come on in. You may as well see for yourself.”