Читать книгу The Rancher's Christmas Song - RaeAnne Thayne - Страница 11

Chapter Three

“Trevor. Colter. That’s the last time I’m going to ask you. Please stop making silly noises. If you keep interrupting, we won’t make it through all the songs we need to practice.”

The twins gave Ella matching guilty looks. “Sorry, Miss Baker,” Colter said.

“We’ll be good. We promise,” his brother added.

Somehow she was having a hard time believing that, especially given their track record in general and this practice in particular. After a full day of school, they were having a tough time sitting still and staying focused for the rehearsals, as she had fully expected.

She felt totally inadequate to deal with them on a December afternoon when they wanted to be running around outside, throwing snowballs and building snow forts.

Would it distract everyone too much if she had them stand up and do jumping jacks for a minute? She decided it was worth a try. Sometimes a little burst of energy could do wonders for focus.

“Okay, speed workout. Everyone. How many elf jumping jacks can you do in one minute? Count to yourself. Go.”

She timed them on her phone and by the end the children were all laughing and trying to outdo each other.

“Excellent. Okay, now close your eyes and we’ll do one more moment of deep breathing. That’s it. Perfect.”

That seemed to refocus everyone and they made it through nearly every number without further incident, until the last one, “Away in a Manger.”

The song sounded lovely, with all the children singing in tune and even enunciating the words—until the last line of the third verse, when Trevor started making noises like a certain explosive bodily function, which made the entire back row dissolve into laughter.

By the time they finished the ninety-minute rehearsal, though, she felt as wrung out as a dirty mitten left in the snow.

As soon as parents started arriving for their children, Hope popped in from the office of The Christmas Ranch with a mug of hot chocolate, which she thrust out to Ella.

“Here you go. Extra snowflake marshmallows. You deserve it. You survived the first rehearsal. It’s all uphill from here.”

“I hope so,” she muttered. “Today was a bit of a disaster.”

“I saw Beck’s boys giving you a rough time,” Hope said, her voice sympathetic.

“You could say that. It must be tough on them, coming straight from school to here.”

Eight rehearsals. That’s all they had. She could handle that, couldn’t she?

“Do you need me to find more people to help you?”

She considered, then shook her head. “I think we should be okay with the two teenagers who volunteered. Everyone is so busy this time of year. I hate to add one more thing to someone else’s plate.”

“Because your schedule is so free and easy over the next few weeks, right?”

Hope had a point. Between the Christmas show, the care center where she volunteered and the two schools where she worked, Ella had concerts or rehearsals every single day between now and Christmas.

“At least I’m not a bestselling illustrator who also happens to be in charge of the number-one holiday attraction for hundreds of miles around.”

“Lucky you,” Hope said with a grin. “Want to trade?”

“Not a chance.”

Hope wouldn’t trade her life, either, Ella knew. She loved creating the Sparkle the Reindeer books, which had become a worldwide sensation over the last few years. She also adored running the ranch with her husband, Rafe, and raising their beautiful son.

“Let me know if you change your mind about needing more help,” Hope said.

“I will.”

After Hope headed away, Ella started cleaning up the mess of paper wrappers and leftover sheet music the children had left behind. She was gathering up her own things when a couple of boys trotted out of the gift shop.

Colter and Trevor. Was she supposed to be giving them a ride? Beck hadn’t called her. He hadn’t said a word to her about it. Had he just assumed she would do it without being asked?

That didn’t really seem like something Beck would do. More likely, there was a miscommunication.

“Do you need me to call your dad to let him know we’re done with rehearsal?”

Colter gave an exasperated sigh. “We told him and told him about it last night and this morning at breakfast. We took a note to school so we could ride a different bus here, then our dad was supposed to come get us when practice was done. I don’t know where he is.”

“Maybe we’ll have to sleep here tonight,” Trevor said. “I call under the Christmas tree!”

“You’re not sleeping here tonight. I can give you a ride, but I need to talk to your dad first to make sure he’s not on his way and just running late. I wouldn’t want us to cross paths.”

At least he hadn’t just assumed she could take care of it. Slightly mollified, she pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Do you know his number?”

The boys each recited a different number, argued for a few moments, then appeared to come to a consensus.

She punched in the numbers they gave her without much confidence she would actually be connected to Beck, but to her surprise he answered.

“Broken Arrow,” he said, with a brusqueness she should have expected, especially considering he probably didn’t recognize her phone number.

Those two simple words in his deep, sexy voice seemed to shiver down her spine as if he’d trailed a finger down it.

“Beckett, this is Ella Baker. I was wondering...that is, your sons were wondering, uh, are you coming to pick them up?”

Darn it, she hated being so tongue-tied around the man. She had all the poise and grace of a lumbering steer.

There was a long, awkward pause, then he swore. He quickly amended it. “Uh, shoot. I totally forgot about that. What time is rehearsal done?”

“About twenty minutes ago,” she answered, letting a bit of tartness creep into her voice.

He sighed. “I’ve got the vet here looking at a sick horse. We’re going to be another ten minutes or so, then I’ll have to clean up a bit. Can you give me a half hour?”

He still couldn’t seem to bring himself to ask for her help. Stubborn man. She glanced over at the boys, who were admiring the giant Christmas tree in the lodge. She wasn’t sure she had the physical or mental capacity to keep them entertained and out of trouble for another half hour.

“I can give them a ride home, if you would like. It’s an easy stop on my way back to the Baker’s Dozen.”

“Could you? That would be a big help. Thank you.” The relief in his voice was palpable.

“You’re welcome. Do you want me to drop them at the barn or the house?”

“The horse barn, if you don’t mind. That’s where I’m working.”

She was suddenly having second thoughts, not sure she was ready to see him two days in a row.

“All right. We’ll see you shortly, then.”

“Thank you,” he said again.

She managed to round up the boys in the nick of time, seconds before they were about to test how strong the garland over the mantel was by taking turns dangling from it.

How had Beck’s house not burned down to the ground by now, with these two mischievous boys around?

“Why are you driving us home?” Colter asked when they had their seat belts on in her back seat. “Where’s our dad?”

“He’s taking care of a sick horse, he said. The vet’s there with him and they lost track of time.”

“That’s Frisco. He was our mom’s horse, but he’s probably gonna die soon.”

She wasn’t sure how to reply to that, especially when he spoke in a matter-of-fact way. “I’m sorry.”

“He’s really old and too ornery for us to ride. He bites. Dad says he better not catch us near him,” Trevor said.

She shivered, then hoped they couldn’t see. She had to get over her fear of horses, darn it. After more than a year in horse and cattle country, she thought she would be past it—but then, twenty years hadn’t made a difference, so why should the past year enact some miraculous change?

“You better do what he says.”

“We don’t want to ride that grumpy thing, anyway,” Trevor said. “Why would we? We both have our own horses. Mine is named Oreo and Colt’s is named Blackjack.”

“Do you have a horse, Miss Baker?”

She remembered a sweet little roan mare she had adored more than anything in the world.

“I used to, when I was your age. Her name was Ruby. But I haven’t been on a horse in a long, long time. We don’t have any horses on the Baker’s Dozen.”

In one bold sweep, her dad had gotten rid of them all twenty years ago, even though he had loved to ride, too. Thinking about it always made her sad.

“You could come ride our horses. We have like a million of them.”

Familiar fear sidled up to her and said hello. “That’s nice of you, Colter, but I don’t know how to ride anymore. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been in a saddle.”

“We could teach you again,” Trevor offered, with a sweet willingness that touched something deep inside. “I bet you’d pick it up again easy.”

For a moment, she was very tempted by the offer but she would have to get past her phobia first. “That’s very kind of you,” she said, and left it at that. The boys didn’t need to know about her issues.

“Hey, you know how to sing, right?” Colter said suddenly, changing the subject.

Considering she had one degree in music therapy and another in music education, she hoped so. “Yes. That is certainly something I do know how to do.”

“And you play the guitar. You do it in school sometimes.”

And the piano, violin and most other stringed instruments. “That’s right.”

“Could you teach us how to play a song?” Colter asked.

“And how to sing it, too?” Trevor said.

She glanced in her rearview mirror at their faces, earnestly eager. “Does either of you know how to play the guitar?”

“We both do, kind of,” Colter said. “Uncle Dan taught us a couple chords last summer but then he said he wouldn’t teach us anymore because we played too hard and broke all the strings on his guitar.”

“Oh, dear.”

These boys didn’t do anything half-heartedly. She secretly hoped they would continue to be all-in as they grew up—with a little self-restraint when it was necessary, anyway.

“But we would never do that to your guitar, if you let us practice on it,” he assured her with a grave solemnity that almost made her smile.

“We promise,” his twin said. “We would be super careful.”

She couldn’t believe she would even entertain the idea for a moment, but she couldn’t deny she was curious about the request. “What song are you trying to learn how to play and sing?”

“It’s a good one. ‘Christmas for the Cowboy.’ Have you heard that one?”

“I’m not sure.”

“It’s about this cowboy and he has to work on Christmas Eve and ride his horse in the snow and stuff,” Trevor informed her.

“He’s real mad about it, and thinks it’s not fair and he wants to be inside where it’s warm, then the animals help him remember that Christmas is about peace on earth and stuff.”

“And baby Jesus and wise men and shepherds,” Trevor added.

“That sounds like a good one.”

She combed through her memory bank but wasn’t sure if she had ever heard it.

“It’s our dad’s favorite Christmas song in the whole wide world. He hums it all the time and keeps the CD in his pickup truck.”

“Do you know who sings it?” she asked. It would be much easier to track down the guitar chords if she could at least have that much info.

The boys named a country music group whose name she recognized. She wasn’t very familiar with their body of work.

“So can you teach us?” Colter asked as they neared the turnoff for the Broken Arrow. “It has to be with the guitar, too.”

“Please?” Trevor asked. “Pretty please with Skittles on top?”

Well, she did like Skittles. She hid a smile. “Why is this so important to you? Why do you want to learn the song so badly?”

As she glanced in the rearview mirror, she saw the boys exchange looks. She had noticed before they did that quite often, as if passing along some nonverbal, invisible, twin communication that only they understood.

“It’s for our dad,” Trevor finally said. “He works hard all the time and takes care of us and stuff and we never have a good present to give him at Christmas.”

“Except things we make in school, and that’s usually just dumb crap,” Colter said. “Pictures and clay bowls and stuff.”

Ella had a feeling the art teacher she shared a classroom with probably wouldn’t appreciate that particularly blunt assessment.

“When we went to bed last night after the concert, we decided we should learn that song and play it for our dad because he loves it so much, but we don’t know the right words. We always sing it wrong.”

“Hey, maybe after we learn it, we could play and sing it in the Christmas program,” Colter said.

“Yeah,” Trevor said, “Like that guy and his wranglers last night.”

She didn’t know how to respond, afraid to give the boys false hope. She didn’t even know what song they were talking about, let alone whether it was appropriate for a Christmas program designed for senior citizens.

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that song—” she began.

“You could learn it, couldn’t you?” Colter said.

“It’s probably not even too hard.”

As she turned into the ranch, they passed a large pasture containing about a dozen horses. Two of them cantered over to the fence line, then raced along beside her SUV, their manes and tails flying out behind them.

She felt the familiar panic, but something else, a long-buried regret for what she had lost.

“If I can find the song and agree to teach you, I need something from the two of you in return.”

“Let me guess. You want us to quit messing around at rehearsal.” Colter said this in the same resigned tone someone might use after being told they faced an IRS audit.

“Absolutely. That’s one of my conditions. You told me you could behave, but today wasn’t a very good example of that. I need to be able to trust you to keep your word.”

“Sorry, Miss Baker.”

“We’ll do better, we promise.”

How many times had the boys uttered those very same words to one voice of authority or other? No doubt they always meant it, but something told her they would follow through this time. It touched her heart that they wanted to give this gift to their father, who had sacrificed and struggled and refused to give up custody after their mother died.

She wanted to help them give something back to him—and she wanted something in return, something that made her palms suddenly feel sweaty on the steering wheel.

“That is one of my conditions. And I’m very firm about it.”

She paused, sucked in a breath, then let it out in a rush and spoke quickly before she could change her mind.

“I also have one more condition.”

“What?” Trevor asked.

Her heart was pounding so hard, she could barely hear herself think. This was foolish. Why did she think two seven-year-old boys could help her overcome something she had struggled with for twenty years?

“You said you could teach me how to ride horses again. I would like that, very much. I told you it’s been a long time since I’ve been on a horse. I...miss it.”

More than she had even dared acknowledge to herself.

Once, horses had been her passion. She had dreamed about them, talked about them, drew pictures of them, even during the months when she was living in Boston during the ten months out of the year her mother had custody of her. It used to drive Elizabeth crazy.

Everything had changed when she was eight.

“You really can’t ride?” Trevor said. “You said that before but I didn’t think you meant it. You’re a grown-up.”

These boys probably spent more time in the saddle than out of it. She had seen them before as she was driving by the ranch, racing across the field and looking utterly carefree. Until now, Ella hadn’t realized how very much she had envied them.

“Not everyone is as lucky as you two,” she said as she pulled up to the large red indoor horse barn and arena. “I learned how to ride when I was a child, but then I had a bad fall and it’s been...hard for me ever since.”

Hard was an understatement. What she didn’t tell the boys was that she had a completely reasonable terror of horses.

She had been only a year older than the boys, on a visit here with her father. Her sweet little Ruby had been nursing an injury so she had insisted to her father she could handle one of the other geldings on a ride with him along their favorite trail. The horse had been jittery, though, and had ended up being spooked by a snake on the trail just as they were crossing a rocky slope.

Not only had she fallen from the horse, but she had also tumbled thirty feet down the mountainside.

After being airlifted to Idaho Falls, she had ended up in a medically induced coma, with a head injury, several broken vertebrae and a crushed leg. She had spent months in the hospital and rehab clinics. Even after extensive therapy, she still limped when she was tired.

Her injuries had marked the final death knell to the marriage her parents had tried for years to patch back together. They had been separated on and off most of her childhood before then. After her riding accident, her mother completely refused to send her to the ranch.

The custody battle had been epic. In the process, a great gulf had widened between her and her father, one that she was still trying to bridge, twenty years later.

If she could only learn to ride, conquer her fear, perhaps Curt Baker wouldn’t continue to see her as a fragile doll who needed to be protected at all costs.

“I know the basics,” she told the boys now. “I just need some pointers. It’s a fair trade, don’t you think? I teach you a few chords on the guitar and you let me practice riding horses.”

The boys exchanged looks, their foreheads furrowed as they considered her request. She caught some furtive whispers but couldn’t hear what they said.

While she waited for them to decide, Ella wondered if she was crazy. She couldn’t believe she was actually considering this. What could these boys teach her, really? She was about to tell them she had changed her mind about the riding lessons but would still teach them the song when Trevor spoke for both of them.

“Sure. We could do that. When do you want to practice? How about Saturday?”

“We can’t!” Trevor said to his brother. “We have practice Saturday, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. But maybe in the afternoon, when we’re done.”

Why was she even considering throwing one more thing into her packed schedule? She couldn’t do it. Ella wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt. “We can forget this. It was a silly idea.”

“Why?” Trevor asked, his features confused. “We want you to teach us how to play and sing a song for our dad’s Christmas present and you want to learn how to ride a horse better so you don’t fall off. We can teach each other.”

“It will be fun. You’ll see. And maybe you could even buy one of our dad’s horses after you learn how to ride again.”

That was pushing things. Maybe she first ought to see if she could spend five minutes around horses without having a panic attack.

“So can you come Saturday afternoon?” Trevor asked.

“Our dad won’t be home, so that would be good. Then he won’t need to know why we’re teaching you how to ride horses. Because otherwise, we’d have to tell him it’s a trade. That would ruin the surprise.”

“I...think I can come Saturday.” Oh, she was crazy.

“Yay! This will be fun. You’ll see.”

She wasn’t so sure. Before she could come up with an answer, the door to the barn opened and Beck came striding out with that loose-limbed, sexy walk she always tried—and failed—to ignore.

He had someone else with him. Ben Caldwell, she realized, the veterinarian in town whose wife, Caidy, had a magical singing voice. She barely noticed the other man, too busy trying not to stare at Beckett.

Her hands felt clammy again as she opened her car door, but this time she knew it wasn’t horses making her nervous.