Читать книгу Her Cowboy's Triplets - Sasha Summers - Страница 11

Chapter Two

“You realize there haven’t been fireworks in two years, Brody?” asked Miss Francis, Fort Kyle’s busybody with a heart of gold who had the scoop on everyone. “And we’re not a stop on the West Texas Rodeo circuit. And the bike race we started a couple years back, to help the fort—it’s all but disappeared.”

There was no denying this was a sad development. Fort Kyle received only so much money from the state, a fact he knew from serving on the fort’s nonprofit board. And losing the rodeo? Rodeo brought in dollars, heads in beds and outside marketing—all good things for a small town off the beaten path. But what the hell was he supposed to do about it? Of all the things to fall on his plate since returning home, Miss Francis had been chosen by some “concerned townsfolk” to convince him he was the town’s best option for the upcoming mayoral election.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested, he was. But taking on a task that big would conflict with his current family responsibilities—and there were lots of those. He needed to remember that. He glanced up from where he squatted at his daughter’s side, tucking Amberleigh’s arm back into her sundress. Amberleigh wasn’t fond of clothes. Or shoes. A fact that kept him and his mother trailing after his little girl.

“We’ve lost the Monarch Festival. Mayor Draper seems to think it’s silly.” The older woman’s sales pitch was interrupted by sweet Marilyn, offering a mud pie with a smile. “Oh, thank you, Marilyn.” Miss Francis, a grandmother many times over, took the small plastic plate covered in mud.

Marilyn’s grin grew. She was pleased as punch—and covered with mud. “Welcome.”

He could imagine his girls chasing after the clouds of monarchs that visited Fort Kyle on their migratory path. The town had always turned their arrival into something special, closing up shops and keeping as many cars off the road as possible to prevent damage to the hundreds of thousands of monarchs. The festival and cattle drive—the short trek from Alpine to Fort Kyle—rounded things out. “How did we lose a festival?” He ran a hand over his face. “Don’t eat the mud, Suellen, sweetie.”

“’Kay, Daddy.” Disappointment lined Suellen’s face. But she put her plastic spoon full of mud and dirt back onto her plate.

“Bet Nana has some cookies,” he offered, reaching for his coffee cup on the porch step. He took a sip, swallowing the now-cold liquid. Cold coffee was the norm. So were piles of laundry, playing pretend and braiding hair. He was an only child, and his mother was just as clueless about little-girl hairstyles as he was. Since tangles were the enemy, learning to braid had been an essential life skill.

How was he supposed to take care of his daughters, his parents, the ranch and Fort Kyle?

Amberleigh was going in circles, trying to pull her arm from her sundress. Lollipop, the white puffball of a dog his wife had given the girls last Christmas, spun along with Amberleigh.

“What’s she got against clothes?” Miss Francis asked.

Brody shook his head and stood. “Don’t know. But that’s the fourth time I’ve put her dress back on this afternoon.”

Miss Francis chuckled. “You don’t say?”

“Water those flowers over there, Suellen. Marilyn, you help.” He smiled at his girls, nodding at the identical watering cans.

Marilyn was sparing with her water, barely letting a few drops out for each plant.

Suellen started at one end of the flower bed and walked along, sprinkling the soil with a steady light shower of cool well water. Lollipop followed along, his little pink tongue searching for water. Suellen giggled, pouring the last of her water on the dog.

Amberleigh walked to one large sunflower and dumped the entire contents of her watering can on the dirt—making a mud puddle. She dropped her watering can and stooped to scoop out the fresh mud.

He sighed. “Don’t dig up Nana’s flower, Amberleigh.”

“You’re quite the multitasker,” Miss Francis teased.

“Not like I have a choice. About my family. But running for mayor? Well, that’s a horse of a different color.” He shot the older woman a look. “Something tells me you’re not going to give up.”

“Why would I give up?” Miss Francis asked. “Fort Kyle needs young blood and fresh ideas, Brody. You want these girls to grow up having the same experiences you did, don’t you?”

Brody shook his head as Amberleigh tugged her dress off and tossed it onto the ground. “I wouldn’t have brought them back otherwise.” He picked up Amberleigh’s dress and followed her across the small fenced yard his mother insisted on keeping green and flowering even when West Texas was fighting drought. “Amberleigh.”

His daughter turned, her huge hazel gaze meeting his. She held her hands up and waited. Even with mud streaked down her arms and across one cheek, she was precious. Each of his girls was unique and special. Amberleigh didn’t talk much, but that didn’t seem to get in her way. He crouched at her side and slid the dress back on. “You don’t like your pretty dress?” he asked. Amberleigh shook her head but kissed his cheek.

He hugged her close, breathing in her baby-shampoo scent. Baby shampoo and dirt. “You go make some mud pies with your sisters. Keep your dress on.”

Amberleigh nodded and joined her sisters by the large planter he kept dirt in just for them. They had shovels and funnels, various-sized cups—anything to keep them occupied for a while. He sighed. His three girls, barefoot, with mud-streaked clothes, and playing with dirt.

Yes, the girls looked like little angels, but they played hard. Chicken chasers. Puppy groomers. Pillow fort builders—and destroyers. And master mud pie bakers. Something his father found highly amusing, and his mother tolerated. As long as he sprayed off the porch and cleaned up when they were done. He didn’t mind—his girls’ happiness made cleanup duty worth it.

“Have you talked to Gabe Chasen over at the Tourism Department?” Miss Francis asked.

Brody nodded. Gabe was worried, like Miss Francis, about their small town. Between the fort, the dude ranches, the observatory and how close they were to the Grand Canyon, they should be seeing more tourism dollars. Things like festivals and special events were necessary. And not happening the last two years.

“You know there’s a problem, then,” Miss Francis pushed.

“I do.” He glanced at the older woman, then the back door of the ranch house. “I don’t see why I’m the one who needs to fix it. Why don’t you run, Miss Francis?”

“Honey, I’m old. And tired. I don’t want to be in charge of everyone else’s business, but I don’t mind getting in the middle of it now and then.” She winked. “You can do this, Brody.”

“Can do what?” His father walked onto the back porch. “Marilyn, that mud’s not for eating.”

Brody pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and headed toward his daughter.

“I’m trying to convince your son to run for mayor, Vic.” Miss Francis put her hands on her hips. “You know as well as I do John Draper needs to step aside, for the good of our town.”

His father grunted. “You thinking about it, Brody? Being mayor?”

Brody considered his father’s questions as he cleaned up Marilyn’s face. “Marilyn, baby, please don’t eat the mud. It’s almost dinnertime and we’ll eat real food. Okay?”

Marilyn nodded, wiping off her tongue. “Nasty mud.” She wrinkled up her little freckle-covered nose.

“Daddy.” Suellen held a long, wriggling earthworm between her fingers. “Look.”

“You found a friend?” he asked. “Might want to let him go home, Suellen. He lives here, taking care of the flowers.”

“He does?” Suellen asked, studying the worm.

“Yes, ma’am. He helps them grow.” He ran his hand over Suellen’s cheek. “Be gentle with him.”

She cradled the worm in both hands then, stooping to carefully place the worm back in the soil Amberleigh had saturated. “Good, Daddy?”

“Perfect, baby.” He smiled, nodded and turned to face his father. “I’ve been thinking about it. Miss Francis hasn’t given me much choice.” He glanced at the grinning older woman. “What do you think, Dad? About me running? I’ve been gone for a while—”

“You’ve always been a Fort Kyle boy, Brody. Even if you did hang your hat in Houston for a while. You came home,” Miss Francis argued.

“Dad?” Brody pushed. If he did this, and it was a big if, he’d want his father’s support.

His father stared at him, considering his words. Which meant he was thinking of the right thing to say. “You want to do it, you should.”

Brody sighed. His father had lumped him into the defector camp the day he’d left for law school. Vic Wallace had money, and his son didn’t need to go off to make more—that was what he’d told Brody anyway. But Brody needed to find his own way, become his own man, and leaving had been the best way for him to do that. He didn’t regret going. Or coming back.

“I’m not sure,” he confessed, glancing at his girls. “Got plenty to keep me busy right now.”

His father snorted. “You think it’ll get easier when you have three teenage girls running around? Live your life, boy. Fort Kyle’d be lucky to have you for mayor.”

The hint of pride in his father’s voice was the best endorsement Brody could ask for.

His father burst out laughing. “Besides, I can’t wait to see Woodrow Boone’s face when a Wallace is mayor.”

And there it was. Brody frowned, his gaze returning to his daughters. He had no expectation when it came to India Boone, he knew better. The bad blood between their fathers was too full of vitriol to allow their long-term secret friendship to become public. Or for India to ever discover how deeply he’d loved her for the past fourteen years.

* * *

INDIA SAT AT the table in the back corner of Fort Kyle’s small library. Her textbooks, notes and laptop covered the table, along with an array of highlighters, pens and pencils. She’d been reviewing her best practices for school counseling prevention and intervention for the last two hours, and her head was starting to spin.

She had five weeks until her test. Once she passed, she could apply for a full-time counseling position—which she was more likely to find in the city. She’d never be rich, but she and Cal wouldn’t have to stay here, being a burden to her father. That was what she wanted: choices. For the last few years, her fate had been determined by someone else. From now on, she would be the one to decide her fate. And when she stood on her own two feet, she wanted it to be away from her dad’s judgment and scrutiny. A positive fresh start for her and Cal—in a place where her father’s unwavering disappointment wouldn’t have her questioning her decisions and weighing her down. She could be a better person—a better mother—if she wasn’t living in the shadow of a painful past her father still blamed her for.

“Mom,” Cal said from the beanbag in the corner. “I’m hungry.” Tanner, whom the librarian kindly turned a blind eye on, sprawled on his patch of carpet, snoring.

She glanced at her watch. “You’re always hungry, Cal.” But it was 6:13 p.m. Dinnertime.

He chuckled. “I’m a growing boy, Mom.”

She glanced at her son, already taller than most boys his age. “Don’t I know it?” JT had been tall. And broad. And strong. All nice traits. Thankfully, that was where the resemblance ended. He’d just turned two when JT left, so Cal had been spared most of his father’s mercurial mood swings. But India remembered things all too clearly. How jealous he’d been about Cal, how frustrated he’d been by their infant son’s tears and how needy the new baby was. Thinking of how he’d yanked Cal from his high chair on one particular occasion still knocked the breath from her lungs. She’d managed to get her baby into the safety of his room and locked him inside before JT turned violent. The marks he’d left on her that night must have scared him, too, because JT had left the next day. The divorce papers she’d received six months later was the last she’d heard of him. She hoped it stayed that way.

“Are we going to the Soda Shop?” Cal asked.

She started packing up her things. “For dinner?”

“It’s Tuesday,” he said. “Isn’t it?”

She nodded, powering off her laptop.

“Chicken fried steak. With your...friend?” He glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one was listening.

“Cal.” She giggled, instantly remembering Brody’s offer. “He was kidding.” Surely he had been? Besides, she wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Not because of their fathers or their ridiculous feud, but because she needed to stay strong—without leaning on Brody’s broad shoulders. “Do you want chicken fried steak?” she asked, zipping up her backpack.

He shrugged. “I don’t want brisket.” Which was standard Tuesday fare at her parents’ dude ranch.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She glanced at her watch again. It was after six. Chances were, he’d eaten and left. If he’d even shown up. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Come on, boy,” Cal said, patting his side. Tanner hopped up, instantly ready to go.

They strolled down the stone sidewalk. The walk from the library to the Soda Shop was short—nothing was far in town. They said hello to their neighbors, watched the storefronts closing up and crossed the street to get to the Soda Shop. She ignored the sudden onset of nerves that gripped her as she pushed through the door. It was just Brody, after all.

“Maybe he didn’t come,” Cal said, glancing around the restaurant.

“We can still have dinner.” She nudged him, smiling. “Even if it’s just me.”

He smiled up at her. “I don’t mind.”

“Miss Boone,” Sara greeted them from the bar. “You two here for dinner? Pick a table and I’ll bring you some menus. I might even have a bone or two for Tanner.”

Cal waved at the teenager. “Thanks, Sara. Let’s get a booth, Mom.” He led her to a booth on the far side of the restaurant. Tanner sat at the end of the table, staring at them. “Sara’s checking on something special, boy.”

They were just seated when a little girl came walking down the hall. Her long strawberry blond pigtails bounced above her shoulders. She had pink embroidered jean shorts on. But she was wearing no shoes.

“Amberleigh,” a voice called after her. “Shoes.”

The little girl stopped, sighed and walked back down the hallway.

“You think she’s lost?” Cal asked.

India grinned. She had a pretty good idea whom the little girl belonged to. Besides the little girl’s red-gold curls, India recognized the man’s voice. That precious barefoot toddler had to belong to Brody Wallace. Which meant he was here.

A few seconds later, Brody appeared—followed by three absolutely adorable little girls.

He stopped when he saw her, smiling widely at her quick back-and-forth inspection of his daughters. “Yep, they’re mine,” he said.

“I can see that,” she returned, marveling how similar they were. Similar, but not identical. “Wow. I mean, really, wow.”

He nodded. “Yep. India, Cal, these are my girls. This is Marilyn.”

Marilyn wore a headband and had a light dusting of freckles and a quick smile.

“And Suellen,” he said, patting his other daughter’s shoulder.

Suellen’s hair curled up tight, two tiny bows—one on each side of her head—and a dimple in her left cheek.

“And Amberleigh,” he finished.

Amberleigh had lopsided pigtails, lots of freckles and a slow, shy smile. She’d been the shoeless one.

“It’s nice to meet you,” India said. Brody had kids. Three girls. Would they ever know how lucky they were to have him for a father?

“Your dog?” Marilyn asked, pointing at Tanner.

“He’s big,” Suellen said, hiding behind Brody’s leg.

“This is Tanner,” Cal said. “He’s a real good dog.”

But the two little girls didn’t look convinced. Only Amberleigh approached Tanner, smiling as the dog sniffed her all over before licking her cheek. Amberleigh giggled.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Brody said, one brow arching and the corner of his mouth kicking up. Almost embarrassed.

“You asked us,” Cal said, matter-of-fact.

“Daddy,” Marilyn spoke up. “Color?”

“You sure can, darlin’.” Brody pulled back a chair at a table next to their booth. “Climb on up and we’ll get you girls situated. Thing is, my folks decided to invite themselves. I imagine they’ll be along shortly.”

Meaning she and Cal would not be enjoying the pleasure of Brody’s adorable girls for dinner. Not unless Vic Wallace had decided to stop blaming her father for stealing his family’s land. As ridiculous as the feud was, she didn’t deny that the insult to her father—and her family name—stung.

“That’s nice,” India said, watching as Brody pulled coloring books and crayons from his beaten leather messenger bag.

Brody made a face. “I guess.”

She giggled.

“Fairies? Mermaids?” Cal frowned at the girls’ coloring books. “And dragons.” His disapproval lessened. “Who likes dragons?”

“Amberleigh,” Suellen said. “Dragons. And mud.”

“No clothes. Or shoes,” Marilyn added.

India shot Brody a grin. He shrugged.

“Dragons are cool.” Not that Cal was fully on board.

“Color?” Suellen asked. “There’s a scary fairy picture I don’ wanna color.”

“Scary?” Cal asked, peering at the picture Suellen showed him. “She is mean looking.”

Amberleigh proceeded to make the mean fairy face. Suellen and Marilyn covered their faces with their napkins, but Cal only grinned at the scowling little girl. Which made Amberleigh giggle again.

“That’s twice,” Brody said, smiling at his daughter. “Just about the sweetest sound imaginable.”

The tenderness on his face was too much for her. So she focused on his little girls, diligently coloring, instead. “They’re gorgeous.”

Amberleigh waved Cal forward and patted the chair beside her, holding her coloring book. “Mom?” Cal asked India.

“Amberleigh doesn’t share her coloring book with just anyone,” Brody said.

“Just until we order.” Which probably wasn’t the smartest answer—considering his folks were on the way. But, resisting Amberleigh’s offer was plain wrong. Cal climbed into the chair beside Amberleigh, and conversation came to a stop. All four kids were coloring quietly, happily preoccupied.

Leaving her and Brody, sitting next to her at his table. Her nerves returned. Now they’d have that awkward what-have-you-been-doing-with-your-life conversation she dreaded. She’d gone to school, gotten married, had Cal and divorced. Now she was back home. Not exactly riveting conversation.

Considering they were both back in the place they’d been so determined to leave, it was clear things hadn’t gone according to plan for either of them.

But she had questions for her one-time best friend. Like, what did she do to make you divorce her? India knew without asking that Brody hadn’t done a thing. He was a good guy, always had been—always would be. Even though he was much taller and larger and all man, he had the same kind eyes and warm smile. He was handsome in a way any woman would appreciate. Whoever his ex-wife was, she was an idiot.

“What’s a fancy-pants lawyer like you going to do with all your free time?” she asked, diving in. Had he chosen to leave his high-power, big-money job in Houston, or had something happened that made him leave?

“Well, you’re looking at a good portion of it.” He leaned back, long legs sprawled out in front of him. He sort of spilled out of the wooden chair, too big and broad for it. “The ranch won’t run itself, either. And the grocery and feed stores will need looking in on now and then.” He shrugged, glancing her way, then away.

When they’d been younger, that look meant he was holding out on her. “Why do I get the feeling there’s more?”

He shrugged again, smiling this time.

“As I live and breathe, a Boone and a Wallace sitting down and working together?” Miss Francis’s startled question caught her and Brody by surprise. “I’m all for ending the feud, but you might want to build up to it first. I just saw your folks parking out front, Brody.”

India’s stomach churned with anxiety and frustration. She’d grown up knowing the Wallaces were stubborn, mean-spirited people. But she’d never thought about Brody as one of them. He was just Brody.

“Cal,” she said, calling her son back to their booth—across from Brody and his girls. “We should order. I don’t want you up too late.”

Cal handed Amberleigh the crayon. “I’ll finish next time.” He stepped over Tanner and slid into the booth.

Amberleigh frowned but took the crayon. She slumped in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest and huffed out a big sigh.

India tried her hardest not to laugh.

“India, you don’t have to—”

“She’s still wearing her clothes, Ramona. No need to worry,” Vic Wallace announced as he entered the Soda Shop. “Your mother was fretting the whole ride. Francis, why are you everywhere I look?”

“You’re just lucky, I guess,” Francis answered.

The man had aged. She had few memories of Vic Wallace. When she’d been little, she’d been scared of him. He’d been taller than her father, his fiery red hair making him appear all the more hot-tempered. Her father wasn’t a small man, but something about Mr. Wallace had seemed...looming. And when he got riled up, his red face would rival his red hair. Her father tended to make sure Vic Wallace’s face was blazing red before he walked away.

When Ramona Wallace glanced at their table, India did her best to appear absorbed in her menu. Like Cal. He read well enough for a five-year-old—he wouldn’t need help choosing his dinner. “Not getting the chicken fried steak?” she asked.

“Just seeing what else they have.” He grinned at her. “But I think I’ll go with the steak.”

“Sounds good,” India said.

“Done coloring?” Miss Francis was talking to Amberleigh.

Amberleigh had stopped coloring and was now peeling all the labels from her crayons. A shoe sat on the table, by the little girl’s fork.

“Amberleigh, put your shoe back on, sweetheart.” Mrs. Wallace was embarrassed more than anything.

The little girl picked up her shoe, tried to put it back on, then tossed it in frustration. The white slip-on went flying, landing on the floor in front of Tanner. Tanner sat up, glanced at the shoe, then Cal. It took every ounce of India’s control not to laugh. Brody was fighting the same battle. She saw it in those clear toffee eyes of his.

But the expressions on Ramona’s and Vic Wallace’s faces, on Miss Francis’s, were simply hilarious. She giggled, pressing her napkin to her mouth to stifle it.

Brody, she noticed, was clearing his throat behind her.

Cal studied the shoe, then Amberleigh. He slipped from the booth and picked up her shoe. “Lose your shoe?” he asked.

“She threw it, Cal,” Marilyn offered. “Don’t like them.”

“Hit your dog?” Suellen asked, hiding behind her napkin again.

“Nope. Tanner is fine,” he said, slipping from his seat and walking to Amberleigh. “Want it?”

Amberleigh shook her head, but there were tears in the little girl’s eyes. And India couldn’t stop herself from joining her son. “Want Cal to help you put it on?”

Amberleigh stared at her with wide hazel eyes. India could only imagine what was going on in that little head of hers. “Don’t like ’em,” Amberleigh announced.

“Your shoes?” India asked, taking the shoe from Cal and peering inside. “I had shoes like this when I was little. They pinched and made my toes feel squished.”

Amberleigh watched her closely.

“Is that the problem?” Brody asked. “We can get you new shoes, darlin’.”

Amberleigh shook her head. “Don’t like ’em.”

“Don’t blame you,” Cal said, sounding off. “Barefoot’s always better. Unless you’re working outside.” He placed the shoe back on the table.

Amberleigh smiled at Cal again, offering him more of her newly peeled crayons.

“Not in a restaurant, it’s not,” Vic Wallace said, recovering from his embarrassment to scowl in Cal’s direction.

She stiffened. He could be as rude as he wanted to be to her father—or her. But her son was another matter. She urged Cal back to their table and sat, smiling his way.

“The boy’s trying to help,” Miss Francis said.

“No help needed. She needs to learn to keep her shoes on,” Mr. Wallace grumbled. “It’s ridiculous.”

India watched Amberleigh slump farther down in her seat.

“Vic,” Mrs. Wallace scolded, softly.

“I’m so hungry I could eat a cow,” Brody said, making the girls laugh. “Or a hippopotamus.”

“Or a ephelant?” Marilyn asked.

“Elephant?” Brody nodded.

“Or...or a whale?” Suellen asked.

“Maybe,” Brody agreed, winking at them. “I’ll ask Sara if there’s whale on the menu.”

The three girls “aahed” in unison, their little noses wrinkling up in distaste.

“We should celebrate. Sara, get the little ones here a milk shake,” Mr. Wallace said. “Not every day your son decides to run for mayor. We’ll run a big campaign, plaster the name Wallace all over the place.”

Brody for mayor?

“Might run.” Brody glanced her way.

He’d do a good job—because he was a good man.

“Time to make a decision. There’s not a single reason to stop you, Brody,” his father said.

Brody glanced her way again. “I can think of a few. Besides, I’m not much of politician, Dad. What you see is what you get.”

“That’s why at least half of Fort Kyle wants you, Brody. There’s no one else in these parts with the experience you have.” Miss Francis seemed to be his biggest fan. “You’d do good things. Be fair.”

India agreed, but she didn’t say a word. Brody would make this town proud and make the town a place to be proud of.

“And you’d make your daddy happy.” Miss Francis nudged Vic Wallace in the side, earning a small smile from the man.

India had given up trying to make her father happy—it was impossible. Besides, something this big shouldn’t be about one person. It was a lot to take in, to consider. Especially for a single father of three.

She was a single mother to the smartest, kindest, most patient five-year-old in the universe, and it was tough.

Brody’s sigh drew India’s attention his way. There was a slight furrow on his brow, like he was working through something complicated. Did he want this? If there was one thing the last few years had taught her, it was to follow your instinct.

Clearly, Brody was conflicted. Did he have someone to talk to, to weigh the pros and cons of such a monumental job? Did he have someone special? Or was he lonely, like her?

Her phone alarm jingled, reminding her to pick up milk on the way home and jarring her from thoughts of Brody and his life choices. Brody Wallace was part of her past, not her future. If he was serious about running for mayor, her father would consider that an act of war. Being Brody’s friend—an act of treason.