Caught by the Cowboy Dad

by Melinda Curtis

  Myrna took the folding chair next to Bernadette. “When Jim and I were first married, we’d camp beneath the stars. Up here, they shine as bright as diamonds. I used to think I was the richest gal in Idaho.”

  “That’s sweet. I bet Jim doted on you.” Bernadette beckoned Frankie to join them.

  The teen dragged her feet but sat down with them.

  “I was the one doing the doting.” Myrna settled back in the folding chair in good spirits. “I chased that man across half of Idaho before he realized he loved me.” She chuckled. “Some folk are thicker than others when it comes to love.”

  “Tell me about it.” Bernadette gave Holden a sideways glance.

  “Jim was old-fashioned. He wanted to ask my folks for my hand.” Myrna stared up at the pine trees above them. “We drove back here from college. Our car overheated at the last turn here, in just about the same spot where you went into the ditch. Jim was hopping mad. It’s funny how everyday things can set you off when you’re young. And my father came ambling up here because he’d been camping here and expecting us and we were late. And he says to me, ‘I hope you weren’t planning on keeping this one, Myrna. He’ll expire from a heart attack before I do.’ Can you believe it?” Myrna laughed.

  Bernadette laughed long and hard. “Holden has a bit of a temper, too.”

  “I thought I handled the ditch episode really well. And Shortcake’s swim. And the tree. And the battery. And the flat tire.” Which he and Tom had changed while Bernadette napped. Holden cleaned the fish with a skilled hand. “My temper is no comparison to Jim’s.”

  “Oh, man.” Bernadette collected herself. “There was this one time Holden made a late-night dinner reservation for a private room. And when we arrived at the restaurant, the bridal party that was using the room before us had yet to leave.”

  “That was the old me.” Holden frowned without looking up from the fish. “Have you heard nothing I said? Ditch, Shortcake, tree, battery, tire.”

  “You probably could have put Shortcake in your list another few times,” Bernadette teased.

  “I bet Dad had a meltdown,” Devin predicted, coming out of the motor home. “I bet you had to drag him out of the restaurant.”

  Bernadette nodded, but she was smiling. “We ended up at a pizza place. It was quite nice once he settled down. He really should receive an award for keeping his temper through all the mishaps he’s had while we’ve been here.”

  “Settling down.” Myrna propped her feet on the metal rim of the fire pit, which didn’t have a fire lit yet. “That’s a good way to describe the aging process. Once you realize the big picture and what’s important, the minor setbacks tend to roll on past.”

  “Enough about Holden and his temper.” Bernadette shifted to face Myrna. “Tell us what happened at the doctor’s office. That is, if you don’t mind sharing.”

  “I’ve got an underactive thyroid,” Myrna said with a flourish of her hand.

  “Hypothyroid.” This came from Bernadette, Devin and Frankie.

  “They stuck a needle in my neck.” Myrna stroked her neck gingerly, which still had a small bandage on it. “A biopsy to make sure it isn’t cancer. That’s what took us so long. Waiting to see the specialist.”

  “And waiting for the pharmacy to fill your prescription.” Frankie stared at her clenched hands in her lap.

  “But they say everything’s going to be all right,” Myrna said in a soothing voice and with a smile aimed at her granddaughter.

  “We have to wait for the biopsy results before we say that.” Frankie had her doom-and-gloom cap on. Well, it was a beanie, but her attitude spoke volumes for her mood.

  Bernadette laid a hand on Frankie’s clasped ones. “Those results come in right away if it’s bad news. And with the advances in medicine, even if they find something, they’ll get right to work making your grandmother healthy again.”

  Frankie stood. “I’m not hungry.” She stalked off toward the barn.

  “Francesca! Come back.” Myrna dropped her feet to the ground. “It’s rude to run off like that.”

  “It’s okay,” Bernadette said. “Give her a little space.”

  “I’ll go talk to her.” Devin hurried after her.

  Holden sighed.

  “It’s okay,” Bernadette said to Holden. “Give them a little space.”

  “Kids their age need other kids their age,” Myrna said perceptively, heaving a sigh as heavy as Holden’s had been. “But, then again, we all need somebody.”

  Neither Bernadette nor Holden commented.

  * * *

  “HEY, WAIT UP.” Devin jogged after Frankie.

  She marched on, faster than before.

  He caught up to her at the barn door.

  “Don’t.” She pressed her palm against his chest, over his heart, immediately drawing her hand back. “You’re not my friend.”

  “Who says?” He worshiped the ground she walked on.

  “You’re leaving soon.” Frankie’s gaze was cast down. “And I’ll be here taking care of Gran.”

  “For the rest of the summer, sure. But then you’ll go back to school and—”

  “No.” Her gaze came up, but only as far as Devin’s Adam’s apple. “I’m not going back to school.”

  “Don’t say that. You want to be a—”

  “I want to be here. For Gran. She can’t stay here by herself.” Her gaze reached his mouth.

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t—”

  “It does.” Her gaze finally—finally—reached his. Those caramel eyes were filled with hurt and longing and embarrassment.

  And Devin didn’t know how he knew, but he knew everything she was feeling and more. More because he ached to help her somehow. Someway. He just didn’t know how.

  “You should have heard the doctor. Her thyroid can make her forgetful. I’m supposed to make sure she takes her medicine every day. And she could get depressed.” Frankie squinted her eyes shut. “And there were all these other symptoms and side effects, and all they were really saying was bad news for her. She can’t live alone anymore.” Frankie opened her eyes and stared at Devin through a film of unshed tears. “And she won’t leave, which means...”

  “You’ve got to stay,” Devin said mournfully, as if it was his college career that was going down the drain, too.

  * * *

  “WHAT? NO S’MORES?” Bernadette sat in the camp chair next to Holden after they’d eaten dinner and bid Myrna good-night. “You must have forgotten to put chocolate bars and graham crackers on the shopping list.”

  Devin and Frankie hadn’t shown up for dinner, and Bernadette could tell by the distant look in Holden’s eyes that he was worried about them.

  “Wait. Why do I smell chocolate?” Bernadette sniffed.

  “I’m making brownies.” Holden stared into the flames. “I made them after I did the dinner dishes while you were saying goodbye to Myrna.”

  “We had a lot to talk about. You put them in the campfire?” She leaned forward. “It looks like you wrapped softballs in aluminum foil.”

  “I put brownie batter in orange peels.”

  “Get out.” She nudged his shoulder. “That’s not a thing.”

  “It is a thing. First you make fresh squeezed orange juice.” He handed her a cup that had been on the picnic table. It was filled with orange juice. “And then you hollow out the peels and fill them with brownie batter.”

  She blinked at him and offered up a guess. “You learned this when you camped with your grandfather?”

  “Yes. Although he made his batter from scratch. I used a box.”

  “You surprise me, New York.” It was a nickname she’d used for him once.

  “That’s always been my goal, Idaho.” He gave a wan smile.

  Devin came around the rear of the motor home, sniffing the air like a blood
hound. “Dad, I smell brownies. And you know what Cam says.”

  “If you can smell it, it’s done.” Holden was already leaning forward and grabbing the oranges with tongs. He rested each orange gently on a plate. “This isn’t the time to count calories, Bea. Each one of these is one third of a brownie package.”

  “When have you ever known me to count calories?” Bernadette leaned forward and breathed in deeply. “All we need now is vanilla ice cream.”

  “I’ll get it.” Devin jogged into the motor home.

  “You bought ice cream?” Bernadette fell back into her chair, wrapping the ends of her thin jacket around her waist. “You should have taken me camping when we were dating.”

  “I couldn’t have done that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m New York, remember? I took you places you expected me to—high-end restaurants, museums, the symphony.”

  “They never gave me enough to eat at those restaurants. I never felt like I got my money’s worth at the museum. And I fell asleep at the symphony. But this... This impresses me, New York.”

  “Boston.” Devin returned, carrying the ice cream and three spoons.

  They both stared at him.

  “I’m going to be making my home in Boston,” the teen explained with a shrug. “I want a nickname, too.”

  “Boston,” Holden repeated, nodding. “Okay.”

  Devin sat down on the other side of Bernadette. “And since we don’t want the baby to feel left out, it needs a nickname, too.”

  “Shouldn’t a real name come first?” Bernadette asked.

  “Do you have any in mind?” Holden smiled at her for the first time since they’d started working this morning.

  “Not Bernadette.” She frowned, but only briefly, because she was lulled by the smell of warm brownie. “Honestly, I’ve hated my name forever. Although, if you tell my mother, I’ll deny it. Everyone in my family received unpopular names that were passed down from generations ago.”

  “Which I believe you told me on our first date.” Holden looked at his son. “The only nicknames I’m allowed to use are Idaho and Bea. Not Bernie. Not Bette. And never Bern. But I digress. What names did you have in mind?” He opened the aluminum foil on the three oranges, speeding the cooling process.

  “Something short and cute, like Daisy or Olive.”

  The two males stared at her, horrified.

  Devin dragged his gaze from her to the brownies. “Why not Amber or Roxy?”

  Bernadette frowned. “What’s wrong with Daisy and Olive?”

  “Besides them being names of cartoon characters?” Holden chuckled, dishing out ice cream on top of the steaming brownies.

  “Nobody remembers that,” Bernadette grumbled.

  Devin couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the brownies. “Hey, my names are the names of the two most popular girls in my school. I’ll remember those two until the day I die.”

  Bernadette sniffed. “My apologies. Names mean different things to different people. It’s all subjective.”

  “What about something dignified, like Stephen or Randall?” Devin couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed a plate and a fork and dug in. “Also popular at my school.”

  “I’m focusing on girl names,” Bernadette said.

  “You don’t know it’s a girl,” Holden countered.

  “A mother knows these things.” Now she couldn’t tear her eyes from all that hot chocolaty, ice-cream-covered deliciousness. “Can I have a brownie, please?”

  Holden handed her a plate and fork. Bernadette settled it in her lap and began dividing it into bite-size pieces that were evenly covered with ice cream.

  “Just a suggestion here, but we need a rule about baby names.” Devin had done significant damage to his serving of brownie. “Rule Number One. You must put forth names for both genders.”

  Bernadette had a bite loaded on her fork, but she paused, frowning. “Don’t take this personally, but shouldn’t I be the one making the rules?”

  “No. I call rights as an older brother.” Devin held a hand over her plate. “I’m serious. No dessert until you agree to my terms.”

  “Wielding the Monroe negotiating skills.” She narrowed her eyes. “You may propose one rule, Dev, but only because you’re holding my dessert ransom.”

  Devin withdrew his hand and returned his focus to devouring his dessert.

  “Should you be eating that?” Bernadette inserted her hand in the air above his brownie the same way he’d done with hers. “You didn’t have dinner.”

  “I’ll have plenty of room for that later.” Devin eyed her plate. “Save what you don’t want, and I’ll eat that, too.”

  Bernadette retreated to her personal space and glanced at Holden. “How long does this teenage hunger last?”

  Holden shrugged. “Three or four years.”

  “Pray for a girl,” Bernadette muttered.

  “Not a chance,” Holden said. “If you don’t like Harlan, I vote for Stephan.”

  “Eh.” Bernadette took a bite of brownie. And oh, it was good.

  “You should like Stephan,” Holden pressed. “Because if it’s a girl, we can name her Stephanie.”

  “Is someone in our family named Stephan?” Devin didn’t even look up from his plate.

  “No. I just thought it was a versatile choice no matter what gender the baby is.” Holden sounded extremely proud of himself.

  Bernadette set down her fork. “You’ve been giving this a lot of thought.”

  Holden nodded. “I’ve been fishing.”

  She shook her head. “Rule Number Two. No versatile names.”

  “Why?” Holden tilted his head to look at her. “It’s efficient.”

  “Because.” She grinned, sitting up taller in her chair. “Do you like how I said that? I’m practicing to be a parent.”

  Devin’s fork clattered on a near-empty plate. “What about Spud?”

  Bernadette and Holden gaped at him.

  “Not for a legal name. Spud. It’s a nickname.” Devin claimed the glass of orange juice and took a sip. “New York. Idaho. Boston. Spud.”

  Their blended laughter echoed throughout the campground.

  * * *

  “WHERE ARE YOU GOING, Idaho?” Holden took gentle hold of Bernadette’s hand.

  “To bed?” Why had that come out as a question?

  “You can’t go to bed until you give me two names.”

  She leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Holden Monroe.”

  He held her close, turning his head so his lips were close to her ear. “X and X. That’s assuming you have twins. Now, don’t pull away.” He drew her into his lap. “I know it’s shocking, but twins run in the Monroe family.”

  “I shouldn’t be in your lap.” But she didn’t move to get up.

  “Let’s think about that statement. Do you like my arms around you?”

  “Holden,” she warned.

  “I seem to recall that you do. And that you like this.” He ran his hand up her arm and combed his fingers through her hair. And then he kneaded her shoulders. “You’re always so tense.”

  She sighed. “You don’t play fair.”

  “Never.” He pressed small kisses down the column of her throat. “What am I going to do with you, Idaho?” He hoped she’d give in and say, Marry me.

  “You’re going to chase me a bit longer.”

  He eased back in his chair, leaving his arms looped around her like a relationship seat belt, more for his safety than hers. “Do you mean that?”

  Instead, she eased out of his lap. “I don’t know. But what I do know is that it’s a shame you won’t be around every day to watch Spud grow.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THERE WERE NO mishaps in the morning. The motor home was level. The electrical worked. Th
ere were no downed trees blocking its path.

  Holden made no mention of leaving. He made Bernadette green tea and toast. She hadn’t been very sick this morning. He made eggs and sausage for him and Devin. Dev hadn’t brought a book to the breakfast table.

  “I’m a believer in signs.” Holden reached for Bernadette’s hand. “Marry me, and every morning can be like this.”

  “Here we go again,” Dev murmured, hunching over his plate and shoveling in food as if he couldn’t finish fast enough. “Spud, if you’re listening, you’re going to have to be really patient with your parents.”

  “I’m good at taking care of you,” Holden pointed out to Bernadette. “And I...I care for you.” Oh, man. He’d choked on that one.

  “Care, not love.” Bernadette pulled her hand back. “You told me you’re not sure what love is. Well, let me tell you what I think it is. Love is giving. And being in love... Well, it makes you a better person, not in that you-complete-me kind of way, but as if you can make a risky reach for the stars because if you fail, you’ll still have that person at your side.”

  Devin lifted his head, taking in every word Bernadette laid down.

  “Love is about making hard choices to be with someone and making it work.” She pushed her glasses up her nose.

  “I’m good at making tough decisions.”

  “And what are you willing to give up for love?” Bernadette shook her head. “I’m not moving to New York. You look down on Idaho.”

  Devin’s attention turned to Holden. “Dad...”

  An engine rumbled on the road. And it wasn’t Frankie’s motorcycle.

  Holden glanced out the window. A familiar black Suburban came to a stop behind the motor home. Holden bit back a curse, and for the first time all morning, an elephant stomped on his chest.

  “Who is it?” Bernadette asked, trying to see out past him. “Tom?”

  “It’s Shane.” Holden put on his shoes.

  Bernadette was already getting up from the table. “There might be a medical emergency in Second Chance.”