Family Matters (The Travers Brothers Series): The Travers Brothers Series

by Rita Hestand

  "Is Matt coming home?" He shot Abby a quick glance.

  "No, Matt's in Turkey right now."

  "Turkey?" Clint nearly spewed his coffee.

  "Yeah, he went after the earthquake. Said he thought he would be needed there," Judy said with a long sigh. "I can't tell you how proud I am of that boy."

  "I guess looking at it from a doctor's point of view, he's right, but aren't you gonna need him now?"

  "For what? I still have a foreman, as far as I know. Bud runs things around here."

  Yeah, Bud Taylor was a good wrangler, but there was something shifty about the man. Clint hadn't liked him, and he had tried numerous times to tell Ross that, but Ross wouldn't listen, and even became hostile about it when approaching the subject.

  "Nothing is going to change, Clint. I got Abby, too.

  At least for a while."

  Clint wouldn't argue with Judy right now; it wasn't the right time. But surely she wouldn't keep Bud on now. A man no one liked or respected, and a daughter who hadn't had saddle sores in at least three or four years; that wasn’t going to be much help to Judy.

  Damn, he wished Ross would have listened to him years ago, and gotten rid of that foreman. He had driven every friend Ross Martin had away. He was trouble, and Clint knew it. The man had made insinuating remarks to Abby when Abby was just a young girl. Bud gave Clint the creeps. Now Clint remembered why he stayed away. Ross Martin liked Bud. That's where they parted ways.

  Yet, instead of telling Ross his suspicions, he'd dropped it and stayed away. Now Ross was dead.

  Abby smiled and patted her mother's arm as she sat down beside Clint. "Have you gotten any sleep?"

  "Sleep. You know I never sleep during the day. No, I'll go lie down shortly. Don't fret over me, honey, I'm okay," Judy insisted, even though it was apparent from the shadows under her eyes that she'd been crying most of the day.

  "You need any help, you just call me. Deke can spare me," Clint offered. But the way Judy had bragged on her son put a dent in his heart a mile wide. He shouldn't have been jealous. Matt had amounted to something. Matt, and Deke, and Jake and Rusty, but not him. He couldn't claim anything but a few rodeo titles, and rodeo bunnies.

  And he'd trade all of them right now for Abby's friendship again.

  "That Deke, he done himself proud getting a wife like Emma. I was glad to see the day," Judy remarked, glancing at her daughter and Clint.

  "I haven't met Emma, yet," Abby said, coloring from her mother's glance.

  "She's great. You'll like her. So, I guess this means you’re gonna be staying, huh Abby?" Clint glanced at her, noticing the way her cheeks colored, and liking it.

  "I haven't quite decided yet, Clint," Abby answered, not looking at him any longer.

  "Abby's engaged now, Clint." Judy offered the information, and watched Clint closely.

  Lord, he hadn't wanted to hear that, anything but that. Still, she hadn't married yet. And that thought gave him comfort. Not that Abby was his business, but he sure didn't want to hear about her love life just yet. Just getting used to the changes in her was hard enough, but this! He knew this would be a long hard winter, having to stay close and yet keep his hands off Abby, too. Now, to learn that she was engaged hit him below the belt. Well, maybe it was best. Maybe now, he truly would keep his hands off her.

  "Oh, is he going to be at the funeral?" Clint had to know. Had to prepare.

  "No, John couldn't make it. His own mother is ill, and he takes care of her. He couldn't leave her right now."

  Clint soaked the information up like a sponge. But it didn't sit well, Abby with a boyfriend, a good boyfriend.

  A man that took care of his mother. God, how could he ever compete with this family or his own? He was a castaway, and everyone around him knew it. He sank down into the chair.

  Abby's father was dead. Abby was living practically next door again. So many things were happening all at once that it was hard to take in.

  Clint didn't taste the chocolate cake. It went down like mud.

  He certainly had no one to blame but himself. Abby had a right to happiness. Just because he hadn't found it didn't mean she couldn't have it. So why did all this news add up to nothing short of heartburn?

  He was still berating himself for all he should have done, when a small tyke of about three years came barreling into the kitchen in pajamas.

  "Mamaw, would you read me a story?" the little boy asked, sidling up to Judy and hugging her.

  Judy grabbed the boy protectively to her, and smiled.

  "Clay, honey, you're supposed to be in bed," Abby protested, her skin turning beet red.

  Clint assessed the situation with nothing short of shock. Abby had a kid? A kid. A boy kid. A three year old boy. Couldn't be Judy's. But Abby?

  He sat very quietly, sipping his coffee, and looking at the little fella that clung to Judy. So, who was the father?

  God in heaven, what had Abby been up to?

  "This your boy, Abby?" He managed to ask when he found his voice.

  "Y—yes," Abby stalled. Then pulling the little boy into her lap, she sat him close, and barely glanced at Clint.

  "This is my son, Clay."

  "Hi, are you a real cowboy?" the little fella asked, looking straight at Clint with his big round dark blue eyes.

  Clint stuck his hand out to the little boy. "Hi there, Clay. My name is Clint. And to answer your question, yes, I'm a cowboy."

  The little boy took his hand, and gave him a big shake and a lopsided grin.

  Clint nearly fell out of his chair when he suddenly realized he was looking in the mirror. His hair was black and straight and pulled to the side. His eyes were a bright deep blue. He could have been Clint twenty-five years ago.

  Questions, time periods danced in Clint's head. A little over three and a half years ago, Clint had made love to Abby. If a brick had hit him, he couldn't have been more stunned.

  Clint sat paralyzed in the chair as Abby and Judy went to put the boy to bed. Clay was his kid; he just knew it. He had to be. Abby didn't sleep around. Abby hadn't even had a boyfriend during that time.

  Why hadn't she called him? Why hadn't she told him? How long would she have gone, not letting him know he had a son? A million questions danced in his head. And he wasn't leaving until he got some answers.

  Chapter Two

  "He knows, Mother," Abby cried, swiping her eyes as she laid out Clay's pajamas.

  "Will you read me a story, Mamaw?" Clay put his pajamas on, and jumped into his small bed eagerly.

  "Just a short one, Clay honey." Judy reached for a familiar book on his shelf, and sat on the edge of his bed. While she read, Abby paced. Her mother's voice carried through the room like a whisper. The scent of the beautiful pine tree that Clint had helped her with drifted in to tickle her nose and remind her they were not alone.

  Then Judy kissed Clay, and turned out the light. "Goodnight sweetheart."

  "Night Mommy, night Mamaw. Is Papa really dead?"

  The question seemed to hang in the air for a long moment, and then Abby started toward her son to explain, when Judy stayed her. "Let me explain it to him, honey."

  Abby nodded then smiled sadly. "He looks so much like him," she whispered in a small choked voice, thinking suddenly of Clint again.

  Judy sat by Clay on the bed, and told him how Papa had gone to heaven to be with God. Clay nodded, as though he completely understood. After kissing his grandmother again on the cheek, he looked solemnly up at her. "I'll take care of you now, Mamaw. Don't worry."

  Judy kissed him, and wiped away a tear. "Thank you, darlin'."

  Abby kissed Clay's smiling face and closed the door behind them.

  Clay had gone to sleep practically before his head hit the pillow. "So—go on in there and talk to Clint, Abby. You owe him that much."

  "What can I say? Maybe he doesn't realize–"

  Judy shook her head and put her arm on her daughter’s shoulder. "He'd have to be blind not to see the resemblance.
No, he knows, alright. And it's up to you where to take this now."

  "But what can I possibly say? I mean—after all this time. How can I explain?"

  "The truth."

  "Do you think he'll hate me?"

  "Not a chance of that, if I know Clint Travers."

  Abby paced the floor for a moment, thankful that the thick shag carpet muffled the sound of her boots. Then she looked at her mother with tear-stained eyes. "I'm not sure I can. I'm not sure I know how."

  "You've got too much on you now. But this has to be taken care of, too. Clint's bound to realize, if he doesn't already." Her mother smoothed Abby's brow, and smiled gently at her. "And the sooner the better. Clint's a reasonable young man. For goodness’ sake, Abby, he's been your best friend for years. Surely the two of you can work this out. How else will you ever go on with your life?"

  "Yes, you're right about that. Better that I get it taken care of now, then later, after John and I are married."

  Judy nodded.

  "He's not going to like what I have to say."

  "No, he won't," Judy agreed, adding to Abby's fears. "He's a man. Give him time to adapt to it, Abby. And don't be so hard on him or yourself. I know your father talked you into not telling Clint, but it's time now. Way past time. I never liked you keepin' it a secret, anyway."

  Abby put her hands behind her, and leaned against the wall. She didn't know what to say to Clint. She hadn't meant to spring it on him this way. She had intended to tell him slowly, after she got reacquainted with him. Three, almost four years could change a lot of things. Clint had changed too, she noticed. He didn't seem quite as jovial. He was more serious, less talkative. And the fact that he wasn't doing the rodeos was a severe change. She wondered what had brought that on. She knew Clint; she knew his nature, and she couldn't imagine him quitting.

  "I guess you're right. Clint's a reasonable man." Abby reassured herself, taking her courage in hand and forcing herself further into the hallway. She had determined long ago that Clint was in the past. All the hurt of him not loving her had melted away when she found out she was pregnant with his child. Clint's child. At least she had a part of him he could never take away.

  Head held high, she retraced her steps toward the kitchen, pausing only long enough to call to her mother again. "Aren't you coming?"

  "No dear, I'm tired, I'm going to lie down now. Besides, I'm not meddling in your business. There's been enough of that already. What's between the two of you is your business."

  Her mother looked tired and much older tonight. She wished she could turn back the clock for her, and herself, too. She was a strong woman, but the strain of holding back took its toll, too.

  Had her father been right? She'd never questioned his motives or reasoning; she'd loved her father too much for that. But now that he was gone, she had doubts.

  Abby nodded, summoning a courage she wasn't sure she was feeling. She wanted to have time to plan what she would say to Clint. From the look on his face, he knew, or had guessed.

  Just seeing him tonight of all nights seemed to heal something deep within her. It felt so right going into his arms again, letting him comfort her. She remembered everything about him, and he hadn't changed that much, she reassured herself. She still wanted to ruffle that old-fashioned cowboy haircut of his. She loved the natural scent of leather and horseflesh that surrounded him.

  But her life had changed. She had changed. Somehow, she had to convince him of that.

  She peeked around the kitchen door, and saw him sitting there at the table. He knew. Just from his expression she knew he knew. He wiped his face with one hand, as though weary.

  Just seeing him again relit a small fire deep within her, a fire she had spent years trying to put out. No, she would not fall in love with Clint Travers again.

  If only the sight of him didn't make her heart trip so fast. If only he was old and ugly and unappealing. But then, Clint had never been any of those things, and she had to deal with that, too. It was John she had to think of, John and her future.

  She approached the kitchen as though knowingly walking into a lion's den.

  "So Clint, want some more coffee?" She managed a bright smile she was far from feeling. She kept her hands busy, so he wouldn't see them shake. She couldn't look directly at him yet. That would take all of the remaining courage she had left.

  She saw the determined thrust of Clint's chin as she chanced a quick glance. She saw the slight crease in his chin deepen. He was upset. She knew every plane of his face. His blue eyes looked full of emotions that she couldn't identify. Her gaze traveled over him now, slowly, savoring this one last glance for more private times. God, he looked so good. Nothing had changed about him. He was still the biggest heartthrob of West Texas. He wore his Levi jeans and jacket like a second skin. The muscles bulged against the material, not too tightly, just well-fitted. His black Stetson was pushed away from his forehead, and his thick black hair puffed above it.

  He was built strong and solid, with not one inch of waste on him. Where her gaze went, her hands itched to follow, but she kept her distance and her heart in a safe place these days. He wasn't for her, never had been. That lesson she had learned the hard way. Her dad had taught her that although she had been madly in love with Clint the night he had made love to her, Clint didn't love her. He had never told her he loved her, and she had to accept it. It was her fault things got out of control. Women always had the control with an honorable man. According to her father, she deserved better than Clint - the rodeo cowboy. And she hated the little part of her soul that told her Ross Martin might have been wrong about this.

  Even though her life had changed, the same love-starved feelings flushed over her, making her want to rush into his arms, tell him everything, and beg his forgiveness. She couldn't do that now. She was an adult, a mother.

  She recognized that half hurt, half mad look he got in his beautiful deep blue eyes when something was wrong. She'd seen it too many times.

  Memories of their shared experiences flashed through her mind, and her heart bounced hard against her chest as an ache as old as time quivered through her.

  "Yeah, sure, looks like I'm going to need it, doesn't it?"

  "I don't know what you mean," Abby lied, coming dangerously closer as she poured him another cup. Her nostrils filled with the fresh scent of a citrus cologne.

  He grabbed her arm, cuffing it with his big warm hand. "Cut the small talk, Abby. He's mine, isn't he?"

  "Wh--"

  She started to deny the entire thing, but one look in Clint's dark brooding face, and she knew she couldn't possibly lie about it. Not to Clint.

  "Yes," Abby said quietly, "he's yours." Her voice sounded odd to her, as though it came from somewhere else., someone else.

  "God, Abby!" Clint shot to his feet and paced the kitchen. He wasn't going anywhere, but his movements made her nervous. "When were you planning on telling me about him? When he was fully grown?"

  Abby started to answer, but he cut her off again. "Or were you?"

  "Of course I was—eventually." She felt the trembling of her own lips, the shaking of her hands, the pounding of her heart in her ears. What could she say? How could she explain this well-kept secret to him?

  "Why, Abby? Why did you wait three damn years to tell me I had a son?" His voice rose with each word, and he came dangerously closer. "Why did you deny me my son?"

  She started to say something, but his fist hit the table, and then he grabbed her by the upper arms, pulling her to stand in front of him. Her eyes clouded with unshed tears. "We were friends, good friends. Why didn't you trust me enough to take care of this? Do you think I would have just walked away from it?" His eyes glared into hers. "I'd have taken care of you, the baby. We'd have worked this out. Didn't you know that?"

  An almost hurtful sob broke from her lips as she turned away from him.

  "I knew you'd be there for me, Clint," she answered steadily now, although how, she didn't know. Her tongue felt like
sandpaper in her mouth. Her hands and feet felt as though they belonged to someone else as she moved about numbly.

  He still wielded the same powerful control over her emotions he always had. This time she had to keep herself and her heart from him.

  "Then, why?"

  "You want the truth?" She hesitated, staring directly into his face.

  "Yes, I want the truth."

  He turned toward her again, and she sat down, afraid her knees would buckle if she stood to face him again. Instead, she looked anywhere but at him.

  "Yes, I knew you'd pay for an abortion, take care of the kid, or even go so far as to marry me. But that's not what I wanted. I didn't intend trying to trap you into a loveless marriage, Clint."

  "A loveless marriage? For crying out loud—"

  "I knew what I was doing that night, Clint. It was my fault it happened. I took the responsibility."

  She sat quietly, knowing full well that her heart was anything but quiet.

  Clint looked like a volcano about to erupt, and she wished this surprise had been easier on him.

  "What do you mean, that's not what you wanted? In a situation like this, you don't do what you want, you do whatever has to be done," Clint stated, his hand coming down again on the table.

  "I'm sorry, that isn't enough."

  "Isn't enough?. What more is there?"

  Abby stood up now, as Clint slid into the chair in front of her. "There's love, Clint. The one word you've never used with me. I wanted love. You think, you have the audacity to think, I would let you use my body, without the slightest bit of feeling. I thought you knew me better than that. But you never once stopped to consider how I might feel about any of it. You think I'd just laid down for you at your beck and call, just because you had a broken heart. I had feelings, too, Clint. You loved every girl in the county, but me. You never once suspected I had any feelings for you …"

  She stopped, too embarrassed, too humiliated to go on.

  "Abby, I—" The look on his face was priceless, and hurt all the more for its innocence. "I've wanted to apologize for a long time. But what could I have said? If I'd only known about this ..."