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

by Rita Hestand

  John came back into the room, his face filled with concern. "Something wrong?"

  "No, no, mother and I were just talking about the wedding." Abby explained, going to his side. She'd best put Clint out of her mind altogether. "You look worried, something wrong with your mother?"

  "Yes, she had another spell. The nurse is with her again. I've got to call back this evening."

  Judy went back to her sewing. "How long has your mother been sick, John?"

  "Oh, a couple of years. It's her heart. Any little thing seems to set her off these days." John explained.

  "I'm sorry, she's so young to have so many troubles. She's only fifty, right?" Judy shot him a glance.

  "Yes, yes, she is. " John's frown multiplied. "She's not very happy about the ceremony, either. Thinks we should have it in church. Her church."

  Abby's stomach turned over. "But that's impossible. Her church won't even recognize the marriage."

  "I know. So does she. I shouldn't have told her. I should have waited until we'd gotten married to say a word. Now she's upset." John rubbed Abby's arm aimlessly.

  "I'm sorry, John." Abby turned her attention toward John, whose expression bore the same tension she was feeling. "Do you think you need to go to her?"

  "No, I'll stay a while longer." he affirmed, squeezing her shoulder tighter, until it almost hurt. Abby pulled away.

  "So, Mom." Abby glanced toward her mother, putting distance between her and John. "Are we going to string popcorn? I told Clay we would. He's dying to. He loves doing all these traditional things for Christmas. He's just now at the age he can have fun with it."

  Judy grabbed Abby to her. "That's right, I'd nearly forgotten, I knew that tree looked bare of something. We'll do it tomorrow evening. How's that?"

  John nodded indulgently, his smile not reaching his mouth.

  "I'm sorry, haven't you ever strung popcorn, John?" her mother asked.

  "No, can't say I have. My family didn't put too much stock in Christmas. We were lucky if we were all together. Could be because my father died so early. Mom just never seemed very enthusiastic about it after he passed on."

  "Too bad. It's one of the best times of the year."

  Abby looked at him, reassuring herself that she was doing the right thing. John was a wonderful man, successful, immaculate, strong—

  ***

  Then one cold afternoon just as Clint was about ready to call it a day, Clay ran out to him by the barn. He was out of breath and excited. He jerked on Clint’s shirt sleeve. "Uncle Clint, we're going to string popcorn for the tree, wanna help?"

  Clint started to refuse, but suddenly saw something in Clay's eyes that startled him. It was a look of almost loneliness. How could he possibly be lonely with his mother and grandmother inside?

  He bent down, adjusted Clay's hat, and attempted a smile. "I don't think you need my help for that, partner."

  "Sure we do. You're almost family, grandma said. And we're gonna watch Frosty the Snowman, too."

  Clint cleared his throat thinking of all the times he could have been part of this warm and loving family.

  Now, it was too late.

  "String popcorn, you say?"

  "Yeah, grandma dyed it red, blue and green, and now we're gonna string it. She said everybody should have a string of popcorn around the tree, in case they get hungry before Christmas dinner."

  "Well, grandma's right. Okay, partner, lead on." Clint tried to sound enthusiastic as Clay took his hand and practically pulled him inside the house.

  "Grandma, Uncle Clint is gonna help us." Clay announced, as everyone turned around to face him.

  "How nice." Judy smiled and patted Clint on the arm, as though to say, it's okay.

  "Look, Clay wanted me—" he began, but suddenly Abby moved toward him and put her hand on his arm, too.

  "Come on in, Clint, no use breaking the tradition around here. You know you are the fastest stringer this part of Texas."

  "We got cider, Uncle Clint?" Clay asked. "Or you can have some cocoa like me."

  "I think hot cocoa sounds pretty good. It's mighty cold outside, and nothing warms the tummy like hot cocoa, huh partner?" Clint chuckled, watching Clay as he ambled toward the stove where Judy handed him a cup of cocoa.

  Abby brought John front and center. "This is John, Clint. Clint Travers our neighbor."

  That took the smile from his face, but after recovering, Clint found his manners and extended his hand to John. "I've heard some very nice things about you."

  "Same here."

  "How's your mother?"

  "She's recuperating, thanks for asking."

  "Now, why don't you take this in the living room and have it. Frosty is coming on, any minute now." Judy directed him with a wink. "Oh, and don't eat all the popcorn."

  "Okay, grandma. Come on, Uncle Clint." Clay directed.

  "If you'll excuse me, looks like I have a date with Frosty." Clint took the mug from Judy.

  Clint sat on the floor by Clay as they turned the TV on and set their hot chocolate on the table. Clay scooted real close to him, and they talked about the movie for a few minutes. Clint pretended great interest, as though he hadn't seen it a dozen times. It brought back memories of when he and his dad had watched it together.

  A whiff of popcorn assailed the living room as Burl Ives sang in his husky voice and recited the story of Frosty. Clint smiled down at his son, grateful for this moment. He had to take what he could get from the two of them. For however long he could have it. And somehow, that had to last him the rest of his life.

  The intricate procedure of stringing popcorn began when Judy brought the first big bowl of popcorn into the living room. She had set a sewing kit on the coffee table, and Clint didn't waste any time getting the supplies ready for him and Clay. The movie began, and Clay was talking up a storm.

  He fed Clint a few pieces of popcorn and then shoved a handful into his mouth, and laughed.

  Clint showed Clay how to start the string, and how to gently hold the popcorn so it didn't crumble. His patience never varied. This was his son, and he was sharing this precious time with him; time he seriously doubted he'd have again. If he hadn't been such a big dope, he'd be sharing every evening with him—and Abby.

  That thought did upsetting things to his libido.

  Clay got the hang of it after a while without busting the popcorn around the thread. But he stuck himself a few times before he finally learned what a weapon a needle could be.

  They had a couple of feet strung before Judy, Abby and John joined them.

  Clint tried his best to concentrate on stringing the popcorn and his son. But Abby looked so beautiful in her long skirt of plaid and velvet pullover. And there was that sweet smell of her that lingered. Clint looked up from his task several times to see Abby staring at him. He couldn't take his eyes off her. She was wearing her hair down, and he wondered why. Had she done it for him?

  Suddenly, memories of the moments of the night they'd spent together flashed in his mind. How'd he run his fingers through her long hair, and realized it was like silk. How her lips had been so velvet soft and eager. Making love to Abby had been so different from any woman he'd ever touched. Coming together with Abby had been the most endearing moment of his life. And now, seeing her holding hands with John and smiling made his heart clinch.

  "Abby and John have set the date, Clint," Judy was saying, as she placed small platters of fudge and homemade cookies about the table.

  Clint almost dropped his string, but managed somehow not to make a spectacle of himself.

  "That's great, when?" he asked, as though he really wanted to know.

  "In the spring."

  "Why wait so long?" Clint felt inclined to ask. If it were he, he'd be marrying her the very day he asked. But of course, Abby would never marry him. No, he was nothing more than a rodeo cowboy, so why would she be interested? Her father hadn't approved of him, either. Clint suddenly felt lower than a skunk. He consoled himself with the knowledge t
hat he did everything for love.

  "My mother's not well, and we figured it would give her a little more time." John responded tightly.

  "Sorry to hear that." Clint shook his head. "You know you're getting about the best lady in Texas, don't you?"

  Abby's mouth dropped open at Clint's words.

  John squeezed Abby's hand. "Yes, I know."

  Clint glanced at the string he and Clay had worked on, and knotted it. "Let's wrap this around the tree."

  Clay helped him, and they both smiled at their work and glanced at the others who were far behind them with their strings.

  "Then I guess you'll be a family soon, partner, huh?" Clint asked his son.

  Something about that question set Clay off, and he ran to his room, slamming the door.

  Clint looked at the three of them, and then went towards Clay's room. He felt he had made the wrong statement, and had to correct it somehow. It had never dawned on him how his son might feel about this situation.

  "Hey there, can we talk?" Clint called through the door.

  "I don't want to talk about it" Clay hollered back. "I thought we were pals."

  There was a long silence, and then the door opened slowly. Clay stared up at him. "I guess."

  "Good. Now what's the problem?" Clint came into the room, trying to ignore the fact that this was Abby's old room. All her school pictures were still there on the dresser; her pennants hung on the wall. He saw a picture of her and him high on the dresser mirror, and almost reached for it, but knew Clay wouldn't understand it.

  "I want to live here, and ride horses, and be with you and my grandma!" Clay said, running towards him and hugging him.

  Clint felt a tight knot in his throat. And the fact that his son had naturally liked him so much made him really think about his welfare. God, this was his kid. And he wanted nothing more than to tell him so, and that he didn't want him running off, either, but he knew that wouldn't help the situation.

  Clint picked Clay up, and looked into his face, seeing the anguish there. He wondered who put it there. He went over to his bed and set him on his knee, looking deep into his eyes, and wondering if the little fella had already picked up on the idea of them being kin.

  Nah, that was just wishful thinking.

  "Well, partner, I feel the same way about you."

  "You do?"

  "Yes, but I'm a grownup, son, and I know I have to do what's best. Just like you'll be someday. You're going to have a daddy, and he's going to take care of you, provide for you, and make your mother very happy. You can always come back here and visit grandma. Maybe in the summertime, your mom will let you come spend some time here."

  Clay looked at him with hopeful eyes.

  "But I want to be a cowboy, like you," Clay said, very seriously.

  "Well, now, there's nothing stopping you from being a cowboy, son. If it's what you really want to do. But you gotta grow up first. And there's lots to learn about being a cowboy, too. You can't rush that kind of thing, you know."

  "Will you teach me, Uncle Clint?"

  Clint cleared his throat. A hurt older than time stirred within him. Abby was going to marry John and move away, and probably as far away as she could get from him. How could he promise his son something he knew he couldn't do?

  "Cowboyin' takes a lot of time to learn. It takes a lot of riding, roping, and learning your horse." Clint noted the dejected look on Clay's face. "Your new daddy will teach you lots of things."

  "I don't think he likes kids."

  "Aw, now, sure he does. You're a real likable little fella. It’d take a pretty mean hombre to not like kids. He doesn’t strike me as a mean fella. And you know your mom wouldn't marry him if he didn't like you."

  "I guess?"

  "Sure, you gotta give him a chance," Clint's voice began to break, and he stood up, knowing he couldn't take much more of this before he broke down and confessed or cried. "Don't you think?"

  "Yeah—I guess so. But I really like you, too, Uncle Clint," Clay grabbed him around the legs, and hugged him.

  Clint almost picked him up and hugged him, but decided he had better learn to detach himself now, or he'd never be able to let him go. The lump in his throat actually hurt.

  Clint was about to go when Clay pulled on his jeans. "Will Grandma be alright, without me? I don't want her to be lonely. She seems lonely without grandpa."

  "That's just natural, son, she just lost her husband. Given time, grandma will snap out of it and come around. Don't you worry. I'll be here."

  The genuine concern in the boy's face melted Clint's heart. He had a strong sense of family and Clint knew exactly where that came from. He was a Travers, alright.

  "She'll be just fine. I'll see after her," Clint promised. "You promise?"

  "Cross my heart and hope to die."

  "Thanks, Uncle Clint."

  Clint moved toward the door. Getting to know his son had been such a privilege. It was a privilege he didn't take lightly. He owed Abby for that – and for a lot of things.

  Abby glanced up as Clint walked to the front door minutes later. He turned and looked straight at her. For one fleeting second, they connected. "I'd better be saying goodnight."

  "I'll walk you out," Judy said, getting to her feet. There was an awkward few minutes of silence. "I'm sorry about that. I know it's difficult for you, Clint. I've seen how close you've grown to him." Judy tried to smile, but it didn't quite reach her face.

  Clint nodded, unable to speak at the moment. "He's a great kid, Judy. I mean that. She's done a good job. I can't fault her for that. She's a good mother." Clint said, and opened the door to his truck. "I owe her; especially for letting me get to know him."

  "I know this is hard on you, Clint."

  "Yeah," Clint's voice belied his emotions, and Judy put her hand on his arm.

  "You are his father, Clint, and no one can take that away from you." Judy said quietly.

  Clint nodded and looked at her with a smile. "Thanks."

  When she grew silent but didn't go back inside, he stared at her. "Well, 'night, Judy."

  She started to turn toward the house, and then hesitated. "So, are you going to stay with the Junior Rodeo Association?"

  The question took him off guard. He shook his head.

  "Nope."

  Judy followed him as he headed for his truck. "What are you going to do, then?"

  "I'm going back to the rodeo."

  Judy's face seemed to knot into one big frown. "The rodeo. But I thought—"

  "Yeah, well, I guess I miss it." He shrugged and put his hand on the door handle of his truck.

  "You miss getting your bones broken? You miss winning trophies, and all those girls?"

  "Sure, I miss all of it."

  "And it doesn't become you to lie, Clint Travers."

  He lied to himself. But tolerating this was hell. The sooner he got out of here, the better off he'd be. He wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life proving to Abby how much she meant to him, but he'd never get that chance again, and he knew it. It was time to face the facts: he'd lost the only woman that had ever meant anything to him. He'd lost Abby.

  Judy didn't argue with him. Instead, she sighed heavily and asked, "How soon are you going back?"

  "After Christmas." Clint answered, opening the door.

  "Who'd you draw?"

  "Bulldozer," Clint answered, swinging himself up into the truck.

  "Bulldozer? But he's the worst bull this side of the Red River. Can't you redraw?" She asked, coming closer.

  "Nope, don't want to. If I can stay on him, I'll be in the running for the title again."

  He stared down at her, wondering why she felt such concern for him.

  "Take care of yourself," she barely uttered, and laid a comforting hand on his arm.

  "I'll still be around off and on to help out here."

  "Why are you doing this?" Judy suddenly asked.

  "You know I've always been a rodeo bum—"

 
"I know no such thing," she defended. "Clint, I know about you and Ross. There’s no use hiding it any longer. I’ve known for some time."

  Clint put the key in the ignition. His expression was still grim. "He told you?" He asked, not looking at her.

  "No, actually, I overheard the whole thing. I tried to talk some sense into Ross about it. I told him: better you courting Abby, than someone we didn't know or like."

  "That was a long time ago." Clint sighed. "Ross and I had an understanding."

  "Yes, that's my point, but you've loved her all this time. And never once told her. If it hadn't been for Ross, you two would be a family now. I feel like I need to make things right for you, Clint. I should have spoken up."

  "I've told her a million times, in a million different ways, but she never heard me, Judy. I wanted to take her to the prom that night I knew she sat home alone, crying, never once complaining. That's the last time I went up against Ross." Clint banged his fist against the steering wheel.

  Judy's eyes seemed to water. "I'd prayed that night that Ross would look the other way, just once. I knew how badly she wanted to go, and you wanted to take her."

  "I started dreaming up girls, just so I could forget about her." Clint shook his head and adjusted his hat. "She thinks I've dated every girl in town, but her. That night—in the barn. It all came crashing down on me. God, Judy, she'd been my best friend all her life. I had promised her daddy I'd never touch her. I'm surprised he didn't hunt me down and kill me."

  Judy let out a soft chuckle. "He probably would have, but Abby owned up to her part of the blame, and he couldn't blame you without blaming her. It ate at him. He knew he was wrong about the whole thing. But it was too late, and he'd done made the mistake. Ross couldn't admit a mistake if his life depended on it. Stubborn as a mule, he was. She worshiped him. He wanted to keep it that way. He couldn't admit he'd been wrong. Not to her. She never knew."

  "Best left that way, too." Clint nodded, shut the door, and spun out of the driveway. He headed home with a heart full of hurts.