Why couldn’t the kid have stayed on the other side of the yard with Lianne and the girls, continuing their silent conversation and leaving him manning the grill?
How did he get drafted into the job, anyhow? Carrying the platter out to the yard shouldn’t have automatically nominated him as chief cook. He slapped the spatula on the grill and flipped another burger. It fell through the rack and onto the coals below.
Three down. At this rate, they’d all have to turn vegetarian for the evening.
“Do you need some help?” the boy beside him asked.
“No, I’m good,” he said.
Your nose is gonna grow like Pinocchio’s, Daddy!
Billy had always shouted that when he suspected a lie. And he’d just now told a heck of a whopper.
The five-year-old reminded him too much of his own son. The little girl had run up to join them and now stood silently with her silver-gray eyes trained on him, too. Again he kicked himself for not having turned tail and run.
Lianne sauntered over to them. “Are we having a problem here?” She pointed to the burgers that had fallen through the rack.
First the kid, now her. He ground his molars and fibbed again, “No, things are great.” He gestured toward the dog that was never more than a foot from the girl. “Those are for Pirate.”
Lianne bit the corner of her lip, probably to hide a smile.
P.J. tugged on Becky’s sleeve. When he’d gotten her attention, he pointed to the fallen burgers, too, and then moved his free hand—all his fingertips touching—toward the dog. “For Pirate.” He clapped his hand over his eye.
The sign stood for the dog’s name, which Becky had apparently given to the mutt the minute she’d seen him. The dog had a patch of dark fur around his eye; it was a nice piece of logic.
Kids that age had plenty of smarts….
Becky grinned and wiggled her upright hands in the air.
“She’s clapping,” P.J. told him.
“Pirate’s a lucky boy,” Lianne said, looking into the grill.
He frowned. Returning his attention to his task, he flipped another burger. Carefully. He’d already made enough for the mutt.
“We’ll be eating soon,” she added. “Time to go wash your hands.”
The two younger ones scampered away, the dog in pursuit. Nate took off after them. Ryan was left alone with the rest of the sizzling burgers. And with Lianne.
She stood staring at him as steadily as the kids had done. “Let me know if you plan to do any of the cooking for the scouts’ campfire. I’ll increase the food budget.”
“Very funny.” He transferred the cooked burgers to the platter she held out to him.
“What’s not funny is the way you’re behaving.”
He raised his brows. “I can’t help the way I cook.” But that wasn’t what she meant, and he knew it.
“You can help how you’re talking—or I should say not talking—to the kids.”
He shrugged, not intending to tell her he wanted nothing to do with the kids, especially the younger ones.
P.J. overflowed with the same little-boy enthusiasm his son had shown. He had the same habit of asking a never-ending list of questions. Even his hair, though blond instead of brown, grew in a cowlick that refused to be tamed, just as Billy’s had.
And Becky—
“If you didn’t feel sociable, you could have gone on your way. You didn’t have to accept Nate’s invitation.”
“That last part’s true.” Though he hadn’t actually received—or accepted—an invitation. More like Nate had taken for granted he’d stay to supper. “But the rest has nothing to do with being sociable or not. I was paying attention to my cooking.”
She glanced quickly at the grill and shook her head. “I suppose that’s a good thing. I don’t want to think about what would happen if you didn’t focus.”
She looked up, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks flushed a pale pink. “As I was saying—”
“Yeah. Focus.” Any determination he’d ever mustered to keep his distance went up in a puff of charcoal-scented smoke. He took the platter from her, set it on the shelf and turned back. “Want to know what I’m focusing on now? Read my lips.”
Chapter Twelve
As Ryan leaned closer, Lianne tensed. Ever since last night, she had reminded herself of the list of reasons she needed to stay away from him. All the reasons she needed to be strong. But she couldn’t let him see her run.
He slipped his arm around her waist and rested his free hand against her cheek.
A warmth spread through her, one she couldn’t blame on the heat from the grill.
He held her closer, the way he had on the dance floor. She braced her hands on his biceps, the way she had in her bedroom last night.
And she slipped free of his arm and stepped away.
“Hey—” His gaze darted over her shoulder.
That was enough to tell her the kids had returned to the yard. Good. He would have to keep his hands to himself.
The warmth filling her had nothing to do with his touch or the look in his eyes. It came from anger at what he had attempted and what she had almost let him get away with.
She had tried to talk about why he wasn’t interacting with the kids. He’d wanted…to do something else.
“Interesting,” she said thoughtfully.
“I’d call it more than that.”
“I mean our conversation. You deliberately changed the subject, didn’t you? I was pointing out how you had avoided the kids, and you used that…maneuver as a way to distract me.”
He frowned. “It wasn’t a maneuver.”
She opened her mouth and snapped it shut again. She wouldn’t be able to tell if her voice rose too high, and she couldn’t risk the kids overhearing what she wanted to say. Hands trembling, she grabbed the platter of hamburgers from the shelf.
Pirate darted between them, his head raised to sniff the air.
“No, Pirate. Ryan has yours.” She turned away.
Nate ran toward them. Behind her Becky and P.J. had climbed up to sit at the picnic table.
Ryan put his hand on her shoulder. Reluctantly, she looked back at him.
“Lianne, I don’t play games.”
She shrugged. His hand slipped away.
“We’re starving,” Nate said. “Are the hamburgers ready yet?”
She hoped her laugh didn’t sound forced. “Right here. Let’s go.” She followed Nate to the table.
Ryan had stayed beside the grill. His hair gleamed in the sunshine. His eyes sparkled as he played with the dog. He tore a hamburger patty into bits and tossed the pieces to Pirate, who snapped them up as though he hadn’t eaten in days.
Dragging her gaze away, she dropped a hamburger onto a bun and concentrated on smacking the bottom of the upended ketchup bottle. The irony of the situation didn’t escape her. She had brought the kids here to help her stay away from Ryan, and here she was, annoyed because he wanted to stay away from them.
He had interacted with Nate and P.J. only when they approached him. Becky was another story. As far as she could tell, from the moment he had walked into the kitchen until now, he hadn’t sent a smile, a gesture or even a glance in her niece’s direction.
His attitude irritated her at the same time it stirred memories, triggering a well-known pressure in the pit of her stomach and a familiar ache in her heart. At school she didn’t have to face sitting alone with people who couldn’t understand her. But later, home again, there were plenty of barbecues, birthday parties, holiday dinners… She had spent too many of them sitting alone and overlooked by most of the adults and ignored by the kids, feeling as though she didn’t fit in.
She didn’t ever want anyone to make Becky feel that way.
Especially Ryan.
Now he approached the picnic table with Pirate trotting along beside him. The closest seat open would put him opposite her and beside Becky. Without a glance at either of them, he went to the far end of the table. Pirate put
his front paws on the edge of the bench near Becky.
Her stomach churning, Lianne set the hamburger back on her plate. Ketchup oozed from around the edges, and her fingertips had left craters in the bun.
She sighed, knowing it was more than just Ryan’s unwillingness to communicate that upset her.
She wanted him to care. To look at Becky and not see a less-than-perfect child. To look at her and not see someone less than whole. She wanted him just to accept them, as is, no expectations attached.
* * *
RYAN PUT ON a clean pair of jeans and sat on the foot of the bed to put his boots on. Every muscle in his body ached from the tension of getting through the evening before.
He should have followed his instincts and headed right upstairs instead of staying for supper. He should have come up with an excuse to leave the ranch altogether. And he sure as hell should not have tried to kiss Lianne again.
If he had known she would wind up throwing those accusations at him, he wouldn’t have gone near her at all.
Maneuver, she’d said. He’d give her a maneuver she wouldn’t soon forget. He’d kiss her—
“Morning.”
The boot slipped from his fingers and thudded to the carpet at his feet.
The voice had come from the hall. He turned his head toward the door and saw the body that went with it— pint-sized, dressed in pajamas printed with stars and spaceships, and carrying a bed pillow.
P.J.
Other than the cowlick, the kid didn’t look much like his son. But his eyes were puffy and pillow-creased, like Billy’s when he first woke up. His hair went every which way, like Billy’s when he first crawled out from under the covers. And that cowlick, just like Billy’s, stood up on the back of his head.
The boy crossed the room and climbed up onto the bed. He settled the sheets around him to his satisfaction, then plopped the pillow onto his lap and leaned his elbows on it. “That barbecue was a long time ago. You think we’ll get breakfast soon?”
He stared, trying to regain his breath and bring his thoughts back from the past. After a moment, he reached down for his fallen boot. “I don’t know. Anybody up yet besides you and me?”
“Just Pirate. But he can’t cook.”
Right. He managed a sickly grin.
“Whatcha doin’?”
Looking down, he focused on putting his boot on. “Getting ready for work.” And for the inevitable list of questions.
“Are you the boss of this ranch?”
Ha. That sure recalled him to the here and now—and the problems he faced in it. He tried to keep the sourness from his tone. “I like to think I run this place, kid, but I reckon that depends on who you ask.”
“Oh.” P.J. shrugged. “Did you know there’s gonna be a lot of boys at this ranch soon?”
“Yes.” Luckily, he wouldn’t see a single one of them.
“Do you have any boys?”
His mouth suddenly dry, he stared at P.J. without speaking.
P.J. stared back, blue eyes unblinking, waiting for a response.
Just like Billy, trusting his daddy to have all the answers.
“I—” How could he explain to a five-year-old? “No. I don’t have any boys.”
“Oh.” The kid rolled his eyes. “You have girls?” His voice dropped a few notches on the final word.
Ryan shook his head. “Don’t have any of those, either. You got something against girls?”
“They think they’re so smart. And they always want to be the boss.”
Now, wasn’t that the truth. “Like Nate?”
An emphatic nod. “And my big sister. Not the little one yet.” As if Ryan had commented, he added, “Well, Becky’s a girl, too, but she’s okay. She can’t talk, but that’s okay, too. My mama says she’s just like me. Do you know any signs?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I know lots.” P.J. touched one fingertip to his cheek and twisted it. “This is candy. And this—” he curved his hand into a claw and dragged his fingertips down his stomach “—means hungry.”
Ryan nodded, trying to smile but only managing to lift one corner of his mouth.
He went over to the closet and grabbed a shirt hanging from the rod. From behind him he heard the sound of wood scraping against wood. He froze with the shirt halfway on.
“Who’s this?” P.J. asked.
He slid his shirt on. Then, one by one, he snapped the snaps. Finally, he turned back into the room.
Over by the dresser, P.J. stood holding the picture frame, gazing down at the photo Ryan hadn’t looked at in nearly a year.
He cleared his throat. “That’s my family.”
P.J. frowned, squinting with his entire face just the way Billy did when something puzzled him. “But you said you didn’t have any boys.”
“He… He’s not with me anymore.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “You mean he’s in heaven?”
He took a deep breath and let it out again. “Yeah, he’s in heaven.”
“Like my daddy. Well, my old daddy. I have a new daddy now.” P.J. stood the frame on the dresser. He crossed the room again and dragged his pillow from the bed. “I’m going downstairs. Maybe it’s time for breakfast.”
Ryan watched him leave and then sat on the edge of the bed. He kept his gaze from the picture frame but couldn’t keep the questions from ringing in his head, the same unanswered questions, like the nightmares, he’d carried with him from Montana.
The accident had told him one thing—how quickly disasters could happen, with lives ending in an instant. Families lost in the space of a breath.
He let himself look at Jan and Billy. Then he tore his gaze away and thought of Lianne.
I can manage this, she told him over and over again. I can handle that. I can do my job. I don’t need your help.
Maybe. Maybe not.
Who could predict when a disaster would happen?
* * *
ON THE WAY back from town, Lianne’s cell phone vibrated. Ryan’s name sprang into her thoughts—ridiculous, as he didn’t even have her phone number.
The text had come from Caleb. He and Tess wanted to meet with them both at the Double S for dinner. Just what she needed.
Breakfast with the kids had helped distract her from her irritation with Ryan.
Last night he had disappeared after helping to bring everything in from the backyard, and they hadn’t seen him again.
This morning he never came near the house at all.
Considering his usual pattern, she had thought they would see him at least once before she left to take the kids home—as if he would have wanted to say goodbye to any of them.
She glanced at the clock on the dashboard before getting out of the car and slamming the door closed. He wouldn’t be able to avoid her much longer. She just hoped she would be able to control herself until after the night was over.
The minute she saw him at the kitchen table, she had to fight to swallow the things she wanted to say.
She managed a civil question. “Did you hear from Caleb?”
“Yep. I was just headed up to shower. Get the kids home okay?”
If he hadn’t said that, she might have been able to last longer. But he had, and she couldn’t. “Ryan, why wouldn’t you talk with Becky last night? You didn’t have to know how to sign. You could have pointed, gestured, smiled—done anything to acknowledge her.”
He rose from his seat, his thumbs in his belt loops.
His good ol’ gunslinger-at-the-ready position.
It made her ready for a shoot-out with him. It made her see red. It made her feel—as he would probably say—downright furious. All the emotion she had bottled up from the night before—the weeks before—poured out. “I know you’ve got issues with me because I can’t hear. I can deal with that. But for Pete’s sake, she’s a five-year-old. An innocent child. She can’t help that she can’t talk to you. And knowing she’s deaf shouldn’t make you avoid her like she’s got the plague.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.” She clutched a handful of her hair, took a deep breath and let it out again. “All right. You’re not deaf. I guess it’s too much for you ever to understand. But can’t you see how she feels when people pretend she’s not there—even when she’s right in front of them?”
“Left out.”
“What?” She couldn’t have read those words on his lips.
He moved toward her, as if he thought she couldn’t see his mouth from across the room. “Left out,” he repeated.
She stared. She had read him correctly.
“Irritated,” he added.
She blinked.
“Frustrated.”
She took another deep breath. “You do know.”
“I’ve been there. Last night in the kitchen. Watching you sign with her when I didn’t know a word you were saying. Out in the yard, seeing you all talking together.”
Her throat tightened at this first indication that he might care. “You could have talked to her through me. Becky’s comfortable with having an interpreter.”
“After what happened on Signal Street, I wanted to apologize to her. Directly.”
“You could have taken me aside after dinner and explained.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged, looked away, looked back again. “Was there ever a time when she could hear?”
When she wasn’t less than perfect? Her heart ached. She shook her head. “She was born profoundly deaf.”
“Then she doesn’t hear birds singing? Or the voices of the kids she plays with?”
She shook her head again.
“She even misses out on hearing her dog bark?”
“She doesn’t hear Pirate, either. But she doesn’t miss his bark. She doesn’t ‘miss’ any of those things. Someone born hearing who becomes deaf later on has a memory of sounds. Becky doesn’t. She can’t miss something she’s never known.”
“And how do you feel?”
She curled her fingers into fists.
Finally.
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