Unwrap Me Daddy_A Holiday Romance

by Natasha Spencer

  “Customarily, it would be at once,” said Caroline gently. “But shall we say—two weeks? Will that give you enough time to get your affairs in order?”

  The plain china cup rattled as she set it on the table and made as if to rise. “That will be plenty of time. I’ll just get my things together, and I’ll—I’ll—”

  Caroline forestalled her with a light hand on the wrist. “Mrs. Wyeth—Emma—may I call you Emma? I admit I have my own way of doing things, and there are some changes I’d like to make in the kitchen. And I’ve no doubt I’ve made some mistakes right from the first day of my arrival. So, if I’ve caused offense to you in some way, I apologize. But won’t you at least talk to me, and tell me what’s wrong?”

  “You want me gone, I’ll go. No two ways about it. Oil and water can’t mix, no matter how you try, and I’ve got—”

  “But we’re not oil and water, are we? We’re two capable women, with the common goal to keep this household running smoothly. You’re a wonderful cook, Emma, and you’ve done a wonderful job overall so far. It’s just your—um—well, it’s your very strong dislike of me, and I can’t tolerate it. No one can deal very long with being disliked. So, if you’d but—”

  “Sophie,” blurted out Mrs. Wyeth.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s Sophie.”

  “I don’t understand.” Caroline moved aside her brimming cup to actually take the cook’s veiny, work-worn hand in her own. “What about Sophie?”

  Mrs. Wyeth paused to catch her breath and steady her emotions. Amazingly, the sharp glare behind her glasses had softened, and a few actual tears had pooled, ready to ooze and fall. As slow as she had been to look a problem head-on, and discuss it, she was even slower to confess to a very human failing: jealousy.

  “Because she was mine,” the cook said softly. “And you stole her from me.”

  “I stole her? But—” Caroline was honestly bewildered. “There was a nanny, wasn’t there? When she lost her mother, as a baby—didn’t Sophie have a nanny to take care of her?”

  “She did. Her name was Patricia Mendez, and I supervised every minute she spent with the child.”

  “Well, that’s admirable, I’m sure. But—”

  “And when she got to be too old for a nanny,” continued Mrs. Wyeth, as if the interruption hadn’t taken place, “I watched over her. She spent time here with me, in the kitchen; she played blocks and did colorin’ books. I helped raise her; I took her places; we did things together. It was like—I was like—sort of a—grandma. And then you came along.”

  And took my place.

  The words were not spoken. But they hung in the air, almost audible; the muted cry of a broken-hearted woman striking back in the only way she knew how.

  “I see.”

  Another puzzle piece, another one of an unexpected shape, to be fitted into the whole of this unusual Texas Taggart family.

  Was too much love for a lonely, motherless child ever wrong?

  Caroline’s grip tightened. “Thank you for telling me, Emma. I’m very sorry for hurting you, even though I didn’t mean to. You see, I’ve been trying to do a job myself, and—well…”

  The cook exhaled a long, quivering sigh. “Yes. Well, I’d best get back to my chores, so I can red up and start packin’.”

  “Emma.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I really don’t want to see you leave, and I don’t think you want to leave, either. Couldn’t we pretend this is the first time we’ve met, and start all over?”

  “You’d do that? Why would you do that?”

  Caroline smiled. “Because you make the very best flapjacks in seven counties. Along with a host of other mouth-watering dishes. C’mon, Emma. Say yes, and stay.”

  Even though her eyes puckered, her lips puckered, and her whole lined face seemed to crumple up like tissue paper, she couldn’t capitulate too easily. “Well, if it means that much to you…”

  Bursting into laughter, Caroline jumped from her seat to fold the cook into an embrace very unbosslike. “It does. I’m so glad. And I won’t be selfish with Sophie’s time, anymore. You can be sure you’ll sometimes have the pleasure of her company.”

  Yes. Finally a smile. A very small one, to be sure, but there was a definite easing of the rough edges. “Thank you, ma’am. Mrs. Taggart.”

  Caroline was able to wait until she had left the kitchen, and was out of sight, before she high-fived herself and her results with a little triumphant, “Yes!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Although the community was still a week out for the great Independence Day celebrations, with a Marigold parade, picnic, carnival, and fireworks, plenty of smaller festivities were going on, not only in town but at family homes and ranches. With Ben traveling, and nothing definite about the date he would return (no doubt the good ole boy was still sulking, because he had yet to contact her directly), Caroline felt that the Ten Buck ought not to host any events. At least not this year.

  However, Lila Sampson was planning a barbeque later in the week, and the Taggarts had already been invited. Ads in the local paper had announced festivities at the Cattlemen’s Bar & Grill, and more in the Marigold Central Mall’s parking lot.

  Choosing a spiffy little blue Ford Fiesta for her personal use, out of a whole stable of vehicles—from the dusty farm truck to a sleek silver Mercedes to an huge honkin’ black SUV, and more—Caroline and Sophie stopped by the Sampson house and picked up Becca, for a day’s outing. The chatter of two little girls for every mile of the trip would bring a smile to the face of even the most jaded of adults.

  Excited as they were, the children were absolutely beside themselves with the thrill of wandering through the aisles of a dollar store, to choose anything (within reason) from the shelves. Eventually they walked out carrying boxes of sparklers and bags of balloons, and both wearing headbands with bobbers of red, blue, and silver attached.

  Lunchtime first, at a fast-food restaurant (Caroline reflected, with a wry grin, that the girls were certainly getting a taste of the cheap on their date). Next, a movie; finally, ice cream sundaes piled high with whipped cream and topped with a cherry. Exhausted but happy, both nearly fell asleep in the back seat on the way home.

  Another evening, true to her word, she left Sophie in the care of Emma Wyeth and rode with Marilou to a four-star place halfway between Marigold and Austin, that offered, according to the menu, fresh seafood and superlative pasta.

  Back in Juniper, an eon ago, the number of her friendships had been limited by her work life, with a demanding schedule early and late at the school; and her personal life, during which household care was interspersed with care for her invalid father. She’d had no spare time, and usually no energy, for friends.

  This overture from Marilou Gilbert had come as a surprise, and a pleasant one. She found herself relaxing enough to enjoy the evening, and share little tidbits just like a normal girl. The admin confided thoughts about her one main love, Jimmy Beaudreaux, a city boy who had decided to learn ranching from the ground up, and was using (with Ben’s approval) the Ten Buck as a stepping stone.

  Did Marilou see marriage in her immediate future?

  Romantic stars almost overflowed her luscious green eyes. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” she admitted. And giggled.

  Even two icy-cold salt-rimmed Margaritas before dinner, and a potent Irish coffee after, were not enough to break down any barriers about Ben, however, or to divulge any details about her own unusual arrangement. Some private things must just remain private.

  The hours of each day began with a burst of sunshine that gradually melted down into dusk. Had Caroline been required to keep a diary of her comings and goings, she would have been hard-pressed to see where those hours had gone. But somehow each was filled, and each slipped away to be never retrieved.

  And it was wonderful.

  If for nothing else, she was grateful to Ben for granting her the freedom to live unencumbered by financial worr
y or fear. Her single regret in leaving Juniper behind was losing her father. He would have so loved seeing her settled and well-off, and a mother—even if vicariously. And she would have so loved having him here with her.

  Some days the physical ache of a migraine or a healing limb was nothing compared to the emotional ache of her bruised and battered heart.

  Meanwhile, she, and often Sophie, visited with Tom, while he made the rounds of the ranch, checking on stock or equipment or water holes. Being in his quiet, unassuming, unquestioning company gave her the solace, sometimes the advice, she could no longer get from Clayton Finch.

  And so the time passed. This was a golden time, a halcyon time, with any problems arising only very minor ones. The Ten Buck seemed to be in a state of stasis: waiting patiently and silently for its master to return.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ben breezed back into town and the ranch house (but without expectations of getting into Caroline’s bed) two days later. His arrival actually came ahead of schedule, when no one was expecting him, so everyone was occupied elsewhere when he walked through the front door.

  “Hey!” he called, setting down his luggage onto the foyer’s polished floor. “Anybody home?”

  He heard the sound of giggles and the click of puppy claws approaching and turned for the usual exuberant greeting. “Oh, hi, Daddy!” said Sophie, with a wave, and kept on running.

  Huh. Bit of a disappointment there.

  Next to appear, as he took a few steps farther, was Mrs. Wyeth.

  “Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Taggart,” she said, unsurprised. And continued on her way, like a magnificent ocean liner pushing into port, toward the downstairs linen closet.

  Ben frowned. The cook was still ruling her kingdom? Hadn’t Caroline planned to fire her, because their relationship was past repair, and nothing could be done to save it? Or had he dreamed that middle-of-the-night conversation?

  He had just loosened the knot of his tie and pulled off his suit coat when Tom casually strolled on through. “Oh, hiya, Ben. Back, I see.” And disappeared into the kitchen.

  At this the master of the house was beginning to feel a few twinges of annoyance. What was wrong with these people? Didn’t they realize he might appreciate a little welcome? “Home is the sailor, home from sea, And the hunter home from the hill.” Thank you, Robert Louis Stevenson. Now, could some member of the family kindly acknowledge his presence?

  Caroline, he was surprised to see, had taken up residence at the marble counter and was staring intently at the screen of her laptop. In between clicks at the keyboard, she was nibbling on some sort of pastry and offering compliments all around.

  “Emma, this is above and beyond your usual standard. I don’t know what you’ve put in the sweet roll dough, but it’s absolutely delicious.”

  The cook turned from her clean-up at the sink with a smile. A smile! Ben about dropped his teeth. “Just a pinch of cardamom, Mrs. T. Really adds flavor, doesn’t it?”

  “Tom, you simply must try this. Yes, Sophie, dear, you may have some, too. But not Jasper. He needs to stick with his dog food so he doesn’t get an upset tummy.”

  Ben, standing in the doorway and feeling like a stranger in his own house, loudly cleared his throat.

  Caroline glanced up, coolly, distantly. He did believe there might have been a hint of lip-curling involved. “Oh. Hello.”

  “Hey, everybody.” Attempting good humor, he flung his jacket over the back of a chair and set down his briefcase. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “Oh, Daddy, we’re all just real busy,” Sophie, galloping around as if she riding a horse, laughed at him but couldn’t be bothered to stop for a hug. She was more intent, apparently, upon destroying the kitchen, judging by the racket and clatter and a crash of overturned chair.

  “Honey, why don’t you and your puppy friend go outside for a while?” Caroline suggested over the noise. “Throw the ball for Jasper so he can run off some energy, and I’ll come out with you soon.”

  “Hokay, Mom!” Away she went, the dog at her heels, and the back door slammed behind her.

  Tom, munching away on the Bismarck he’d been presented, looked from husband to wife and back again, and beat a strategic retreat. “Think I’ll go on with Sophie, myself.”

  That left only Emma Wyeth in the kitchen, and she, too, decided discretion was the better part of valor. Murmuring something about checking on Maria’s progress upstairs, she slipped away.

  “Well.” Ben managed a tight grin. “Guess I have a way of clearing a room, don’t I?”

  Easing off her stool, Caroline took down two glasses from the shelf and retrieved a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge, only to state the obvious. “You’re back early.”

  “Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing? Thought you might appreciate havin’ a little family time for the Fourth. We can take in the parade, do the carnival, and so on.”

  “Certainly, if that’s what you want.” Calmly she went on pouring, then offered one of the filled glasses to him.

  Now he was just plain exasperated. “It’s not just what I want, Carrie. I figured Sophie would want it, too.”

  “Oh, we’ve already made plans. But you’re welcome to come along with us, if you want. Tom tells me there’s a lovely wooded spot outside Marigold that is just perfect for watching the fireworks. We’ll take some lawn chairs and a couple of blankets and make a picnic night of it.”

  A faint blush colored his cheeks. He knew the spot, all right. It was the same place where he’d taken Caroline, so roughly and rapidly, and she had not only acceded but joyously responded to his every demand.

  “Huh. Well, okay, then. Uh—you’ll let me know what time all your plans will be goin’ on, right? And where?”

  “Certainly. Just as we agreed to, in the documents we signed.”

  Good God. Could she act any more frigid or unfeeling? Clearly she was still carrying a mad around for whatever had gotten her upset a week ago, and he’d be paying the penalty for it. Too bad. Because he was horny as hell, and she looked good enough to eat, in a sherbet colored yellow top and a fetching little denim skort that showed every ripple of muscle across her backside.

  “Huh,” he said again, awkwardly and helplessly, and picked up his things. “Is Marilou around?”

  Caroline had already returned to her laptop, to whatever she was doing or researching or reading. Damn it. Couldn’t she act just the least bit happy to see him? Couldn’t she even ask how business matters had gone during his travel, and whether he had accomplished anything worthwhile?

  He wanted first to jump her bones, and then he wanted lay his head on her breast and confess that some of the excitement of zipping around the country had gone. He no longer looked forward to visiting so many cities in so many days, or keeping track of the pelts he had collected from fellow corporate moguls brought down by hisown machinations.

  “No,” said his wife. “I think she isn’t in today. She and Jimmy had some holiday plans to be away for a few days.”

  “Away for a few days? She didn’t check with me. Who in the hell gave her permission—”

  “Oh, I told her she could leave.” His wife’s aquamarine eyes widened innocently. “Since you weren’t here to do it yourself…”

  One shrug of her rounded shoulder, one glimpse of her breasts beneath that thin summer top, and every moving part of his neglected body sat up and took notice. Foul mood or no, he wanted her fast and loose; he wanted to strip away every inch of her clothing, throw her onto the table, and assert his marital rights then and there.

  Finally, for once, the working cells of his brain took precedence. Nope. No Hootchie Mama tonight. He had his pride, and he could live on it.

  But not for long.

  “Okay,” he responded lamely. “Guess that’s okay. I’ll—uh—just be in the office…if you need me…”

  “By all means.”

  Hell. Ben felt like tearing a leg off his favorite chair to gnaw it into pieces.

&n
bsp; When had life gotten to be so complicated?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Still sleepin’ alone in a king-sized bed, eh, son?” Tom’s words sounded semi-serious but the tone, and the twitch of his lips, gave away his teasing mood.

  Ben sent him a sour look. “You can damn well shut up.”

  “Ah, well, it ain’t all beer and skittles.” Grinning, he used his Bowie knife to peel a few more strips of bark off the piece of wood he had begun to whittle. “I often think it takes a man with real heart and balls to be a great husband. Not all of us weak males can do it.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m beginnin’ to figure I’m one of those weak males.”

  “Hell, Benny, boy, you never had a chance with Diane. So you can’t count that first one as much of a marriage. And you’ve barely got a start on the second one.”

  They were perched, these two lanky Texas cowboys, on stumps set in the shade of the barn. Earlier, Ben had discarded the day’s wrinkled suit for his favorite uniform of Levi’s, chambray shirt, and worn boots, and then wandered out onto the grounds to track down his consigliere and mentor. The man to whom he had always, even as a young boy, taken his problems and concerns. Tom had never failed him. Never once.

  “However you managed t’ pair up with Carrie, Ben, I think you’re luckier than you realize,” said Tom quietly. Another splinter of wood curled up on itself, paper-thin, and fell to the ground from his knowing hands. “Caroline is one of the good ones. She’s makin’ a fine mother to that little girl of yours, and she’ll make you a fine wife. If you’ll but give her the chance.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yep. But that’ll mean tellin’ her the truth.”

  “No. You know I can’t do it. You know why.”

  “Son, Caroline is married t’ you,” Tom explained patiently. As if the fact needed repeating. “It’s only right. It’s only fair. You gotta trust her sometime, and she deserves t’ know about the past.”