“We’ll give it a shot.”
Cheyenne’s eyes went wide and she homed in on Resa. “Do you know how to French braid, Resa?”
She couldn’t lie. “Actually, I do. My friend Eden and I used to do each other’s.”
“Can you do it for me?”
A light in Colson’s eyes died. His hands stilled at the end of the braid.
“Your daddy’s doing a really good job. Maybe some other time.”
“But I want it French braided. And Daddy can’t do that.”
He unwound the braid he’d just finished, then the other completed one, and stood. “Here. You go ahead,” he said, sounding as if a nail had been driven through his heart.
“How about I show your daddy how to do it for you?” Resa set the pie on the coffee table, then sat down in the chair behind the child. It smelled of her dad’s Stetson cologne.
“Yes!” Cheyenne clapped her hands.
“Pull up that other stool so you can see.” Resa waited until Colson scooted another ottoman over and sat down. “It’s basically the same concept, but you should probably master one French braid before you try pigtails.” She brushed Cheyenne’s silky hair and started with two locks, leaving the rest loose.
“Only two strands?”
“You add as you go.” Resa demonstrated, adding another strand, then more and more as she braided, pulling Cheyenne’s hair smooth as she went. She reached the end and unwound it, then stood. “Now you try.”
“I don’t know about this.” Colson swapped seats with her. “But I’ll give it a shot.”
“Start with two strands just under her crown. Good. Now, hold those with your left hand and grab another from the right. That’s it. Now keep it smooth and add to this strand from the left.”
“I don’t have enough hands.” His lips pulled taut with concentration.
“You’re doing fine.” Resa scooted closer, focused on the braid, smoothing the hair for him, her hand grazing his. “Just takes practice.”
“Would anyone like supper?” Mac stood in the doorway, a knowing smile on his lips.
“Look, Grandpa, Resa showed Daddy how to French braid my hair.”
“I see that. I didn’t think you could get any prettier, but you just keep surprising me.”
Colson painstakingly finished the braid and Resa handed him the coated rubber band to secure it. When he’d finished, she smoothed a few strands and poked them underneath.
“You’ll be a pro before you know it,” she told him.
Cheyenne jumped up. “Let’s go show Nette, Grandpa.”
“Lead the way, dumplin’.” Mac took the child’s hand. “Y’all come on. Food’s ready.”
Colson hesitated, caught Resa’s gaze. “Thanks for including me.”
“I figured it would be easier than me coming over every morning.” She shoved her hands in her pockets.
“I worry about...losing her.” Vulnerability put a sheen in his eyes, a catch in his voice. “About someone else taking my place in her heart.”
“Are you kidding me? She adores you.”
“You know the way.” He retrieved her pie, held a hand out, ushering Resa in front of him.
Why would Colson worry about losing Cheyenne? And how could she take up residence in the little girl’s heart when Cheyenne and her dad would be leaving in just over two weeks?
* * *
Eleven thirty and a lull had finally hit. It always amazed Colson at the new items Rusticks offered. The Christmas tree behind them decorated with hand-carved items was almost bare. Despite numerous sales, with a steady stream of customers all day at their open house, tables still held a picked-over display.
Log snowmen and owls, walking sticks, tree-stump-slice chessboards, log lamps and candleholders. Along with a dozen or so of Jed’s boxes. Yes, Colson had trained and worked as a crafter years ago. But coming up with unique ideas and designs was beyond him.
That was Resa’s expertise. She scanned the table, moved a lamp here and there to fill in the gaps of their pilfered exhibit.
“Have you heard from Emmett?” He kept his tone casual.
“No, but I’m still hoping.” She blew out a big breath. “I really don’t know what happened with him. We used to be close. He was a good kid, who loved church just as much as I did. Somewhere along the way he changed. During his teen years, he became a different person—so self-absorbed. I pray for him. And I know God’s bigger than Emmett, but I’m losing hope for him to ever change.”
“There’s always hope.” Colson touched her arm.
She stiffened until he let his hand fall away.
“If he doesn’t show, I’ll stay.”
“You need to get home and enjoy the rest of your cattle-free day with Cheyenne.” Resa lowered her voice. “Did you French braid her hair this morning?”
“I did. Not as well as you, but Annette helped smooth it out and tuck some ends in. By the way, you don’t have to tell any of the ranch hands I do her hair.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” Resa chuckled.
His gut twisted. If only she knew his real secret.
She scrutinized him, as if he’d shown his discomfort, then turned back to the display. “You should have brought Cheyenne. I always loved helping my dad set up for open house. Emmett, too. Dad always said we were his best salesman.”
“She’s still not good with big crowds.” And he couldn’t risk her being around Emmett if he showed up.
“I’m really sorry about yesterday.” Resa winced. “She didn’t have any nightmares, did she?”
“No. She’s fine. Really. All she can think about is Singing in the Saddle.”
“Does she know a horse will be pulling the wagon?”
“Not yet. I’ll explain before then. But I won’t force her.”
“Of course not. Maybe it will help her fear. She really needs to overcome it—I mean, with her being raised on ranches.”
“I know.” He hadn’t meant for his response to sound so clipped. Resa was only trying to help. But this relationship she was building with Cheyenne—the niece she didn’t know she had—was about to undo him.
Silence hung between them, as if she was choosing her words carefully. “Does she remember? I mean, when...”
“She saw a therapist for a while. The psychologist seemed to think she doesn’t actually remember the horse throwing Felicity, since she was so small at the time.” The muscle in his jaw throbbed. “Cheyenne only knows her mom died and she’s afraid of horses.”
“Maybe taking her out in the lot with a gentle animal like I did yesterday might help. A little farther each day. Then getting her to pet the horse. And eventually ride.”
“Maybe. But if anyone does that with her, it’ll be me.” He pinned Resa with an uncompromising stare.
She raised both palms in a conciliatory gesture. “Once you get her past her fears, I could ride double with her. If that’s okay with you.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“I’m here.” Emmett strolled toward them, checked his Rolex. “And I’m even early.”
The hair on the back of Colson’s neck prickled. Even though Cheyenne was with his dad and Annette.
Resa’s eyes widened, reflecting shock that he’d actually shown up. “I’m so proud of you.” She hugged her brother as he stepped around a table.
“I’ll get out of here now.” Colson would like to offer to stay until Tucker came. But what if Dad decided to bring Cheyenne for a visit? Resa didn’t see herself in Cheyenne when she looked at his little girl, but would that be the case with Emmett if he got a glimpse of her? Colson couldn’t let that happen.
Chapter Seven
“Thanks for helping us out.” Resa watched Colson grab his coat. Thankfully, Emmett had
shown up, relieving her of Colson’s presence. It had been too much like that summer he’d worked at the ranch. Back when part of her heart had died before it ever got a chance to truly blossom.
“Well, look who’s here.” Ronald Ashford, local radio personality, stopped in front of their booth, recorder in hand. “All three heirs of Rusticks Log Furnishings in one place. This screams for an interview.”
Colson stopped, reluctance in his stiff stance.
“That’s really not necessary.” Resa’s nerves simply couldn’t handle anything else.
“But isn’t this open house thing set up to advertise the stores?” Ronald splayed his hands. “What better way to accomplish that than free radio time?”
A valid point. She stifled a sigh. “How long will it take?”
“A matter of minutes. Right here. Right now.”
“Now?” A minute to pull herself together would be nice.
“As soon as Mr. Kincaid comes back. Come on, help me out. My station manager is whining for a human interest piece.”
Resa glanced over at Colson. “Do you mind?”
“I reckon, but I’ve only got a minute.” Colson stiffly leaned his hip against a table, as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her.
Ronald counted down with his fingers, then pointed at them. “This is Ronald Ashford with KTLB at the Christmas open house at Rusticks Log Furniture in the heart of Texas Hill Country. I’m here with Emmett and Resa McCall, grandchildren of Emmerson and Teresa McCall, who founded Rusticks. I also have Colson Kincaid, son of Mackenzie Kincaid, who’s been in partnership with the McCall family for the last ten years. Tell me, Resa, how did the McCalls and Kincaids end up in business together?”
“Well, my grandfather started out handcrafting furniture for family and friends, to make ends meet on a pastor’s salary.” She grew more at ease as she shared her family legacy. “Word of mouth about his skill traveled fast. Jed Whitlow was the first crafter he trained, and his lifelong friend Henry Kincaid was able to help them keep up for a while. They started the Bandera store fifty years ago. My father grew up in the workshop and soaked up Grandpa’s skills.”
A few people gathered in a semicircle to listen.
“How did the San Antonio store come about?” Ronald held the recorder in front of Colson.
“My grandfather Henry taught my dad everything he knew, so when they started getting a lot of orders from San Antonio clients, they decided to expand. By then my grandfather and the older McCalls had retired, The younger McCalls stayed in Bandera, and Dad agreed to move to San Antonio and run the store there.”
The semicircle around them grew, comprised mostly of women. Probably drawn by the two handsome men flanking Resa, more than their story.
“I didn’t think you worked in the store. Didn’t you run off to travel the rodeo or something?”
“I didn’t run off, just followed my dream.” Colson’s jaw tensed. “I was a horse trainer at King’s Ranch in Kingsville for a while, and I’m currently the ranch foreman there. But I’m here for a short time while the McCalls’ foreman has surgery.”
“Rusticks advertises handmade furnishings from Texas trees. Just how handmade are we talking?”
“When Rusticks began, everything was done by hand. But to keep up with demand, we do use machinery to cut tenons, drilling and sanding. However, Resa and another drafter design all of our furnishings, and all pieces are assembled by hand.”
Ronald jabbed the microphone at Emmett. “Tell us how the trees are harvested.”
Did Emmett know how to handle the question, to appease environmentalists? Resa resisted the urge to cut in.
“The original furnishings came from trees on my grandfather’s property. In the years since, we maintain our own forest for Rusticks. When a tree is cut down, we plant one in its place. We also provide the service of tree removal for new construction, cutting limbs off trees around homes, or harvesting trees that have fallen. Just call us and our crew will take care of your tree problems for free, in exchange for the wood.”
He did know. Wow, he’d actually paid attention when they were growing up.
“Rusticks helps with oak wilt problems, as well. If you discover a diseased tree, call us.” Emmett quoted their number. “We’ll harvest the tree and use whatever wood we can. And the utility companies contact us when they cut limbs along power lines.”
Resa worked at keeping her jaw from dropping at his knowledge of a company he’d shown nothing but disinterest in over the years.
“Now about the store... Do you take custom orders?” Ronald focused on her again.
“Yes.” She rattled off the address and contact information. “We have a showroom full of unique furniture and decor items for every space in your house, along with staff to help with special orders. If you or I can imagine it, we can craft it.”
Ronald scanned the store. “Tell us about the hand-carved canes.”
“Anyone who lives in Bandera or has visited the area has probably seen Jed Whitlow. He sits on the pew outside Rusticks almost every day.” She couldn’t talk about him without smiling. “As I said, he was the first crafter my grandfather hired. After he retired from full-time work, he kept carving for us.”
She picked up a cane and gestured to the table holding the rest of Jed’s work. “He does walking canes for us, along with candlesticks, table lamps, Christmas ornaments and, his newest item, cedar jewelry boxes. We’re hoping to have some of his hope chests soon.”
“There you have it, folks. Come to Rusticks for all your log furnishing needs, tree removal services and conversation pieces. This is Ronald Ashford at the Rusticks Furniture open house in the heart of Texas Hill Country.” He stopped the recorder. “Thanks, guys.”
“Thank you.” Resa set the cane down.
“I’m interested in a jewelry box.” A woman gave Colson a flirty smile, obviously interested in more than furniture.
“I’m sorry, I have an important appointment. But Resa can help you.” He made for the door, but the woman stepped in his path.
“Jed, the crafter, can engrave a name on a silver plate for the side if you’d like.” Resa opened a jewelry box to show the woman the tray inside, attempting to distract her. “At no extra charge.”
“Can you deliver it personally?” The woman practically batted her eyelashes at Colson.
“Sorry, but I don’t make deliveries.” He sidestepped her, heading purposely for the door.
Hmm. Apparently, he wasn’t interested. Still grieving Felicity.
After one more lingering perusal of Colson, the woman turned to Emmett.
“I’ll make deliveries,” he offered smoothly.
“Actually, he won’t be around to do so.” Resa pasted on a smile. “But we will deliver.”
The woman lost interest and sashayed away. But three others stepped forward, eager to check out the jewelry boxes.
After making a sale, Resa glanced up to see Tucker Dobson hobbling their way. A longtime salesman for Rusticks, he’d been with them almost as long as Jed.
“Sorry.” He tipped his cowboy hat. “Nina had to spray me down with Lysol before she let me in the store. Sure as shootin’, she got me coming and going for two days now, making sure nobody gets Dwayne’s flu.”
She grinned, then kissed his weathered cheek. “Sure as shootin’ I gotta go.” She hurried to the exit, checking her watch. A few minutes until noon. If she could keep her mind off a certain cowboy, she’d get several hours in at her office. But staying focused was a challenge these days.
* * *
Given the choice of a singles’ or men’s only Sunday school class, Colson had chosen the men’s. He had no clue which class Resa attended, but just in case she went with the singles, he wanted to give her space. There was no reason to force his presence on her any more than necess
ary.
When class was dismissed, chair legs scraped against the floor as everyone stood and pushed away from the long table. Chase helped him find his way through the maze. He’d attended a handful of times, but that was almost six years ago.
“Some folks gather in the fellowship hall for a quick cup of coffee, or you can go on to the sanctuary.”
“I had two cups before I ever made it here, so I’m good on caffeine.”
“I’m short, so I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Where do I find Cheyenne?”
“More than likely Marilyn will bring her to you. You know your way back to the sanctuary from here?”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
Chase strolled away. Apparently he didn’t know Colson’s story. Or he was more forgiving than Resa.
“Daddy!” Cheyenne let go of Marilyn’s hand and ran toward him. The delight in her face sent a thrill through him. How long had it been since she’d been excited about something?
She barreled into him. “Guess who was in my class?”
“Miss Marilyn?”
“No, silly. Ruby. My new friend. Can I sit with her and her parents?”
“Oh, I don’t know, princess. We don’t really know her folks and they may not be up for that.”
Ruby headed his way, holding hands with a woman who stuck her free hand toward him. “I’m Scarlet Miller, Ruby’s mom. We’d love to have Cheyenne sit with us during the service if you don’t mind.”
He clasped her hand.
Marilyn shot him a wink. “I’ll vouch for Scarlet and Drew. She comes from good stock—Scarlet’s daddy, Ron, has worked at the Chasing Eden Dude Ranch for years. They’ll keep an eye on Cheyenne here and make sure she doesn’t giggle during the sermon.”
“If you sit with Ruby—” he knelt at eye level with Cheyenne “—you have to be quiet and still. You can’t decide you want to sit with me and move during the sermon. You can’t get up and go to the bathroom or anywhere else, either. And absolutely no whispering, giggling or wiggling.”
“I promise I’ll be good, Daddy.”
“I’ll take them both to the water fountain and the bathroom before we go into the sanctuary.” Marilyn clasped Ruby’s hand. “And the Millers will keep them in line during the sermon.”
A Texas Holiday Reunion Page 7