In that instant Paisley realized that something was wrong.
Really, terribly wrong.
All this time she’d put his actions off as a scared bachelor navigating the new waters of unexpected parenthood…yes, she’d believed he was going a little overboard with his reactions. But now, looking at his complete lockdown, she understood his fear went deeper than ever she’d expected.
Zoey was clinging to a rag bunny but looking at him with bright eyes. Paisley was afraid he was going to scare her after all.
“Zoey, this is your Uncle Trace,” Mrs. Reynolds said, so intent on getting to the emergency case waiting for her that she was oblivious to the fact that she had one happening right in front of her. She stood the poor child on the ground and spoke to her like she was old enough at two years to understand what was happening to her. “Like I told you before, honey, you’ll be living with him now. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Trace set the case down but made no other move—at least he wasn’t running away. Paisley willed him to say something, to reach out and give Zoey a hug. Or at least bend down to her level and say something to make her transition easier. It was evident in her face that she was growing more and more uncomfortable with the situation. Instead he just stood as rigid as a frozen flagpole.
Mrs. Reynolds’ brow bunched, but she kept on trying. “Zoey, say hello to your Uncle Trace,” she urged, more firmly.
“’Lo,” Zoey murmured obligingly in a tiny voice that ripped at Paisley’s heart.
Trace finally reacted! “Hi,” he croaked, but he still didn’t make a move!
Mrs. Reynolds glanced at her watch and then shut the door to the car. She was ready to leave. Paisley couldn’t stand the look that flashed in Zoey’s eyes as she stared at that closed door. It was as if she dreaded once more being left on this side of it with total strangers. Even at her age she understood that much.
A flashpoint of anger swept through Paisley, and unable to stand it any longer she stepped in and took charge of the deteriorating situation. It was similar to how she would have handled a child who wasn’t ready to let go of a parent on the first day of school.
What in Trace Crawford’s background would explain his behavior? Kneeling down to Zoey’s level Paisley smiled warmly. “Hi, Zoey. I’m Paisley, and I’m going to be taking care of you. I think we are going to be great friends. What’s your bunny’s name?”
A flicker of warmth moved through her eyes as she glanced from Paisley to her rag bunny. Paisley ached to pull her into an embrace.
“Friend,” Zoey said in her two-year-old voice as she held out the bunny. The word came out sounding more like Fa-wind, but it was clearly understandable. The bunny was her friend…her comfort, too, Paisley could see.
“What a perfect name,” she said. “How about you, Friend and I go up to the house for cookies and milk? I’m going to be your friend, too, okay?”
Zoey shot a hesitant look Trace’s direction, then nodded.
“Can I pick you up?” Paisley asked her and was relieved when the tot gave her another tiny nod. Paisley had wanted to give her a hug from the moment she’d seen her and now she did just that. And to her surprise Zoey hugged back and didn’t let go, clinging to Paisley with more strength than she’d thought possible for a little girl. Holding her tight, Paisley stood up with her in her arms and shot the statue a scathing glare, but she kept her words light for Zoey’s ears. “We are going for cookies while y’all get everything else figured out. How does that sound?” she asked Mrs. Reynolds, but at this point she wasn’t really interested in what the woman or Trace had to say. She was here for Zoey and suddenly very thankful that God had brought her, even if it was kicking and screaming, into this situation.
“Perfect,” the other woman gushed. “I’ll leave here knowing I’ve left Zoey in capable hands.”
“You can be sure of that,” Paisley assured her and marched toward the house.
She could hear a baffled Mrs. Reynolds asking Trace if he was okay. Paisley couldn’t hear his reply as she mounted the steps and opened the screen, but she would…he could count on that.
The man had frozen.
On one hand she was furious with him, but on the other she knew she’d seen real emotion in his eyes and knew he cared. There was more here than she’d realized when she took on this job, but you could bet the bank that she was going to get to the heart of the matter.
CHAPTER FIVE
Trace watched Mrs. Reynolds’ car disappear out of sight. What was wrong with him! He’d just stood there. He was a real piece of work, standing there like an oaf.
But when he’d looked at her, holding her bunny…he’d seen Steph. It had been a slam in the gut, and all the air had gone out of him and he just hadn’t been able to get it back. Zoey looked just like her mother had when she’d been that age. And not only had seeing the resemblance caused his trepidation to be all the more painfully present—it was as if he was looking at a fresh canvas. Perfect. Unflawed…like Steph had been when their life had fallen apart. He’d seen firsthand that when it came to his sister the portrait hadn’t ended up pretty. He pushed the depressing thoughts away and trudged up the steps to ease open the door.
All his life he’d felt like he’d failed his big sister, and the fact that she’d kept Zoey from him said she thought he would fail her daughter, too. For months now the knowledge had been eating at him but it hadn’t actually hit him until he saw Zoey. Steph may have known exactly what she was doing when she’d not told anyone about him—had felt like she was protecting Zoey from a similar upbringing as she’d had? Or could it simply have been for spite?
The questions plagued him as he set Zoey’s suitcase in the hall and headed slowly toward the kitchen and the sound of Paisley’s voice.
The one thing he knew for certain at the moment, the thing he had absolutely no questions about was that he owed Norma Sue, Adela and Esther Mae hugs of gratitude the next time he saw them! They had made the right call when they’d talked him into asking Paisley for help. Without her, a few minutes ago he’d have been doomed.
Pausing at the door, he took a deep breath to steady his nerves. For goodness’ sake, his insides were more torn up than they’d been after being tromped on three years ago by an angry bull. That bull had crushed ribs, torn ligaments and bruised his spleen—it had been so bad Trace decided his bull riding days were over…and now to think a tiny tot could rival all of that. But it was true.
He stood in the hall and listened to what was being said in the next room as he tried to get himself ready to start this new life. Ready or not it was here.
“I like to dip mine,” Paisley was saying.
There was no reply, but Paisley chuckled. The sound was pure and lovely and his heart lurched in his chest when it was answered by a very small giggle from Zoey. Trace grinned automatically at the sound. He thanked God again, sure that Paisley was not only going to save the day but save the entire situation. She gave him a sense of hope.
“Let’s dip another one while we wait for your Uncle Trace. I know he’s around here somewhere very close.”
She was onto him. He took a breath and squared his shoulders—and prayed for help. God had sent him Paisley. Now if He would just send Trace wisdom and a voice of his own.
“There he is,” Paisley said brightly, giving him a questioning glare as he rounded the corner—it brought him up short for a second. She might have saved the day, but he knew his reckoning was coming.
He crossed to the table and tried to smile, but his face felt stiff and his throat was about as dry as a dirt arena in August. But he would speak this time.
“Hi, Zoey,” he said past the log lodged in his throat. She looked up at him from her chair and he felt like he was a giant looking down into her wide eyes. Paisley was sitting, too. He did what he’d seen Paisley do outside and dropped to one knee in front of Zoey. His arms ached to hug her, he felt so unworthy and she stared at him.
“Trace, guess what,” Paisley said, cheer
fully, drawing him to look at her.
“What?” he asked, seeing questions in her eyes.
“Zoey really likes hugs. She told me Friend does, too. How about you? Do you like hugs?”
He nodded, glancing at Zoey. In that instant, by the shy smile of a tiny little girl, he lost his heart irrevocably—which made his shortcomings all the more unbearable.
“I like hugs very much,” he managed, but his voice cracked. This was his niece. His sister’s child. His flesh and blood. “Can I hug you?” he asked, and Zoey held out her arms. Friend was dangling from one hand. Feeling like he’d never felt before, Trace leaned in and gently hugged her close. She smelled like chocolate chip cookies and milk mixed with the sweet scent of baby shampoo. Her curls tickled his nose as over her head he met Paisley’s steadfast gaze. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears as he mouthed the words “thank you.”
He owed her a debt of gratitude that he could never repay, and this was only the beginning. As he let go of Zoey and took the seat beside her he wondered what he was going to owe Paisley by the end of the summer.
The old fears crowded at the back of his mind like a herd of cattle trying to get through a closed gate. But he held fast and concentrated on the moment.
“Would you like your Uncle Trace to show you your room?” Paisley asked.
Zoey nodded and gave him a heart-melting smile.
He stood and lifted her out of the chair and set her on her sandal-clad feet. He thought about carrying her but decided not to. When she slipped her tiny hand into his and looked up at him with all the trust in the world his throat clogged up again and he felt like he’d just been kicked in the gut.
“Do you like to play with dolls?” he forced himself to ask but felt his forehead dampen. She nodded but didn’t speak as they left the kitchen.
Paisley followed them down the hall, but halfway along he moved to the side. “You go in first,” he told her. If the payoff for all her hard work was seeing the expression on Zoey’s face when she walked into the room she’d created for Zoey, then he wanted Paisley to reap that reward. She certainly deserved it.
And he needed a second to get his bearings. He could do this. He was doing this. Paisley was here, helping, coaxing.
She smiled like she understood and swept past them. “Oh, thank you,” she said, dramatically. “I can’t wait to play!”
“Me, too,” Zoey said with animation lighting her pixy face. She led the way into the room but stopped just inside the door and her eyes grew wider than pancakes. A gasp escaped her lips. He knew the feeling, he’d experienced it the night he’d come home and walked in after Paisley had worked all day decorating it. The curtains were pink and fluffy, the bedspread on the miniature bed was some kind of soft inviting fabric with sparkling threads running through it. The lamp Paisley had almost risked life and limb to buy was on the bedside, making little stars on the ceiling—how it did that in the daylight was a mystery to him, but they were there. And while all of this was wonderful, it was the corner of the room that held Zoey’s attention. That was where the tent of shimmering material had been erected, and inside the large tented area were the dolls and all the things a doll could ask for.
Paisley’s hand went to her heart as she saw the look of awe on Zoey’s face.
Without hesitation Zoey walked inside the tent, laid her bunny in the tiny baby bed and fixed the covers around him. Then she sat down in front of the dolls, picking one up and then another.
Moving to stand beside Paisley, Trace couldn’t stop himself from slipping his arm around her waist and squeezing—he needed the contact himself and hoped she wouldn’t kick him. “I think she likes it,” he said softly.
She looked up at him with misty eyes that took his breath. Suddenly a spark of challenge vaporized the moisture and she grinned mischievously. “Thanks,” she said, slipping out of her sandals. “Now take your boots off, buster. It’s time to play.”
“Play?” he said in surprise.
She grasped his hand and pulled him toward the tent and asked, “You do know how to play, right?”
“With dolls?”
She nodded. “You have to play with dolls if you’re going to be a daddy to a little girl.”
Daddy. His feet planted themselves on the hardwood. “I don’t know about playing dolls!”
“But you will,” Paisley laughed. “Don’t look so serious. This is going to be fun.”
He was sweating bullets and seriously in fear that he was going to pass out, and she was telling him this was fun. “Fun,” he croaked and swiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve.
Paisley’s brows dipped and she slipped her arm in his. “Men!” she said and yanked him forward. “Relax, macho man, you might enjoy it.”
CHAPTER SIX
“You hold,” Zoey said, pushing a doll into Trace’s hands the second he sat down inside the tent.
He clumsily took the fat, rubber baby doll and the bottle Zoey thrust into his hands. When the child stood back and blinked big eyes at him, he looked so adorably lost—well…lost certainly. He was scared stiff.
Paisley had thought that giving him a few minutes to get his act together would help, and it had—for about a second. She felt as if she were running hurdles where he was concerned—she’d get over one hurdle and then another would be waiting.
“Put the bottle in its mouth,” she instructed him. “Now rock the baby.” Looking more like a father who’d just been handed his newborn infant than one handed a doll, he did as he was told.
Zoey watched as Trace put the bottle in the doll’s mouth and gave her his best smile—that in itself was a plus. But Zoey didn’t return the smile. Instead she gave him a crisp nod of satisfaction, turned to another doll and thrust that at Paisley, with a tiny baby blanket. Again she watched expectantly.
Paisley, hoping to reassure her, gently wrapped the doll in the blanket then cradled it close. “What a sweet baby you are,” she said, rocking gently.
Zoey’s lips curled up slightly at the ends and then, satisfied that her babies were taken care of, she scanned the other things inside the canopy. Spotting the tiny red rocking chair, she daintily sat down and proceeded to watch them with serious eyes.
Trace looked at Paisley like a lost puppy. One minute she wanted to strangle the man and then she wanted to put her arms around him and tell him everything was going to be all right.
Boy, was that not happening! Not happening at all!
“Zoey is getting used to us, I think,” she said instead, focusing. The little girl’s quietness worried her some, but she didn’t say that just yet. She honestly didn’t think Trace could handle anything but encouragement.
“Don’t you want to rock a baby?” she asked, but Zoey shook her head emphatically.
“Then you rock and we’ll take care of the babies. Right, Uncle Trace?”
Trace’s forehead creased and his jaw tensed more—if that were possible. She nodded at him, willing him as she’d been doing from the first moment to add something encouraging to the conversation. He had to participate. He had to loosen up.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “We’ll rock them.” He proceeded to rock the doll, causing Paisley to bite back a chuckle. The man needed guidance, and the doll was going to need traction.
She couldn’t take it anymore. She needed to talk to Trace and poor Zoey had to be tired, so Paisley decided it was time for a lullaby and began softly singing. Zoey didn’t need much encouragement to fall asleep. Almost instantly she crawled from the chair and snuggled down beside the dolls on the soft blanket. Paisley gently smoothed her hair and patted her back.
The minute her eyes closed, Trace was out of the tent and out of the room.
He didn’t even wait for Paisley to get up.
This man…the same man whose pictures in the drawer testified that he rode thousand-pound, rampaging bulls with the finesse and ease of a master! Could he truly be terrified of a little girl coming into his life, or was there more?
It
was time for answers.
She found him on the front porch pacing like a high school basketball coach. He was rubbing the back of his neck, like she’d realized he did when he was stressing. The instant she closed the door he swung toward her.
“What was I thinking?” he growled and resumed pacing. “Did you see how she was looking at me? She’s an innocent little girl—what do I know about raising a little girl? She’s going to need special care. She’s going to need guidance. She’s gonna need things I can’t give her! What an idiot—”
“Stop!” Paisley snapped and stepped in front of him. “What is your problem?” she asked. “It is terribly obvious something more serious than new-daddy jitters is going on here. Don’t you think it’s time to clue me in?”
He swallowed hard but instead of opening up he turned deep eggplant and stalked off the porch toward the barn.
“Wait, Trace!” she called, jogging after him. When he kept plowing forward she grabbed his arm, intending to swing him around to face her, but he was so intent that she just ended up being pulled along beside him. “Something is up with you,” she said, stumbling to hang on to him, determined to get him to talk. “I don’t know what it is, but I do believe I deserve an answer. You hired me to help. How can I help if I don’t know the score? It’s time to come clean to me about why you have been in such a panic since the day you found out you were getting this sweet little girl.”
He stopped at the corral and stared at the mare and newborn colt inside. Tension radiated from every rigid line of his body. Paisley’s heart was jumping against her ribs, and without another thought she let go of his arm and placed a hand between his shoulder blades and rubbed soothingly. His muscles bunched beneath her palm and he sucked in a deep breath.
A Mule Hollow Match Page 4