“Roasted chicken, potato salad, rolls and corn on the cob that has to be cooked,” he announced as he opened them up. He tossed a grin Ella’s way. “I’m a great cook, you know!”
“I believe it,” she said, returning his smile. She spoke to the kids. “Let’s clean up and then we can eat.”
The kids tidied without a complaint and fifteen minutes later, under Cord’s direction, the table was set as the corn boiled in the pot. Then, when it was done, the rest of the food got put on the table and everyone sat down. Oliver was perched in his high chair and given some corn and chicken. He grabbed half a cob with one hand, a drumstick with the other, alternating bites. Grease dripped down his chin onto his bib but he was blissfully unaware of the mess he was making.
“Okay. Now that he’s quiet, we should bless the food.” Cord looked around the table, his eyes resting once again on Ella.
Suzy and Paul, who sat beside Ella and opposite Boyce and Oliver, were chuckling at their little brother’s antics but obediently lowered their heads when their father spoke. Oliver kept chewing.
“Thank You, Lord, for today,” Cord prayed. “For work we can do and for fun we can have and food we can eat. Thank You for Your love and forgiveness. Thank You that no matter what we do or who we are that we can come to You and You will take us in. Bless this food and our work. Amen.”
“Men,” Oliver shouted out, waving his corncob.
This elicited another set of chuckles from the children. Ella grinned at the sight of the little boy, so happy now.
While Cord cut up the chicken and Boyce pushed the handles into the corncobs, Suzy and Paul brought them up to date on their playdate and the happenings of the last half hour.
As Ella looked around she felt a curious sense of home and belonging.
This can’t go on, a voice warned her. You have other plans.
But she shut it off. She wasn’t going to think ahead. She only wanted to think about now. This place.
And as her eyes met Cord’s across the table she added, this man.
* * *
“You didn’t need to walk me back to the cabin,” Ella said, looking over at Cord, her hands shoved in the pockets of her blue jeans as they ambled along the path.
The sun was drifting down to the mountains and dusk was settling in.
“Yes, I did,” Cord said, slipping his arm through hers, giving in to an impulse. “Gives me a chance to do this without the kids or my dad around.” He turned her toward him, then pressed a kiss to her lips.
“I like this,” she murmured, adding a grin. He kissed her again, then they continued walking, taking their time, enjoying the moment. They got to the cabin and Cord followed her inside. He felt presumptuous but he wasn’t ready to go back to his house yet.
Ella had helped him put the kids to bed and it had felt so normal, so right, he allowed himself a few more moments of what-if.
Inside Ella flicked on the light and as he looked around, the first thing he saw was a grouping of canvases.
Paintings of his kids.
“Wow, these are amazing,” he said, drawn to them, crouching down to get a better look. The colors were bright, cheerful, welcoming. She had captured Suzy in all her messy glory, Paul distracted as the two of them were bent over their kitten, playing with it. “Can I see the others?” he asked, shooting her a glance over his shoulder.
She had her hands shoved in the back pocket of her blue jeans, her feet rolled out to the side in a defensive posture. “Sure. They’re your kids.”
“And you captured them perfectly.” He carefully moved the first painting aside, growing more impressed as he flipped through the others, each one making him smile with their whimsy and the joy she captured in each. “Wow. You are one talented lady.”
“It’s a departure from what I did before.”
“A welcome one, I’d say,” Cord said, completely in awe of her talent, her ability to create an emotion with each painting. “These show me a much happier side of you.”
He stood, looking over at her as she shrugged off his compliments. “Not sure what my mom will think.”
“And that matters because...”
Ella sighed. “What I used to do sells and that is probably what the people in Montreal will want.”
“And you don’t think they’ll like this?” He couldn’t believe that anyone would prefer her previous works to these paintings that were so full of vitality and fun and joy.
“This is more commercial. Less obscure.”
“You make that sound like it’s a bad thing.”
Her only reply was a quick shrug.
“Art doesn’t have to be obscure to be good. I think good art should be accessible. For ordinary people. Of course I’m no artist. Just a dumb rancher.”
“You’re hardly dumb,” she said with a smile.
“Well, dumb when it comes to art, because I like this better than your other stuff.”
“I’m encouraged,” she said.
He walked over and brushed a kiss over her forehead, slipping his arms around her. “Glad I could help you out.” Still holding her, he drew back, suddenly serious. “Are you going to show this to your mother?”
“I have to. This is all I’ve produced so far. I haven’t been able to paint in my old style.”
“That’s good to know,” he said, remembering what she said about her art coming out of a dark place. If she was painting these happy pictures, then he could only assume that she was in a lighter, brighter place.
Which gave him hope for the two of them.
“Well, I better be going back,” he said, though he would have preferred to stay longer. “Got a few things to wrap up.” He gave her a wry look. “You’ll be pleased to know I’m passing on my responsibilities on the Rodeo Group to Owen Herne. My good friend.”
“I am pleased,” she said, her smile bright. “Glad to see that you can be taught.”
“I’m not as hide-bound as you may think.” He lingered, gave her a quick kiss, then with a reluctant sigh released her and left.
* * *
The next few days drifted by in a pleasant rhythm. On Friday the kids had submitted their posters to the Rodeo Association for judging. Saturday they worked in the garden. Sunday Ella came by after church and they all went for a walk down to the horses. After that she retreated to her house to paint.
Monday the kids were back in school but Ella came by before the kids came home to help. Cord had stopped by her house and had seen a few more of the paintings she’d been working on. While she had done many of Paul and Suzy, even a couple of him and Boyce, he hadn’t seen any of Oliver. He didn’t want to press the matter but someday, if things progressed the way he hoped they would, he would have to ask her.
Trouble was, something made him reluctant to do so. He had a puzzling sense that he might not like her reasons. He knew he would have to deal with it all someday.
But not yet. Things were going so well. He didn’t want to make waves. Rock the boat. Disturb the fragile balance they had achieved.
Chapter Eleven
“Excuse me. Can you tell me where I can find Ella Langton?”
Cord looked up from the weeds he was pulling from between the green beans and pushed his hat back on his head. It was a quiet Wednesday afternoon. He was supposed to be at a meeting but because Owen had taken over for him, he was at loose ends today.
A good place to be when the garden needed weeding.
The woman standing on the edge of the garden looked familiar but Cord couldn’t place her. She wore a flowing pink-and-purple dress with a shawl draped over her shoulders. Her dark hair was worn super short and stuck up in spikes. Large silver hoops hung from her ears.
She looked kind of artsy. Then, as she gave him a polite smile he caught the resemblance.
“Are you Ella’s mother?” he asked, putting everything together.
“Yes. I am.”
“Good to meet you. I’m Cord Walsh.” He held out his hand to shake hers but belatedly noticed the dirt on them. He pulled it back and brushed it off on his equally dusty pants. “Sorry. Been busy in the garden.”
“I can see that. I’m Kit Langton.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Langton.”
“Actually it’s Ms. I was never married.”
Ella had never mentioned the fact that she didn’t have a father.
“I was looking for Ella,” she continued. “Can you tell me where she is? She’s not answering her phone.”
“She’s in town. Went to pick up some groceries and said she’d get the kids from school at the same time. She might be driving right now.”
Kit glanced from him to Oliver, who had squatted on his haunches, dragging a stick through the dirt of the garden. The little guy had dirt smeared on his face and his pants were filthy but he was babbling happily. And a happy Oliver meant a happy father.
“I’m guessing by ‘kids’ you mean your daughter and son?”
“Yeah. Paul and Suzy.” He was pleased to know that Ella had told her mom about them. One more small connection. Cord set his rake against the rail fence that marked off the garden from the rest of the property, then picked up his son from the ground. “And this is Oliver,” he said, brushing the dirt off his face as best he could. “My youngest and dirtiest child.”
“Oh. I thought you only had two children.” Ms. Langton shot him a puzzled look. “At least that’s the impression I got from Ella.”
Cord felt it again. That unease when he connected Oliver and Ella.
“No. I’ve got three.”
“You certainly have your hands full.”
“My dad helps.” And lately Ella, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.
“Ah, yes. I believe I’ve spoken to him. Boyce Walsh, I understand. Is he home, as well?”
“He’s out visiting a friend, but would you like to come to the house? Have some coffee? Tea?”
“Yes. I would love to join you.” She fell in step beside him as they walked up the worn path to the house. “I understand Ella’s been painting again.”
“Yeah. Some really fun stuff. Bright and cheerful.” Cord had to smile at the memory of the paintings Ella had shown him.
“Her most recent works are indeed colorful.” Ms. Langton’s comment was terse, and a sidelong glance showed that she didn’t share his enthusiasm.
Cord let Ms. Langton into the house, shooting a glance over the entrance, then kitchen and dining room. All was tidy. Ella’s doing. It was comforting how easily she had slipped into their lives and created a routine that had his children more settled and happier than they’d been in years.
“Which do you prefer. Coffee or tea?”
“Tea, please,” she said, clutching her purse close as she glanced around the house. “You have a lovely home.”
“Thanks. My wife decorated it. I just live in it.” Cord wiped Oliver’s hands and face with some baby wipes, gave him a sippy cup with water, then set him on the floor while he filled the kettle for tea.
“Ella mentioned that your wife had passed away. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you. It’s been two years.” Cord pulled out a teapot and some tea bags, then shot a glance at his son who had made a beeline for his toy basket. Two years and a couple of months to be exact. Why did it seem longer all of a sudden?
“Oh, my. The same length of time since Ella lost her baby.”
“Since what?” Shocked, Cord glanced at Ms. Langton, who was still looking around the house. “What are you talking about?”
“The baby she lost. It was most unfortunate. She went into early labor. Her husband brought her to the hospital but it was too late. The baby was stillborn. Ella was inconsolable.” As she turned to face Cord, she must have noticed the confusion on his face. “Didn’t she tell you?”
Cord felt a blend of frustration and hurt at the information he was struggling to absorb. He had told Ella everything about himself and his family. Had thought they were reaching a point where they could be open and honest with each other.
Why had she held this back?
“I’m sorry. I thought that you two were close.” Ms. Langton continued, “The way she spoke of you and your children...”
But not of Oliver, Cord thought, puzzling through this new information. And then it hit him. Ella had lost a baby who was the same age as Oliver. That’s why she had a hard time around his son. But why hadn’t she told him? Surely she wasn’t ashamed of that?
Ms. Langton looked directly at Cord, and from the intensity of her gaze, he guessed she had something important to say.
“So what can I really do for you?” he asked, wanting to get to the point.
She drew back, seemingly bewildered by his forthrightness. “Actually I’m here to give Ella some amazing news. The director of the gallery she was hoping to work for wants to see her.”
“This is the job in Montreal?”
“So she spoke of it to you?”
“Yes, she did mention it,” he said, fear trickling down his spine.
“I’m happy for her. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Ella,” Ms. Langton said, her hands clasped on the table as she leaned forward, her gaze intense. “I would do anything to make sure that it happens for her.”
The strong tone of her words added to his concern.
But at the same time he thought of the conversation he and Ella had about that very thing. Her doubts and uncertainties. “Are you sure this is what Ella wants?” he said, getting up to turn the now whistling kettle off.
“I know it is.” Again, she was quite emphatic. “It has been her lifelong dream to paint and teach, and I’ve encouraged her to move in this direction every step of her career. Opportunities like this come very rarely, especially to someone as young as Ella. But she is very talented, and the people at L’école des Arts Créatifs see her genius. Genius, I have to say, that has been diluted by the newer works she’s producing.”
It wasn’t difficult to hear the note of contempt in her voice.
“I like what she’s doing now more than what she did before,” Cord said as he poured the boiling water into the teapot. He grabbed two mugs and returned to the table, setting them down between them. “They make me feel happier.”
Ms. Langton’s lips curled up in a sneer. “It’s not who Ella is. She has a depth that those greeting-card paintings can’t express.”
Something about her barely concealed contempt bothered him. She was dismissing, out of hand, vivid and vibrant paintings of his own children.
“I understand that you two seem to have...a connection,” Ms. Langton continued.
Her last two words came out like she was eating a lemon.
“We’ve spent time together,” was all he would say, though part of him was pleased that Ella had mentioned him to her mother. He wasn’t about to articulate the vague dreams he had spun around Ella.
He poured tea into a mug and handed it to her.
“That’s what I understood from Ella. So I’m hoping you can help me with a sensitive topic.” Ms. Langton cradled the mug in her hands, her eyes like a laser when she looked over at him. “She’s been talking about changing her mind about applying for the job with the gallery.”
“Really?”
Ms. Langton’s comment ignited a spark of hope. Ella was making other plans?
“She can’t do this,” Ms. Langton insisted. “Like I said, it’s the opportunity of a lifetime. This is what she’s been working toward her entire art career. Places like L’école des Arts Créatifs can make her career. Help her find herself. She will be working and teac
hing. She’ll have job security.”
The words seemed to resonate in the emptiness of the house. He thought of Lisa and how she had buried herself in work in an effort to find herself, she had always said. How she was never truly happy being a stay-at-home mom.
“I can see that this would be an amazing opportunity for her,” Cord said, a feeling of dread slowly taking hold.
“This is where I need your help.” Ms. Langton picked up her mug and took a sip of her tea. “I need you to convince her that it would be beyond absurd for her to pass up this opportunity.”
Cord looked down at his own mug of steaming tea and though his throat was dry, he was unable to take even a sip.
“I think that would be up to Ella to decide, don’t you?” he said, fighting down his own concerns.
“I realize that, but I get the impression from things she’s told me that you do have some influence with her. You can’t let her stay out here in this backwater dabbling in this new obsession when she could be doing far more serious work in the city.”
Cord pushed aside his frustration with Ms. Langton’s view of his ranch and boyhood home, focusing instead on the rest of what she was saying. He knew things were growing more serious between him and Ella. He had made it clear to her that he wasn’t indulging in some meaningless flirtation. He had three children whose lives would be influenced by his decision.
And yet she couldn’t tell him about a baby she’d lost?
“Cedar Ridge is hardly a backwater,” he protested.
“It’s hardly an art mecca, either. I can’t imagine that Ella could stay happy here.”
Again Cord felt fear clawing at his stomach. Could he put Ella in the same position as Lisa? In a place she might not ever be completely happy?
Could he afford to get involved with a woman whose heart might always have been caught up in might-have-beens?
“I need you to talk to her,” Ms. Langton reiterated, a desperation entering her voice. “I’m hoping you can think about the options here. A future that she’s always wanted or potentially tying her down to three children.”
Courting the Cowboy Page 14