—
Oh, Colt got it, all right. He got it enough that he was rightly tempted to toss the blankets and pillows to the floor and either argue with her about her bossiness or take her in his arms, but he had enough crazy on his plate, so he settled his best cool look her way. “Got it, boss.”
She flushed.
Good.
A part of him longed to get to know her better, while another part brushed off her tough-girl ways. He must have imagined the softer side he’d glimpsed in the shadowed recesses of the calving barn. Blame it on lighting or baby cow sentiment, this woman was hobnail tough and proud of it, and that was plain irritating regardless of venue. “I’ll text Hobbs. He and the guys can keep an eye on the maternity ward.”
“And I’ll get the SUV.”
“Daddy! Where are you going?” Dakota came sliding across the long hallway floor in socks, shrieking with delight when her feet lost their grip and she had to grab the breakfast bar to keep her balance. “See? I’m ice-skating inside!”
“We can skate outside later,” Colt promised. He refused to look at his brother for approval. Like it or not they had the perfect pond for skating, and everyone should learn how to skate. “Do you have skates?”
“We have a box of various sizes.” Angelina said. “Some that will fit both girls, I’m sure.”
“It’s a date.” Colt fist-bumped the little girl, then grabbed the stuffed bag and his hat. “Call us if you need anything,” he said to Angelina.” And we’ll call you if we get stuck.”
“And I’ll remind you that you should have waited for the plows.” She said the words simply, but Colt thought he saw a glimmer of humor in her eye. Did she approve of their rescue operation?
Maybe.
“Can I help get Grandpa’s room ready?” Cheyenne asked. “And can we make him some welcome-home cards for his walls?”
“That’s a lovely idea.” Angelina pointed down the hall. “Gather art supplies from the closet, and you girls can decorate Grandpa’s room for him. He’ll love it.”
Colt was almost to the door when she added that last sentence. He paused, thought about turning, then decided against it. The past was best left to molder. If his miserable, money-hungry father had turned over a new leaf and actually took time with these delightful little granddaughters, then good for them. They got something he’d never had: time with Sam Stafford.
And while he was glad for the sake of his nieces, he wasn’t about to be fooled into thinking it made a difference between him and his father. They’d been at odds for as long as he could remember. For the moment they needed to form a peace bond and work together, but if Colt had his way, it wouldn’t be for long. Once Sam was better and Colt was financially sound again, he’d grab the first flight east. He may have crashed and burned with the Tomkins Investments fallout, but a good fund manager diversified. Once the markets rebounded, so would his other funds, and he’d be back in the driver’s seat, in Lower Manhattan, doing what he did best. Making big money.
Aloof, skinny, and mad.
Sam studied his firstborn son as Colt followed Nick into the hospital room. Nick had seen Sam regularly since his health problems began. Colt hadn’t seen Sam in years. While he assessed Colt, he knew his oldest would return the favor and find him diminished. Would Colt feel sorry for him? Probably not, and that realization deepened Sam’s regret.
“Hey.” Nick strode forward and laid a gentle grip along his father’s left shoulder. “You’re getting sprung, huh?”
“And glad of it.” He started to stand, heard the nurse grunt a warning, and sat back down. “I don’t need a wheelchair, Stacey.”
“You need to follow the rules, same as everyone else, Mr. Stafford. Even if your name is on the front of the new wing.”
He turned back toward Colt. He wanted to stand and embrace his son, but Colt turned his attention to the nurse, nodded, and procured a wheelchair from the hall outside Sam’s door. He wheeled it alongside Sam’s bed. “Here you go.”
He reached down as if to help Sam up. The thought of his boys having to help him into the chair made him bark. “I’m fine. Leave it.”
Colt’s face didn’t change. His eyes stayed placid, his jaw remained easy, as though nothing Sam did affected him. It was a look Colt perfected a long time ago. Maybe one that would never change because Sam had taken too long to realize he was a poor father and his sons deserved more. So much more. He lowered himself into the chair, breathed deep, and looked up. “I’m glad you’re home.”
He spoke carefully because he wasn’t just glad to have Colton home; he was thrilled. Ecstatic. Proud. But if he spewed all that on his oldest boy, Colt would most likely sign the commitment papers before nightfall and have him tucked away. Sam never gushed, he rarely approved, and in the past, compliments had been nonexistent. Colt had no reason to believe that had changed. It was up to Sam to show him the difference. He reached out to touch Colt’s arm, but Colt sidestepped at the exact moment. Did he do it on purpose? Sam couldn’t tell.
Between Nick and Colt they had him fairly comfortable in the middle seat of the big SUV within a few minutes. Nick started the engine and hit the Bluetooth connection. He tried the ranch phone but no one answered. He left a quick message for Angelina saying they were leaving the hospital.
“Strange that she’s not answering,” Nick said as he put the car into gear. Colt said something softly, and Nick laughed. For just a minute, seeing them side by side, Sam went back in time to two boys, different and yet in some ways the same. Motherless waifs given to a father who took too long to understand the value of a child.
Would God give him time now?
He didn’t know, but if he did have time, he had a lot of fence mending to do. He could fix fence as quickly as any hand in the fields, but he needed more practice to carry that success into his home. “They cleared the roads that fast?” he asked as they eased out of the hospital parking lot and turned left toward the highway.
“Not exactly,” Nick replied. “The ambulance route was cleared, but once we’re back on the two-lane, it might get a little bumpy. I’ll take it easy.”
“I’ve broken horses and raised cattle on rough terrain,” Sam said. “I can take it. I’m just grateful someone came to get me. I wouldn’t have been all that surprised to have been put off a while more. There’s been times when our house was a sight more comfortable without me in it. I intend to change that.”
Colt said nothing but seemed to ponder Sam’s words. “Colt,” Sam continued, determined, “I meant what I said. I’m real pleased to have you here. We need you.”
Nick glanced Colt’s way.
Colt didn’t meet the look. He kept his eyes trained straight ahead at the snowy roads and said, “Well, good. It worked both ways.”
Sam stared at the back of his son’s head. He wanted to press in, explain to Colt how happy he was, how important it was to have him back, but he remembered Angelina’s caution and closed his mouth. Colt needed time. He prayed he had it to give, and if he didn’t, that was his fault. Before he died, he wanted his sons’ forgiveness. From the stiff-necked silhouette of Colt’s head, that was going to take some doing.
If Christine had lived, things would have been different. If she’d been watching him mess up from heaven, she’d be mighty ticked off. He’d turned everything she’d believed in upside down. He’d disappointed her and God and all three of his boys, and his heart ached at the thought of all that time wasted.
—
“We’re home. Dad?” A hand touched his shoulder, Colt’s hand. “We’re home.”
Sam struggled upright. He must have dozed off. Confused, he looked straight into Colt’s grown-up face, but in his dream Colt was a little boy, wrapped in Christine’s arms as she taught him how to ride through the original front paddock. His young face, eyes wide, with a bright smile for the horse, then his mother—so proud of his accomplishments.
The grown-up version looked so different. Sad. Worn. Taciturn. Like him. It bro
ke Sam’s heart. “I was dreaming about you.”
“Were you?” Colt asked smoothly, his face and tone flat, uncaring. That was Sam’s fault. “Good dreams, I hope.”
“Very good.” Sam grasped Colt’s arm and pulled himself up and out of the SUV with a short, explosive breath, then stood still until he felt steady on his feet. Colt didn’t rush him. That was a gift passed on from his mother. Sam rushed everything. “You were always calm and patient with horses, like your mother.”
Colt’s arm stiffened. His jaw did too.
“She had you on a horse from the time you could walk, leading you, riding with you, showing you how to handle all kinds of things on all kinds of mounts.”
“I don’t remember anything like that.”
They started forward while Nick parked the SUV. Sam continued, “Well, you were little. She rode effortlessly, as if made to ride. You get that ease in the saddle from her.”
“Why the sudden change in rules?”
Sam stopped moving. “I don’t understand.”
Colt replied in a calm, calculated voice—a chip off the old block. “We aren’t allowed to talk about my mother. You made that pretty plain when I was a kid and all her pictures disappeared. We didn’t want to offend the new wife by keeping pictures of the old wife around.”
So much heartache caused by a foolish man’s choices. He’d remarried for all the wrong reasons, then left Rita to manage pretty much on her own while he and the men worked for total beef market domination on the ranch, then the state, and finally the country. In the end, what excuse could he make? “I was wrong, Colt. Forgive me.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure. We’ll wipe out thirty years of bad feelings because you’re sorry all of a sudden. Perfect.”
An offhand remark like that would normally make him spit and react, but he spotted Angelina in the doorway. Her words of wisdom came back to him. “It won’t be easy. He’s hurt, and you hurt him. But with God’s help and a hefty dose of unfamiliar humility, it can be done. He’ll need patience, Sam. Which means you’ll need patience as well.”
He swallowed his pride and said softly, “I’ll try harder, Colton. If you give me the chance.”
Colt’s grip went unchanged. So did his face. Sam had no clue if his words affected his son. While Colt got his talent for working horses straight from his mother, he got his take-no-prisoners attitude from his deal-wrangling father. Climbing the mountain of anger he’d built would take work, faith, and, yeah, Angelina’s advice on humility and patience.
And in the end, it might not work at all.
“Grandpa looks real tired.” Dakota crawled onto Colt’s lap and stared straight into his eyes after supper. “He said he’s going to sleep. Is he dying?”
“Grandpa dying? Of course not,” Colt sputtered. Did she know something he didn’t? Had she overheard careless adults talking? And was she right? “People get sick all the time. Why would you jump straight to death?”
Her little-kid answer made perfect sense. “Well, when Stripey got sick and Daddy had her put to sleep, that meant dead,” she explained in a matter-of-fact voice. “I thought if Grandpa had to be put to sleep, he might die. That’s all.”
“It’s different with people, honey.” Nick crossed the room and squatted by the foot of Colt’s chair. “The kitty was old.”
“Grandpa’s not exactly young, Daddy.” Cheyenne’s eye roll called him out.
“People don’t get put to sleep. That would make God sad,” Angelina offered as she sat in a chair, a clutch of sewing in her hand.
“So God was happy that we put Stripey to sleep?” Dakota looked from her to Nick, astounded. “Because I wasn’t one bit happy, Daddy.”
“Your grandfather is ill right now, but expected to recover.” The girls both turned toward Angelina’s smooth voice. “People get sick all the time, and usually the doctors can help make them better. Even though Grandpa is getting older”—she stressed the er ending on the adjective—“he’s not old by any means. And with God, all is possible, little ones. Haven’t we talked of that?”
“The doctor didn’t save Stripey,” declared Dakota. “And I miss my kitty.”
“Me too,” agreed Cheyenne.
Nick flinched. “I know. And I know I promised another kitty. I keep running out of time.”
Colt started humming the chorus from “Cat’s in the Cradle,” the seventies ballad that chastised a man for never spending time with his son. He sang just enough of the chorus to make Nick twitch.
Angelina saved the day again as she settled into her chair. “Fortunately Callie should be delivering kittens soon, and I expect your father will give you girls pick of the litter.”
“Oh, Daddy, that’s so perfect! I think we should get two, don’t you, Cheyenne? One for you, one for me.”
“I get first pick! I’m older!”
“That’s not fair, Cheyenne!” Dakota slid off Colt’s lap and stood nose to nose with her sister. “I shouldn’t have to always go second just because I was born second.”
“It’s fair.”
“Is not!”
“Is—”
“Enough.” Nick stood and pointed down the hall. “Bed, both of you. There’ll be no more bickering about a nonexistent kitten. If you keep it up, there will be no kitten at all. And tiptoe down that hall. Your grandfather’s trying to rest.”
Cheyenne glared at her sister. Dakota returned the favor, but as they started down the hall, she paused, raced back, and grabbed Colt in a big kiss and hug. “G’night, Uncle Colt. Thanks for letting me sit with you.”
His heart did that weird stutter step again. He returned the hug, and the feel of her little arms and soft curls made him feel like there might be sweetness and light in the world somewhere still. She was living proof, wasn’t she? “Good night, honey.”
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she whispered, “And we can talk about kittens and stuff, okay?”
He glanced at the clock and whispered back. “I’ll most likely be working by the time you get up. They haven’t cancelled school for tomorrow, have they?”
She looked hopefully at the wide window overlooking the broad front yard. “Maybe they will.”
Colt remembered yearning for snow days. If one snow day was good, two were certain to be better, no matter how much Nick argued the opposite.
“Dakota?” Her father pointed north. “Bed.”
“G’night.” Head down, she trudged down the hall, not nearly as quiet as her sister. Once she’d disappeared from sight, Nick turned toward Angelina. “You set me up.”
“Helped you out is what I did,” she retorted. “You promised them a cat last August. It’s winter, and by the time Callie’s kittens are big enough to find them homes, it will be spring. Perfect timing.”
Nick didn’t seem all that appreciative of Angelina’s so-called help. “Why is it that people with no children seem to think they have insider knowledge on how to raise children?” His frustrated look swept Colt and Angelina. “Between the two of you, it’s become epidemic.”
Colt started to turn but paused when he saw a shadow of regret, or maybe pain, touch Angelina’s features. She blinked once, then lifted calm, cool eyes to Nick, and Colt wasn’t sure he’d seen anything at all. “Are you going to refuse them a kitten?”
He sighed. “Of course not.”
“Then stop complaining and go tuck them in. They are a gift from God, those two beautiful children. And to think you’re standing here, all mad and cranky over a kitten when you work on a ranch—it’s ridiculous.”
Colt cleared his throat. He agreed completely. Then he stopped because that meant he was aligning himself with the kitchen manager’s edicts. Since when did the men of the Double S need a woman to boss them around?
Hobbs whistled lightly from the back door. “Colt. I need a hand.”
Colt sprang up. He wasn’t used to sitting. If he had been in Manhattan right now, he’d have just finished his always-elongated work day and he’d be choosing which r
estaurant would get his money while he monitored markets on his phone. Here, he’d eaten over an hour ago.
Too much talk of family usually made him restless. But sitting in the big front room, talking with the girls, watching the flames of the soapstone stove flicker and swell while Angelina hummed over her fancy work, made him feel strangely peaceful.
He moved toward the door, grabbed his barn clothes, and tugged them into place. He hadn’t felt peaceful in decades, and if he didn’t watch his step, he’d start to reconnect to ranch hours, ranch life, and ranch people. No way was he about to let that happen.
He hustled out the door, headed for the barn, and spent the next three hours caring for young cows, one after another, as they delivered their babies. Tomorrow he and the other men would ride north into the hill country and gather all the new calves they could find. Hopefully most would be fine, but Colt knew the score when it came to bad-weather birthings. A small percentage was always lost, but by bringing the inexperienced mamas closer to the ranch, maybe they’d curtailed the damage.
And despite the fact that he wasn’t at the Double S by choice and had no intention of staying, he sure hoped they had.
“Murt!” Angelina laughed when Murt McMurty showed up at the back door the next morning. “How’d you get out of the house? I thought Annie locked up your boots and threw away the key.” She hurried across the broad kitchen and hugged the former ranch manager. “Good to see you. And you’re dressed for work.”
“His fault.” He pointed and Angelina turned to see Colt’s quick smile as he entered the room. MacNaughton plaid layered over a thick black turtleneck had never looked so good before. And the thought of chaps over those stonewashed jeans made her see Colt in a whole different light all of a sudden: saddle-up ready. And smokin’ hot.
Colt strode toward the smaller man and grabbed him in a hug. If Angelina hadn’t sidestepped at the last moment, she’d have been included. The happiness factor between the old man and Colt added poignancy to the gesture. She hadn’t glimpsed anything like this when Colt accompanied his father into the grand house the previous day, but joy and respect brightened Colt Stafford’s face when he embraced Murt. “You came.”
Back in the Saddle Page 7