“I was actually more interested in protecting him. Yeah, he’s a jerk, but coming back here, I can see how one thing affects another in a small town. It makes me want to be a better person. Raw deals can make or break people.”
“So you think his problems are my father’s fault too?” Colt asked. “Don’t forget that Johnny went belly up on that property months before my father made it part of the Double S.”
Rye’s answer offered a more mature perspective. “It’s not about Johnny. It’s about choices, good and bad, and timing. Johnny’s made some bad ones, but you have to wonder how things might have turned out if Sam hadn’t been such an arrogant jerk about everything back then.”
Colt didn’t have to wonder. He knew firsthand how different things might be. “Can’t argue that.” He shut the door and poked his head out the window. “See you Sunday.”
Sam Stafford’s tough guy attitude had built an empire-styled ranch that raised the national bar on beef standards across the United States. But in the process he sacrificed his family, had few friends, and was hated by many. Sam said he wanted to make amends, well…
Colt grunted as he drove through the picturesque western town.
Sam could start with the normal folk, the everyday people who called Gray’s Glen their home. Making things right here would be a start because Sam’s actions nearly three decades back left a trail. Some good, a bunch bad. And it was up to Sam to set things straight, but as Colt thought of the pale yellow tinge to his father’s skin, he wasn’t any too sure Sam would have time to do it.
Colt paused by the long, curved breakfast bar late that afternoon. Angelina kept her face averted. Colt had stepped into dangerous territory earlier, and he’d done it with the skill of a master. Flirting with her, slipping past her defenses. She removed the big silver mixing bowl from its stand, set it down with a thud, then disconnected the dough hook attachment. Bread was more trustworthy than Colt Stafford could ever hope to be. End of story.
“I invited Rye Bennett and his brother and sister to come over on Sunday and have dinner with us. I hope that’s all right.”
Angelina slapped the big round of bread dough onto the counter and pummeled it without looking up. “No permission needed. I’ll plan accordingly.”
“I wasn’t asking permission. I was being polite.”
“Then your manners have been noted.”
She kept working the bread, ignoring him, knowing the attraction and recognizing the futility. She smacked the bread onto the board for one more quick turn, and if she gave it a heartier pounding than usual because Colt was standing right there, all the better.
“Will your vehemence toughen the bread or make it even more delicious?”
“Time will tell.” She refused to look up. She’d warned him off earlier, and she’d meant it, but Angelina was a woman first and a cop second. Avoiding the depths of Colt’s blue eyes was in her best interests.
“Mommy!” Noah raced into the kitchen, then skidded to a stop when he spotted Colt. “You’re here! You’re home! I’ve been waiting for you all day!” The uptick of excitement in her little son’s voice at seeing Colt and the joy of having him close to her were wearing down her defenses and creating new questions. Noah loved being on the ranch. He’d fallen in love with the three ranch dogs, BeeBee, Kita, and Banjo, and he thought playing hide-and-seek in the huge house was the best game ever. Why shouldn’t he think so? He’d been sheltered for as long as he could remember. Seeing him spread his wings and have the chance to be spontaneous was a blessing. Could he do this in Seattle?
Not the same way. Not if she rejoined the narcotics squad.
“Whatcha got, bud?” Colt stooped low. A smile tugged sweet laugh lines into place and his profile lightened. “What’s this?”
“A new monster truck.” Noah whispered the words, as if they were too cool to say out loud. “It came in the mail.”
“So red is your favorite color?”
Noah shook his head. “My very most favorite are green trucks. Like yours,” he said. “That’s what I want to d-d-drive someday.” He held the new truck aloft. “But r-red is l-l-like my other most favorite.”
“Well, thank you.” Colt reached out and gave her son a hug, the kind of hug a little boy needed. Big. Strong. Manly. Then he picked up Noah and the truck. “How about we play with this once I get cleaned up? Mommy’s making supper—”
“I’m so hungry.” Noah used his most dramatic hungry voice. “I don’t th-think I can wait until supper. Not really.”
“Well.” Colt turned toward Angelina. “Would you mind if Noah had a quick supper while I get washed and changed? That would give us more time to play.”
He had to know she couldn’t refuse such a simple request. It seemed he was adept at using his kindness toward Noah to break down her reserve, which meant she should be even more careful around him. But seeing the two of them together, faces turned toward her, eyes imploring, weakened her resolve. They formed a picture, an image of how families could and should be if grownups stopped messing things up. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Oh, th-thank you, Mommy! Can I have peanut butter bread? With sugar on it?”
“Yes. And then you and your buddy can race cars. All right?”
Noah and Colt bumped knuckles as Colt set him down. “Eat up. I’ll be back soon, okay?”
“Okay!” Noah climbed onto one of the chairs, clearly excited. “I want to be a cowboy just l-like Colt when I grow up.”
She wanted to snort. Noah’s declaration was rather funny considering Colt had fled to a place and career about as far away from the Double S and ranching as he could get. But when she glanced up, she was glad she’d kept her snarky attitude at bay. The look on Colt’s face, as though touched by her son’s declaration, mushed her heart once more.
Stop looking at him! Stay back! Maintain your distance!
The internal warning was right, but her conscience only took her so far. When the heart stepped in, caution longed to fly out the window.
Colt moved forward, toward her.
She stepped back. There was absolutely no reason for him to come her way.
He moved closer. The scent of rugged outdoorsman hung about him—hay, barn, horse, cow—all wrapped in a hint of spring air and sporting flecks of mud. “Out of my kitchen. You’re a mess.”
“Hurry up, Mr. Colt! I want to play.”
“Okay, little guy. In a minute.” Colt made the promise as he drew close enough to touch her but didn’t. He simply stood there, watching her, letting the warmth of the stove and the moment wend around them. “I never used to like coming into the kitchen, Ange. Other than food, there was nothing that drew me back to this house. Or this table. That’s changed now.” The simplicity of his words set her heart into quick motion again. “I don’t know what kind of difference you made in your old job, but you’ve made a big difference here, and I wanted you to know that.”
She took particular care in spreading peanut butter on Noah’s bread so Colt wouldn’t see how his words affected her.
“You’ve helped my father become a lot more human than he used to be.”
“God’s timing and an open mind,” she told him as she drew a heart on the open-faced sandwich. “Your father was ready for both.”
“Or was it fear of the unknown? Hedging his bets? Amazing how health issues can bring folks to their knees, isn’t it?”
Skepticism weighted his words. She chose to ignore it. “Be careful. I wouldn’t shrug off God’s plan quite so quickly.” She sifted sugar across the top of the bread, then began slicing a crisp green apple. “It was the influence of God’s timing that brought you back here when your father most needs you.”
“Bends in the road are a given on Wall Street. Stocks go up; stocks come down.”
“Then you might want to consider another line of work.” She raised her eyes to his and held his attention. “You have a legacy here. And a beautiful home.”
He started to object, but she raised a hand. “You may
dismiss it, but you cannot deny it. It always comes down to choices. Yours. Mine. Your father’s. God will put new turns in our paths, but it’s up to us to choose which path to take—ours or his.”
“When I factor investments, there’s always a plan involved,” he argued. “If I were to buy into the idea of God’s timing, then I’m not the one planning. He is. I like being in charge, Ange. It suits me.”
“It suited your father too.”
He cringed.
“ ‘Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,’ ” she quoted softly. “Robert Frost had great insight and gentle wisdom. Looking back, we see our choices through different eyes. Each choice hones us, and, right or wrong, we carry the consequences of those choices into the future.” She handed him the plate, and when he looked down, his expression made her heart fall a little bit harder. Something far away had caught him up. Something sad and sweet. “You made a heart on his bread,” he said after a moment.
“Yes.”
Colt studied the peanut-butter heart, then swallowed hard. “I think my mom did this for me. When I was little.”
Her chest constricted, thinking of his childhood pain. His mother gone, his father distant.
“It’s nice, Ange.” His expression took on that of a little boy who had lost more than he ever should have. As he took the bread to Noah, he added, “I’m glad you and Noah are both here in the house. It’s good.”
Just that, a simple declaration, but she saw the truth in his words when he set down the bread in front of her hungry little boy. He wasn’t just performing a task; he was serving her son with care. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Eat up, okay?”
“I will!”
Noah’s excitement had him taking huge bites already, and Colt laughed. “He’s a keeper.”
“Yes he is.”
Colt strode away, looking as good from behind as he did from the front, mud specks and all. It startled her that the sight of him, tall, rugged, roughed up by a contingent of circumstances both in and out of his control, made her long to soothe him. Talk with him. Hold hands and take long, measured walks up the hills and get lost in the forest for a while.
“With God all things are possible.”
She believed that, but all the sweet words and challenges didn’t change what brought her here. Two fathers. One who didn’t care that he’d sired a beautiful gift from God. And the other laid to rest because she’d done her job the way she was supposed to.
She’d been running hard and fast, creating distance. But now—maybe it was time to explore more paths.
Noah waved his cup in the air. She corrected him with a look and said, “That will get you nothing, young man. Manners, please.”
“May I have some chocwote milk, please?”
“Choc-o-late.” She stressed the pronunciation as she poured.
He repeated the word earnestly as she handed him the half-filled cup, then grinned up at her. He was the image of contentment, a miniature cowboy, tucked at an oversized ranch table. “I l-love it here so much, Mommy. I th-think we should just stay here forever, you and me and ’Buela, and we can help the cowboys every day. Okay?”
“That’s one smart boy you have there.” Sam saved her from a response as he came into the kitchen from the far end. He palmed Noah’s dark hair and met Angelina’s eyes. “Has a good head on his shoulders.”
“Of course you think so because he supports your cause,” she retorted. But then she smiled. “You look more comfortable today. Are you feeling better or putting on a good show?”
“Both,” Sam admitted. “I think I’m getting better, and then a wave hits me and I’m pretty sure I’m worse. Who’s to say?”
“I know it’s tough to have the ranch operations taken out of your hands. Why are you up and around right now? Resting so that liver can heal is crucial. Do you know how much energy it takes to create new cell tissue?”
He laughed, then gripped his side. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“Go rest. This isn’t a wrenched arm or a bloodied lip. This is organ damage and possible organ failure. Take it seriously, Sam.”
“I am taking it seriously,” he countered, “but when a man might be running out of time, there are other things to take seriously as well.”
“Then rest so you have the energy to do them. If you like I can help you make a list of what you’d like to do, okay?”
“Don’t need one. Got a conscience. It’s just rusty. I’ll figure this out.” He walked down the side hall toward one of the first-floor guest rooms, listing slightly to the side.
Give him time, Lord, please. Let him make amends; let him get healthy enough to make amends.
Her phone buzzed. She saw Tony’s name and picked up. “I expected you’d be calling soon.”
“I promised to call if I didn’t hear from you. Just keeping my word to my partner. You thinking about our conversation?”
“I am.” She paused as Noah slurped his milk when the brim of his kid-sized cowboy hat got in the way. “But I’m caught in the middle, Tony. I explained that.”
“Only because you’re being indecisive,” he replied. His perspective made it a black-and-white proposition. Hers had shades of gray. “Your mother deserves a chance to come home, Mary. So do you.”
“I can’t leave now.” She kept her voice soft so she wouldn’t be overheard. “We’re in the thick of calving and Sam’s ill. I can’t leave him short-handed, and it’s the worst possible time to train a replacement.”
“You’re putting me off.”
“Only by necessity. It’s how it is.”
“Call me when you’re ready.”
“Tony, I—”
He interrupted her with a heavy sigh. “Mary Angela, you weren’t meant to spend your life cooking for a bunch of backwoods cowboys and washing their clothes. Scrubbing their toilets. Think about it. Hey, sorry, gotta go.” He hung up, and she held the phone for a moment before setting it down.
His parting words stung. Did her job lessen who she was? No. Any job worth doing was worth doing right. Her parents had taught her that. Her mother had sorted fruit for local farmers as a new immigrant. To make extra money, her father had worked at a car wash when he was new to the SPD. And once she’d gone off to elementary school, her mother had worked in Seattle hotels cleaning rooms and suites. The job didn’t make the person; the person made the job.
“Mommy, I th-think I’m full.”
“You did great.” She tossed him a wet washcloth and watched as he scrubbed his face and hands. “And so independent. Bring your dishes to the counter, and you can go play.”
“Yes!” Noah lifted the small plate and empty cup, then carefully walked them around the table and set them on the counter. “Bye, Mom!” Within seconds, the sounds of pretend engines filled the great room as monster trucks tangled with Matchbox cars and the occasional piece of furniture.
Isabo came into the kitchen, smiling. “I will help with supper now that the ironing is complete. He is having fun, yes?”
“Yes.”
“And it is good for Noah to have others around now. To get to know other people.”
“Having more people makes it harder when you have to say good-bye.” Angelina lifted the big can filled with basmati rice. “I hate the thought of that.”
“For him? Or for you?”
She sent her mother a look of warning as she took a bag of corn from the freezer. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”
Doubt marked her mother’s expression. “When one is caught in the middle, it is hard to know which way to turn. Should we risk the old or embrace the uncertainty of the new? Since I did not raise my daughter to fear anything, I am hopeful she will see both clearly.”
“Oh, I see them clearly, all right.” Angelina indicated the noisy front room as Colt came down the stairs to join Noah. “Uncertainty versus uncertainty. Just different sorts, and I’m not a fan of either.”
Her mother pressed her lips together but said nothing, and that was just as
well. For the moment they were on a beautiful ranch at a grueling time of year. Once the urgent press for safe deliveries was over, she would reassess. In the meantime she’d pray for sorely needed guidance because right now she had no idea which path to take or what criteria to consider in making her decision.
“I can’t leave now. We’re in calving season, and it’s the worst possible time to train a replacement.”
Angelina’s words, spoken softly so as not to be overheard. But Colt had managed to do exactly that. He gripped the square laundry basket more tightly and waited silently on the back stairs.
Her profile looked stern, and when she argued her point, a deep V formed between her eyes.
She’s leaving.
When she’d said his name…Tony…Colt let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
Of course there was someone else. Why wouldn’t there be? It was foolish to think Angelina didn’t have a life beyond the Double S. He retraced his steps to the second floor, set down the laundry basket, and walked to the front staircase. Plainly, whoever she was arguing with wanted the situation changed immediately, and to her credit she’d refused to buckle. He had a glimpse of the roads in the wood she’d talked about earlier. It seemed her choice of roads did not include staying here.
As he turned the corner and made the final descent, he spotted Noah on the carpet, watching the stairs hopefully. The minute he saw Colt, he raced across the broad entry and skidded to a stop in Colt’s arms.
Holding the little guy felt right.
He carried him to the jumble of toy cars, loving the feeling of having Noah close. What kind of stupid moron builds a relationship with a strong, beautiful woman like Angelina, makes a child with her, then dumps them?
Someone self-serving and arrogant, kind of like the guy you were in danger of becoming.
That truth humbled him.
He’d been dogged and ruthless at times. He’d skated close to the edge of “me first, forget the rules”—a fairly easy thing to do on Wall Street.
Maybe this career upset wasn’t the worst thing in the world. What if coming back to the Double S was a lifeboat he didn’t know he needed?
Back in the Saddle Page 12