He sank to the carpet with the boy and crashed small trucks into unsuspecting Matchbox cars.
Noah’s squeals and shouts reminded him that not everything in his childhood had gone bad. He and Nick and Trey had played like this, indoors and out. They’d done so much together. When had he decided the bad outweighed the good?
Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe he had let the dark moments of anger shroud the joy of being a ranch kid with free rein to go wherever, whenever, riding range and flirting with the local girls.
A soft sound of music filtered out of the kitchen. Angelina, humming as she finished the preparations for dinner. The sound and the boy’s excitement combined to fill Colt with something new and distinct.
Contentment.
But she’s leaving, he reminded himself.
Nick and Hobbs shattered the moment as they burst through the back door, Murt right behind them, arguing the merits of Simmental and Angus cross percentages. In the scuffle of feet, voices, hand washing, and shouts of laughter, Colt’s resolve stumbled. Despite the interruption, the good memories took hold of a solid spot within, and Colt couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that good. But he knew one thing: it was a very long time ago.
“I don’t have to do it your way, Murt.” Nick’s voice was rock hard as he set a pot of gravy on the table with a thump thirty minutes later. “I don’t need your advice. It’s too little, too late. I’ve been working on these embryo-transplant programs nonstop while you decided to take an eighteen-month honeymoon, so don’t spew numbers at me like you’re some kind of knows-more-than-anyone expert. I’m the one who helped break ground with this, and I’ll be the one hung to dry if it goes bad.”
Colt stopped with a fork full of food halfway to his mouth.
Hobbs watched Nick, then his eyes darted to McMurty and back again. Angelina’s face went taut with disbelief, and Colt was pretty sure steam would start puffing out of his father’s ears at any moment.
No one dissed Michael McMurty when it came to matters of beef production. The guy had helped pioneer the seed-ranch philosophy of breeding the best cows and bulls for propagation, not slaughter. To be called out by someone less than half his age would have meant a good thrashing back in the day.
McMurty turned to Nick, and while his expression stayed placid, his eyes chilled. “I know you’ve got your share of problems with the girls right now, Nicholas, and I expect that’s got you flummoxed, but I’m gonna ask you to stand down. Angelina worked all afternoon on this meal, and I don’t intend to let mine be ruined by a case of the stomach grumbles I don’t need or deserve.”
Nick glared at him across the table, then stood. “Don’t talk down to me. Don’t presume you know what I’m doing, going through, or up against, and if I wanted the whole world to know my business, I’d send out a group e-mail.” He shoved his chair back, the sound of wood scraping stone marking his exit, then strode to the door, banged it open, and charged through.
Colt turned to McMurty. “What was that all about?”
Murt kept his attention on food and only food. “Not for me to say, like you heard. Ask him.”
“He’s got no call to be at you like that, Murt.” Sam started to rise, but Colt put a hand on his arm.
“Give him time.”
“I—”
“You want to charge out there and tell him Murt did nothing wrong and how Murt’s responsible for a huge part of our success—all of which Nick knows.”
Sam sank back into his chair.
“He needs to figure out what’s got him so angry,” Colt said. “And from the sound of it, he’s been making like things are fine with the girls when they aren’t.”
Murt’s expression agreed. Sam’s didn’t.
“There’s not a thing wrong with Cheyenne and Dakota,” Sam said. “They’re wonderful.”
“Their mother walked out on them nearly three years ago,” said Colt. “She’s off with another man and has no contact with her daughters. Mother abandonment is a huge thing for a kid to deal with. And because Nick’s mother also walked away from him, this scenario is especially tough for him.”
“That was over a quarter century ago,” Sam protested.
Angelina cleared her throat. All eyes turned her way. “A child’s heart is a tender organ. The gaping hole left by the loss of a parent is not a quick fix, nor usually forgotten. Let’s not forget that we carry many of those childhood hurts into adulthood.”
Sam must have seen her point. “I hate that you’re almost always right.”
She rolled her eyes at him and directed a hand to the others. “Eat while it’s hot. I think most of us know that Nick’s been shoving the girls’ problems under the rug. My guess is that things have grown more out of control. And like his father Nick prefers the illusion that everything he does is going well. I’d suggest that history repeating itself will not be in anyone’s best interests this time around.”
Isabo appeared in the doorway with a freshly washed little boy wearing cowboy pajamas. Noah greeted the table full of somewhat grizzled men with unbridled excitement. “ ’Buela wanted me to wear my pirate jammies because they were clean, but I said I had to wear my cowboy ones because they’re like Colt’s!”
Hobbs smirked. “Colt, you got jammies like that upstairs? With all them little horses and kabobbles on ’em?”
“And cowboys too young to grow beards?” Murt asked, grinning. “Mebbe I’ll get me a pair.”
Noah looked from one to the other, confused. “I fink…” He stopped, took a breath, and worked his jaw. “I th-think he does. Don’t you?” He turned toward Colt, and his look implored the big cowboy to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Colt stood and pinched the edge of the red, brown, and yellow print flannel. “I did, bud. I had some just like this when I was a little cowpoke like you. I think they might have been the very same ones, in fact.”
“Really?” Noah’s eyes went wide with delight. “You think we have the same jammies, Mr. Colt?”
“I think we did,” Colt emphasized, and when he opened his arms, Angelina’s son half jumped into his embrace. “They don’t make cool jammies like this for us big guys.”
Noah pulled back, astonished. He put a little hand on each side of Colt’s face. “Are you kidding me?”
“Wouldn’t do that, bud.” Colt smiled into the boy’s hazel eyes, then bumped foreheads with him. “But if they made ’em in my size, I’d grab me a pair, just so we could be twins.”
“I bet my mom will l-look on the computer to see,” Noah said. He gave Colt a big hug and a smacking kiss, then wriggled to get down and raced to his mother. “Can you go see, Mom? See if they make jammies just like mine for Mr. Colt?”
“I will.” She hugged the boy fiercely, gave him a big kiss, then raised her eyes to Colt. In that look he read a warning. “We’ll check tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay!”
Noah dashed off with his grandmother following. As Colt handled the guys’ good-natured ribbing about his nightwear, he couldn’t miss the concern on Angelina’s face. Was it because of the phone call? Knowing she’d be going soon? Or was it because the little guy liked him, and this Tony guy might not like that? Well, too bad for Tony, because Noah was taking hold of Colt’s somewhat rusty heart and not letting go.
Ask her to stay.
He shoved the idea aside because that would be the height of selfishness. He wasn’t staying any longer than he had to. Why would she? Why should she?
Plans get changed all the time. Why not yours? Why not now?
That couldn’t happen. He rinsed off his dishes, loaded them in the dishwasher, and went outside to have a look around the far barns. Cold, crisp March air cleared his head but did little for the confusion in his brain. How could he manage to help his brother, his nieces, his father, and Angelina’s situation when everyone held their cards tight to the chest?
Spring stars blinked above, a haze of galactic sparkle. He felt small in comparison, bu
t as the curve of a gibbous moon peeked out from behind a random cloud, he realized he wasn’t so small. The universe was just plain big.
The wonder of that stirred a yearning inside him. The blanket of stars and moons and planets and flying intergalactic debris loomed above him, thick and vast.
There was little visible sky in Manhattan. Actual night sky was a rarity in a city famed for its photogenic skyline. Light from competing skyscrapers polluted the darkness, so even if he was lucky enough to be on a rooftop patio, seeing many actual stars wasn’t the norm.
Here it was expected. That realization had Colt looking up, wondering about the whos, whats, wheres, and hows of everything. Head back, he remembered stargazing as a little boy, not much bigger than Noah, peering up at the heavens with his mother. “Where did they all come from? Who made them?” he’d asked as she kept her arms looped around his middle. She’d let him climb to the top rail of the fence, so high that he was almost afraid, but not quite, and when she’d wrapped her arms around him from behind, he wasn’t afraid at all.
“God, Colt. God’s in his heaven, and he’s watching over you and me.”
“Over Daddy too?” He remembered tipping his head back to look at his mother. Even though he tried to bring it up, her image didn’t come to him now. All he had was a shadow and a voice.
She’d laughed. He remembered how much he loved hearing her laugh. “God especially watches over Daddy! He knows that daddies have a lot to do watching over families, so God watches over them especially well.”
“But not more than you, right?” He’d choked down the worry. If God spent so much time watching dads, when would he have time to watch over moms? “He watches over moms the most, doesn’t he?”
“Of course.” He remembered the soft kiss of her lips to his arm and the scent of her skin—kind of like cookies and flowers and clean clothes all mushed together. “He watches over moms most carefully because they have wonderful little boys like you.”
Later that night he’d dozed off, feeling good about everything. Believing God had it all under control, watching here, there, everywhere.
The next day he’d sucked up his fears, marched off to preschool, and kissed his beautiful mother good-bye. And then he never saw her again. Which meant either she was wrong and God didn’t watch over mothers at all or that God was pretty clueless. Unseen, unheard, and totally untrustworthy.
Colt hadn’t had a thing to do with God since. But here, tonight, gazing up at the heavens, his mother’s voice came back to him. Her belief in the words she’d said to him pushed him to a new thought—maybe Colton Samuel Stafford ought to reexamine his belief systems.
And for the first time in over three decades, he considered doing just that, starting with church the next Sunday.
“Everybody ready?” Colt jogged down the stairs Sunday morning, straightening his tie. He adjusted the suit coat he’d worn the first night back, tucked Noah into his sturdy little winter jacket, hoisted him, and moved toward the kitchen. “We’re going to be late if we stand around here. Hobbs warmed up the car. He’s got it parked just outside the back door.”
“You’re going to church with us?” Surprise and pleasure brightened Sam’s eyes.
“I am.” He turned his attention to Angelina and smiled for no reason, and her heart fluttered in response.
“It will be wonderful to have such a full pew,” Sam said.
“I’m so ’cited!” Noah flashed his mother a happy look over Colt’s shoulder, as if he’d won a round of Candy Land. Angelina wanted to warn him that this was church—not a playground—but paused when her mother rounded the corner from the hallway joining the kitchen.
“I haven’t been to church in so long!” Isabo looked around, radiant. “This is a blessing, so nice! All of us, together.” She fell into step alongside Sam, adjusting her quick steps to his more measured ones as they followed Colt out the door. “If this church has candles, I shall light four,” she continued as she pushed through the door. “One for Martín, one for gratitude, one for peace, and one for Stafford generosity.”
Colt tucked Noah into the SUV, then stood by the rear door, ready to help his father into the warming vehicle if necessary. The fullness of his expression as he waited patiently for his father stirred Angelina’s heart.
Isabo rounded the SUV and climbed into the backseat as Noah clicked the buckles of his third-row booster. When Angelina reached the car, Colt swung the front passenger door open for her. The look he gave her was so tender and sweet that despite all efforts to stop it, her heart went soft.
She could resist the gritty financial negotiator side of Colt Stafford, but there was no resisting this Colt—the gentle, caring guy, the true cowboy within. His charming behavior was touching too many sweet emotions—which meant Colt had just upped the stakes exponentially.
“I will help get food ready for our company later,” Isabo said as Angelina settled into the front seat. “That way we don’t fall behind. I had forgotten the joy of cooking for so many!”
“You sure do know your way around a kitchen, Isabo.” Sam laced his words with thick gratitude. “Angelina obviously learned from the best.”
“In such a kitchen as yours, there is no hardship in cooking,” she said. “So much space, so many ideas, and the men, so happy. Their thankfulness makes cooking an honor, Sam!”
“Do you think Nick will come over with the girls?” Colt asked.
Sam shook his head. “Don’t know. He was in quite a state the other night, and he’s come straight in and out of the barn since, so he’s got a stick—”
“A bee in his bonnet,” Angelina quickly corrected.
“Sorry,” Sam said. “Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. And if something’s wrong with the girls, he most likely won’t be asking for help either because he’s stubborn as a mule.”
“Wonder where he got that from.” Colt kept his eyes on the road but sounded almost amused. A nice change for a guy who’d been wearing bitterness like comfortable shoes. And he was right—the apples hadn’t fallen far from the tree in Stafford-land.
As they passed the Carlton place, Sam asked, “That’s where the gal lives who brought the cake, isn’t it?”
“Yes. She’s a single mom with three little kids. She works night and day to make a go of this Christmas tree farm.”
“Single mom?” Colt looked puzzled.
“Widowed.”
The crease in his forehead deepened. “I know it’s been awhile, but I don’t remember anybody named Carlton living in the Wheeler place. And I can’t imagine the Wheeler place went up for sale and didn’t become part of the Double S. I expect there’s more to this story.” He stopped the car at a stop sign and met his father’s eyes through the rearview mirror.
“The Wheelers were losing the place,” Sam replied. Reluctance deepened his voice. “I wanted it. They knew that. They didn’t want me to have it and sold it quietly to Carlton. And then he—”
Angelina interrupted him as she offered an encouraging look at Noah. “You’ll get to meet the Carlton kids in church, Noah. Belle’s your age. Her brothers are older. Cheyenne and Dakota will be in church too.”
“This will be so fun!” Anticipation brightened his eyes as he studied everything they passed. “I didn’t know going to church would be so fun, Mom!”
Colt leaned her way as they slowed for the next stop sign. “He and the reverend might have different definitions of fun.” He winked, then addressed his father. “They sold the property out from under you? That’s kind of harsh.”
“I’d made offers. They’d have rather gone broke than accept them.”
“More than harsh then.” Colt waited for slow, long beats as he made the turn into the town center. “What did you do to them?”
When Sam didn’t answer, Angelina did. “Sam leased the grazing rights to the property that had been between the Wheelers and the Double S, then bought it. In addition to that, he punished the Wheelers for not accepting his offer by using his full
share of the water rights, leaving them very little, even though he had plenty of fresh water from Gray’s Creek.”
“It was a knee-jerk thing to do, and I’m not proud of it,” Sam admitted.
“Wow.” Colt looked genuinely surprised. “I try to embrace a wider margin of anonymity before I mess folks over. Not the ones living next door.”
“That was a long time ago,” Sam countered. “I haven’t done a thing to that new young woman’s family.” Sam brushed off the past as if it were that easy. “I eased up on the water and changed my grazing patterns. That way she had clean, fresh water for her trees as needed.”
“In five years her trees will catch up to where they should have been,” Angelina mused as if that was nothing. “In the meantime—”
“I’ll write myself a note about that.” Sam withdrew his phone, tapped a moment, then started to put it away.
“Silence it,” Angelina said.
“Eh?”
“Your phone. Put it on silence or turn it off because you don’t want it to ring in church.”
“Of course not.” He did as she asked. “I’ll make it up to her. Somehow. You said she’s got three kids?”
“Two school-aged boys and a little girl. Good kids.”
“I’ll fix it, Angelina. One way or another.” He tucked his phone away in his coat pocket. “I’ll make it right. I promise.”
Heads turned as they walked into the gray and cream stone church. Colt looked straight ahead, holding Noah firmly in his arms, but Sam nodded at people left and right as if he were a regular. When only a few folks dipped their heads in welcome, Colt figured almost eighty percent of the congregation pretty much hated Sam Stafford. That wasn’t a big surprise, but it meant his father had his work cut out for him.
Sam slipped into a pew on the right. Colt assessed his choice. Near enough to the front to be seen and close enough to the middle to appear humbled.
As if.
Colt stepped back to allow Angelina and her mother to enter the pew, then followed with the boy.
Back in the Saddle Page 13