A Cowboy for the Twins

by Carolyne Aarsen

  “Yes, that’s quite a coincidence,” he said with a wry tone, looking over at his mother. But she didn’t look at him at all.

  “Guess we all had the same idea,” his mother said, turning back to the girls.

  “Or something like that,” Shauntelle returned, hesitating by the table. Noah guessed she would make one last-ditch effort to separate her daughters from his mother, but from the way they were chatting like long-lost buddies, that probably wasn’t happening.

  She seemed to realize that too and finally sat down.

  “Mrs. Cosgrove was telling us about her horses,” Millie piped up as Shauntelle hooked her purse over the back of the chair. “She said we should come over and ride them.”

  Noah nudged his mother under the table. She shot him a frown, and then looked away. “They haven’t been ridden in a while. I know it would be great for them to get some exercise,” his mother said, her gaze bobbing between Shauntelle and her avid audience of two.

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Noah added, giving both her and him an out. “Like you said, Mom, no one’s ridden them in a while, and I doubt Millie and Margaret have ever been on a horse.”

  His mother waved off his protests. “Those horses are as old as Methuselah. The girls would be perfectly safe on them.”

  “And we would be really careful,” Margaret put in, eyes wide as if to underline her sincerity. “Really, really careful.”

  “Super, super careful,” Millie added.

  “And super careful is far more careful than really careful,” Noah said with a grin, unable to stop himself from teasing them.

  He caught Shauntelle glancing over at him, and as their eyes met, he saw a smile playing over her lips and a twinkle in her eye. Clearly she had the same difficulty staying serious that he did.

  “So why don’t you bring the girls over on Saturday?” his mother asked, pressing the point.

  “Please, Mom. Please,” the twins chimed in. “Please, pretty please.”

  “I have Farmer’s Market,” she said.

  “You can come after that,” Mrs. Cosgrove put in.

  “Please,” the girls added, in case she didn’t get the first four.

  “We haven’t asked Mr. Cosgrove yet,” Shauntelle said.

  Noah shot her a warning frown. “So you’re putting this on me?”

  “The ball is in your court. You’ll have to play it out.”

  Perfect, he thought, turning to face wide, expectant blue eyes and blazing smiles, their adorableness quotient more than doubling.

  “We’ll see,” was all he could manage.

  The girls erupted into cheers that made everyone in the restaurant glance over their way. What were the girls celebrating? He had said nothing definite.

  “Girls. Quiet,” Shauntelle warned. “Mr. Cosgrove didn’t say yes. He just said that he would see.”

  “But ‘we’ll see’ is closer to yes than no,” Millie said.

  Noah couldn’t help a faint snort, which he immediately covered up with a napkin.

  “That is excellent,” his mother said, clearly coming to the same conclusion the girls did. “Shauntelle can bring the girls to the ranch after the Farmer’s Market.”

  Just then, Adana came over and handed them each a menu before Noah could protest.

  “Anything to drink?” she asked.

  “Chocolate milk,” the girls said, then glanced over at Shauntelle. “If that’s okay?”

  “Chocolate milk is a bit more expensive, girls,” Shauntelle said.

  “It’s fine,” Noah put in, nodding at Adana. “And one bill. To me.”

  “No. I’ll pay for us,” Shauntelle protested.

  Noah shook his head, giving her a teasing smile. “If the ball is in my court, you should let me play it out,” he said.

  “You don’t need to feel... I mean, we barged in—”

  “Please. Don’t worry about it.” Then, just to ease the concern on her face he leaned closer, lowering his voice. “And just to keep things on the up-and-up, I had nothing to do with this little meeting today.”

  No sooner had he spoken the words than he felt like smacking his head. What if she wasn’t even thinking this might have been a setup?

  Shauntelle’s gaze flicked from his mother to her daughters, then back to him, a surprising touch of humor in her voice. “I’m sure this was my daughters’ doing.”

  Noah nodded, feeling a surprising relief at her smile. “Well, I wouldn’t leave my mother out of the mix. I’m sure she was involved too. I know you’ll be tired after the Farmer’s Market,” he said, giving her an out. “If you don’t want to come on Saturday, I understand.”

  She cut him off with a wave of her hand and a look of feigned horror. “There’s no way I’m telling the girls that now.”

  He laughed at that, and for a moment their eyes held and it seemed as if everything else faded away. His breath caught in his chest, and as his heart lifted, he caught himself unsettled by the feelings she created in him.

  Allowing himself to feel anything at all for someone like Shauntelle was problematic.

  And too risky. But as he looked over at the excited girls and the animation on his mother’s face, he knew he couldn’t stop what they were planning.

  He would let them come and ride horses, but he really had to keep his distance.

  Shauntelle and her daughters were an emotional entanglement he couldn’t allow in his life.

  Chapter Seven

  “I don’t think you should take those girls to the Cosgrove ranch tomorrow.” Shauntelle’s mother leaned back against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest, her body language hostile.

  Shauntelle turned the toaster upside down and shook the bread crumbs into the sink. Weariness washed over her, and for a moment she was tempted to give in to her mother’s not-so-subtle hints. Ever since her parents found out about her plans, Shauntelle had put up with frowns, covert comments and strong pushback.

  “I told the girls they could.” She knew her parents would be upset by this new turn of events, but she also knew if she told Millie and Margaret they couldn’t go, they would rebel. Big-time.

  All the way back from the café, they had chattered about what they would wear when they went riding and whether they would be afraid to gallop the horses or not.

  Shauntelle had let them talk, still trying to deal with her own shifting feelings for Noah. It would be so much easier to give in to her mother’s wishes than to face Noah again and try to figure out what to do with the emotions he fostered in her.

  In that moment in the café, when Noah had held her gaze, an undercurrent of awareness had buzzed through her that she knew was a major distraction. There was no way she would be sidetracked from the plans she had poured so much into.

  Besides, he came with so much history.

  “It’s so wrong,” her mother said, a plaintive note entering her voice.

  Shauntelle gripped the toaster, her eyes locked on the window as she dealt with conflicting feelings. Her gaze slid sideways and latched onto a group of pictures sitting on the windowsill. Her brother on his motorbike. Another one of her and Josiah when they were in high school. Josiah laughing with his friends, and a fourth one of him with his arms spread out, a huge grin on his face. That one was taken just before he jumped off a bridge attached to a bungee cord.

  And these were only a few of the many pictures her parents had put up around the house after Josiah died. As if they needed reminders everywhere of what they lost.

  She stared at the picture of her brother, grief beating through her. She thought of the plans they had made together. This restaurant she was working on was supposed to be both of theirs. It had been a dream they had nurtured together. The months when Roger worked overseas or the evenings he was at the hospital, Josiah would come over and they would d
raw up plans, make up menus. It was a bright spot for Shauntelle. A place where she felt like she had control.

  Then Roger died. Josiah waited two months, then told Shauntelle that he had changed his mind. He didn’t want to live a tame life. He wanted to travel. He sold his truck, broke up with his girlfriend and headed out.

  He went extreme skiing in Peru, surfing in Indonesia, backpacking in Nepal and taking risks along the way. When he came back, he needed to pay off his loans, so he started working for Noah.

  Then he died.

  It was as if Shauntelle was being told over and over again that she couldn’t count on anyone. It was up to her to take care of herself and her daughters.

  “If you wanted to take the girls out you could have asked us,” her mother said. “We could have done something with them instead of you taking them...over there.”

  Again she heard the undercurrent. Noah wasn’t worthy.

  She felt like a traitor to her brother’s memory and her parents’ grief.

  And she felt an unwelcome twist of frustration as she pushed the breakfast tray into the cupboard. “It’s not like you and Dad have time,” she said. “And I don’t always have the energy or the money.”

  “Well, maybe we could make time,” her mother offered.

  “Maybe you could and that would be nice, but for now I made this promise to them and I can’t see how I can break it.” Shauntelle gave her mother a gentle smile, torn between her daughters’ wishes and her mother’s sorrow.

  Her mother held her steady gaze, then looked away, her mouth trembling. “Okay. I understand. I see what’s happening.”

  It wasn’t too hard to hear the disappointment in her voice, but at this moment Shauntelle was ready to give her girls a break from the heaviness in this household and the constant guilt her mother was piling on her.

  She kissed her mother and put her hand on her shoulder. “I love you, Mom,” she said, her small peace offering. Thankfully her mother smiled back.

  “I love you too. Hope that your...work...your plans...that they go well today.”

  Her hesitancy to even speak Noah’s name was a vivid reminder of her mother’s opinion of him.

  “Do you need me to come and get you later today?” Shauntelle asked, moving along to more practical matters. “So that you can help Dad?”

  “I have to work on the books today. Nick is coming to help your dad today. Sepp isn’t giving him as many hours at the café, so we told him he could come work for us.” Then her mother gave her a gentle smile and left.

  Shauntelle eased out a sigh, grabbed her lunch bag and headed to the car.

  As she drove from the house to the arena, she felt a shift from the burdens her parents wanted her to carry and the reality of the tension of working with Noah. He was attractive and appealing—and a huge complication. He would drive a wedge between her and her parents.

  And she owed them too much to hurt them like that.

  Lord, I’m so tired, she prayed. I wish I could find some rest.

  The quick prayer was all she could manage as her mind sorted through her day. The company she was purchasing the kitchen equipment from was coming to do some measurements. The crew was working on the entrance to the main restaurant today, and she wanted to be around. She had to pick up the girls from school, and then bake for Farmer’s Market and find time to get her laundry done. She got tired just thinking of all that needed to be done today.

  Focus on the page in front of you. Turn the page and do the next thing.

  These words had served her well after Roger died and she couldn’t handle all the information tossed at her. She was grieving and upset and lost. She bought a scribbler and on each page wrote one task. Then she prayed, turned the page and dealt with the very next thing. This narrowed her choices and helped her focus when things grew overwhelming.

  By the time she walked into the arena, nail guns pounded, saws buzzed and generators hummed. The twang of country music echoed through the large open space, as well as the beeping of a reversing man lift. The place was a beehive of activity.

  She skirted a group of carpenters looking over some plans and a pile of lumber stacked in a walkway as she made her way around the arena to the part where her restaurant would be.

  Yesterday they were starting on the opening, and she was excited to see what had happened since then. She had special ordered the doors, and they—along with the installers—were coming Monday.

  But when she stepped into the foyer, it was empty. No one was working and, even worse, a large expanse of unbroken wall where the door was supposed to be faced her.

  What was going on? Noah knew the doors were coming. Why weren’t the guys working on the opening?

  Just then Kyle Wierenga, the foreman, came through the foyer doors whistling, clearly pleased with how things were going on-site.

  “Hey, girlie, how are you doing?” he asked, giving her a broad smile.

  “Not well at all.” She put heavy emphasis on every word, waving her hand at the wall behind her. “Where is the opening for my door? Noah promised it would be done. I’ve got the order coming in on Monday, and now there’s no hole for them to put them in. They need to be installed as soon as they arrive, and if they can’t be, the workers will have to wait until they can or bring them back. I can’t afford to pay for either option.”

  She heard her shrill voice reverberating through the empty foyer, volume growing with each sentence, and from the look on Kyle’s face he was wondering when she would come at him with claws bared.

  “I’ll get Noah,” Kyle said, backing away like he would from a wounded cougar.

  She pressed her lips together, ashamed of her actions. She didn’t know if it was the confrontation with her mother this morning, the fight she’d had with Millie over a filthy pair of pants she insisted on wearing, her struggle with needing to work with Noah and her parents’ disapproval, or just exhaustion in general, but suddenly she was overwhelmed.

  A knot of very unwelcome tears thickened her throat and she leaned against the wall, her hands covering her face.

  Please, Lord.

  “Shauntelle?”

  She sucked in a couple of quick breaths, trying to get her grief under control, then turned to face Noah.

  “Is something wrong?” His frown pulled his dark eyebrows together, hardening his expression. “Kyle said you were angry about the door.”

  “Or the lack thereof,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “The opening is going in Monday. As we had agreed.” He moved closer, his frown deepening, which made him look even less approachable.

  “No. We said today. My doors are coming in Monday.” Again, that shrill note slipped into her voice.

  He shook his head, pulling out his phone and tapping the screen. “I’ve got a note here that says we’re doing it Monday. We can double-check the schedule. It’s in my office.”

  Noah’s voice took on a conciliatory, patronizing tone. The same one, she realized, that she used when her kids were being especially annoying.

  “Let’s do that.” She spun around, striding away from him to his office, one part of her brain telling her to relax, the other whirling into a vortex of uncontrollable emotions.

  Noah’s footsteps echoed behind her, and when they got to the office, he was right behind her. He closed the door after entering. Probably to make sure any tantrum she threw wouldn’t be heard by his workers.

  He was annoyingly calm as he pulled out his laptop where he kept all the records of what was supposed to happen when. He tapped and typed, then turned it around to show her a large spreadsheet. “See? It’s here. Monday.”

  She frowned at the screen, still not sure she was in the wrong. “Then why would I have ordered my doors for Monday?”

  “Maybe you got the start date mixed up with the delivery date.”

&
nbsp; Shauntelle just stared at the laptop, biting her lip, still not sure what to think.

  “You know how meticulous I am about my schedules,” he continued. “I can’t afford to mess things up. I’m on a tight schedule and things need to move smoothly. Especially after...” He stopped there, and Shauntelle guessed where he was going.

  After Josiah’s death.

  She rested her hands on the table in front, the anger wilting out of her as she adjusted her thinking. The doors would arrive Monday, and the crew couldn’t install them until the next day. She would have to pay time and a half and any other expenses incurred by the crew if there were delays. The doors were already over her budget, and now they would cost her more because she had misunderstood.

  She closed her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by everything crowding in on her.

  Her throat thickened, and behind that came panic. No. She couldn’t cry. Not now.

  She went to turn away, her head down. But as she did, the corner of her sweater caught the table. She yanked at it and then, to her horror, Noah’s laptop slid over, then tipped off the edge and onto the ground.

  “Oh no!” she cried, trying to catch it, but it fell with a sickening smack on the cement. The screen cracked and the display went dead. “I’m so sorry,” she said, kneeling down to pick it up.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, coming around the table, getting down as well. She stared at his frowning face, his deep-set eyes looking concerned.

  And suddenly it was all too much.

  The tears she had been fighting slid down her cheeks; the sobs she’d been swallowing now crawled up her throat. She pulled her knees up to her chest, glaring at Noah.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered, balling her hands into fists. “It’s too much. My brother, my mom and dad, my kids. Those stupid doors.” She choked on those last words, then dropped her head on her knees and fought the sorrow that threatened to swamp her.

  Too much. Too much.

  Then Noah was beside her, his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into him and gave in to her emotions.

  She knew she should stop, but the dam had burst.