by Mindy Neff
He wanted to know what in the wide world was wrong with the happy face.
He moved up next to her where she was examining a computer rendering of a beefy, muscle-bound character pointing a bug-spray can in the shape of a taser gun at a cowering insect.
“Nobody hates the happy face, trouble. That’s practically un-American.” They were standing side by side, each holding a baby sucking contentedly at their respective bottles.
She shrugged. “I know. And I just feel awful about it.”
He felt his lips twitch. She truly sounded forlorn. “Is this a recent dislike or have you always had it in for the poor thing?”
“Oh, I love him in certain instances. There are computer happy faces with all manner of cute expressions, and I like him stamped on pages and stuff. I think it was when one of our competitors exploited him singing a song I personally detest that I got turned off.”
“Mmm. Guess there’s hope for you still. It’s not the happy face you object to, it’s the music.”
“I have to turn off the TV set every time the ad airs.”
“Seems to me, instead of dismissing him, you should give him back his dignity and remake him. Exploit him in a happier, cuddlier way.”
She glanced over at the toilet-tissue boards, and he could see her mind working. Emily had always had a sharp mind. It was one of the things he admired most about her.
“That’s sound advice,” Dave said, glancing at the baby Emily held, but keeping his distance. “You remember that e-mail you showed me, the one with the happy faces with all the different expressions? Laughing, frowning, shocked. They were crazy. We can use that. Take your classic yellow ball here and open up the mouth, animate it.”
“No singing,” she warned.
“Of course not, boss. We’ll go for innocent and cute, warm and fuzzy, like Cheyenne here suggested.” Warming to his subject, Dave got into it, mimicking the expressions. “Oh, no,” he sang dramatically. “Not that tissue. It’s too scratchy!”
Emily laughed. “All right, all right. We’ll work on it. But the gun in the bug-spray ad’s got to go.”
“Why?” Dave demanded, abandoning his absurd facial expressions.
“Because it conjures up images of violence.”
“Killing bugs is violent business.”
“We don’t have to bash people over the head with the image. Kids will be watching.”
“Kids see violence every day. Look at the video games, the comic books, for crying out loud.”
“Cockran’s name is not associated with those video games or comic books. I’ll give you your happy face, Dave, but not the gun. Exaggerate the can, make the product label bigger, strain the muscles of the he-man exterminator and fan the spray out in a larger stream. Work on the bug, too. Don’t make him so cute, covering his eyes like that with his legs. You’ll have every kid and softhearted person in America feeling sorry for him and rooting for him. Toughen him up a bit. He’s a nasty roach and he’s moved into the kitchen and arrogantly thinks he owns the place. Balance his look between you-can’t-hurt-me and uh-oh.”
She was good, Cheyenne thought. Damned good.
She thought of every angle, guarding young minds, tempering sympathy so it was allied on the right side, exploiting the main purpose of the advertising by giving the product name a focal point. She thought on her feet, was confident and quick.
She deserved the promotion she sought so desperately. This was her arena. This is where she belonged.
And seeing her in action this way, he knew she would never give it up.
Marriage license or not, Emily Vincent Bodine would indeed return to Washington when her maternity leave was at an end.
Chapter Ten
Thanksgiving dinner was at Eden and Stony Stratton’s, and Cheyenne told her that half the town would probably show up since Eden was, hands down, the best cook in these parts. She’d given up a lucrative catering business in Texas when she’d come to Shotgun Ridge with health problems and a desperate need for a baby.
Eden herself had told Emily the story, and even now, Emily caught herself wanting to sigh. There were several beautiful love stories that had blossomed in this town.
“Last year at Thanksgiving, Dora fainted before dinner,” Cheyenne said as he opened the back door of Emily’s Mercedes to extract the twins. “Turns out she was newly pregnant with Ryan. Brought Ethan right to his knees. Not a sight we see often. Wonder what kind of excitement we’ll have this year.”
Emily just hoped the excitement wasn’t caused by her. She was a little apprehensive about the whole affair, and because this was the first real outing she’d taken the twins on and also because she wasn’t used to packing up children and baby paraphernalia, she’d started early, now she and Cheyenne were going to be the first to arrive.
Once again Emily hoped she wouldn’t turn into a klutz or something.
Cheyenne moved up beside her, steadying her as she juggled Alicia. “I’ll come back for the car seats, though I don’t imagine we’ll lack for arms to hold the babies.” He studied her in that quiet, watchful way of his. “You okay?”
“Nervous,” she admitted. “I have a tendency to blunder when I am in public—in this town. I’m hoping I don’t do anything to give your neighbors reason to talk.”
“Emily, everyone’s crazy about you.”
“Be that as it may, I had somewhat of a reputation for getting into trouble as a girl—although I swear I was innocent most of the time. And I’ve already managed to get on the wrong side of the law with that speeding ticket. I know you took some grief over it, because at least four people have mentioned the incident to me.”
“I can handle harmless teasing. Look at me, trouble.”
She lifted her gaze. In his eyes was amusement—and something more.
“You’re my lady. That puts you on the right side of the law.”
Her heart kicked into a fast beat. Emotions sizzled between them, bringing a flash of heat to the frigid November air. She was fairly certain if they hadn’t had their hands full of infants, he’d have kissed her.
And she’d have let him.
She took a breath, filling her lungs with the scent of wood smoke and horses. “We should probably go in before the kids turn to icicles.”
As it turned out, they weren’t the first to arrive, after all. The four matchmakers were already there.
Ozzie Peyton, the town mayor and retired rancher, met them at the door. Behind him were Lloyd Brewer, owner of Brewer’s Saloon, Vernon Tillis who ran the general store and Henry Jenkins of Jenkins Feed and Seed.
Emily wondered who was minding the stores, then remembered it was a holiday.
“Where are Iris and Vera?” Cheyenne asked, unshouldering two diaper bags while trying not to jostle the baby in his arms.
“Still baking up a batch of pies,” Lloyd answered. He was a big, burly man with a full head of hair and a ruddy complexion. “They’ll be along shortly.”
“Eden’s the expert baker,” Vernon explained, “but the women insisted on pitching in. Don’t imagine anybody’ll complain none about the desserts, though. Iris and my Vera have won many a blue ribbon at the fairs for their pumpkin and apple pies.”
Emily kept a smile on her face, but she felt just awful. She’d offered to bring a dish, but Eden had told her no. Should she have insisted as the other women apparently had?
Ozzie elbowed his way past his friends. “Well, let’s have a look-see at these young’uns. Mighty fine-lookin’ pair, you bet. Hand ’em over, why don’t you. Henry and I’ll have a go, and Lloyd and Vern’ll take the next turn. Give you kids a chance to relax, spend a little time without your arms so full.”
His vivid blue eyes twinkled. Emily had a feeling he was up to something. As matchmakers, they were less than subtle.
They’d barely transferred the babies into the old guys’ arms when Mildred and Opal Bagley showed up, breezing through the door, patent-leather pocket-books draped over their arms, wool coats button
ed to the neck, scarves in autumn colors draping their collars.
“Well, now,” Opal said the minute she’d cleared the door and set down her covered dish. She tugged off her gloves. “We came early and a good thing, too. A bunch of old fools, the lot of you,” she said, aiming the words at Ozzie. “Hand over that child before you drop her. Sister, get Hunter from Vernon. Honestly.”
“Now hold on just a dang minute,” Ozzie objected, but relinquished the baby readily enough. No sense getting in a scuffle. “We’ve all plenty of experience with young’uns. Plenty in town lately, and we’ve all taken a turn with them. You bet.”
He glared at Opal. He’d hardly gotten a good feel of that little bundle. Telling him he didn’t know how to hold a baby, he grumbled silently. Though he and his sweet Vanessa hadn’t been blessed with little ones of their own, they’d been like surrogate parents to the rest of the children in town. And Vanessa, God rest her loving soul, had been the schoolteacher. Had the perfect disposition for mothering.
He figured that being the case—them practically adopting half her students—gave him more in common with Emily and Cheyenne.
More than either of these old bats cooing over the twins now.
On the other hand, he probably shouldn’t be kicking up such a fuss. Never mind the Bagley widows were horning in on their matchmaking venture—he could tell by that sly, pleased look that passed between the sisters, and durned if his eyesight wasn’t still twenty-twenty. At least they were all on the same page.
And now Cheyenne’s arm was plenty free to drape around young Emily’s shoulders if he was of a mind to do so. You bet. And if the boy didn’t have the good sense to think of it on his own, well, they’d just figure out a way to give a little nudge.
“You just let us know when your arms get tired,” he said to Mildred and Opal. “Me and the boys are perfectly capable of taking a turn.”
“Shoo,” Mildred said, flicking her painted fingernails at him. The woman had Christmas trees on her claws and they hadn’t even carved the Thanksgiving turkey yet. “You men go watch a football game or something. Grab hold of the remote before those Callahan boys get here.”
She had a good point. Ethan Callahan and his brothers were remote-control hogs. Come to think about it, they weren’t the only ones.
Though, if he could give a friendly nudge here and there with Cheyenne and Emily, he’d gladly give up the remote.
Eden came out of the kitchen wearing an apron, her red hair caught back off her face with glittery butterfly clips that matched the blue of her sweater.
She smiled at Emily. “Good, your arms are empty. Take advantage of it and come keep me company in the kitchen. The men are in charge of the kids today.”
Opal raised a brow, Alicia tucked easily in the crook of her arm. “Girl, you’re asking for trouble there. Sister and I’ll just keep an eye on the toms, make sure they don’t get to strutting and forget their business.”
Eden grinned. “That’s fine, then, Opal. When you feel like being a hen, just come on in.”
Emily followed Eden into the spacious kitchen with its granite countertops, tile floors and state-of-the-art appliances. It was a chef’s dream. And Eden was in her element, stirring this and adding a pinch of that and making it all look so easy.
“I heard one of your business associates came out. We’d have been happy to have him join us.”
“He had to get back to Washington.” Emily sat down at the table because Eden’s constant movement was making her tired, and she was still only averaging three hours of sleep a night, if that. “Did the whole town know I had a visitor?”
Eden glanced over her shoulder. “Of course. Think of where he stayed.”
At the boardinghouse. “Oh. Right. I don’t think Cheyenne liked him.”
Eden peeled potatoes and added them to a huge pot on the stove. “Why not?”
“I don’t know. He was sort of…territorial, if you know what I mean.”
“Mmm. He was being a male.”
Emily had to laugh. “Yes, I guess. Seemed silly considering our circumstances.” That was another thing that most everyone knew—that she and Cheyenne were only married for the sake of propriety and the children. “Can I do anything to help?”
“Just keep me company. I work better alone. Do me a favor, though. When Dora shows up, head her off or hide the potato peeler. I love her to death, but she’s a menace in the kitchen.”
“I’m afraid I’m not much better, but I can certainly set the table or dish olives out of a jar.”
“Stony took care of that before ya’ll got here. Nikki,” she said without turning around, “don’t even think about giving Rosie that candy bar.”
Rosie was a black setter who followed the little girl around like a shadow.
“But he’s havin’ a regular chocolate fit.”
A male dog with a female name. Cute. And Nikki, Emily noticed, had adopted Eden’s Southern accent. Even cuter.
“I’m sure he’ll survive.”
Nikki flipped up the dog’s ear and whispered something, then hurried out of the room.
“That doesn’t bode well,” Eden said, amusement and love tingeing her voice.
“Do you want me to check on her?”
“I imagine Stony’ll keep an eye out. The man’s got an uncanny knack for knowing what’s going on.” Her voice went all dreamy and Emily felt a crazy jolt of envy.
She watched the efficient way Eden worked and talked and seemed to take everything in stride. The woman had a four-month-old baby, as well as the six-year-old, and she was cooking a feast for more than twenty people.
Debbie would have been just like this. Domestic. In her element. The wave of sadness stung her throat and eyes.
“Doesn’t all this make you nervous?” she asked.
“Entertaining? No. I’m a caterer by trade. I’ve fed five hundred at a sitting.”
“Better you than me. When do you sleep?”
“Ah, the twins are still keeping you up nights, hmm? It’ll even out soon. Sarah’s sleeping through the night now, bless her darlin’ little heart. Though Stony’s not. He gets up just to check on her. Cryin’ out loud, the man’d wake her up if I let him. He dotes on those girls.”
They’d named their baby girl after Stony’s deaf grandmother, the woman who’d raised the gentle giant of a cowboy, taught him to speak with a touch and listen with his heart. Emily thought it was a beautiful tribute to the woman.
Just as she had named Hunter and Alicia as a tribute to their parents—Debbie and Jimmy.
“Well, I’ve got everything under control in here. What do you say we wander in and see how badly our babies are being spoiled? If they’re not being taught any bad habits, we’ll find ourselves a soft couch and put our feet up.” She turned, paused. “Oh, something’s got you sad.”
Emily shook her head. “My sister was a lot like you. Always cooking or gardening, taking care of the neighbors’ kids and the ones at the preschool where she worked. I hate it that she missed seeing the twins. I feel like a worn-out dishrag, and I’m certain she’d have been fresh as a daisy.”
“You’re missing her. That’s natural.” Eden slipped an arm through Emily’s as they left the kitchen. “I’ve never lost anyone close to me, so I can’t begin to imagine your heartache. If you’ll let us, though, we’ll try to ease it.”
Emily, battling her emotions, managed to whisper, “Thank you. It’s good to be here.”
Cheyenne looked up as she came into the room, his brows dipping. He moved to her side and that odd, inexplicable connection they’d always shared seemed even stronger.
He slid a hand under her hair, cupped the back of her neck, held her against his side. “Holidays are the roughest.”
She nodded, hardly surprised he knew her thoughts. “Debbie loved Thanksgiving. We were raised on bread stuffing cooked in the bird, but Jimmy craved cornbread dressing. She made both. The look on his face when he realized she’d gone to that extra trouble for him i
s still etched in my mind. I swear he fell in love with her all over again. They were lucky to have each other.”
“Yes.” He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “And we’re lucky to have their children.”
She let him hold her for a moment longer, because it simply felt too good, then at last pulled back. She didn’t want to give their friends the wrong impression about their relationship.
Everyone knew they’d married for the sake of the babies. And after the grapevine had chewed thoroughly on Dave Kimble’s quick visit, they were surely reminded that she had a job to return to before long.
As the house filled with neighbors and happy children and babies, Emily began to relax. She couldn’t help but get caught up in the festive mood.
Pastor Dan Lucas showed up, his booming laughter preceding him into the house. You always knew where the man was in the room by his laugh. It made her smile. The cigar in his pocket raised her brow.
Chance Hammond came in behind him, spotted Emily and Cheyenne and moved in their direction.
“Finally ventured out with the babies?”
Emily smiled sheepishly. “Does everyone in this town know I’m scared to death to take the kids out by myself?”
“Probably not everyone, but close.” He grinned. “How you doing?”
“Good.”
“She’s tired,” Cheyenne said as though the doctor should fix that problem immediately.
Chance grinned. “Comes with the territory.”
“Where are Kelly and the girls?” Emily asked, looking around. She’d formed a bond with Chance’s assistant, who’d graciously stopped by the ranch several times to check on her and the babies. She hadn’t known Kelly had children of her own and had been especially touched by Kelly’s youngest daughter, Kimberly, a beautiful cherub who spoke eloquently with her wide, round eyes, yet never uttered a word. Emily imagined there was heartache associated with that silence, but she hadn’t wanted to pry.
“Claimed she was coming down with a bug.”
Hmm, Emily thought. If she hadn’t been looking closely, she would have missed the subtle tightening of the skin at the corners of his mouth.