Shay set a plate of chocolate-chip cookies on the kitchen table and took her seat across from Layne. “Homemade, from Mrs. Browley.” Mrs. Browley was one of Grandma’s best friends and a regular at both SugarPie’s and the Big Dipper.
“Oh, yum.” Layne reached for a cookie. “I love these. And they’re Jason’s favorites.”
“You’ll have to take some home to him. We’ve got more food and desserts here than we can eat, thanks to our volunteers.” Not one of them had dropped off a tray of baked ziti, though. The thought of Tyler’s specialty made her mouth water. The thought of Tyler’s mouth on hers made her press her lips together to keep them from trembling. She forced her gaze to Layne. “I’m glad you found some time to stop by.”
“Going a little stir-crazy?”
And now Shay forced a laugh and reached for a cookie. “You don’t know the half of it. Not that I mind being home alone with the babies,” she added quickly.
“Of course not. But are you still alone?”
“Well, I shouldn’t have put it that way. For the past few days, all our volunteers have shown up on schedule. This afternoon’s helper left just a little while ago. With Grandma off to her knitting circle, I really am happy for your visit.”
She loved her friends and felt grateful for their volunteer time, too, but their attentions to her babies weren’t the same as Tyler’s. He had been out of their lives for three days now, and she knew the triplets missed him...because she missed him, too.
With a sigh, she pushed around the cookie she had dropped onto her plate.
“Have you heard from him?” Layne asked quietly.
She shook her head.
“You don’t think getting in touch is worth a try?”
“You didn’t hear him, Layne. He doesn’t want to be around, even now that we have the babies.” She winced, realizing what she had just unwittingly said. Layne’s sad half smile said she had picked up on it, too.
She had to face the truth. Tyler hadn’t wanted to stay around even before she had gotten pregnant.
“I don’t have a way to get in touch with him, anyhow. We texted a few times when he was here for the wedding last summer, and then I... When I didn’t hear from him, I deleted his texts and his number from my phone.”
She had been upset then. She’d been more upset—and hurt—three days ago at the Hitching Post, the last time she had seen him.
“You could talk to Cole,” Layne said. “For that matter, I could talk to Cole.”
“No, thanks. Your brother is friends with Tyler. I don’t want you—or me—to use him as a go-between.”
“All he would be doing is passing along Tyler’s phone number.”
“No,” she snapped. “If Tyler wants to talk to me, let him get in touch.” With another sigh, she sank back in her chair. “I’m sorry, Layne, I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”
“Don’t apologize. I’ve been there, too, and not so long ago. And you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
She nodded. “Yes, I do know.” Layne definitely had suffered the symptoms of a broken heart, too.
“Then do you really need me to spell out your problem for you?”
“No. But you don’t know the worst of it. I’m almost too embarrassed to tell you. We were so awful with each other that day.” Poking at her cookie, she thought of the verbal jabs she and Tyler had thrown. She pushed the plate aside and stared at Layne. “I was so upset with myself for falling for a cowboy and so angry with him for leaving me last summer. For not wanting to stay now. But he was angry on behalf of the babies. He argued with me about them. He fought for them. Why would he have done that, why would he have tried so hard, if he didn’t already care about them?”
“I think he does. But he’s a mixed-up male who doesn’t recognize his own feelings and probably wouldn’t talk about them even if he did.”
“He tried, I think. He started to talk to me, but I cut him off.”
“Did he do the same to you?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re even. Seriously. Don’t try taking all the blame for what happened. You were both in the argument together.”
That made sense, and yet it didn’t fit—because Layne hadn’t been there and didn’t know the whole truth.
Tyler did care about the babies. He didn’t love her, but he loved his children. And she had been so unyielding, had pushed him so hard, he would never come back.
* * *
TYLER CROSSED THE barn to dump the bucket of water he’d been using to clean his tack.
Not knowing where else he wanted to go when he had left Cowboy Creek, he had returned to the ranch where he’d been working when he left Texas. With extra hands always needed for the spring roundup, the manager jumped on the chance to take him on again. He had hoped the return would let him settle for a while.
For more than a week, he had stayed almost too busy to think. Almost. He had acquired a steady job, a stall for Freedom, a place to rest his head at night. And still he had the sense of being more aimless than ever.
As he rinsed the sponge and set it on the shelf beside the utility sink, he thought about scrubbing pots in Shay and Mo’s kitchen.
He had told Mo he would be happy when he had put his long drive home behind him. He hadn’t lied, just hadn’t realized the strategy wouldn’t work.
Such a short time ago, it seemed wanderlust had sent him on the run, on the road to New Mexico. Maybe it wasn’t wanderlust, after all. Maybe he had been running from something when he’d left Texas. But the visit to Cowboy Creek hadn’t given him answers. In fact, it had only raised too many questions about worries he hadn’t known existed for him until he had arrived.
And still, back in Texas again, he continued to feel unsettled.
“Hey, Buckham,” one of the cowboys called across the barn. “We’re heading to Roy’s tonight for some wine, women and song.”
“Forget the song,” another of the hands called. “I’m just in it for the wine and women.”
Somebody else snickered.
“Wanna join us?” the first man asked.
“I’ll pass on this one.” More proof things weren’t right with him. Normally he’d have been the first one out the door headed to Roy’s.
“Man, I don’t know what happened on your trip to New Mexico. If I ever head that way, remind me not to drink the water.”
More snickers.
That first afternoon in Cowboy Creek, he had stood in the ballroom at the Hitching Post with a glass of iced tea in his hand. He had looked at Shay and Tina, both pregnant, and jokingly asked himself if there was something in the water around there. If only he’d known then what he knew now.
Heck, if he’d known then what he’d known just a day or two later...
Most likely, even if he had heard sooner about Shay and the babies, nothing would have changed. He would have done the same things. He would have tried to do the right thing...and had it come out all wrong.
“I heard the boys talking about you the other night,” one of the newer hands said to him. “They’re all glad you’re back, since you’re the pasta expert on this spread.”
Tyler forced a laugh. “Not an expert. I’ve only got one specialty. Baked ziti.” Mo had loved it. Despite Shay’s grudging nod, he was sure she had liked it, too. The woman wouldn’t give an inch sometimes, even when it was in her own best interest.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” the cowhand said. “That ziti. If you’re hanging around the bunkhouse tonight, maybe you ought to whip up a tray or two. Isn’t it your turn to cook supper tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Sounds good. I’ll run into town after I shower.”
* * *
THE IDEA SOUNDED even better on his walk to the bunkhouse. Cooking would keep him busy. He had nothing else to do.
He thought of
what had happened that afternoon he’d made the ziti at Shay’s. She had come downstairs to the kitchen, where tea and toast had led to a kiss.
Frowning, he pushed the memory away.
At his bunk, he stripped off his shirt and went to his locker to gather what he needed for a shower. His gaze fell on the envelope on the top shelf. His hands stilled.
For a long moment, he looked at the envelope and fought the urge to take it down. A losing battle, as he had known it would be. He hadn’t won the conflict once yet. Why should this time be different?
He sank onto the edge of his bunk and balanced the envelope on his knee. Two choices. Put it back and pretend it didn’t exist. Or open it and wallow in self-pity.
He opened the flap. With two fingers, he pulled out the folded newspaper. He spread the paper wide and laid it across both knees.
“Hey, is that you?”
Tyler jumped. He hadn’t heard the younger cowhand come into the bunkhouse. The man stood only a foot away. Dang. It was too late for him to hide the paper that had riveted his attention. “Yeah. That’s me.”
“Who all is that with you?”
He looked down again. “Family,” he said.
From the front page of Cowboy Creek’s local newspaper, Shay looked up at him. She sat in her wheelchair outside the hospital, cuddling Timothy and Jamie to her, the blue-and green-wrapped bundles looking so small in her arms. He stood behind the trio, holding Bree against him. The baby of all his babies looked—and was—even smaller than her brothers.
“Is that your sister?” the cowhand asked. “No wonder you had to take some time off, if she needed help. Families have to stick together, right?”
“Right.” He didn’t bother to correct the man’s assumption. He didn’t flinch as he agreed to something he hadn’t done.
“Looks like she’s got her hands full. And so do you.”
“Yeah, we do.”
The cowhand grabbed something from his locker and left the room.
Just as he’d done every night in this bunkhouse since his return, Tyler stared down at Shay’s image. The photographer had caught her with her eyes crinkling at the corners and her smile wide as she laughed. She looked beautiful, happy, content. She looked like she was meant to be a mom.
He slid the newspaper back into the envelope and returned the envelope to his locker. He would rather have the photo out where he could see it, but it wasn’t like he could frame it to hang on the wall or display on the shelf at the end of his bunk.
He’d gotten off easy with the new cowhand’s faulty assumption. Some of the boys he’d worked with for a while here wouldn’t have let the conversation go at that.
And what could he tell them? It was a picture of the woman and the kids he’d left behind?
Already, he missed the sight of the photo. He missed the babies. He missed their mom.
That restless feeling hit again.
He was back home, earning a living, still trying to do the right thing, but going at it all wrong. He had too many questions. And he wouldn’t find his answers here.
* * *
AFTER MAKING SURE the baby monitor was working, Shay turned off the overhead light. She clicked the switch on the small lamp on the dresser. In the dimmed light, she stood and watched her babies sleeping.
Tyler had been gone just over a week. In that time, the triplets had grown and changed so much—in her eyes, at least. She noted each new fraction of an inch of fingernail, every additional ounce the babies drank at feeding time, all the extra minutes they now slept between feedings at night.
While she was grateful to have them sleeping more soundly, the minutes added up to more time alone for her. She spent too much of that time in her bedroom thinking of Tyler.
Sighing, she went downstairs.
Grandma sat in her rocker in the living room, working her knitting needles in her hands. “Are they all asleep now?”
“Yes.” Shay took a seat on the couch and poured herself a cup of tea from the carafe on the table. The Moms on her mug made her smile. The memory of Tyler coming into her hospital room with the mug and the stuffed animals was bittersweet.
“Good to see you looking happy, lass. What’s on your mind?”
“I was just thinking about the days when the babies won’t be babies anymore. When they’ll be toddlers running around the house and calling out ‘Mommy’ and ‘Grandma.’”
“Let’s not rush things, shall we? We have so many precious stages to experience before that happens.”
“Oh, I’m not rushing anything.” The slower time passed, the less Tyler would miss.
What would Grandma have said if she had shared the rest of her thoughts over this past week? She had envisioned the babies crawling, toddling, walking, going off to nursery school, to kindergarten and then to Cowboy Creek Elementary. Whether she rushed her thoughts or not, the triplets would grow so quickly. Soon, they would realize they were growing up without a daddy.
“You’ve stopped smiling,” Grandma said. “You’re not still with the babies. Now what’s in your thoughts?”
She cradled the mug in her hands. “Nothing much.”
“I taught you better than to give me a flip answer, Shay,” Grandma said mildly. Shay flushed. “Should I have said who’s in your thoughts?”
She shot a glance across the space, but Grandma’s gaze focused on her knitting. There it was. The dead giveaway, the studied innocence that told her the question was anything but harmless. “And I know you better than that, Grandma. You could knit in your sleep.”
Grandma laughed. “I think I have, at times.” She set her project on the coffee table. “All right, let’s stop talking circles around one another and go right to the point. You haven’t been yourself this past week.”
Shay opened her mouth, but Grandma held up a hand.
“Now, don’t be citing chapter and verse to me about being a new mother, adjusting to new responsibilities, and losing out on sleep. Those are all true and valid points, but we both know they’re not what’s causing your distress. It’s Tyler, isn’t it?”
She wanted to deny it but couldn’t. Silently, she nodded.
“I imagine you wanted Tyler to spend more time here.”
She tried to bite her tongue to keep from responding but couldn’t manage that, either. “No. I want him to be here. To stay here. For the babies’ sakes.”
“I’m sure you do. But you can’t convince a person who doesn’t want to change his mind.”
“I know.” Shay repeated what she had said to Layne. “He doesn’t want to be around.”
“Then you have to let him go.”
“I did. I told him to leave, and he went.”
“You’re doing the right thing, love,” Grandma said gently, “putting your babies first. But putting your feelings into words with Tyler is not what I meant. You have to let him go from your heart.”
Chapter Eighteen
Last night, Tyler had cooked the requested trays of baked ziti. Tonight, he had left the cowhands at the ranch to enjoy it without him while he made the trek into Houston. He was forced to park his truck several blocks away from the towering building he planned to enter.
The streets were congested with cars and people. The air felt thick and heavy, weighing him down, and even the late-afternoon sunlight didn’t seem as bright as it did out on the ranch.
The building’s lobby doors automatically swished closed behind him, cutting him off from civilization. As the elevator slammed shut, it seemed to swallow him up. Nothing had changed. He had hated everything about this place when he lived here and didn’t like it any better now.
Once off the elevator, he strode down the hall to a shiny-clean white door with a gleaming brass bell plate. He rang the bell and waited. Part of him hoped no one was home.
He didn’t belong here. He neve
r had. The road had taken him to a life spent doing what he did best. Rodeo, wrangling, and everything else a cowboy did. Everything Shay didn’t like.
After a few minutes, the door swung open.
The look of surprise on his mother’s face didn’t fool him. She would have checked the security peephole in the door. And she must have recognized him. After all, he’d just been there a few months ago for Christmas.
“Mom.”
“Tyler.” She wore one of the long, floaty dresses she always changed into for supper—dinner—every evening. Her hair looked perfect, her makeup immaculate. She tilted her head to accept the kiss he left somewhere in the air near her cheek. Stepping back, she swung the door wide. “Do come in. Your father’s not here. He should be home shortly. Can I get you something to drink?”
He blinked. An excited smile or a spontaneous hug would have been too much to expect. Still, he had thought his appearance would warrant more than the standard cocktail-party greeting. “No, I’m good.” He didn’t care for cocktails, anyway. And they wouldn’t have beer in the house.
“You’ll excuse me if I make myself one.”
It wasn’t a question, but he nodded. She headed in the direction of the kitchen. He looked around him, taking in the room he had been happy to escape years ago. Glass and chrome, lacquer and acrylic. The furnishings and decorations were the same throughout the condo, even in his bedroom.
As a kid, he couldn’t breathe with so much fake glare and glitter around him. One weekend, he had pasted nature and rodeo posters all over his bedroom, including the mirrored doors of the wall-to-wall closet. When his mother discovered it and told his father what he had done, he’d been grounded for a month. He had spent every evening after supper alone in his room with a bucket of water and a paint scraper. The fee the condo management charged to refurbish the room had come from his allowance. His father had wanted him to learn a lesson.
He had learned one—that a condo in Houston wasn’t where he wanted to be. As soon as he had finished high school, he had moved out, found a job wrangling and spent weekends and whatever free time he could get following the rodeo.
His mother returned from the kitchen, her slippers tapping on the tile floor. She carried a tray with a bucket filled with ice and a bottle. Alongside the bucket sat two crystal tumblers. Ice tinkled as she set the tray down on the glass-topped coffee table. They took seats on opposite sides of the table, and she poured herself a drink.
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