Wanted--The Perfect Mom

by T. R. McClure

  The apple of her daddy’s eye.

  * * *

  HOLLY BROUGHT TWISTER home Saturday afternoon. The rain started just as Holly unloaded him. She hooked him to the cross ties in the barn to undo his tail, braided for the fair. His reddish-brown hair was slick with water.

  Hearing the door slide open, Holly turned, expecting Rosalyn.

  Instead, Riley stood in the doorway. “Do you want some help?” She wore a bright green rain slicker.

  “Hi, Riley. Is your grandmother with you?”

  Taking a tiny step into the barn, the girl shook her head. “Rosalyn’s mom picked me up because Grandma wanted to go grocery shopping.”

  Holly picked through the tool caddy for the water scraper. “And where is your buddy? I thought you two girls were joined at the hip.”

  Riley finally smiled. “She fell asleep on the couch when we were watching a movie.”

  “I see.” The faint smile disappeared, and Holly knew one sure way to bring it back. “I was hoping someone would show up. I mean, look at the size of this guy. I could be here all day drying him off.”

  Riley’s face lit with excitement. “I can help you.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, if you want to go back inside I guess I can dry him myself even though it will probably take all day.” Holly let loose a sigh.

  Riley skipped closer and laid a hand on Twister’s nose. “What should we do first?”

  “We better dry him off some.” Holly picked up a scraper and sluiced some water from the horse’s broad back.

  “Can I do that?” Unsnapping her raincoat, she hung the coat on a hook, then stood next to Holly.

  Holly looked around the barn, wondering about the best way for Riley to reach the horse’s back. She finally picked her up and settled her on her hip. “When your horse is wet, use a scraper to get the majority of the water off, then you can use a towel.” She demonstrated once before Riley reached for the scraper and placed one hand on the horse’s withers as she scraped with the other.

  The little girl’s face was a mask of concentration, her lips pressed tightly together. Her weight was negligible and it struck Holly what Anne must have looked like, small and fine boned. She took the scraper from Riley’s hand and handed her a towel. “Try this now.”

  When the horse was as dry as they could get him with the one towel, Holly showed Riley how to pick up the horse’s foot and clean out debris, but didn’t allow her to try. She handed the girl a comb and set her at the rump, working on Twister’s tail while she combed the mane. The rain drummed on the metal roof of the building and the scent of hay hung heavy over the barn. Whoever would have thought she’d end up babysitting Mac’s daughter? At least here, on her family’s farm, Riley was safe.

  Holly stood back and surveyed her horse, dozing as they worked on him, one foot propped on the hoof edge as he relaxed. “He looks good, Riley.”

  Riley stepped back, still holding on to the horse’s black tail, the hairs feathering out from her hands. “I should brush Frosty, too.” Her brow furrowed. “Even though Daddy said I can’t ride him, I should take care of him. Right?”

  Holly debated answering. She wasn’t sure how Mac would handle Riley working with her horse. She also didn’t know how the gelding handled since she hadn’t actually ridden him yet. Although now she knew Mac didn’t mind. “I’ll tell you what, Riley. Let me work with Frosty first. Okay?”

  At Riley’s agreement they grabbed a blue halter and headed out to the pasture. They approached the gelding easily and Holly led the horse into the barn. Tying him to the stall bars with a quick-release knot, she nodded at Riley. “You sit on those hay bales while I get to know your horse.”

  Riley climbed on the stack of bales and sat cross-legged at the top. “Frosty’s five years old, same as me.”

  Holly ran both hands across the withers of the cream-colored gelding and along his back. “He is? Do you know when his birthday is?”

  Riley was silent for a moment. “How do we know when his birthday is?”

  Holly ran a hand down the horse’s leg. “From his papers. Your dad must have his papers.”

  “You mean like newspapers?”

  Holly laughed. “No, papers are the horse’s birth certificate. They tell you who the mother and father were.”

  “You mean like my birth certificate has my mommy’s name and my daddy’s name?”

  “Yes, just like that.”

  After running her hands over the gelding’s legs and getting no reaction, Holly rubbed both ears. Frosty dipped his nose and stared at her. Holly studied the beautiful animal, taking in the blue eyes, pink skin and coffee-colored markings on the mane and tail. “Did your family own Frosty’s mother?”

  “Yes. Frosty’s mommy is black. She lives with Grandma and Grandpap Drake.”

  So this was no accidental mating. Anne had known exactly what she was doing when she bred his parents. Holly felt newfound respect for the woman she would never meet.

  She wiped the excess rain from the animal and then toweled him dry. Working first on the mane, she smoothed the tangles and brushed out the thick, dark-tipped hair. He stood as Twister had earlier, one hind foot tipped on its edge, eyes half-closed, as if he was at a spa. This animal was perfect for a young girl. Holly shook her head as she curried and brushed. The hard part would be convincing Riley’s father. But now the fair was over, she looked forward to having the time to work with Riley’s horse. She could hardly wait. After all, Sunday afternoons were open.

  She stood back. “What do you think, Riley?”

  Riley eased down from the hay bales and approached Frosty’s nose, running one small hand down the length. “He looks beautiful.” She sighed.

  Holly pulled on the end of the lead rope and it slipped free of the bars. Sliding off the halter, she patted the gelding on the rump. “Go back to your friends, fella.”

  Riley followed the horse to the end of the barn and stood looking out at the pasture. Turning, she tilted her head. “It stopped raining, Holly. Can we go for a walk?”

  Holly closed the big doors. “Sure. But you better put on your raincoat in case it starts again.” They left through the front of the barn and walked down the lane.

  Although the rain had stopped, the air was humid. Dark clouds hung over the ridge tops. They walked down the lane in silence.

  Riley hung her head as she kicked at stones with her boots.

  “You’re awfully quiet.”

  Riley stopped in the middle of the lane and stared up at Holly. The little girl’s face was as serious as a little girl could get and this time, Holly wondered if she was seeing Anne in Riley’s expressive, light blue eyes. “Frosty’s a good horse, isn’t he?”

  Crouching so she was on the same level as Riley, Holly nodded. “Without training him, I can’t be sure, but from what I’ve seen today, he seems to be a good horse.”

  “Mommy wanted me to ride him, right?”

  Avoiding the intense look in Riley’s eyes, Holly looked down the lane, which was rarely used since Thomas had installed a macadam drive on the other side of the house. The ruts contained traces of gravel, but the center was one long strip of grass and weeds. Unchanged since she was a girl, the little stream still ran alongside only to drain into Old Woman’s Run and later into Little Bear Creek. Holly dropped a knee to the wet grass and rested her hands on Riley’s shoulders. “That was her plan, Riley, but sometimes things change and it’s nobody’s fault.”

  Riley hung her head and scuffed her toe in the wet grass. “I guess.”

  Holly stood and took the girl’s hand in hers. “I have something to show you.”

  Rarely mowed, weeds grew high along the lane. The stretch of jewelweed—growing in the damp soil since Holly was a girl—was still in the same spot. Tubular stalks with bladelike leaves and slipper-shape
d speckled orange flowers leaned into the lane and over the trickling stream.

  Holding the girl’s small hand in hers, Holly led Riley to the edge of the road and knelt. Pulling Riley close, she cupped the delicate orange flower in her palm. “This is called jewelweed. My grandmother used to call it touch-me-not.”

  Riley touched the blossom with a tiny, tentative stroke and gave a faint smile. “It’s pretty.” She bent to see the flower from the bottom. “It has spots all over.”

  Holly looked through the mass of green until she found what she was looking for. Reaching into the weeds, she pulled the stem toward her until a translucent green pod hung in front of them. “This is where the seeds are stored. When it pops, the seeds spring out over the ground and then next year, the plant grows again.”

  Riley nodded and frowned as if unsure where she was going with her lesson.

  “My grandma showed me this, and now I’m showing you. It’s our secret.” Holly searched through the greenery for a plump seedpod. The touch-me-not flower always reminded her of her connection to her grandmother, gone almost fifteen years. If Mac married and Holly no longer saw Riley, they would still have this connection, maybe not through blood, like she and her grandmother, but through memories. Touch-me-not memories.

  Holly took the little girl’s hand. “Take your thumb and your forefinger—” she folded Riley’s other three fingers against her palm and, Riley’s hand in hers, reached out “—and give the seedpod a little pinch—”

  Riley laughed as the outer layers of the plant curled up and the seeds bounced off her palm. “That tickles, Holly.”

  Holly laughed. “I know.”

  Riley, still on her knees, straightened and leaned into the greenery, searching for another pod. “How’s this one, Holly?”

  “Find a fat one, where you can almost see the seeds inside. There’s a good one.”

  At Riley’s pinch, another burst of seeds went flying. Holly wrapped her arms around the little girl, and Riley’s laughter echoed in the warm summer rain.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  IF HEARTS COULD BREAK, Mac’s would have been in tiny pieces at his feet where he stood watching his daughter laughing with Holly.

  He had planned on fishing at the lake with friends but the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to be with his family. Thinking he would surprise them and take them out to lunch after church, he arrived home to find both Riley and his mother gone. Standing in the quiet kitchen, he came to the realization something was wrong. Any father who didn’t know where his five-year-old was had a problem. Three phone calls later, he tracked his daughter to the Hoffman farm. Finding the horse barn empty, he headed down the abandoned lane.

  He’d been about to call out when he saw Holly kneeling beside Riley, lifting her chin with one finger. Whatever they had been discussing, he hadn’t wanted to interrupt.

  Mac tried not to think about his feelings for Holly. He tried not to think about what, besides the coffee, drew him to The Wildflower every morning. He had convinced himself two old friends could spend time together.

  But when he saw Holly holding his daughter, Anne’s daughter, in her arms, he realized he couldn’t kid himself anymore. Holly was talking to Riley as any mother would, and Riley was holding her as any little girl would, seeking comfort from a mother. But Holly was nothing like Anne.

  By the time he reached them, Riley was laughing at the exploding seedpods. “This looks familiar.”

  Holly’s eyes glistened. “You remember?”

  Mac knelt, keeping Riley between them. “Sure, I remember.” He reached out and lifted a particularly fat pod from the greenery. “Look at this one, Riley.”

  Riley leaned over and carefully eased her fingers around the pod. She squealed with delight at the explosion.

  Mac smiled, remembering Riley as a toddler, screeching in delight at the antics of her grandparents’ two golden retrievers. Watching the two of them, Holly and Riley, search through the greenery for fat seedpods, he realized he hadn’t heard his daughter’s uninhibited laughter in a long time.

  Until now. Until Holly.

  * * *

  HOLLY COULDN’T BRING herself to look at Mac when he showed up, two days later, early on a rainy Monday. She busied herself behind the counter, filling the plates in the pastry case and topping off the espresso beans. The third time she exited the kitchen, a stack of plates in her hands, Mac stood next to the cash register, one hand on each counter, blocking her way.

  “Are you talking or what?”

  Holly pushed his arm with her shoulder but she might as well be pushing an oak tree. Mac wasn’t moving.

  She set the plates on the counter next to the coffeepots. “I’m just distracted. The fair is over so I figured I might be busy today.” She picked up the stack of plates and waited for Mac to move.

  “I’m not buyin’ what you’re sellin’.” Mac pressed his lips together and maintained his immovable stance. “Why aren’t you talking to me today?”

  Holly set the plates down again and sat on the stool that had become Mac’s usual spot. Staring at his tanned face and bright blue eyes only took her back to the Mac she knew at seventeen and now, the Mac she knew at thirty. Both of them were dangerous. So here she was. “The touch-me-nots made me think about...”

  The awareness in Mac’s eyes told her he knew exactly what she was talking about. His voice was soft. “That was a long time ago, Holly. We were kids.”

  “When you saw Riley and me on the lane, you looked upset.”

  Mac turned away then, dropping his hands from the counters. “Yeah, I was a bit surprised to see the two of you like that, so close, I mean. I guess I hadn’t realized—”

  “—that we’ve become attached?” The churning in her stomach that only Mac could create was starting. He didn’t want her around his daughter.

  “You two didn’t hit it off at first.” He turned to face her. “She shouldn’t be getting attached to you, she should be—”

  Holly held up a hand. Mac had been about to say Riley should get attached to a new mother, not a family friend who happened to share a love of horses. “How’s your dating going, Mac? Have you found anyone who meets your standards?” Why is he so set on having someone home when the kid gets out of school? Of having someone who knows how to braid hair? I braid Twister’s tail. Doesn’t that count?

  Mac grabbed his cup and headed for the door. “I need some time to think, Holly. I’ll see you around.” He slammed the door so hard the bell fell to the floor.

  You and me both, buddy.

  Holly didn’t bother to grab the bell, and it was still there when Louise came at eight.

  “What’s the bell doing in the middle of the floor?” Dragging a stool over to the door, Louise replaced the bell on its hanger, then brushed her hands together as if satisfied with a job well done.

  Holly chuckled. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she focused on Louise, whose short blond curls looked suddenly familiar in the bright light of the café. “Were you at the fair on Thursday?”

  Louise shrugged and took her purse into the kitchen. Catching the backswing of the door, she flew past Holly. “Maybe. Who wants to know?”

  Before Holly could quiz her a short, muscular, dark-haired man backed into the shop with a large tray in his hands. “Which one of you is Holly?”

  Holly jumped off the stool. “I am. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Matt McClain. My wife, Dottie, is helping Sue with the baking. She said you’d probably need some raisin-filled cookies first thing this morning.”

  “I do,” Holly said. She lifted the edge of the towel covering the tray and the sweet aroma of just-out-of-the-oven cookies filled the room. “Matt, they smell fantastic. Just set them on the counter. Should I pay you?”

  Matt set the tray on the coun
ter and wiped his hands on his jeans. “No, ma’am, just pay Sue, as usual. We appreciate the work, especially since the factory shut down.” He waved a hand in the air. “Nothing much a forty-year-old electronics technician is good for except electronics and delivering cookies.” With a wry grin he turned to go.

  “Matt, I think your son comes in here, with the Johnson boy?”

  “He does? Yeah, those two have been friends since grade school. Once kids get their driver’s licenses it’s hard to keep track of them, you know.” With his hand on the doorknob, he turned back. “He’s not causing you any trouble, is he?”

  “Not at all. Is he in sports at the high school?”

  “He’s a wrestler and a senior this year. We’re hoping for a scholarship.” He held up crossed fingers.

  “I thought so. Well, good luck, and thank your wife for the cookies. Nice meeting you.” The bell over the door rang once and he was gone.

  Holly turned. “As I was saying, Weaz—”

  The door jerked opened and the bell clattered to the floor, rolling to a stop at her feet.

  Once again, the sun was blocked as a huge shape filled the doorway. “Goodness, I’m sorry, ma’am. Did I do that?” Moose Williams stared down at the bell resting at Holly’s feet.

  “You wouldn’t be the first man to knock this bell off its perch.” She held out the ringer. “No harm done, though. Could you hang it back up?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He hooked the bell easily over the hanger, took off his hat and, holding it in front of him, glanced at Louise. “Good morning, ma’am.” Two bright red spots appeared on his chubby cheeks. “I thought I’d come in for a coffee this morning.”

  Holly stood in the middle of the room, her eyes darting from the officer to her friend, who kept looking over her shoulder at the man as she filled a disposable cup. Suddenly a light went on in her head. Louise and Moose were at the fair together. Talk about keeping secrets from your friend...