Whitney broke the standoff with Sam and looked at Elsa, really looked. Her eyes narrowed. She swept the group a look, but then drew her attention straight back to Elsa, and the expression on her face wasn’t one bit pretty. “You must be Nick’s newest little friend.”
“Flavor of the month,” Elsa agreed cheerfully, and Nick stared at her, wondering what she was doing. Saying. “Which reminds me, Angelina has chocolate truffle coffee in the kitchen. It’s to die for, and I’m not even really exaggerating. Are you a coffee drinker?”
Nick thought Whitney would explode over the nonchalant dismissal, but she accepted Elsa’s overture after a few long, drawn-out seconds of silence. “I could go for a cup, no lie.”
“Then let’s do it.”
“Girls, head upstairs and get changed.” Angelina pointed to the door. “Noah, you too. Cheyenne, can you make sure he gets play clothes on?”
“Sure.” She hesitated before going inside, staring at her mother as if Whitney might disappear again. “You’ll be here when I come down, won’t you, Mom? Or you can come upstairs with me.”
Nick wasn’t about to let Whitney have the run of the house. She knew too much about their cash flow on the ranch, and she’d had the old combination to the safe. Wisely, he’d had the lock changed when he realized she’d taken him to the cleaners a few years before. “She’ll be down here, honey. I promise.”
“Okay.”
Dakota followed, still quiet, an unusual circumstance for the gutsy child, but the look she shot her sister questioned Cheyenne’s intelligence, and when she narrowed her eyes and sent the same look toward Whitney, his ex-wife had the decency to look uncomfortable, and that spurred Nick’s memory.
She’d never been able to con Dakota the way she manipulated Cheyenne. Even as a tiny girl, Dakota had migrated more toward Nick, as if she sensed the insincerity in her mother. Was that possible in such a small child?
Nick didn’t know, but Dakota’s reaction made one thing clear: she had no vested interest in building a relationship with this stranger, and from the look on Whitney’s face, she recognized the girl’s reticence and was focusing her attention on Cheyenne. The fact that her actions could hurt Dakota didn’t seem to matter.
She’d shown up out of the blue purposely. A responsible adult who loved her children would have tiptoed back into their lives, allowing the girls some time to adjust and react. And that responsible adult would have worn something less scandalous.
Whitney hadn’t put her children first when she left. She wasn’t prioritizing their well-being now, and that meant she’d come back for one purpose only: money. He saw it in her eyes as she glanced around, sizing up the ranch, and in her gaze as she clutched the too-large purse to her side.
“Lock up the silver,” Colt muttered as he swung open the door. “And move petty cash upstairs.”
Nick sighed but couldn’t disagree. They moved inside where the smell of fresh coffee indicated Isabo hadn’t waited for the unfolding drama. She’d set out plates of cinnamon rolls and danish, a new Sunday morning tradition, and as Nick and Colt went upstairs to change into ranch clothes, the last thing Nick heard was his father’s voice. Deep. Hard. Guttural. “Sit here and tell me what you want.”
“Well, to be here, of course.” Whitney’s voice sounded as fake as her eyelashes. “With my family, Sam.”
Nick left her alone to face Sam’s inquisition for two reasons. First, she absolutely deserved to be uncomfortable, and Sam Stafford knew how to make people squirm. Second, his father’s newfound faith would be tested by Whitney’s return, and that was something Sam had to deal with on his own. He’d grabbed the reins of redemption with both hands over the long winter, wanting to make amends.
Facing the woman who’d hurt so many might push that fledgling grace beyond its limits, or it might strengthen Sam’s resolve. Either way, Nick was locking up the valuables.
“I’m chalking this up to Murphy’s Law.” Angelina waved a long-speared fork around as she seared a flat of beef on the long griddle. Cheyenne had insisted on taking her mother to the barn. Nick and Colt went with them. Dakota too, but only because Nick snugged his beautiful little girl into strong, caring arms while Noah trotted alongside Colt, mimicking the big guy’s swagger. “Anything that can go wrong will, and at the worst possible time.”
A strong family unit could survive negative onslaughts, but it wasn’t easy. A family riddled with thin cracks in its veneer might fare much worse. “Did you know her?” Elsa asked as she sliced potatoes for German-style potato salad. “Before she left?”
Angelina shook her head. “She left before I came on board. I managed the phone calls from creditors once she bled bank accounts dry and ran up a host of charge bills before Nick canceled them. She left on his dime, and it looks like she’s trying to come back the same way.”
“Does she think that’s possible?” Elsa wondered, and Angelina’s reply said more than the simple words.
“I think Nick tried to do everything he could to make her happy when they were married. The Whitneys of the world don’t see that as kindness; they see it as weakness. I expect she’s banking on a similar reaction now.”
Ange’s words made sense to Elsa.
Nick longed for happiness. She saw it in his face, in his gaze as they’d talked since meeting each other. But anger and distrust took its place when Whitney stepped out of that car. Elsa hadn’t just witnessed the varied reactions; she’d felt them. Cheyenne, so desperate and needy, longing for her parent to love her as any parent should. Dakota, bushwhacked and mistrustful, holding back and staying outside the drama zone. She’d gone immediately to Angelina’s side in full-blown safety mode. And Nick. His face and shoulders took on hard, definitive lines in his ready-for-battle stance.
Their reactions weren’t the problem. They were normal mental, emotional, and physical reactions to unpleasant stimuli.
It was Whitney’s false emotional state that sent chills of unease up Elsa’s spine. Self-absorbed, self-protective, angry, and desperate made a dangerous combination on the human psyche—a combination Elsa had witnessed firsthand a few years before.
The healer within wanted to help Nick and the girls. The woman who lost two beautiful clients to the hands of an angry, unhappy parent three years before needed to run.
I lift up my eyes to the hills—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. She shifted her gaze to the west-facing kitchen windows, recalling the sweet psalm. The bank of hills rolled to the majesty of mountains beyond. If she closed her eyes, she could see them rising in the distance.
I lift up my eyes to the hills…
Dark images swept her. If God was truly present, then how could such things happen? And if man had so much free will, then why bother with prayer? What good was it?
Raw emotion surged from somewhere deep within, from a place she’d tried so hard to bury, and yet it lingered still. If only she’d made that call—
Firm hands gripped hers.
Elsa moved, startled.
Isabo’s strong Latina features came into focus. Deep brown eyes with hints of honey bore into hers with warm sincerity. “Do not fear, for I am with you. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” She clenched Elsa’s hands, the touch and the voice reminding her of the here and now. “God sees and he knows, my precious child. And he will protect.”
“Not always,” she whispered. “Not always, Isabo.”
Isabo’s clasp remained firm, while her gaze stayed gentle and knowing. “We cannot blame God for the evils of people.” Her voice was warm and soft like a pixie fire on a cool spring night. “We are inclined to sin. But if each of us makes her corner of the world as sweet and good as she can, she blesses many, unseen.”
Angelina plunked down a fresh cup of coffee in front of her. “Drink this. You’ll need it. My prescription’s a little more hard-core than my mother’s. We watch. We soothe. And we move before she
can, just in case. And under no circumstances does she get those children alone.”
They’d read her fear and didn’t seem to think she was crazy. Funny, she’d felt crazy when she’d first come to Gray’s Glen, but not anymore. Now she felt…stronger. More capable. More like her old self.
Was that because she’d stepped forward? Or was it because of the trust Nick Stafford put in her and her growing affection for those girls? Or maybe she was finally letting the shining light of God ease her heart, soothe her soul.
She took a deep breath, kissed Isabo’s tan cheek, and lifted her coffee mug. “To peace and watchfulness.”
Angelina raised her own mug in agreement. Their shared concerns indicated her instincts were on target.
Could they help Whitney?
Her experience said they couldn’t if Whitney was a true narcissist, but that might be bitter experience talking. If Nick’s former wife had come back to reclaim her place as the girls’ mother, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Unless Whitney made it one, and Elsa had treated both sides of that scenario many times in her old practice.
She understood the lasting damage of parental abandonment. She understood the value of reconciliation, but she was glad to have Angelina and Isabo standing watch. She could use a dose of their toughness, and she wouldn’t mind a cup of their strong, shared faith to go alongside the fresh, hot coffee. She’d spent a long time unconcerned with matters of faith except from a therapeutic, self-help angle. The constant of her parents’ faith had been diminished by years of hard work and human accomplishment. She’d misplaced that youthful hope and trust. More than anything else, she longed to find that elusive peace and joy again.
“This day didn’t go according to plan, did it?” Nick locked his hands on the top fence rail and tipped his gaze down to Elsa’s while Rye Bennett’s sister and brother led the girls around the riding ring on easygoing mounts. Rye, Jenna, and Brendan had lost their mother to cancer less than a year before. Rye had left his job on the Chicago police force to become the local sheriff and take care of his teenaged siblings.
“What was your plan?”
He shrugged one shoulder, musing. “A day on the ranch, showing you around, hanging with the girls, breathing. And maybe…” He slanted his attention to her mouth and raised his left brow slightly. “When no one was looking, of course.”
“The best-laid plans…” She leaned on the rail beside him and kept her voice low. “How did the send-off go?”
He grimaced. “Not well. Cheyenne didn’t understand why Whitney can’t stay at our house. She thought I was being mean and selfish.”
“Ouch.”
“There’s only so much you can explain to an eight-year-old,” he went on. “Whitney wasn’t exactly helpful, so I took it on the chin, big time.”
“Where is she staying?”
“The Glen Hollow Inn on Center Street. Marcie said they’ve got a room she can have, and she gave us a good price.”
“You’re paying.”
He stared forward, clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, then made a face. “That makes me a pushover, right?”
“For being nice?” Elsa turned her back on the young riders in the paddock and faced him. “Why does kindness make you a pushover?”
“She’s got a long list of priors,” he reminded her. “But I couldn’t leave it that she’d be out on the street, and that might be what brought her back. I’m pretty sure she’s broke, desperate, and—
“An alcoholic.”
The lines between his eyes angled deeper. “You smelled it too?”
She turned back toward the horses and clasped the rail. “Anxiety, unnatural thinness, shaking hands…” She nodded. “And the smell, which means possible dangerous situations for the girls.”
“I’m being nice to buy time,” he confessed in a tone that matched hers. “I don’t know what my legal options are, but things were a whole lot easier eight hours ago. When I was planning my perfect day.” He bumped shoulders with her and then sighed. “I hate drama. I was raised in the midst of it, and the only thing I wanted as a grownup was a nice, normal life. A home, a family, kids, and a dog.”
“Do you have a dog?”
He made a face that said yes and no. “Working dogs. The Aussies. But not over at the house. Whitney didn’t like animals. Their smell, their needs, their hair. And I’m sorry you didn’t have time to bring Achilles over.”
“I figured there was enough going on.”
“And yet you came.” He faced forward, but there was a question in the statement.
“I thought of going home. Leaving you guys to it. But then I saw the desperation on Cheyenne’s face and the distrust in Dakota, and I realized they were about to be thrust into the middle of a situation in which they bore no responsibility but would bear the full brunt as it played out. And so I came.”
“For them.”
She slanted a wry look his way. “How often does one get to see an entire theoretical schematic played out before her eyes?” He grimaced and she nudged him with her elbow. “I wanted to offer support and gain insight. Mission accomplished. And you were just explaining how you wanted a house dog but never got one,” she noted.
“Marriage is a compromise, isn’t it?” He gazed off, maybe watching the girls. Maybe not. “Once Whitney was gone, there wasn’t time to throw a puppy into the mix.”
He was right—and wrong. “Dogs are good company,” she told him. “They’re always happy to see you. They bring you presents from the woods. Some of those gifts are still breathing, by the way.”
He grinned understanding.
“I don’t know what I would have done without Achilles,” she went on. “He’s my sidekick. I’d have to say on a therapy-rating scale, a good dog nets a ten. Totally.”
“They roll in decaying matter.” His tone underscored his dog knowledge.
“There is that,” she conceded, smiling. “But Old Yeller is my most favorite movie of all time for good reason. It’s heartfelt family drama.”
“And powerfully depressing.”
“Sacrificial love, rights of passage, growing up, protecting the family,” she corrected him. “But yes, a total tearjerker. I loved helping my mom with the dogs and the puppies, all of which I didn’t appreciate properly as a child. When you build your ranch house, those girls should have a dog of their own. A big ol’ sit-on-the-porch kind of dog, gentle and goofy. Speaking of which, I should get home and take care of my shaggy hound. And the crazy bird.”
“One s’more at the bonfire.” He laid one hand over hers, one big, strong, weathered, rugged hand and didn’t just touch her hand…he touched her heart. “Everything else got messed up, but if I can roast you one perfect marshmallow, I’ll end the day happy. How do you like them?”
“I can’t.”
He paused.
She gave his hand a light squeeze and stepped back. “I’m glad I came over. I’m sorry about the upheaval. I’m happy to keep helping Cheyenne catch up on her schoolwork, but today’s bend in the road came with possible serious repercussions for those two. And right now, I want to be a nonjudgmental friend if they need to talk. Everyone else on this ranch has a history with their mother.”
“Except you.”
“And that gives me an advantage because my vision isn’t clouded by past hurts.”
“You make perfect sense.”
He didn’t sound all that happy about it, or content either. She waited.
He huffed a breath, thrust his hands into his pockets, and called the girls over. “Ladies, say good-bye to Elsa.”
Dakota had just dismounted with Jenna’s help. She dashed their way, slipped between the fence rails, and hugged Elsa tight. “But we’re having a bonfire! Do you have to go? Really?”
“I do. But I’ll be back once the term is over, and we can do schoolwork each day. All right?”
“Yes!”
Cheyenne looked less enthralled by the idea of Elsa and schoolwork on her daily cal
endar. Elsa ignored the expression as she faced her. “And I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, okay?”
“Do I have to come?” Cheyenne looked surprised, as if Whitney’s arrival had solved all her problems. Elsa was pretty sure that wasn’t going to be the case. “I mean, I like coming to see you…”
Her voice trailed off as Nick nodded. “We’re still on. Let’s not mess up the progress we’ve been making, okay?” He sent her a direct look, and Cheyenne stopped arguing.
“Can I come see you too?”
Dakota’s soft voice said more than Cheyenne’s. Today’s events had unnerved the younger girl. Elsa was pretty sure Dakota didn’t remember much about her mother, and the caricature that arrived today was more Cruella de Vil than Mary Poppins. Dakota was an intuitive kid. Quick, questioning, and not easily swayed. The suspicion in her voice and expression said she didn’t want anything to do with Whitney, no matter who she was. “You can both come tomorrow.”
“More shed-cleaning therapy?” Cheyenne’s tone held an almost cocky note of belligerence, a step backward.
“Cheyenne.” Nick frowned at her. “Don’t be rude. I’m sure shed cleaning ranks right up there with inkblot pictures.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” He turned and walked with Elsa toward her car. “You don’t mind them both coming?”
“Under the circumstances, I’d say it’s a good move on Dakota’s part. You know that old analogy about how a small ripple in the water causes a chain reaction felt round the world?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, this is more like a tsunami, and the reactions will vary from person to person. Including you,” she reminded him. “I’m glad Dakota wants to come. Better than hiding everything inside, hoping it goes away someday.”
“Like me and Cheyenne.”
“We’re all different, Nick. And no one’s perfect.”
He frowned and scuffed the gravel lightly. “I wanted it perfect, you know?”
Home on the Range Page 12