And he glanced back.
Each time he did, she blushed, which was ridiculous for a thirty-two-year-old woman. By the time the line trickled to a stop, the first arrivals were done eating. Most of them grabbed coffee from the front table or a soda from the cooler just outside the door beneath the wide overhang.
Nick came around her way. “You’re still okay seeing the girls tonight?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Good.” He hesitated, then waved toward the street. “I need to fill you in on something before you see them, but I need to do it quietly.”
Elsa was pretty sure nothing private should be said in the broad, busy garage. “I’ve got to go to Hammerstein’s. Why don’t I walk you back to the church and we can talk?”
“Perfect.”
“Folks’ll talk.”
“Better yet.”
She smiled, ducked out from behind the table, and waved to Wandy and Ben.
“You come back whenever you can, Elsa, and thank you for today! You got us out of a jam.”
She was pretty sure the crew could have handled things just fine, but she loved being included. Did that make her needy or normal?
Maybe it just makes you part of the town. Part of something bigger than yourself. That’s pretty good right there, isn’t it?
It was, she decided. They walked a block east to the small park, and she took a seat on the bench. Nick did likewise, and he didn’t waste any time explaining. “My father’s worse.”
The tenor of his voice spelled danger.
“He needs a liver transplant or he’s not going to make it. They did some kind of scoring thing, and it put him fairly high on the list, and the higher you are on the list, the worse your chances are.”
“Nick, I’m so sorry.” She took his hand in both of hers. “What can I do to help?”
When he hesitated, she gave his hand a light squeeze.
“Don’t shrug me off, because I mean it sincerely. Tell me the game plan and then plug me in as needed. I can do basic ranch stuff, I can handle kids and houses, and I heard there were puppies due any day.”
“That’s just it.” He frowned and did the little clicking thing with his tongue. “There is no game plan and it’s driving me crazy. All I see is everything that needs to be done, and we’re already down on help. I’ve got summer hands, but that’s not the same as someone who knows the Double S inside and out like my father, Murt and Hobbs, or me and my brothers. School’s coming to an end, and Ange and Isabo are great with the girls and the house, but with Cheyenne’s problems and Whitney’s return, I’d be stupid not to be worried about being gone morning till night with Whitney around.”
“You don’t trust her.”
“Not at all,” he admitted. “And the shame of it is”—he turned to face her more directly —“she wasn’t a terrible person, Elsa. Yes, she was pretty stuck on herself. I see that now, and I know we were both somewhat stupid and shallow when we got married, but nothing to this extreme. I can’t look back and pinpoint when things went bad, but I’d say it was once the girls were born. With two little kids, she couldn’t just run free the way she liked, and she started to edge away. There’s a different look in her eyes now, as if she’s on the hunt. And that’s reason enough to be nervous.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about her run-in with Whitney, but one of the guys called Nick’s name just then. He stood and pulled her up with him. “I’ve got to get back. They need all of us on hand to raise this wall.”
“We’ll talk tonight,” she promised. He squeezed her hand, then brought it up to his mouth for a kiss. Eyes locked with hers, he kissed her fingers, then dropped her hand gently back to her side.
“Thanks for listening.”
“No thanks needed.”
He strode one way, she went the other, and when she stopped by Hammerstein’s to pick up a few things, she eyed the cowboy hat again.
“It looked mighty nice the last time you eyeballed that hat.” Deenie Miller smiled from behind the dry-goods counter. “And at my age, I’ve learned to grab life by the horns and live it to the full.”
“Which is all well and good,” Elsa told her, “when you’ve got the money in your pocket, but eighty-dollar hats aren’t part of the current budget.”
“Twenty percent off for the next two weeks,” Deenie told her as she folded two lengths of lace and wrapped them in brown paper. “I’d be glad to tuck it away for you.”
Temptation nipped at her.
She loved the hat; she loved the thought of getting back in the saddle like she did as a girl. Who would have thought she’d miss the smell of horses, dogs, puppies, and dirt, or the noise of a tractor turning fresh hay toward the sun?
But she could work with Nick’s girls and be at the ranch without a cowgirl hat. Trying to justify the expense meant it had no justification. “No need. But maybe I’ll tuck away some of my summer money and grab one in September.”
“And if that one’s gone, there’ll be other pretties to take its place,” Deenie promised as she handed Elsa her change and her packages. “Thanks for stoppin’ in again. Always a pleasure.”
“Thanks, Deenie.” Then she paused, realizing she’d never given this woman her name. “I’m Elsa Andreas.” She reached out a hand, and when Deenie gave her a thoroughly tough western handshake, she smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
“You know my boy, Jay. He delivered groceries your way now and again.”
“Nice kid, great smile, tan jacket. He looks like you,” Elsa noted.
“He said it was fun braving the woods in our farm truck, making sure not to get stuck or lost that first time. And that you were right nice to him, Elsa.”
Jay had been the only person she’d seen for months, besides Rachel’s family. It seemed silly now, to have hidden herself away, even understanding the reasons why.
She’d stepped forward, finally, and when she left the hardware store a few minutes later, she had a can of exterior paint, a three-inch brush, some sandpaper, and a sanding block. By the time Nick came by with the girls at five thirty, she’d painted eight clapboards from the top for them to see. “What do you think? Too crazy? Too bright?”
“It’s gorgeous!” Dakota streaked across the lawn, twirled, and threw her hands into the air, leaving absolutely no doubt how she felt. “It’s the best blue ever!”
Elsa turned toward Cheyenne. “Go ahead, kid. Hit me with a more mature reaction.”
“I love it.” Cheyenne looked at the color, stepped back, and eyed the tall mix of trees. “It’s almost as if you brought the sky into the forest. It’s really pretty, Elsa.”
“I’m going to call it Elsa-blue!” announced Dakota, as if naming rights was her domain. “Queen Elsa wore a blue gown, just like this. So it’s the perfect name.”
She loved the girls’ reactions, but Nick’s expression made her hesitate. “You hate it.”
“I don’t. I think this is your stepping-out color, and at least the house won’t blend into the hill quite so much. Anyone passing within a hundred yards will see it now.”
“I’m not sure if that’s good or bad, but it’s more cheerful, don’t you think?”
“Elsa, anything is more cheerful than earthworm brown.” He made a face at the dull dirt-toned tan. “You had nowhere to go but up.”
He laughed when she poked his arm, and then he did the sweetest thing. He shrugged an arm around her shoulders, tugged her close, and moved forward with the girls right there, watching. “I think it’s beautiful. It’s bright and nice. Congratulations, Doc.”
“I agree,” she said simply. She smiled up at him, wishing she could reach up for a repeat of their morning kiss, but she couldn’t. She tweaked his hat instead and stepped out of the curve of his arm. “You head off. The girls and I have some work to do.”
“Do you have to go?” Cheyenne asked. “You could stay here, Dad. Help us. And then we could all work together.”
Work together?
Nick t
urned, surprised. So did Elsa. She gave the girl an approving smile while assessing her motives. “That’s a really nice thought, Cheyenne.”
Cheyenne didn’t look complimented. She looked guilty, which meant she had a reason to keep Nick here.
“I’ll stay another time.”
Nick kissed Dakota, then Cheyenne. She clung to his arm, holding him back. “Can’t we just chill?” Cheyenne wondered. “We can help Elsa paint.”
“You are going to do exactly that, but this is a project for us, not your dad. Not this time,” she added, hoping to relieve Cheyenne’s concern. She indicated two lengths of white picket fencing. “We need to doll up this fence. There are smocks right there.” She pointed to the metal-and-wood garden bench. “Grab those and check out the pattern ideas I’ve laid out.”
The girls scrambled over, and Nick took the opportunity to raise his brows in question.
She shrugged, just as mystified.
“Give us ninety minutes this time please. We’re expecting showers tonight, so the more we get done, the better off we are.”
“A ninety-minute session it is.” He climbed into the truck, backed around, and pulled away, but she heard the truck idle a few moments later, and when her phone signaled a text, she pulled it up and smiled. “Girls @ ranch tonight. Meeting w/W now. Meet me later?”
She texted back “Yes.”
Could Cheyenne know Nick was meeting her mother? Was that why she wanted him to stay?
Possibly, but when she looked at the girls, Cheyenne was slipping into the smock Elsa had indicated.
She wouldn’t delve and interrupt a moment of peace.
She stuck the phone away and focused her attention on the two beautiful children in her yard. Her morning encounter with their mother said their lives might be changed again, through no fault of their own. Being the target of small-town gossip and conjecture is never in a kid’s best interest, and when their mother’s behavior earns a top spot in the gossip column, kids take the fallout, but Elsa had formulated a plan.
If she could strengthen their self-esteem and awareness before everything around them went more ballistic, they’d have a better shot at coming through unscathed, and that was her current goal. If she could work with these two the next few months, maybe they could weather whatever grown-up crazy came their way.
“You promised you’d be sober.” Nick stared at Whitney, dismayed. To be wasted at this hour meant she started drinking hours before. He stepped back from the steps leading up to the inn and held his hands up, palms out. “I’m out.” He turned on his heel and strode toward the pickup, not wanting a Center Street scene, but Whitney chased after him, yelling.
“Nick, wait!”
So much for discretion. He turned back between the sidewalk and the truck and folded his arms. “We had a meeting scheduled. You promised to be sober. You’re not. End of meeting.”
“You can’t just dismiss me like this. I’m the mother of your children.”
He bit back what he wanted to say, and it wasn’t easy, because he’d had a lot of time to build up anger, but Elsa’s wisdom kept him in check. “Put them first. Always.” “Whitney, Dakota doesn’t remember you. Cheyenne remembers the way you were years ago. This”—he waved a hand toward her —“doesn’t enter into the equation. You say you’ve got problems.” He shrugged. “So do I. But they don’t get fixed with drugs and alcohol. If you love the girls at all, if you want to see them, you’ve got to get clean. It’s that simple.”
“Simple?” She didn’t shriek the word; she hissed, and that drew the attention of two older women passing by, walking their dogs on a beautiful night. “Nothing about being with you high-and-mighty Staffords is simple. Nothing is easy, and barely anything is acceptable.”
He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t do it. He turned to get back into the truck, and she came up behind him and grabbed his arm. “Don’t walk away from me! They’re my girls too, and Cheyenne wants to be with me. You can see it in her eyes when she looks at me! Don’t think because you’re rich that you can do to me what your father did to your mother. Buy her out and send her off so he didn’t have to deal with her influence in your life.”
Buy her off…
Anger didn’t snake Nick’s spine; it catapulted.
He’d heard the rumors all his life, that the high-and-mighty Sam Stafford paid off his mother to leave because she didn’t hold a candle to his first wife, Colt’s mother. Johnny Baxter was fond of spreading it around on the worst of his bad nights.
Nick had never asked because he didn’t want to know. What was worse? His father paying off a wife so she’d leave peacefully or a mother who took money in exchange for a child?
He hated both scenarios equally, so why search for truth when either truth might strangle the thin relationship he and Sam already had?
He controlled his face with effort and faced Whitney, a caricature of the woman she’d been. Buy her off ?
If only that would work, and if only his conscience would allow such a luxury, but it wouldn’t, so he decided to take another page from Elsa’s book and kill her with kindness. He started to speak.
She took a step back as if in fear, and he sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, counted to ten, then opened his eyes. “I don’t want you gone.”
“What?”
She looked dumbfounded, so that made two of them.
“I don’t want you to leave or go anywhere. That would be the worst possible choice, Whitney.”
She stared hard at him, then scowled. “You’re lying.”
“I never lie. You know that.”
She gulped because she did know that.
“We’ve got two beautiful daughters. They deserve a chance to know and love their mother. I came here to tell you that, but I wanted you to be sober enough to understand.”
“I’m sober enough.” She folded her arms, mimicking his stance. “Mostly.”
“I’ve got an offer for you,” he went on, deciding to take a chance while wondering if he was downright stupid to do it. “A contract.”
“Gotta get it in writing, of course. You’ve always gotta dot your i’s and cross your t’s when you’re a Stafford.” She slurred her words slightly, and he shrugged.
“It’s how things get done. Here’s the deal: The girls and I will move to the ranch for the summer. As long as you stay sober, you can have the house in town. I won’t try to sell it until later. You come visit the girls on the ranch, and if you can stay clean and sober, we’ll talk again next fall. But for now, I’d like to offer you a roof over your head and a clean bed to sleep in.”
“How much?”
He frowned, confused.
“How much rent do you want? I’m pretty tapped out right now.”
“No rent.”
She stared as if trying to read his angle.
“I don’t need the money, and you don’t have the money. Why make the situation worse?”
“I get to stay there, rent free?”
“That’s the gist of it. But no booze, no drugs, no partying that gets me hot-under-the-collar phone calls from the neighbors. And you need to agree to some kind of program.”
“Not happening.” She dug her heels in and glared. “A small town like this, you go to AA, everyone knows you’ve got a problem.”
“Small town like this, everyone already knows you’ve got a problem,” Nick reminded her. “At least if you’re in a program, people know you’re trying your best to get back on your feet. Folks around here like that.”
“What do you know about folks around here?” Disbelief colored her tone. “You haven’t spent time with the townies. You’re too busy playing lord of the manor with Daddy to know what goes on with simple folks.”
“That was true once. Not anymore.”
“That’s not what I hear.”
He drew a mental line in the sand before she pulled him off topic. She could wade into deeper waters only if he allowed it, so he wouldn’t. “I’m having my lawyer draw up
the contract, just like I stated. We’ll do a three-month trial basis to see how things work. Your only stipulation is to keep the terms. You visit the girls at the ranch, and no drinking or drugs.”
She stared at him, then flicked a look around the town. “I don’t need your charity, Nick.”
“You do,” he surmised softly, “but I wouldn’t call it charity. I’d call it help, Whit. When things go bad or life kicks us in the head, it’s nice to have a little help.” He threw that out there, then waited, wondering.
Would she accept the offer?
Did she have the willingness to walk away from whatever sordid habits she’d adopted?
He didn’t know, but if he never offered her the chance to come clean, he couldn’t live with himself. His father might call him foolish. Colt might think he was weak or touched in the head, but they didn’t have much skin in the game. It was his, and he did a lot better with an olive branch of peace than brute force. “Dakota’s moving-up ceremony is tomorrow at eleven. Coming to it clean and sober might be a great first step, Whitney. She’s already got three years of pictures without a mother present. It would be a nice way to change that up, don’t you think?”
She stared at him as if disbelieving, then stepped back and rubbed her arms. “I don’t expect I have the right things to wear.”
“If Angelina takes you shopping in the morning, we could change that.”
She stared into the distance, then shifted her gaze back to his. “She’d do that?”
“She said so.”
“What time?”
“It’s got to be on the early side. The mall’s over forty minutes away.”
“Walmart’s closer. If I’m ready at ten, that would work.”
He nodded. “Walmart works for me, Whit.”
She hesitated as if tempted, then dropped her arms. “I don’t have money. No money, no credit, no job, Nick.” She held his gaze, and for the first time since she rolled into town, he felt like she was being honest. “I can’t pay for the clothes.”
“You had money enough to drink today.”
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