He saw that now. Funny how he’d missed the sensibility of that dynamic a dozen years before. He was younger then. Angrier too. And he’d always felt like he had a lot to prove. To Colt, for appearing so perfect with seemingly little effort. To his father, to show him he was the good son, the one who stayed to help the Double S establish the success it enjoyed today. And to show his father what a good marriage was all about, to pick a perfect bride, have the perfect family, and rub his father’s nose in it.
He’d tried to re-create what he’d lost as a child when Rita Stafford walked out the door with a simple good-bye. And he’d done it, all right. Right down to marrying the wrong woman. Or maybe being the wrong man. Either way, there was nothing to rub Sam Stafford’s nose in, and that might be a wake-up call of its own.
Maybe Sam wasn’t a horrible husband. Nick had no clue; he’d been a little boy.
Perhaps his mother simply hadn’t liked being a mother. “We’ve had cows reject calves.”
Elsa nodded, quiet.
“I’ve never understood it.” He folded his hands, elbows set on the rail as he watched a field of dark red Angus browse in quiet contentment. “I’d reintroduce the calf, and sometimes it would work. Most times, actually.” He paused, still watching the cow and calf pairs gently plod through the thick grass field. “But when it wouldn’t take, when the mother kept rejecting the baby, I would tell that baby he did nothing to deserve it. It wasn’t his or her fault. It had done nothing wrong.”
“Because when a parent leaves us and doesn’t look back, in our hearts we feel we’re to blame. Even when common sense and timing and age tell us otherwise, the child heart within us wonders what we did wrong.”
He turned to face her. “But we did nothing wrong.”
She nodded in quiet agreement.
“So if Whitney runs off or if I follow the temptation to encourage her to leave, the girls face life wondering what they could have done better?”
“For Cheyenne, probably. She was older and has spent this time re-creating reality with her mother in it. She’s invested herself, her time, and her hopes and prayers. Dakota was younger, and she’s got a more ‘show me’ nature. She’s able to keep a distance because she doesn’t really remember a bond, and her nature doesn’t try to cling to the bond.”
“Where Cheyenne’s does, for all her tough-girl ways.”
“Yup.”
“A part of me wishes Whitney gone,” he admitted. “I don’t have the slightest desire to expend the energy to deal with her, to contend with her problems, or to listen to her rationalize irrational behavior.”
“I know.”
“But I understand the downside of having a mother who doesn’t care, and I’m not sure which is worse for the girls.” He paused again. “A mother who came back, carrying a host of problems they have to deal with on a regular basis, or the quiet, aching loss, wondering why she left and never returned.”
“What if it’s not your choice?”
It wasn’t. He knew that. But he also knew money could change things around, and he’d be lying if he pretended the idea of paying Whitney to leave hadn’t occurred to him.
“We tend to mess things up more by trying to fix what we should simply leave alone,” she went on. “Why make it convoluted or make yourself the villain? Why not take each day as it comes and deal with it?”
“Because I like control.”
“There’s a Stafford trait that bred true.” She smiled and nudged his shoulder with hers, and when she did, he looped his arm around her shoulders and drew her close to his side.
It felt right, having her there. Just right. Her quiet presence, the plodding cows and dancing calves, and a soft June breeze.
He turned his head.
She turned hers. And then he was kissing her, loving the feel of Elsa in his arms, snugged against his heart. She brought quiet joy into a frenzied dynamic. Being around her both soothed and aroused, as if her presence made his more whole.
He didn’t want the kiss to end.
He held her close, her head to his chest, breathing in the soft scents of farm and fruity shampoo. “I’ve been waiting to do that again.”
“I can’t deny the thought has crossed my mind as well.”
“Well.” He smiled and kissed her again, taking his own sweet time about it, and when he finally released her, he dropped his forehead to hers. “That was perfect.”
“Mmm hmm.”
“Glad you agree.” He hugged her, then led her over to the back paddock and pointed up. “These cows are carrying the future of America’s beef.”
“I don’t want to burst your bubble, but cows have been doing that all along, I believe.”
“Not exactly like these, but…” He shrugged and nodded. “Yes.”
He took her hand again and led her into the nearby barn. “Birthing center, used as needed but only if problems occur. Generally, nature’s pretty good at taking its course.”
She looked around the barn setup and made a face. “So tell me the truth, Nick.”
“Uh-oh.”
She smiled, like he hoped she’d do. “Does the science and numbers of it all remove the wonder of birth? The miracle of life? Does the volume make it less personal and more of an income-based outcome?”
It was a natural assumption. Most folks would expect that, especially on a ranch this size, but in truth— “No. As unbelievable as that sounds, we take any loss personally.”
“Like you did the night you lost that cow and her calf.”
He couldn’t deny it. “Yes. It’s not about percentages. At that moment, it’s all about life and death.”
She stared off, past the cows, then motioned up the hill. “Are those horses segregated because they’re sick?”
He looked where she was pointing and grabbed her hand. “Come on.” He tugged her back to the Mule, hopped in, and turned the key. He drove the four-by-four around the barn and up the lane and pulled up short, just shy of the small field where two horses grazed nonchalantly. “Nate and Bess, meet Elsa. Elsa, this is Nate.” He waved to the aging black horse. “And his sister, Bess.”
“They’re old.”
“Fairly ancient by horse standards, yes.”
“But —” She looked down at the paddock full of perfectly produced cattle about to produce more of the same. “This doesn’t add up.”
“Nate and Bess were the first horses on the ranch. Dad rode Nate. Colt’s mother rode Bess.”
“That means they’re thirty years old.”
“Midthirties, actually.”
She stared at the pair, and when she blinked hard, Nick heard her sniffle. He scrubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“That,” he insisted. He wrapped his arms around her from behind. “No crying allowed.”
“I’m not crying. I’m…thinking about crying.”
“That either.”
“Well, then there’s no place for me here, Nick Stafford, because I’ve been known to openly weep at a Hallmark commercial.”
“The one where the woman goes back to thank the teacher for believing in her?”
“Stop. You’re only making this worse.” She hauled in a deep breath and smiled as Bess plodded close, looking for a treat. “I’ve got nothing for her.”
“I do.” Nick pulled an apple out of a compartment in the Mule and whacked off a piece with his pocketknife. “You feed her. Unless you’re afraid she’ll slobber on you.”
“As if I care.” Elsa chirruped to the horse, arm extended. Bess took the apple with no small amount of drool. Nate plodded over, ready to make friends as long as food was on the line, and when she gave the old gelding the other half, he slobbered too. Nick was just about to offer his sleeve when Elsa swiped both hands across the thighs of her jeans.
And they were mighty nice-looking jeans.
He fell in love with her right then. She hadn’t faulted their ranch or their systems, she didn’t chastise him
with dog shelter numbers for having two breeding dogs, and she handled feeding the old horses like she was born to the farmyard. “Want a wipe for your hands?”
She shook her head as she ran a gentle hand down Nate’s nose. “No need. I’ll wash up before supper. Which, by the way, I can smell cooking, so we better get back. Angelina might need help.”
He didn’t want to leave the idyllic moment. Peace had been fleeting these last years, but she was right. They climbed back into the four-by-four and headed toward the house. From his seat on the Mule, he could see the open plot of land slated for his new cabin. They’d staked out the utility areas that morning, so a field of blue and orange flags marked the spot where his new home would sit.
He could picture her there, on his front porch, Achilles curled up on the floor or in the green grass beyond, and the bird…
Maybe she’d let him build a birdcage in the barn.
He grinned, knowing she’d never do that, and not caring. Not caring in the least because the thought of Elsa reading a story or painting a picture in their shared home made him want to build faster.
He should have gone to see her last fall, like her sister advised. He’d have known her an extra eight months that way. His bad.
But he knew her now. He breathed the scent of her, even when she wasn’t around. She looked right at him when he talked, as if what he said mattered. She could talk dog, cow, and horse and didn’t shrink away from the convoluted crazy of his ex-wife showing up.
Tranquility.
She brought him a new sense of serenity, he realized as he drove the Mule into the barnyard. Realization struck as he put the four-by-four into park.
She needed peace too. Comfort to wipe away the stain of sadness in her gaze, the shadows in her eyes. He longed to make her happy, so happy that she never had to reach for somber paints again. Maybe he didn’t have that power, but he would spend a lifetime trying because a woman like Elsa should never have to hide herself away.
“Elsa!” The kids raced over as she stepped out of the Mule. Dakota held a tiny toad. Noah just shrieked in laughter each time the tiny critter tried to bound away. “Look what we found! There’s a million of them over by the pond! They’ve come out of the water! I love when that happens!” Elsa laughed and let them pull her across the yard, racing toward the pond. “This is unbelievable, guys, look at them. So many!”
“Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild with a faery, hand in hand. For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.”
Nick turned as Angelina moved beside him. “Huh?”
“Yeats. It fits.” She directed her gaze toward Elsa and the children.
He considered the words, watching. “It does. When’d you get so poetical, Ange?”
“Trying to rationalize my life surrounded by a bunch of cowboy yahoos,” she replied. “A little whimsy becomes essential.”
Whimsy.
He bet Elsa would like whimsy. The word fit, so that’s what he’d do. He’d chase the shadows from her eyes with the lighter side of life.
Like you’re some expert on that? his conscience scoffed. Dude, you’d best get a book because whimsy isn’t exactly your thing. And what made those shadows in the first place? A smart man would want to know, wouldn’t he?
He shushed the internal warning, washed up, grabbed a drink, and went to help Colt grill the steaks and a rack filled with seasoned, sliced summer squash.
Whoops of laughter drew his attention toward the pond. Then Trey came up the drive in his rental car with Cheyenne riding shotgun. “Things are a little different around here, aren’t they?” Colt made the observation as the meat sent up a sizzling invitation.
Nick couldn’t deny it. “Night and day.”
“Who’d have thought so many discordant chords could come together?” Colt’s gaze took in Elsa at the pond. Trey laughing as he picked up Chey and tossed her over his shoulder before he raced across the yard to see what was going on at the water’s edge. Isabo setting out food on the porch tables, humming softly, while Angelina brought out more platters.
“And make beautiful music?” Nick added.
Colt snorted. “Aw, ain’t that nice? The cowboy poet.” He made a gagging sound that almost got him punched, but he was holding a long, thick fork so Nick thought twice.
“Well, you’ve been doing your share of sweet-talking these days,” Nick noted as he raised his drink in a toast to Angelina, chatting with her mother as they finished getting things ready. “I expect you’re no stranger to a rhyme or two yourself.”
Colt grunted, then shrugged. “A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”
Nick laughed. It felt good to laugh with Colt. “That’s the truth of it.” He wanted this to last. The joy, the laughter, the ambiance.
It wouldn’t, of course, not round the clock, but if they could reclaim some joy in being family at long last, Nick Stafford would be okay with that.
“Chey, come on. I’ve got to get you ladies to the school hall for your dress rehearsal in ten minutes. Let’s move.” Nick jerked a thumb toward the clock as he grabbed one last cinnamon roll from the elevated breakfast bar on Friday morning.
“I need my other costume!”
“I need my ballet shoes!”
“I need —”
“Here, here, and here.” Angelina thrust various necessities into the girls’ hands and pointed toward the door. “Go. Do not be late. Your instructors have many numbers to go through, not just yours.”
The girls dashed out. They didn’t look thrilled, but they weren’t grumbling either, so that was a plus. “I’ve got my phone,” Nick told her. “Call if there’s a problem, okay?”
“I’ve got Colt, Trey, Murt, and all the others. Your father and Hobbs will be comfortably grumbling on the porch, citing their inactivity as a major source of annoyance. You go, and don’t worry about us. I think you’re going to have plenty on your hands in that school because Whitney will most likely show up in ‘dance mom’ mode. Good luck with that, by the way.”
He dreaded the thought, so he scowled, pocketed his phone, and headed out.
“Dad, hurry! Mom said she’d meet us there and she’s the only one who knows how to do my hair!”
“I’m coming.” He slipped into the seat, and ten minutes later they pulled into the high school parking lot with a hundred other parents. Cheyenne pulled her rolling bag full of costume parts. He brought Dakota’s bag and the six ironed, hanging costumes. He found the dressing room and started in, but shrieks of dismay stopped him at the door.
Heat burned his cheeks, and Nick had stopped blushing decades before, but he’d almost walked in on a room full of girls getting dressed.
No Whitney.
He stared around the corridor, spotted one of the teachers, and explained his problem.
She gave him a blank look, then made a face. “The other rooms are locked. I can call Bill from maintenance to open one up for us. And I’m so sorry I never thought about needing a room for dance dads to help their girls,” she added. Sincere dismay darkened her gaze.
Nick hadn’t either because Angelina had helped them the past two years, and Whitney had promised to be here today.
“Dad, I need Mom!”
“We need to get dressed!” Dakota added. “I saw Stella and Clara, and they’re both dressed already, Dad!”
What were his options? Angelina was swamped at the ranch. Did he dare ask Elsa to help get the girls into costume?
Absolutely. He dialed her number, started to explain his problem, and didn’t get through the first sentence before she cut in. “I’ll be right there.”
Eight minutes later she walked in the door sporting blue jeans, a pullover shirt, sneakers, and a ponytail. Utterly simple and absolutely beautiful. “You’re a lifesaver. Whitney was supposed to meet us here, but she must be running late.”
She didn’t make a fuss or roll her eyes as if she expected Whitney to mess up. She smiled and shrugged one shoulder. �
�Happens to all of us. Come on, ladies.” She grabbed the girls by the hand and ushered them both into the classrooms doubling as changing rooms.
He paced the hall, and when Dakota pranced his way ten minutes later, he finally breathed again. “You look great.”
“Well”—she sashayed the little cowgirl outfit with just the right amount of sass —“I like wearing real ranch stuff, but I can be a dancing cowgirl today. And tomorrow. But I’d rather be home, seeing if Kita’s having puppies.”
“Angelina’s on puppy watch, with Isabo. They’ll let us know. I promise. You head back to your class, okay? I think Miss Debbie’s about to line you guys up for rehearsal.”
“ ’Kay. And, Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for bringing us to the ranch.”
Emotion swelled. He knew exactly what she meant. Not that he hadn’t taken them to the ranch consistently over the last years. They’d been there often, in Angelina’s care while he worked. Now he’d made a commitment to them and the ranch, to become a unit. A true family enterprise. And that’s what Dakota meant. He’d brought them home, at last. “You’re welcome, darlin’.”
Cheyenne and her troupe raced out of the dressing room, more like a stampede of young bulls than a dance class. She didn’t look his way, didn’t thank him for calling Elsa in. He hoped she had the grace to thank Elsa. If not, he would.
Elsa appeared right then. She gave Chey a thumbs-up, waved to Dakota, and moved his way. “Done for the moment. Let’s go watch the rehearsal, then I’ll get them ready for their next numbers, if Whitney doesn’t make it. There’s a long lull before they need to be in costume again, so why don’t you go do big ol’ cowboy stuff and I’ll stay here.”
“I can’t ask you to do that,” he protested, but already he was thinking of ten things he’d rather do than sit for hours of dress rehearsals with other people’s kids.
She patted her purse. “I’ve got a book, and I’m not afraid to duck out to the café for coffee as needed.”
“How about I bring one back to you? A mocha with whipped cream?”
She one-upped his offer. “Add in a trip to Cle Elum for maple bars, and I’m all in.”
Home on the Range Page 21