by Joanna Sims
“Hey.” Clint had awakened to go to the bathroom and discovered that his wife of only a few hours was missing from their bed. “Couldn’t sleep?”
When Taylor’s only answer to him was a sniff, he knew she was crying and went to her side. He knelt down in front of the rocking chair and put his hand on her knee.
“Taylor...?”
She lifted her head and looked at him. Her cheeks were shiny and wet with tears. When she spoke, her voice sounded off because her nose was completely stuffed from crying.
“Why did God take Michael?” she asked him. “Why?”
Clint gently pulled the quilt from her arms and pulled her into his arms for a tight hug. “I don’t know, baby. I wish I did, but I don’t.”
He petted her hair with his hand to soothe her and murmured, “I’ve got you, sunshine.”
Taylor cried in his arms while he held her close. This was the first time she had let him comfort her the way he had wanted to comfort her all along. She was a strong, independent woman—and he loved that about her—but it wasn’t always easy to be the man standing next to such a determined, accomplished woman.
“Come on.” He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go back to bed.”
She nodded. She had achieved her goal and now she believed that sleep would come much easier for her. Now that she had shed her tears, she was able to pay attention to Clint’s sleeping attire—or lack thereof...
“You’re naked,” she said to her husband who was walking beside her in his altogether.
Clint looked down at his naked body, then looked at her with a pleased smile. “I like to let it all hang out at night. Let the cool air get to all of my cracks and crevices.”
“I didn’t know you liked to sleep in the nude.”
“Sunshine...that’s not usually the horse I like to race right out of the gate...” Clint winked at her.
* * *
After her bout with insomnia, not only did Taylor fall asleep, she slept through the night and late into the next morning. The master bedroom was flooded with light that was flowing through the wooden shutters. Clint’s side of the bed was empty and she could hear suspicious noises coming from the general direction of the kitchen. She was more of a consumer of food than a cook—but she was fanatical about kitchen cleanliness. She would rather never cook in the kitchen then see a random crumb left on the counter. It was a phobia—she admitted it—and she still liked her kitchen to be spotless. Several more clanks of pots and pans being pulled out of her cabinets and Taylor was out of the bed and into her robe.
“Good morning, sunshine!” Clint greeted her in a booming voice.
Wearing only his jeans and a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder, Clint reminded her of a mad scientist who had just detonated a food bomb in her kitchen. Dirty pots and pans were piled in her sink, and on the counter were egg shells, abandoned pieces of burned toast and balled-up wet paper towels that had been used to clean up spills.
“Hi...” Her eyebrows lifted in horror as Taylor stopped on the other side of the kitchen island. “What’s happening in here?”
“I was trying to make you breakfast in bed,” he confessed. “But I encountered a couple of minor problems...”
Do not go off on him and ruin this very sweet gesture. Do not go off on him and ruin this very sweet gesture.
“It’s the thought that counts.”
Clint came around to her side of the island, gave her a good morning hug and kissed her. “This is drivin’ you nuts, isn’t it?”
“Did you have to use absolutely every pot and pan?” she asked him in a half-serious, half-joking tone.
He looked over his shoulder at the kitchen. “I probably could’ve scaled it back a little, huh?”
She held up her thumb and pointer finger with a half-inch space between them.
“How ’bout this...” He turned her around and hugged her from behind with his chin resting on her shoulder. “I’ll clean the kitchen—you go get ready—and I’ll take you out for breakfast before we go see Penny. How’s that sound, Mrs. McAllister?”
Her hands on his hands, she leaned her head back and smiled. “I think that’s a very good idea, Mr. McAllister.”
* * *
Clint took her to his favorite breakfast spot, the No Sweat Café in downtown Helena. The wait was long, but once they got their booth inside of the homey greasy spoon, the smell of the made-from-scratch breakfast food made her think that their time spent in line was worth it.
“How hungry are you?” Clint asked her.
It hit her—this was the first time in a long time that she felt really hungry. “I am, actually. What’s good?”
“Pretty much everything.”
Clint ordered the Rocky Montana and she ordered the Tibetan Toad. The service was slow, but their waitress was a sweetheart, the coffee was strong and she kept it coming, and when the food arrived Taylor couldn’t remember having scrambled eggs that delicious in her life.
She had eaten her way through the golden hash browns and eggs with green onions, and she was busy buttering her sourdough toast when she sensed Clint’s eyes on her. She looked up to find her new husband watching her with a pleased expression on his face.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He gave her a small smile. “I just can’t believe I’m sitting in the No Sweat Café with my wife.”
She smiled back at him before she took a bite of her toast.
“You’re starting to look like a rodeo wife, you know that?”
She nodded. Her clothing choices had definitely changed since she moved to Montana. She had swapped her power business suits and heels for jeans and boots.
“Have you thought about when you might go back out on the road?” She covered her plate with her napkin.
“We’ve been married for less than twenty-four hours and you’re already trying to boot me out the door?”
She laughed; it sounded worse than she meant it. “No... I’m just trying to establish a timeline.”
“Let’s get Penny home and then we’ll take it from there.” Clint took one last sip of his coffee. “Speaking of Penny—are you ready to go see her?”
That was a no-brainer.
“Always.”
Chapter Sixteen
Six weeks after Penelope was born, she was healthy enough to be discharged from the NICU, and Clint and Taylor brought their daughter home to the bungalow. They’d kept one crib for the nursery and donated the second crib to a women’s shelter. Michael’s crib would help a woman start a new life with her child, and that eased the pain just a little for Taylor. His life had mattered—his life would continue to matter, even if she was the only person who knew it.
“Five minutes!” Taylor called to Clint from the nursery.
Taylor leaned over the changing table and kissed her daughter’s bare feet. “It makes Mommy crazy when Daddy makes us late...yes it does...”
It had only been two weeks since they had brought their daughter home from the hospital, but Penny was thriving. She had gained weight, her cheeks and legs were actually starting to look a little chubby and her skin was peaches and cream, just as it should be. Penelope was a happy baby. So easy to love.
“Look at you in your christening gown.” Taylor sat her daughter upright after she put on her lacy white socks and her first pair of patent leather shoes.
“Two minutes!” she called out after she checked her watch.
“Why are you yelling?” Clint asked from the doorway. “I’m right here—on time and ready to go.”
Holding Penny in her arms, Taylor turned around to see a version of her cowboy that she had never seen before.
“Well? What’s the verdict?” Clint turned a little to th
e right and then the left to show off his new dark-blue suit. She stared at him, shocked, and that shock left her momentarily at a loss for words.
“Clint...” she finally said, “you look so...different.”
“Different good or different bad?” He glanced down at his suit. This was the first time he’d ever owned or worn a suit.
“Different good... I think.” She was thrown by his dramatically changed appearance. He hadn’t given her any indication that he was going to shave his beard and cut his hair for the christening.
Clint ran his hand over his new short hair and laughed. “I went for it.”
Taylor shook off her surprise, walked over to her husband with their daughter in her arms and kissed him.
“I kind of miss your old look, but you look very handsome like this, too. I just hope you didn’t do it for me.”
Clint smiled at Penelope, who had wrapped her finger around his thumb.
“I wanted to clean myself up for the pictures. I don’t expect I’ll stay like this for too long,” he confessed while he admired her with his eyes. “You look incredible in that dress, sunshine.”
She handed Penelope off to him and self-consciously ran her hand over her abdomen. “I was thinking about changing—this dress is still too tight right through here.”
“No. Don’t change a thing. You look perfect.”
They had scheduled the christening for late morning, to be held at the one-hundred-year-old chapel at Bent Tree Ranch. The pastor at the church the Brand family attended had officiated at both weddings and funerals there, and agreed to come to the ranch to christen Penelope and Michael.
When she was planning the christening with Barbara and Sophia, Taylor couldn’t bear the idea that Michael would be left out of the ceremony entirely. They all agreed, after a suggestion from Hank, that at the conclusion of the ceremony the family would plant an oak tree outside the chapel in Michael’s honor. Taylor loved her extended family for wanting to memorialize her son on the ranch in that way; it made her feel more connected to the ranch and it made her feel more at home in Montana. She had married a cowboy, so chances were very good that she was in Big Sky Country to stay.
The ceremony in the little whitewashed chapel on the hill was simple and poignant. The chapel, with the original thick pieces of stained glass in the windows and the hand-carved pews, was the perfect backdrop. However, Penelope did not appreciate being awakened by the water that was used to baptize her and she cried for the remainder of the ceremony. Barbara and Hank hired a photographer to come out to the ranch; the professional photographs taken that day were one of the christening gifts to their new grandniece.
“Thank you for today, Aunt Barb. The ceremony for Penny and the tree for Michael.” Taylor stood next to her aunt while the men in the party, their jackets removed and sleeves rolled up to the elbow, began to dig the hole where the oak tree would be planted. The Brand chapel, built by Hank’s grandfather, was positioned on a small hill overlooking the main ranch homestead below. There was a flat, grassy area in front of the chapel and that was where Michael’s tree would be planted. The oak tree, for centuries to come, would grow and expand, and create shade and beauty. From many different angles, from the mountains above and the main farmhouse below, Michael’s tree was visible.
“We love you, Taylor.” Aunt Barb put one arm around her back and hugged her. “We love sweet Penelope. And we love Michael. He’s one of our angels now.”
“Thank you,” Taylor said again.
Sophia joined them with a freshly changed Penelope in her arms. “What a gorgeous day for a christening. That’s the perfect spot for Michael’s tree.”
Sophia handed Penelope to Barb, who had been impatiently waiting her turn to get her hands on the tiny little girl.
In a lowered voice, Sophia said. “I was floored when I saw Brock at the ceremony.”
“Clint invited him, but he didn’t think Brock would come,” Taylor said quietly. “I wasn’t sure who he was until after the ceremony.”
It wasn’t a secret that Clint and his stepbrother hadn’t ever gotten along. Brock’s dad had adopted Clint, given him his last name and treated him like his own. But Brock and Clint had never taken to each other. They embodied the phrase oil and water; the two of them did not mix.
“Is that Hannah?” Taylor nodded discreetly to a young girl sitting away from the rest of the group with Ilsa, the family German shepherd, and Ranger, the family cat.
Sophia’s forehead wrinkled in surprise. “You haven’t met Hannah yet?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Hannah!” Sophia called out to Brock’s daughter. “Come meet your cousin!”
Brock stopped digging for a moment to watch his daughter walk over to them.
“Hannah has autism, so she may have some trouble making eye contact...”
Taylor nodded. “Clint told me. He’s crazy about her. I think it’s sad he doesn’t get to spend much time with her.”
Brock’s daughter was tall and lanky; she had long, wild, curly brown hair that looked as if it could use some untangling and her skin was tanned golden brown from time spent outside.
“Hannah—this is Uncle Clint’s wife, so she’s your aunt Taylor,” Sophia started the introduction. “And this is your new cousin, Penelope.”
“Hi, Hannah.” Taylor smiled at the girl. “It’s good to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from your uncle Clint.”
Hannah smiled a little, her eyes flitting to Taylor’s face for a second and then flitting away. She gravitated toward Penelope—she leaned forward to look at Penelope’s face.
“You can touch her hand, Hannah,” Barb said to Brock’s daughter. “Feel how soft her skin is...”
Hannah took her pointer finger and ran it quickly over the back of Penelope’s hand. Then she turned away from them and headed back to her spot next to Ilsa.
“Don’t forget to say goodbye, Hannah,” Brock told his daughter.
“Goodbye,” Hannah said with a wave of her hand.
“I feel so bad for her,” Sophia said with a sad shake of her head. “She used to talk so much more before her parents separated. Her mom lives in LA now—it’s been a really hard transition for her.”
“My sister is a special education teacher...”
“Is she?” Sophia asked.
Taylor nodded. “She works with a lot of students who have autism and they all have such a hard time with change.”
“Would you look at my grandson?” Barb nodded to Sophia’s oldest child and her first grandchild. “He’s just another one of the fellas now, isn’t he?”
Luke had let Danny use his small collapsible Marine-issue shovel to help the men dig the hole. Danny had taken off his little suit jacket, just like the men, and his father had rolled up the boy’s sleeves, just like the men. When his father stopped to wipe the sweat off his brow, Danny did the exact same thing.
“We’re ready, ladies.” Hank had helped dig, but since his mild heart attack the year before, he was opting to let the younger men handle getting the tree into position.
They planted Michael’s tree, and there was a spontaneous moment of prayer once it was in the ground. The family encircled the sapling and held hands, forming a complete circle around it, and then they all bent their heads while the pastor said a blessing for Michael. Afterward, everyone was hungry and they went down to the main house for a family luncheon.
It was an emotional, exhausting, incredible day. A day Taylor
would never forget.
* * *
“Is she asleep?” Clint asked.
Taylor nodded her head instead of answering with her voice. Penny was fussy and tired, but she’d cried every time Taylor tried to put her to bed for the night. Finally, after an hour of rocking, their daughter fell asleep and stayed asleep when Taylor put her back into her crib.
“I’ve got a spot saved just for you.”
Her husband was waiting for her on the couch. While she was putting Penny down, Clint had lit candles and opened her favorite bottle of zinfandel. The doctors had diagnosed her with lactation failure, which meant that even though she had desperately wanted to breastfeed Penny, her milk never came in. The only upside to that disappointment was that she could enjoy a couple of glasses of her favorite wine.
Taylor sat down on the couch next to her husband with a loud sigh. Clint handed her a glass of wine and then held out his bottle of beer for a toast.
“Here’s to us,” Clint said before he took a swig of his beer.
“To us,” she agreed.
“We had an amazing day,” Clint said. So many people had come together to honor their daughter and their son. Even Brock had been there with Hannah. Clint had extended the invitation on Taylor’s suggestion, but he hadn’t figured that his stepbrother would accept.
“I am sorry that your sister wasn’t here for the christenings,” he said to his wife. He hadn’t met Taylor’s sister Casey in person—he had video chatted with her before—and he knew how close the two of them were.
“I know—that was hard...for both of us. But she’s coming for the whole summer. So that’s something for us to look forward to.”
Taylor put her empty glass on the table—her free hand holding Clint’s hand. The candles, the romantic music—Taylor knew what Clint had in mind. She had gotten the green light for sex from her OB/GYN, but she had avoided any of Clint’s advances. To his credit, he hadn’t pushed the issue. He wanted it to be right for both of them.