That Cowboy's Kids

by Debra Salonen

  “Yeah, but I still don’t get it. Most people are too busy worrying about their own lives to mess with anybody else’s.”

  Her father looked at her sharply. “Are you suggesting Abby doesn’t have a life of her own?”

  “No,” she said, surprised by his tone. “Abby has a life. She was getting ready for a date when I called.”

  “A date?”

  Angel studied her father. He was trying to act indifferent, but Angel could tell he wasn’t happy with her news. Is he interested in Abby? She is pretty, but… Angel let the thought go. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the idea of her father dating. Even someone as nice as Abby. She’d have to think about it.

  “Yeah, but she didn’t sound too happy about it,” Angel finally said. “When I asked her who the guy was, she said, ‘An accident waiting to happen.”’

  He shrugged his shoulders and made a grumbling sound. Definitely interested.

  Angel stepped closer to see what he was doing. His big hands moved quickly, hammering tiny nails into a hunk of suede that was stretched on a wooden board. “Whatcha doing?”

  “Stripping.”

  She giggled. The sound made her feel foolish, but his grin made her relax and smile back. “Eventually,” he told her, “I’ll braid the strips into reins, and after I tool a headstall and side pieces, I’ll have a bridle. Miguel’s daddy-to-be present. Do you want to learn how?”

  Angel shrugged, determined not to look too interested. “I guess so. Might as well. Heather can’t take her eyes off that damn colt and it’s getting hot outside. Guess I got nothing better to do.”

  “Well, pull up a stool.” He helped her uncover the only one in sight and draw it right up beside his. “I used to do this with my dad. I wish you could have known your Grandpa Walt. He died the Christmas before you were born. I always felt bad about that. He would have loved you something fierce.”

  Angel had to squeeze the hunk of leather he handed her real tight so she wouldn’t cry. Fortunately, her dad changed the subject by the time he handed her a sharp little blade fitted into a wooden handle that was wrapped with a grubby, slightly sticky gauze. Without tears in her eyes, she’d be a lot less likely to make either of them bleed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ABBY TURNED OFF the engine but didn’t get out of the car right away. No dogs jumped up to scratch her door. The Butler homestead seemed oddly quiet considering she’d been invited specifically to help mitigate the first visit from Val, but it was a welcome sight to her eyes. The previous Thursday’s Rainbows meeting after the long holiday weekend had been canceled, so Abby hadn’t seen the Butler family in over a week.

  Tom had called Abby the Monday after that disastrous first session and said both girls had pleaded with him to ask Abby to be their designated driver every Thursday. She wasn’t sure she believed him, but Donna insisted it was natural for young girls to crave adult female companionship. With Maria preparing for both a baby and a move and Janey caught up in a health crisis, Abby was a likely candidate.

  Abby had accidentally bumped into Janey the Friday before Memorial Day. She’d driven out to the ranch to drop off a bag of decorating magazines she kept forgetting to leave for the girls. When she parked in the semicircle in front of Tom’s house, she saw Angel sitting on the stoop beside a gray-haired woman, their heads bent over a nest of brightly colored plastic lacing.

  Abby didn’t want to interrupt, but the older woman waved her over. “Hello there,” she hailed warmly. Although the temperature was above ninety, the woman, who was about the same size and build as Angel, wore a two-piece jersey jogging suit that made Abby feel even hotter in her wilted linen suit. The outfit’s heather-gray tone almost matched the woman’s short-cropped, thinning curls. “You must be the wonderful Abby I’ve heard so much about.”

  Abby blushed, but the woman’s words seemed sincere. “I can’t imagine where you heard that.”

  “Little birds, I think,” she said, making a fluttering motion with her thin, graceful hands. One hand stopped midflutter and thrust toward Abby. “I’m Janey Hastings.”

  Abby shifted the plastic bag to her other hand and reached out to shake hands. Janey Hastings’s touch was cool but her grip forthright. “Abby Davis.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Abby Davis, ever since Maria suggested Thomas go see you. She can’t say enough nice things about you. Took a judge to make Thomas go, though. For a smart man, he doesn’t follow instructions too well, does he?” She looked at Angel for confirmation.

  “Nope,” Angel said, grinning.

  “Most men are reluctant to ask for help,” Abby said, rising to Tom’s defense before she realized Janey was teasing. A warm blush claimed her cheeks when she noticed Janey eyeing her thoughtfully. “Um, what are you two doing?” Abby asked.

  Angel held up a length of colorfully plaited plastic, the individual strands trailing behind like stiff ribbons. “Janey’s teaching me how to make lanyards. For key rings and stuff.”

  The finely webbed lines around Janey’s hazel eyes deepened with her smile. She possessed an ageless beauty that seemed only slightly muted by illness. Tom had mentioned Janey’s battle with cancer when he explained about the ownership of the ranch. Abby was heartened to see the sparkle in the older woman’s eyes at Angel’s obvious enthusiasm for the project.

  “I learned this back when I was younger than this girl,” Janey said, looping a thin arm around Angel’s shoulders. Angel’s youth and vitality contrasted with a pallor and frailty that didn’t come from age alone.

  “Of course, back then the gimp was made out of leather,” Janey said.

  “Gimp?” Abby repeated, moving close enough to touch the thin, flat strands of purple and orange.

  Angel ran her fingers through the rat’s nest of plastic. “The string. Janey’s friend gave her a bag of crafts to do at the hospital, and she brought some of them home to teach us.”

  Janey’s mouth slanted in a wry grin. “My friend told me the reason I never used plastic when I was young was because it hadn’t been invented yet. Some friend, huh?”

  Abby laughed. “I have a friend like that, too.”

  Angel frowned, although Abby didn’t understand why. Before she could ask, Angel said, “I’m making a necklace and ankle bracelet for Heather for her birthday in August.” She consulted the sporty watch on her wrist then rose gracefully. “I’d better go hide this before Dad and Heather get back from checking the water gates. I’ll bring it over to your house tomorrow, Janey, and we can work on it then, okay?”

  “Not too early, please. I just can’t seem to get going in the mornings anymore,” Janey said, looking frustrated.

  Abby hefted the bag in Angel’s direction. “I’ve been carting these magazines around for a week. Melina’s aunts and cousins keep our waiting room stocked. There are some fashion ones I thought you’d like and a couple of things for Heather.”

  Angel’s smile was quick. “Thanks,” she said, clutching the bag to her chest. After giving Janey a quick hug, she dashed off toward the barn.

  “What a sweetheart! But she’s hurting more than she lets on,” Janey said, rising a bit unsteadily. “I wish I could be around more to help them through this.”

  “Are you okay?” Abby asked.

  Janey clasped the single upright post and shook her head. “As good as can be expected with all the poisons they’ve poured into this old body. But if it kills the bad cells then I guess I can put up with a little nausea and dizziness.” Her face took on a stern look. “Doesn’t mean I plan to give up my way of life, though. Ed thinks he can coddle me into staying home instead of helping out with the roundup this weekend, but he’s wrong. Haven’t missed one in forty-odd years. Don’t plan to start now.” That was the first Abby heard of the annual roundup that would take place in the foothills. The excitement in Janey’s voice had made Abby long to be a part of the festivities, but, naturally, she hadn’t been invited. Why would she be?

  “Abby’s here,”
a high-pitched voice sang out, jarring Abby out of her reverie and back into the present.

  Abby opened the car door and got out just in time for a small, compact body to hurl itself into her arms. Slightly overwhelmed by Heather’s unexpected exuberance, Abby hugged her tightly and planted a kiss on top of her sweet-smelling curls.

  “We been waiting. Did you bring the ‘Tucky Fried?”

  “Yep, and potato salad and coleslaw and biscuits. It’s all in a cooler in the trunk.”

  “Come here.” Heather tugged on Abby’s hand, leading her to a frayed, nylon-webbed chaise longue plunked beneath the front yard’s lone mulberry tree.

  “We went to a roundup,” Heather said, once the two were seated in the small, scratchy space. Her words were delivered with the solemnity of a sermon.

  “Really?” Abby said, equally reverent.

  “Yep, ’n me ’n Daddy sleeped right on the ground,” Heather said, more animated than Abby had ever seen her. “Everybody else sleeped in tents, but me ’n Daddy were real cowboys. With stars and cows for company.”

  Abby pictured the scene. An ache behind her breast-bone reminded her of the time her family went camping at Lake June and left her home with her grandmother. “You’re too little, Abby. The mosquitoes will eat you alive,” Abby’s mother had explained. Grammy did her best to entertain Abby, but the sense of being left out had stuck with her a long time.

  “Weren’t you afraid of spiders and snakes and bugs?” Abby asked.

  Heather’s white-gold curls bounced back and forth. “Nope. Daddy put down a big blue tarp first. He said spiders and snakes were scared of plastic.”

  “Really?” Abby said. “I didn’t know that.”

  The little girl nodded seriously, squeezing a bit more space out of the lawn chair they shared.

  “Did you like sleeping under the stars?”

  “Yes, but the frogs were noisy.” She croaked theatrically.

  Abby’s heart swelled; she couldn’t believe how good it felt to be snuggled next to this little munchkin. “Where’d Angel sleep?”

  “In a tent.” Heather wrinkled her nose disdainfully. “With the other girls.”

  “What other girls?”

  “Anna and Rachel. Janey and Ed’s granddaughters.”

  “Oh, right.” Tom had mentioned Ed’s son and his family were coming from Colorado to help with the roundup. “How old are they?”

  “Old.” Heather fingered a tiny embroidered rose on the lapel of Abby’s sleeveless, denim blouse. “They go to college. But they were real nice. They want me ’n Angel to come visit them sometime. They live near some mountains and…”

  Peripherally, Abby saw Tom round the corner of the house; he came to an abrupt halt when he spotted them. She didn’t have a chance to read his look since Heather’s reaction to seeing him was a high-pitched squeal of joy. “Daddy.”

  “There you are, my little baked clam,” Tom growled in his best Big Bad Wolf imitation. “I’ve been looking for a sweet neck to nibble on.” He charged forward, arms outstretched.

  Heather clasped her arms around Abby’s neck, nearly strangling her, but Heather’s daddy was quicker. He scooped her up and tossed her in the air. “Gimme a bite,” he cried, eliciting peals of laughter.

  “No, Daddy, no. Let me down. I’m gonna wet my pants.”

  He set her down contritely. “Sorry, punkin.”

  She wiggled away, then stuck out her little pink tongue. “Just kidding. Ha. Ha. Fooled you.” She dashed away toward the construction zone to the left of the house—the renovations were progressing well—ducking under the yellow Caution tape flapping in the midmorning breeze.

  “Go clean out the litter box,” he called after her.

  Shaking his head in hopelessness, he dropped into the second, ancient chaise longue. It creaked in protest. “Hi,” he said, closing his eyes and heaving a big sigh. “I didn’t hear you drive up. The dogs must have recognized your car.”

  Abby had a hard time forming a reply. He looked good—way too good. More relaxed than the last time she saw him, which had been when he’d shown her the new foal. Since then the sun had done nice things to his hair, which was growing out to a less military style, and the pale strip above his upper lip matched the rest of his face’s healthy tan.

  He’d swapped his usual cotton shirt for a black jersey T-shirt that sported an image of Garth Brooks on it. Evidence, no doubt, that Angel had carried through with her threat to perk up his wardrobe. Abby liked how it emphasized his muscular torso.

  “I’m here.” Well, duh, as Angel says.

  He turned to face her and seemed mesmerized by something on her lips. She licked them to make sure her lipstick wasn’t messed up from Heather’s exuberant buss.

  He sat up suddenly, swinging his legs over the side of the chaise to face her. “I really appreciate your coming. It’s not a big deal, really—Val and I have always gotten along reasonably well, but it’s his first time up here since—”

  Abby understood, perhaps better than she should. She could almost feel his ambivalence about welcoming this man, this “other” daddy, into the world he was trying to create for his daughters.

  “I wouldn’t have bothered you if Ed and Janey were around, but Ed had to take Janey back to Stanford for another treatment.”

  No hat to shade his eyes. Abby couldn’t help noticing how the cloudless sky intensified the blue of his eyes. Way better than Paul Newman. She made herself look down. Sneakers instead of boots. Why does that make him more approachable?

  “By the way, Janey said to tell you thanks for the flowers.”

  Abby shrugged, trying to keep her mind on the conversation. “My roses seem to thrive on neglect and cat poop.” His chuckle twanged some errant chord inside her rib cage. “I really enjoyed meeting Janey. She reminds me of my grandmother. How’s she doing?”

  “Pretty good, but she tires easily and it really ticks her off. They had to come back early from the roundup, but Ed told Janey her body needed pampering, not sleeping in a camper.” His rueful smile made certain body parts hum. “Lord, she hates it when Ed’s right.”

  Abby looked away, blinking at the faintly visible outline of mountains. “Nice day, isn’t it?” she asked inanely.

  “We didn’t pull you away from anything important, did we?” Tom asked, watching her face.

  “No. Not really. I finally broke down and hired a gardener, so my weekends are a bit more relaxed.”

  A serious look pushed down on his flaxen eyebrows. “Can I ask you something personal?”

  The gentleman, again. “Sure.”

  His Adam’s apple rose and fell. “Are you seeing someone?” An endearing blush colored the hollows of his cheeks. “Angel told me that’s the proper way to put it these days.”

  Am I? Do two dinner dates and one closed-mouth kiss qualify? Daniel had invited her to accompany him and his daughter and new son-in-law to Reno over the Memorial Day weekend, but she’d declined because of her traditional family get-together—one she’d have dumped in a heartbeat if someone had invited her to a roundup.

  “You don’t have to answer.”

  She brushed aside his disclaimer with a backhanded motion. “I’m still thinking. My boss is going through a divorce and he’s asked me out a couple of times, but…”

  Tom frowned. “People going through a divorce are dangerous,” he said with feeling. “I know. I was hell on wheels.”

  Abby sat up, too. Their knees, hers bare, his in faded denim, almost touched. “You? You’re too much of a gentleman.”

  “No such animal when your wife up and leaves you. I partied hardy for the better part of a year. Stomped on a couple of hearts along the way, too.” He looked sad, and more than a little sheepish.

  “I’m sure you didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

  “‘Course not, but that doesn’t help when it’s your heart that’s been stomped on.”

  Abby felt privileged to be the recipient of such heart-felt truths and replied in kind
. “After Landon moved out, I went just the opposite way—I didn’t even want to think about dating.”

  “He hurt you bad.”

  She looked at Tom’s hands, loosely clasped between his knees. Powerful hands, toughened by life, yet gentle. “No. Landon’s a great guy—fun-loving, gregarious, but after a while it was like being involved with the social director of a cruise ship. He’d come home at 3:00 a.m. singing Eagles songs, and I’d drag in at the same time after counseling a family whose child had been killed by a drunk driver. It just didn’t work.”

  “What’s the new guy like?”

  “Daniel?” Abby thought a moment. “Suave, articulate, intense. He takes his job as seriously as I do mine, but I always feel as though he has another agenda. It’s the politician in him.”

  Tom’s face soured. “Never had much use for those types, ‘specially after what happened with Heather.”

  Abby knew all too well the frustration of plowing through the red tape of most criminal courts—a system even more convoluted when a child was involved.

  Before she could stop herself, she reached out and clasped his forearm. His skin radiated warmth; bundled muscles bespoke strength and power. “At least they’re here now, and safe.”

  “Dad,” Angel called from inside the house, her tone oddly flat, “Val just called on his cell phone. He’s turning off 99. He says he’ll be here in ten minutes.”

  Abby jumped to her feet as if doused by a bucket of cold water. She moved back, giving Tom space to stand. He looked at her curiously before walking toward the house. Abby followed, wiping her sweaty palms on the backs of her khaki walking shorts.

  “So,” she said, bending down to pet Rosie before hurrying to catch up with Tom, “you had a big roundup last weekend.”

  They skirted the bright, unblemished concrete slab, which looked too small to possibly match the dimensions on the plan. She’d never ceased to marvel at this optical illusion.