That Cowboy's Kids

by Debra Salonen

  “Val, I won’t ask you if you deserved it,” Tom said, but before he could finish, Angel sprang at her stepfather, hitting him with her fists.

  “Well, I will. Did you do it, Dad? Did you? Were you sleeping around? Is that why my mom is dead?” she cried, pounding her fists against his hunched shoulders.

  Tom caught her hands in his and pulled Angel to him, soothing her struggles just as he did Heather’s troubled nightmares. “Calm down, Angel-babe, it’s okay. Let it go.”

  Val turned to them, one hand hovering inches from Angel’s shuddering back. “No, Ang, I didn’t do it, but I was thinking about it, and that makes me sick to my stomach.” His face twisted. “There was a girl at the club, a new member. I—your mom knew me like a book, and she knew I was looking and she wasn’t about to let me get away with it.”

  He gave a rough, hurtful laugh. “At first, I was mad at your mom, but as soon as she left, I realized what a fool I was. I was married to the greatest woman in the world. I had the perfect family and I put it all in jeopardy because of a cute body.” Tom glanced at Abby; her eyes were filled with sadness.

  “I was writing out my apology—you know how much your mom loved seeing things in writing—” a ghost of a smile touched his lips “—when the police knocked on the door.”

  Tom felt Angel’s breath catch and hold. He loosened his grip. She wiped her tear-soaked face with her hands—a little-girl gesture that made his heart twist. “Can I see it?”

  Val looked at his hands. “I burnt it. Along with my hair cream and—some other things. I was stupid, Angel. I don’t deserve your forgiveness because I’ll never forgive myself, but I hope you won’t hate me forever.”

  Angel looked at Tom with a softening he remembered seeing in her mother’s eyes. Lesley’s nature thrived on drama—they’d had their shouting matches, too, but the making up was always worth it because Lesley had too big a heart to hold a grudge for long.

  Then Angel looked at Abby. “They told me at Rainbows that blame kills people from the inside out,” she said.

  Abby smiled softly and nodded encouragingly. “When there’s no changing something, you have to let go so it doesn’t eat you up.”

  Angel put her hand on Val’s shoulder. “One guy in the group is only seventeen but he’s got an ulcer. His brother died in a car wreck. They’d been drinking and smoking pot. The other brother was driving, but my friend still blames himself for not dying, instead.” She shook her head, the long tresses dancing like a sheet of fine silk. “Mom wouldn’t want you to blame yourself forever.” Her lips turned up a fraction. “Maybe a couple of years, but not forever.”

  Val blinked back tears and pulled her into a hug.

  For once, Tom felt no competition, no angst. Angel had enough love to share with both her fathers. He should have known that all along.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “WAL-MART.”

  “Toys ‘R’ Us.”

  Why did I think I could handle this? Abby silently groaned, listening to the argument between Heather and Angela escalate. Taking the girls shopping for a baby gift had been her bright idea, but suddenly Abby felt way out of her league.

  “The mall,” Abby stated assertively. “Most of the stores there are in Modesto, too, and Maria can exchange anything she doesn’t need.”

  Angel huffed moodily. “Wal-Mart’s cheaper.”

  “Toys ‘R’ Us has more stuff,” Heather grumbled.

  “But I’m driving, and you’re giving me a headache.”

  That quieted them down. For their ages, both Butler girls showed remarkable empathy. Abby attributed that to their dad. She’d never met a man as sensitive to her thought patterns and emotions. When she’d called to invite the girls shopping, he suggested they wait until she’d had time to recuperate from Friday’s court date. That he even recalled her casual mention of the victim statement she was scheduled to deliver for a non-English-speaking family blew her away.

  “Sorry, Abby,” Angel said sheepishly. “Are you all right?”

  Abby waved off her concern. “Fine. Just a little tired. It was a crazy week at work.”

  Friction at work—an undercurrent generated by Daniel’s attention—added to her tension, but Abby was honest enough to admit that the birth of Maria and Miguel’s new son, Aurelio Miguel, on Wednesday, had triggered old angst, and a new, disturbing reaction—envy. Dueling conflicts battled in her mind. “Why not me?” one side cried. “You had your chance and blew it,” the other side taunted.

  “So,” Abby said, hoping to rekindle some spark of enthusiasm in her young charges, “did you talk to Maria? Is he the most beautiful baby ever born?”

  “We saw him,” Heather said from the back seat. “Daddy took us to the hosp’tal. He’s red and really ugly, but Maria likes him.”

  Abby glanced in the rearview mirror. Heather’s outfit consisted of an eye-straining combination of hot-pink shorts with a violet-and-orange-striped tank top. At least she’ll be easy to spot in a crowd, Abby thought.

  Summer vacations traditionally meant swimming parties, slumber parties, family vacations. What would it mean to Tom and his daughters? she wondered, recalling the way Angela had showed off her independent study report card as if it were a “get-out-of-jail-free” card. Abby had recognized Tom’s look of worry, too.

  “Any ideas for a gift?” Abby asked, cracking open her window. A succession of big rigs roared past, but the midmorning air felt invigorating.

  Both girls simultaneously shouted suggestions above the highway din.

  “Wait.” Abby hastily rolled up her window. “We need a list. I’m not too experienced in these matters. My mom and sister-in-law picked out a crib and layette for my new niece. All I had to do was write a check. I don’t even know what kinds of things a baby needs.”

  When both girls started speaking, Abby held up a hand. “One at a time. Angela first.”

  Angel, in frayed cutoff shorts and a belly-exposing top right out of the sixties, twisted to face her. “Well, I know Maria’s mom and sisters gave her a shower and she got tons of practical stuff—two or three baby monitors, a stroller, a backpack, a bunch of diapers and a couple of diaper bags. And Miguel’s brother gave them a crib and all that stuff.”

  “Zikes. We’re in trouble.”

  Heather piped up. “Babies like toys.”

  “You like toys,” her sister growled. “Babies can’t even see toys right away. Their eyes aren’t focused all the way.”

  Abby recognized the tone of authority. “How do you know so much about babies, Angel?”

  “I used to help out on Saturday mornings at my mom’s step aerobics class. I worked in the child-care room. She’d pay me, plus I got tips. Two of the moms traded off, too, and I listened to them talk.” She settled back in the seat and her voice became more wistful. “Afterward, Mom would take me out to lunch and sometimes we’d go shopping. Mom was a great shopper.”

  It was the first time Abby had heard Angel open up about her mother. “Well, I’m a terrible shopper and we could use all the help we can get, so…how ’bout we take your mom along with us today?”

  “What?” Angel gawked as if Abby had lost her mind. “She’s dead.”

  Abby nodded, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. This was more Donna’s department, but she plunged ahead, anyway. “True, but your memories of her are very much alive, so we can use those to help us pick out the right gift. In a way, she’ll be guiding us.”

  Abby let the idea sink in a minute then asked, “What kinds of things would your mom be looking for if she were shopping for a baby gift?”

  “Toys,” Heather piped up.

  Angel shot her a quelling look. “Shut up, dufus. This is serious. Mom took shopping seriously but she had a good time doing it. Sometimes, she bought silly stuff. Things that made you laugh but made you feel special, too.”

  “Like what?” Abby prompted.

  “Well…at Christmas, Mom bought Val a juggling set.” She grinned at her sister. “Reme
mber? One of the balls broke the lamp and she wanted to get mad at him but couldn’t and we all laughed.”

  Abby relaxed a little. “Let’s start with that. Item number one—something silly. What else?”

  Heather leaned as far forward as her seat belt allowed. “She picked out nice stuff, too. Like Angel’s doctor boots.”

  Angel, who’d exchanged her standard black combat boots for a pair of sandals, explained. “Doc Martens. Mom said where shoes were concerned you should buy quality over quantity.”

  Abby wiggled her toes against the cork sole of her Birkenstocks. “I agree. Let’s make that number two—something nice.”

  She caught Heather’s beaming smile in the mirror.

  “Mom had a way of always finding something special,” Angel said softly. “Like this necklace she gave me for my birthday.” She fingered the fine filigreed chain at her neck. A small pendant encircled a golden-hued stone. “It’s my birthstone. I told her I liked opals better, but she said this was her favorite because it stood for the day I was born, which was one of the two best days of her life.”

  Tears clustered behind Abby’s eyelids. She brushed aside the moisture beneath her sunglasses. “Your mom would want us to make this a happy day because babies are happy things, right?”

  Angel shifted, visibly shaking off the sad memories. “Right.”

  “Three gifts—silly, nice and special. Three of us—four, counting your mom. How hard can it be?” she asked, pulling into the parking lot. “Let’s go.”

  AN HOUR and forty-five minutes later, Abby’s feet hurt and her shoulder ached from carrying her purse. They found the first two items on their list easily—perhaps nudged with a little heavenly help—but the third eluded them, and all three earthly shoppers were getting cranky.

  “This is heavy,” Heather complained, toting a Goofy gift bag sprouting yellow and blue tissue paper. Inside nested a ridiculously overpriced two-piece outfit that would be outgrown in six months tops, but its giraffes playing catch were too cute to pass up.

  “Shut up,” Angel grumbled. “That’s nothing compared to this.” In her arms rested a two-foot by three-foot gaily wrapped box containing a little red wagon—every boy’s first wheels. Heather spotted it right off the bat and couldn’t be dissuaded, even though baby Aurelio wouldn’t be able to use it for a couple of years.

  “I’ll pull him in it when he gets older,” she vowed.

  Abby and Angel had acquiesced, deeming it a truly silly gift for a baby.

  Abby looked at her watch. She’d told Tom they’d meet him at Miguel and Maria’s at one o’clock. “Let’s get a frozen yogurt,” she suggested. “I always knew shopping was hard work. Maybe that’s why I don’t do it.”

  “How do you buy things? Presents and stuff?” Heather asked, holding the bag in one hand, Abby’s hand in the other.

  Abby squeezed it lightly. She couldn’t believe how warm and anchoring that little hand felt. “Catalogs. I order books and CDs off the Internet. At Christmas, I give my niece and nephew savings bonds. Not glamorous, but they get so much stuff from their parents and grandparents, it’s almost obscene.”

  “You can never be too obscene at Christmas,” Angel quipped.

  Abby smiled. To her surprise, she’d enjoyed the morning. Both girls were bright and intelligent and fun. They helped ward off a peculiar emptiness she’d felt growing in recent weeks. Melina, naturally, attributed Abby’s mood to Daniel’s low-key but persistent pursuit.

  “Tell him the truth, Abby,” Melina suggested at dinner the previous night—Abby’s excuse for avoiding Daniel’s invitation to a gala fund-raiser. “Tell him you could never fall for a guy who doesn’t wear cowboy boots.”

  Abby didn’t bother protesting. As Melina put it, if Tom and Daniel were Web sites, Tom’s “hits” would have outnumbered Daniel’s five to one. Unfortunately, Abby couldn’t dabble with that site without doing real damage to her entire operating system.

  “Oh, look,” Angel said breathlessly, bringing Abby back to the present.

  Abby followed the girl’s outstretched finger to a kiosk in the center of the mall’s rotunda. Against a lattice background hung a small, perfectly executed quilt. Its puffy sky of pale blue material with fuzzy white clouds hosted a heavenly collection of ruddy-faced cherubs.

  “It’s beeuutiful,” Heather gushed, letting go of Abby’s hand to rush forward.

  Abby agreed. The craftsperson had bestowed upon each angel a different personality: peaceful, mischievous, serene and joyous.

  Abby dug in her purse for her credit card.

  “Don’t you want to know how much it is?” Angel eyed her questioningly.

  “Nope. It’s perfect. That angel up in the corner has eyes the color of your birthstone. And that little guy on the cloud has your hair, Heather. I’d say your mom is one terrific shopper, wouldn’t you?”

  Both girls looked at each other before nodding—at first tentatively, then with glee.

  TOM LEANED his head back against the nappy fabric of the Fuenteses’ couch and closed his eyes. The tiny child sleeping in the crook of his arm brought back memories that made tears form beneath his eyelids. He would never forget the joy and knee-bending fear that walloped him the instant he held Angel—a squalling bundle with black hair and red, furious cheeks—in his arms. A bolt of love, possessiveness, responsibility—he wasn’t sure he could name it—hit him like a fist to the gut. He knew his life would never be the same.

  “You’re tired, Tom,” a soft voice said. “Let me take him.”

  Tom opened one eye. Maria, looking both exhilarated and exhausted, stood before him in a shapeless dress, a diaper hooked over one shoulder. “Oh no you don’t,” he whispered back. “As long as I’ve got him, I can take a break.”

  In all honesty, this week had been hell. The backhoe driver installing underground power lines uprooted some mangled telephone cable. News from Stanford wasn’t good: Janey’s adverse reaction to some drug had scared the bejesus out of Ed. With Miguel freaking out over false labor, then the real thing, Tom found his workload doubled. Plus, he wasn’t prepared for summer vacation, or, more to the point, his daughters’ expectations of a fun-filled, action-packed summer.

  If it hadn’t been for Abby ferrying the girls to Fresno and taking them shopping this morning, he wouldn’t have known a minute’s peace, although, in a way, she compounded his problems, too.

  Tom shifted against the cushions. There was no excuse for such juvenile dreams in a man his age. Just when Heather’s bad dreams seemed to be slacking off so he could get a decent night’s sleep, erotic images of Abby plagued his dreams, leaving him drained, edgy and damn horny.

  “Daddy’s got the baby!” a voice exclaimed, jolting Tom back to reality.

  The cushions to his right sank as Heather jumped to his side. “Can I hold him?”

  Angel sank down beside him on his left. “Shh, he’s sleeping,” she whispered. “Hey, he looks better, doesn’t he? Abby, come see him.”

  Tom’s heart jumped skittishly, forcing a lump into his windpipe. Juggling her purse, car keys and the packages his daughters dumped in her arms, Abby looked harried but beautiful. He couldn’t read the look in her eyes but sensed her hesitation.

  “Come,” he beckoned.

  She set the gifts on the floor beside a spanking-new baby stroller and took two tentative steps toward the couch. Not fast enough to suit Heather, who bounced to her knees and stretched to grab Abby’s hand. “He won’t bite. He doesn’t have any teeth yet.”

  Abby’s smile made his pulse jerk.

  She looped her hair behind her ears and leaned over. Her fair skin looked as soft and touchable as baby Rey’s; Tom could have spent hours tracing the scattered freckles across her shoulders.

  “He’s beautiful,” she said, blinking rapidly.

  Tom detected her scent—a subtle, fresh floral, above the nose-prickling samples his daughters had obviously doused on every available spot. He started to offer her the baby, but she backe
d away, a blush claiming her cheeks.

  “No, thanks. I’m not good with babies. But you look right at home.”

  Without thinking, he lifted Rey in his arms, kissing his petal-soft skin, inhaling that remarkable baby scent. “I love babies,” he said. “Horse babies, pig babies, girl babies.” He winked at Heather, making her giggle.

  “Hi, Abby,” Maria said, hurrying in through the doorway that led to the dining room and kitchen. “Thanks so much for coming. And for the flowers. They’re so pretty.”

  Tom watched with interest the way Abby deflected any praise that came her way. When Miguel joined them to open the gifts, Tom noticed she stayed out of the hoopla, letting the girls bask in the praise. While she seemed pleased by Maria and Miguel’s exclamations of pleasure over the presents, she remained detached, as if visiting with clients, not involved with friends.

  “You must stay for dinner,” Miguel told her, giving Abby a friendly squeeze around the shoulders. “We have enough food to feed an army. Tell her, Tom, she has to stay.”

  Tom grinned. “Maria’s mother would be insulted if you didn’t. And, believe me, you don’t want to insult Señora Garza. She may be tiny, but she’s powerful. Miguel calls her Mighty Mouse.”

  “Shh….” Miguel put a finger to his lips, mischievously.

  Abby smiled back. “Okay. I’ll stay. Thank you.”

  “No. Thank you for all these great gifts. This wagon is terrific.” He snatched up the box. “I’m going to the barn. Coming, Tom?”

  “No way, amigo. You’ve worked me hard enough this week.”

  Once Miguel left the room, Abby shifted on the straight-back chair nestled in the small bay window. The afternoon sunlight, spilling in through the windows, imbued an aura of gold around her shoulders and head. She crossed one long, sleek leg over her knee, unconsciously displaying her nervousness.

  “I must owe you a small fortune,” Tom said.