A Texas Bond

by Shannon Taylor Vannatter

  “It’s right here.” She pulled into the flea market’s lot and parked. As soon as she killed the engine, she was out.

  They entered the dimly lit ancient building. The scent of old books, dust and that antique dresser drawer smell that was so hard to conquer greeted them.

  A familiar gray-haired lady sat behind the counter.

  “Hi, Maisy.”

  “Stacia, so good to see you again. Oh my, I didn’t know you had a fella. And a might handsome one at that.”

  Her face steamed. “This is Ross. Our new hire at the store. That’s all.” Except he was the twins’ uncle and they had to work something out without ripping her niece and nephew in half.

  “Oh, my mistake. I believe the coffee bar pieces you might be interested in are in booths eleven and thirty-six. There are two claw foots in twenty-two and there’s an old table in the back I’ll show you. Then we’ll head to the warehouse, where all the really good stuff is.” Maisy rubbed her hands together as if she couldn’t wait. “Follow me.”

  It always amazed Stacia the pace Maisy kept. In her late sixties to early seventies, she was terribly humped from osteoporosis. But that didn’t stop her from flitting about quickly.

  “I know you said you’re building the table part of the coffee bar, but I thought this might save you some time.” Maisy unlocked the dust-coated door in the back marked Employees Only and waved them through. “I could let you have it for twenty bucks.”

  Stacia’s eyes widened at the small Queen Anne–style entry table.

  “No!” Ross shouted. “That’s a Chippendale.”

  “He’s right,” Stacia agreed. “It’s easily worth fifteen hundred.”

  “It is?” Maisy wrung her hands. “This little thing? Well, I said I’d let you have it for twenty and I’m not a deal breaker.”

  “Oh Maisy, I couldn’t possibly keep you to that deal. I want you to clean this table up. Don’t sand it or anything, but polish it and put it on the floor for what it’s worth.”

  “I’m such a failure at this.” Maisy pressed her hand to her temple. “My Alford knew what things were, how much they were worth. I should sell the store and be done with it.”

  “You’re not a failure, Maise. You’re learning.”

  “I should have paid more attention when he was alive.”

  “Do you enjoy running the store, Maisy?” Ross asked.

  “I do. Very much. I feel so close to Alford here.” She clasped a hand to her heart. “He loved this place. I just don’t know what I’m doing is all.”

  “I have an idea.” He fished something out of his pocket, then handed Maisy a business card. “I’m an appraiser. When you get a new piece in, you text me or email me a picture. I’ll tell you where the markings will be if it’s a real antique and quote the value. When you sell it, you send me ten percent of what you sold it for.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “I won’t let anyone take advantage of you, Maisy. It’s just not right.”

  “I’ll do that.” Maisy threw her arms around him. “Oh, thank you, young man. You’ve made an old woman very happy.”

  “I’m glad to help.” Ross grinned as he hugged her back.

  Stacia blinked tears away. She’d worried about people taking Maisy for a ride since Alford’s death. But she’d been at a loss how to help except on her infrequent visits to Maisy’s store.

  “Here.” Maisy finally let go of him. “Let me show you the rest of the stuff.”

  They spent the next hour picking and bargaining a fair price. In the end, they got enough doors and parts for another thirty-four coffee bars along with twenty-three claw-foot tubs. She wrote Maisy a nice check with plenty of room for profit from Waverly’s B and B’s.

  Thirty minutes later, they were loaded and back on the road headed to the ranch. The air conditioning swept a chill over Stacia’s heated skin. She’d probably sweated off all her makeup while helping Ross load the truck.

  “That was really nice of you to help Maisy out. I’m guessing you usually get paid more than that.”

  “I usually charge by the hour. But I figure she’s struggling and there’s no telling what shysters have carried out of her store for little or nothing. She’s due for a break.”

  “She’s a sweetheart.”

  “Speaking of sweethearts, tell me more about Adrian Caruthers.”

  She frowned, didn’t take her eyes off the road. “What about him?”

  “He still has a thing for you.”

  “He broke up with me.”

  “Because of the twins.”

  “Sort of.”

  “What if you didn’t have them through the week? If you only had them on weekends, do you think y’all could work things out?”

  “But I have them. All of the time.” Her tone turned ominous. “And who said I wanted to work things out with him?”

  “You didn’t have to. You showed me.”

  “Oh really?” Her right eyebrow went up. “When was that?”

  “You got teary over him in the drop-off line the other day.”

  “For your information,” she snapped, “I didn’t get teary over him.”

  “Okay, just calm down.” Now that he knew about her heart, he needed to remember not to upset her.

  “Don’t tell me to calm down.”

  “Then at least pull over.”

  She huffed out a big breath and pulled into a grocery store lot. “I was never hung up on Adrian. He was into me way more than I was him. I was about to break it off when Calli died and everything went crazy.”

  “So why the tears?”

  “If you must know,” her hair seemed to get redder with her temper, “I have the same heart defect as my mother and sister. They both died because childbirth put a strain on their hearts.” Her voice cracked as she turned to face him. “Doctors have recommended that I never have children.”

  “Oh Stacia.” And it was obvious how much she loved the twins. That she’d dreamed of having her own kids someday. With her heart defect, he should have figured it out. “I’m so sorry. I had no clue.”

  “You definitely have no clue.” Her chin quivered. “If you think you can do me a favor and take the twins off my hands so I can have my happily-ever-after, you’ve got another thing coming. They are my happily-ever-after. I won’t let you take them.” She punctuated each word with a jab of her finger. “Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you. Just calm down. We’ll work something out.”

  “I won’t have a heart attack just because I’m upset. Okay? It’s not like I’m a ticking time bomb. It takes more strain than you to kill me off.” She rolled her eyes. “But then you’re probably hoping I’ll keel over, so you can have Mason and Madison.”

  “No, Stacia, you’re wrong. That’s not what I want. The twins love you. They need you.”

  “You got that right.”

  “Why don’t you let me drive.”

  She turned away, sat there staring at the wheel. “I’m okay, just give me a minute.”

  “I’m sorry I upset you.”

  “What makes you think I’m upset? Because my face is all splotchy? Welcome to redhead world.” Another deep breath seeped out of her and she turned back onto the highway.

  The rest of the drive home was silent.

  Chapter Five

  If only it weren’t Friday. Stacia sanded the final rust spot on the tub. Weekends were always busiest at the store, which meant that even though Angel and Veronica were both working, Daddy was in the store all day. Leaving her alone in the workshop with Ross. Making the afternoon drag on. She’d asked Daddy to take the kids to school this morning to avoid Adrian. Torn between dodging two men.

  Somehow Ross knowing her truth made her dread working with him less than seeing the school principal. Maybe his harsh words toward Adrian had stirred u
p her anger again. Even though she’d planned to break things off with him, when Adrian had rejected Mason and Madison, it had infuriated her. She needed to pray about it and get rid of the bitterness toward him.

  In the meantime, she’d kept her back to Ross and her drill on most of the day as she smoothed one claw-foot bathtub after another, effectively killing any chance for chitchat. The mere memory of their conversation yesterday still heated her skin.

  Anger smoldered within her, but so did embarrassment. For letting him see her so upset, for letting him in on her secret. Only Daddy had known she shouldn’t have children. Until now.

  The rust disintegrated and she set down her drill, turned to check the corbels and hooks heating in the crockpot.

  Ross stood there, peering into it. “I hope that’s not supper.”

  “Heating them in a crockpot takes the old layers of paint right off.” She grabbed a set of tongs, fished the finished pieces out and laid them on a towel.

  “About yesterday.”

  “Can we just not go there?” She closed her eyes.

  “Just hear me out and we won’t go there again. I’m really sorry. Really. I didn’t mean to insult you. I’ve just been racking my brain trying to figure out a way where everyone can be happy.”

  He massaged his temples, as if warding off a headache. “I didn’t mean I’d take the twins and you’d never see them. I meant we’d share them. If you’d wanted that, we’d have worked out a schedule of equal time with them. But you don’t want that. I’m done with that idea and back to the drawing board.”

  “Good.”

  “Good. I just can’t stop thinking about Adrian.”

  “Why?” She frowned.

  “It takes a selfish, special kind of jerk to break up with a woman he’s obviously interested in because she can’t have kids and live. I mean we’re talking life and death here.”

  “Actually.” She drew in a deep breath. “I never told him. When I got the twins and he said he wanted to raise his own kids, not someone else’s, I took it to mean he wouldn’t be interested in me if he knew the truth.” She blinked away tears. “I’m done with this subject.”

  “I am too. I just want you to know that you’ll find the right man one day. And helping you raise the twins and not having any children of his own won’t matter to him. A man would be blessed to marry you.”

  His kind words lodged a lump in her throat.

  “Thanks.” She swallowed hard, then slipped a mask over her mouth and nose, and handed him one. “I’ll be painting.”

  “Is this what you had in mind?” He gestured toward the coffee bar he’d been working on.

  Searching for flaws, she inspected the piece, but there weren’t any. The six-panel door joined seamlessly to the small table he’d built with the plywood top with perfectly beveled edges and spindle legs. The corbels at the top held a sturdy shelf and eight antique cast iron hooks lined the space between the shelf and tabletop. He’d painted it all white with each door panel contrasting in yellow. Exactly the way she’d imagined it.

  “It’s perfect.” Ross had proven to be invaluable this week in the workshop, bringing to life the images in her head, and keeping them ahead of their quota to meet their B and B deadline. If only he wasn’t Mason and Madison’s uncle.

  The twins loved him and he obviously was crazy about them already. With his clueless parents lurking, how could they possibly come to a compromise that would give everyone involved time with the kids, without turning their world upside down?

  The door from the store opened and Mason ran in. “Aunt Stacia, Uncle Ross, we’re home.”

  “For a whole weekend.” Madison followed, and shut the door behind her. “Can we do something fun?”

  “Like what?” Stacia set her paint gun down. Though her mind had been on the twins, she hadn’t realized it was time for them to come home from school yet.

  “Ride horses or go for a hike or a picnic or go to the park in Bandera.”

  She pulled her mask off over her head. “What about homework?”

  “We don’t got any,” Mason said.

  “We don’t have any,” she corrected.

  “That’s what I said.” Mason frowned.

  “You said got. Have is proper English.” Stacia pulled her smock off, hung it on a hook. “Don’t and got never go together. It’s always don’t have. How about a horseback ride, since that was first on the list?”

  “Yay.” Madison clapped her hands.

  “Come on, Uncle Ross, come with us.”

  “He can’t.” She quickly cut off the possibility. “He has to stay here and paint the bathtub I was about to do and he has more coffee bars to build.”

  “Your aunt’s right.” Ross shot the twins a wink. “But I tell you what—I’ll work extra late tonight and get us good and ahead on our order, so I can hang with y’all tomorrow. How’s that sound?”

  “Awesome.” Mason held his hand up for a high five and Ross smacked it.

  Dreadful. If Ross played with the twins tomorrow, she’d be tempted to stay busy in the workshop. Even though she’d rather be with her niece and nephew.

  Why did he have to be here? Everything had been great. Until he’d shown up.

  * * *

  It had been well after midnight when Ross left the workshop last night. He’d had supper with the twins, Maverick and a stiff Stacia. Once the kids had gone to bed he and Maverick had gone back to work. The older man had left around ten thirty.

  Ross stretched the aching muscles in his back, wishing he’d left that early, then knocked on the door of the Keyes’ farmhouse. But the extra work was worth getting to spend part of his Saturday with Mason and Madison. The more time he spent with them, the more they wound themselves around his heart and the guiltier he felt for not telling his folks.

  But before he broke the news to his parents, he wanted to have a solution. A solution that hadn’t come to him just yet.

  The door opened and Stacia stood there, looking bright and sunny in a yellow button-up blouse paired with jeans and boots.

  “What’s on the agenda. Another horseback ride?”

  “No.”

  “Good to see you too.”

  “I mean, the twins want to go to a dude ranch in Bandera. They have outdoor bowling, putt-putt golf and an indoor water park and swimming pool.”

  “Sounds fun. I’ll get a few things and meet you at your car.”

  “Sure.” She sounded even less excited than she looked.

  He hurried back to his apartment, grabbed a pair of cutoff jeans and a towel. By the time he got back to the farmhouse, she was herding the twins into the car. Had she planned on leaving without him?

  “Uncle Ross!” Mason darted toward him.

  “In the car,” Stacia ordered.

  “But Uncle Ross is here.”

  “You better do what your aunt says, kiddo. Because I’m coming with you.”

  “You are?” Mason’s eyes grew wide.

  “And the last one in the car is a rotten cow patty.”

  “Ewww!” Mason bolted for the car.

  Ross followed, caught Stacia’s eye. “You weren’t trying to get gone before I got back, now were you?”

  “Of course not. I’ve come to realize you’re not that easy to get rid of,” she mumbled. “It just takes forever to get these two in sync.”

  He eased his long legs into the passenger side. “We can take my truck any time, you know.”

  “That would give you entirely too much control and besides, I still don’t know if you’re a good driver.”

  “How can we find out if Uncle Ross is a good driver, if you never let him drive?” Madison asked.

  “Hmm. You’ve got a good point there.” Stacia made eye contact with the twins in the rearview mirror. “Maybe we can follow him to church tomorrow.”
r />   A worthy adversary. She’d just kicked him out of riding with them in the morning.

  They’d made strides at getting along, at her trusting him. Until he’d tried the whole Adrian angle. He could kick himself. Not the way to win her trust at all.

  “Two kids—check, ten towels—four for each sopping twin and one for each adult—check, dry clothes for two kids—check, dry clothes for me—check, sunblock—check. I think we’ve got everything.”

  Along with an unwanted cowboy, he could almost hear her thinking it.

  “Do you have towels and extra clothes, Uncle Ross?” Madison asked.

  “I do.”

  “Then let’s go already.” Mason bounced in his car seat.

  The fifteen-minute drive to Bandera was filled with the twins’ chatter about what all they wanted to do once they got to the dude ranch. From the sound of it, they’d have to stay a whole week to get it all done.

  “Here we are.” Stacia turned into a drive with a petting zoo along the side filled with sheep, ponies and rabbits. A chapel sat off to the other side with a large barn-looking structure on down the drive.

  As she parked beside the barn, he caught a glimpse of the putt-putt course—dotted with barrels, wagon wheels and enormous cowboy boots.

  “What do y’all want to do first?”

  “Swim.” Both young voices blended.

  “They always want to swim first.” Stacia chuckled. “And then they’re cold while we play putt-putt because their hair is wet. But it’s supposed to be eighty-eight today, so maybe that will help.”

  “Aunt Stacia always wants to play putt-putt.” Madison unbuckled her seatbelt. “But she’s terrible at it.”

  “Hey.” Stacia’s tone dripped with insult. “You don’t have to win to have fun.”

  “Well that’s good. Cuz you’ll never win, Aunt Stacia.” Mason was already loose and trying to open the door, but apparently Stacia had the child locks engaged in the back of the car.