by Tina Leonard
“Thank you,” Chelsea said. “My mother was a schoolteacher. I always admired her.” A schoolteacher! No one probably ever told Tempest she looked like that.
Chelsea wondered if Gage thought she looked like a schoolteacher. She patted her hair, which had a tendency to get wild and unruly when she was writing, from constantly shoving a hand through her bangs when she was deep in thought.
“I’ll sit in front,” Cat said, “next to my father.”
“Perfect. This is a nice truck, Gage,” Chelsea said.
“I just bought it.” He turned to smile at her, and Chelsea noticed her stomach give a little flip. He had such nice white teeth in his big smile, and his dark eyes seemed so full of life that it was hard not to smile back.
She saw Cat glowering at her, and wiped the answering smile off her own face. “I saw you shooting, Cat. Was it fun?”
“No,” Cat said.
“Do you shoot, Chelsea?” Gage asked.
“Not unless I have to.”
“I do,” Moira said. “I can bag a quail at fifty paces.”
“She can,” Chelsea said. “Many a time we ate something Mum brought home.”
“Eye of newt,” Cat said.
“Maybe,” Chelsea said. “In my home, we ate what was on our plates, said thank-you, excused ourselves and cleared the table. No questions asked.”
Cat turned to look at Moira. “Are you going to make me do all that?”
Moira nodded. “Of course, lamb. Otherwise, I don’t cook.”
“Jeez,” Cat said. “This is worse than prison.”
“Cat,” Gage said, his tone warning.
Chelsea looked out the window, amazed by the lack of cars on the road into town. “Tempest is like an old postcard that never changed.”
“I like that,” Gage said. “I like that it seems preserved in time.”
“I do, too.” Chelsea jumped when Gage’s gaze caught her eyes in the mirror above the dash.
“It looks boring,” Cat said, her nose pressed to the window as she looked out at the farmland they passed. Cows and horses and an occasional llama dotted the dry landscape. “I’d be embarrassed for my friends to know I was stuck out in the middle of the desert. I’ll probably get stung by a scorpion.”
“That reminds me—by chance did your mom send you with a pair of boots?” Gage asked, glancing at her black-and-white-checked tennis shoes.
Cat shrugged. “I’ve never had boots. I don’t need any, because I’m not going to be an itin…itin—”
“Itinerant,” Gage supplied.
“Cowgirl,” she finished, convinced she had life all figured out.
Chelsea’s gaze once again caught Gage’s in the mirror. He appeared a little chagrined by his daughter’s attitude. Chelsea told herself that his and Cat’s problems had nothing to do with her. In fact, she should be at home writing, giving Bronwyn a chance to figure her way out of her mess.
It was so much more exciting to wonder about Tempest, and how she might handle the pitfall Bronwyn had landed in.
I’m not good at pitfalls. I don’t like guns. I don’t like scary stuff. How did I ever wind up writing mysteries?
Maybe I write mysteries because I love puzzles. And I crave adventure—just like Cat.
She looked at Gage, thinking he was pretty much the call of the wild in real life—but she wasn’t adventurous Tempest. Except for her and her mother’s excursion to America, adventure came to her only on the safe pages of her novels. She would never have the courage to walk away from her life and be someone she wasn’t. “Gage,” Chelsea said suddenly, telling herself it was folly to get involved, “do you know when the nearest rodeo is?”
“Santa Fe. This weekend.” He looked at her. “The four of us could go, if you’d want to see one. Moira, have you been to a rodeo?”
“Not a one, and I’d love to,” Moira said. She shot her daughter a glance of approval, then looked at Cat.
“I’ve attended one, and I’d really like to go again,” Chelsea said. And give Cat a chance to see boot-wearing cowgirls and cowboys outside her hometown, doing their jobs.
“Great. We’ll go,” Gage said.
“Sounds boring,” Cat said.
Chelsea smiled. “We’ll see.”
* * *
AFTER A QUICK GROCERY RUN, they ran into Blanche the waitress at Shinny’s Ice Cream Shoppe. Introductions were made, and when Moira went off to look at the photographs on the walls, and Cat and her dad were engaged in some getting-to-know-you chitchat, Chelsea wandered over to the gregarious waitress. “What flavor?”
Blanche smiled. “Peppermint. My favorite. You?”
“I think peach.” Chelsea liked Blanche. In fact, she liked much of what she’d seen around the town of Tempest so far. Which brought up the name that had been stoking her curiosity, even making her wonder if she’d plotted her heroine wrong in her current book. “So tell me more about Tempest.”
“You’re not asking about the town, are you?” Blanche gave her a smile that reached her big eyes behind red-and-blue-swirled glasses frames.
“I want to hear about that, too. But I have to admit you caught my interest with the tale about Tempest.”
“C’mon.” Blanche waved her over to a black-and-white photograph on the wall. “This is Zola when she was just a wee thing.”
Chelsea blinked. “She seems so thin.”
“Yeah. Well, it wasn’t for lack of eating, I don’t think. Her mom used to send her down every day to this very ice cream shop. My husband, Shinny, over there—” she pointed to a friendly-looking, balding man who was sweeping up “—he owns this shop. He gives ice cream out to the kids, especially the ones he knows got folks who can’t afford it. Zola was on his list of kids who always got a double scoop, or a milkshake if he could talk her into it. Chocolate,” Blanche said with a smile, “in case you were going to ask. Shinny’s special.”
Chelsea moved to a photo of Tempest’s most famous citizen standing in a field, looking at the camera with wide eyes. Her bare feet looked dirty and her overalls not much better. “Did she have a high school sweetheart?”
“No.” Blanche pointed to a football team photo with a pretty brunette standing in a shiny uniform beside the team. “Maggie Sweet was the girl the guys went for. Not a skinny, brown-headed sparrow like Zola. Funny thing is, when she grew up and left this town behind to become Tempest, men pursued her like mad. She went through men like candy, and I don’t think she was serious about a one of them. She had one serious guy, some minor royal from Scotland, I think. Anyway, she found out he had a lady on the side, and left him just like she’d left this town.” Blanche smiled, remembering. “We were all afraid she’d be heartbroken, but Tempest said it was his loss.”
“How do you know all this?” Chelsea had to know more. “I thought she went away and never looked back.”
“She used to call back here from time to time. It’s just been the last year or two we haven’t heard a peep from her. About to send a delegation over to check on her.” Blanche didn’t look convinced that that would have much impact. “We still love her here. She’ll always be Zola to us.”
She’d always be that dirty little girl in the threadbare clothes, Chelsea thought. No wonder she wanted to make herself into Tempest. Chelsea could understand wanting to get away from her old life. It would be fun to be a heroine in a book for a day. Not my heroine. She’s been dangling so long she’s afraid she’ll never get off that cliffside.
“Ready to go?” Gage asked Chelsea, smiling a greeting at Blanche. “I’ve got to get Cat home. She says she’s tired after her big day of traveling. If you want me to come back later and pick you up—”
“I’m good. Thanks.” Chelsea smiled at the woman in turn as she got up from the swivel seat she’d settled on while they’d been chatting. “I enjoyed the town history lesson, Blanche. Thank you.”
Blanche waved a hand, reached out to pat a grumpy-looking Cat. “You come back anytime, sugar. Free ice cream for prett
y little girls.” She smiled at her. “You look so much like your daddy.”
Gage appeared pleased. “Thanks, Blanche. I take that as a real fine compliment.”
Cat glanced up at him, surprised. “You do?”
He nodded. “Sure I do.”
Cat didn’t seem to know what to think about that. She remained silent, following him as he went to escort Moira to the truck. Chelsea went out behind them, watching Gage interact with his daughter, thinking that for a man who’d just found out he was a dad, he was handling it very well.
* * *
“THANKS,” GAGE SAID as he walked the women to the front door. Moira and Cat went on inside to check on the birds, which Cat had named Mo and Curly—he guessed Larry hadn’t been her favorite of the Three Stooges—so Gage grabbed the chance to tell Chelsea exactly how he felt.
Damn grateful.
“For what?” She looked at him, surprised.
He shrugged, not certain how to express what he wanted to say. “Helping Cat make the transition. And me.”
Afternoon light glowed softly on her features as she studied him. Gage waited nervously, as if he was on a first date, not certain why he felt so skittish around Chelsea. Her eyes were so kind and radiated understanding. She wasn’t the type of woman who made men nervous, he was pretty certain.
Which meant…he must dig her.
A little.
The stray thought made Gage even more nervous. Since his relationship with Cat’s mother, Leslie, he’d stayed busy, making no time for dating. A night or two with a lady sufficed.
He shouldn’t feel differently about this russet-haired Irishwoman. For many reasons—not the least of which would be not wanting to play right into Jonas’s hands.
A man had his pride. Gage looked away from the redhead with the big eyes.
“I didn’t do anything for either of you,” Chelsea said. “I like Cat. She reminds me of myself at that age.”
He couldn’t imagine any resemblance, in any way, between the two of them. But he smiled. “Thanks.”
“No thanks necessary.”
There was no reason to keep Chelsea outside longer than he had, either. The shame of it was he really wanted to talk to her more. His heart drummed inside him, and he wished he had his typical easy talk at his disposal. But he didn’t.
And then he did the unthinkable, brushing his lips from the side of her mouth to her cheek, as “just friends” as he could manage.
God, she was soft.
“See you around,” he said, not hanging in to find out what price he might have to pay for stealing a brotherly peck. He didn’t know what had possessed him. He’d let his mouth do the speaking his voice couldn’t. “I’m leaving, Cat! Are you coming?”
“I’ll catch up in a sec!” she yelled back from upstairs. He heard the screen door close as Chelsea went inside.
Good thing, too. Or he’d be tempted to go back for another helping of “just friends.”
Now that he knew how soft she was, he was going to have to put the brakes on temptation. Hard.
Chapter Five
Chelsea went inside to help her mother with dinner, completely stunned that Gage had kissed her. Sure, it was a non-kiss, really, as kisses went—but yesterday they hadn’t even been on shaking-hands terms.
Of course, it hadn’t been anything more than Gage expressing his gratitude. New-overwhelmed-dad gratitude.
He appreciated her and her mom being nice to his daughter. That was all the brief peck had meant.
It had “just friends” written on it. Quick and fast and…like it hadn’t meant anything except thanks.
She was amazed to see Moira and Cat busy chopping vegetables. “What can I do to help, Mum?”
“Nothing at the moment. The cake is made, dinner is almost finished. We’re just finishing up a big salad for Gage. And a sweet potato casserole.”
Cat glanced up at her. “We get a baked chicken. Dad gets portobello mushroom skewers.”
“You go write, dear,” her mother said.
“You should,” Cat agreed. Chelsea wondered if that was her subtle way of trying to keep Moira to herself. “I read what was on your laptop—by accident. I went into your room to find you, but you weren’t there.”
Chelsea raised a brow. “And you just happened to make yourself at home on my laptop?”
“I didn’t touch anything. You left the screen up.” Cat shrugged. “Anyway, it’s going to get read if it ever gets published.”
“It is getting published, and I don’t allow anyone to read my work until I say it’s all right to.” This was something they were going to have to straighten out pronto. Cat would have to understand that her room was off-limits.
“Anyway,” the teen said, “I just thought you should know that Tempest is a real flesh-and-blood person. I can actually see her.” Cat took a bite of carrot, considering her thoughts. “Bronwyn, not so much. She seems kind of wishy-washy. Cardboard.”
Chelsea and Moira stared at Cat. Chelsea wasn’t certain what to think about the critique—although she had a funny feeling it was dead-on. “Please don’t read my work anymore, Cat, unless I give you permission.”
She nodded. “I won’t. Miss Moira says she’s going to take me to the library and get me some books by great authors. Great texts, is what she calls them. Suitable for my advanced level.” She beamed, pretty proud of that praise.
Chelsea shook her head, recognizing the teacher at work. She sank onto a bar stool and looked at Gage’s daughter. “Permission aside, that was a pretty confident critique.”
“I know.” Cat nodded. “My teacher says I should consider journalism. Maybe even poli-sci.”
The front door opened, interrupting the conversation.
“Cat!” Gage called from the front door.
“Yes, Dad?”
“I thought you were going to catch up with me?”
“I am.” She put down the carrot she’d been chopping. “I’m sorry, Miss Moira. I have to go help my dad.”
“You go, love,” she replied, amused.
“Will you finish helping her?” Cat asked Chelsea. “There’s a lot left to do.” She went out of the kitchen, and the front door closed a moment later.
“Goodness.” Moira laughed. “She’s a bit of an old soul, isn’t she?”
“Yes.” Chelsea took over the chopping. “I’m not too happy with her critique, either.”
“Oh, don’t be angry with the lamb,” her mother said. “You know our rules may be different from what she has at home. I don’t sense that she gets a lot of supervision. Now that you’ve explained the boundaries, I’m sure she’ll respect them.”
Gage would insist on his daughter respecting boundaries. That much she could tell about Gage—he tried to keep distance where it needed to be.
Except when he’d kissed her.
And she hadn’t even smacked him, as she’d promised herself she would if he ever stepped over her lines.
Like Cat, he’d crossed her limit so nicely. In such an ordinary way. It had barely been a kiss—and yet it had felt strangely as if there’d been deeper meaning behind it.
Boundaries.
Like father, like daughter.
“Boundaries are good,” she told her mom. “We’ll work on them.”
* * *
DINNER WAS SET ON THE PATIO, and Gage and Cat gathered around, looking hungry, and in Cat’s case, tired and a tiny bit red in the face from exertion and late-afternoon sun. They washed up and then sank down gratefully to join Moira and Chelsea.
“This is great,” Gage said. “I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.”
Cat looked at her dad. “That’s probably because you’re itin—”
“I know,” he said, ruefully interrupting. “But going from job to job is how I make money, kitten.”
“Mom does say you’re always right on time with the child support.” Cat grinned at her father. “It’s the one nice thing she says about you.”
“What did you two do all afternoon?” Chelsea asked, wanting to put Gage at ease.
“We went and talked to a man about knocking down the barn. Dad wants an estimate for that,” Cat said importantly. “Although I think his boss will be angry if he does it.” She looked at her father, not certain if knocking over buildings was really in his job description.
“And look who’s going to join us for dinner,” Moira said. “Just in time to say grace for us.”
Chelsea looked up, surprised to see Jonas Callahan pulling in with a horse trailer. “I’ll set another place.” She went to grab a plate and silverware, coming back out in time to see Jonas slap Gage on the back.
“Didn’t I tell you you’d like it here?” Jonas asked, glancing around at the wonderful spread on the table. “That smells good. I love roast chicken and portobello mushrooms.” He leaned over to kiss Moira on the cheek, tipped his hat to Chelsea, and said, “Who’s this beautiful girl?” to Cat, who blushed, to Chelsea’s delight.
“My daughter, Cat,” Gage supplied. “Sit down, Jonas.”
“I will.” He sat down easily, filling his glass from the tea pitcher. “Hi, Cat. You like it here?”
“Not really,” she said with her characteristic tact. “But will you please say grace for us? Miss Moira says you will, and we’re starved. Dad’s been working hard today.”
Jonas laughed. “Good for him. And I’m happy to say grace, thank you for the honor.”
They bowed their heads, and Jonas said grace, and then everybody began filling their plates with Moira’s good cooking. Chelsea was amazed by how well Cat seemed to fit in, with just a smidgen of guidance and structure. She caught Gage watching her study his daughter, and busied herself with the chicken and vegetables. I’m getting too involved. It’s none of my business. I’m here to write, and get my heroine out of her tangle, and take care of my mother.
Not get love-struck over a footloose cowboy.
“Fiona says to tell you hi, Miss Moira,” Jonas said.
“When’s she coming out to see me?” Moira asked.
“Actually, I’m to remind you all of the Fourth of July picnic at the ranch. You’ll be there, won’t you?” Jonas looked at Chelsea and then Gage.