Small-Town Moms

by Tronstad, Janet

  “I loved my parents, too,” she whispered when she set the pen down. She looked Clint straight in the eyes. “They died and left me, but I still felt the same way about them. I was angry at them for a while, but nobody could replace them for me. It wouldn’t have mattered if they’d become drunks. They would have still been my parents. I’d have hoped they would change just like you did with your father.”

  Maegan looked down when she finished. Her eyes had blazed with emotion when she’d spoke and Clint suspected that some of the glow in her eyes was from tears that were forming. Sure enough, one started to slide down her cheek.

  The clouds outside must have turned gray because the light streaming through the kitchen windows had lost its shine. The dampness in the air promised rain. Only the overhead light shone down on them.

  Everything in the kitchen had turned delicate. The clock ticked in the background. The tea was growing cold in the mug. Maegan looked fragile, her skin pale and her eyes downcast as though she was fighting the sorrow that caused her tear to flow. Clint felt like he should turn around and give her some privacy. He couldn’t help himself though. He moved his chair closer and reached over to wipe away the tear.

  Maegan sat there, trying to take a deep breath. “I think I might have hay fever.”

  His thumb rested on her cheek and he tilted her face up with the rest of his hand. “It’s not the season for hay. But it’s all right.”

  She looked at him again, her eyes shimmering and her face flushed. Her skin was so soft he caressed her cheek lightly with his thumb.

  “Maybe I have a speck in my eye then. Truly, I never cry.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with a few tears.” Clint struggled to find words for all of the other things he suddenly wanted to say, but all he could come up with was, “You’re entitled to them.”

  Maegan closed her eyes then and he hoped it was from relief.

  “You and me, we know how hard life can be,” he said and then added because he thought it might make her feel better, “That part about me hoping my father would turn back into his old self, I’ve never told that to anyone. Not even Joe. I always felt a little foolish for believing it was even possible. I hate to feel like a fool.”

  Maegan nodded and another tear slid down her cheek. He let it collect on the side of his thumb before rubbing the dampness against her cheek. She was soft as a peach.

  “It was hard being the oldest,” Maegan whispered into his hand. “I felt I should save my sisters somehow and I couldn’t even save myself. Our family was destroyed and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

  “I know,” Clint said. “Believe me, I know.”

  Then he did the only thing he could. He slid his chair close enough that he could put his arm around her. She leaned into him willingly and something eased in his heart as he held her tight. He felt someone understood him at long last.

  They sat there, shoulder to shoulder, for a long time. A crack of thunder sounded outside and a slow rain beat against the roof. Then for no good reason Clint bent over and kissed her on the top of her head. He cared about her and the surprise of it shot through him. He hadn’t thought he could feel so protective of someone.

  She felt his lips press against her hair again. What had ever made her think a column of pluses and minuses would show who was worthy to raise a child? Her mother used to kiss her like that when she came in to say good-night. Maegan looked up to meet Clint’s eyes, planning to tell him that and to thank him for reminding her of her mother’s kiss. But everything shifted when she saw his eyes. They were dark, even with the light shining down on them from overhead. And they swirled with emotion. There was nothing of her mother in this man’s eyes.

  She knew he was going to kiss her—really kiss her—even before he leaned closer to her. She expected to feel a moment’s panic. She didn’t make a habit of kissing men she hadn’t known for long. But his lips, the moment they met hers, felt right. And then she felt him pull away.

  The room seemed to grow colder as he moved his chair back to his original place at the table.

  Then he looked over at her aghast. “I’m sorry. I know that was unexpected. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m trying to sway your opinion of me, as far as Lilly is concerned or anything.”

  “Oh,” Maegan said. She hadn’t been able to form a coherent thought after the kiss and she was a little miffed that he could. Then she saw the bewildered look on his face. He hadn’t figured on a kiss like that any more than she had.

  Somehow the sure knowledge that he didn’t go around kissing people any more than she did made her calm. She picked up her mug again. “It wouldn’t matter if you were trying to influence me. I already think you’re doing the best you can for my niece.”

  They were both silent for a moment, just looking at each other.

  Then Clint moved and started to get up from his chair. “Your tea is probably cold. I better heat up some more water for you.”

  Maegan nodded and cleared her throat. “More tea would be nice.”

  She didn’t say that tea always settled her nerves. She had a feeling something major had happened with that kiss, but she didn’t have the words to talk about it. There was no need to mention it anyway; he didn’t seem to have anything more to say. And she could hardly say her world had shifted. She certainly would never look at Clint again and think he was too busy to care about Lilly. He might not believe he had what was needed to raise Lilly, but Maegan was becoming convinced he did. His heart was filled with emotions that didn’t show on his face.

  She watched him move around the kitchen as he filled the kettle with more water for the tea. She hadn’t noticed until now the crayon pictures on the refrigerator. Three bright stick figures that stood in front of a small house.

  “Lilly’s work?” she asked and pointed.

  Clint turned from the stove to see what she meant. “Yeah, they’re pictures of her mom and her.”

  Maegan looked more closely. “The third figure must be her brother.”

  “Her brother?” Clint turned to her in surprise. “I thought the other stick figure was a dog or something. It’s so much smaller than the other two. I didn’t know she has a brother.”

  Maegan nodded. “A half brother. Wesley is about four, living with his father down in Texas. I don’t know if she saw much of him. The history was a little muddled, but it sounded like his father might have started raising him when he was a baby. I can’t believe Dawn would give up her own son completely though—she must have had some kind of visitation with him. If she did, Lilly would be there.”

  Maegan stopped and thought. “I just assumed you’d know. Hasn’t she mentioned him?”

  Clint shook his head and walked back over to the table. “Not to me. I don’t know—maybe she said something to Joe, but he didn’t pass the word along. That could be true—he didn’t mention you, either, and here you are.”

  They were both silent for a moment.

  “The poor thing,” Maegan finally said. “All those years when she was in foster care, she had a brother. I wonder if she thought Wesley had died, too.”

  “Oh, I hope not. She’s already lost so much,” Clint muttered as he shook his head. “I probably should have asked if she had any other family. I just never thought— What kind of a man doesn’t even ask?”

  “You’re doing the best you can,” Maegan said. “I’m not sure I would have asked, either. I would have just assumed someone would have said something if she had a sibling.”

  They sat and let the kettle heat. Neither one of them wanted any tea. Maegan realized she was counting on Clint to be the parent. She felt helpless. She wished there was a university she could attend to learn about how to be a good parent. She’d always been good with books; maybe she could learn what she needed to know. She’d do that if Lilly needed her.

  “Maybe she mentioned her brother to Mrs. Hargrove,” Clint finally said. “I’ve never seen kids take to anyone like they do to her. They spill all their secrets whe
n they’re around her. It’s part of what makes her such a good Sunday school teacher. Maybe we should ask her about this.”

  “She’ll know what we should do,” Maegan said in relief. She wished she had thought of the older woman. “I wonder if she’s home now.”

  “Likely.” Clint looked at the clock and then stood up. He walked over to the stove and turned the burner off under the kettle. “I should be heading into Dry Creek anyway in a bit. The school bus brings the kids from the school in Miles City and drops them off at the café. Then the parents pick them up from there. The district can’t afford to have the bus take them to the ranches anymore. Gas is too expensive.”

  “I’ll follow you in,” Maegan said as she gathered up her tablet and stood up as well.

  They stood facing each other for a moment, but neither one of them made eye contact.

  “We need to see to Lilly first,” Clint said, his voice low and troubled.

  Maegan nodded as she reached for the purse she’d draped over one of the chairs. She didn’t ask him what he meant by saying they needed to do something first. What was second? Them? Surely not, but she wasn’t sure she was prepared to hear his answer if she asked the question. Telling each other secrets from their childhoods had made them feel temporarily close. She knew that, but she didn’t want to talk about it.

  She’d never had feelings like this and they were fragile. She could count on her fingers the number of people who had understood her in her life. People from real homes never got it. They didn’t know how she felt. But Clint did. And it made her feel good. She wanted to hug the moment tight for just a little longer before ordinary life returned.

  Chapter Five

  Clint and Maegan were sitting in Mrs. Hargrove’s kitchen. He had called her before they headed into Dry Creek so, when they arrived, the older woman already had hot water for tea. She poured some for Maegan and asked if he wanted coffee. There was a big plate of shortbread cookies in the middle of the table and a wicker basket with assorted tea bags. A glass with a pitcher of cold milk sat ready to pour when Lilly walked in the front door. He had already stopped at the café to ask Linda to tell his niece to come over here when she got off the school bus.

  The coziness of the setting did not deceive Clint. His nerves were on edge. He didn’t say anything about the problem though.

  “Nice cloth,” he said instead as he fingered the slick green-and-white-checked cloth that hung over the edges of the table. He could learn something here. There was nothing elegant about Mrs. Hargrove’s kitchen, but it sure was a whole sight more welcoming than the one at his ranch. Part of it might be the way the air smelled. The older woman had made bread earlier that day and the tea Maegan had chosen was orange spice. The combination made a person feel at home.

  “I’ve got to say the oilcloth sure works for spills,” Mrs. Hargrove agreed as she stood by the stove pouring a cup of coffee. “I always think a kitchen table should expect its share of tipsy things so I save the delicate coverings for the dining room. No one should have to worry about ruining anything when they’re eating in the kitchen. They can even put their elbows on the table and talk sports for all I care.”

  Clint nodded. He knew Mrs. Hargrove had come to accept sports a little more now that she was married again and Charlie was a fan. Clint didn’t expect Lilly to want to talk about football, but maybe someday she’d open up about what excited her. “I’m going to get one of those tablecloths. You call them oilcloths? Maybe I can find one with some flowers on it. Lilly likes yellow. At least, that’s the color she always picks when we buy those new thing-a-majiggies—ties, she calls them—for her hair.”

  All of a sudden, the thought of Lilly and her hair depressed him. He should be able to braid a little bit of hair. No tablecloth could make up for his fumbling fingers. If it was horse hair, he knew he could do a good job, but a little girl squirmed in the chair and her hair was so soft it flew every which way.

  Just thinking about it, he looked at Maegan. She’d twisted her hair back into the same kind of knot she’d worn earlier—well, earlier as in before they kissed. He remembered it looked significantly messier when they left his kitchen twenty minutes ago. If she could bring that amount of order back with the little mirror in her car, she could do anything Lilly wanted.

  Maegan chose that moment to look up and meet his eyes. He almost blinked at the raw vulnerability he saw in her. He knew without her saying anything that the tea she was drinking hadn’t soothed her feelings. Lilly and her brother were getting to her. Losing her sisters had pained Maegan almost as much as losing her parents, partly because he knew she felt she should be able to do something to keep them together. Now she was worried Lilly carried the same burden for her brother.

  “It’s not the same—” he whispered before her chin came up and a curtain fell over her eyes. She didn’t want him to say anything.

  He kept his mouth silent, but he couldn’t stop his heart. God, don’t let her do this to herself, he prayed. We don’t even know that it’s the same for Lilly.

  Maegan was quiet. She looked like a fierce statue, protecting herself. And, with the strength of it all, she was so beautiful that the breath seeped out of his lungs and his brain shut down. He forgot what he was thinking or praying about. Then she moved slightly and it all came flooding back. Oh, yes, her hair. She had the most rich-looking hair he’d ever seen. Golden honey-blond and he knew it felt like silk to a man’s hand because he’d touched it when they kissed.

  He stopped himself. This wasn’t smart. He was a bachelor rancher, not some young girl who fell in love with everyone who waltzed by. He must need to date more if the glance of a beautiful woman did this to him. Not that it was just any glance he knew. Still, he needed to rein things in.

  His ears slowly cleared and he heard Mrs. Hargrove talking as she pushed her coffeemaker back to the wall.

  “Of course, the grocery store in Miles City also has them if you can’t get to Billings,” the older woman continued just like the air hadn’t been sucked out of the room and pumped back in with stardust in it. Then she walked back to the table, holding a cup of coffee for Clint and a cup of hot water for herself. “You’ll see the sign right next to the spices. It says ‘imported oilcloth.’”

  “I know where that is,” Clint said, hoping his relief wasn’t evident. He needed to focus. He remembered he’d been so busy in the barn that he hadn’t eaten lunch before Maegan had come to the ranch. Maybe the reason for all the sensations he was having was because he had some low blood sugar problem going today. “A new tablecloth—Lilly would like one of them.” He wondered if he had already said that. He didn’t want to sound like an idiot so he added, “Kids need some color around them.”

  Maegan nodded at that. She looked like she had found her footing again, too. Like their eyes had never met and melded. Her voice was precise and professional. “Well, you already have Lilly’s drawings so you know she likes color.”

  Clint felt his whole face tighten. Maybe he should say something about all that was happening between him and Maegan, but he couldn’t. Not in front of Mrs. Hargrove.

  “Oh, I didn’t know Lilly was a little artist,” the older woman said and then put a tea bag in her cup. “Outside of doing the beading on her bridle, I’ve never seen her do anything.”

  “She hasn’t shown you her drawings?” Maegan asked. There was some urgency in her voice and all thoughts of the kiss were gone in Clint’s mind as she continued. “The family of stick figures?”

  “No, I’m sure I would remember if she had.” Mrs. Hargrove looked at Maegan and then Clint. “Am I missing something?”

  “It’s my fault,” Clint said, not bothering to list the many ways in which it was. He hadn’t looked close enough at the drawings to see that what he thought was a dog might be a boy. He had made Maegan anxious or, at least, hadn’t done anything to stop her fears. “I should have known Lilly had a brother.”

  “Ohhh,” Mrs. Hargrove said and her mouth formed the perfec
t letter to match. It seemed to take her a minute, but she rallied. “I had no idea. She never said. A brother, you say?”

  Clint nodded. “We’re not sure Lilly knows much about him, but we think she must because she drew this.”

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out the drawing that had hung on his refrigerator earlier. He unfolded it and laid it on the table.

  Mrs. Hargrove reached over and picked it up. She studied it a minute and then nodded. “The hair on the small stick figure does look like a boy’s. He’s the one?”

  Maegan nodded. “We think so. My sister Olivia and I found out about the two children when we discovered our youngest sister, Dawn, had died in a car accident. The foster care system record was pretty sketchy, but Wesley, that’s who we think is the boy in the picture.” She pointed to Lilly’s drawing. “He’s the youngest of the two and has been living with his father in Texas—I think since he was born.”

  She paused for a moment and then continued. “After I thought about it some, I’m not really surprised Dawn gave up custody. She was in foster care for a few years before she was adopted and that might not have gone all that well. I’m sure she thought she’d be a terrible mother. I’ve thought that about myself. But I can’t believe Dawn didn’t visit the boy sometimes. And she probably took Lilly with her when she went. Besides, a child like Lilly would want to have a brother. She might romanticize him even if she didn’t know him.”

  “Like she’d done with Joe,” Clint added, his lips twisting.

  “Exactly like that,” Mrs. Hargrove said, her face thoughtful. “But she knows where her father is. I wonder though what she thinks happened to her brother.”