The Cowboy's Big Family Tree

by Meg Maxwell

  “Was he?” Clementine couldn’t help but ask. “A great stepdad.” She felt Logan glaring at her for asking the question he might not be ready for the answer to.

  “Clyde was awesome,” Phoebe said. Her face fell. “I wish he was here.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss, Phoebe,” Clementine said. As she watched the girl pick up her lemonade, she could see the expressions changing in her eyes, trying to forget and compartmentalize and focus on where she was right now. Clementine remembered doing that often herself as a kid.

  Phoebe bit into her second taco. “Clyde was my mom’s third husband. The other two were nice like Clyde. My mom used to say Clyde didn’t have much money but he was the best-looking man she’d ever seen so she couldn’t resist marrying him.” She rolled her eyes and took another bite of her taco.

  Clementine felt a warm hand rub her back for a moment, and she glanced at Logan, surprised he’d picked up on her need for a soothing gesture.

  “So then you went to live with your mom’s sister?” Logan asked.

  Phoebe nodded. “Aunt Carol. When Clyde was in hospice, he told me he’d arranged for me to live with her, that everything would be great, that I’d have a mom figure in my life again. But Aunt Carol wasn’t anything like Clyde. She can’t stand noise or mess and I guess she wasn’t ever close with my mom, either. We had terrible fights. Aunt Carol tried to get in touch with my mom but couldn’t and one day a social worker came to get me. That’s how I ended up at the foster home. But Mrs. Nivens doesn’t like me either. I don’t really care, though. Once my mom finds out that Clyde died, she’ll come for me. I know it. Christmas Eve, I’m sure of it.”

  Clementine’s heart squeezed in her chest. This girl seemed to be setting herself up for heartbreak. And she’d been through enough.

  “When’s the last time you talked to your mom, Phoebe?” Clementine asked, hating to put the question on the table.

  Phoebe bit her lip. “Two years ago. She called on Christmas Eve and said she was getting married and moving overseas somewhere and that I should always remember she loves me.” She smiled, but the smile faltered a few second later. “But she never called again and no one knows how to get in touch with her.”

  Oh, Phoebe, Clementine thought, her heart busting out of her chest for all this child had gone through.

  “I thought nothing good would ever happen to me,” Phoebe said. “But this is wild that I won the contest. I can’t believe I’m sitting here with Logan Grainger. I know you’re retired and all, but you were my hero. I’m thinking about becoming a bronc rider when I’m older.”

  Logan’s features softened. “You can do anything you set your mind to. That’s what my father always told me. I believe it.”

  Phoebe finished her taco. “My teacher always says that. Mrs. Nivens too, but then she adds all kinds of ifs and buts that drive me insane. No matter how hard I study, I’m not getting an A in math. Or even a B.”

  Logan laughed. “I was never all that great at math either.”

  The girl grinned. They talked a bit about the rodeo, a world Clementine didn’t know much about.

  “Well,” Logan said. “I guess we’d better get going.” He stood up and started collecting empty wrappers and paper plates and stuffing them inside the take-out bag. “Looks like a nice place,” he added, glancing at the big tree and the house.

  Phoebe’s face fell. “Yeah, real nice. Mrs. Nivens can’t stand me. Whatever. At least I have this. I’ve never won anything before. This was really awesome, meeting you.” She glanced at Clementine. “And you too,” she said. “Are you married?”

  Clementine felt her cheeks burn. “Just friends.”

  Phoebe tucked a swath of sandy-brown hair behind her ear. “Mr. Grainger, do you think I could have your autograph?”

  Clementine could tell he was touched. He extended his hand toward Phoebe. She grabbed it with both of hers. “Of course. And call me Logan.” He pulled a card out of his wallet, then leaned it against the wallet and scrawled his name in black ink on the back of it. “Here you go. I’m a rancher now in Blue Gulch. This card has my cell phone number on it. You can call me if you ever want to talk about the rodeo, okay?”

  Clementine was so surprised by the kind gesture that she almost gasped. Not at the kindness; she knew Logan had a big heart, but at giving Phoebe access to him. No matter what he’d said about Phoebe being no concern of his, the girl’s story had clearly gotten to him as it had Clementine.

  Phoebe’s eyes lit up and nodded. “Thanks. And thanks for the Mexican food. It was amazing.”

  They said goodbye, then waved at Mrs. Nivens, who was watching through the kitchen window. Clementine did like that the woman seemed careful with her kids. As Mrs. Nivens came out into the yard, Phoebe ran into the house clutching the card Logan had given her.

  “Maybe meeting her big hero will give that girl an attitude change,” Mrs. Nivens said, pursing her lips. “She tell you she wants to be a bronc rider someday? I’d say rodeo clown is where she’s headed.” She shook her head.

  Clementine’s stomach twisted at the criticism. She glanced up at the second-floor window, Phoebe standing there, waving, her expression wistful.

  Logan held up a hand too and Phoebe smiled.

  Then she and Logan headed back to his car, Clementine’s heart heavier than ever.

  * * *

  11:48 p.m. Logan turned over in bed for the millionth time, unable to fall asleep. He’d tried, just so he could forget about today for a bunch of hours. Clyde had walked away from his pregnant girlfriend. Phoebe’s mother had walked away from her. Phoebe’s aunt had washed her hands of the girl. How the hell did people do that?

  And why didn’t this Clyde T. Parsons make any damned sense? Why would Parsons take such nice care of his run-off ex-wife’s daughter? A home, sharing his love of the rodeo with her, giving her something to dream about.

  To make amends somehow for mistakes he’d made when he was younger?

  He punched his pillow, then got out of bed and paced the floor, then straightened his closet, which hadn’t been that messy. He headed downstairs and cleaned the kitchen till the white porcelain shone, then went after the counters. In the living room he organized the twin’s toys, then slammed over the blocks he’d just stacked, his frustration building.

  What the hell was he supposed to do with all this...information? He didn’t want Parsons to have been a decent person. He hadn’t been. A decent person wouldn’t have walked out on his pregnant girlfriend, he thought for the tenth time. End of story.

  But he’d been decent to Phoebe, who wasn’t even his blood. Someone’s else’s kid, and the daughter of a woman who’d run off on him and her own child.

  He shook his head and restacked the blocks.

  He heard his cell phone buzz with a text and went into the kitchen, where he’d left it on the shining counter.

  Clementine.

  Can I come over? I have to talk to you. Now.—C.

  Oh hell. What was this about? He didn’t want to know. He could just not text back. Act like he hadn’t gotten the text.

  He let out a breath and texted back, Everything okay?

  I really need to talk. Now.

  Okay, he typed back and dropped down on the chair at the kitchen table. He didn’t want to speculate so he got up and made a pot of coffee and set out two scones from the box of goodies Clementine’s sister had packed up for him and the twins when he’d picked up the boys from the Montgomery ranch earlier tonight.

  Ten minutes later, he heard a gentle rap at the door and he let her in.

  Clementine burst inside. “I can’t stop thinking about Phoebe in that home with that woman who can’t stand her. Granted, I’m sure her attitude and behavior has a lot to do with it. But, Logan, you’re her hero. Think about what you can do for that girl. You
can change her entire life.”

  Logan stared at her. “Are you saying you expect me to take her in?”

  “Not you,” she said. “I know you have your hands full. Me.”

  “You? What?”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m a sign-off away from being certified to become a foster mother in the state of Texas. It’s something I’ve been working toward these past few months. Gram and I even completed the home study two weeks ago. After my paperwork is signed off any day now, I’ll be approved to be a foster mother. I want to take in Phoebe.”

  Logan stepped back. This was too much. Too damned much.

  She stepped toward him. “She has no one, Logan. Just like I had no one until the Hurleys became my foster parents.”

  Logan turned around and stared out the window at the darkness. “I don’t know how I feel about this.” He could sense something beginning to shutter inside him, in his mind, in the region of his heart. He didn’t want to be talking about this, thinking about it. What the hell? How did he go from bringing the boys to have the mac and cheese special at Hurley’s for lunch to Clementine rushing over at midnight wanting to take in his biological father’s ex-stepdaughter?

  “She’s a connection to you, Logan. Not in the most linear of ways, but a connection nonetheless. And you’re her hero. I think the two of you can do a lot of good for each other. If I can foster her, perhaps she can spend some time at your ranch, learning the ropes a bit.”

  “How is she a connection to me?” he shouted, then closed his eyes and lowered his voice. “She’s Parsons’s stepkid. Ex-stepkid. And he’s not my family, Clementine. He’s just some man who got my mother pregnant and walked away. That doesn’t make him connected to me. So she isn’t either.”

  But even as he said the words, he knew they weren’t true. There was a connection.

  He shook his head, his stomach twisting. “I don’t know, Clementine. I don’t know about any of this.”

  She touched his arm and he flinched. “Think it over?”

  He stared at her. “You going to foster her even if I say I don’t want you to?”

  “I don’t know, Logan. How can I just forget about her? She got under my skin.” She stepped closer to him and put her hand on his arm. “But so did you.”

  “Meaning?” he practically grit out.

  She stepped back. “Meaning I understand how you feel.”

  “You just don’t care,” he said.

  “Of course I care. But it’s not that black-and-white. Clearly,” she added a little too pointedly.

  He glared at her. “Don’t use my own situation against me, Clementine.”

  Her shoulder slumped. “I’m not meaning to. This all took me by surprise too. I wasn’t expecting to be here right now, saying these things to you.”

  All the things that made Clementine stand here and say these things to him were the very reasons he’d hired her to babysit the twins last spring. Kind. Softhearted. Compassionate. But once again, his life was out of his control. He didn’t like that. At all.

  “Logan,” she said softly. “I don’t want to make things harder for you. I know you’re dealing with enough as it is. But how can I just walk away from that girl, knowing she’s about to be moved again and then probably again?” Tears came to her eyes and she covered her face with her hands.

  He walked over to her, took her hands and just held them for a moment, then let them go. He had no answer, didn’t want to say anything. He just wanted to blink himself back to some other time when everything was hunky-dory. But when? When the hell hadn’t something blasted him from his everyday existence? He’d been thrown from a horse and bull a time or two or three when he was younger and almost lost his chance at a rodeo career. He’d lost his parents. He’d lost his brother. He’d been betrayed by a rival’s con-woman sister in the most devious and embarrassing way. He’d discovered he wasn’t his father’s son. He wouldn’t want to blink himself back to any of those times. Now, there was Phoebe, Parsons’s ex-stepdaughter, alone in the world. Except Clementine Hurley wanted to take her in.

  “Logan,” she said softly. “I can only do what feels right to me. Sometimes that’s all you can go by when you’re conflicted about something. And this does feel right. I don’t even know if CPS will let me take her in. But I want to petition to foster her.”

  He turned away again, looking out at the inky darkness of the front yard.

  “Sleep on it,” she said and left, closing the door gently behind her.

  Then she came back in, rushed over to him and gripped him in a hug that caught him so off guard he hugged her back, the feel of her in his arms more welcome than he’d expected right now.

  “Sleep on it,” she whispered, then rushed away again.

  Chapter Five

  Three thirty p.m. on Monday couldn’t come fast enough for Clementine. For the next two hours, she would have to stop thinking about, talking about and wondering about fostering Phoebe Pike—and how it would affect a certain cowboy. How it would change her own life. She’d been unable to think of anything else from the moment she and Logan had left Phoebe and driven home to Blue Gulch. At that point, the thought of fostering Phoebe had just been floating in her mind—could she? Was the universe trying to tell her something by the unexpected meeting?

  She’d gone to Tuckerville with Logan—not expected.

  They’d found themselves visiting a foster home—not expected.

  She’d met a child in need of a home, a child with a connection to the man she loved—not expected.

  During that car ride home, she kept sneaking peeks at Logan, who’d been silent, the radio not even on this time, which meant he was thinking too, about what exactly, she hadn’t been sure. That Parsons’s ex-stepdaughter was alone in the world? That Logan was her rodeo hero? That the man he thought he hated, the man who’d walked away from his pregnant mother without a backward glance had done at least one wonderful thing in his life: taken on the care of a child.

  She knew during the hour-drive home that Logan was letting all that sit, taking it in, turning it over. So she’d stayed silent about what was flitting through her own head: the shimmer of an idea of Phoebe Pike possibly being the foster child that Clementine would be assigned.

  It seemed meant to be to Clementine. But Logan’s feelings couldn’t be discounted. He wanted nothing to do with Clyde Turnbull Parsons and his history and legacy, and Phoebe was a part of that; she stood for who he was, not who Logan needed him to be in his mind to make sense of how the man had abandoned his mother. He needed Parsons to be a terrible person so he could close the chapter on the letter he’d received, so it would be tidy and make sense.

  But Phoebe threw a big monkey wrench into that.

  When Clementine had gotten home on Saturday night, she’d gone straight to her attic bedroom and flopped down on her bed, thinking, thinking, thinking. Of everything the aide had said, of everything the foster mother, Mrs. Nivens, had said, of everything Phoebe had told them.

  My mother told me to always remember she loves me...

  Clementine’s birth mother had said those exact words to her—twice, when she was very young and she remembered how much those words meant. Even now, they meant something. Yes, Phoebe Pike had gotten inside Clementine’s heart. Then at midnight, she’d texted Logan and driven over and told him what she wanted—needed—to do. Sunday came and went without a word from him, and she hadn’t pressed him. She already felt she wasn’t being fair to him as it was. Fair. Right. Sometimes the difference between the two was so hard to figure out—which was the one that should win out.

  This morning she’d called the Texas Department of Family and Protective Services and got the number for the local office that handled Tuckerville. Just to have it, to be ready if Logan called her and gave his blessing. Then she’d realized she could at least speed
up the process of getting her paperwork signed off on. Three calls and one drive to Tuckerville later, Clementine was now officially eligible to foster a child in the state of Texas.

  And if Logan told her today that he absolutely did not want her to foster Phoebe, that she was butting into his business in the worst way and had no right to do this?

  She let out a deep breath and closed her eyes. Right now, she had to put this all away. She had a room full of adorable children to direct, thirty-four altogether, and her full attention needed to be on breaking up the kids into groups, assigning her volunteer leaders, handing out scripts and doing a run-through of the play’s first act. It was a lot for two hours, but it would be done. If Clementine focused.

  At 3:31, as she stood on the stage and looked over the kids and volunteers sitting in the first few rows, she noticed the Grainger twins hadn’t arrived. Maybe Logan was pulling them from the play? Would he do that?

  “Sorry we’re late!” called out the voice of the twins’ sitter, Karen, as she ushered Henry and Harry in.

  As the boys sat down at the end of the row and Karen left, Clementine breathed a sigh of relief. Logan wasn’t cutting ties between them. That was good. But it also wasn’t lost on her that he hadn’t brought the boys in himself.

  The group of youngest kids, ages two through four, started fussing in their seats, so Clementine announced groups to get the wiggle-worms up and moving and doing something fun. The volunteers and kids split up and formed circles. The leaders would be sharing with the kids what parts they had and what songs they needed to learn. For the show, the youngest group of kids were all ranchers with no speaking parts, but they would be part of the ensemble for songs. Clementine flitted from group to group, making sure everyone was doing okay.

  From the corner of her eye she noticed someone come through the door. Clementine glanced over and froze. Holding a flyer and looking around the room was Lacey Woolen.

  Her birth mother.

  “Excuse me for a minute,” Clementine said to her tween group leader, then walked over to where Lacey stood by the door. Her shoulder-length dark hair, same color and heavy straight texture as Clementine’s, was in a low ponytail. She wore her usual long skirt and cowboy boots with a rust-colored suede jacket and had a silver ring on every finger, some with multiple rings.