by Meg Maxwell
Phoebe sat down at the desk and Clementine thought she might leave for a little while to give the girl some privacy, but Phoebe said, “And now, for the final touches.” She pulled out two framed photographs from the backpack. “This is my mother. Isn’t she pretty?”
Clementine stepped over and took the photograph in a silver frame. The woman was very pretty. She had Phoebe’s big hazel eyes, but her hair was platinum blond. She had her arms around a younger Phoebe, who must have been about seven years old in the photo.
“That’s the last time I saw my mom,” Phoebe said. “Before she left us to move to Las Vegas. I think she’ll probably come get me for Christmas. Clyde always told me not to get my hopes up about my mother coming back and I know it’s not like she paid much attention to me before she left, but maybe she had to get some stuff worked out of her system. Clyde used to say that too.”
Clementine’s heart pinged. Ellen had warned her that Phoebe had high hopes about her mother, that she would come for Christmas and finally take her back. Ellen had had the very hard conversation with Phoebe three months ago that her mother might not ever come back, that it had been two years since she left. Apparently, the woman had been tracked to Amsterdam when Phoebe’s aunt had tried to locate her after Clyde had died, but Phoebe’s mother had changed her name and was impossible to find and seemingly wanted to stay that way.
Phoebe is in an understandable state of denial about it, Ellen had said. She knows the truth, but can’t handle the truth, and this is how she’s dealing with it. As Christmas approaches, it’ll be especially hard as she waits for her mother to show up and she doesn’t.
Oh, Phoebe, Clementine thought, watching the girl set the picture just so on her desk, moving it this way and that until she liked the angle.
Then she picked up the second photograph. It was Clyde Parsons, no doubt. Clementine knew that instantly from having seen the photo Logan had shown her from twenty-eight years ago. Here he was in his late forties, but it was clearly him. He looked so much like Logan it was a wonder Phoebe had never noticed the resemblance.
“This is Clyde, my stepfather,” Phoebe said. “I can’t believe he’s gone. It’s been three months but it feels like longer.” She was looking at the picture, a wistful expression on her face. “Isn’t it funny that he wasn’t even related to me but took care of me two whole years since my mother left?”
The more Clementine heard about Clyde, the more she liked the man he’d become. “One thing I’ve learned from my own history is that family isn’t just about who gave birth to you or whose DNA you have.”
Phoebe didn’t say anything. She set up the photograph of Clyde Parsons on the other side of the desk, adjusting it just so as she’d done with the one of her mother.
Maybe it was time for a change of subject. “Ready for an amazing cheeseburger?” Clementine asked. “My sister Annabel and our apprentice cook, Dylan, are on the grill today. Best burgers ever. Except for my grandmother’s. No one cooks like my gram.”
“I’m starving,” Phoebe said.
One minute, one morning, one day at a time, the caseworker had said. Phoebe would settle in, Clementine would begin feeling like a foster mother, and they’d find a routine and a comfort. Right now, Clementine had to admit her nerves were taut, more so than she’d expected. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing.
She took one more look at the Logan Grainger poster up on the wall of Phoebe’s room.
“I’m gonna be just like him one day,” Phoebe said, raising her hand in the air as if on a bull. “Of course, I’ve never been on a bull, but Clyde took me for bareback riding lessons a few times and said that’s a start.”
“Well if you’d like to ride horses there are plenty of ranches around here,” Clementine said as they headed down the stairs to the dining room. “In fact, my sister Annabel lives on a ranch. They have lots of horses and ponies.”
Phoebe’s eyes widened. “Could I go there sometime?”
“I’m sure. Let’s go have a tour of the kitchen and you can meet Annabel and everyone. Then we’ll eat.”
Phoebe’s face brightened. “Hey, now that I live in the same town as Logan Grainger, do you think I could go over to his ranch sometime? He could give me pointers on how to get into the rodeo when I’m older. I know he gave me his card with his phone number, but I’d feel funny just calling him up. It would be like calling the president, you know?” She titled her head. “Maybe you could ask him for me? Please? Please with a million pleases on top?”
Clementine laughed, but her stomach was churning. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said and led the way into the kitchen. Luckily, for the moment the conversation came to a halt since the Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen staff made a big welcoming fuss over Phoebe. Annabel indeed invited her over to the ranch this week, Georgia offered baking lessons once she heard Phoebe liked baking, and Dylan, the eighteen-year-old cook, let Phoebe flip the burger he was making for her, then add two kinds of cheese.
Clementine hung back, her worries dissipating as her heart filled with gratitude.
Now there was just the matter of Phoebe’s big hope to see her hero.
* * *
Logan had planned on having the twins’ sitter drop them off at the Christmas show rehearsal on Monday, but he realized doing so himself would allow him a quick hello to Phoebe and he could cross that off the list of things that were keeping him awake at night. Clementine had texted him two days ago to let him know that Phoebe had arrived on Saturday morning and was settling in.
He’d show up, welcome her to Blue Gulch, then hightail it out of there. In an indirect way, Clementine had done him a favor by fostering Phoebe. Since he didn’t want Phoebe to be a part of his life, he’d have to avoid Clementine. And avoiding Clementine was what he’d been successful at doing for the past three months—until he’d gone and opened up to her, telling her about the letter, asking her to come with him to Tuckerville. Now that Phoebe was living with her, the girl a walking, talking reminder that Parsons had been a real person who’d done at least one good thing in his life, Logan was even more determined to forget Parsons entirely, forget the whole sorry thing.
It bothered him, this good side of Parsons. He hadn’t done some one-shot good deed; raising Phoebe for two years had been ongoing. The minute Parsons knew his ex-wife wasn’t coming back, he didn’t try to send Phoebe away. He’d taken care of her—for two years until the day he died.
An inconsistency that Logan didn’t want to deal with. He needed Parsons to be a terrible jerk so he could tuck him away and not think about it and go on with the notion that his father was Haywood Grainger, period.
A quick hello, he assured himself as he pulled into the parking lot of the town hall, admiring the nine-foot spruce on the town green that had been decorated with what must be hundreds of strands of multicolored lights. As he and the twins headed up the steps to the building, he nodded and made small talk with other parents who were dropping off their kids. On the way to the community room, sounds of talking and laughter greeted him from every direction. Groups of singing kids and volunteers were scattered all over the room.
“I see our counselor!” Harry said. “Come on, Henry!”
“Bye, Uncle Logan!” Henry said and the two boys were careening across the room by the stage.
Logan glanced around for Clementine; he just wanted one glimpse of her, but didn’t see her. He looked back in the direction the twins had gone in, and he didn’t see or hear them either. He thought that a good thing, since Henry and Harry were often the loudest, wildest kids in any room and very easy to spot. For once, in this joyful cacophony, the Grainger boys blended.
He strained his neck to try to make them out, just to get a visual on them, and there they were, sitting in a circle group with their counselor, playing a patty-cake game to a song, a Christmas carol his mother used to sing.
“Logan!” an excited voice called out.
Logan looked up to see Phoebe running over to him. He stiffened for a second, then made himself relax. She’s just a kid, Grainger, he reminded himself. And innocent in everything going on in your life. It’s not her fault that her ex-stepfather turned to be the biological father you never knew you had, well, other than the man who raised you. It’s not her fault.
“We’re living in the same town!” Phoebe said. “Isn’t that amazing? Maybe I could come see your ranch sometime. Do you keep bulls for practice?”
“I do have bulls,” he said, “but for breeding and one as a pet. My rodeo days are over.”
Her face fell. “Forever?”
He nodded. “’Fraid so. I’ve got two little boys to take care of. I can’t go around risking my life the way I used to.”
She seemed to think about that for a moment. “Clyde was right about you. He said he didn’t know you but could tell you were a really good person just by looking at you. And then when you quit the rodeo to raise your nephews, he knew it for sure.”
Logan felt himself bristle. “Well, I’m not sure you could tell much just by looking at someone.” He’d thought about the fact that Parsons had come to his events at local rodeos. For days it had bothered him that there was someone out there in the world who knew something about him that he didn’t know, something so fundamental, sitting right there in the stands and watching. The thought was creepy. Then just sad. Then made him angry.
Then he’d try to shut down his thoughts since they were all over the place.
Since Clementine’s text about Phoebe’s arrival: a zillion times worse.
He heard a bell ring and glanced up; Clementine stood on the stage and announced it was time to break into groups. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She wore a long, fuzzy red sweater, sexy black yoga pants, tall black riding boots and a Santa hat on her head that read Staff: Clementine across it in glittery neon yellow.
“I gotta go, but can I ask you something?” Phoebe said. “Clyde once told me you rescued a bull that was getting old and sick or something. One of the only ones you couldn’t win on. Is that true?”
Crazy Joe. He smiled thinking about that sweet old guy who liked roaming the far pasture, no one climbing on his back. He’d heard the bull was going to be put down unless someone could take him and care for him, and Logan had gone out to Stocktown and brought him home. “He was one of my favorites,” Logan said. “I think only three riders ever lasted eight seconds on Crazy Joe. I wasn’t one of them.”
How had Parsons heard he’d bought Crazy Joe? He shrugged away the question when he remembered he’d been interviewed about it for the Rodeo Times page in the Tuckerville Gazette.
“Could I meet him sometime?” she asked, her hazel eyes hopeful.
But that would entail you coming out to the ranch. Possibly getting chummy with Henry and Harry, who’d already know you from rehearsal. You’d be on my land. And you might start talking about Clyde, telling me what I don’t want to know. Like how much he seemed to keep tabs on me.
“Phoebe, we need you in group,” a voice called out.
Logan glanced over. A woman was standing up and smiling and waving Phoebe over.
“Time to practice my lines,” Phoebe said. “I’m playing Sarah, the shepherd girl. I have nine lines. I’ve never been in a show before.” She glanced at Logan and he realized she was hoping for an answer to her question about meeting Crazy Joe. The more she just bit her lip and hesitated instead of flat-out asking again, the more he couldn’t ignore the question.
Heck. “I can talk to Clementine about a good day for you to meet Crazy Joe,” he said.
Her entire face lit up. “Awesome! Thanks!” She rushed over to the group, the volunteer putting an arm around her and welcoming her.
“Who on earth is Crazy Joe?”
Logan turned around. Clementine stood there, carrying scripts and a clipboard. Her expression told him she was pleased he’d been talking to Phoebe.
“A bull from my rodeo days. One I couldn’t best. He developed an illness, so I took him home and nursed him back to health. Phoebe had heard about him and asked if she could come see him sometime.”
He could see relief in her face. That since he’d brought it up, maybe his answer would be yes.
“Would tomorrow after school work?” she asked. “No rehearsal. And I’m now only working the lunch shift at Hurley’s and helping with morning prep, so my afternoons and evenings are free to spend with Phoebe and help her get settled.”
He glanced at where Phoebe stood with her group. She was reciting her lines with another girl, her eyes bright. “She looks very happy.”
“So far, so good,” Clementine said. “She’s met the whole family and was so sweet with Lucy, my sister Annabel’s stepdaughter. It’s only been two days and she’s a little standoffish with me, but that’s to be expected.”
Standoffish? He didn’t get that vibe from Phoebe, but then again, he wasn’t her foster mother. To Phoebe, he was Logan Grainger, rodeo star. And someone her stepfather, a man she’d admired, had talked up.
“So would tomorrow work?” Clementine asked. “An icebreaker would definitely help.”
Icebreaker. He glanced at Clementine and now could see a bit of strain in her features. Maybe the transition period wasn’t so smooth?
“Is everything all right?” he whispered. “Has it been tough?”
“Not tough, no,” she whispered back. “It’s just a little different than I thought it would be, I guess. I mean, I didn’t expect Phoebe to treat me like a mom, exactly. Or maybe I did.” She shook her head.
“Two days is nothing,” he said. “Of course she’s going to be hanging back. She’ll come around.” He remembered those early days when the twins had just lost their parents, how confused they’d been about where Mommy and Daddy were, why Uncle Logan was living in their house. They hadn’t understood at first, then had and they’d gone quiet for what felt like weeks until they started bouncing back. Logan had a feeling Phoebe needed that same adjustment period. Change was change and it could be hard.
She bit her lip. “I hope so. You know when you can just feel someone keeping you at a distance? When they don’t quite keep eye contact, don’t answer questions beyond yes or no, that kind of thing? That’s what Phoebe does with me. She’s much more forthcoming with others, though, I noticed. Like when my sister Georgia asked her about Tuckerville, she went on and on, but when I asked her a question earlier, she barely answered.”
“Maybe because you’re it,” he said. “The foster mother. Like Mrs. Nivens. Someone with a lot of say in what her life will be like, whether she stays. She’s probably just being very cautious.”
Clementine nodded, her eyes a bit troubled. “I think that must be it. Her caseworker had warned me not to expect her to jump into my arms with hugs and mother-daughter hair-braiding or whatever. But I didn’t expect the distance when she’s so friendly and warm with others. I guess I have to give it time.”
“Yes,” he said. “Once she sees how kind and giving you are, she’ll warm up.” He took her hand and squeezed it in solidarity, and when she looked up at him in surprise, he was consumed by the urge to hug her close.
Dammit. “Clementine, follow me.” He took her by the hand and led her out of the room.
“Where are we going?”
“Over here,” he said, leading her into a short, deserted hallway. “You need a hug and I can’t exactly hug you in front of all those kids unless you want giggling to interrupt singing and running through lines.” He put his arms around her. “It’s going to be okay, Clem. Really. You’re a natural mother. I’ve seen you in action with the twins. With the kids here.”
“Then why do I feel so awkward?” she asked. “I’m trying, but everything I’m trying isn’t working. There’s
nothing worse than the blank stare.”
“Agreed. But it’s been two days. She’ll come around. She just needs to know you’re a keeper, Clem. That’s she’s a keeper.”
He could see tears welling in her pretty brown eyes. “Thank you, Logan. Thank you. You are absolutely right. And you have no idea how much I needed a hug right then, strong arms around me.”
He tilted her chin up with a finger. “I did know, actually.”
She smiled. “I suppose so.” She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her head against his chest and he just held her for a few moments.
And once again, he had to ask himself just what in tarnation he thought he was doing. Did he not just settle something with himself about avoiding her? Then again, if he was going to let Phoebe meet Crazy Joe, he couldn’t avoid Clementine. They were a set now, a package deal.
“I guess I’ll see you both tomorrow after school,” he said, finally releasing her from the hug and taking a step back.
She cleared her throat and tucked a long swath of dark hair behind her ear, revealing a gold-and-ruby earring. “Phoebe’s school lets out at 3:10, so we’ll be over by 3:30.”
“I’ll walk you back in,” he said as she led the way to the community room. She smiled at him at the door. “See you tomorrow,” he said and turned to leave.
He glanced over at where the twins had been sitting, but they’d moved to the stage. His gaze caught on Phoebe with her group and her face lit up and she waved excitedly.
He waved back, that same unease crawling up his spine. This wasn’t what he wanted at all. He was the one who wanted—needed—the distance. Now Phoebe was coming over tomorrow, on his turf, and Clementine was bringing her. The two people on earth with the power to unravel him after he’d worked so hard to wind himself back up in a tight ball.