by Meg Maxwell
“Speaking of grandmothers, how did today go?”
Annabel poured herself a cup of coffee, added cream and sugar and then slumped down on a chair at the table, which told him the day hadn’t been all smoothies and shopping. “A little bit exhausting.”
West laughed. “No doubt.”
Annabel sat up straight. “West, why doesn’t Raina like to talk about Lorna? I noticed she clams up or changes the subject whenever her daughter comes up in conversation. And today, Lucy said she missed her mother and Raina, well, she didn’t really address what Lucy said but tried to comfort her with ‘well, you have Annabel now.’”
He mentally shook his head. That woman... “I’ve witnessed that myself many times over the past year.” He put down the scrub brush and pricked the potatoes the way Annabel had shown him the other day, then was about to carry the plate over to the oven when he remembered to rub them with a little olive oil and season them with some salt and pepper. He was slowly getting the hang of this cooking thing.
A minute later, the potatoes were baking, his oily hands were washed and he sat across from Annabel with his own coffee.
“Have you ever talked to Raina about it?” Annabel asked.
Ha. The last time he did Raina’s head practically exploded she’d gotten so angry at him. “I’ve tried. But you know Raina. And the relationship between her and Lorna was complicated.”
Annabel sipped her coffee. “They didn’t get along?”
“They had their good days, but things were mostly strained between them. Lorna had once said she couldn’t remember a time when they saw eye-to-eye, even when she was a kid. Raina was a Miss Texas runner-up and all about poise and appearances, and Lorna was a wild child. She liked heavy makeup and skimpy clothes and flaunting her body, and Raina hated that. Lorna told me her mother actually paid her to tone down the makeup and dress respectably for school, five dollars a day, and then she’d get to school and put on her makeup and change into her tight shirt and miniskirt and heels in the bathroom before the first bell. And Raina’s a big believer in education taking a person places, but Lorna wanted to drop out at sixteen and try her hand at modeling. Raina and Landon paid her to stay in high school.”
“Wow,” Annabel said. “I’m all for being who you are, but I can definitely understand the Dunkins’ side there.”
“Oh, it gets worse,” West said, topping off his coffee. “Then I came along. I guess I don’t need to point out that I wasn’t what they had in mind for a son-in-law. When Lorna told her parents she was pregnant, that I was the father, I was living in hand quarters on the Piedmonts’ ranch, making close to nothing.”
“How did you two meet?’
“She was a year behind me in school, like you, but I’d seen her around the halls and in town. We first met when her friend, Francie, I think her name is, dared Raina to walk up to me my senior year and put her hand on a certain part of my anatomy. Over my jeans, I mean.”
“Classy,” Annabel said, grimacing.
He laughed. “That was Lorna and her little posse in those days. And Lorna took the dare. I have to say, I was pretty surprised. She did it right in the middle of the hallway. She told me there was more where that came from, but I wasn’t interested in Lorna back then.”
Annabel’s eyebrows rose. “Really? She was a knockout.”
“I guess, but you can’t pick what attracts you, you know? Back in high school I had my eye on my science lab partner, a girl named Lorraine. She had a mathlete boyfriend and they went off to Harvard together, but I had a big crush on her.”
Annabel laughed. “I remember Lorraine Haskell. She was valedictorian of your class. She wore glasses and dressed in pantsuits every day.” The smile faded. “So you’re telling me that Lorraine in her glasses and pantsuits was your type and sexy Lorna Dunkin wasn’t?”
“That’s right.” It was true.
Annabel nodded slowly and he had no idea what was going on in that mind of hers, but to be honest, he didn’t want to talk about Lorna or the old days. He’d made mistakes then, mistakes that had both terrific and terrible consequences, and he didn’t want to get into all that. And he didn’t want to be reminded of what his parents had said about him and Annabel. His folks were probably looking down on him right now, shaking their heads at the predicament he was in, what he’d dragged Annabel into.
“I’d better get the pork chops going,” he said, standing up, a sudden cold deep in his bones.
She was looking at him as though trying to figure out what was going on in his mind, but he really just wanted to be alone right now to shake off the past and focus on the now, which involved getting good enough at cooking to impress Raina Dunkin on Sunday.
“I’d be happy to help,” she said. “I know you’ve been up and working the ranch since before sunrise.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got it. I want to make Sunday dinner for the Dunkins. So I need all the practice I can get.”
She nodded and slipped out of the kitchen, and part of him wanted to run after her and hold her close and tell her he had no idea what the hell he was doing, that he was trying blind, and he was so damned relieved she was here, helping him, guiding him. But the need in him bothered him and he tamped it down, getting the meat from the refrigerator and setting it on the counter, no idea what to do with it.
He went over to the folders of recipes, pulled out the one marked Dinner and flipped through the pages until he found Gram’s Famous Barbecue Pork Chops, determined not to screw up the sauce the way he did the last time he attempted it.
It occurred to him when he was sautéing the onions, butter and garlic in a saucepan that he and Annabel never did finish talking about Raina’s habit of shutting down Lucy when his daughter talked about her mother. He’d pointed it out to Raina once and she’d snapped at him to mind his own business, as though his daughter’s heart wasn’t his business. She’d bitten his head off when he’d pointed that out too. So he’d just made a point to override Raina when she’d try to change the subject if Lucy needed to talk about her mother.
One by one he added the rest of the ingredients for the sauce, pretty sure that chili powder and ancho were the same thing, and wondering if his wife, who spoke her mind, God bless her, would soon find herself butting heads with Raina Dunkin.
He really wasn’t sure who’d win.
* * *
The sight of the apricot Victorian made Annabel’s heart skip a beat on Wednesday morning. She’d missed Hurley’s so much. She’d worked the lunch shift yesterday, grateful that Martha was back and that she and Hattie and Harold got along so well. Plus, once the lunch rush had stopped, she’d gone into the office and taken care of the business end, going over inventory and bills, and she’d also hired two more waitresses to take some of the pressure off Clementine, who was so good at her job and knew the menu inside and out that she was like three waitresses.
Being back here, even just for a few hours every day, was like a balm. The last two nights she’d tossed and turned to the point that West had turned on the light and asked if she was having a nightmare.
She sort of had been. Maybe it was dumb, but she couldn’t get West and his schoolboy crush on Lorraine Haskell out of her mind. Annabel had looked up to the smart, focused older girl, with her bookish ways and scrawny figure, who always seemed so confident. Lorraine Haskell never wore a stitch of makeup and her chest had been even flatter than Annabel’s as a sophomore. So if that was West’s type, then why had he thrown her over for sexpot Lorna, who went around grabbing guys in the privates?
That night, seven years ago in his barn, when he’d talked so openly, his heart broken, his soul battered, about the loss of his brother and how devastated he was, how alone he was, she’d known that the boy she’d been secretly in love with for years was everything she imagined he was. Annabel was a moment away from ripping off her own jeans and
letting him take her virginity, and then West had thrown cold water on them both and they’d left the barn. She remembered seeing his parents outside, noted that they’d all but ignored him. The next day after school, she’d expected to find him waiting for her on “their” rock, but she’d been in for quite a surprise. He’d been on that rock with Lorna, the two of them passionately making out, his hand up her sweater, her hand in the same place she liked to grab in hallways.
He’d never sought Annabel out and she rarely saw him around town except once or twice with Lorna’s arm around his waist, her hand in his back pocket.
Why, then? Why would he ignore the girl who was his supposed type, one he’d just spent an amazing, emotional, sensual experience with, for a girl he’d supposedly not been interested in? What could possibly have happened between Annabel leaving that night and the next day after school? It made no sense.
And instead of just asking him, she tossed and she turned and fretted and wondered and came up with nothing.
Uh, West, why did you take up with Lorna the day after you were with me—especially considering you liked the scrawny, bookish type?
Maybe she was afraid of the answer. That it wasn’t about type. It wasn’t about checklists. It was about chemistry. It was about The Person. And Annabel just hadn’t been That Person for West. She wasn’t Lorraine Haskell and she wasn’t Lorna Dunkin.
He just wasn’t that into you. And he still isn’t.
A shiver ran up Annabel’s spine that had nothing to do with the April breeze coming through the open window of the small office. She closed the window, grimacing at her great view of Clyde’s Burgertopia and the bright red sign announcing Grand Opening—Friday! Free Side of Hand-cut Fries or a Loaded Baked Potato with Every Burger!
The baked potato reminded her of Monday night’s dinner at the ranch. West had undercooked the pork chops because he’d been afraid of burning them, but his barbecue sauce—Gram’s fifty-year-old recipe—was spectacular, and the baked potatoes had been crackly on the outside and soft on the inside. She’d never been so glad for undercooked pork chops in her life because it meant he still needed cooking lessons—still needed her. The pork chops had gone back under the broiler, but West had been elated about his sauce and the potatoes, and when the pork chops were ready they were perfection.
Last night, though, was another story. While Annabel was giving Lucy a fun spa bath, West had been making Cajun chicken po’boys, but one of his ranch hands had called to say a calf had escaped the pen, and by the time West returned to the grill on the back deck, Annabel had gotten Lucy out of the bath because of the smell of smoke rising to the second-floor window, and they’d found the cutlets burned beyond recognition.
“I’ll bet Daisy will eat them,” Lucy had said, but Daisy gave the air a sniff and padded away.
The look of disappointment—in himself—on West’s face had been heartbreaking, and he insisted on trying again. Second time, success. But the incident had bothered West; Annabel had been able to tell that all through dinner as West politely listened to Lucy and chatted with her about this and that, but Annabel could see he was distracted. She’d tried to talk to him about it last night, let him know that these things happened and between taking care of a family, a new wife—especially given their cough-cough arrangement—and calving season, he had his hands full. Besides, she’d been there and if the grill had caught on fire, she could have dealt with it.
What if the Dunkins had been over when it happened? he’d said, shaking his head, his expression grim. They would have said I shouldn’t have left the grill unattended. That Lucy could have come out here to play and burned herself. Damn it, I’m her father and I can’t be trusted with her. They’re right.
She’d tried to tell him they weren’t right, that all parents made mistakes, that the Dunkins had likely made their share. But he’d stomped around between the barn and the house that night after Lucy went to bed.
And then it had been his turn to flip around in bed, and the only thing that had stopped it was when she’d put a hand on his back, meaning to calm him, and he’d gone still and hadn’t moved again.
She’d sighed to herself, her eyes welling, and she’d been so exhausted she’d fallen asleep.
Was this what people meant when they said marriage was hard work? Surely not in the first week. Then again, the Montgomerys of Blue Gulch were hardly your typical newlyweds.
Annabel’s phone pinged with a text. From her gram. Annabel smiled. Clementine had taught Gram to text when she got sick and it had taken a few days, but Gram had gotten the hang of it.
Miss my girl. Come have tea with me? Love, Gram.
PS—Sneak me in something sweet, will you?
PS—It’s Gram again.
Just what the doctor ordered...for both of them.
* * *
At least when it came to horses and cattle and land, West didn’t mess up. As he saw Jonathan McNeal’s blue pickup coming up the drive, he glanced at the range, watching the cattle graze. One of his workers was carrying bales of hay from the trailer and stacking them, the other one cleaning the stables.
Jonathan’s pickup came to a stop, and Daisy ran over to greet the visitors.
West waved as he headed over, smiling at the towheaded little boy who hopped out of the truck. “Hey, Timmy. Glad to see you. Daisy sure likes you,” he added, watching the beagle sniff the boy’s legs.
The boy didn’t smile, didn’t say anything, just watched Daisy sniff and look up at him, waiting for a pat. West waited to see if Daisy’s magic would work on Timmy—if he’d be able to resist how darned adorable she was—and indeed, Timmy did resist. Which meant West had his work cut out for him. Timmy was hurting. On the phone the other day, West had let Jonathan know that Timmy should be allowed to be 100 percent himself here—no need for his father to “admonish” him for not being polite or any of that jazz. This experience would be for Timmy to be himself, feel everything he was feeling and let it out, no matter what. West could see Jonathan standing back, letting West lead.
West waved at Annabel and Lucy in the pony pasture; Lucy was already atop Starlight, Annabel walking beside them as they walked the perimeter. Timmy stopped and watched—a good sign.
“You like ponies, Timmy?” West asked.
“I guess,” was all the boy said.
West led the way to the stables, to where the three ponies stood. Timmy followed, shoulders slumped, but he was looking around—another good sign that he was interested and engaged, that the ponies and the land and riding would be more powerful than the gray cloud of sadness and worry over Timmy’s head. The point was to poke holes in that cloud—if not make it go away altogether.
“Timmy, which pony would you like to ride? If you don’t have a favorite, you can try another next time you come. And if you do pick a favorite, that pony can always be yours when you come.”
Timmy glanced at the horses, then at his feet. “I like the brown one the best.”
West smiled. “I like him too. His name is Captain Petey.” After a brief introduction to ponies and how to get up on his back, Timmy was in the saddle, his feet in the stirrups. West led him to the pasture where Lucy was waiting.
“I love Captain Petey!” Lucy called over.
Timmy glanced at her. “I like his spots.”
“Like your freckles,” Lucy said, pointing at his face.
West held his breath, but Timmy touched his face and looked at down Captain Petey, his brown and white markings. “Yeah,” he said, his voice brightening. “Like my freckles.”
West glanced at Timmy’s dad, who looked so relieved that tears shone in his eyes. As Annabel and Lucy walked ahead, West held on to the reins and led, Timmy holding the horn tightly.
“My mama didn’t like horses, do you believe that?” Lucy said from up ahead. “I love horses. Different somethin
g and something, my mommy used to say.”
“Different strokes for different folks,” West said, remembering how Lorna used to say that all the time about just about everything.
“Michael, that’s my brother, was scared of horses, but I’m not,” Timmy said suddenly. “Do you think he sees that Captain Petey is nice?”
“Definitely,” West said.”
“Can Captain Petey go superfast?” Timmy asked.
“He can, but while you’re learning we’ll take it slow. Then next time you come you can take him for a trot—that’s like a quicker walk.”
“If he’ll even be here,” Timmy said, and burst into tears.
Timmy’s dad hurried over and rubbed Timmy’s back. “You want to come off, son?”
Timmy shook his head.
“Captain Petey will be here,” West assured Timmy. “He stays in the barn and the pasture, so not much can hurt him. And we make sure he’s healthy. Yeah, sometimes things can happen you can’t control, that’s a part of life, but Petey is kept pretty safe.”
Timmy was still crying, but he was calming down. “I want to come off so I can pet him. Is that okay?”
“You bet,” West said.
For the next half hour, the bunch of them stayed in the pasture, Timmy petting Captain Petey and Starlight, laughing as he and Lucy fed them carrots, Lucy talking a mile a minute about how much she loved Starlight.
And then it was time for the McNeals to go.
“I can’t wait to come back and see you,” Timmy told Captain Petey, wrapping his arms around the pony.
Captain Petey turned his head and eyed Timmy, which got a big laugh from the boy.
Jonathan mouthed a thank-you at West and they walked over to their pickup.
“This would have been great for me and my sisters when we lost our parents,” Annabel said, patting Captain Petey. “We didn’t have much exposure to horses and riding, but I can see how it would have helped.”
“My brother wanted to start a therapeutic riding program for troubled kids,” West said, remembering how Garrett used to talk about the way horses and riding and the freedom of open land could reach kids whose stubbornness ran deep, like West’s. “His dream was to be a cop in Austin and start a program for youth. But he never had the chance to make it happen.”