The Rancher's Family--A Clean Romance

by Barbara White Daille

  Throwing her off-kilter certainly hadn’t helped her. But that was what he’d done, from the day she’d met him.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said evenly. “After I pick up the kids.”

  She’d expected an argument. Instead, he nodded. He strode the short distance to his truck and hauled himself into the driver’s seat as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

  She watched him leave the parking lot and drive down Canyon Road. Taillights blinked at her as the truck hit the street’s tiny dips and valleys.

  Or maybe her eyes had blurred from the moisture suddenly filling them. Tears once again. This time, of frustration.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CARA HAD NEVER been so glad to have a busy schedule as she was on Monday.

  At the store, she worked steadily through the morning into early afternoon. The jobs distracted her from worrying about Lizzie and Kyle and the very high chance they were expecting a baby. The work stopped her from wondering what Mark and Tracey were up to at Rhea’s. Above all, it kept her from thinking of Wes, at least for a few minutes every hour.

  As she was finishing her late lunch—sandwiches courtesy of Paz—she heard the door open. When she looked into the front room, Mo smiled and waved.

  “I’m on my way to the community center. I thought I’d come see the results of the painting party.”

  “Be my guest.” Biting her lip to hide a smile, Cara watched the older woman take her sweet time inspecting the display room. She paid just as much attention to the back room, and even peeked into the small bathroom.

  “I like the way you have the display cases arranged. And the entire place looks very nice.”

  “Thanks. I have to say I agree. Andi was lucky to get such hard workers to help out.” Including Wes.

  For the ninety-seventh time that day, she fought and failed to block images she didn’t want to see. Images of Wes rushing away last night, leaving her in the parking lot. Of Wes holding and kissing her in this small room yesterday morning. Even today, eating lunch alone, she couldn’t stop seeing him sitting with her at the table.

  She needed to do something to drive away all these visions. Having Lizzie around might help with that, depending on how chatty the teen would feel today. Either way, Lizzie didn’t get out of school for an hour or so yet. Meanwhile, here was Mo. “Do you have time for a cup of tea?”

  “Yes. That would be lovely.”

  Relieved, Cara took two mugs from the overhead cabinet. She turned on the kettle, then set a cookie tin on the table, close to Mo.

  “Paz’s baking, I presume?”

  Cara nodded. “Still hot from the oven when I was getting ready to leave the hotel this morning. She insisted I take some—along with the lunch she packs for me every day after cooking my breakfast. She takes very good care of me.”

  “That’s Paz. She takes care of everyone at the Hitching Post.”

  “Yes.” Still, guilt at the reminder of both Paz’s and Jed’s generosity to her made her cringe. Free room and board was one reason she needed to get back to her long-abandoned job search.

  Her frustrating conversation with Wes was another.

  Mo smiled over her tea mug. “I noticed you didn’t mention supper.”

  She wasn’t falling for that opening again. The woman probably knew down to the minute how much time she spent at Wes’s house. “Oh, Paz handles my dinner, too, when I’m around. But last night after we were done painting, we all went to SugarPie’s.” Or to be exact, all but one.

  “Yes, I know. I was just there for lunch today.” Laughing, Mo reached for a cookie. “So, obviously I don’t need any sweets. I met with a few of the girls from the knitting club. They said they had stopped in earlier.”

  “They’ve been coming in all day. Last week, too. They’ve all brought samples—of beautiful work—but as I’m telling everyone, I can’t make any promises. The decisions are up to Andi.”

  “Of course.”

  Andi would like what she had seen, too, and the store would have a surplus of stock. But she wouldn’t tell Mo that, either, without discussing the details with Andi first. “I just hope enough customers come in so she can get this business off the ground.”

  “I’m sure they will,” Mo said confidently. “Once she’s set up, we’ll all get the word out to everyone in the county, if not the state. They’ll come by the carload. You’ll see.”

  Mo was wrong. Cara wouldn’t see. By the time Andi was ready to open the doors to all those customers, she would be gone.

  You’ll get your life back on track as soon as you’re home again.

  Wes had been wrong, too. Her life might never get back on track.

  * * *

  FROM AS FAR AWAY as the kitchen, Wes had somehow gotten tuned in to Cara’s car door closing when she arrived. Today, he had dreaded hearing the sound, yet he forced himself to head outside. Why had he ever started this ritual in the first place?

  Skipping the reason he refused to admit, he went straight to the easy one. His son thrived on routine.

  Even this morning, when he delivered the kids to Rhea, Mark had asked for the third time, See Miss Cara after school? Wes had assured him Miss Cara would come to pick up both him and Tracey.

  Now she’d brought them home and he had to face her again.

  At the car, she leaned down looking into the back seat. The open door blocked his full view of her, but he couldn’t miss the hair flowing across her shoulders, the golden red muted from the late-day shadows filling the yard. That long, soft hair had spilled across his hands when he’d held her.

  He pushed away the memory, which wasn’t his to enjoy.

  He never should have touched her.

  “Don’t forget your backpack,” Cara said to Mark.

  She spotted Wes approaching. Standing upright, she brushed her hair behind her. Out of the way of temptation?

  “Hi.” Her cool smile almost made her a stranger.

  “Hi, Daddy!” Mark’s energetic hug sent the backpack crashing against Wes’s legs. The boy took off at a trot toward the back of the house.

  Wes turned to Cara. “Hey. How...” was your day? Another routine he shouldn’t have started. “...were the kids on the ride?”

  “The same as always. Tracey slept. Mark talked, though not as much as usual.”

  “Yeah. He was quiet off and on this morning, too.” Except for asking about his Miss Cara. “Did you hear anything from Lizzie?”

  She nodded. “A phone call after school let out. She was on her way to meet her mom. They were heading for a doctor’s appointment.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Very good. And last night, she and Kyle talked to her mom and dad. If the test results confirm she’s pregnant, they’ll all sit down with his parents.” This time her smile looked more like the Cara Wes knew. “All your suggestions were very good. Lizzie and Kyle were so understandably upset, they needed help figuring out what to do.”

  She had done as much and more, wrapping herself up in concern for a couple of kids she barely knew. Who had helped her when she needed it?

  “I should have an update by tomorrow.” She glanced into the car. “Tracey’s still asleep. Give me a minute.”

  As she turned away, Wes touched her arm. When her gaze shot to his, he immediately dropped his hand. “How about giving me a minute first.”

  She nodded, waiting. Her blue eyes appeared darker in the shadows, too, but just as beautiful. He wished—

  Self-preservation instantly made his mind go blank. When he could finally think again, he blurted the first thing that came to him. “Yesterday.”

  “What about yesterday?”

  “I shouldn’t have held you. Or kissed you. Or made you think there was a chance of anything between us. I think it’s best we keep away from situations where what happened yesterday coul
d happen again.”

  “You’re saying we shouldn’t get close? Like we are right now?”

  He took a quick step back. Obviously, she didn’t intend to help him here. Didn’t she realize this conversation was tough enough?

  “Yes, I’m saying we shouldn’t get close. The kids won’t understand and they’re already confused with you here.” Not just his kids. But he’d worry about his own problems later. “Mark’s clinging to you because he’s missing his mother. I’m sure of it. And both kids are getting too used to having you around.

  “This is on me, not you. I should have seen it coming sooner. Or maybe it’s a case of that denial we talked about last night.” Or his inability to ask her to stay away. “You’re going home eventually. When doesn’t matter. The point is, the more attached the kids are to you, the worse it’s going to be when they lose you.”

  Like they lost their mother.

  Cara’s suddenly glistening eyes said either she understood and cared that much about his kids or he’d stupidly but unintentionally reminded her of her own loss. Either way, he had never wanted to take her into his arms more than he did right now. And now was the one time he most needed to stay away.

  “You’re right,” she said finally. “We can’t let things go on like they have.”

  “It would be better if you don’t just walk out on the kids.”

  She gasped. “I would never do that.”

  “I know you wouldn’t. That came out wrong. These aren’t situations I deal with every day.” He exhaled heavily, wishing they could end the conversation now. Not an option. And he’d started them down this road. “What I meant was, it would be better, especially for Mark, if we could ease into the idea you’re leaving.”

  “You mean... How, exactly?”

  She was determined to make him lay everything out. And why not, when none of this was her fault? “You could pick them up and stay for supper a few more nights. Finish out the week. Over the next few days, we’ll talk to Mark to get him used to the idea you won’t be around here much longer.”

  “If you think that’s the best way to handle it.”

  She sounded as enthusiastic as he suddenly felt about the plan. Which meant not at all.

  * * *

  “A-A-AND...YOU LIKE BACRONI?” Mark asked.

  Cara smiled and pointed to the plate in front of her. “I do.” She had barely touched her baked ziti. No one seemed to notice.

  To keep everything “normal” for the kids, she and Wes agreed she should eat dinner with them, as usual. Tonight was more uncomfortable than the night they talked to the kids but not each other.

  Wes barely spoke at all. As if he’d flipped a switch, he’d again become the quiet, withdrawn man she had met on her first day in town.

  “A-a-and...you like tomatoes?” Mark asked.

  “I do.”

  They had played this game almost since they had sat down at the table, with Mark more than likely running through a list of every food he could ever remember eating. At least he was smiling again.

  By the time she arrived home...here...with the kids, Wes had everything prepared and ready. The table had been completely set. After he learned there was nothing left for him to do, Mark cried in disappointment.

  “A-a-and...you like spaghetti sauce?” Mark asked.

  “I do.” If this game kept him happy, she would gladly stay and play it with him all night long.

  Wes hadn’t needed her help with anything, either. Considering their conversation outside, she wasn’t surprised. The fully set table could have passed for a visual version of the speech he’d made.

  When he laid out his plans, he’d left nothing for her to do either except spend a few more nights here working upstairs and then go on her way.

  “A-a-and...you like milk?” Mark asked.

  “I do.”

  Wes still focused silently on his dinner.

  No matter what he wanted, right now, she just couldn’t force herself to talk to Mark about the fact she would be leaving. And why should she without Wes’s support?

  Instantly, her face burned. She stared down at her plate. She should never have asked that question, even in her own mind. This situation was as hard for Wes to deal with as it was for her. And hadn’t she created most of it herself? Hadn’t she been the one to volunteer—and keep volunteering—to pick up the kids?

  “A-a-and...you like ice cream?” Mark asked.

  “I love ice cream.” Deliberately, she broke the pattern with her enthusiastic response. When Mark laughed, she took a deep breath. Now or never. “Mark, do you remember when I met you at the Big Dipper?”

  Wes froze with his fork halfway to his mouth.

  Mark nodded. “I spilled your ice cream on the floor. Daddy bought more.”

  “That’s right. And do you remember when I told you about my home? I said I lived in Arizona.”

  He nodded again.

  “Well... I have to go home.”

  “When?”

  Still not a word from Wes. “Soon.”

  “Okay. Time for dessert yet?”

  She almost laughed. So much for worrying about upsetting Mark.

  Her glance at Wes showed he’d zeroed in on his ziti. Tracey frowned as she pushed green beans around the edge of her tray. Cara would get no help from either of them. “Your sister looks like she’s not hungry tonight. She may not want dessert.”

  “I want dessert!”

  “Mark,” Wes said quietly.

  She hesitated, but he didn’t seem ready to answer Mark’s question about when they would have their dessert. Sure, over this small unimportant matter, Wes would let her have a say. Her stomach clenching, she turned to Mark. “Yes, I know you want dessert. And it will be time to have it when we’re all done with dinner.”

  Now, as much as she liked Mark’s game, it was also time for her and Wes to make adult conversation. Spearing a piece of her almost forgotten ziti, she said casually, “I’ll work upstairs after dinner. That will put me one night closer to finishing.”

  “No!” Mark said. “I want books.”

  Of course, she had meant after story time. Before she could explain, Wes spoke up.

  “Hush.” He frowned. “You’re not behaving well tonight. And Miss Cara was talking to Daddy.”

  “I want story time!”

  “Mark.” This time, Wes’s voice held a warning tone.

  “I don’t want dessert. I want books.” Mark pushed his bowl, which knocked over his half-full plastic cup.

  Milk splashed everywhere, including onto her plate. Grabbing her napkin, Cara tried to catch a quickly moving stream before it could run off the edge of the table.

  Wes set his fork on his plate. “Mark,” he said mildly, “you just ruined Miss Cara’s supper. What do you think you ought to do about that?”

  “Go read books.”

  Wes sighed. “Okay, my boy, that’s it. Somebody’s ready for an early bath and bedtime. Two somebodies.” He undid the buckles on Tracey’s high chair. “Let’s go. Say good-night.”

  “No.”

  “Mark.” Now Wes’s tone said this wasn’t open for argument.

  Mark must have caught this warning. “G’night, Miss Cara.”

  His mumbled words and the way he avoided her eyes clearly announced she had lost the chance to get a hug from him tonight.

  He stomped toward the door. Halfway across the room he turned and ran back. He threw his arms around her, squeezing harder than he ever had before, until she could barely catch her breath.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  AFTER WES LEFT the kitchen with Mark and Tracey, Cara wiped up the spilled milk. She cleared and washed the table, rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher, all to leave the room looking as neat and tidy as Wes had it when she’d arrived.

  Finished stra
ightening up to her satisfaction, Cara wandered around the room. How many more times would she see this kitchen with its picture-covered refrigerator, piles of art supplies and baby toys all seen from “her” place at the table? If Wes had his way, not nearly enough times to satisfy her.

  Well, she had news for him. She had given in earlier but wouldn’t walk away that easily now. Yes, she had agreed to his plan for the kids’ sake. They came first, no doubt about it. She and Wes had thought of the kids. Now they needed to think of themselves.

  Wes’s footsteps sounded in the hallway.

  Why couldn’t he trust her enough to let himself get close to her? No sense asking that question, since he wouldn’t answer.

  When he entered the kitchen, she said, “Everything go okay with bath time?”

  “Yeah. After, Tracey nodded off before I finished getting her clean pajamas on.”

  “And Mark?”

  “He’s sound asleep already, too.”

  “I feel terrible about what happened at dinner.” Feel terrible didn’t come close to describing the guilt that had flooded through her as quickly as Mark’s milk spilled across the table. “I didn’t plan to go upstairs to work until after I read to the kids. But Mark couldn’t know that. No wonder he got upset.”

  “Not your fault. He should’ve known better than to misbehave that way.”

  “Wes,” she said softly, “he’s only three going on forty.”

  “Yeah, I suppose.” He answered grudgingly, but one corner of his mouth twitched as if he fought to hold back his half smile.

  “Well, I guess I’ll get to work upstairs.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll be down here if you need anything.”

  I need you.

  She couldn’t say that right now, either, with their earlier conversation still hanging over their heads.

  How could two people desperately have the same goal but disagree completely about the way to reach it? How could Wes ask her to help ease the break between her and his kids, while her heart told her she could be the best thing for them all?