The Rancher's Christmas Song. RaeAnne Thayne
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can be quiet as dead mice.”
That was pretty darn quiet—and she would believe that when she saw it.
“We can be the goodest kids in the whole place,” Colter said. “You’ll see, Miss Baker. You won’t even know we’re there, except when we’re singing.”
“Yeah. You’ll see,” Trevor said. “Thanks, Miss Baker. Come on, Colt. Let’s go tell Thomas.” In a blink, the two of them raced off as quickly as they had appeared by her side.
“Those boys are quite a pair, aren’t they?” Faith said, watching after them with a rather bemused look on her features.
Ella was again aware of that protective impulse, the urge to defend them. Yes, they could be exhausting but she secretly admired their take-no-prisoners enthusiasm for life.
“They’re good boys. Just a little energetic.”
“You can say that again. They’re a handful. I suppose it’s only to be expected, though.” Faith paused, her expression pensive. “You know, I thought for sure Beck would send them off to live with family after their mother left. I mean, here was this tough, macho rancher trying to run his place while also dealing with a couple of boys still in diapers. The twins couldn’t have been more than two.”
“So young? How could a mother leave her babies?”
“Yeah. I wanted to chase after her and smack her hard for leaving a good man like Beck, but he would never let anybody say a bad word about her. The only thing he ever said to me was that Stephanie was struggling with some mental health issues and needed a little time to get her head on straight. I think she had some postpartum depression and it probably didn’t help that she didn’t have a lot of friends here. We tried, but she wasn’t really very approachable.”
Faith made a face. “That sounds harsh, doesn’t it? That’s not what I mean. She was just not from around here.”
“Neither am I,” Ella pointed out.
“Yes, but you don’t constantly remind us of how much better things were back east.”
Because they weren’t. Oh, she missed plenty of things about her life there, mostly friends and neighbors and really good clam chowder, but she had always felt as if she had a foothold in two places—her mother’s upper-crust Beacon Hill society and her father’s rough-and-rugged Idaho ranch.
“Anyway, she left to get her head on straight when the boys were about two and I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for Beck on his own. A year later, Stephanie died of a drug overdose back east.”
“Oh, how sad. Those poor boys.”
“I know. Heartbreaking. Her parents are high-powered doctors. They fought for custody of the boys and I think it got pretty ugly for a while, but Beck wouldn’t hear of it. He’s a good dad. Why would any judge take the boys away from father and the only home they’ve ever known and give them to a couple of strangers?”
“He strikes me as a man who holds on to what he considers his.”
“That might have been part of it. But the truth is, Beckett adores his boys. You should have seen him, driving to cattle sales and the feed store with two toddlers strapped in their car seats in the crew cab of his pickup truck.”
Her heart seemed to sigh at the picture. She could see it entirely too clearly, the big, tough rancher and his adorable carbon-copy twins.
“He’s a good man,” Faith said. “A woman could do far worse than Beckett McKinley. If you’re ever crazy enough to let Hope fix you up, you shouldn’t discount Beck on account of those wild boys of his.”
That wouldn’t be the only reason she could never look seriously at Beck, if she was in the market for a man—which she so totally wasn’t. For one thing, she became nervous and tongue-tied around him and couldn’t seem to string together two coherent thoughts. For another, the man clearly didn’t like her. He treated her with a cool politeness made all the more striking when she saw his warm, friendly demeanor around others. And, finally, she was more than a little jealous of his close relationship with her father. Curt treated his neighboring rancher like the son he’d never had, trusting him with far more responsibility than he would ever consider giving his own daughter. How could she ever get past that?
She was saved from having to answer when Faith’s husband, Chase, came over with Faith’s daughter and son in tow.
Chase smiled at Ella and she tried to ignore the awkwardness as she greeted him. This was all she wanted. A nice man who didn’t make her nervous. Was that too much to ask?
“Mom, can we go?” Louisa said. “I still have math homework to finish.”
“We’re probably the only parents here whose kids are begging to leave so they can get back to homework,” Chase said with a grin.
“Thanks again for the great show, Ella,” Faith said. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Now that we’ve been warned the McKinley twins are coming, we’ll make sure you have reinforcements at practice tomorrow.”
She could handle the twins. Their father was another story.
* * *
As much as he enjoyed hanging out with other ranchers, shooting the, er, shinola, as his dad used to call it, Beck decided it was time to head out. It was past the boys’ bedtime and their bus would be coming early.
“Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure but I need to call it a night,” he said.
There were more than a few good-hearted groans of disappointment.
He loved the supportive ranching community here in Pine Gulch. Friends and neighbors came through for each other in times of need. He couldn’t count the number of guys who had stepped in to help him after his father died. When Stephanie left, he had needed help again until he could find a good nanny and more than one neighbor had come over without being asked to lend a hand on the ranch.
The Broken Arrow would have gone under without their aid and he knew he could never repay them. The only thing he could do now was help out himself where he could.
As Beck waved goodbye and headed away from the group, he saw Curt Baker climb to his feet with the aid of his cane and follow after him. Beck slowed his steps so the older man could catch up.
“Thanks again for stepping in today and helping Manny unload the feed shipment.”
“Glad I could help,” he answered.
It was true. He admired Curt and owed the man. After Beckett’s father died, Curt had been the first neighbor to step in and help him figure out what he was doing on the ranch. Now the tables were turned. Curt’s Parkinson’s disease limited his ability to care for his own holdings. He had reduced his herd significantly and brought in more help, but still struggled to take care of the day-to-day tasks involved in running a cattle ranch.
He had actually talked Curt into running with him to be copresidents of the local cattle growers association. It wasn’t a tough job and gave Curt something else to focus on besides his health issues.
“Have you thought more on what we talked about over lunch?”
As if he could think about anything else. As much as he enjoyed cowboy folk songs, he’d had a hard time focusing on anything but Curt’s stunning proposal that afternoon.
“You love the Baker’s Dozen,” he said. “There’s no rush to sell it now, is there?”
Curt was quiet. “I’m not getting better. We both know that. There’s only one direction this damn disease will go and that’s south.”
Parkinson’s really sucked.
“I’m not in a hurry to sell. So far Manny and the other ranch hands are keeping things going—with help from you and Jax, of course—but you and I both know it’s only a matter of time before I’ll have to sell. I want to make sure I have things