The Cowboy's Twins. Tara Taylor Quinn
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as she met his gaze in the glass.
“I’ll drive you to school this morning.” He had no need for a trip to town but welcomed the idea of being away from the ranch for a couple of hours.
And he made no pretense to himself about the reason for that.
He wanted to spend as little time as possible with the city girl who’d invaded his space.
In more ways than one.
THE PEAL OF her old-fashioned ringtone woke Natasha from a sound sleep. Not sure where she was at first, Natasha reached an arm toward the side table, pulling herself to a sitting position.
Her mother called only when she had something important to say. And the ringtone was reserved exclusively for the woman who’d birthed her thirty-one years before.
Birthed. She knew, firsthand, what that meant.
By the time her eyes were fully open and focused on the paneled walls of the cabin’s master bedroom, Natasha had regained full faculties. And memories of helping to bring a calf into the world came flooding back.
“Hi, Mom. What’s up?” She forced cheer and wakefulness into her tone. Susan Stevens wouldn’t approve of sleeping past six—no matter that she’d not made it back to bed until sometime after four that morning.
The red digital numbers glaring at her from the nightstand let her know that she was over two hours late getting up.
By her mother’s standards. Which had been firmly indoctrinated as her own...
“How are you, dear?” Polite conversation meant that her mother was displeased. Or worse, disappointed. Now she felt like a real slough off.
Searching her brain for what she could possibly have done to earn this, she came back to the time. Had her mother already called once? Had she slept through the ring?
“I’m fine, Mom,” she said, standing beside the bed to ensure that her blood was flowing and she sounded busy.
It was half past eleven in New York City. Her mother would have already handled a full calendar that morning and would be off the bench for the next hour and a half before her afternoon calendar began.
Susan wouldn’t think ill of her for not taking her call. It was understood that they were both busy women. Missing a call was to be expected...
Which meant her own sleeping habits had nothing to do with her mother’s displeasure.
Maybe a case had gone bad. As a superior court judge on the criminal bench in a city like New York, Susan led a less-than-peaceful life.
She lived in a less-than-peaceful city.
So had Natasha...until...
“The new season of the show starts in a couple of days,” Susan stated, as though Natasha didn’t know her own schedule. Because she wanted Natasha to know that she knew. That she kept track.
Her way of saying that she cared.
“I’m already at the ranch,” Natasha said, collapsing to the side of the bed. She told her mother about Ellie. About birthing the cow. And when Susan asked how she was going to integrate the experience into her show, a fifteen-minute conversation followed. A good, meaty, mind-melding conversation.
Between mother and daughter. Two high-powered women whose minds were simpatico.
“So...how’s Stan?” Natasha asked, after their brainstorming morphed into a series of ideas, a plan, that pleased them both.
When she was up and ready, Bryant’s wife was going to be doing a walk-through with her of the staging and kitchens that had been built in a tractor barn on the property. The pantry and green room. Now that she was awake, she was eager to get to it.
“That’s what I called about...”
Back straightening, Natasha slowed her thinking. Had something happened to her mother’s long-term companion? While not technically her father, Stan had been in their lives for over a decade, and...
“What’s wrong? Is he ill?”
The appeals court judge had been in perfect health when she’d visited her mother over Christmas. But that had been...nine months ago.
“No...to the contrary, he’s more physically fit than he’s been in years,” Susan said. A note in her mother’s voice gave her concern. Or rather, a lack of any particular one did.
“He’s taking an early retirement,” Susan continued, her words even. Emotionless.
“But...he’s only, what, fifty-one?” Her mother had thrown a high-powered fiftieth birthday bash for him. The guest list had included most anyone who was anyone in power in the city. Natasha had flown home to New York to oversee the caterer her mother had hired for the occasion.
“Fifty-two. And he’s decided that he wants to sail around the world,” she continued. Natasha sat frozen on the bed. She couldn’t tell if her mother was being literal. Normally she’d have been able to tell.
“Wow.” Not her best articulation, but she was shocked. To the bone. “I thought he’d die at ninety-five, still on the bench,” she half murmured.
“I know. Me, too.”
Just as her mother planned to do...
Unless... With a surge of...she didn’t know what exactly—an emotion that felt a lot better than the disbelief and uncertainty weighing her down—she entertained the thought that had struck.
Could her mother be calling to tell Natasha that she was retiring, too? That she’d finally reached a point where she felt she’d done her duty to the world that had given her life—to the purpose for which she’d been born—and could just relax?
Where that thought came from, Natasha didn’t know. She was certain it was unbidden. And unwelcome, too.
Her mother and she were not women who wanted to just relax. They weren’t made for sitting around.
And yet...to think that Susan and Stan were moving on to the next stage of their lives together was...reassuring. In an odd, offhand sense...
“So, I just thought I should let you know...”
Wait. What? Wasn’t there more? “Are you having a retirement party for him? Do you need me to cater?” Sense was coming back into focus.
“No. I won’t be doing that.” Susan sounded distracted now. Which made no sense again.
“My gosh, Mom, he’s been employed by New York’s legal system for thirty years. Has had an illustrious career. I can’t imagine him not wanting a party to celebrate that. If nothing else, I’m sure there are a lot of people who’d be offended not to be a part of such a celebration.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Natasha. Which is why I’m certain he’ll have a party such as you describe. I just won’t be having it for him.”
Oh. No. With a sudden thud, realization dawned. “Why not?” she asked, dreading the answer.
Her entire life, anytime anyone had tried to get too close to her and her mother, Susan had ended the relationship. Because invariably, the man had wanted her to become less of who she was and more like he’d needed her to be. Less powerful. More nurturing.
But Stan...
“We are no longer...friends.”
They’d broken up, Natasha translated.
“Because he wanted to retire?”
That didn’t sound like Susan. Even if she didn’t want to join him in early relaxation, Susan wasn’t one to ask anyone to be anything they were not. Because she couldn’t be who she was not. Her mother