The Cowboy's Family. Brenda Minton
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draws pictures and sings.” Molly crossed her arms and her little chin came up. “She has sheep.”
“I’m sure she does. But she’s really busy with church and helping Miss Etta.”
“She doesn’t mind cleaning.” Molly was growing up and her tone said that she had a handle on this situation.
“Look, girls, she just cleaned for us that one time. Uncle Ryder hired her.” He reached into the cabinet under the island and pulled out a cereal box. Add that to his list for the day. He needed to go to the store again. Even though he’d had a list, he’d forgotten a lot. “How about cereal?”
“And a pony?” Kat grinned and her eyes were huge.
A pony. Would it work to buy himself a break from this?
“Maybe a pony.” He was so weak. “But first we have to eat breakfast and then we need to go outside and feed the horses and cows we already have.”
He lifted them down from the counter and sat them each on a stool at the island.
“You girls are getting big.”
Molly. He shook his head because she wasn’t just big, she acted like an old soul, as if she’d had to learn too much too soon. And she had.
Most of it he doubted she remembered. If she did, the memories were vague. But she remembered being afraid. He knew she remembered that.
He took bowls out of the cabinet and set one in front of each girl and one for himself. He opened the cereal cabinet door again and looked at the half-dozen boxes. “Chocolate stuff, fruity stuff or kind-of-healthy stuff?”
The girls giggled a little.
“That does it, you get kind-of-healthy today. I think you’ve had way too much sugar because you’re both so sweet.” He grabbed the box and then reached for the girls and held them, kissing their cheeks. “Yep, sweet enough.”
Normal moments, the kind a dad should share with his daughters. Eighteen long months of going through the motions, but they were all coming back to life. They were building something new here, in this house. They would have good memories. He hadn’t expected to have something good for his family here, in Dawson. His own dad hadn’t provided that for him and Ryder.
But he wasn’t his dad. He guessed he learned something from his dad’s mistakes. Like how to be faithful. And how to be there.
His phone rang and he answered it as he poured cereal into three bowls. Two partially filled and his to the top. He talked as he poured milk and dug in a drawer for spoons. When he hung up both girls were looking at him.
“I have to go pick up something for Uncle Ryder.” He ate his cereal standing across the counter from the girls.
“A pony?” Kat giggled as she spooned cereal into her mouth. Milk dribbled down her chin and her brown eyes twinkled.
“No, a bull.”
“We can go?” Molly didn’t touch her cereal and he knew, man, he knew how scared she was. He was just starting to get over it, he hadn’t been a two-year-old kid alone with a mommy who wouldn’t wake up.
That kind of fear and pain changed a person. Molly was watching him, waiting for him to be the grown-up, the one who smiled and showed her that it was okay to be happy.
“Of course you can go.” He took a bite of cereal and she followed his example. She even smiled. He let out a sigh that she didn’t hear.
Fifteen minutes later he walked out the back door with them on his heels. Today they’d slipped back into the old pattern of leaving dishes on the counter and dirty clothes on the floor in the bedroom. He didn’t have time to worry about it right now. He’d barely had time to pull on his boots and find his hat.
Horses saw him and whinnied. The six mares in the field closest to the house headed toward their feed trough. He whistled and in the other field about a dozen horses lifted their heads and headed toward the barn, ready for grain.
A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Kat and Molly were close behind him. They weren’t right on his heels now, but they were following, grabbing up dandelions and chasing after the dog.
He turned away from the girls and headed for the fence. He watched for a chestnut mare. She walked a short distance behind the others. Her limp was slight today. She’d gotten tangled in old barbed wire out in the field. Sometimes a good rain washed up a lot of junk from the past.
This mare had stepped into that junk one day last week after a gully washer of a rain. He’d found her with gashes in her fetlock and blood still oozing from the wound. She headed for the fence and him, the extra attention over the last week had turned her into a pet.
A car driving down the road honked. He turned to wave. The red convertible slowed and pulled into his drive. The girls hurried to his side, jabbering about Rachel’s car. He had worked hard at building a safe life for his girls.
What was it about Rachel that shook it all up? He glanced down at his girls and they didn’t look too scared.
He tossed the thought aside. Rachel was about the safest person in the world. She was a Sunday school teacher and the preacher’s daughter.
So what part of her life had been crazy enough for butterfly tattoos?
Rachel had meant to drive on past the Johnson ranch, but the girls waving dandelions had done it for her. She had seen them from a distance, first noticing the horses running for the fence and then spotting Wyatt and his girls. She had slowed to watch and then she’d turned.
As she pulled up to the barn she told herself this was about the craziest thing she’d done since… She had to think about it and one thing came to mind. The tattoo.
She’d thought about having it removed, but she kept it to remind herself to make decisions based on the future and not the moment. So what in the world was she doing here, at Wyatt Johnson’s? He probably wanted her around as much as she wanted to be there.
This was definitely a spontaneous decision and not one that was planned out. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
The girls dropped the dandelions and raced across the lawn, the dog at their heels. As she pushed her door open, Molly and Kat were there, little faces scrubbed clean and smiles bright. No matter what, he’d done a great job with the girls, even if he did seem to be color-blind. That had to be the reason the girls never seemed to have an outfit that matched.
This time they were in their pajamas.
“What are you girls up to?”
“We’re going with Daddy.” Molly held tight to her hand.
Wyatt had disappeared. Into the barn, she decided. She could hear him talking and heard a door shut with a thud. He walked back out, his hat pulled down to block the sun from his face. He had a bag of grain tossed over his shoulder, his biceps bulging.
She let the girls tug her hands to follow him. He stopped at a gate and unlatched it with his free hand. Cattle were at a trough, waiting. From outside the fence she watched him yank the string on the top of the bag and pour it down the length of the trough. He walked back with the empty bag. After closing the gate he tossed the bag into a nearby barrel.
And then he was staring at her. The hat shaded his face, but it definitely didn’t hide the questions in his dark eyes. And she didn’t have answers. What could she tell him, that her car suddenly had a mind of its own? But she’d have to think of something because the girls were pulling her in his direction.
“What are you up to today?” He pulled off leather gloves and shoved them in the back pocket of his jeans.
She didn’t have an answer. The girls were holding her hands and she was staring into the dark eyes of a man who had been hurt to the deepest level. And survived. Those eyes were staring her down, waiting for an answer.
She was on his territory. She’d