The Cowboy Finds a Family

by Anne McAllister

  Becky laced her fingers through his. She was surprised to see that there was less difference in the size of their hands than she remembered. “It’s okay,” she said.

  He shook his head. “It’s not. Lookin’ around for you today when we were about to set off for Grandma and Grandpa’s and not findin’ you scared me spitless.”

  “I told you I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “Best thing you could’ve done,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. “It sure as hell woke me up.”

  He squeezed her shoulder, then brushed a hand over her hair, let it linger, as if he needed to reassure himself that she was really there.

  Becky snuggled a little closer, relishing the feel of his arms around her. She’d forgotten just how much. “Thank you for coming,” she said in a small voice.

  He pressed a kiss against the side of her head. “My pleasure, pard. It will always be my pleasure. For a long time it was just you and me, and I guess I sort of took it for granted that what we had was what we’d always have. I thought having Felicity just made it better.”

  “It did make it better,” Becky said, worried suddenly about what he might be thinking. “I love Felicity.”

  A corner of his mouth tipped up. “I do, too.”

  Becky breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t want to ever have to think about him getting another divorce. She knew, even if he’d never said, just how much the first one had hurt him. “Good,” she said. “That’s all right, then.”

  “It will be,” he promised. “It won’t always be this hectic. Willy and Abby will grow up. They won’t demand as much time.” He shook his head. “I never counted on twins.”

  “They’re okay,” Becky allowed after a moment.

  “They’re an adjustment,” Taggart said.

  She tilted her head and looked at him closely, not quite sure he meant what she hoped he meant. “Do you, um, sometimes, get mad at ’em?”

  “Sometimes. Not them, really. Just . . . what babies do. It takes a lot out of you just keepin’ up with them. And when there’s two of ’em . . .”

  “At least there’s two of you,” Becky said. It didn’t seem quite so bad once she knew her father didn’t feel all jolly all the time when he was having to deal with a screaming kid. It made her own resentment about Willy and Abby feel a little less awful.

  “There’s two of us,” Taggart agreed. “And, like I told you the first time we came up here, things change. It’s up to us to adjust.” He touched his nose to hers. “Can you try? If we try, too?”

  Solemnly Becky nodded. “Yes.”

  Taggart’s arms tightened around her and he gave her another long hard hug. Becky hugged him back. “Love you, pard,” he said.

  “Love you, too. Always.” Then she swiped at her eyes and grinned at him.

  He grinned back. Then, lifting her and setting her on the ground, he got to his feet and held out his hand.

  “We’ll come again,” he said. “Next year. I promise.”

  “All of us?” Becky asked as she followed him down.

  “If we can,” Taggart said. “I’d like that. Would you?”

  “Yeah, I think I would. I think Willy and Abby are gonna need to see that the world is bigger than them.”

  Taggart stopped and turned his head to look back at her. He smiled.

  Becky smiled back. Suddenly she heard a thin sound that wasn’t a bird call. “Is that a baby? Who would bring a baby up here?”

  “Felicity.”

  Becky stumbled. “What? She brought them?”

  “She’s waiting down where you left your horse. She wanted to come all the way, but I thought . . .” He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought this one was between you and me.”

  “It was,” Becky said after she thought about it. “But,” she added, “it’s not just you and me anymore, is it?”

  Taggart hugged her against him. “No, pard. I guess not.”

  Becky slipped an arm around his waist as the trail widened. “Then I guess we better go back down and help Felicity out.”

  Her stepmother was waiting by the horse. She was sitting in the truck, nursing Abby and had her thumb in Willy’s mouth, letting him suck. But she didn’t seem to be paying much attention to either one of them.

  Her gaze was on Becky and Taggart.

  As they came down she opened the truck’s door and handed the babies to Taggart, then wrapped her arms around Becky and hugged her tight.

  Wordlessly Becky hugged back. Then she stepped back and said, “I’m sorry,” because she knew Felicity had probably worried even more than her dad.

  “So am I,” Felicity said. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine,” Becky said. “Better than fine.” She looked at her dad, holding both crying babies and smiled. Then she looked at her stepmother and said, “You better get back and feed her.”

  “Yes.” Felicity took Abby from Taggart. He was left with a squalling Willy. He looked from the baby to Becky’s horse, which he needed to put in the trailer before they could start back down.

  “I’ll hold him,” Becky said.

  Taggart lifted his brows in surprise.

  But Becky held out her arms, and carefully Taggart put Willy in them. Her brother was much bigger than the last time she’d held him. He wiggled more. He could hold his head up. He waved an arm and smacked her in the face.

  She started in surprise, then laughed. “Not bad,” she told him. “But I think there’s still a few things I can teach you.”

  She looked up to see her parents exchange a smile.

  “Come on,” Felicity said. “If we hurry we might be able to get to Grandma and Grandpa’s in time to at least have coffee with Uncle Tom before he goes. And you can say good-bye to him,” she said to Becky. “He’s going to miss you.”

  “I’ll miss him, too,” Becky said as she carried Willy to the truck.

  But it might be better if he left.

  If he wasn’t around, she thought, hugging Willy against her, maybe Mace could get back together with Jenny and the whole world would be all right.

  *

  He would go see her in the morning. It was a long shot, Mace knew, but he was determined to do it. He needed to do it. Needed to see Jenny, talk to Jenny. Listen to Jenny.

  He hadn’t listened before. He’d only reacted. Now, when it was probably too late, he had finally screwed up the courage to face her again.

  He would go down to the house before church. He would catch her before she left, and he would say . . . he would say . . . Hell, he didn’t know what he would say.

  What could a guy possibly say to the woman he loved and had left? How could he explain the pain he felt? How could he admit that he had never really considered hers?

  Of course she knew that. It was obvious.

  He shouldn’t go. There would be no point.

  But there was a point, the other side of him argued just as passionately. He understood something now he hadn’t understood before. He understood that a marriage could have unpredictable tough times. Things no one could expect. Things that could break you apart if you weren’t careful. He hadn’t been careful.

  He’d taken his hurt and walked away, barely giving hers a thought. He realized now that even though it was his infertility, he was her husband. What they did about it should be a choice both of them made.

  He could tell her that.

  If she would listen.

  Mace dropped down on the couch, his head in his hands, grinding the heels of his hands against his eyes. God, what a mess.

  He wished Ian had never come. He was desperately glad he had.

  He didn’t know that seeing her would make any difference. He was almost afraid to try. Why open it all up again?

  The knock on the door was so soft he almost didn’t hear it. When he did, his heart caught in his throat.

  Jenny? Was it Jenny?

  Oh, God.

  He hauled himself to his feet and swiftly crossed the room. H
is hand was cold and sweaty on the knob. He barely remembered to breathe as he opened the door.

  “Oh.” His heart dropped as he stared out, then looked down to see Becky looking up at him. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t come in.

  Mace tried to muster a smile. It was beyond him. “You’re here kind of late, aren’t you?” He had pretty much lost track of time, but the sun had already dropped behind the Bridgers. He glanced at his watch and found out he was right. “What’s up?” he asked her.

  “Do you love Jenny?” she demanded urgently.

  Her words stopped him cold. He was used to Becky’s ability to tune in to his moods. He was used to her questions. But he wasn’t used to being point blank. Not when what constituted that love was the very thing he was struggling with.

  His gaze narrowed. He gave his head a little shake.

  “Do you love Jenny?” Becky persisted, in case he hadn’t heard her the first time.

  “Of course I love Jenny,” he snapped, goaded. “You know that!”

  “I thought so,” Becky said. She grabbed his hand and started to pull him out the door. “Then you’d better come. Now.”

  Mace dug in his heels. “Come where? Why?”

  “To stop her.” Becky gave him another urgent tug.

  “Stop her?” From doing what?

  “She’s going to move to Iowa with my uncle Tom.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mace couldn’t find his voice. He could barely find his breath. He stared at Becky who stared back unblinkingly, letting her words soak in.

  “You’re sure?” It was what he’d told himself was right, what he’d assured himself he expected. And yet . . . hearing the words rocked him to the depths of his soul.

  “That’s what my dad says,” Becky told him. “An’ Felicity. We were s’posed to have dinner with him tonight at my grandparents. But we didn’t go ’cause, well, I climbed Horse Thief and . . . and my dad came after me.” She ducked her head a moment, and Mace got the feeling that there was a lot more to the story than that. He wanted to know what, but not now. Now there was something more important.

  “What’s that got to do with Jenny going with Tom?”

  “Uncle Tom was gonna meet us at Grandma’s. But when Daddy called Grandma to tell her we’d be late, she said that was okay, that Uncle Tom would be late, too, because he was stopping to pick up Jenny! I told Daddy I couldn’t go to Grandma’s,” she said urgently. “I had to come and tell you.”

  “And he let you?” That didn’t sound like Taggart. Taggart never interfered.

  But Becky nodded. “He started to say no. But then he said maybe I knew what I was doing.” She sounded slightly awed by the idea, but she was still looking at Mace with the same desperate expression on her face that he felt deep inside.

  “Maybe she was just going along to . . . to say good-bye to Tom, too,” he suggested. He was grasping at straws and he knew it. He didn’t want to believe—wouldn’t let himself believe she could be leaving—and yet in his gut, he knew it was true.

  “No,” Becky said. “She’s goin’, Mace. She’s goin’ to Iowa! But if you get a move on, maybe you can catch her—if you hurry.” She gave his hand a yank. “C’mon, Mace. You love her.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  Becky made an impatient noise, then narrowed her eyes at him. “She loves you, Mace. She’d rather have you. I’m sure of it.” She paused and looked at him more closely. “Are you gonna let her leave? Are you chicken?”

  Was he? Was he afraid of facing Jenny and opening himself to her rejection? It would, he knew, be even harder than making the unilateral decision to walk out himself. His teeth came together with a snap. He straightened and drew a breath. “Let’s go.”

  Grinning, Becky did a little hop, then handed him his hat. He tugged it down on his head on his way to the door.

  Becky bounded along after him. “I knew it!” she said, full of obvious satisfaction.

  “Leave your horse here,” he told her. “We’re going to drive.”

  Becky’s eyes widened momentarily, but she loosened the cinch and Mace took off the saddle, set it on the porch railing, then turned the horse out into the small fenced pasture where his own was grazing.

  They got into his truck and he backed it around swiftly. Becky continued to beam. He could feel her gaze, looking at him with all the wisdom God gave a ten-year-old and denied adults who were too blind to see what was in front of their faces. He prayed to God she was right.

  When they’d gone down out of the mountains far enough that he was pretty sure there was cell reception, he passed Becky his cell phone. “Is your dad home now?”

  “They didn’t go, either. Abby’s got a fever.”

  “Call your dad, then, and tell him to meet us at the highway turnoff. He can bring the horses down tonight.”

  While Becky was doing that, Mace kept praying.

  “He’ll be there,” she said when she’d hung up from talking to her father. Mace nodded but didn’t speak.

  In the silence, he could feel Becky’s eyes on him. They had bounced another mile or so down the rutted track toward the gravel road that led to the highway when she said, “Mace?”

  “Hmm?” He kept his eyes on the road.

  “How come you left Jenny?”

  The question dropped into the silence and the ripples spread between them, widening, challenging. Mace grimaced. He glanced over to see Becky looking at him from beneath lowered lashes. His jaw worked.

  “Never mind,” she said quickly. “But . . . I just . . . it just . . .” She stopped, then rubbed her shoulders against the seat back and looked away out the window. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Not my business. You don’t have to tell me.”

  But Mace knew he did. It was a truth he was going to have to face, and God knew he needed the practice.

  His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I can’t have kids.” He forced the words out.

  Becky didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stared out the window, and he thought, oh, hell, that wasn’t something you said to a ten-year-old, even one raised on a ranch who knew exactly how babies were made.

  But then she turned and looked at him and blinked. “So?”

  So? He stared at her. Did the words that had sounded so monumental in his head sound small to her? Well, of course they might. She wasn’t affected by them.

  “Jenny wants a family,” he forged on with an explanation. “She’s always wanted a child. And I’m—” he forced another word out “—sterile. That means I can’t give her one.”

  “I know what it means,” Becky said. She gave him an impatient look. “There’s other ways of getting a kid.”

  “You don’t just drop into a supermarket or the hardware store. You can’t get a family at Costco,” Mace growled.

  “You could adopt one.”

  “It isn’t the same.”

  “Why not?”

  Why not? The question was so simple. The answer so . . . so . . . Mace just shook his head.

  “Jenny wants—” But did he really know what Jenny wanted? She’d mentioned adoption. He was the one who had dismissed it.

  “Neile isn’t Jed’s,” Becky pointed out. “Jed loves her. I’m not Felicity’s kid but she loves me.”

  “Of course she does.”

  Becky’s brow furrowed. “You don’t think Jenny could love a kid that wasn’t hers?”

  “No. I mean, yes, sure she could!” When he thought about it, he knew it was true.

  Becky shrugged. “Well, then, what’s the problem? I know you can.”

  He stared at her, not following her logic. His confusion must have been written on his face for she spelled it out.

  “I’m not your kid. You love me.”

  Mace stared. It was that simple, after all.

  But in case he didn’t get it, Becky was willing to elaborate. “And I love you.” Her voice was almost gruff, and her gaze flicked away for a moment and he thought the tips of her ears went p
ink, but he couldn’t really be sure because her hair was hiding them. She turned back and met his gaze squarely. “You know I do,” she said, challenging him to deny it.

  His mouth twisted wryly because yes, he knew. He had basked in that love for years, had told himself that someday he hoped he had a daughter just like Becky. “Yeah,” he said softly.

  Becky gave a firm little nod of her own. “If I was married to you, it wouldn’t make any difference if you couldn’t have kids.” The look she gave him was solemn and unblinking, and Mace felt his chest expand, felt his breath come a little easier.

  “It wouldn’t?” But he wasn’t really asking a question because he knew Becky. He could see the truth on her face.

  “Of course not,” she said stoutly. “I’d be sad ’cause I’d want ’em to look like you, and prob’ly they wouldn’t. And Jenny would prob’ly want that, too. You’re pretty good-looking, you know.”

  Mace’s mouth twitched.

  “But,” Becky added dampeningly before he could get a swelled head, “she’d prob’ly be glad in another way.”

  “How’s that?” Mace asked.

  “Well, if she was lucky, the ones you adopted wouldn’t be so pigheaded stubborn as you are either.”

  *

  Dear God, he hoped Becky was right.

  He was staking his life on her being right. He drove as fast as the road would allow. He’d asked Becky what time the plane left, and she said, “Late,” but she didn’t know the hour.

  If Jenny hadn’t left yet, maybe he could talk to her. Maybe he could tell her—convince her . . .

  Taggart was already waiting at the crossroad when Mace pulled up. Becky opened the door, started to get out, then stopped and turned back to him. For a moment they just stared at each other. Then she launched herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “It’ll be fine,” she whispered against his ear.

  Mace gave her a hard squeeze. “Hope you’re right, Beck,” he muttered.

  She pulled back and gave him a grin. “I am.”

  Then she leaped out of the truck and ran to jump into her dad’s. Taggart was looking at him speculatively as he eased his truck past Mace’s to go up and fetch Becky’s horse, touched his hand to the brim of his hat.