“Twice,” she said softly, implying she wasn’t going to forget either attempt.
“Let’s just hang out for the rest of the week and see where this goes,” Holden said, matching her tone for gentleness.
“I’m thinking this is a bad idea,” Bernadette said, unconvincingly. Her hands still resided in his.
“You think too much.” And if he allowed her to dwell on things for too long, she’d come up with a long list of reasons why they shouldn’t try again. Holden released her hands and picked up the fishing gear.
“Hang on.” She eyed the fishing pole. “You’re going fishing? What happened to time together?”
“I’ll carry a chair for you down to the river.”
“Talking scares away fish,” she pointed out.
“That’s lake fishing.” Holden tsked, picking up a chair for her. “Talking is allowed when you fish a noisy river.”
“Dad, you don’t fish.” Devin clung to the door handle. “Do you?”
“I know how to fly-fish. I just never make time to go fly-fishing. This week, I have plenty of time to make up for lost time.” No deals were pending. No financial markets needed to be watched. There was just his son and this intriguing woman who made him feel and want and hope in ways he hadn’t before. Holden headed for the river’s edge. “I just wish I had some waders.”
Bernadette followed him.
“Hey, Dad. Can you teach me how to fish?” Devin hopped out of the motor home. And he wasn’t carrying a textbook.
Maybe there was hope for the Monroe men after all.
Meanwhile, back in Second Chance...
“GERTIE, I’VE BEEN looking all over for you.” Shane found his soon-to-be grandmother-in-law in the Bucking Bull Ranch’s chicken coop collecting eggs.
“If it’s chocolate-chip cookies you’re looking for, I haven’t made any yet today.” Gertie stood in the henhouse. Her wispy white hair was mostly covered by a cowboy hat. She wore a flowery red apron over her blue jeans and button-down shirt, and she was gingerly filling her apron pockets with eggs. “Looks like we’re having scrambled eggs for dinner. Happy chickens lay lots of eggs.”
Shane wasn’t interested in happy chickens, dinner plans or homemade cookies...at least, not at the moment. Gertie made tasty cookies. But right now, he was seeking information. And Gertie was the one living person in Second Chance who’d been close to both his grandfather Harlan, Harlan’s twin brother Hobart, and Hobart’s widow Ruth.
Shane hooked his fingers in the chicken wire. “Gertie, do you still stay in touch with Ruth?”
“She’s on my Christmas-card list.” Gertie held her apron gingerly as she closed the henhouse door with her elbow.
“Have you called her recently?” Shane unlatched the coop gate and held it open, using his foot to block a plump black chicken from trying to escape.
Gertie moved through the gate with careful steps. “Why does this sound like I’m on trial?”
“So you did call her.” Shane closed the door behind Gertie, wishing he could just as easily lock this unexpected complication away.
“You may be marrying into this family...” Gertie sniffed, head high, and continued toward the Bucking Bull’s white, two-story farmhouse “...but you’re not paying my phone bill.”
“Her grandson showed up in town yesterday.”
“Heard that.” For an older woman, she could move quickly. Her steps ate up the distance across the ranch yard. It made him wonder what she was running away from.
Shane matched her step for step. “He knew we found the stolen stagecoach gold.”
“Ruth was very interested to hear that.” Gertie’s grip on her apron slipped, putting about a dozen eggs at risk. “She deserves to have closure, don’t you know.”
Shane darted around in front of her, taking hold of the apron hem. “And what do you know?”
“I know I’m about to drop these eggs, and then I don’t know what we’ll be having for dinner.” Gertie glared at him.
It was time to cut to the chase. “Was Ruth pregnant when Hobart died? Is Tanner really Hobart’s grandchild and heir?”
Gertie drew back and gasped. “Where I come from, we don’t ask questions like that. You should take this Tanner fella at his word.”
“Where I come from, if someone says they deserve a share of the family accounts, they take a DNA test to prove they deserve a cut.”
“Hold on tight to my apron,” Gertie said in a regal voice.
Shane curled his fingers tighter into the thick fabric. “I’ve got it.”
Gertie removed her cowboy hat and plunked it on Shane’s head. The mountain breeze teased her wispy white curls, but there was nothing playful about Gertie’s movements. She removed the apron from around her neck and looped it carefully over Shane’s, hat and all. And then she reclaimed her cowboy hat, mashing it on her head and marching away, up the front steps. She turned on the porch, staring down on Shane, who was tangled up in her apron, afraid any move might make him drop eggs. “You want me to determine a man’s fortune.”
“I want you to help me collect the facts.” Shane began moving carefully toward the stairs. This wasn’t an argument he intended to lose. “My grandfather wouldn’t have cut his brother’s descendants out, and neither will I. Unless Ruth wasn’t pregnant when she left Second Chance.”
“I can’t believe you’d say something like that about my friend.” Gertie shook her thin finger at Shane. And then she went inside the farmhouse, slamming the door behind her.
“I’m not accusing anyone of anything.” Shane stopped moving toward the door, taking a moment to hold tight to the apron edges. “I just want to know the truth.” But barring that, scammers and pretenders could be bought. “Regardless, I need to bring in Holden,” Shane muttered.
Except his cousin wasn’t answering Shane’s calls. Nor were Devin or Dr. Carlisle. What was up with that?
“Should I worry?” Shane said to himself, taking the steps slowly. “Those three are some of the most responsible people I know.”
The front door opened. Adam, the youngest of his soon-to-be sons, stood in the doorway. “Are you talkin’ to yourself again, Papa Shane? Mom said if you does, I’m s’posed to tell her.”
“No. I was asking you if I should worry about my cousin Holden not answering his phone.” Shane crossed the threshold. “What do you think?”
“Someone called your phone the other day, but I hung up on him.” Adam darted around Shane to rejoin his brothers at the dining-room table, where they were shining their cowboy boots for an upcoming junior-rodeo competition. “You told me not to talk to strangers.”
“That I did.” Shane made it safely to the kitchen and set the apron with the eggs on the counter. He got out his phone and checked his call log. “Someone called?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I’M IMPRESSED.” BERNADETTE pushed her empty plate to the center of the picnic table with a satisfied sigh. “Not only did you catch fish, but you cleaned and cooked them for brunch.”
“I’m a man of many talents, rusty though they may be.” Holden finished the last of his trout.
“Don’t forget I caught the biggest fish.” Devin looked entirely too proud of himself. “And it was my first time. Let me tell you, I am not a duck.”
Bernadette and Holden exchanged a quick glance and a small smile. She bet Holden was thinking the same thing she was: I don’t know why he mentioned a duck, but Devin has forgotten all about his textbooks.
The trio had spent the last hour at the river’s edge. Bernadette had enjoyed doing nothing apart from admiring the scenery—the tall pines against a blue sky and the tall man giving his son fishing lessons. She didn’t feel the least bit guilty about leaving her knitting behind.
Was this what it was like to allow a relationship to grow organically? The easy camaraderie? The glances that
communicated without speaking? How long could they get away with pretending she wasn’t pregnant and tied to him no matter the outcome of this organic experiment?
A part of her hoped forever. A part of her trusted that nothing but hurt would come from this exercise.
Devin checked his phone. “It’s almost eleven.” He stood, gathering silverware and stacking paper plates.
“Don’t tell me you want to do the tour again?” Holden asked.
“What else is there to do?” Devin shrugged. “We can do the horseback ride, too, can’t we?”
Holden and Bernadette shared another quick glance. For once, Devin didn’t seem interested in burying his nose in a book.
“Who’s coming with me?” Devin asked.
“I’ll walk up there with you.” Bernadette got to her feet as well. “Might as well see what new items Myrna’s got for sale.”
“Dad, are you coming?”
“Let me put on my cowboy hat.” Holden gathered the meal’s trash and then stacked tables. “I’m going to give Shortcake another go.”
“Dad. Choose another horse. Please.” Devin had the pained look of a teenager down.
“Where did I put my wallet?” Holden patted his pockets, ignoring Devin’s pleas.
“Holden, you don’t have to pay for my tour or my purchases,” Bernadette said, thinking of his confession about his monetary woes.
“I know I don’t have to.” Holden stuffed their garbage into the metal campsite trash can. “But I’ll pay for stuff anyway, including your tour ticket and a root-beer float if Myrna intuits you need one.” He marched toward the motor home as if that ended the discussion.
“Does your father pay for everything?” Bernadette asked Devin, a question that had Holden pausing to stare at her.
“Dad pays all the time.” The teen hurried to gather up the dirty silverware and cups. “Doesn’t give him the right to embarrass me on a horse that likes to go swimming.”
“Sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” Holden looked hurt. “And no, I don’t pay all the time. And if I did, it wouldn’t be a bad thing. I open doors for women, too. It’s called manners.”
Devin paused, hand on the motor home door. “Dad, sometimes you jockey for position as the leader of the Monroes and insist on paying. I know it irks Shane.”
“I’m happy to do anything that annoys my cousin.” Holden crossed his arms over his chest. “But to be clear, do you two think it’s bad to consider your children an obligation and to always offer to foot the bill for the family?”
“Yes,” both Devin and Bernadette said, grinning.
Holden found no humor in their ribbing. “All I can say is that we were all raised differently from each other.”
A few minutes later, the trio was walking up the road when Frankie roared past on her motorcycle toward the barn.
“Where does she come from every morning?” Devin wondered aloud. “I thought she lived with Myrna.”
“Why don’t you ask her?” Bernadette suggested.
Devin blushed. It seemed obvious that he was smitten.
They reached the top of the hill. A school bus had parked in front of the store. Myrna was ringing up sales inside, and a man was passing out tour tickets. Several teenagers were looking at their phones and holding them up to the sky, perhaps in the hopes of finding a signal.
While Holden asked about jumper cables, Bernadette cut her way through the crowd and into the store. She took a bottle of water from the cooler and handed it to Myrna, who was in her usual miner regalia. “I’ll watch the store while you give the tour.”
The old woman bristled. “Did I ask for your help?”
“No, but you appreciate me, don’t you?”
“You pay for the tour.” Myrna nodded toward Holden pulling out his wallet. “And I’ll close up, same as always. I’ll get my sales after the tour.”
Bernadette suspected Myrna appreciated the money for another tour more than she did the offer to work the store. There were dark circles under the old woman’s eyes this morning. “Did you sleep well? Or were you worried about your check-oil light?”
“Yes, but does it matter?” Myrna entered three tour tickets into her cash register. “I’m going to the doctor’s office tomorrow.”
“Who’ll watch the place while you’re gone?” Bernadette wondered out loud.
“Francesca,” Myrna said slowly, as if only now wondering how her granddaughter was going to do it all. “I spent the last year running the Standing Bear alone. It’ll be hard. But she can do it.”
Though stubborn, Frankie was such a frail thing that Bernadette doubted it.
“Three tour tickets.” Holden dropped a straw cowboy hat on Bernadette’s head. He’d already put one on his own. “And two hats, please. One for Bernadette and one for Dev.”
Myrna tsked. “I’d never have taken you for tourists.”
“My family owns a ranch amid the oil fields of Texas.” Holden tipped his hat to the ladies. “I grew up as comfortable in a suit as in a pair of boots. It’s a hot summer day. We can all use a little protection from the sun.”
The hat felt odd on Bernadette’s head. Or perhaps it was too large. It rested on her ears.
Before she could say anything, Holden whisked it off her head and swapped it out for another one. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
And it was. For all his determination to be the man, to pay for everything and conquer stubborn horses, he was astute when it came to what was the right purchase, at least where Bernadette was concerned. It was hard to imagine he’d mishandled an investment.
“By the way, the bus doesn’t have long enough jumper cables to reach the motor home.” Holden moved to the front door and then turned and smiled at Bernadette as if she was precious to him. “Are you coming?” And then he was out the door and down the steps, announcing, “Line up. The tour is about to start. Horseback rides come after we tour the mine.” He plopped the second straw cowboy hat on Devin’s head.
“Why do I feel like my business has been hijacked?” Myrna groused. But she took the water bottle Bernadette had given her and hustled out the door. “Come along, sunshine. I’ve got to lock up.”
Bernadette left the tour office, self-conscious in her cowboy hat and bright red boots. “Next thing you know, I’ll be saying howdy.”
Myrna rattled her key ring. “On this tour, you get points for knowing history, not slang.”
Bernadette joined Holden at the rear of the line. A teenager in front of them had a pair of drumsticks in his back pocket. Another was whistling something that sounded like “When the Saints Go Marching In.”
“Band campers,” Holden said as if reading her mind. He took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers.
Her heart beat faster than the whistled song’s rhythm. But still, she had to protest. “We’re not dating.”
“No. We’re being organic.” He smiled down at her. “And I notice you haven’t tried to take your hand back.” He brought their joined hands up to his chest.
“I’ll head on down to the barn.” Dev was blushing. “I’d rather not go on the tour.” His gaze strayed to a group of giggling teenage girls wearing teal T-shirts that said It’s a Band Camp Thing. They were staring at him unabashedly.
Bernadette took pity on him and gave him an out. “You’re avoiding going in the tunnels again, aren’t you?”
“You got me.” Devin soldiered a smile, turning his back on his fan club and bringing the brim of his cowboy hat down low. “Enjoy being organic with Dad.”
“She will,” Holden reassured him.
Myrna began the tour, leading them through the old-town buildings. But the group was large, and her voice didn’t carry.
“I can’t hear,” one of Devin’s fan club pouted.
“This was a corporate mining town,” Holden told her an
d the other teens bringing up the rear. “Which meant all of the buildings and businesses were owned by the company that owned the mine. Miners and their families either rented a small shack like you see there or they pitched a tent down by the river. The saloon and hotel were located up where the tour started, but other things, like the doctor, dentist and livery were down here, closer to the mine itself.”
“Do you work for the tour?” a girl asked suspiciously.
“I’m a volunteer.” Holden turned on his biggest smile and just like that, the teens found a new love interest. “If you look in this window, you can see how small beds used to be. That’s because few folks had good nutrition, the way we do today, so they were shorter.”
“I took my vitamins this morning,” said a teen peering in the window. “That looks like my little sister’s toddler bed.”
The others jostled for a look-see.
“And see that lantern on the table? Folks preferred to rely on wood-burning fireplaces for light in the evening. Kerosene was scarce and had to be managed, kind of like your cell-phone data plan.”
Bernadette was impressed. “Is that true?”
“It’s a theory. And it relates back to their everyday lives.” Holden pointed toward the medical buildings and raised his voice. “Now, if you’ve ever been nervous about going to the dentist, you might not want to look at the tools they used to use.”
The kids hurried forward.
“You’re good at this,” Bernadette told him.
“I’m good at many things,” he teased. “As you well know. I’m particularly good at—”
Bernadette’s cheeks heated.
“—fatherhood.”
From what she’d seen, that was an overstatement and required a teasing response. “And you’re learning about life balance.”
He leaned closer to whisper, “Says the doctor who delivers babies for a living, seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day.”
“I’m changing all that,” she reminded him. “I’m switching to the mommy track.”
Caught by the Cowboy Dad Page 14
