“She certainly is,” Holt said, hoping she’d say yes. “I hope you can stay, Amanda. Unless you have plans.” There—he’d provided her the out.
Don’t take it, he willed her. Don’t say, “Well, actually, I do have plans, sorry.” She probably would say that—and not even add “another time.”
Because from the look on her pretty face, she didn’t want there to be another time.
After how he’d treated her ten years ago, who could blame her? Even if he had explained himself. Maybe the truth was worse than the crime itself, despite what she’d said in the kitchen a little while ago. He hadn’t been anyone she’d have wanted to be involved with.
“I’d love to,” she said, surprising him and getting a hug from Robby, who’d gotten up again and wrapped his arms around her. Amanda laughed. “Thanks for the invitation,” she said to his mother. “Can I help?”
“Oh no, you enjoy your visit with Holt and Robby,” Deborah said. “But thank you.”
“I’m going to teach Oliver and Bentley tricks,” Robby said, getting back down on the floor to tell them about pizza night and how Gram always made his favorite, half pepperoni, half mushroom. Robby loved mushrooms on everything.
Holt could give his mother and son five hugs each. They’d gotten Amanda to stay for dinner. That he didn’t want their time to end registered loud and clear. He wanted to get to know this new, older Amanda. But he could see from her expression that she was very wary of him. Maybe that was a good thing. Yeah, it probably was. He had a lot on his plate. His work on the ranch, which kept him busy. Almost a full month of summer left without childcare or camps, thanks to the camp director making him feel Robby wasn’t welcome. And this thing with his dad, which had come to a head last week when Robby was doing his chore of feeding his beloved chickens. His father had told Holt that Robby had let one of them get out and if it happened again, his son would be banned from the coop.
Holt had stood up for Robby—the boy was seven and chickens were sneaky. Seemed like his dad was always complaining about something; it was the Neal Dalton way. Holt had barely spoken to his father the past few weeks, mostly because Holt was keeping his distance. But his mom had specifically asked him to come tonight since all the Dalton brothers were attending.
Now tonight he’d have to deal with his dad and having Amanda Jenkins back in his life—and he didn’t know what the next steps were in dealing with either.
Chapter Four
Amanda had never been inside a log mansion—and boy, was she glad she’d changed out of her yoga pants, long tank and owl socks when she’d first been asked over to Holt’s and into something presentable for an unexpected family dinner. The gorgeous main house at Dalton’s Grange went on forever, sprawling against the mountains. The home was a lot like Holt’s much smaller version, vaulted wood ceilings, huge windows, arched doorways, a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace and rustic-luxe furnishings. The dining room alone was almost twice the size of Amanda’s big bedroom at BH247. Then again, with eight Daltons living on the property, Amanda supposed they’d need a big dining space for when they all got together.
The polished wood table also went on forever, comfortably seating everyone. Holt and Amanda were across from each other at the center of the table, Robby beside his father and next to his uncle Morgan. The oldest at thirty-four, Morgan was as blond and blue-eyed as Holt was dark-haired and dark-eyed, though the family resemblance was easily seen in the shape of the eyes, the nose, even their expressions. Holt was second oldest at thirty-two. Thirty-year-old Boone was somewhere in between, coloring-wise. Rounding out the Dalton siblings were Shep and Dale, both in their twenties, who lived in the house with Neal and Deborah. Amanda had felt eyes on her constantly when she’d first been introduced to the Dalton men. The siblings all had teasing grins on their faces for Holt, who apparently wasn’t one to bring a woman home for dinner. Neal had welcomed her kindly and made some small talk about Whitehorn, which he said he didn’t miss one bit.
As Amanda helped herself to a slice of roasted vegetable pizza, which looked delicious, she gazed around the table, the Daltons all chatting away about the ranch and a runaway horse, who’d been caught eventually, and then talk turned to Bentley and Oliver. Before Deborah had left Holt’s house earlier, Amanda and Holt had carried up the indoor doghouse and cat condo. Oliver had explored his new catnip-scented playhouse immediately and seemed to love the high perch. Bentley had gone inside his doghouse, which Robby had festooned with toys, but since Oliver had seemed content enough, the dog had jumped up on Robby’s bed, turned around three times, and then settled down with a happy sigh. Robby had hugged his grandmother again and again, beside himself with happiness.
Amanda already adored the kid. She’d used the rest of the time before dinner to interview Holt and Robby for the Happy Hearts website and take photos. In addition to photos of little Robby and his new pets, she now had one too many pictures of Holt Dalton on her phone. Available to ogle anytime.
As Robby talked more and more about his new pets, his grandfather, sitting at the head of the table, seemed to be a bit irritated by his grandson. Robby was talking a mile a minute, answering his uncle’s questions, and Holt was focused on their conversation.
Amanda hadn’t been sure if Holt had been overstating his father’s impatience with Robby in his own anger over it. Given Neal’s frustrated expression as he glanced at Robby, Holt hadn’t been exaggerating. Neal, in his sixties with salt-and-pepper hair, tall and muscular like his sons, was now having a completely separate conversation with his son Dale, who sat to his left.
At the other end of the table, Deborah asked Robby questions about Bentley and Oliver, the boy excitedly answering.
“Gramps, will you come meet Bentley and Oliver too?” Robby asked. “Everyone’s coming over after dinner to meet them.”
All eyes were on Gramps. Amanda noticed Deborah Dalton’s blue gaze was fierce on her husband, daring him to make an excuse.
“Sure I’m coming,” Neal said with a smile at Robby—a genuine smile.
Robby beamed and reached for another slice of pepperoni and mushroom.
Amanda glanced at Holt. Whew. There was hope here. Neal could have said no, that he was tired, but he clearly did care deeply about his grandson.
As dinner went on, with so much talking and laughing, folks from each side asking her questions about living in downtown Bronco Heights and if she thought social media was going to be the downfall of global society—that one came from Holt’s dad, of course—Amanda felt herself growing more and more wistful. Dinner growing up in the Jenkins family certainly hadn’t been like this. With three shy Jenkinses at the table, no one had said much of anything. Every now and then, one of them would bring up something light and then go back to chewing and dabbing his or her mouth. Amanda had always figured it was the reason she’d become such a bookworm: reading allowed her to inhabit other worlds, be a part of the story, the family in the book. She got to be both Fern and Wilbur in Charlotte’s Web and Anne and Anne’s best friend, Diana, in Anne of Green Gables, and in all the romances and mysteries she read now, she got to be all different kinds of heroines. Being here at Dalton’s Grange reminded her of being in a very good book.
Amanda had gone to quite a few gatherings that Brittany invited her to, forcing herself to be social, but she felt so out of place, wishing that piping up with an interesting thing to say came easily. Tonight, she found herself talking easily with this crew. They were a warm, welcoming bunch, even if Neal Dalton had too much of the “get off my lawn” at the ready.
“So, dessert at my house,” Holt said, glancing around the table at his family. “I whipped up three pies this morning. Well, four, but I’m almost through one already.”
“Daddy is the best cook,” Robby said. “After Gram,” he added quickly.
Deborah laughed. “I’d like to think I taught your daddy everything he knows about the k
itchen.”
“Why didn’t it rub off on me?” Morgan asked, stealing a pepperoni off the edge of a pizza and popping it into his mouth.
As the brothers ribbed one another, again Amanda wished she had a family like this. Close, loving, sharing a weekday meal because they happened to live very close by and because they loved one another.
As they all headed out to walk in the gorgeous night air down to Holt’s cabin, Amanda whispered, “I’ll leave when we get to your house. I don’t want to intrude any more than I have already.”
Holt stopped in his tracks. “And miss my chocolate cream pie? My lemon chiffon? Are you kidding me?”
That was how Amanda ended up staying for dessert, sitting on the big leather chair by the fireplace and watching as Holt’s brothers made a fuss over Bentley. Oliver had come as far as the stairs and refused to go farther, but Amanda was sure he’d warm enough to the house by tomorrow. Holt had set out the pies and plates and forks on the buffet in the living room, and had brought out the coffee maker, which made individual cups. The Daltons were again eating and sipping and talking and laughing, Amanda loving being part of this big rowdy crew.
But then Robby tried to see if Bentley knew how to play fetch, which meant grabbing a remote control and tossing it across the room, which hit a lamp and knocked it over, and Neal Dalton had an absolute fit.
“Robby! What in the world were you thinking!” Neal said. “You don’t throw things! Is a remote control a stick? And you don’t throw sticks in the house anyway!”
Robby’s eyes got wide and he hung his head, dropping down and burying his face in Bentley’s black-and-white fur.
“Dad, tone it down!” Holt said to Neal, holding up a hand. “It was an accident.”
“Yes, just an accident,” Deborah put in. “Let me get a broom and dustpan.”
“I’ve got it, Mom,” Holt said. “Enjoy your coffee.”
“Who can enjoy their coffee with glass shards all over the place?” Neal said, shaking his head.
“You had five sons, Dad. You’re gonna tell me you’re not used to broken lamps? Come on. You’ve got to lighten up.”
Neal frowned. “I’m grumpy because I’m tired.” He sent Robby something of a smile, then got up and headed to the door. “Come on, Deborah. We both have to get up early.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” Holt whispered.
Deborah kissed Holt on the cheek. “The pie was delicious.” She looked at Amanda. “Lovely to meet you, Amanda.”
The parents were suddenly gone, and then the brothers all headed to the door within minutes. “Don’t mind Grumpy Gramps, Robby,” Morgan said to his nephew.
“Seriously, Robby,” Boone said, running a hand through his nephew’s tousled hair, “Gramps didn’t mean to yell. He’s just tired from a long day with a sick bull.”
“Yeah?” Holt asked. “Bull okay?”
Boone nodded. “He’ll be fine. Dad stayed with him most of the day and once the meds kicked in, he was better.”
“Hey, Robby,” Dale said. “I once threw the TV remote at Shep’s head when he was making fun of me for something in middle school, and it knocked over Gramp’s favorite coffee mug that was on an end table. He lit into me for a good ten minutes and grounded me for a year but he was mad at something else, not me. Mom said he’d gotten a huge tax bill that day and his patience level was at zero.”
“I remember that,” Shep said. “And your aim is still terrible by the way.”
Robby laughed. “So Gramps isn’t really mad at me?”
“Nah,” Holt assured his son. “An accident is an accident, right? You didn’t mean to knock over the lamp. But you did break it because you were playing fetch in the house. Next time you want to play fetch with Bentley, you have to go outside. Understood?”
“Yes, Daddy,” he said, wrapping Holt in a hug.
“And don’t use a remote control, Robby,” Holt added. “Use Uncle Morgan’s shoe instead.”
“I’ll get you,” Morgan said with a grin, fake punching Holt in the gut.
Robby laughed.
Amanda felt tears poke the backs of her eyes. Could this family be any lovelier?
Suddenly, it was just three of them. Bentley and Oliver had long come out from under the bed, the whole reason she’d come over in the first place. They’d eaten dinner. They’d had dessert. But Amanda didn’t want to leave.
* * *
Holt had to somehow prolong Amanda’s time in the house, so when Robby asked her to read him a bedtime story, he could not have been more grateful to his son.
“Sure, Robby,” Amanda said. She seemed to like that she was a little kid’s favorite new person in the world.
Back up in Robby’s room, Amanda pulled over the desk chair by his bed while Holt sank down in the easy chair by the window. He’d read his son countless books over the past seven years, starting when he was just two days old and home from the hospital. Sally Anne, Robby’s mother, had been rightfully tired, but as time passed, she’d never seemed comfortable feeding him or giving him his bath or taking care of him in the middle of the night. So Holt had done all that. He’d taken to fatherhood so easily because he loved Robby from the moment he knew about him. He and Sally Anne might have always had their problems, but ever since she’d told him she was pregnant, he was madly in love with his child.
Robby was a mini Holt, too, except for the eye color. He’d gotten his mother’s baby blues but the rest was all Holt.
“‘Rocco and the Case of the Missing Chocolate Cake,’” Amanda read, holding up the cover for Robby to see. His bedtime story was always a few chapters from a Rocco the Raccoon mystery.
“Yay, I love that one,” Robby said. He’d asked Amanda to pick out one from his favorites shelf. He yawned and pulled the blanket up to his chin.
Holt had no doubt he’d be asleep by chapter two. “Night, buddy,” he said. “Just in case you fall asleep while Amanda’s still reading.”
“Night, Daddy. Night, Bentley. Night, Oliver.”
Oliver was on the top perch of his kitty condo, which seemed his favorite place in the room. Bentley was sprawled across the foot of Robby’s bed as if he’d always been part of the family. Holt could barely believe they’d just brought these two home today.
Bentley lifted his head, tilting it that adorable way dogs did, then closed his eyes. Amanda started reading.
“Oh wait. Good night, Amanda,” Robby said. “Thanks for reading to me.”
“Good night, Robby. And it’s my pleasure.”
Robby’s eyes drooped with every word Amanda read. She’d gotten to page three, which was the end of chapter one, when Robby was clearly asleep.
“And my work here is done,” she whispered with a smile.
“Hope not,” he said. “I thought I could tempt you to stay for a cup of coffee. Dessert got kind of interrupted earlier.”
“Sounds good,” she said. Warily.
I’m more scared of you than you are of me, he wanted to tell her. I might have hurt you ten years ago, but I’m not in a place to fall for someone. Or to get kicked to the curb. But there was no way he was backing away from what he was feeling. Which was simply wanting to be with Amanda.
Downstairs in the kitchen, he brewed more coffee and suggested taking it out to the back deck so that Bentley could go out for a while. Amanda said something about the weather and the moon being gorgeous tonight, but he really had eyes only for her. It was just like the first time he’d seen her and had been so struck by a feeling—not just attraction but a feeling of rightness. He didn’t know what that had meant at the time or even now, but when he looked at Amanda Jenkins, everything about his world felt right. Over the past few years that he’d been on his own, a single guy, he’d gone on dates his brothers had set up for him or with women who’d asked him out in the bakery aisle of the grocery store or in the pickup line at s
chool, and half the time, he felt like they were on different planets. Lack of connection, of chemistry. With Amanda, it just felt right.
He went upstairs and whispered to Bentley to come, which the good boy did immediately, then the two joined Amanda on the deck. Holt set down the mugs of coffee on the table between their chaises, then stretched out, watching the border collie explore the backyard and sniff every blade of grass.
“Sorry you had to be there for that awkwardness with my dad and Robby,” Holt said. Granted, Robby had done wrong and been wrong, but for his grandfather to yell like that—Holt didn’t like it. Rage might make people, particularly kids, fearful, but it certainly wouldn’t turn an impulsive kid into a more thoughtful, careful one.
“Well, I got to see firsthand what you meant,” Amanda said, crossing her long legs at the ankles and picking up her coffee. “About your dad’s lack of patience. I like how you handled it—explaining why it was wrong, that it was wrong. But it was an accident.”
Holt ran a hand over his face. “I’m glad you said that. Half the time I don’t know if I’m being too easy on him or if I just get him.”
“Thank God you get him, Holt. Why do you think you’re his hero?”
A warmth started in his gut and traveled straight up to his chest, left side. Damn. She got him. “I almost forgot you heard all that at the Happy Hearts. When he was talking to the cow.”
She smiled. “I still can’t get over saying ‘how sweet’ thinking I was talking to a complete stranger and finding the—” She stopped talking, watching Bentley intently as he explored the large yard.
“The guy who acted like a heartless jerk to the woman he loved,” he finished for her.
“Well, you definitely didn’t love me, Holt. Or you wouldn’t have walked away.”
He shook his head. “At the time I walked away because I did love you. I know that sounds nuts. You were the first person to treat me like I was not only worth something, but special. Almost like a golden boy—me.” He shook his head, hardly able to believe anyone thought he was that guy. “Guys who had everything.”
The Cowboy's Comeback (Montana Mavericks: What Happened To Beatrix? Book 2) Page 5
