Becca gave a sigh of relief when her sister willingly followed her down the corridor. Almost as if to counteract it, Molly turned to give Larry one last wave. “Come by the Cineplex sometime.”
And bring a date, Becca wanted to add. Someone age appropriate.
Life would be simpler if Becca could just tell people what to do and they would listen. But politics and family matters required at least a little finesse. If she couldn’t deal with her sister tactfully, how could she hope to win the election? Becca tamped down the urge to snap what the hell were you thinking? as they crossed the parking lot.
Instead, she silently counted to one hundred, then smiled at Molly while buckling her seat belt. “So did you have a nice afternoon? Not too boring, I hope.”
“It was okay.”
“When Vicki left the center, she mentioned the two of you might go out this week. That should be fun.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And Sammy—”
“Mr. Honor-Student-Captain-of-the-Swim-Team?” Molly rolled her eyes. “Did you ask him to come to the center so he could inspire your screwup sister with his rousing college pep talk?”
“Of course not! He works here. He comes in every day. And I didn’t say a word to him about you beforehand. What you’re calling a pep talk was just his misguided attempt to impress you.”
“Right. Well, I’m sure he’ll have the chance to impress plenty of girls on campus next fall.”
“Look, Molly, I’m sorry if Sammy upset y—”
“I’m not upset with Sammy. He isn’t the one who made sure I spent my afternoon with people who all have big plans and places to go. College. Lake Tahoe. Meanwhile, I’m stuck here like some loser.”
Stuck? Becca’s blood-pressure skyrocketed. Molly was completely ungrateful that Becca had given her a place to live and helped her find a job. I should put her butt on a bus right back to Odette. Sure, Becca could do that. But would she be able to live with herself afterward?
“Cupid’s Bow is a wonderful place,” she said firmly. “But if you don’t want to be here, explore other options.”
“Like school?” Molly sneered. “Did you know that Jace Trent dropped out of college?”
“Yes.” His parents had been disappointed when he’d moved back to Cupid’s Bow and taken up bartending, along with several other odd jobs.
“He’s been in school a lot more recently than you, and he says it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“So rather than keep an open mind about your future, you’ve decided to limit your options based on casual conversation with a guy you just met?” Becca was going to wring Jace’s neck. After he finished rebuilding those floats.
Molly glared, but didn’t respond. Probably just as well—they’d reached the elementary school.
Marc climbed in the car, telling them all about his day before he even had his door closed. Becca studied his freckled face in the rearview mirror, the sight of him filling her with love. She adored her son, and he would grow up knowing that.
Molly’s own childhood situation had been different than Marc’s. The encouragement she received was likely erratic, coming from siblings when they had time for her or Odette if she was in a rare good mood. Maybe Molly didn’t dream bigger because she had trouble believing in herself. With time and patience, Becca could help her overcome that. So what if today hadn’t gone perfectly? Bringing Molly to work had been a mere plan A.
And if plan A failed, there were plenty other letters in the alphabet.
* * *
“MAMA! MY LUCKY cereal isn’t here!”
“Lucky cereal?” Sawyer paused in the hallway just outside the kitchen; he’d been on his way to retrieve the boots he’d left on the front porch. It was almost time to leave for Marc’s soccer game.
Currently, Marc was standing in front of the open pantry, scowling fiercely. “I always have a bowl before my games. The cereal circles look like little soccer balls.” He lowered his voice to a confidential tone. “And they’re chocolate.”
Ah. Sawyer guessed the kid was more invested in the splurge of almost-junk-food than he was in the athletic superstition. “Your mom took Trouble out back. Want me to look on the high shelves? Maybe the cereal just got moved.”
“Hurry,” Marc urged. “Or we’ll run outta time.”
Sawyer did his best, shuffling pantry ingredients that were so organized they were damn near shelved in alphabetical order, but there was no chocolate-flavored cereal to be found. “Sorry, buddy, I—”
“What are you guys doing?” Becca asked, as she and the puppy came in through the door from the garage. There was an undercurrent in her tone, the faint apprehension of a woman who didn’t appreciate others rearranging her stuff.
“My cereal’s missing,” Marc explained. “Mr. Sawyer was helping me find it.”
“Trying to, anyway. I’m afraid I came up short.” The kid looked so crestfallen that Sawyer offered, “What if I buy you a chocolate shake after the game? We could go to the diner for supper.”
Becca frowned. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I—”
“Brody said the diner has awesome key lime pie.” In the middle of helping his friend put out hay yesterday, Sawyer had surprised himself by asking where to find the best key lime pie in town. Sawyer’s personal favorite was pecan. The request had forced him to admit that he wanted to know where to take Becca in case she ever rescinded her no-flirting policy and went out with him. It had been a random, far-fetched impulse—and yet he was glad he’d prepared. Because now her blue eyes sparkled in anticipation.
“They do serve good pie there,” she admitted. “And it would be nice not to cook after such a long day...”
Marc let out a whoop of joy.
Becca raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t technically said yes.”
“But you will, right, Mama? Pretty please!”
“I suppose if you promise to show a little of that energy out on the soccer field, I can agree to the diner afterward. I have to put Trouble in her crate. Can you scoot upstairs and tell Aunt Molly we’re ready to go? We need to drop her off on our way to the game.”
As the boy raced out of the room, Sawyer knelt down to scratch behind the puppy’s ear. “I can take care of Trouble if you need a minute to fix the pantry.”
She tried hard to fake confusion, her eyes wide and her tone nonchalant. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I moved some things around. I don’t think all your salad dressings are in order by height anymore.”
“Very funny. I’m not that bad.” But she was already reorganizing boxes according to whatever System of Becca she used. “I’m just very busy between work and parenting and the election. It saves me time if I know where everything is. Like the cereal. It should be right here.”
“I didn’t touch it, I swear.” He latched the metal door to Trouble’s kennel. “I get in enough trouble for turning off lights when I leave a room.” Go figure. He’d been brought up to believe that not wasting electricity was responsible behavior.
“Only when you turn off the ones I—”
“I’m ready,” Molly announced, shrugging into her uniform vest as she entered the kitchen. “We leaving or what?”
Nodding, Becca closed the pantry door. “By any chance, did you eat Marc’s cereal?”
Molly froze, her gaze turning guilty, then defensive. “I didn’t see his name on the box.”
“You’re welcome to anything you want in the kitchen. But please, if you use something up, write it on the refrigerator list like we’ve talked about.”
“Sorry,” Molly mumbled. “I guess college-educated people never forget to do crap like that.”
The sarcasm was a holdover from the day before. When Sawyer had returned from Brody’s yesterday evening, the two sisters had been “disc
ussing” regional colleges. The discussion consisted of Becca cheerfully lecturing while Molly popped bubble gum.
There was nothing cheerful in Becca’s demeanor now. She balled her fists at her hips. “Are you determined to be negative about everything? My pointing out your potential was a compliment. Going to college—”
“A college degree isn’t everything.” Oh, hell. Why did I say that? The last thing Sawyer wanted was to get involved in the sisters’ argument.
Both women swung their gazes in his direction, their matching expressions of surprise highlighting the family resemblance. Molly’s shock faded to a smirk when she realized she had an ally.
Meanwhile, Becca eyed him like he was something unpleasant on the bottom of her shoe. “No,” she said tightly, “of course it’s not everything. But school is a decent starting place for a girl with academic promise and no plan.”
He wouldn’t know about that. Although his grades had been all right, no one had ever told him he had “academic promise.” He functioned better in wide-open spaces than in classrooms. “I didn’t mean—”
“You don’t have to apologize to her!” Molly interjected. “People are entitled to their opinions. Even non-Becca-approved opinions. She thinks she can go through life bossing people around.”
Becca’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I was trying to help. But, no, you—”
“Uh...ladies?” Though it went against his sense of self-preservation to interrupt a second time, Sawyer deemed it necessary. “Maybe this conversation should be tabled until later, so no one’s late for work. Or soccer.”
At the reminder of soccer, Becca whirled toward her son, paling. “Are you okay?” she asked Marc.
He looked more fascinated by the raised voices than emotionally scarred. “Fine.”
“I didn’t mean to lose my temper with Aunt Molly,” Becca said, her tone contrite. “Sometimes adults just disagree.”
Marc nodded. “I know. Mrs. W disagrees with Mr. W all the time. Kenny says his dad brings home flowers and then his parents take a nap and everything’s okay.”
Sawyer choked back a laugh at the mention of make-up naps.
Becca looked unsure how to respond. “Yes, well. Glad they, uh, have a system that works for them. Now, if everyone’s ready, we should get going.” She grabbed her car keys off the hook on the wall and strode toward the front door.
Sawyer got there first, opening the door for her. She sailed past without looking in his direction, and he wondered how badly he’d screwed up by opening his big mouth back there. He’d be happy to buy her flowers to make up for interfering, but he was pretty sure she’d never agree to a conciliatory “nap.” No matter how nicely he asked.
* * *
“I’LL GET THOSE for you.”
Another time, Becca might have appreciated the unsolicited offer of assistance. Now, it just made her want to slam her trunk shut—not that she could, because the automatic hydraulics kicked in, lowering the trunk with measured speed, but still. Even though it was an immature impulse, more in line with the behavior of a sulky eighteen-year-old than a pillar of the community, she didn’t care. Sometimes, a woman wanted to slam something.
Or kick a very good-looking cowboy in his denim-clad shin.
Before she could tell Sawyer that she was capable of carrying the cooler and the collapsible soccer chairs she brought to every game, he was already reaching for them, taking them from her with an earnest expression.
Nice try, but it’s going to take more than green-gold eyes and strong arms to win my forgiveness. No matter how great those arms looked in the short sleeves of his dark T-shirt. Who did the man think he was, butting into her conversation with Molly and undermining Becca’s point? He was a guest in her home, not a family therapist. When he’d interrupted her, Becca had been so blindsided she hadn’t known how to react. Too bad she didn’t have that moment to do over again, she thought, as she nodded hello to team parents and the volunteer referees. Because she had a few choice words for the man.
It was unusual for her to remain this irritated—Mayor Truitt had been publicly disagreeing with her for months, and her normal response was faintly amused exasperation. So why was she so upset that Sawyer had voiced an opposing opinion? Anger was heating her blood even more than the May sun, and she impatiently pulled a rubber band from her purse, looping her hair into a ponytail. Fanning herself with her clipboard, she called the names of the kids who would play the first quarter and resolved to ignore Sawyer entirely.
But it was impossible not to notice a man on the sidelines enthusiastically yelling “Go, Unicorns!”
On some level, Becca may have been hoping that if she didn’t interact much with him, then other parents wouldn’t start asking questions about his association with her—a frankly ridiculous wish. Every female gaze had been drawn in Sawyer’s direction from the second he put down the cooler, some admiring, but most of them quizzical. As the second quarter started, it became clear Sawyer was specifically cheering for her son. He clapped for the team in general, but Marc was the only kid whose name he knew. The quizzical glances shifted from Sawyer to Becca. As she swapped out a couple players, she struggled to ignore the unspoken questions shimmering around her like heat waves.
But what she couldn’t ignore was the giddy expression on her son’s face. Marc had never looked this happy playing soccer. Ever. And she knew she had Sawyer to thank for that.
Just moments before the halftime whistle, Marc kicked in a goal. Pride crashed through Becca, and she barely checked the urge to rush over and hug her kid. He might not appreciate that in front of all these people, and, as coach, she should treat her players equally. So she clapped him on the shoulder and said “Good job” just as she would have congratulated Doug or Jodie. But inside, she was turning cartwheels. I knew you could do it, champ.
When the players cleared the field for their halftime break, Sawyer helped distribute water and orange slices from the cooler. Behind her, Becca heard Mrs. Prescott asking him, “Are you Marc’s uncle?”
“No, ma’am. I’m just renting an apartment from the Johnstons until after the centennial celebration.”
“Oh.” Cecily White, the single mother of twins, sighed audibly. “It’s a shame you can’t stay longer. You seem to be bringing our team good luck.”
“I appreciate that,” Sawyer said, “but I suspect the team is doing well thanks to its stellar coach.”
Becca’s cheeks tingled with warmth. Charmer. Did he know she could hear him? Did he really think she was doing a “stellar” job, or was this another attempt to get back in her good graces?
A moment later, Cecily elbowed Becca in the ribs, whispering, “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding him up in your attic!”
Hiding implied keeping secrets—a less than ideal reputation for a political candidate. “He’s a tenant,” Becca said coolly, “not a hostage. Free to come and go as he pleases.”
Cecily hadn’t heard a word. She was too busy ogling Sawyer as he high-fived the smallest player on the team. “You are a lucky, lucky woman.”
Becca almost laughed at that. While she certainly had her share of blessings—namely her son and the friends she’d made in this town—lucky did not describe how she’d been feeling lately.
“I was so sad for you when Colin left,” Cecily continued, “but if I’d known he was going to come riding into your life...”
Yeah, well. Pretty soon, he’d be riding right back out of it. “Cecily, if you don’t mind, I want to talk to the kids about their passing strategy before we start again.” She also needed to remind them that the teams switched goals after halftime. Many was the game when Dylan Ellis got so excited to find himself in control of the ball that he kicked to whichever net was closest and scored a point for the other team.
She gathered the kids around her, but while she was waiting for
the last stragglers to join the semicircle, Amy Prescott sidled up to her.
“Kudos on your new cowboy friend,” Amy said. “I don’t know where you find the time—or the energy—with everything else you’ve got going on, but—”
“Amy. Sawyer is renting a room from me. Period. It doesn’t take much extra time or effort to deposit his rent check.”
Amy winked broadly. “Hey, no judgment here. You’re my hero.”
Becca ground her molars, turning her attention to the antsy seven-year-olds, who were turning out to be far less frustrating than their parents.
To Sawyer’s credit, his behavior throughout the entire game was impeccable. He was friendly but not flirty with the moms, overlooking their obvious titters and speculation. He cheered heartily for the Unicorns but politely clapped when the other team did well, underscoring all Becca’s lectures about sportsmanship. And not once did he crowd her or monopolize her time, instead hanging back and letting her coach.
Yet she could feel his gaze on her so often, like the prickly warning of sunburn. She’d slathered both herself and Marc with UV protection; too bad they didn’t make a Sawyer-block that would keep her from getting emotionally burned. She’d had time for her anger to cool, and now realized that while she’d been annoyed that he jumped into her conversation with Molly and contradicted the point Becca was trying to make, what she’d really been feeling was hurt. Betrayed, even. It was an overreaction that underscored how important Sawyer’s opinion was becoming—how important he was becoming—to her.
She could tell anyone who would listen that he was nothing more than a tenant, but if that were true, he wouldn’t have the power to hurt her feelings. From the first time she’d laid eyes on him, there had been attraction. Now there were stirrings of emotion that wouldn’t do either of them any good in the long run. And I always think long-term. Becca had goals and plans and a track record of success...except when it came to men.
After two and a half years together, her high school sweetheart had accused her of caring more about her potential scholarships than she did about him; their relationship dissolved when she told him he was absolutely right. In college, she’d met her husband-to-be, and he had seemed like her fairy-tale prince, everything she’d ever dreamed of in the man she would someday marry. Then she’d come with him to Cupid’s Bow and got her happily-ever-after. Sort of.
The Cowboy Upstairs Page 10
