Five Brothers and a Baby

by Peggy Moreland

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  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

  Epilogue

  © 2003

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  * * *

  One

  ^ »

  The room the Tanner brothers gathered in was like everything in Texas. It was big. Rough-hewn logs felled and notched by the first Tanner to settle in the Texas Hill Country in the 1800s framed three sides of the room; a stone fireplace, broad and deep enough to barbecue a whole steer, spanned the fourth. Photographs framed in tooled leather covered the walls, depicting the family's climb in both prosperity and power.

  Though considered large even by Texas standards, the room seemed to shrink in size as the current generation of Tanners filed inside. Death had brought the brothers together again, but it was duty that bound them now. Duty to a father who had single-handedly driven them away with his careless and wild ways from the home and ranch where they were raised and, ultimately, from each other.

  Ace, the oldest, seated himself behind their father's desk, assuming the position as head of the family—a job, he knew, his brothers were more than willing to relinquish to him. Woodrow, four years Ace's junior, took a seat on the leather sofa opposite the desk, while Rory, the youngest, dropped down on the opposite end. Ry, the second-born, paced.

  His expression grim, Ace met each of his brothers' gazes in turn. "I guess y'all know he's left us one hell of a mess to deal with."

  Woodrow snorted. "So what's new?"

  Ace nodded, understanding his brother's sarcasm. "The old man did seem to thrive on stirring up excitement."

  Rory, the most laid-back of the four, stretched out his long legs and folded his hands behind his head. "Excitement, hell," he drawled. "Trouble would be more like it."

  Ry stopped pacing to shoot his brother a quelling look. "There's no need to be disrespectful. This is our father we're talking about."

  "And just about everybody else's in the county," Woodrow muttered under his breath.

  Though Woodrow's comment was an exaggeration, not one of his brothers challenged him on it. With his tomcatting ways and his secretiveness, the old man could have populated a town twice the size of Tanner's Crossing and they never would have known it.

  "Ry's got a point," he said, hoping to steer the conversation back toward the purpose of the meeting. "We're not here to judge the old man. Our job is to untangle the mess he's left us with."

  Ry glanced impatiently at his watch. "Then let's get on with it. I need to get back to Austin. I've got a full surgery schedule in the morning."

  Woodrow snorted a breath. "And we certainly wouldn't want to keep the good doctor from making another million or two, now would we?"

  Primed for a fight since the day he'd arrived, Ry lunged for Woodrow, caught him by the lapels of his Western suit and dragged him to his feet.

  Rory jumped up to separate the two. "Come on, guys. You can beat each other's faces in later. Right now we've got business to tend to."

  Ry glared at a Woodrow a full second, then gave him a shove that sent him sprawling back on the sofa. Ace nailed him there with a steely look, before he could leap back up.

  "The old man didn't leave a will," Ace said, hoping to refocus his brothers' attention on the business at hand, before another fight broke out. "So it's going to take awhile to settle the estate. In the meantime, we've got a ranch to run."

  Ry whipped his head around. "We?" he repeated. "I can't work the ranch. I'm a surgeon. I've got a practice to maintain."

  "We all have other obligations," Ace reminded him. "But it's going to take all of us, chipping in what time we can, to keep this place going. At least, until we decide if we're going to sell it."

  Woodrow shot to his feet. "We can't sell the Bar-T! This is Tanner land and always has been."

  "And hopefully it'll remain Tanner land," Ace told him. "But we won't be able to make that decision until the estate is settled and we know what we're dealing with, both financially and legally."

  Sobered by the reminder that their father was as secretive about his business dealings as he was his personal life, Woodrow and Rory sank back down on the sofa.

  Ry crossed to frown out the window. "What about Whit?" He glanced over his shoulder at Ace. "He should be in on this."

  "I left him a message on his machine, asking him to meet us here. If he gets it in time, he'll come."

  Woodrow grunted. "He didn't show up for the old man's funeral. What makes you think he'll come here?"

  "Why should he?" Ry returned. "The old man treated him like dirt."

  "Whit was at the funeral."

  Woodrow turned to look at Rory. "Where? I didn't see him."

  "That's because he didn't want to be seen."

  Chuckling, Woodrow shook his head. "That damn kid. He always was a sneaky little bastard."

  "Quiet," Ry corrected. "Not sneaky."

  "Is that a professional diagnosis?" Woodrow shot back. "And here I thought you were a plastic surgeon for the rich and famous, not a psychiatrist."

  Though Ry tensed at the verbal jab, he didn't respond to it, an act of control that Ace would thank him for later. With all they had to deal with, both known and unknown, Ace knew fighting among themselves would only complicate matters more. He quickly directed the conversation back to the purpose of their meeting.

  "Since I'm currently between photo assignments, my schedule is the most flexible, so I'll stay here at the ranch until the estate is settled. But I can't run the ranch alone. I'll need all of you to pitch in. We'll need to—"

  The doorbell chimed, interrupting him, and Ace pushed to his feet. "That's probably Whit now."

  "More likely a neighbor coming to pay their condolences," Woodrow grumbled, unwilling to let go of his anger.

  Ace stopped in the doorway and slowly turned back around. "Whoever it is," he said evenly, "I expect the three of you to be on your best behavior. Understood?"

  Woodrow and Rory rolled their eyes and looked away, but Ry met Ace's gaze squarely almost defiantly, as if to let Ace know he wasn't a little kid any more who could be bossed around by his big brother.

  Pushing a disgusted hand at the lot of them, Ace headed for the front entry, praying it was Whit at the door, so they could get this business settled once and for all. The sooner he could get away from Tanner Crossing, the better. Being on the ranch again and in the town named for his family, was already beginning to wear on his nerves.

  But when he opened the door, instead of his stepbrother Whit, he found a woman standing on the porch. Dressed in faded jeans and a bright blue T-shirt, she clutched a blanket-wrapped bundle against her chest—a bundle that looked suspiciously like a baby. Ace glanced behind her at the beat-up car parked on the drive. Not recognizing the woman or the vehicle, he peered at her curiously. "Can I help you?"

  "You can, if you're one of the Tanner brothers."

  The bitterness in her voice surprised him. This was no neighbor coming to offer her condolences, that was for sure. "Ace," he informed her, and stepped out onto the porch. "Ace Tanner. The oldest. And you are?"

  "Maggie Dean."

  He stole a glance at the blanket-wrapped bundle, then shifted his gaze back to hers. The defiant gleam in her eyes immediately put him on guard. "And what business do you have with the Tanner brothers, Ms. Dean?"

  She shoved the baby at him. "I'm bringing you what's yours."

  Ace fell back a step, shooting his hands up in the air. "Whoa. Wait a minute. That baby's not mine."

  "By law it is."

  "What law?" he snapped, suddenly impatient.

  "Any law."

  "Now just a damn minute. I—"

  A wail rose from the depths of the blanket and Ace winced at the
irritating noise.

  The woman tipped up a corner of the blanket. "There, there, precious," she soothed. "Everything's all right. He wasn't yelling at you."

  Ace planted his hands on his hips. "Look, lady," he said, having to raise his voice to make himself heard over the crying infant. "I don't know who you are or why you chose to stop here, but that is not my baby." He pointed to her car. "Now, you get yourself and that squalling brat of yours off Tanner land, before I call the law."

  She jerked her chin up, her face flushed with fury, her eyes blazing with it. "I'll be happy to get off your land, but the baby stays."

  With that, she thrust the crying infant against Ace's chest. He caught the bundle instinctively as the woman whirled away. Stunned, he stared after her. Something struck his chest and he glanced down to find two tiny fists had worked free of the blanket and were flailing the air. As he watched, the folds of the blanket parted and a miniature-sized face appeared, its features too small and too perfect to be real. Vivid blue eyes leaking crystal tears that glimmered in the sunlight; a little pink nose no bigger than one of the buttons on his shirt; a tiny circle of a mouth, open birdlike.

  But the sound pouring from that tiny mouth was certainly real enough.

  He looked up again to find the woman had made it to her car and was jerking items from the backseat and tossing them out onto the grass. "Hey!" he yelled. "What are you doing? You aren't leaving this kid here."

  She slammed the car door and turned, shoving the strap of a large duffel bag over her shoulder. "She's not a kid," she said through clenched teeth. "She's a baby." She stooped and grabbed the handle of some of kind of contraption, then straightened. "And she is staying."

  Since anger had gotten him nowhere with the woman, Ace tried reason. "Look," he said, struggling for patience. "Obviously you're in trouble and need help." He shifted the baby to one shoulder and held it there as he worked his wallet from his rear pocket. He flipped it open one-handed and held it out to her, revealing a thick wedge of bills tucked inside. "Take what you need. Take all of it, if you want."

  She slapped his hand away, sending the wallet flying from his grasp. "You're just like your father," she accused bitterly. "You think money solves everything. Well, it doesn't! What this baby needs is family. Someone to take care of her, to love her."

  Ace's mind registered nothing after the word father. Suddenly he felt weak, sick. "This is my father's baby?"

  "Yes, she's your father's!" she cried. "That's what I've been trying to tell you since you opened the door."

  Ace hauled in a breath, trying to still the dizzying sensation that threatened to force him to his knees. "My father's," he repeated.

  She pursed her lips. "Yes, your father's."

  Ace caught her by the arm and dragged her to the porch. "We need to sit down. Talk about this."

  She stumbled after him, the portable playpen knocking against her legs, impeding her movement.

  When he reached the porch, Ace pushed her down onto a step, but changed his mind about sitting, as well. Instead, he paced, absently thumping a wide hand on the baby's back. He didn't bother to ask the woman for proof that the infant was his father's. It was a wonder this scenario hadn't taken place before.

  But Ace was at a loss as to what to do. He'd never had to deal with his father's indiscretions before. In the past, if one of the old man's lady friends, as his father referred to the women he became involved with, kicked up a fuss and started making demands the old man dealt with them himself … and usually by buying the woman off.

  "If it's a matter of money," he began.

  Groaning, the woman dropped her forehead against her hands and fisted her fingers in her hair. "I've already told you I don't want your money. What I want is for you to give this baby a decent home."

  "Hell, you're the kid's mother! You give it a home."

  She jerked up her head, her hands balled against her thighs. "She's not a kid. She's a baby. And I'm not her mother."

  Ace stared, more confused than ever. "Then who is?"

  Dropping her gaze, she rubbed the heels of her hands up and down her thighs. "Star. Star Cantrell."

  "So why doesn't she provide a home for the kid?" he demanded to know, his anger spiking again.

  "She's dead."

  She said it so softly, Ace wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly. But then he saw a fat tear drop to splatter on the back of her hand. "Dead?" he repeated.

  She nodded, then dashed a hand across her cheek, wiping at the tears. "Yes. A little over a week ago. Something went wrong after the birth. She began to hemorrhage and—" She waved away the explanation, as if the cause of death wasn't important. Not any longer. "I worked with Star. At the Longhorn. We were … friends. She made me promise if something happened to her, that I'd bring the baby here. Give her to your father."

  She forced a swallow, then shook her head. "I didn't want to. I'd met your father. But I'd promised Star. Then I heard that your father had died. I wanted to keep her myself, but—"

  She looked up then, and Ace wished she hadn't. He couldn't remember ever seeing a face more ravaged by grief, by regret in his life.

  She lifted a hand, then let it fall helplessly. "I can't keep the baby." She dropped her gaze and shook her head. "She deserves more than I can give her. That's why I brought her here."

  Ace stared, aware of the faded jeans the woman wore, the work-reddened knuckles of the hands she held fisted against her thighs, the beat-up car she arrived in. What the woman was saying was that she couldn't afford to keep the child. "Surely there's someone else," he said. "Star must have had family somewhere. A mother. Sister. Aunt. Somebody."

  She shook her head. "No. She was an only child. Her parents died in an automobile accident when she was a teenager."

  Before he could think of another solution, she pushed to her feet.

  "Everything you'll need is here," she said, gesturing at the duffel and portable playpen. "Diapers. Bottles. Formula. Clothing. She sleeps in the playpen, though you'll probably want to get her a crib fairly soon."

  She turned to look at him … or rather, at the baby, and tears flooded her eyes. "Star named her Laura. I hope you won't change it. That's the only thing she'll ever have that was given to her by her mother."

  Ace looked down at the baby, only now aware that the infant had stopped crying. She slept, one cheek turned against his shoulder. The lashes that brushed the upturned cheek were spiked with tears.

  When he lifted his head, the woman was gone. He spun and ran after her, trying not to jostle the baby overmuch. "Hey! Wait!"

  She turned, one hand on the door handle of the old car.

  He stopped, breathing heavily, more from panic than exertion. "Listen. I know this isn't your problem, that you're just doing what you were asked to do, but you can't leave this kid here. My brothers and I all have jobs, careers, responsibilities. We can't take care of a baby. We wouldn't even know how to begin."

  He watched her face as she shifted her gaze to the baby, seeing the hesitation, the uncertainty, her obvious affection for the infant. Then she firmed her lips and pulled open the car door.

  "You'll figure it out," she said, as she slid behind the wheel and started the engine. "I did."

  Ace grabbed for the door. "No! You can't—"

  Before he could demand that she take the baby with her, she stomped down on the accelerator and sped away, ripping the handle from his grasp.

  The slam of the door reverberated through Ace like a death knell, as he watched the car disappear from sight.

  * * *

  Maggie made it five miles down the road, before she was forced to pull to the shoulder, blinded by tears. Giving in to them, she dropped her forehead against the back of her hands and wept. She wept for the baby who would grow up without ever knowing her mother. For Star, the baby's mother, and a life cut so tragically short.

  And she wept—selfishly, she knew—for the loss of the baby she'd grown so attached to, for the inequities in life that
made it impossible for her to keep the child herself. And while she wept, she sent up prayers, beseeching God to look after the baby, to keep it safe. To soften the hearts of the Tanner brothers so they would accept the baby into their home and into their lives.

  When she was done, when there were no more tears to be shed, she tugged the hem of her T-shirt from the waist of her jeans and mopped her face, blotted her eyes. Then, with a sniff, she put the car in gear and pulled back onto the road.

  It's best this way, she told herself, as she made the drive home. She had a hard enough time keeping a roof over her own head and food in her belly to even consider taking on the responsibility of an infant. With the Tanners, Laura would have a chance at a better life. They had a castle-size home, butt-loads of money and even a town named after them. With them, Laura would never have to worry about being evicted for late rent payments, where the money for medical expenses would come from or whether she could afford to go to college. And she'd have the opportunity to socialize with people with real class and not have to live around the kind of scum Maggie had lived with all her life.

  But there was one thing that Maggie knew she could have given Laura in spades.

  Her love.

  * * *

  The four Tanner brothers flanked Ace's bed, two on each side, staring down at the baby Ace had placed in its center.

  Ace glanced over at Ry. "Take her with you to Austin. You're the one with a wife."

  "Ex-wife," Ry reminded him. "Or soon will be."

  Scowling, Ace looked at Rory. "What about you? Couldn't you get one of the ladies who works in your chain of Western stores to baby-sit for awhile?"

  Rory shook his head. "No way. It's summer and vacation time. I'm already down to a skeleton staff as it is."

  He looked back across the width of the bed at Woodrow.

  Woodrow held up a hand. "Uh-uh. Don't even ask. The only experience I've had with babies was when my dog Blue had a litter of pups."

  Ace tossed up his hands. "Well, what the hell am I supposed to do with the kid? I don't know any more about babies than the rest of you."