Unwrap Me Daddy

by Natasha Spencer

  “But?”

  Lila tooted the horn at another driver. The more involved she became in a topic of conversation, the less control over her spleen against other lawful occupants of her lane. “Well, as I say, that first year was fine. Then somethin’ happened—I don’t know what. Except that Diane was pregnant, and not happy, and the two of them grew farther and farther apart. Pretty soon, they were barely speakin’.”

  Little Sophie was born, and left to the care of a nanny because neither parent could find time to spend on her. The estrangement worsened. Lila, privy to none of the personal problems involved, feared a divorce was imminent.

  “Ben was out of town—again—when Diane took off one night in her red Ferrari,” Lila finished up softly, soberly. “She was doin’ that a lot, by then, just speedin’ on the country roads. Drinkin’, too, I heard. Only this time she missed a sharp curve.”

  Caroline caught her breath.

  “Uh-huh. Crashed and caught on fire. Not much left of anything, once the local cops tracked her down. I think the ashes that they found were burned right into Ben’s soul. Oh, he had a memorial service, all done up just as nice as you’d expect. And that was it. From then on, what you have is this Ben, all scraped raw down to the bone.”

  Silence ruled for a few minutes, with the only sounds being the smooth hum of tires on concrete, and the murmur of two little girls carrying on their own private talk.

  “Thank you, Lila,” Caroline said finally. “That explains a lot that I hadn’t known. I appreciate your telling me something that is obviously still so painful.”

  “Well, it threw all of us for a loop, believe you me. But I wish you luck, honey. It can’t be easy, marryin’ a widower with all those memories he’s carryin’ around. Becca, Sophie, look!” she suddenly broke off to squeal. “There’s the park! We’re here!”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Daddy, Daddy! You’re home!”

  Sophie, racing ahead down the wide staircase, flew straight into the dining room where breakfast was about to be served. Caroline followed along, more slowly and with less enthusiasm. It would be—a choice of various adjectives came to mind, so she settled for “interesting”—to see Ben present again, after a week of fleeting glimpses and prolonged absence. Conversely, this meant meals presented in a formal manner in this formal setting, under the glaring supervision of a hostile cook / housekeeper.

  All in all, Caroline preferred the simplicity of the kitchen.

  Especially if Mrs. Wyeth were out of it.

  “Hey, Princess, how you doin’?”

  To give the man credit, he did put aside a Wall Street Journal to envelope his daughter in a hearty hug. Ah. No suit today; no customary cord jacket or neat rep tie. Evidently he was planning to stay home for something involving the ranch, since he had dressed in faded Levi’s, boots, and a lightweight chambray shirt. Blue, again. By accident? Or by choice, knowing the dynamite effect in conjunction with those devastating eyes?

  “Morning, Carrie.” Still holding Sophie in one arm, he looked up with a smile. “C’mon in and join us. As you see, I’ve got my trusty crew here already.”

  “I do see. Good morning, Marilou, Tom.” Caroline, in her favorite summer uniform of beige Capri pants and a black tee boasting the logo of some 80’s rock band, felt quite underdressed beside the lush and lovely Marilou. Blue, as well—were boss and worker bee doing a matchy-matchy, for some reason?

  With a mental shrug, Caroline poured a cup of coffee from a silver pot on the sideboard, then took her seat at the foot of the table. It hardly mattered. Since when had she cared about another woman’s wardrobe?

  “And then where did you go?” asked Ben of his daughter, who, seated on his knee, was regaling him with stories of yesterday’s adventure.

  “There was old-fashioned cars on a track, Daddy. And Carrie and me went in one, and she let me drive, and she said I was so terrible that I couldn’t get my license till I’m fifty.” Little hand in front of her mouth, Sophie giggled. “What’s a license, Daddy?”

  “Something legal, sugar, and I’m afraid I might have to agree with her.” Ben raised his brows and sent a crooked grin across the table. Much as she would not admit it, that grin did thaw just a bit of the frost collected around Caroline’s agitated spirit. “Here, why don’t you sit on your own chair and then you can tell me more while you eat?”

  Sophie blossomed under the attention, as, over plates of fluffy omelets, a bowl of grits, a platter of sliced ham, and English muffins, her father, and even Tom and Marilou, plied her with questions.

  She chattered on, describing the crazy collection of bumper cars (“I didn’t wanna go on those, Daddy, but Becca and her mom did.”) that had everybody at the rails laughing. The fire truck, with hoses attached so that each rider could put out the flames of a burning house with real water. The roller coaster, pulled by a dragon that breathed smoke. The helicopter ride, and the hay wagon ride, and the Ferris wheel all lit up.

  “And what did you have to eat?” Ben asked quite seriously.

  Digging into a mound of jelly, Sophie replied that they’d had hot dogs and French fries. “’Cause Carrie said it wouldn’t hurt me, just that once, to have somethin’ not so healthy. Aren’t hot dogs healthy, Daddy? They sure taste good.”

  Again that considering look sent to the foot of the table. Helplessly blushing, Caroline ignored it to attack her own dish of raisin oatmeal. At last, the semblance of an appetite on her part!

  While Ben’s thoughtful glance might have been critical, Tom’s was definitely approving. “Sounds like you two made a fine day of it,” he smiled. “Wish I coulda gone along.”

  “That’s all right, Tom,” the little girl comforted him with a grown-up air. “We’ll do it again sometime, won’t we, Carrie? And I’ll make sure to invite you, special.” Then, tentatively, she turned toward her father. “Uh—Daddy, would you go with us, too?”

  This grin encompassed his whole handsome face. For once, even his eyes danced with good humor. “Sweetheart, I’d enjoy being there. Depends on my schedule, though. We’ll just have to see, okay? Was there anything besides rides at this place?”

  “Oh, yeah!” Sophie beamed. “A pettin’ zoo, Daddy. With bunnies, and goats, and even a—what was that funny-lookin’ animal that spits, Carrie?”

  “A llama.”

  “Uh-huh. A llama. And then we put on our swimsuits, and we played at the water park. And I went down the big slide!” She closed her eyes in remembered bliss. “It was such fun. Best day ever, Daddy!”

  “Well, Princess, I’m sure glad to hear you had such a good time. Did you thank Carrie for taking you there?”

  “I did. And I gived her a hug, too. I’m awful glad you two got married, Daddy. Carrie is real good company. Can somebody please pass the hash browns? And the ketchup?”

  Once more that speculative look went slanting in Caroline’s direction. Wondering if this were a cuckoo brought up in a nightingale’s nest, no doubt; and what sort of rare (common?) bird he had brought into their family home.

  She met his gaze with a challenging one of her own. “How nice of you to honor us with your presence, Ben. Is there some particular reason you’re here today?”

  Brows quirked, mouth quirked, he was concentrating on a spoonful of buttered grits. “Yup. Need to have a look around outdoors, check on a few things. Thought you might like a tour.”

  “Indeed I would,” said Caroline, surprised.

  “You can check over the horses while we’re out there, see if there’s one that strikes your fancy.”

  “Horse? To ride, you mean?”

  “Well, yeah. That’s usually what we do with ’em.”

  “Oh. Well, then I think I’ll pass, for the time being, if you don’t mind.”

  A trifle miffed that his offer hadn’t been immediately accepted, he shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  “Daddy,” said Sophie reproachfully.

  “Yeah?”

  “She hurt her leg, remember? It’
s hard for Carrie to climb into a saddle.”

  Nodding, Tom reached out to ruffle the child’s flossy hair. “Way to go, honey. It’s important t’ always stick by our friends, ’specially if they’re bein’ unfairly attacked.”

  “Now, wait a minute,” protested Ben on what was almost a squawk. “I wasn’t attacking anybody. Certainly not my wife.”

  The old cowboy stuck his chin out just a little, pugnaciously. “Sure sounded like it t’ me. But then, my hearin’ ain’t so good anymore. Hey, cricket, if you’re all done eatin’, let’s head out t’ the barnyard. Got a couplea young colts you can look over.”

  That seemed an unusually quiet Marilou’s cue to disappear. “Thanks for breakfast, Ben. I’ll be in the office when you want to start dictatin’ those letters.”

  Absently he waved a hand of acknowledgement. “Well, Carrie, horse or not, I reckon you can still take a walk with us, can’t you?”

  “Absolutely. Give me just a minute, okay?”

  Ben heaved up an elaborate sigh. “Why, gotta change your duds into something more pricey that the outside world can see, because what you’re wearing isn’t good enough?”

  “No.” Her chin lifted. There seemed to be a lot of chin action in this house, probably due to its annoying owner. “I planned,” she said slowly and succinctly, “to fetch my hat.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Modern-day ranches have much in common with the ranches of western lore. Oh, the conveniences are new: running water and electricity; motor vehicles; access to computers, cell phones, and the like; strains of cattle vastly improved by breeding and immunization.

  On the whole, however, outbuildings remain the same. There are the cow sheds and the machinery sheds, the stable, various corrals for various purposes, pastures spreading out to the horizon of God’s green earth, a combination bunkhouse, kitchen, and dining hall for employees (complete now with television, air-conditioning, extra-large bathroom, stereo equipment, and laptops plugged into Wi-Fi). Most places even boast an in-ground pool of magnificent proportions.

  “Are you up for a walk?” Ben wanted to know of Caroline, as they emerged from the family room’s back door onto the terrace.

  “I don’t know. How many miles are you talking about?”

  “Maybe a quarter or so. You can see the barn from here.”

  Sophie had already skipped happily ahead, with Tom following along in that deceptive cowboy stroll that simply ate up the distance. Pausing, Caroline plopped her ball cap down over her hair and pulled it firmly into place.

  “Huh. Nice hat,” Ben, surveying it, said with disparagement.

  “What’s wrong with my hat?”

  Another challenge. Damn. Was there no end to the challenges she issued?

  “You’re living on a ranch now, lady. You need yourself a gen-u-wine Stetson.”

  “Indeed. Will you have Marilou pick one up at the nearest Cavender’s?” she blurted out, before giving the thought a chance to percolate through her brain and halt short its being uttered.

  Astonished, he stopped dead to stare at her. “Well, maybe I will. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing. I’m sorry, my remark was entirely uncalled for.” And made her appear a jaundiced, distrustful, snaggle-toothed harpy. “All right, tell me about what we’ll be seeing on today’s tour.”

  Lips thinned by annoyance, he lifted one disdainful shoulder. “I thought it would be good for you to know your way around, to have an idea what’s where, to meet whoever happens to be around at the moment.”

  “Sophie and I have been taking walks,” she told him, anxious to make amends, “back that way, into your beautiful timber.” The sweep of her arm pointed the direction. “I hope that’s all right.”

  “Whatever’s good for Sophie is all right with me. You don’t have to ask permission, Carrie. You have a right to be here, to do what you want. You’re my wife.”

  What exactly does that word entail? she wanted to snap at him, irritated anew by his cavalier attitude. And was then just as irritated by her own reaction. Perhaps she needed some anger management classes, before she turned into a complete shrew.

  Head lowered, gaze fixed on her sneakers scuffing through the graveled drive, she was wondering how badly she would have to screw up before he called this experiment a failure and tossed her out on her keister.

  “It’s shady,” she finally volunteered into the silence.

  “Yeah, it is. Grandpop chose a good site.”

  Animal sounds from the distance reached them: an occasional lowing from cattle in their fields, a whicker or whinny from moving horses, the startling caw of a crow flying overhead. A mixture of mammoth oaks and sycamore kept the heat at bay, shutting out the sun’s strongest rays, answering back with a ripple of leaves to any wandering breeze, providing shelter for birds, squirrels, opossums.

  Were some of the branches lower, Caroline could imagine children grabbing hold to climb. Had Sophie ever begged to have a tree house constructed?

  A gigantic natural pond lay to the left, bisecting neat emerald sod at the rear of the house. Caroline turned covetous eyes toward it. A bleached-oak deck had been built on one curved edge of the reflective water, with a large open shelter and barbeque facilities nearby. A two-person rowboat even lay roped to a convenient dock. Lovely. Simply lovely. Wouldn’t that be a wonderful spot for her and Sophie to explore soon!

  “Here’s the bunkhouse. Go ahead and glance in, if you like. We’ve got six extra hands working for us here at Ten Buck, but by this time of the day most of ’em are out with the cows.”

  Upon his invitation, she did. Glance in, that was. A long, low white building, with an amazing blue roof and lots of windows. But she wasn’t about to invade any employee’s privacy, so she quickly backed out again.

  “Very comfy quarters.”

  “I try to make it so. A happy employee does a better job, all round.” Neither smugness nor complacency in the tone, just simple fact.

  She considered him, this tall Texas man, as they strolled along. “Do you have any that aren’t happy?”

  Silence for a minute. He paused, picked up a rough-cut pebble, and gave it a toss off to the side. “Had a few, over the years. Got one now that ain’t—well, I’m thinking he might be happier elsewhere. We’re working on that.”

  “It isn’t easy having to let someone go. Especially in this economy.”

  “It ain’t hard at all,” Ben disagreed sharply, “if that man seems inclined to do his worst. Riley, now… Ah, here’s the stable. Inside is where Tom disappeared with Sophie. Got us two colts born the other day, and he couldn’t wait to get her out here to see ’em.”

  “Your—Tom seems an awfully nice man.”

  Ben peered down at her from beneath the brim of his own gen-u-wine Stetson. “He’s my second-in-command, if that’s what you’re wondering. And runs this place better’n I can. Don’t know what I’d do without him. Steady, reliable, always there for me.”

  “I got that impression, right away.”

  “Yup. You ever run into a problem, you go to Tom. He sure was mighty taken with Sophie right from the get-go. Dotes on that child, in fact.”

  It’s a good thing some father figure does, Carrie wanted to snipe, but didn’t. She hadn’t been on this ranch long enough to be able to sort through all the convoluted relationships involved. Or, still not knowing all the background facts, to judge.

  “So we’ll just leave ’em to moon over the new arrivals and head on to the barn, instead.”

  “Uh—pigs and milk cows?”

  He gave her the slightly crooked smile that seemed to be his trademark. “Not much like the barns you’re used to, up north. Prob’ly a lot smaller, by comparison.”

  Amazing, how suddenly, out here journeying amongst his roots, much of the billionaire businessman air was being dissipated, replaced by an easier, more casual attitude that even invoked the Texas drawl. It was an attractive quality. In her rather colored opinion, he should recall these basics
of his upbringing more often.

  As they approached the barn, more of a large shed than a similar farm building in the Vermont countryside, odd little noises began to reach them. A scuffle, heavy panting, low muttered curses, the smack of something hard meeting flesh, and then a few frightened whines. It was the yip of pain, and then another, and then a piteous yowl, that tore Caroline away from her companion to make a frantic dash inside.

  Dim, and dust-moted this summer day, the interior shut off her sight for just a split second. Then, as she comprehended what shocking sight had just come into her vision, Caroline let out a shriek to wake the dead, and leaped, still shrieking.

  Ben, following only a few seconds in her wake, flew toward her with a roar. “Carrie! Carrie, stop it!”

  She had flung herself onto the very large and very formidable back of a rather disheveled man and was pummeling him, fists and sneakers, with all the power at her command. “You—monster!” she was screaming, even while she continued to pummel. “How do you—like it, you—you damned—viper—!”

  The man under her attack, shouting in tandem with her cries of rage, was circling, trying to pull her down and away,

  “Carrie!” Ben shouted again. He was trying to catch her wicked blows in mid-strike, out of the very real fear that her huge, hulking victim might turn on her and do some serious damage. “Carrie, get off! What do you think you’re trying to pull?”

  So furious, so upset over what was going on that unaccountable tears had begun to fall and smear on her cheeks, Caroline slid to the ground. “Look!” she pointed out, trembling all over. “Look at that!”

  A bundle of spotted brown-and-white fur lay shaking with fear and whimpering in distress against the wall, where he had been kicked. Flinging off Ben’s restraining grasp, she whisked over and, crooning softly in an attempt to allay still more terror, knelt down beside the pathetic little animal.

  Meanwhile, a veritable volcano of rage had started to build in the middle of Ben’s iron stomach. Wrath overlaid his every feature as he confronted the man before him. “Riley Lundigan. You got anything to say about all this?”