“Talk to me,” she urged.
It was unseasonably hot for the last week of May and the afternoon sun beat down on them. It did nothing to compare to the heat in Trace’s eyes when he suddenly swung around to look at her. Raging hot anger glared back at her.
“I can’t do this,” he gritted out. “What was I thinking?”
Paisley took a step back as if he’d slapped her. The gutless whiner! She’d been feeling sorry for the guy, but this—this wasn’t happening. “I don’t know what your problem is, buddy, but this pity party you have going on has to stop.”
“Pity party?” Disbelief rang in his voice. “Is that what you think this is? Believe me, it’s not for me but for her. For having to live with me, a man who has no way of giving her the guidance she is going to need to become a good woman. Stephanie was right not to let me know about her daughter. Zoey would have been better off in foster care—”
The last words were barely audible and they tore at Paisley with the earnest honesty of them. He truly believed he was going to fail Zoey—what was up with that? “I hadn’t expected this out of you,” she snapped. “Why do you insist on defeat when you’ve only just begun?” She wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him, but instead she put her fists on her hips and stared at him.
“Please don’t shout. You’ll wake Zoey up and I’m not ready,” he said in all seriousness.
“Start talking or I will shout,” she warned, though she really wouldn’t have. Zoey didn’t need to see him like this, either.
He rubbed his neck and then leaned back, one booted foot propped against the steel pipe rail of the corral. He took another deep breath, as if marshalling his thoughts.
He made a stunning portrait, like the cover of a book or a country western music CD. He was beautiful—in a completely manly way. But the man had to have more inside him than just this appealling outer shell…he had to.
“Look, despite the fact that I don’t like you much, somewhere along the way I’ve started rooting for you. For Zoey’s sake,” she amended, so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. “C’mon Trace. Give me something so I can help you.”
His shoulders slumped and he looked like talking was the last thing he wanted to do. “My dad was a rodeo bum.”
The words were flat. Apologetic. As if it was his fault his dad was any kind of bum.
“He left when I was about Zoey’s age and my sister was not quite five. Very soon after, my mom drank herself into an early grave and left us to be raised by my mother’s widowed father.”
“I’m sorry,” Paisley said. “That must have been hard.”
“Yeah, you could say that. My granddad was a bitter man who didn’t have a clue how to raise kids…especially girls. Poor Steph didn’t stand a chance. And I didn’t help her much. I’m the last person Zoey needs.”
This revelation gave her a glimpse into his heart, exposing how deep-seated his fear was, and she felt true compassion for him. “I hate that that happened to you, but that doesn’t explain why you are acting the way you’ve been acting. You walked in Zoey’s shoes. You know exactly how she feels, but more importantly what she will feel as she grows up. Don’t you see that you’re exactly the right person to help her?”
“Not really. I was two years younger than my sister, and I watched as she rebelled against everything my grandfather did. Why shouldn’t she?” he asked, sweeping his hat from his head and setting it on his thigh. “The poor girl was made fun of for years because of her clothes or her hair—what did Granddad know about fixing a little girl’s hair up nice? Nothing. He didn’t know anything about anything else either. Girls need guidance, understanding…Steph had none of that. In the end she turned to drugs and alcohol and we lost her.”
So he’d been about two years younger than his sister and he’d felt helpless. “You were the younger child. You couldn’t make choices for her.”
“But I can for Zoey. I can’t let history repeat itself with her.”
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the top rail of the high corral. Paisley studied the sandy lashes against his tanned skin. His lips were clamped firmly together in resolute worry, and she could hardly stand it—she suddenly wanted to see those lips smile that goosepimple-producing smile of his…crazy inappropriate ideas!
“Trace Crawford,” she snapped, a bit harder than intended, fueled by her anger at herself as much as him. “God doesn’t make mistakes. He put that little girl into your care.” She flung her arm behind her, pointing toward the house where Zoey slept. “I don’t know why you had the childhood that you had. I don’t know why your sister had to suffer or choose the path that she chose, nor do I know why your parents chose the path that they took. But what I do know is that when given notice that you had a niece, you didn’t hesitate—even with the fear inside of you, you chose to step up to the plate. I really am only now beginning to get to know you, but so far…” she hesitated as the truth hit her. “So far, I admire you for what you’ve done. Now all you have to do is grab the proverbial bull by the horns and get on with it. Do you get my drift?”
He’d opened grave eyes and was studying her but said nothing as if she hadn’t gotten through his thick head.
Paisley scowled. “Don’t you get it? That little girl is yours. Period. It’s a done deal. There’s no going back. She can’t help her background and you can’t help yours. But you are all each other has, so get used to it.”
He continued to stare at her, and finally the corner of his lip lifted ever so slightly and the smoke in his eyes shifted like sun peeking through gray clouds. “You are one tough cookie, Paisley Norton,” he said, finally. “Do you know that?”
“I work hard at it,” she snapped. He had no idea just how determined she could be.
He laughed unexpectedly. It was a laugh full of tension and release all tangled together. Conflict and hope that there was hope. “So,” he said after the chuckle died a quick death and he turned serious again, “you think I can do this?” The question was quiet.
“With God’s help.”
“And yours?”
The way he said the question, the way he looked at her as he asked, caused a warm tightening in her chest. Her heart slowed…then surged unusually. “For a while,” she said, bewildered by the feeling. She swallowed and continued, “But I’ll be leaving at the end of the summer and God will still be with you. He’s much more important than I am to the success of Zoey’s life.”
He straightened to his full height and put his hat back on. She watched, feeling oddly off-kilter, while he seemed calmer, his strain slackened.
“I think you’re shooting your role in this way too short, Paisley. If you hadn’t been here, I’d have already turned tail and run clean to Mexico.”
Paisley couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. “You wouldn’t ever turn tail and run from anything. Especially a little girl who adored you the instant she saw you.”
“Do you really believe that?”
She nodded. “Yeah, actually I do.”
“I’m going to need you,” he said quietly holding her gaze.
Her heart was pounding. “I’m right here,” she said. And she was. For her, just like for him, there was no turning back. God had put her here for Zoey…and maybe to change this knucklehead’s outlook in the process.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“How did your day go?” Trace asked the next evening as soon as he climbed out of his truck and walked into the house. He was covered in a thin layer of dust, and by the way his T-shirt clung to his torso it was obvious it had been through a hard afternoon in the sun.
Paisley crinkled her nose. “It was more pleasant than yours and far more agreeable smelling.”
“That’s a good thing.” He grinned and tugged at the neck of the tee. “I’ve been in the saddle, soaked most of the day, so it’s a wonder you can stand this close. I’m on my way to clean up. Where’s Zoey?”
Paisley crooked her finger and led the way down the hall to Zoey’s
room. She placed a finger to her lips then they peeked around the corner. Zoey was playing in her tent with her dolls.
“Wow, she’s talking to them,” Trace whispered in her ear as they backed away and went back to the kitchen. Once there he beamed. “She looks more comfortable.”
“She’s getting there. We read and colored and played all day. I think she’s adapting. She even asked where Uncle was.”
“No kidding?”
Paisley laughed, seeing the delight on his face. “No, really. You were a hit yesterday.” It was true. Zoey awakened from her nap grumpy and had hidden behind the couch in the living room. When they’d tried to pick her up she’d started screaming. Of course that had terrified Trace. Though Paisley wanted to intervene she’d held back, watching to see how Trace would handle himself. After all, she wasn’t going to be here for the night, and if Zoey awakened he’d be alone dealing with whatever happened. Her heart had ached as he’d stooped to Zoey’s level and talked soothingly to her. He reassured her that he loved her and said she could come out from behind the couch when she was ready and wanted to play.
The man had then begun treading a rut across the kitchen floor as he waited for Zoey to come out from behind the couch. Paisley had tried to ease his worries by talking to him as she began fixing dinner. She’d decided since she loved to cook this would be part of her job description. It also gave her something to focus on other than the impulse to reach out and hug the man’s worries away every time he paced past her!
They’d both been relieved when Zoey had eventually come into the kitchen. “Come color,” she had said, taking Trace’s hand as if nothing had happened. With those two simple words the rest of the afternoon had gone easier.
Paisley, on the other hand, had to admit that her anger at Trace had disappeared for the most part. True, she thought he’d been in the wrong, but understanding the circumstances made it hard to keep up the fight.
She’d spent most of her evening thinking about him and Zoey, and she’d prayed God would help her help them.
And when thoughts of how momentarily attracted she’d been toward him during their talk had surfaced she’d forced them aside and refused to acknowledge them.
“I think I’ll hurry and get that shower,” Trace said, drawing her back to the moment. “I want to play with her before supper.”
“I think that’s a very good idea,” Paisley said, busying herself with tossing the salad.
“And by the way,” he said, pausing at the doorway. “Whatever you’re cooking smells heavenly. You keep this cooking up and you’re going to spoil me.”
His compliment gave her a ridiculous amount of pleasure. She loved to cook. Always had, and she especially loved people enjoying what she cooked. “I hope you like it,” she said simply, trying to hide her delight at his words.
Berating herself for even thinking about letting this get personal, she watched him stride out of the room. Then turned back to check on the meal: salad, smothered steak and mashed potatoes…comfort food. Most all children loved the simple food…as did most grown men.
She wasn’t trying to impress Trace Crawford! She wasn’t.
Twenty minutes later she stood at the door and watched him walk into Zoey’s room. He was dressed in a pair of soft jeans and a plain white T-shirt. And his feet were bare as he padded across the floor. The man looked good in a pair of boots, but the casual way he was dressed right now made Paisley feel like she were looking in on a scene that was more intimate than she should be involved in. This was a family moment. And she wasn’t family—and certainly didn’t want to be family! Still, she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
“Zoey,” he called softly when she didn’t look up from rocking both her bunny and two dolls. Her little arms were bulging with babies.
“Uncle,” she gasped, jumping up and coming out of the tent with her arms held out.
A lump torpedoed into Paisley’s throat and hot tears pressed at her eyes at the joy in the Zoey’s expression. The bond Zoey felt with Trace couldn’t be missed. It had started yesterday right off the bat with her shy stares and had grown through the shaky afternoon. Trace had told Paisley this morning that Zoey had had a bad dream and he’d held her for a little while until she’d gone back to sleep—even changed a diaper all by himself! Obviously the holding part had been just what Zoey had needed to understand that in Trace’s arms she would find comfort.
As Paisley watched, he swung Zoey up and gave her a big bear hug. Paisley found herself remembering when he’d hugged her with such gusto. Her skin tingled thinking of it and warning bells clanged all around. She couldn’t let this get personal. He may not have meant to hurt Rene, but that didn’t change the fact that he had—which put anything between them off limits.
“So what’s my girl been doing today?” he asked, and Zoey leaned away from him and met his eyes with her matching pair.
“Passy don’t show me ’ose,” she said solemnly, wagging her head from side to side, sending her curls swinging.
Trace looked at Paisley in mock horror. “She wouldn’t show you the horse?”
“Uncle’s ’ose,” Zoey added, with a matter-of-fact nod. “You show.”
Paisley crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe as understanding passed over Trace’s face. Personal feelings aside, it was a delightful experience on her part, watching the exchange. This was exactly why she’d saved the colt for Trace to show Zoey. She hadn’t wanted to steal the moment away from him—when Zoey saw the colt up close for the first time. When Paisley was reading her a book about baby farm animals and their mommies, she told Zoey that her uncle also had a mommy horse and baby and that he would show them to her when he got home from work.
The toddler hadn’t forgotten.
As soon as supper was over, Trace tugged on a pair of socks and boots and they all headed out to the corral. Paisley knew she should go on home now—after all, her day was done. But she really wanted to see Zoey and the colt…and Trace, so she tagged along.
With Zoey on his hip, Trace seemed genuinely more at ease than Paisley had ever expected him to be after his reaction the day before. It was amazing what a few hours could do.
When they got to the fence, he opened it, much to Paisley’s surprise, and took Zoey straight into the pen. “Do you think that’s wise?” she called before she could stop herself. Following them inside, she eyed the horses warily.
The look Trace shot over his shoulder held matching surprise. “Sure, it’s okay. Mabel doesn’t mind us looking at her baby. Now Peppy might have to get used to us but I’ve been working with him every day, so he’s not easily spooked.”
Paisley wasn’t so sure as she eyed the spunky little colt prancing around the pen with his ears back and his chin held high.
“’ose!” Zoey exclaimed. Her expression registered a mixture of awe and uncertainty. The curious mom stuck her nose into Zoey’s soft belly, causing her to recoil against Trace’s chest in surprise.
Instantly his chuckle bubbled up and his arm tightened around her securely. “It’s okay. This is Mabel. Can Zoey say ‘Mabel’?” He pushed the horse back a little so that Zoey didn’t feel so crowded, but he continued to stroke the horse.
Zoey touched Mabel’s soft nose and giggled. Paisley’s ridiculous trepidation evaporated and she stepped farther inside the corral and pulled the gate closed. Trace knew what he was doing.
“I think Paisley needs to pet Mabel. What do you think, Zoey?”
“Passy pet ’ose,” Zoey demanded, then startled everyone including Mabel when she suddenly smacked Mabel’s nose with a resounding whack!
Instantly all calm vaporized as poor Mabel violently slung her head as she reared up and bolted away in a thunder of hooves.
Trace had reacted by whirling away, putting himself in between Zoey and Mabel. It was apparent that Zoey wasn’t in any danger, but the scared horse had made such a commotion that the poor child erupted into wails of terror.
* * *
“It�
��s okay,” Trace said, trying to calm Zoey as Paisley led the way out of the corral. He hadn’t been paying attention! He’d been too absorbed in watching Paisley enter the arena. Too absorbed in the vibrant way her hair caught the evening sun as it started to dip toward the horizon.
He should have been watching Zoey. Taking care that she didn’t do something unexpected.
“Mabel didn’t mean to scare you, darlin’,” he crooned, cupping her head to his chest and rocking her back and forth. Paisley patted her back and put her face close so she could smile at Zoey. Trace felt Zoey’s tears soaking through his T-shirt straight to his heart.
“Zoey can’t hit the horse,” Paisley said very gently. “The horse gets scared, too.”
Zoey straightened. “’ose scart?”
Trace smiled when she turned glistening eyes to him. “Yes,” he said. “The horse was just scared.”
Zoey leaned away from him and looked through the fence railings. “I fowwy ’ose. No scart now.”
“It’s very sweet of you to say you’re sorry,” Paisley said, drying Zoey’s tears then looking up at Trace with stern eyes.
He prepared himself for a reprimand since she had questioned his choice to enter the corral in the first place.
“Don’t beat yourself up over this,” she said.
“I shouldn—”
“Button it, buster. You kept her safe. The horse didn’t do anything that would have harmed her except squeal and run away.”
“But I—” he started, but, eyes flashing, she cut him off again.
“Trace. You found out that Zoey has a solid slap to watch out for in the future. And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I can guarantee that’s not the last new thing you’ll learn over the next few days. Or the coming years.”
A Mule Hollow Match Page 5
