“Daddy, look! Do you see what I can do?” He was seated on the front of a horse, calling to his father from the other side of a paddock. Firm, gentle hands snugged him from behind.
“I’ll be right there, Son.”
“Now, Sam.” He remembered his mother’s voice as she spoke clearly behind him, a memory that had been muted decades ago. “Life only gives so many moments. Come see what our son can do.”
Colt waited outside the house, conflicted. What had spurred the memory? Had his father’s words about his mother brought it back to life? By Sam openly talking about her, was Colt allowing himself to remember? Or was it being back at the ranch, surrounded by the good and bad of time gone by?
“You are Angelina’s mother,” Sam said.
Colt watched as his father grasped the woman’s hand. She met Sam’s look with quiet dignity. “I am.”
“Welcome to the Double S.”
“We thank you for your long-term hospitality,” she said. She started to set down a stack of items, but Sam motioned her toward the stairs.
“Turn left at the top of the stairs. There are two spare rooms there and an extra room over the garage. Make yourself at home. Please.” He added the last as if unpracticed, and Colt knew the truth in that.
“This is a very big house,” Noah whispered. He squeezed against his mother’s leg. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a very big house before.”
Colt bent and held out his arms. “Come here. Your mom and I can show you around.”
Colt wasn’t sure Noah would accept the invitation, but he did. He allowed Colt to pick him up, and the child relaxed against him. Angelina raised her eyebrows in surprise.
Noah glanced around from his new, higher vantage point and said, “Come on, Mommy!”
Angelina wavered at the entrance to the house. “I must get things from the car.”
“I’ll see to it in a minute.” Colt tilted his head toward the inside. “Let’s give him a few minutes to tour, then I’ll bring things in before I head to the barn.”
Her eyes questioned his. While he had no answers, he knew they’d done the right thing. Whatever was going on, nothing should keep a boy from his mother’s arms.
He led the way as they explored the house room by room. Noah’s eyes grew wide, then wider. His nose started running, and when Angelina leaned forward with a wad of tissues, the scent of her long dark hair wafted through the thin space between them.
Cinnamon and vanilla again, maybe amaretto too. A sweet aroma, enticing. But Colt couldn’t afford to be enticed or coerced or tempted. Too many questions surrounded this circumstance, and once the boy was safely tucked in bed that night?
He was determined to have answers.
Angelina knew the sudden appearance of her mother and an unmentioned preschooler would raise questions.
What would the men think when they came down from the hills? They had always treated her with respect, but that was when they thought she was honest and straightforward. Things had changed. While she didn’t want to be concerned, she was. The respect of her fellow officers in Seattle had meant a lot to her. It was the same here. Would her hard-earned trust vanish? How would they see her now as a mother of a child out of wedlock?
“You are worried,” her mother noted while Noah took his first nap in the big bed upstairs.
Angelina finished coating the chicken. She didn’t look up as Isabo moved to peel a sink full of potatoes. “Worried? No. Concerned? Yes.”
Angelina knew by Isabo’s grunt that she didn’t buy it. “You’ve kept secrets and you’re wondering what others will think. I will tell you what they will think—that you are a brave woman unafraid to put your family ahead of career.”
“Or that I ran, afraid.”
“God warned us to fear evil. He also promised his protection. So perhaps this oldest son came home for more than one reason.”
“Having a major hedge fund fall apart and a significant Wall Street collapse aren’t enough?”
Her mother’s expression stayed calm. “I see what I see. I am glad he noticed and glad he made a move, for he is right. An abuela is a wonderful thing, but no child should live without his mother. Colt knows this.”
“And now you’re on a first-name basis?” Angelina sent her mother a wry look, then went back to the original, much safer topic. “I’m still trying to adjust to this new normal. A little numb with disbelief that you’re both here.”
“I am not numb; I am overjoyed!” Isabo plunked some of the potatoes into the water with zeal. “To have space to move, people to see. Who knew what a luxury it is to live in freedom until it is taken away?” The peeler flew in practiced speed over the next handful. “I’ll cook the potatoes and start the salad.”
“I could get used to having help in this kitchen.”
“This kitchen, this house, this land are pure amazement,” Isabo declared. “So much to see. The barns, the stock, the hills and trees. God’s bounty has blessed this place, Angelina. But I have a kitchen of my own, of course, back in the city. One we must not forget.”
“Can we let the dust of this move settle before we plan the next?” Angelina asked. “You’ve seen Sam and you understand how busy we are here for the next several months. I can’t leave him in a lurch.”
To her relief, Isabo agreed. “You are right. And it is not as if my life in Seattle would ever be the same, on my own.” She swept the wide kitchen window a look of appreciation. “It is not exactly a hardship to live surrounded by such beauty.” Her mother peeled with newfound vigor. “And such a larder of food, a cook’s dream! This is like cooking for the mission in West Seattle.” She peeled another potato before getting back to Colt. “This oldest son. The one who has just come back?”
Watch yourself. Your mother is keen on detail, a trait she passed on to you. “Yes?”
“He sees much.”
“Yes.”
“He figured out in days what others have not seen in years.”
Angelina had realized that too. “He’s intuitive.”
“It is not intuition that stirs the look in his eyes.”
“I’m not foolish, mother. Nor young. I know what you’re saying. I will keep my distance.”
Isabo plunked the last potatoes into the pot with a mild splash. “There are times when keeping one’s distance is the last thing on God’s mind.” She set the large kettle on the stove and washed her hands. “I will check on our boy. He fell asleep quickly, but I do not want him to wake in a strange place and be afraid.”
“Thank you, Mami.”
Isabo sent a knowing look over her shoulder, a look that intensified as the back door swung open and Colt Stafford stepped inside the covered porch. He kicked off his boots, came through the inner door, and glanced from woman to woman. “You were talking about me?”
“No.”
His expression said he wasn’t buying Angelina’s denial.
Isabo raised her shoulders. “Mother to daughter. We speak of our gratitude to you, for seeing a lack of accord and changing it. You are a man of action.”
“Or maybe gut reaction,” Colt countered, then looked surprised and vaguely uncomfortable when Isabo moved close and seized his hands.
“You have read C. S. Lewis, perhaps?”
“Yes. Well. Some. A long time ago,” Colt admitted.
“Mr. Lewis once said how it is funny that day by day nothing changes.” Isabo swept the room a quick glance. “But when we look back, everything is different. This is, I think, our juncture. A time of looking back and moving forward. For some reason we are here, at this place, in these moments. God provides and we partake. Or we mess up,” she added practically. She released his hands.
Colt didn’t step back to create distance. He didn’t clench and unclench his hands, a typical reaction to a stressful grasp. Instead, he gazed into Isabo’s eyes, then nodded, slowly. “Your daughter takes after you in many ways.”
“And her father, God rest his soul,” Isabo said. “He would
be very proud of her.”
“It takes courage to turn your back on something you love to do the right thing,” Colt said softly. “I’m sure he would appreciate that.”
His words gave praise Angelina didn’t think she deserved. Had she done the right thing or reacted in cowardice? Or both?
“Ach!” Isabo flapped her apron, suddenly distressed.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Colt looked at her, dismayed, but then Colt wasn’t accustomed to the occasional theatrics that accompanied life as a Castiglione. Nick came through the side porch door as her mother explained. He looked surprised and amused, probably more by Colt’s worried expression than anything else.
“I have been talking and enjoying it and forgot I was to go and check on my grandson! It is so good to be among people again!”
Nick watched her retreat, then redirected his attention to Colt and Angelina. “Colt said your mother has come to visit,” he said to Angelina. “That”—he thrust his thumb toward the hallway—“must be Mom.”
“Isabo,” Angelina said.
“Great name. And you have a little boy. Imagine that. Our Ange has got herself a past.” She took his amused tone to mean he was teasing. If that was the worst reaction Angelina got, she’d do all right.
“Not exactly visiting,” Colt said. “Staying.” He changed the subject by opening a box of doughnuts from the café in Cle Elum. He helped himself to a maple bar and sighed, happy. “There’s nothing like this in New York.”
“Um, hello. Cronuts? Manhattan’s latest fried and filled confection?” Angelina followed the change in subject gratefully. “I’ve heard they’re the current rage.”
Colt pulled out a stool at the breakfast bar. “No time to waste standing in line for hours. I bet you didn’t have to get in line at 7:00 a.m. to buy these, did you, Ange?”
“No.” She laughed at the very idea of waiting hours for a pastry.
“Didn’t you have assistants who would do that for you?” Nick grabbed a pair of cinnamon crunch donuts, ignored Angelina’s pointed look at the clock, and sat down next to his brother. They were a sight, the pair of them. Dirty and mussed, red-cheeked from the biting wind, and messed up from delivering and transporting baby cows. In more hospitable weather she’d have ordered them out of her kitchen to get cleaned up, but the rugged day’s work needed its reward.
“I was my people. And if you ask an office assistant to get you doughnuts in New York City, you’re likely to get sued. Besides, there are no doughnuts like these.” He bit into the maple-topped pastry and sighed. “I haven’t had anything this good in years. Or pie. I miss apple pie,” he said, chewing one maple bar while reaching for another.
“You had more money than God,” Nick said.
Angelina growled, and Nick changed his words with a quick apologetic glance her way. “You had plenty of cash. Why didn’t you just get pie if you wanted some?”
“You don’t just find pie in New York. And if you do, it isn’t the same. It’s not like here, where you can go to Hammerstein’s or Cle Elum and get pies made with local apples. Let me correct myself. On Thanksgiving, you can find pie in New York. But there’s no comparison to real apple pie.”
“Wall Street versus Main Street,” Angelina observed as Sam stepped into the room.
Colt swung her way. “Exactly. Small towns have their share of restaurants and shops, and nothing is repeated. But in parts of Manhattan, blocks are simply repeats of other blocks. Not all. But a lot.”
“Give me God’s country, any time,” Sam said. He withdrew a coffee pod, made a quick cup, added cream, then moved toward the elongated breakfast bar. If he recognized the quick silence that greeted his presence, he ignored it. “Although I could find great spots to get a good meal at a decent price in Union Square and the West Village.”
“You came to New York?” Colt asked. “While I was there?”
“Twice.”
“And didn’t let me know?”
“You made it clear you didn’t want to see me.” Sam shrugged. “I had business there, and I wanted to make sure you were doing all right.”
Angelina moved closer to the rolling pin, just in case.
Colt stared at Sam. Sam stared right back. Then Colt took another bite of his maple bar, breaking the standoff. “You could have called. I would have seen you.”
“Drowned me in the river, most likely,” Sam replied as he pulled up a chair to the table.
“I’ve got no intention of spending my life in prison over your demise, despite my proximity to both rivers.” Colt’s rejoinder was mild, possibly sweetened by his intake of maple frosted pastries.
Nick was about to take another bite of his doughnut when Noah raced into the kitchen. “I woke up!”
“You did!” Colt smiled at him.
Instead of running to Angelina’s side for a hug and a kiss and a cookie, Noah launched himself into Colt’s arms. Colt lifted him comfortably and set him on his lap as if he’d been doing it for years. The little guy hugged Colt’s neck, sat back, and took a deep breath. “You smell funny.”
A light-bulb realization hit Angelina when the men laughed.
These three men rarely laughed. She’d teased Sam about it often enough. Nick had his own share of trouble the past few years. Broken homes and disheartened children sucked the humor out of many situations. And Colt was a tough-hearted, analytical jerk with the most beautiful blue eyes she’d ever seen, who had little to laugh about since arriving.
But now, in the presence of a child, they laughed together. Talked together. Broke bread in the form of doughnuts together, and for that moment, she glimpsed a family, bound by the common bond of a child.
“And a little child shall lead them…” Isaiah’s words of peace alive in the Stafford kitchen. Hope infused her as she introduced Noah to Sam’s second son.
“Noah, this is Mr. Stafford’s other son Nick. Nick, this is my son, Noah.”
Nick smiled. “Noah. Nice to meet you. Glad you can stay with us, kid.”
“He said I could.” Noah burrowed a little closer into Colt’s shoulder as he patted Colt’s cheek. “He said I can l-live in the big house and l-l-learn…” He stuttered slightly as he pushed for the proper letter sound, trying hard in front of his new friends, “…about cows and horses and riding four-wheelers and all that.”
“Odd that I don’t recall three-quarters of that conversation.” Colt gave Noah a hug that went straight to Angelina’s heart. Noah had never known the affection or example of a man. From the look on his face and the way he gravitated to Colt, she realized he’d bonded instantly with the New York hedge-fund manager.
Great. She’d been there, done that, and it absolutely, positively wasn’t going to happen again.
“When the weather softens, we’ll have a few lessons,” Colt promised. “You, me, and Nick’s girls.”
His comment hit like a cold breeze through an ill-fitting door. Sam looked approving, but he ducked his head to maintain neutrality. Nick slid off the stool and didn’t appear to care when it thumped the ground with his speed. When he spoke, he wasn’t any too happy. “My girls are busy enough.”
“They keep telling me they want to learn.” Colt kept his arm wrapped around Noah and his voice easy. “If we’re teaching one”—he dropped his attention to the boy—“might as well teach three.”
“Murt’s got a nice hand with teaching youngsters,” Sam added. “It would keep the old guy in the game and out of trouble with the Missus.”
Nick started to sputter, took note of Noah’s innocent presence, and strode toward the door. “Discussion over. I’ve got work.”
“Is he mad?” Noah peered into Colt’s face. The look of trust he offered the big, rugged cowboy made Angelina’s heart choke.
“He’ll get over it.” Colt broke off half of his second doughnut and handed it to the boy.
“Thank you!” Noah shot a quick, happy look toward Colt, then his mother. “I l-love these things so much!”
“
Me too.” Colt took a bite and grinned when her son copied him.
Sam watched, the pain in his eyes betraying deeper emotions. Did he see more than Colt holding someone else’s child? Was it the past that made him look wistful? Or the uncertain future?
Angelina didn’t know, but when she shifted her attention back to Noah, Colt’s eyes met hers. Angelina wasn’t anyone’s fool. He could talk sweet and play western, but in the end, movers and shakers cared only about themselves and assets. Colt might have been born to the saddle, but he’d shunned it before and he would again.
Colt waited until Hobbs took over barn duty that evening, then cornered his father in Sam’s walnut-paneled office. “I thought we were done with secrets.”
Sam set down his phone and frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“You had people sequestered in a cabin for two years. That doesn’t equate as secretive with you?”
“I helped a friend,” his father corrected him in an easier voice than Colt was accustomed to. “I expect you’d do the same.”
“Why did your friend need help?”
Sam shook his head. “Not my story to tell. Talk to Angelina.”
“How did Nick not notice?”
Sam shrugged. “Your brother’s had a lot on his plate. And we’ve kept him very busy.”
“Chin tucked, eyes down.” His brother tended to focus on what was in front of him. That much hadn’t changed. “You raised three boys without a mother. What were you thinking, keeping that little kid over there?”
“He had his grandmother,” Sam began, but Colt’s look of astonishment paused his words.
“It’s not the same. It’s never the same as having your own mother. How can three decades go by and you still don’t get it? A kid needs parents, and if for some reason he can’t have two, he deserves at least one.”
Sam paled. He knew what Colt was saying. He may have surrounded them with the opulence of his hard work, but he abandoned them emotionally.
“I’d have given anything to have a parent who loved me,” Colt went on. “Who looked at me and thought I was special just because I was theirs. I can’t believe you thought it was all right to tuck that little boy away, no matter what his mother said. Don’t you ever learn?”
Back in the Saddle Page 10
