A Cowboy for the Twins

by Carolyne Aarsen

  “Do you know if Mr. and Mrs. Anderson are home?” he asked.

  “They only come in the summer,” the other twin said with a tone of resignation. “No one else will come down this road.”

  And his mother couldn’t help them out either. She hadn’t been feeling well the past few weeks, which was one of the reasons he’d made the trip back to Cedar Ridge. She hadn’t been diagnosed with anything specific. Some vertigo, some headaches, low iron. Just worn and weary, was all she would tell him.

  “Can you help us do deliveries?” Millie asked. “You have a big truck.”

  “Mr. Cosgrove is probably busy.” Shauntelle’s voice held an undertone of condemnation. “I’ll try Leanne. Maybe she can help. She’s got a big SUV.”

  She punched in another set of numbers, which was followed by a few seconds of silence. Guess that was a no-go too. He saw the battle on Shauntelle’s face, and he knew she fought her anger with him and the reality of her situation.

  “I don’t mind helping,” he said.

  “Okay. Fine.” She tossed out the words like they were poison. “I need to make a delivery to Mrs. Fisher’s place. If you could bring me back to my parents’ house after, that would be great.”

  “But what about all the other stuff?” Millie put in. “You said we need to deliver them to get enough money for the eggs in your nest.”

  Noah repressed a grin at the mash-up of the term.

  “Can you help us deliver those too?” Millie asked, turning to Noah and giving him a mournful look.

  He shouldn’t give in. Shauntelle didn’t want to go with him any more than he wanted her to.

  “If we don’t get them to the customers they’ll be no good,” the other twin said. “Some of them are perishable. Like the meat pies.”

  “Mr. Cosgrove probably has far more important things to do.” Shauntelle spoke quietly, but there was enough of a sting in her voice to bother him. “And my nest can manage without the extra money.”

  “But that would be wasteful,” Millie wailed.

  “I’m just going to my mom’s place,” Noah said. “I don’t have much else planned.”

  “Does your mom live just before Mrs. Fisher’s?” Millie asked, her eyes suddenly wide. “Does she own the place with the big gate?”

  “That’s it. The T Bar C.” His father’s ranch. As a young man, he couldn’t leave it fast enough. He had returned from time to time but only for a quick visit. He hadn’t come back for the past year. Since Josiah Rodriguez died working for him, shame and guilt had kept him away from the ranch and Cedar Ridge.

  But his cousin’s wedding had brought him back. He knew he couldn’t get out of that obligation. While here, he hoped to convince his mother to finally let go of the ranch. Sell it and move with him to Vancouver. After Josiah died on his job site, Noah had hung on to the business long enough to deal with the inquiries and inspections. Then he sold it. He currently had a line on a new business he wanted to start, a small trucking company. It would be a fresh start in a different business.

  He knew his mother hoped he would come back to the ranch, take it over and keep the Cosgrove legacy going. That wasn’t happening. To him, the ranch had always been a symbol of relentless, backbreaking work, a demanding father who was never satisfied.

  Cedar Ridge didn’t hold any special memories for him.

  “That’s such an awesome place. I love it,” the little girl said excitedly.

  “It is a nice place.” He was surprised to hear a faint note of melancholy in his voice as he looked at his childhood home through her eyes.

  “So, can you help us out by driving us around?” Millie asked. “So we can get more money in our nest?”

  He glanced Shauntelle’s way. He saw she wasn’t keen on the idea, but at the same time he didn’t feel right leaving her stranded here.

  “Sure. I can help you out.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” Millie said, shooting her mother an expectant look.

  Shauntelle blew out a sigh of resignation. “I guess we don’t have much choice.”

  “Just one thing, though,” Noah said. “I’d like to stop in and see my mother. Make sure she’s okay before we head out.”

  “Of course,” Shauntelle said.

  “So first off, let me know what you need from the car,” Noah said.

  Shauntelle walked to the hatchback, yanked it open and pulled out one of the three coolers, indicating the other two with her chin. “I need all those, and there’s a carrier with muffins as well.”

  Noah nodded and hefted one cooler out, set the second one on top and carried them both to his truck. “We can put them in the box or the back of the truck,” he said.

  “Box is fine.”

  “I’ll drive slow. That way you won’t have to worry about your baking getting squashed. Don’t want you to have to give anyone a discount.” He added a grin to show he was kidding, but she didn’t smile.

  While he hadn’t been in the same grade as Shauntelle growing up, he knew enough about her. Knew that she had a keen sense of humor and was quick with a comeback.

  But the weary-looking woman in front of him bore no resemblance to that fun, spunky girl. And he felt that he had contributed to the faint lines bracketing her cheeks and marring her forehead.

  He set the coolers on the ground by the rear of the truck, popped open the tailgate and slid them all in. He hopped on board in one easy motion and pushed them to the front of the box. He shifted his heavy toolbox to keep two of them from sliding around, though he was sure they’d be okay.

  Then he jumped down.

  “You’re really good at that,” the other twin said, her voice full of admiration.

  “Doesn’t take much skill,” he returned with a half smile. “But I’m used to climbing ladders and jumping off roofs.”

  Millie frowned in confusion. “What do you do?”

  “I’m a contractor. Carpenter,” he corrected.

  Millie nodded, her frown deepening. “Our uncle Josiah was a carpenter too. But he died when he fell down. My mom said his boss was a greedy man, and that’s why my uncle died.”

  Her innocent voice spelling out the reasons for Josiah’s death hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest.

  “I’m sorry about your uncle,” was all he said.

  At that moment, he happened to glance at Shauntelle. The sorrow on her face was replaced by a tightening of her lips, a narrowing of her eyes.

  He shouldn’t be surprised. During all the inquiries and investigations and follow-up by the various boards and organizations, he had occasionally run into Shauntelle’s parents and got a clear idea what they thought of him.

  But Shauntelle’s reaction bothered him more.

  He spun around and headed to the car to close the hatch just as Shauntelle walked in the same direction. They almost collided, and instinctively he reached out to steady her.

  For a split second, she stayed still, getting her balance before jerking her arm away. She ducked inside the car, coming out with two booster seats.

  “Do you want me to put those in the truck?” he asked.

  Shaking her head, she walked back to his truck to do the job herself. A few minutes later the girls were buckled in, the car was locked up—even though Noah doubted anyone would steal it—and they were headed down the road to Mrs. Fisher’s.

  The drive to Carmen’s place was quiet. What do you say when a young girl inadvertently accused you of being greedy and the cause of her uncle’s death? Trouble was, he felt it was true in spite of what the reports had said.

  Might-have-beens crowded into his mind, creating their own regret and pain.

  He eased out a breath, trying to ignore the woman on the seat beside him. Shauntelle sat as close to the door as physically possible, as if giving herself maximum distance between them.

 
“This is a really nice truck,” Millie said from the back seat of the crew cab. “Lots of room.”

  “I like the color,” the other twin said.

  “Red is Margaret’s favorite color,” Millie put in authoritatively. “She wants to paint her room red when we get our own house. But Mom said we can’t until the restaurant is finished and it starts making money. I want to paint my room pink.”

  “That sounds nice,” Noah said, going along with the conversation. Anything to break the awkward silence between him and Shauntelle.

  “So are you Mrs. Cosgrove’s son?” Millie asked.

  “Yes I am.”

  “Are you Noah Cosgrove?”

  “Guilty as charged,” he returned, then realized how that sounded. Too on the nose, he thought.

  Another beat of silence followed his comment.

  “Our uncle Josiah worked for you.” This came out sounding like an accusation.

  “Yes. He did.” Noah shot a quick glance in the rearview mirror at Millie, who sat behind her mother.

  She frowned, as if absorbing this information. Then she looked over at Noah. “You don’t look like an evil man.”

  “Millie, that’s enough,” Shauntelle said quietly.

  “But he doesn’t. He looks like a nice man and he’s helping us.”

  Shauntelle turned to the girls, and Noah caught a warning glance sent her daughter’s way. Millie got the hint and looked out the window.

  They pulled up to Carmen’s place and Noah got out, the girls’ innocent words hounding him. “What do you need?” he asked.

  “I’ll get it myself.” She sounded tired, so instead of listening to her, he got out of the truck as well and climbed up into the box.

  “Tell me what I should grab,” he asked, opening the coolers.

  “The muffins and the two loaves of bread from the box and the meat pie from the cooler. They’re marked with Carmen’s name.”

  Noah found what she described and handed them to her.

  Taking them, she turned and walked away. Noah got out of the truck box and watched her as she strode up the graveled path to Carmen Fisher’s house, her thick brown hair shifting and bouncing on her shoulders. She had an easy grace and presence. He remembered being vaguely aware of her in school.

  And then, one summer, it was as if she had blossomed, and she had really caught his attention.

  Trouble was he was dating Trista Herne, and Shauntelle was four years younger than he was. While that meant little now, in high school it was a vast gulf he couldn’t breach. So he kept his distance. And then, as soon as he had the diploma in his hand, he left. The first time he had come back was for his father’s funeral six years later. By that time, Shauntelle was gone.

  “That’s a cute house too,” Millie said, hanging out the window she had opened. Clearly she didn’t mind that he was “an evil man.”

  “It is,” Noah agreed. “It’s part of the T Bar C. The ranch foreman used to live there.” Noah adjusted his hat, dropping his hands on his hips as his mind shifted back to times he had tried to erase from his memory. Long days and nights working until he could barely stand. Fencing, building sheds, herding cows, baling hay and stacking bales. There was always work to do.

  He remembered one evening he had been baling in a field just past this house. The tractor broke down at the far end of the field. Terrified of what his father would say, he stayed with the tractor. Then Doug and Julie had come home early from their outing. They brought him supper, and while he ate, Doug repaired the tractor. Then he sent Noah home and finished the baling himself. His father, however, was furious that he had made Doug work on his day off.

  “Why doesn’t the foreman live there now?”

  “My mother doesn’t need a ranch foreman,” he said as he got back into the truck.

  “Why not?”

  “The ranch doesn’t have as many cows as it used to.” He wished his mother would sell them. She had to hire someone to feed the cows and the horses that she wouldn’t sell either.

  Noah suspected it was a way of recognizing the hard work his father had done to make up for the way Noah’s grandfather ran the T Bar C into the ground with his poor management. Though his father had struggled to bring it back to its former glory, low commodity prices had made it almost impossible. He worked like a dog and made sure Noah did as well. He’d died from a heart attack when he was feeding the cows. Noah often felt that the hard work, stress and his father’s personality had combined to cause his death.

  Shauntelle came back and got into the truck, giving him a tight nod. “Thanks.”

  “So you’re okay with stopping to see my mom?” Noah asked.

  “I can hardly complain,” Shauntelle said with a note of asperity.

  He sensed it was difficult for her to spend time with him, but she had no choice.

  They drove just half a kilometer back down the road and under the imposing gate of the T Bar C.

  “That’s an awesome gate,” Millie said, craning her head to get a better look.

  “It should be,” Noah said. “I helped build it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Took me and my dad two days and a lot of stress to get it up.”

  He stopped as he heard the bitter note that entered his voice. Too well, he remembered being perched on the top of the upright, reaching for the cross beam his father was raising with the tractor. The near miss as the beam swayed and almost knocked him off. The anger his father spewed at him even though it wasn’t his fault.

  No, the T Bar C held no memories he wanted to nurture.

  They drove down the winding drive lined with elm trees his great-grandmother had planted in a fit of optimism. To everyone’s surprise, they flourished and now created a canopy of shifting shadows that teased the sunshine filtering through.

  “Wow. This is beautiful,” the girls breathed.

  Then they turned a corner, and the log ranch house came into view.

  It was perched on a hill with a small creek flowing in front of it. A wooden bridge arched over it. Flower beds, in various states of neglect, stair-stepped up the side of the hill toward the imposing log house.

  “That’s the coolest house ever,” Margaret breathed, unbuckling and leaning over the seat.

  “Did you build it?” Millie asked.

  “No. My grandfather did. He was a carpenter as well as a rancher.” Noah shot a sidelong glance at Shauntelle to gauge her reaction. Though she had lived here most of her life, she had never been on the ranch, to his knowledge.

  Her eyes were wide and her mouth formed an O of surprise. Then, as quickly as that came, her features shuttered and her lips pressed together.

  He guessed she was comparing his place with her parents’, a place he had seen from time to time.

  And though his parents’ financial circumstances had nothing to do with him, he couldn’t get rid of a sense of shame.

  And, even worse, guilt.

  Chapter Two

  “Who all lives in that fancy house now?” Margaret asked, hanging over the front seat of Noah’s truck.

  “Just my mom,” Noah said.

  “That’s a big house for one person,” Millie said. “She must rattle around in it. That’s what my mom always says when she sees big houses.”

  Shauntelle wanted to reprimand Millie, but it would only draw more attention to her comment. Right about now Shauntelle was having a hard enough time stifling her own reaction to Noah’s place and his presence. She struggled with a mixture of frustrated fury with him and an older, traitorous attraction.

  Noah Cosgrove had always been one to make young girls’ hearts beat faster. At one time, so had hers.

  But he was older. Then he’d left, and her life moved on.

  Now here she was, a widow responsible for two children and full of plans for a future of he
r own. Roger had been a good man, but it seemed they spent most of their married life chasing after his dreams and plans, to the detriment of their family life and finances.

  She learned the hard way that it was up to her to make something of her life. She couldn’t count on anyone else’s help. Now she was determined to make a future for herself and her daughters by way of her restaurant. This would require all her energy and concentration.

  Besides, after what happened to Josiah, Noah was so far off her radar he may as well be in another solar system.

  Noah pulled the truck up in front of a double garage. “Home sweet home,” he said, but Shauntelle heard a puzzling tone in his voice. Sarcastic almost.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” he said, walking to the door.

  Millie was about to get out to follow him when Shauntelle caught her by the arm. “Stay here. Mr. Cosgrove just wants to say hello to his mother, and we should let them do that alone.”

  “But I want to see the house,” her daughter cried.

  “Doesn’t matter. Stay put.”

  “I want to see it too,” Margaret added.

  “Learn to live with disappointment,” Shauntelle said in a wry tone, though she was talking as much to herself as she was to her daughter.

  Part of her would have loved to see the inside of this very impressive home. She was always interested in floor plans and the layout of rooms. Someday she hoped to build her own house, though it would never approach the size of this place.

  She looked over the massive expanse of lawn that needed mowing spread out in front of the house, the flower beds that had seen better days and the older hip roof barn beside them. Beyond that were rail fences and pastures all flowing toward the mountains guarding the valley where the house was situated.

  It was a showpiece, that was for sure. However, no swing sets stood in the yard, no play center or sandbox. No sign that, at one time, a young boy had lived here. She knew Noah had been an only child, but still.

  Her parents’ yard still had the old tractor tire sandbox she and Josiah had played in, as well as the rickety swing set the girls liked to play on.