“You normally just have her for weekends?” she asked. “Guess that’s the normal custody arrangement.”
Click shook his head. “No. I mean, I wouldn’t know.”
Her chest grew tight and heavy. “Did Pearl’s mom... Did she die?” she whispered, looking at the baby. Click had seen more than his fair share of loss.
He shook his head.
She was relieved, yet confused. Until the pieces fell into place. “You mean this is the only time you’ve had her—ever?” Tandy asked. It was the only thing that made sense. Click didn’t have that natural comfort level a father develops with time. Not for a baby this age. He was scared, uncertain, but doing the best he could. But why? He wasn’t the sort to turn his back on his obligations. Well, not the Click she’d thought she’d known.
His gaze fixed on his daughter. He cleared his throat. “Pearl’s mom is in rehab. She told me I was a father right before she left Pearl with me.”
He hadn’t known? And now, he was on his own? Caregiver to a baby he barely knew...
Tandy couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The thudding of her heart drowned out all other sounds. Why had the woman kept it a secret? Poor Pearl. She’d been robbed of so much time with her father. And Click. She glanced at him. He was so lost.
“You’ve got no help?” she asked, the answer on his face.
“I was coming to Lynnie. I figured she’d set me straight, show me what needs doing for Pearl. But now...” He shook his head.
Now Lynnie was gone. She swallowed, stunned by the burn of tears.
“There’s a lot to be done. When Pearl sleeps, I do what needs to be done. Repairs to the barn and fence. The horses... Horses need tending to. I can’t leave her alone.” He grinned at Pearl. “She’s busy, into everything.”
Tandy sat back in her chair, processing. Questions circled, so many questions. And yes, most of them weren’t relevant at the moment. Neither was how she did or didn’t feel about Click. Or how he did or didn’t feel about her. What mattered was this little girl. “Scarlett and I can help, Click.” She didn’t have to ask, she knew Scarlett would be on board.
“It’s not your problem,” he argued. “I’m not looking for a handout.” Click straightened in his chair, but it took effort.
She frowned. “It’s no handout. She’ll be the one that suffers when you collapse from exhaustion. This is for her.” She tickled Pearl’s cheek. “I can think of worse things than spending time with her.”
Pearl clapped her hands.
“Exactly,” she said. “Pearl approves.”
Click grinned, then yawned.
“You need sleep.” She’d never seen him so worn out.
He shook his head. “Gotta finish the patch of fence first. Damn goats are escape artists. Almost done.”
“It’d take a third of the time if you’d get some help,” she offered. “I could ask around, see if any of Uncle Woodrow’s ranch hands are looking for extra hours?”
“No offense, but I’m pretty sure your uncle wouldn’t want any of his people working for me.” One dark brow arched. “He hasn’t figured out what to do with me yet.”
Tandy agreed. “Not everyone works for my uncle. Or Mr. Wallace.” She paused then, curious. “What do you mean, what to do with you?”
“How to get Lynnie’s place. Since she left it to me. All of it,” he said. “Both Wallace and Boone have wanted the place so long, I’m worried it could get nasty.”
She smiled. Lynnie had done the right thing. He wouldn’t have expected her generosity, but he’d appreciate it in a way that few could. “What are they going to do? It’s the twenty-first century. No one’s poisoning water holes or rustling cattle anymore, are they?”
The smile he sent her way was devastating. How could a man look so vulnerable and so proud all at the same time? And the look in his eyes... His gaze traveled over her face, shifting into something else. He was wide awake now, his gaze falling to her mouth. She knew that look, knew what he was thinking and wanting. Her. It rippled over her, causing a full-body shudder.
“Ta-dee,” Pearl squealed, reaching for her. “Hi.”
“Hi, pretty Pearl,” she said, pulling her from her high chair. The toddler twined her arms around Tandy’s neck and rested her head on her shoulder.
“Ta-dee,” she said with a sigh.
Tandy held Pearl close, soaking up every ounce of affection. She stared at Click over Pearl’s head. “Lynnie’s given you a gift, Click. You can stay now, have a real home.”
She wasn’t prepared for the intensity in those blue-green eyes. Or the way her stomach tightened in response to his husky, “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” she repeated, confused. Surely he wasn’t having second thoughts because of her? She might not be a part of it anymore, but she wouldn’t take his dream away from him. She wouldn’t do that to Pearl.
“Da da.” Pearl reached for him.
He reached for Pearl, the brush of his hands against hers making her ache. She’d always felt cherished in his arms. He’d managed to chase away her doubt and uncertainty, made things steady and right. What she wouldn’t give to feel that way now. In that moment, she wished he still loved her. That she could trust in their love and know he’d always be with her. That she was strong enough to let go and brave enough to try again.
“Ta-dee. Da-gee. Yum-yum.” Pearl was chattering, pointing at things as she went. “Da da.”
“That’s me,” Click said, kissing her little fingertip.
This little girl had every right to a good life, full of love and stability. Lynnie might not have known about Pearl, but she’d wanted Click’s future to be secure. “You owe it to your daughter, Click. Give her a legacy she’ll be proud of.”
* * *
CLICK TRIED TO argue when Tandy followed him back to Lynnie’s place. He tried to argue when she told him to take a shower and go to bed. He tried to argue when she rummaged through the refrigerator, looking for something to make for dinner. But when she put Pearl on her lap and opened Lynnie’s piano, he didn’t say a word.
The wonder on Pearl’s face was awe inspiring. He leaned against the door frame, watching her tiny fingers hover over the ivory keys. Tandy played one song, then another. Pearl sat, her hands folded in her lap, watching closely. When the song ended, Pearl clapped and clapped. So did he.
“You’re supposed to be taking a shower. And a nap,” Tandy said. “Tell Daddy to go to night-night, Pearl. Say night-night, Daddy.”
Pearl shook her head, giggling.
“No?” Tandy said. “You want Daddy to make music?”
“Mew-sik!” Pearl said. “Da da.”
He laughed. “Tandy’s the musician, Pearl. I might be able to hammer out chopsticks.”
Tandy slid over.
“Da da,” Pearl whispered, clapping her hands again.
He sat, his weariness melting away when both Pearl and Tandy stared at him. “Here goes.” He held his hands over the keys, waved them in the air and shook his head.
Pearl patted his arm.
He nodded and started playing. He fumbled through it, turning it into a show for Pearl more than a serious attempt to produce music. Pearl was too delighted to care. And Tandy... She was laughing along with Pearl. “You’re up,” he said to Tandy, glad to be done.
Tandy played a song he’d never heard before, the notes soft and light and carefree. When she started singing, he and Pearl stared at her.
“Time for bed, little one, time to dream
Close your eyes, cuddle close, and sleep sweet
Rest your head, little one, rest easy
Sail away on white clouds, and dream deep.”
Tandy kept playing, her fingers coaxing the soothing melody from the piano keys. Click watched her fingers, her hands, the way her body swayed slightly to the music. And Pearl, Pearl looked at T
andy like she was an angel. Her bright eyes stayed on Tandy’s face, her little rosebud mouth mimicking Tandy silently. When Tandy played the song again, Pearl put her hand on Tandy’s arm.
Tandy’s smile wavered ever so slightly, reminding him of how hard this must be for her. He ached to comfort her, to hold her while she cried. She’d had no one to hold her while she grieved for their baby. He’d let her chase him away, leaving her alone with her mother—and he hated himself for it. Susan Boone had no heart. And he’d left Tandy in her care. If Tandy held on to her grief and guarded her heart, it was his fault as much as her mother’s.
Pearl relaxed against him, her little hand sliding from Tandy’s arm as she drifted off into sleep. Tandy nodded, shooting him a sweet smile when their eyes met. He turned Pearl into his shoulder and stood, carrying her across the parlor and down the hall to their bedroom.
He placed Pearl in her bed and stared down at her. Poor Pearl. One minute she’d had a mother, of sorts. The next, she had him. Did Pearl miss her? From what Georgia’s roommate had told him, she’d been a good mother—as good as expected for a drug addict. He could do this on his own. He had to. Hell, seeing the damage Tandy’s mother had done, he knew having a bad parent could be worse than having none. Would Georgia come back for her? Did he want her to?
He straightened, rubbing the names inked on his arm. It was pointless to wish for the impossible. That family—him and Tandy and Pearl—could never be. And yet, for one brief moment, he let the warmth of that idea wash over him. There would be so much love there.
He smoothed the blanket over Pearl and walked down the hall, listening to Tandy play. He took his time, wanting to delay the inevitable change that Pearl’s absence would bring. There was a gulf between them, so deep and wide, he didn’t see a way around it. Still, he was willing to try.
She broke off when he entered the room, pushing off the piano bench and looking at him. “How long will she sleep?”
He shrugged. “An hour. Maybe two.”
“So you can nap?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest—warning him away.
With no Pearl between them, all the things said and unsaid crowded in on him. But, maybe, things didn’t have to stay unsaid. He cleared his throat. Where the hell to start?
“I came here to help you with Pearl,” she said, as if sensing his thoughts. “You should sleep.”
He shook his head. “Not yet.” He drew in a deep breath, searching her face. “How’s the job?”
She relaxed a little, her gaze wandering out the front window. “I think I might have bitten off more than I can chew.”
He chuckled. “Doubt that.”
She arched a brow. “I don’t. I don’t know how the place has been functioning.” Her gaze locked with this. “But I’ll figure things out. And now you’re going to take a nap.”
“Haven’t had much adult conversation in the last week,” he said.
She nodded, a small smile on her mouth. “She’s smart. Soon enough, you’ll miss her gibberish. Once she starts talking, there’s no going back.” Her smile faded slowly.
“Nice to have company,” he said, watching her face. He’d missed her, so damn much.
She tore her gaze from his, tucking a strand of long blond hair behind her ear. “Toben’s a father, too. A son.” She paused, closing the lid on the piano. Her fingers stroked the wood with such affection, he was almost jealous. “Rowdy.”
“Great name,” he said. “Sounds about right, too, if he’s anything like Toben.”
Her smile was back. She loved her brother. But once their gazes met, that guarded awareness was there. Blazing. And Click couldn’t take it anymore. “Tandy, there’re things to be said—”
“No.” Her voice razor sharp, she threw up a hand.
“Tandy—”
“We’re not talking about the past.” The words were harsh.
He gritted his teeth. “Let me apologize.”
She shook her head, her eyes narrowing. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does, dammit,” he argued.
“You need to apologize so I need to listen?” She shook her head. “So you can feel better? Be able to let go and move on?”
He tore his gaze from hers, staring at the floor. If he thought she was happy, that she’d moved on, he’d let it go. But she hadn’t. And neither had he. Maybe together they could find a way back to living without bearing so much pain. He sucked in a deep breath and stared at her. “Have you?” He crossed the room, needing to be close to her. Yearning for her touch. “I can’t. I don’t want to.”
Her eyes went round. “Click...” She seemed to wilt, her skin paling.
“I’m sorry I left you.” He gripped her shoulders. “I was out of my head, losing Amelia. Losing you.” He pulled her close. “I didn’t know what to do or say to keep you.”
Tears filled her eyes but she blinked them back. “Click.” His name, from her lips, gutted him.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he whispered. “You know that.”
She was shaking her head, her eyes pressed shut.
“It wasn’t, Tandy,” he pleaded, his hold tightening. “Dammit. There was nothing you could have done.” No matter what the doctor had told them, the damage had been done. Susan Boone’s question had echoed in that hospital room, “What did she do to make this happen?” He’d stared at the woman, speechless. But the question planted a seed, one that took hold of Tandy’s grief and twisted it into something hard and crippling. His father had been a bastard, but Tandy’s mother was a real-life flesh-and-blood monster. “No matter what your mom said, you have to know. I never thought it was your fault, never blamed you. You hear me? But I blame myself for leaving.”
She tried to pull away, her eyes still closed tightly.
The pain on her face almost shut him up. But if he didn’t say it, she’d never know. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay until you believed that, too.”
She was shaking.
“I hold on to that time because what we shared was real.” He smoothed her hair from her shoulder, savoring the slip of silk against his fingertips. “She was real and perfect—”
She covered her ears, shaking her head frantically. “Stop. Please stop.” She shrugged away from him. “What do you want? You need me to tell you I believe you? Fine, I do. You want me to tell you I’m not mad at you?” She waited, desperation lining her face. “I’m not mad. I told you to go, to move on. You did.” She choked on the last word, more potent that a slap to the face.
He stared at her, her anguish hard to watch.
“What words do I need to say to make you stop talking about her? I can’t.” She shook her head and stepped away from him. She pressed a hand to her chest. “I can’t.” She slammed out the front door.
He’d pushed too hard, too fast. Instead of making things better he’d made them worse. But her wild desperation tore his heart out. Had she ever grieved their baby girl? Made peace with her passing? Or had her guilt stolen that from her, too? He should have kept his damn mouth shut and held her close. He should have told her he loved her. And that he always would.
Chapter Ten
“Should hit soon,” Dr. Edwards said, peering out the front window for the eleventh time that morning.
She nodded, ignoring the old man.
The last couple of weeks had seen a smattering of electrical storms and howling winds. While she’d been wearing herself out doing her and Doc Edwards’s work, helping out with Pearl while avoiding Click, and lending the occasional hand—and guitar—at Fire Gorge, Dr. Edwards spent hours staring out the window proclaiming the imminent arrival of a funnel cloud. But, thankfully, not one tornado.
“It’s not tornado season,” she murmured, opening the file drawer.
Dr. Edwards chuckled. “It’s always tornado season hereabouts, missy,” he said. “You listen to an old man and get
your fanny home, and soon.”
She looked at him. “We have patients waiting.” She glanced at the clock. It was barely two in the afternoon.
“Those damn sirens always go off too late,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. “John Mason’s whole barn was sucked clean up into a twister before the damn sirens went off.”
She glanced out the window. “When was that?”
“Oh, let’s see, back in eighty-eight, I guess.” He shrugged.
The sky was red with dust, the wind rattling the glass in their panes. But that didn’t mean much. “What makes you think we’ll see a tornado today?” It was the same question she’d asked at least five times in the last two weeks. He always had a different reason, each one more interesting than the last.
“My left knee,” he said.
She frowned. That was disappointing. “Well, let me know when it’s about time and I’ll—”
“Doc Edwards,” Charlene called out. “Tommy Juarez just called, from over in Alpine. Said they’ve had two touch down in the last couple of minutes.”
He nodded. “You know the drill.”
Tandy didn’t. “What’s the drill?”
“Charlene sends them all home,” he said. “Tommy wouldn’t have called if they weren’t coming this a’way. You get yourself on home, you here? We got this.”
She sighed, closed the drawer and looked at Banshee. He stood, staring out the window. That got her attention. She made sure all the kennels were secure before grabbing her keys. “See you tomorrow,” she said on her way out the door.
The town looked closed up tight as she and Banshee climbed into her truck and headed to her cabin. They were pushed this way and that on the road, the gusts shaking her nerves more than once. Still, she didn’t want to get caught out on a flat road with nothing to hide behind. It was only as they were pulling into their drive that she realized they had no storm cellar.
Cowboy Lullaby (The Boones 0f Texas Book 6) Page 11
