Feeling helpless, she merely raised a brow. He must feel this way all the time.
Taylor immediately started to cry again. "My leg hurts!"
Mitch met Heather's gaze, his confusion obvious. "Here, let me get a bandage on, and you can go rest for a while."
"Can I watch a video?"
"Sure, as long as you're sitting quietly."
Over his shoulder, Taylor gave Heather a smug look and allowed her tears to subside.
Heather did a slow burn. "It's still lesson time," she said. "I planned videos for after lunch."
Mitch straightened. "Couldn't we bend the schedule just a little to accommodate today's problems?"
"May I have a word with you alone?" she asked.
"Can I have a cookie, too?" Taylor asked.
Mitch glanced from his daughter to Heather.
"They haven't had lunch yet," she supplied.
"Excuse us for a minute," Mitch said. "Girls, you sit here while I talk to Heather."
Wondering all the while what she'd gotten herself into, Heather followed him into the living room. He led the way, as though he'd taken charge of this situation, and his assumption ruffled her.
"It seems to me that constantly bending the schedule—and the rules—is the main problem here," she said in a low, controlled voice.
His expression darkened. "Don't get me wrong," he said. "I know they're not angels. I haven't known what to do with them most of the time. But I think they need a little flexibility."
"Maybe it's stability they need."
His eyes seemed to soften. And his voice, when he spoke again, was laced with a combination of vulnerability and tenderness. "Can't there be both?"
Four
Heather took a deep breath. She was a stickler for details, she knew that. She functioned best with order and discipline. Her children had always done fine under her leadership. But they had seemed to blossom more since they'd been at the ranch—since their days weren't consumed with rigorous schedules. Perhaps there was a compromise.
She drew herself up and looked Mitch in the eye. "All right."
She led the way back to the kitchen. "We'll take a break and have some free time," she said to the children. "You can watch a video or draw or anything you want until lunch."
The kids looked at each other and grinned cheerfully.
Mitch gave her a grateful smile, then turned to have a few words with his girls. Within minutes he headed back outside.
By lunch Heather's nerves were still on edge. She prepared sandwiches and sliced fruit and ushered the children out the front door for a picnic on the side lawn, where they could be entertained watching the workers.
"I don't like tuna," Taylor complained, peeling back her bread and wrinkling her nose.
"Me neither," Ashley agreed. "I want skettios."
"I'll get some skettios for later in the week, but for now, we're having tuna."
"I don't like it," they chorused.
"Then don't eat it."
They looked at one another and blinked. Taylor looked back. "You're not gonna make us eat it?"
"Nope."
Taylor nestled onto the checkered tablecloth as though she'd won a battle. "What do we get, then?"
"There are chips on your plate and apple and orange slices."
"That's not a good lunch."
"Everyone else is eating it." Heather demonstrated by taking a bite of her sandwich. Patrick and Andrew were watching the exchange with interest while they chewed. Jessica already looked as tired of the girls' complaints as Heather felt.
Ashley stared, agape. "But we'll be hungry!"
"I guess you will."
Taylor folded her arms over her chest and pouted.
The afternoon went a little more smoothly, because she'd purchased Veggie-Tales' videos none of them had seen before. The kids watched and laughed, and at snack time, nobody complained about raisins, graham crackers, or juice.
"Now it's time to pick everything up and put it away," Heather announced.
"I'm not pickin' stuff up. My leg hurts." Taylor ensconced herself on the sofa.
Her leg had been fine all afternoon, Heather noted. "Everyone who helps, gets a treat," she coaxed, thinking that would bring the girl around.
The others picked up puzzles and toys and rolled up the sleeping bags they liked to lounge upon, then Heather presented four of the five children with a heart-shaped treat from her private stash of Godiva chocolates.
Taylor scowled, pursed her lips into a pout, and glared at Heather. "You're mean. I don't like you."
"I'm sorry you feel that way. You had the same chance as the others to help clean up."
"I'm just a kid."
"You're not just a kid. You're a very bright and capable young lady." With a negative attitude.
"What's 'capable'?"
"It means you're smart and good at doing things."
Apparently the compliment from someone she considered mean confused her. She leaned back on the aged sofa, refusing to watch the others finish their candy. Probably planning a dramatic tale with which to regale her father, Heather thought. "My daddy will buy me a treat of my own."
While Patrick and Andrew took naps upstairs, Heather gave the three girls a stack of books, put on a tape of relaxing rainforest sounds, and with one ear zeroed on the chatter, familiarized herself with the blueprint program Mitch had given her on disk.
It was as easy as he'd assured her, and she enjoyed experimenting with the different kitchen scenarios. Before long, she'd narrowed it down to two floor plans. She would show them to him for his input on cost-effectiveness.
Heather rearranged the room again, making space for the washer and dryer to be enclosed. She checked the clock, saved her work to a disk, and went to check on the kids.
Taylor sat on a worn chair and slid down until her chin reached her chest. "I don't wanna be here."
Her heart softened toward the troublesome child. She picked up a book from the floor and perched on the sofa. "I guess this is different from the way things used to be for you, isn't it?"
Blue eyes assessed her skeptically.
"I'll bet you miss your grandmas, huh?"
Taylor allowed a fractional nod.
"And our mama," Ashley said from the other side of the room. "We miss our mama, don't we, Taylor?"
One side of Taylor's mouth moved up in what might have been agreement.
"Did your mother read to you?" Heather asked, hoping to find a way to connect with the little girl.
"Yes, she did. She read to us all the time. Every night. Good books, too, not dumb ones."
"Would you like it if I read a story to you?"
Taylor's expression remained unchanged.
"I would!" Immediately Ashley came and seated herself right beside Heather, delightedly worming her way until she was nearly in her lap.
Heather met Jessica's look of amusement and they shared a grin. Obviously Jess recognized what Heather had been trying to do and sympathized.
Heather pulled the eager, loving child into her lap and opened the book. So easy. It was so easy for this twin to ingratiate herself, to show her need for closeness and a maternal touch.
Taylor watched from her position on the chair. She didn't seem to resent her sister's gregarious ability to tuck herself into an embrace and enjoy herself, but surely her thoughts were confused. Heather got confused just watching her.
Jess came to sit beside them and listen to the story, too. Taylor listened without expression.
When the boys awoke, Heather took the children outdoors for the rest of the afternoon. They sat for a while on the grassy bank of the pond, watching dragonflies and tossing sticks into the water. The pounding of hammers drew her gaze to the house where Mitch and his three-man crew, having removed the old roof and torn off the back porch, were framing the new one.
The house was located in an ideal spot, with a view of the Crazy Mountains off to the northwest. Years ago there had been a garden on that same s
ide of the house; Heather remembered picking beans in the morning sun.
A cyclone fence would be ideal for a family home, she mused. Children could be left to play safely inside with a swing set and a sandbox. Mentally ticking off the remaining weeks, she wondered if a few playground toys wouldn't be a good investment toward keeping her sanity.
The hired men worked until nearly eight, then headed toward Whitehorn. "You're welcome to the shower," she told Mitch. "And I have some supper saved if you'd like it."
"I brought a change of clothes, so I'll take you up on that." Minutes later he returned with damp hair, his skin darkened from a day in the sun.
"I wanted to show you the plans I came up with today." She pointed to the pages she'd printed and placed on the table. She filled a plate from the dishes in the oven.
Mitch studied her floor plans. "I like this one a lot. But you know, if we sort of combined the two and added on just a couple of feet out that way—" he gestured with a thumb "—we could include a shower in the laundry room. And a door from outside. That way Mr. Rancher could come in after his long dirty day and not even have to walk through the house."
"That's a practical suggestion," she said after a moment's thought. "I like it a lot, and it would really add to the appeal of the place. How much?"
He jotted a few columns on the back of the paper, tallied them and gave her a figure. "Ball park," he said. "Nothing fancy—molded shower stall."
She nodded. "Let's do it."
Mitch dug into the food she'd placed before him. It was an unaccustomed pleasure to have a lovely and attentive young woman serve him his supper. He'd missed this normal kind of life.
Heather moved around the kitchen, her motions graceful and efficient. He pictured her in a power suit, sitting in an office in a high-rise building. What a change this must be for her. "How did your day go?" he asked. "The rest of your day, anyway?"
She hung a dish towel to dry. "Fair, considering I have no idea how to get through to Taylor."
She told him about the problems she had with her, and about Taylor's reactions. "Don't be surprised if she asks you to buy her a treat."
He swallowed and pushed the plate aside. She was knocking herself out here, and as always, his kids weren't cooperating. "Thanks for being understanding about the video today."
Sitting across from him, she folded her hands on the tabletop and leaned forward slightly. "I'm trying to be understanding. But the girls need a sense of guidance and direction from you. I need to know that you're going to back me up on my techniques."
She was getting too close to identifying his dilemma and his feelings of inadequacy. He folded his napkin and got up to pour himself a cup of coffee. He sat back down, avoiding her eyes.
"Sugar?" she asked.
"What? Oh, yes, thank you." He stirred a spoonful into his cup. There was nothing she could tell him about his kids's acting out that he didn't know. "I know their behavior is. . .embarrassing."
"Is that what you call it?"
He set his lips in a firm line, feeling defensive. "I've done the best I've known how since their mother died. Children shouldn't have to be without a mother. They were so small. . ."
Her lovely eyes were filled with compassion, not condemnation. "I'm sorry they lost their mother."
Mitch shrugged, not knowing what to say, how to explain. His uncertainty and mismanagement was another embarrassment, and he didn't particularly want to reveal his insecurities to this woman who seemed to have her life and her children so neatly pulled together. Life's situations weren't always black-and-white, cut- and-dried, and he'd already told her more about himself than he was certain she cared to know.
He understood her reasoning, he really did. He just didn't want to lay down boundaries that he would once again end up moving. It was less stressful to give in immediately than to try to take a stand and have his determination broken down with cries and tears that made him feel guilty and rotten. And that was how it always ended.
"Children need limits, Mitch," she said softly. "Neither parent nor child benefits from letting the child determine the rules."
Her calm reasoning had begun to irritate him. She had no idea what their life had been like. It was not her place to sit in judgment over his parenting. "I can handle my kids," he said a little too defensively.
She placed both hands flat on the table. "Not when you're working, you can't. If I'm going to be their caregiver, then you've got to trust me with some of their discipline."
"As long as it's reasonable," he replied.
"Are you suggesting I'm being unreasonable?"
"I didn't say that."
Heather ran a slim hand through her hair in obvious frustration.
If she'd had the option of changing her mind about keeping the girls, she probably would have, he thought. He knew how exhausting they were, what a challenge. His own sense of failure was so great, his words were hollow even to his own ears.
"Just remember," she said finally, "that your choices can make it harder for me—for all of us—day by day. And your girls have a whole lifetime ahead of them to try to get along with other people who won't be catering to their every whim."
"They're only six," was all he could think to say. There were years and years ahead for them to have to deal with the world.
She stood and waved a hand toward the other room where the kids played, as if dismissing him.
Mitch headed in that direction and returned with his troublesome daughter. "Taylor, tell Heather you're sorry for being difficult today."
"This isn't necessary," Heather said.
He studied Taylor patiently.
"Do I have to?"
"Yes."
Taylor took him seriously for a change. Another scene was the last thing he needed or wanted, and Heather was trying.
"Sorry," she said, stubbing the toe of her tennis shoe on the floor with a series of squeaks.
"Thank you for apologizing," Heather replied. "Let's just forget today and start over. Okay?"
Taylor took her father's hand and stared adoringly up into his face. "Will you buy me a treat on the way home?"
He wanted to run before Heather could see any more of Taylor's manipulations. Mitch reached out his other hand for Ashley. "It's late, let's get going. Thank you, Heather. We'll see you in the morning."
"All right," she replied, and saw them out the screen door. "Good night."
"Are we, Daddy?" Taylor inquired. "Are we getting a treat now?"
He led them to the borrowed ranch truck, telling himself Heather was right. He'd known it all along, but hadn't been able to put discipline into action, because he'd been thinking wrong. Letting them get away with murder wasn't doing them any favors.
He saw to it that they fastened their seat belts, and climbed in behind the steering wheel.
"Daddy, I want some ice cream."
"Taylor, you didn't mind Heather today, like I asked you to." He took a deep breath and started the truck. "I don't think you deserve a treat."
He could almost hear her blinking in consternation in the dark interior. "But I wanna treat. The others got chocolate."
"Did you help pick up the toys like they did?"
"Nuh-uh, Daddy," Ashley supplied. "She din't want to."
"Is that right, Taylor?"
She didn't reply. She started to cry. Sitting on the side by the door, she slumped down in the seat as far as she could go in the seat belt. "Heather's me-heean. She's a ta-hattle tale."
"No she's not. She's responsible for you while I'm working."
"She's not my boss."
"She has my permission to be your boss while you're there with her."
"I can't sleep tonight without ice cream. My tummy's hungry."
Feeling more sorry for Ashley than for himself, Mitch flicked the knobs on the dash, finding the radio dead. It was going to be a long ride. And a long evening until his children fell asleep.
Five
Heather wondered while she bathed the k
ids and dressed them for bed, what had taken place in Mitch's truck on the way home, it was a long drive to have to listen to squalling if he'd refused Taylor's request.
Jessica read a book to the boys and Heather listened, then tucked them all in. Patrick and Andrew were sharing a room and a bed. Andrew still slept in a crib at home, so she'd purchased a mesh guard for the side of the mattress to keep him from falling off.
The toys they'd brought were neatly stored in laundry baskets and cardboard boxes, and their clothes lined the drawers of the antique chest.
Jessica seemed to consider their stay a pleasant diversion, though she'd mentioned missing her school friends who'd occasionally spent the night. She had rearranged a small room into her own space, and had spread her teddy bear collection across a window seat.
The children had adjusted to the visit amazingly well, actually enjoying the slow pace and the outdoors.
"Couldn't we bring some of Grandpa's horses back to the ranch?" Jess asked as Heather spread the sheet over her and tucked it under the mattress.
"I don't have time to take care of horses," Heather told her for the third time. "They take a lot of work and eat a lot."
"We could try, couldn't we?"
"I suppose we could if we wanted to be ranchers. But our home is in San Francisco. We'll be going back in a few weeks."
Her daughter tucked her favorite teddy bear beneath her chin and rubbed his synthetic fur. "I saw other kids riding horses when we were coming back from Billings. It sure looks fun."
A pang of guilt rose up in Heather and made her think twice. After all, bending her plans to give her daughter harmless pleasure was no big sacrifice. She could take a stab at being flexible. "I suppose I can arrange for you to go riding while we're here. Would you like that?"
Jess nodded and grinned.
"Want the door open a crack?"
"No. I kinda like the light from the moon shining in the window."
Heather kissed her forehead. "Good night, sweetie."
"'Night, Mom."
Heather went to her room, changed into a sleep shirt, and picked up a book. After a few minutes of trying to concentrate, she got up and wandered down the silent hall.
The Magnificent Seven Page 4
