by Jane Porter
Brock couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Dumbfounded, he stared at his boots, unable to think or speak. Were his kids really afraid of him? His gut churned. “Mack, I’ve never hit you. Never even spanked you. How can you be afraid of me?”
Mack’s shoulders lifted and fell. “You don’t smile or laugh or do fun stuff with us. You just get mad at us. A lot.”
Brock closed his eyes at the rush of words. It was a lot to take in. Hard to process it all. He exhaled slowly. “So I don’t do fun stuff, and just get mad. Is that it?”
Mack nodded.
Brock felt like punching something. Instead he drew a deep breath, trying hard to sort out everything he was hearing. “Can you explain the stuff? What stuff are you missing out on?”
“Everything. Going to the movies and having friends over and taking trips together somewhere fun. The only time you’ve ever taken us anywhere was when you took us to boarding school.”
Molly opened the bathroom door to shout. “And Christmas! We don’t ever have Christmas or Valentine’s Day or Easter or Fourth of July. We don’t do holidays or anything fun because you don’t believe in fun. It’s against your religion apparently.”
Brock clapped a hand on his head thinking his brain was going to explode. “That’s ridiculous. You are both being ridiculous. Knock it off and grow up. You’re eleven, almost twelve—” he stopped midsentence, hearing himself.
Grow up.
He’d just told his eleven-year-olds to grow up. It’s what his dad always used to say to him and look how close he and his dad were today....
Brock exhaled slowly. If Amy were here, she’d be disgusted with him. If Amy were here...
... none of this would be happening.
The kids would have Christmas and Valentine’s Day and all the other days. They’d laugh and play because Amy believed in laughing and playing.
That’s why he’d fallen in love with Amy. She made him want to laugh and play and without her....
Without her, life was just hard. He missed her. He needed her. Not just for her laughter, but for her support.
Raising two kids was hard.
Brock had been doing it a long time on his own but God help him, he was tired and lonely and alone.
He swallowed with difficulty, aware that the twins were staring at him, anxious and worrying about what would happen next.
His eyes burned. His chest ached. He loved his children, he did, but he was beginning to realize his love might just not be enough.
“Go down and get a snack if you’re hungry,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
In bed, in her room, Harley heard almost every word.
She didn’t want to hear but her room was just above Molly’s and the voices carried far too easily in the air duct. She couldn’t remember when she last felt so conflicted.
The kiss... shouldn’t have happened. But oh, the kiss, it’d been amazing. And she shouldn’t be thinking about Brock, or feeling sorry for him, or the kids. She shouldn’t be involved and she shouldn’t care.
But she did.
She didn’t want to worry about them, but she felt so terribly protective.
It was a mistake coming here. It was a mistake getting attached. She was so very attached.
Leaving would hurt so much.
And she was leaving the day after tomorrow.
Harley closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, trying to block out her thoughts, her feelings about returning to her family.
She couldn’t. She wasn’t ready to return to California.
A knock sounded on her door.
Harley left her bed, slipped her robe on over her nightgown and opened the door.
Mack stood in the hall with a plate of yesterday’s sugar cookies and a glass of milk. “We brought you a snack.” He smiled at her and yet his dark eyes looked anxious. “We hope you didn’t get in trouble with Dad.”
Harley took the cookies and milk. “Thank you for thinking of me, and no, I didn’t get in trouble with your dad.”
“He’s not really as scary as he seems,” Mack said under his breath.
“I don’t think he is scary at all.”
“You don’t?”
She shook her head, smiling. “No. I think he’s just tired and a little bit lonely. I have a feeling he still misses your mom.”
“She died when we were babies. We didn’t even know her.”
“But your dad loved your mom, and every time he looks at you, he thinks of her.” Harley set the cookies and milk on her nightstand. “He loved her a lot.”
Mack shrugged. “That’s what he says.”
“You don’t believe him?”
“Oh I believe him. But I kind of wish he didn’t love her so much.”
Harley blinked. “Why?”
“Because maybe then Dad would have married someone else and we would have had a mom.”
Oh.
Oh, baby boy.
Harley’s heart ached. Here he was, eleven years old and wondering what it would have been like to have a mom.
She reached for Mack and gave him a swift hug. These kids were stealing her heart, bit by bit, piece by piece. “Don’t give up hope,” she whispered in his ear before releasing him.
His eyes watered as he looked up at her. “I won’t.”
Harley went downstairs the next morning at five-thirty. It was the time she started her day but when she reached the kitchen the lights were already on, the coffee made, and the fire burning brightly in the big fireplace, which meant that Brock was up already. She wondered if one of the cows had been calving, or if he was just taking care of paperwork.
At six he walked through the kitchen to refill his coffee. She was making a breakfast casserole and she kept chopping the ham and Swiss cheese, trying to appear nonchalant but her pulse was racing in her veins and she wanted him to say something to help her make sense of what happened last night. That kiss had been so hot and intense... and so damn confusing, too.
She hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning, playing the kiss over and over in her head, all the while wondering what he’d say or do this morning. Now it was morning and she just needed to know if he was angry, disappointed, or maybe just regretful.
She dumped the cheese and meat into a bowl and started dicing the green onion.
“Harley.”
She looked up to see Brock at the island, hands on the counter.
She set the knife down on the cutting board. “Yes?”
“Did you in any way encourage the kids to go chop down their own Christmas tree?”
Harley wiped her hands on the skirt of her apron. “No.”
“You didn’t know they were tree hunting?”
“No.”
“And if I told you I didn’t approve of all this Christmas fuss, and didn’t want them to get caught up in any more fuss, what would you say?”
“I’d ask you to let us have one more fun day of fuss before I leave tomorrow.”
“But you wouldn’t go behind my back? You wouldn’t do something I wouldn’t approve of?”
“No.” Harley reached for the knife and the loaf of French bread. “I wouldn’t do that. I couldn’t do that.” She turned the bread and began slicing. “I don’t believe in breaking up families, and it would devastate me if I came between you and your kids.”
Brock stared at her a long moment. “You were married twelve years.”
“Almost twelve years.”
“Did you like being married?”
She paused slicing, her knife suspended in mid-air. She didn’t know how to answer that. She’d liked parts of marriage. Parts of it had been so hard. She hadn’t expected all the arguing. They’d fought over everything. Mainly money, and then family, sex, control. But always about money. He didn’t like budgets and saving. She’d been raised to be frugal, raised to bank your money, not spend it.
And then the discovery that David wanted out. He’d fallen in love with someone else.
“We we
re separated at the time my husband and kids died,” Harley said quietly, turning the loose bread slices sideways to cut them into strips. “No one knew that we were struggling. At least, I’d never told anyone in my family that David wanted a divorce. I couldn’t.” She looked up at Brock. “I didn’t want a divorce. Maybe it wasn’t a perfect marriage, but it was my marriage, and David was my husband, and we had three beautiful children. And I lost it all because he went behind my back, ignored me.” She gave her head a small shake and returned to cubing the bread. “So no, I would never defy you. Not unless it was life and death.”
Brock’s dark head inclined. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
Harley worked hard to stay busy all day, and worked even harder to stay out of Brock’s way, so when the kids were at loose ends in the early afternoon, and Harley had caught up on her chores, she bundled up in layers and headed outside to find the kids, her pockets full of carrots and charcoal briquettes and an extra scarf to help them build a snowman.
At first the twins laughed at her, claiming they were too old to make snowmen, but when Harley started rolling snow around to make a big snow ball, they suddenly joined in, competing to see who could make the biggest ball and before she knew it, they were throwing snow and pushing each other into snow and chasing each other around the yard.
Harley screamed with laughter as Molly shoved a glove full of snow down the back of her coat, and inside her shirt. “That’s cold,” she shrieked, dancing from foot to foot as she swiped at the snow, trying to get it out.
The snow wasn’t going to come out. It was already melting and making her wet and cold, which meant the only thing left to do was give Molly a taste of her own medicine.
Harley made a big snow ball, ducked behind one of the pine trees and waited until Molly was whizzing snow balls at Mack and then dropped her snow ball right on top of Molly’s head.
But instead of laughing, Molly fell apart and stormed off, marching into the house.
Harley felt bad when Molly left. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she said, brushing snow from her gloves.
“You were just playing.”
“She didn’t like it.”
“Molly likes to make the rules and be in charge. If she’s not, she has a hissy fit.”
Harley shot him a quick side glance. “Does that bother you?”
“Most of the time, no. Every now and then, yeah. She doesn’t realize that she wins because I let her win. I just don’t care enough to always fight.”
“That’s very mature of you.”
He shrugged. “It’s just a survival thing. Uncle Troy always said you got to pick your fights or you’ll be like Uncle Trey, serving time for fighting the wrong folks.” Mack saw her shocked expression and grimaced. “Yeah. I know. It’s bad.”
“This is your dad’s brother?”
“Yeah, and Uncle Trey was our favorite uncle, too. He used to live in Marietta so we’d see him a lot. But he’s been in jail a long time now.” Mack added a note of warning. “But don’t mention it to my dad. It makes him really upset. Uncle Trey was like Dad’s best friend.”
The wind swept through the trees, blowing snow from the limbs as they started walking back to the house.
Mack peeled off his gloves wet and tugged off his hat. “I get mad at Molly sometimes,” he said, “but she is my best friend.”
Harley smiled. “You’re lucky you have each other.”
He nodded. “Yeah. But it’s going to be weird in January.”
Harley glanced at the boy. “Weird, why?”
“Because I don’t know what’s going to happen with the Academy.” They’d reached the back porch and took turns scraping snow off the soles of their boots. “I don’t want to go back, not without her.”
“But Molly’s going back—” Harley broke off, seeing Mack’s brow furrow and his eyes darken. “Isn’t she?”
“They kicked her out.” Mack’s lips compressed. “Permanently, this time.”
“What did she do?”
He sighed. “Everything.”
Harley shivered inside her coat. “She’s been in trouble before?”
“Yes. They warned her that next time they’d expel her, but that’s what Molly wanted. She doesn’t like being away from Dad. She thinks Dad needs us here, home, so she... acts out. Does stupid stuff.” His dark head lifted, his hair shaggy and thick like his father, his dark eyes his father’s too. “She’s not bad, though. She just gets so homesick.” His shoulders twisted. “I do, too.”
Harley heard the dogs bark in the distance. Brock must be heading toward the house. “Your dad doesn’t know, does he?” she asked.
“No.”
“He needs to know.”
“Yeah. But I don’t know how to tell him. He’ll just get mad.” Mack sighed, expression troubled. “Seems like he’s always so mad.”
“I think your dad doesn’t know how to handle the fact that you and Molly are growing up. I also think he’s worried that he’s going to make a mistake as a dad, and do the wrong thing.”
“The mistake was sending us to the Academy.”
“It won’t get any easier by not telling him. Better to break the news and get it over with. You’ll feel better when you tell him.”
He grimaced. “I don’t think so.”
She laughed and ruffled his hair which was icy cold. “He loves you, both you and Molly, so much. You have to believe that. You have to give him a chance. Now let’s go in and get into dry clothes, then you find Molly, make sure she’s okay, and I’ll start making some hot cocoa. Sound like a plan?”
She was at the stove, monitoring the milk in the saucepan when footsteps sounded on the back porch and Brock entered the kitchen.
“I’m making the kids hot chocolate,” she said, skin prickling as Brock approached the stove, glanced down into the pan. “Would you like some?”
“Hot chocolate?” he repeated.
“Yes, with marshmallows and whipped cream and chocolate shavings.” She smiled at him, feeling nervous and shy. She’d shared an awful lot this morning and now she wished she hadn’t. Only thing to do now was keep it professional. “Or I can keep it simple. Just cocoa if you prefer.”
“I’ll take some whipped cream,” he said, adding a log to the fire before dropping onto one of the stools at the counter. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
She felt her cheeks warm. “It’s not too much trouble.” She checked the milk to make sure it hadn’t started to boil and then retrieved another mug. After burning the pies yesterday she didn’t want to scald the milk today. But it would be a lot easier to concentrate if Brock were somewhere else.
“Want to call the kids?” she asked, staring down at the simmering milk, gauging the tiny bubbles.
“No.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. He practically filled the island, his big arms resting on the counter, his shoulders squared. “The cocoa is going to be ready soon.”
“But it’s not ready yet,” he said mildly.
“It will be soon.”
“Soon, but not yet.”
She glared at him. “You’re being difficult.”
“According to my kids I’m always difficult. And mean. And determined to make them unhappy for the rest of their lives.”
She hadn’t meant to laugh. She hadn’t even known she was going to laugh but the gurgle of laughter slipped from her and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.
“It’s not funny,” he said, and yet his eyes were smiling at her.
“No, it’s not.” Her lips twitched as she took in his big strong body, his black gleaming hair and his dark eyes in that ruggedly handsome face. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t sound sorry at all.”
Her lips twitched again. “I’m trying to sound sympathetic.”
“You’re not trying very hard.”
“I’m also trying not to tell you I told-you-so.”
“Again, not trying very hard.”
He was too good-looking when he smiled. Much, much too good-looking.
“Don’t do that,” she said, trying to sound severe.
“Do what?”
“Be all friendly and sexy—”
“Sexy?” he pounced on the word, black eyebrows rising.
“Because from now on we are keeping things professional.”
“Professional,” he repeated.
Her tummy flipped and her pulse quickened. “Platonic.”
He said nothing just looked at her from beneath his dark lashes, his expression lazy, sultry, knowing.
He remembered how she’d kissed him last night. He remembered how she responded.
Harley flushed. “I’m here to do a job and that’s the only reason I’m here—”
“Harley—”
“I’m serious. I’m the housekeeper and cook—”
He was up off the stool and at her side, yanking the sauce pan with the boiling milk from the hot burner even as the milk bubbled up and over the edge of the pan all over the stove.
“Damn,” Harley cried. She could tell from the scorched smell that she hadn’t just wasted the milk, she’d burned the pan. She looked up at Brock and jabbed a finger in his chest as he was standing far too close. “This is your fault. None of this would have happened if you’d just gotten the kids like I told you.”
Brock stared down into Harley’s bright green eyes, seeing the sparkle of anger that made her eyes light up and her cheeks flush. He liked this side of her, feisty and fierce, her finger pressed to his chest as she took him to task.
He’d always admired intelligent women, and Amy had been one of the smartest girls at Marietta High School, testing off the charts, and earning several full-ride scholarships to prestigious universities. But Amy hadn’t wanted to leave Montana. She loved Montana and Brock too much to leave either, so Brock and Amy both attended school in Bozeman, earning degrees together, graduating together and settling down on their new ranch, with Brock to work the ranch and Amy to work in Marietta in the commercial banking division for Copper Mountain Savings & Loan. She’d been on her way to work when her car was broadsided.
