Forever Mine

by Jennifer Mikels

  In retrospect, she accepted that, when he’d left that night and she’d felt as if she would die from heartache without him, it hadn’t been his fault. It had been her own. She’d actually believed that since she loved him, he would love her back. She’d been naive, foolish. She’d been like her mother, believing if she wished something to be true then it would be.

  “You’re Austin?” Jack asked.

  Could he see himself in their son? Most people claimed Austin looked like her. He had her coloring, the same dark eyes, the thin nose. But she also saw Jack in him, in the smile, the shape of his face, the high cheekbones, the hint of handsomeness that would one day develop from his boyish good looks.

  Clearly at a loss about a stranger knowing his name, Austin cast a troubled, puzzled expression back at her.

  “This is Sam’s son, Jack McShane,” Abby told Austin. “Remember, he stopped his truck last night for us.”

  “It was spooky.”

  Jack grinned at the child. He had eyes like Abby, warm and expressive.

  How could Jack look at Austin and not see? Abby wondered. She supposed that was silly thinking. But she sensed she would know Austin was hers even if she met him suddenly after years of separation.

  Jack offered his hand to the boy. “It’s nice to meet you, Austin.”

  With that handshake, Abby knew he’d won Austin’s favor by treating him like a grown-up. Her heart twisted at the sight of Austia’s small boy’s hand enveloped by his father’s large, callused one. Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh.

  “Mom said you’re a rodeo champion. That’s really neat, Mr. McShane.”

  “Call me Jack.”

  A pleased expression broadened his youthful grin. “Thanks. Got to go.” He darted a look at Abby for approval. “Okay?”

  “Yes, it’s okay.”

  In a flurry of motion, he scurried around Jack and dashed across the gleaming hardwood floor toward the door.

  “One-thirty,” Abby called out as a reminder. Her words hung in the air. Austin was already out the door.

  “What was his hurry?” Jack asked.

  He really looked wonderful, Abby thought, discreetly taking in his well-broken-in and well-scuffed cowboy boots. Dust-shrouded jeans clung to his lean hips and followed the hard contours of long legs. A plain leather belt with a large silver buckle held his blue work shirt in place.

  “Before coming to breakfast, I signed him up for the supervised activities.” She’d also secured the name of an employee to babysit in case she wanted an evening to herself. “They’re having the kids pan for gold today,” she told him. Under the supervised care, the children could learn not only about Native lore, rocks and crafts, but also how to swim and horseback-ride.

  “Sounds as if he’s settling in. What about you?”

  Nervous, Abby drew a deep breath while he pulled out a chair across the table from her. “It’s nice to be back.”

  “Still inhale caffeine?” he asked, noting she’d poured another cup from the carafe on the table between them. She used to consume a day’s worth of coffee before nine.

  “I do better now.” She turned the humor on herself. “I eat a token breakfast of toast. To set a good example.”

  He matched her smile. He knew it was dumb, but he was having a devil of a time remembering she was a mother. She looked as fresh-faced and young as she had the last time he’d seen her.

  Abby raised her gaze to Sam who had come into the dining hall and now stood beside their table.

  “Morning.” He smiled at her, but his words were for Jack. “I forgot to mention earlier that there’s a ranchers’ meeting here next week.”

  Jack said nothing. Getting involved in ranch business didn’t interest him. He wouldn’t stay, not ever.

  “If you come, it would give you a chance to see everyone again before the wedding,” Sam reminded him.

  Sam McShane had never bowed to anyone. It gave Jack no pleasure that his father was tiptoeing around him. What he hadn’t said but what had come through clearly was that neighbors and friends would expect him to be there. In their minds, the Double M was his ranch, too. “I’ll be there.” For appearance’s sake, to save Sam from embarrassment, he’d do what was necessary. What he’d never do is forget what his father had done.

  “Fine.” Sam delivered another smile before leaving them, but Abby had noticed the look of relief that had swept over his face. What had happened between this father and son? she wondered.

  “Do you want the blueberry or apple pie?” a server was asking Jack

  “Blueberry.”

  Abby knew that he was an early riser no matter what time he went to bed. At daybreak, he’d probably had a full breakfast. “Who’s the new cook?” she asked when they were alone.

  “Wendy.”

  “Really?” Abby had worked side by side with her, waiting on tables. She’d been a freckled-face waitress with a winsome smile who’d had a terrific crush on Guy. She’d also been the never-give-up type.

  “She’s Guy’s wife now. She supervises the meals that come from the kitchen to the dining room. An old-timer named Dugan handles the cooking chores for the ranch hands.”

  “She and Guy married?” Abby remembered the lean wrangler with the quick grin, a buddy of Jack’s. Guy had seemed just as unwilling as Jack to settle down. Back then, he’d humored the girl who’d been several years younger than him. “Wendy was tenacious,” she said.

  “Guy learned that. They got married about four years ago.” He, too, liked the petite blonde with her wholesome good looks. They’d become friends quickly, probably because they had something in common; they both cared about Guy. “They had a little girl last year.”

  As he looked up from the pie and chuckled, Abby traced his stare to a bright-faced blonde who’d just come through the kitchen’s swinging door. “Wendy!” Abby was already standing, rushing toward her for a hug. “Oh, you don’t look any different.”

  Wendy pulled back but held on to Abby’s hands. “You, either. I could hardly believe it when Guy told me you were here, that Laura was your aunt. She’s just great. We all really like her.”

  Abby was glad to hear that her aunt was being welcomed by so many people who were important to the ranch. “I heard you’re a mommy.”

  While beaming at her, Wendy ran a dust-floured hand down the front of the white apron covering her jeans. “You, too.”

  “Yes, me, too.”

  “I wish I could stay and talk, but—” Wendy pulled a face. “I have to go back in the kitchen. We’ll have to get together again. I want you to meet Jodi.”

  “Your little girl?”

  “She’s beautiful,” she said unabashedly.

  Just being with Wendy made her feel twenty-one again. “And you can meet Austin.”

  Wendy laid a hand on Abby’s shoulder and patted it gently. “Your son’s one step ahead of you. I’ve already met him.”

  “You have? When? We’ve only been here since late last night.”

  “He needed a doughnut at six this morning. He came into the kitchen, clutching his stomach and insisting he would faint without one.”

  Abby rolled her eyes. No wonder he wasn’t hungry at breakfast this morning. “He’s going to be an actor.”

  Wendy laughed and stepped back. “Later.”

  “Yes.” Abby settled on her chair again and turned to Jack. “It’s wonderful seeing her. Are any of the others who used to work here still around?”

  Relaxing, Jack stretched out long, denim-clad legs under the table. “A few. But there are a lot of new faces. When I called Sam a few weeks ago, he complained about the turnaround. Some of them hire on, then can’t hack the heat in summer, or the bugs, or the dust. You know.”

  Abby couldn’t help smiling. Having lived all her life in a city, when she’d come to the Double M eight years ago, she’d been one of those people who’d needed a period of adjustment.

  “What about your aunt? Do you really think she’s going to be happy here?”<
br />
  His question bothered her. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.” Hunched forward, he took a hearty bite of pie. “Run it by me again. Sam met your aunt through you? Is that right?” he asked.

  “At a horse auction in Texas. Aunt Laura lives there. Austin and I were visiting her. I saw Sam at the auction and introduced him to Laura. Eight months later—here we are.”

  Jack sort of smiled. “She has horses?” He’d gotten the impression that Laura was more comfortable on the cushy seat of a luxury car than on a saddle.

  “No, she doesn’t. But she likes them.”

  Jack’s doubts strengthened. His father and Abby’s aunt sounded ill suited for each other. He remembered when Abby had first come to the ranch. She’d moaned about missing her once-a-week-outing at the movies, her nightly walk to the coffee shop, her Saturday mornings window-shopping.

  She’d liked everything Jack hadn’t. He’d liked everything she hadn’t. She wouldn’t touch a steak, his favorite. He wouldn’t stick a fork in a rice bowl of her favorite, teriyaki chicken, much less use chopsticks. He never drank coffee, rarely went to the movies, thought shopping a waste of time. She had no idea how to two-step, couldn’t stomach jalapeno peppers and had never been on a horse.

  But he’d been crazy about her.

  Before the summer had ended, she was horse-back-riding, he was drinking coffee with her and they were two-stepping at the local hangout.

  Abby lifted her eyes from her coffee cup. “Was that all you wanted to know?”

  Jack cut short more reminiscing thoughts. “What does Laura do?”

  After one last stir, Abby removed her spoon from her cup. “Do?”

  It occurred to Jack that Sam might be viewing life through an infatuated haze. “Work. What kind of work does she do?”

  “She owns a boutique in Houston that she plans to sell.”

  Even the way she lived contradicted Sam’s. This was none of his business. What Sam did stopped mattering to him years ago, but... No buts, he berated himself.

  “You don’t like my aunt?” She asked the question, but had a hard time believing it. Her aunt was a people person. She had a mild temper, rarely ever getting angry. She liked yellow roses and old Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals. She liked spinach enchiladas. And she liked people who appreciated what they had in life.

  “I like her,” he replied. That was the truth. Laura was easy to talk to, lovely, almost sweet.

  Abby sipped the last of her coffee. “You have doubts about them, don’t you? You think this is a mistake.”

  “What I think doesn’t matter.”

  Why didn’t it? she wondered. Why had he distanced himself from his father? She remembered when Sam and Jack had been as much friends as father and son. Perhaps because he’d started the conversation, she allowed her own misgivings to surface. “My aunt does seem blindly euphoric,” she admitted.

  Abby looked out the window at the desert. Would her aunt be happy living way out here? It might be fun for a vacation, but what about day in and day out for the rest of her life? “Instead of considering how different her life will be when she marries and lives here, her biggest concern is how many tiers to make the wedding cake.”

  “What’s that chicken dish called that she wants Wendy to make?” he asked, remembering a conversation he overheard between Sam and Wendy early this morning.

  Abby brought her gaze back to him. “Chicken Kiev.” A frown settled on her face. Painfully, Abby began listing differences. “Laura stays up late. Sam goes to bed early, doesn’t he?”

  “At ten.”

  “Laura’s on her way out the door at that time.” Abby had called her aunt often enough after putting Austin to bed to learn that her aunt was leaving for a gallery opening or party.

  As a small frown line formed between her eyebrows, Jack thought she looked adorable. “A night of fun to Sam is having a barbecue at a neighbor’s.”

  “That’s good though.” She sounded hopeful. “My aunt loves parties.”

  Jack couldn’t help being skeptical. Not all parties were the same. “In some penthouse apartment. Not outside with the dust and bugs and paper plates.”

  He made her laugh with his exaggeration, but then, he always could. “I know for a fact it isn’t that unpleasant.”

  He wanted to keep the moment light. “They don’t sound like a match made in heaven, do they?”

  Abby heard more tease than criticism in his voice. “I’d like to believe it won’t hurt them that they’re so different. Sometimes opposites attract.”

  “Sometimes.”

  The softness in his voice made her look up. He’d moved his hand, hadn’t he? Yes, she decided. It was definitely closer. Her eyes locked on his. How easy it was to be with him. But this time she wouldn’t let heat fog her mind. They’d been so different. He’d thrived on thrills, new places, new faces. She hadn’t wanted to flutter like a butterfly from one place to another. She’d wanted stability, a house of her own, a place to let roots grab hold.

  Was she remembering all the differences? Jack wondered. With movement nearby, he looked away. “Here’s someone else you know,” he said to her.

  Curious, Abby swiveled a look over her shoulder and saw another face from the past. “Ray.” She bolted to a stand as the ranch foreman came close. He’d been Sam’s right-hand man for thirty-five years. Guy’s uncle looked tired. He also looked enchanted with the toddler in his arms, Abby thought.

  “Well, look at you.” Grinning, he scratched at his gray beard, then curled one arm around Abby’s shoulder to draw her close for a hug.

  “It’s wonderful to see you, Ray.”

  “This is Guy and Wendy’s little one. Jodi.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too,” Abby said, touching one of Jodi’s chubby cheeks.

  “She’s a real scooter,” Ray said proudly about his grand-niece.

  Abby ran a hand over the little one’s soft dark hair. “And the apple of your eye.”

  Jodi pushed her small, stuffed teddy bear at Abby.

  Jack laughed, and standing now, opened his arms to her. “She thinks everyone should want that motley thing.”

  Ray transferred the child to Jack. “Gonna walk with me and see that colt?”

  “Might as well.” He skimmed Abby’s hand, then stepped away.

  She struggled for a smile. Pain, physical pain, swelled in her chest as she stared after him with Guy and Wendy’s child in his arms. In self-defense, she rushed a reminder. What happened hadn’t been entirely her fault. She’d have told him about the baby if he hadn’t left so suddenly.

  Abby drew in several long, deep breaths as the memory of that last night closed in on her. She’d been stunned when she learned he’d left. She’d walked away, numb.

  When she’d reached her room, she’d wept. For him. For herself. For what she wanted and couldn’t allow herself to have with him. And for their baby inside her.

  For too many months after leaving Arizona, she’d thought about Jack. Too many times, she’d nearly called the ranch to get news about him. Too often, she’d searched newspapers for his name among the winners at some rodeo.

  Then, as their child had grown within her, she’d made herself face reality, and had stopped wishful thinking. Motherhood had forced her to give up dreaming. She’d had a child to think about, to be responsible for. Since then, for eight years, she’d made a life for her and Austin without Jack. Two weeks with him now would change nothing.

  Chapter Three

  Three days passed, and Abby couldn’t shake a feeling of discontent. She spent another afternoon baskmg in the sun poolside. But the lounging around made her edgy. She blamed the mood on idleness. She wasn’t used to so much time for herself. She was a working single mother. She loved her job at the newspaper, writing special interest stories, but her life was usually hectic.

  Dressed, not knowing what else to do, she strolled along the path at the back of the lodge that led to a pavilion and rows of picnic tables where a
western barbecue for tourists would take place on Saturday night.

  She supposed part of the problem was Jack. Of course, she was uneasy being around him again. She’d felt a twinge of old feelings when she’d been with him earlier and that bothered her. For years, good sense had led her, then the moment he came into her life again, showed her a little attention, she was that young girl once more. And seeing him with a child in his arms had been unnerving.

  Annoyed with herself, she began to walk back to the lodge. It was silly to start doubting herself now about the decision she’d made almost a decade ago. She’d done the right thing. She and Austin needed a man who would always be there for them, a forever kind of man. That wasn’t Jack. It would never be Jack.

  Nearing the playground area, she caught a glimpse of her son climbing over a corral fence with one of his friends.

  “Mom! Hi, Mom.” His face slightly sunburned from an afternoon beneath the Arizona sun, he barreled toward her while his buddy ran up the lodge steps.

  Austin deserved more than Jack would offer. Long ago he’d declared “no marriage, no kids.” He didn’t want to be a father, she reminded herself for good measure.

  “I came in second in the go-cart race,” Austin said.

  Abby smiled at him. “That’s great.”

  He delivered a hug, then went on excitedly. “An older boy won it, but I had lots of fun.”

  She’d taught him that, she reflected, pleased that he understood he wouldn’t always be a winner. What mattered most was that he did his best, that he had fun. As a single mother, she’d fretted about carrying the roles of mother and father. Eventually she’d resigned herself with the same advice she’d given her son. All she could do was her best.

  Austin continued to chatter while they ambled inside the lodge. “Then we had a water fight with squirt bottles.”

  She’d guessed some similar activity—her blouse was damp from being pressed against his soaked T-shirt. Before they left Boston, she’d never doubted that he would have fun while he was at the ranch. She’d remembered her own joy here, once she’d adjusted to her new environment. How could a person wake to the fresh country air, hear a rooster, ride a horse beneath a summer’s sun, and not feel a connection with the land? Some of the most wonderful days of her life had been here.