“I sure did. Here, Mom, can you peel the paper off this for me?”
Beth took the cupcake from him and did as he asked, but she was concerned that Mitchell wasn’t being polite to Tom. “What toys did Santa bring you?” she asked helpfully.
“I told you. A scooter.” Mitchell bit into the cupcake, sending a flurry of green crumbs down the front of his shirt.
“Seems like we unloaded a lot of other things, too,” Tom prompted.
Mitchell chewed and swallowed. “Yeah. Starla said I must have been a good boy to get so many toys. Can I really open my presents here after we eat?”
“Sure,” Beth said. Then, unable to hold back her irritation, she said, “Mitchell, honey, could you please stop kicking the table leg?” She was feeling the beginning of a headache.
The coffeemaker beeped, and Tom got up. He brought the coffee to the table and silently poured mugfuls for him and Beth before sitting down again.
“Mommy, how come you got a tree? You said we weren’t going to have one.”
“Tom brought it,” Beth told him, thinking that this would surely win points for Tom.
“We had a bigger tree at my dad’s house. It had lights that blink and lots more ornaments.”
Beth told herself that Mitchell was only five years old, didn’t understand that such comments were hurtful, and she busied herself dusting the crumbs off Mitchell’s front with a paper napkin.
When he finished his cupcake, a gooey bit of frosting was smeared over his upper lip. He swiped at it with the napkin she handed him. “I’m going to open my presents now,” he said, sliding down from his chair and starting toward the living room.
“Wait until I get there, please, and ‘Thanks, Mom, for the cupcakes,’” she reminded him.
“Yeah. Thanks.” He aimed a grin at her and ran out of the room.
Tom blew on his coffee. He didn’t say anything, and Beth felt that she needed to apologize for Mitchell.
“He’s tired,” she said. “And cranky. Richie let him stay up to watch Jay Leno last night.”
“That’s okay. Maybe I should have called before I came over.”
“No, you’re always welcome,” she said, at a loss to compensate for Mitchell’s rudeness.
“I’d better go,” Tom said.
“Wouldn’t you like to stay while Mitchell opens his presents from Santa and me?”
“No, I just wanted to make sure you were back safely.”
“As you discovered, we are,” she said, her tone a bit too bright. She stood when he did.
He squeezed her hand as she walked him to the door. In the living room, Mitchell was hopping impatiently from one foot to the other while he waited for Beth.
“How about if I call you later?” Tom said in a low voice.
“Good idea. Then you can tell me about the meeting you and Divver had with the high school principal.”
“It went well. He’s solidly behind the ATTAIN program and says he can find sponsors if our kids want to put on a rodeo next year. Not that a rodeo will ever take the place of high school football, but sponsoring one will be a way for these boys and girls to show off what they’ve learned.”
“We’ll talk more tonight,” Beth promised.
At the door, they ducked behind the wall that blocked them from Mitchell’s view and Tom kissed her. She rested her head against his strong shoulder for a moment before he slipped out the door.
“Mommy? Is that man going home?”
She went into the living room, thought how good it was to have her son back here in her own house. “Yes, sweetheart. But we’ll be seeing him again soon.”
“Oh,” Mitchell said before grabbing a present from under the tree and beginning to rip the paper off.
“And, honey, his name is Tom.”
Mitchell didn’t reply.
Beth sat down next to him on the floor and watched as he opened his first present.
“Oh, boy, Mom, this is great. I can’t wait to play with it,” he said when he saw the game she’d bought him on the day she went shopping for her teddy. He favored her with a cherubic smile before hauling another present into his lap. “So far, this has been the best Christmas ever. I must be the luckiest kid in the world!”
Well, he certainly was the cutest kid in the world. As Mitchell continued to express pleasure and delight over the presents she had chosen for him, she recalled why she loved being a parent. And not just any parent, but Mitchell’s mom.
TOM WAS PLEASED that Beth had invited him to her house for dinner the night after Mitchell arrived home. When he walked in, Mitchell greeted him with restrained friendliness and immediately exhibited more interest in playing with his new toys than in being sociable. After eating the delicious chicken stew that Beth had made, Tom and Beth cleaned up the kitchen together and the two of them went into the living room to talk.
Tom was full of news about his work at the ranch; a corporate sponsor had contributed a large amount of money for new tack, and Tom planned to buy it when he went to Amarillo next week.
“Divver’s leaving the outfitting of the tack room to me, since he’s got his hands full tearing down the old wooden corrals and putting up new metal ones. They’ll need to be finished before the semester starts and the kids arrive.”
“Do you have to go all the way to Amarillo to buy horse tack?” Beth asked. She was sitting at one end of the couch, he was at the other. They’d agreed that there would be no touching around Mitchell until the boy had time to get accustomed to Tom.
“A fellow I used to compete against in rodeos said he’ll give us a good deal. In fact—”he gazed at her steadily, the better to assess her reaction “—there’s an exhibition rodeo there that week. He asked me if I wanted to rope some calves.”
Beth blinked, and he realized that he’d alarmed her.
“I figured that your rodeo days were over.”
“The days when I rode bulls are far behind me, but calf roping—now, that still has appeal,” he said.
He’d told Beth enough about his rodeo days that she understood what was involved—the sleepless nights riding from one place to another, injuries that could sideline a guy for months, the harsh punishment on the body. He didn’t care to experience all that again, but he’d been practicing roping since he’d gotten back to town in the fall, and he’d be teaching it to the kids in the ATTAIN program.
“You ride bulls and broncos and all that?” Mitchell piped up from the other side of the room, where he was playing cars and trucks beside the armoire.
“I did, but it was a long time ago,” Tom told him.
“I wish I could ride bulls,” Mitchell said with a spark of admiration. “Horses, too.”
“Mitchell…” Beth began, and Tom knew that she was going to squelch that idea.
He winked. “You could learn to ride a horse, Mitchell,” he said. “I’d teach you.”
“He’s too little,” Beth protested.
Tom cleared his throat. “I was riding a pony when I was his age.”
“Could I learn to ride? Like a real cowboy? Really?” Mitchell’s eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Sure. Anytime your mom says it’s okay.”
“You don’t mind, do you, Mom?” Mitchell scrambled to his feet and went to stand beside her.
“It’s a useful skill,” she said, hedging.
“You like to ride,” Tom reminded her gently, remembering her confidence in the saddle.
“I didn’t learn till I was much older,” she protested.
“Jeremiah rides a pony. He told me so.” Mitchell was clearly envious.
“That’s right,” Tom said. “I taught him to ride a pony at the ranch. His name’s Captain, and he belongs to Amy, Divver’s daughter. Amy wouldn’t mind if you rode him. She’s into bigger horses now.”
“That is totally cool,” Mitchell said with delight. “Isn’t it, Mom?”
“Um, yes,” Beth said, sounding resigned. “It’s time for you to brush your teeth, son.”
“What about riding the pony?”
“Maybe,” Beth told him.
“I don’t have to go to bed right away, do I?”
“No, after you brush your teeth, you can come out and say good-night to Tom, and I’ll read you a bedtime story.”
“Okay,” Mitchell said. He had abandoned his trucks and cars, leaving them in a jumbled mess, and he galloped away, neighing like a horse.
Tom turned to Beth. “Mitchell would enjoy riding Captain.” He didn’t add that he hoped teaching Mitchell to ride would help him build rapport with her son so they could get to know each other better. This seemed not only necessary but right, if he was going to pursue a long-term relationship with Beth.
“I still believe he’s too young.”
“Isn’t his birthday soon?”
“January fourteenth. “She paused, looked away, then apparently decided to level with him. “I’ve told you how I worry that he’ll get hurt.”
Tom couldn’t help it; he broke their no-touching rule. He patted her hand where it rested on her knee, wishing he could run his fingers up the inside of her thigh.
“We talked about this, Beth,” he said patiently. “You don’t want to make him into a—” He stopped when he saw her forbidding expression.
“A sissy?” she provided.
“I was going to say that you don’t want to turn him into a child who is afraid of his own shadow,” he amended.
“Mitchell is a spunky kid,” Beth objected. “He’s not scared of the dark or monsters in his closet or any of the things that frighten some children his age.”
Tom hadn’t meant to provoke Beth, and he wasn’t in a mood to argue. “That’s good,” he said, backing off and thrashing around in his brain for another subject.
Mitchell galloped back from the bathroom, pulled in his imaginary reins and whinnied.
“Teeth all brushed?” Beth asked.
“Uh-huh.” He pawed at the ground with a foot that was supposed to be a hoof. Tom had to grin. He’d been a horse himself for one whole summer when he was seven.
“Well, pick up your toys,” Beth said. “What story would you like me to read to you?”
Mitchell whinnied again, then wheeled and galloped toward his room, where they could hear him rummaging around.
Beth leaned back in the couch and smiled at Tom. “I didn’t tell you about my day,” she said. “You won’t believe what happened. Zelma Harrison called and asked me to make up a new set of cornices, this time in dark green moire. She says she got a new bedspread for Christmas, and she’s going to redecorate her bedroom. Keep in mind that those cornices in your house were meant for her, and she didn’t take them, which could have cost me money. I haven’t decided whether I should charge her a larger deposit this time, demand the full price up front or turn her down flat.”
Tom was ready to voice his opinion, but Mitchell had returned and was now clattering around the room at full speed, making all the appropriate horse noises. Tom glanced at Beth, sure that she would again suggest to Mitchell that he pick up his toys, but instead, she merely waited expectantly to hear what Tom had to say.
He cleared his throat. Mitchell neighed, took a leap over the pile of trucks and cars and slapped imaginary reins. “Giddyap,” he shouted, working himself into a frenzy.
They had a momentary respite when Mitchell whirled and headed for the hall, and Tom hoped that the kid would continue into his bedroom, but here he was again, tossing his imaginary mane.
“Whoa, fella,” Tom said, attempting to inject some levity into his voice, but Mitchell ignored him.
Nonplussed, he realized that Beth was still waiting for him to reply to her question about the cornices.
“I’d insist that she pay me for them before I ordered anything,” he managed to say over the whinnying and neighing and galloping.
Beth put out a hand as Mitchell raced past. “Honey, aren’t you ready to go to bed? I’ll be in to read your story in a minute.”
Mitchell neighed a no and proceeded to trot up and down the hallway to Tom’s left.
Beth turned to Tom again. “Zelma even had the nerve to ask if I’d give her a discount on the fabric. I told her I wasn’t in a position to do that, since it had to be special-ordered.”
Tom didn’t catch all of that sentence because the noise reverberating off the wood floors and ceiling of the hall, which was furnished only with a long pine bench, was deafening.
Finally, he’d had enough. This lack of control on Beth’s part was more than he could take, and it was all he could do not to holler at the boy to knock it off. It was unclear to him how Beth could talk with all the racket in the background, and he couldn’t understand how she could have asked Mitchell to pick up his toys earlier but sit idly by while he blatantly ignored her request. If Tom were the parent of this kid, he’d lead him to the pile of toys, wait while he gathered them up and escort him to his room. Then he’d read the story, turn out the light and leave.
Since that didn’t seem about to happen, he stood and reached for his hat, which he’d left on the easy chair.
“I’ve got to go,” he said gruffly. “Got an early-morning appointment.”
Beth stood, too, her forehead creased in consternation. Mitchell, of course, was still being a horse. A very raucous horse.
Over the din, Beth said, “After Mitchell goes to bed, we could…” She nodded toward her bedroom.
For a moment, Tom wavered. To sleep with Beth’s fragrant hair tickling his face, one of her breasts cradled in his hand, was so wonderful. He liked waking up and cooking breakfast for her, surprising her with waffles one day, eggs the next. But he didn’t care for what was going on with Mitchell right now, and his instinct was to cut and run.
“Sorry,” he said gruffly, wishing he could tell her exactly why he was leaving. That, however, wasn’t an option. Someone else needed her attention, and that someone would clearly go to great lengths to get it.
Beth bit her lip, flashing the pink tip of her tongue for a moment, and that almost undid him. Then it was as if shades flapped down in front of her eyes, hiding the person he knew and loved.
The thought set him back a good bit. He had, without thinking, admitted to himself that he had begun to love this woman.
“Well, if you must go, you must,” Beth said, but he knew she was troubled about his abrupt leave-taking.
Tom paused at the door to caress her forearm for a minute.
“I’ll call you,” he said, and she squeezed his arm, too. He didn’t like to leave Beth like this, since she appeared so bewildered and so resigned. He read disappointment in her expression. And more.
“Good night, Beth,” he said, and then he was out the door, breathing in a huge draft of the crisp night air. Behind him, he heard Mitchell whinny again. The sound only made him feel depressed, a contrast to the customary happy feelings he had when he was with Beth.
He zipped his vest as he walked to the pickup. He was about to spend a long night in his solitary bed, and a definite chill hung in the air.
From the Farish Tribune:
Here ’n’ There in Farish
by Muffy Ledbetter
Guess who’s back from Oklahoma! Little Master Mitchell McCormick was seen helping unload presents from his mom’s, Beth McCormick’s, minivan the other day. Somebody else was helping, too, but I’ll let you guess who that might have been. (Hint: Red suit at Breakfast with Santa.) Mitchell went to visit his dad, Richie, and stepmom, the former Starla Mullins, in their new house in Timmonsville, Oklahoma.
In case you haven’t heard, Richie and Starla had a baby last summer. Proud grandparents are Corinne and Allen McCormick of Stickneyville and Billie Jo Mullins of Seattle, WA, formerly of Farish. Ava Starleen is almost six months old and sooooo cute! Starla is one of my very best friends, and she reports that Ava just loves her big brother, Mitchell.
Have y’all seen the new decoration in Gretchen and Wayne Morris’s living room window? If not, Ryder by and take a l
ook. (Hint: “You’ll shoot your eye out!”) Those of you who have enjoyed the movie A Christmas Story will get it right away. If you haven’t seen this ultimate feel-good film, run right out and get the video now.
I’m happy to report that the Hartzell Christmas Pageant did really well this year. Bernie Hartzell is considering putting on an Easter pageant, as well. Good for you, Bernie.
Did you go to the community carol sing on the courthouse steps? It was awesome, especially Teresa Boggs singing her solo.
Please call in news to my cell phone number, which you’ll find at the end of this column.
Till next time, I’ll be seeing you here ’n’ there in Farish.
Chapter Twelve
The morning after Mitchell pretended to be a horse, Beth settled him in front of the television set with one of the new videos he’d received for Christmas and started picking up the cars and trucks he’d left on the floor the night before. She knew she should probably repeat her request for Mitchell to put them away, but he was happily scooping Froot Loops into his mouth with his fingers, and she didn’t want to disturb him. Last night’s display of horsemanship had almost been too much even for her.
She was willing to admit to herself that sometimes she was at a loss about how to react to Mitchell’s shenanigans. Last night, she hadn’t wanted to suppress his creativity. But as his behavior progressed, she had been torn between wanting to clamp down on him, which might provoke one of his tantrums, and letting him continue. She was sure Tom had gone home because of Mitchell’s bad behavior.
After Tom had left, she’d finally and in desperation gone along with Mitchell’s horseplay, hurrying to the kitchen and getting a sugar cube, then using it to lure Mitchell to bed and allowing him to eat it while she read My Little Pony. She should have insisted that he brush his teeth again after eating the sugar, but she was so worn out by that time that all she did was tuck him in and kiss him good-night. He’d replied with a whinny, and she’d switched off the light.
Then she’d fallen exhausted into her own bed and gone to sleep. Alone.
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