For her mother.
For her.
Because, as the women they were, the women they’d been born to be, there was no other choice.
* * *
“SO, BRO, THAT’S one hot babe you’ve got staying with you,” Bryant said. Spencer had stopped to tell his right-hand man that he was taking the kids to school. Bryant, who’d been after Spencer to take a look at some new side-by-sides for hands to use to check fence line, had invited himself to hook up the trailer to the back of Spencer’s truck and ride along.
He’d talked Spencer into purchasing two of the all-purpose off-road vehicles. Which had used up more of his cash than he’d have liked. There was still a bundle put away. But that was all the security his kids had, and he didn’t like dipping into it. Ever.
“She’s not staying with me,” he said now, still brewing over the side-by-side matter. Maybe he was being too much of a stickler by refusing to buy anything on credit. Maybe Bryant was right and he needed to loosen up a bit.
“You put her up in your old house...”
With a sideways glance at a man he wanted to punch on a regular basis—mostly because Bryant knew Spencer too well—he shrugged.
If he overreacted, Bryant would be on it like a newborn calf on her mother’s teat.
What a night they’d had. The city woman had not puked as he’d been half expecting—hoping?—and she’d actually been a bit of a help there, toward the end. For a second...
“You got nothing to say for yourself?” Bryant’s words prodded him. But not as much as the other man’s grin. “You know when you say nothing, you’re just telling me that I’m getting to you.”
There came that urge to punch again.
“I’m not going to feed your lurid and completely drama-filled and ludicrous imagination,” Spencer said, focusing on the road. He was kind of looking forward to getting the new vehicles off the back of the trailer he was pulling and giving them a go. So they’d be ready for a spin when the kids got home...
“She’s in that house because it’s the nicest one on the ranch.” As it should be, since, as Bryant said, it had been his.
He’d built it himself when he and his mother had decided it was time for him to have a place of his own. He’d moved back into the big house only after his mother had passed. The year before he’d married Kaylee—another city girl.
And the biggest mistake of his life.
“And be a little more respectful, would you?” he continued, because Bryant had a way of putting him out of sorts like none other. “You don’t go around referring to a successful television producer and star as a hot babe. Next thing you know, Justin will be calling her that to her face.”
His son adored Bryant—a lifetime cowboy if ever there was one—which mostly pleased Spencer no end. Justin was one of them.
He was also young. Impressionable. Had an overabundance of energy. And no mother.
“Point taken,” Bryant said. And then turned a wicked grin on him. “But just between me and you...she’s hot.”
He didn’t agree. “If you like that type of woman, maybe,” he allowed so Bryant wouldn’t think he was holding out on him. And start thinking he had something for auburn-haired model types.
Although...her hair was almost as long as Tabitha’s. Perhaps the woman could give him a hint about the morning tangles...
With an eye on meeting his goal of a winceless morning for his little girl, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.
“You like that type of woman.” Bryant’s words dropped to the floor of the truck with such force Spencer could have sworn he felt it.
He wasn’t going to validate them with an answer.
“All kidding aside, Spence, we both know what type of woman gets to you. I’m only saying that if you keep it light, joke about it, she’s not going to do a number on you.”
Though he’d cooperated because Spencer had asked him to do so, Bryant had been against him signing the contract with Family Secrets from the beginning. Was this why?
He gave his best friend a quick once-over.
“No worries, bro,” he said, feeling easy again. He sat back and put the pedal to the floor as they crossed miles of empty California desert. “Glamorous women might be tempting, but Kaylee cured me of ever...and I mean ever...wanting to be with one again.”
He spoke with total confidence. The second his wife had left her dust behind her as she’d driven off the farm—leaving him with full custody of their two-year-old twins—he’d been cured of any attraction he might have had.
Glancing at Bryant one more time, he grinned.
It was good to know that he had a friend—more like brother—who had his back.
CHAPTER FOUR
“JUSTIN! JUSSSTIIIIN! YOU come out of there right now.”
In the middle of spooning a batch of chocolate chip cookie dough onto a tray in one of the kitchens on her newly staged set, Natasha froze.
Her staff, including Angela, had all been dismissed to other tasks. At the moment, “staff” meant a handful of techies, two camera operators and her stage manager/right hand/assistant. All of whom—except for Angela, who’d driven back to Palm Desert—had been sent off to town to squeeze in what R & R they could before working almost around the clock for the next few days.
Filming the show on location was taking more out of all of them than they had expected. She had to make sure they enjoyed their lives, too.
Losing employees was not something she took lightly.
The Family Secrets crew were her family. And...
“Justin, I mean it. Come out now.”
The first command had come in the form of a stern whisper. The second in a more stern, loud whisper. The identity of the commander was a mystery.
Whoever Justin was, or wherever he was, remained unknown to her, as well.
But she had a theory.
She’d heard that Spencer Longfellow had a couple of children. And the whisperer was definitely of the child variety.
From what she’d understood—and she’d been pretty clear about gaining complete understanding on this point—the Longfellow children were the only human minors on the ranch. She’d have chosen to film elsewhere if that were not the case. And had almost chosen to move on down the road when she’d heard about the rancher’s kids.
While she had nothing against children, Natasha needed to be able to work undisturbed. And to have her contestants and staff able to do the same. A lot was at stake for the winner of the show. Her show offered external economic value to the winner, and to contestants as well, and it was paramount that she provide a fair competition environment.
Filming on location was already going to create certain levels of stress and inconvenience, and they couldn’t have added interruptions from little ones.
“Justinnn. I’m telling you.” The voice was just above a whisper now. And closer. “Daddy said to stay out of this barn. Period.”
Other than the voice, she heard nothing. No movement. Shuffling. Breathing. Or any other indication of life. Hair tied back, she wiped a hand on the full-body apron covering her jeans and black Lycra pullover. Thought about calling the children out, giving them a warning and sending them on their way.
A mental flash followed right on the heels of that thought. A picture of her mother all alone. She shook it away.
Hoping that if she ignored the interlopers, they’d mind their father and vacate the barn, she continued to scoop spoonfuls of batter from bowl to pan. She had a system. One pan’s worth of cookies was cooling on foil, one pan was baking, and she needed to have the third ready to go in the oven when the others came out. Efficient.
Technically, she was checking out the kitchens. Testing the equipment. Making certain that everything was in place, worked and was fully stocked so that each contestant had an equ
ally fair chance.
Normally that meant something simple. Prepared by someone on staff. And it had been that day, as well. For the first six kitchens. The last two hadn’t been ready—some last-minute electrical hookups—and she’d sent her staff on to enjoy their free afternoon and evening.
That was technically the situation. And all true.
But also true was that today she’d needed comfort. And was taking it in the form of chocolate chip cookies.
With one eye on the timer and the rest of her attention on the bowl, Natasha figured she’d finish panning her cookie dough with about ten seconds to spare. More foil was laid out, ready for the cookies coming out. She could see it in her peripheral vision.
Except...something was wrong with the symmetry.
She gave the foil-covered counter a full-on glance.
And noticed a cookie missing from the far corner.
Only one.
Split between two children? Or had Justin glommed it all for himself?
She’d never had a brother. Wasn’t up on little-boy things.
But...she’d known two mothers with sons recently. Contestants on her last two series. And had been drawn to both the mothers and their sons.
Been personally touched by them. By their stories...
Shaking her head, Natasha finished spooning dough. In spite of her hurried efforts, the timer went off before the spoon was sitting in an emptied bowl. But only a second before.
Transitioning trays was easy. Mitts on both hands, one out, one in, close door, set timer. And then, with freshly baked tray still in hand, she faced the counter.
Two cookies were now missing.
* * *
“JUSTIN? TABITHA?” SPENCER hurried from the back door into the yard. He’d been later than he’d expected, coming in from checking on the calf. Fifty percent of calf deaths within the first forty-five days of life came from birthing difficulties. Getting enough colostrum from the mother’s milk—which provided the antibodies a calf needed to survive—had to happen within the first twenty-four hours. And Ellie’s calf wasn’t nursing enough. He’d left Bryant tube-feeding her colostrum.
“Justin!” He raised his voice as he ran into the yard. He’d missed the school bus dropping the kids off. They knew to leave their backpacks in the hall and go immediately to Betsy if he wasn’t there.
The backpacks were in the hall. “Tabitha?” He was on his way to the cabin Bryant and Betsy shared, but his number one man had already told him that the kids weren’t there. He’d called Betsy’s cell the second Spencer had noticed the time.
“I’ve been all over the yard.” Betsy ran up to him. “Over to the tree house, and down by the creek.”
“Would you mind going up to the house?” he asked now, his chin tight as he fought back the thread of fear piercing his heart. If something happened to those two... “Just stay there in case they return? Or call or something?”
His kids didn’t have cell phones. But they were going to. Flip phones. With no data capability. Just so they could call him.
“I’m going to check the other barns,” he told her, knowing as he did so that the kids wouldn’t be there. Not together. The barns were off-limits unless they were with Spencer or Bryant, or had permission from one or the other.
Justin might get sidetracked by something and disobey him. Tabitha...never.
There were six big barns within walking distance of the main house. He headed toward the horse barn first. Tabitha wanted her own horse. Bad.
He was going to have to take care of that. Sometime. When she was big enough that the thought of her falling off didn’t choke the breath out of him. She’d asked him again that morning how old she had to be.
He’d given her his standard answer: “Older than you are now.”
Nodding at Will, the twenty-one-year-old who kept up the stables for him and fed the horses Spencer boarded to help make some extra cash, he walked up to the stall Will was mucking out. “You seen the kids?” he asked.
“Nope.” Will kept right on raking. “Not today. But I heard about a foal that’s going to be available for sale,” he said, giving Spencer an over-the-shoulder glance.
“I’m not in the market for a foal.”
“She won’t be ready to ride for at least another year,” Will said.
He had to find his kids. Not talk about horses. “If you see the kids, tell them to get back to the house, pronto,” he said on his way out.
“My grandpa says you were riding by the time you were five!” the young man called.
Spencer ignored him. Because he had his children’s safety on his mind. And because he was not ready to risk Tabitha’s life on a horse. No matter how good a trainer Will Sorrenson might be turning out to be.
The tractor barn was empty of human life. He took a turn from there and, at a jog now, went down the row of cottages—some empty, some occupied—that housed married cowboys. And on to the bunkhouse. Justin had been known to wander in there a time or two, in spite of Spencer’s strict instructions that he not do so.
If he’d taken his sister in there, he was going to get the first hiding of his young life.
The bunkhouse was empty, too. As it should have been. Most of his men were out on the range this week—their absence scheduled purposely to coincide with filming.
And that was when it hit him. He’d told the kids that absolutely, under no circumstances were they to go near the outer barn that had been changed into a television studio for the next six weeks.
But they were seven. And it was TV.
Not sure if he was praying that the kids were there or not, he sped up, his boots kicking up dust on the dry ground as he switched course.
“Today I’m giving you my best peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” Cocking his head, Spencer picked up his pace even more as he heard his daughter’s voice coming out loud and clear from a location that was still some distance away.
A mixture of stunning relief—they were safe!—and tense disappointment—they’d not only disobeyed him, they’d involved the one place on the farm he wanted them the least—flooded him. No one had prepared him for the emotional roller coaster of parenting.
“I have the best bread—white—and I have two pieces of it...” He’d always served his kids wheat bread because it was healthier, but Betsy had white bread at home, and when they ate there...
His step grew heavier, frustration growing right along with dread. He’d heard that the Family Secrets crew had gone into town for the afternoon and evening—and had been relieved to have the place to himself. If Tabitha had found a way to make a mic work, he could only imagine the damage Justin had done.
Was doing.
“I have peanut butter—just the butter part, no peanuts.”
She liked it smooth.
“And jelly—we use grape because Daddy likes it best, not jam with the lumps in it.” The note of authority in her childish voice was growing in leaps and bounds.
Spencer started to leap, too, or at least it felt that way as he took the last few yards at a dead run.
He couldn’t afford to repair an entire studio.
Nor did Family Secrets have time to build another one. Contestants were due to arrive the next day.
Rounding the corner in the barn, his worst imaginings became reality. There was Justin, sitting at what could only be some kind of sound board—or control center. His hands were on knobs. Turning.
“I take a knife, this kind, because I’m not allowed to use the sharp ones...” Tabitha’s voice was loud and clear—far too loud and clear—coming from somewhere on the other side of a temporary wall. He didn’t want to think of the mess she was making.
He’d seen her “cook.”
Justin hadn’t noticed him yet, and Spencer had to rein himself in before he
approached his recalcitrant son. The boy had gone too far this time.
He was going to be meting out some serious discipline.
As soon as he trusted himself not to lash out first.
His good day had just gone really, really bad.
* * *
“JUSTIN GERALD LONGFELLOW, please take your hand off that board. Now.”
Natasha froze. And watched as seven-year-old Tabitha, with a rather large glob of peanut butter dangling from her table knife, stopped moving, as well. Rising from her seat in the middle row of the bleachers in their makeshift studio, Natasha kept her eye on the child but spoke into the headset she was wearing.
“Justin, are you okay?” She hadn’t recognized the voice she’d just heard issuing an order to the boy in what could only be termed a threatening tone.
But then, the only men she’d spoken to on the farm, other than her own crew members, were Spencer Longfellow and the cowboy, Bryant.
“No, ma’am.” She’d known the child only for about an hour, but long enough to tell her that the vulnerable tone in his voice was not common.
“Who are you talking to?” The male voice came again. But Natasha recognized it that time.
“Spencer?” she called as she rounded the corner of the wall in back of the stage. Locating the control booth behind the stage had not been anyone’s first choice, but for remodeling cost effectiveness and electric concerns, they’d made the decision to put it there. Monitors allowed views of the stage from every angle. Monitors that were not currently turned on.
“Natasha?” The cowboy in dusty, faded jeans, a red plaid shirt and the inevitable boots stood there, his gaze piercing as he looked between her and his son.
“I’m so sorry...” Words came tumbling out of her mouth. “It didn’t occur to me that I should have told you I was keeping them awhile,” she said. “It should have. I apologize.”
His frown deepened. The opposite of the effect for which she’d been aiming.
“Tabitha? You can join us.” Spencer’s tone, though not as fierce, still remained unrelenting.
The little girl, knife still in hand, though free of peanut butter, came around the corner of the stage. She didn’t walk down the steps.
The Cowboy's Twins Page 3
