The Cowboy's Twins

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “Every day?”

  “Four days a week. I have a couple of associate’s degrees in agricultural-related fields.”

  The ranch was everything to him. He’d had to educate himself in order to do the land justice, to know that he could carry on the family tradition. That he’d be worthy of the honor and not let down the family legacy.

  “And that’s where you met your ex-wife? In Palm Desert.”

  “Yes.” The less said about Kaylee, the better.

  Jolene knew about her, of course. A lot of people in town did. But not because they’d seen all that much of her. Kaylee had made the almost two-hour trip to Palm Desert even to grocery shop.

  “Is she still here?”

  Kaylee and Natasha had a lot in common. Both from East Coast families who wielded modern-day power. Establishing all that the two women had in common was an exercise that would serve him well.

  “Last I heard from her, five years ago, she was back in Washington, DC. Reunited with her family, I’m assuming.”

  “Reunited with them? Did they go somewhere?”

  “They disowned her when she married me.”

  Because there was a danger of pity filling her silence, he forged on. “Her folks are lobbyists. She’s their only child, and they had big plans for her.”

  “So, why College of the Desert? I’d think a community college across the country an obscure choice for her.”

  The fact that her parents made plans for her had seemed to roll right off Natasha. Because having powerful parents and a powerful future was commonplace in their world. College of the Desert was the anomaly.

  “She was studying art. Fashion. Her favorite designer lives in Palm Desert. Has her studio there. Kaylee worked for her.”

  Palm Springs, sister city to Palm Desert, was one of the nation’s fashion capitals, he’d learned during his years with his ex-wife.

  Nothing he’d ever need to know when he was married to Jolene, or anyone else willing to be his farm companion.

  Expecting Natasha to ask about the designer, and to recognize the name when she heard it, Spencer was thinking about impressing her with the wedding reception the woman had hosted for him and Kaylee...

  “So, you never met her parents?”

  “Her dad flew out a couple of times. I met him.” At some point he’d realized that Kaylee’s father had flown out for one reason and one reason only. Because she’d been talking about him, too much. Because her parents were growing concerned about her friendship with the only somewhat wealthy young rancher. He’d flown out to put a stop to things.

  “He stayed at the ranch, then?”

  He’d refused to make the drive, not that they’d been on houseguest basis at any point.

  “No.”

  “The whole time you were married...”

  Her soft tone was getting to him. The last thing he needed from Natasha Stevens was pity.

  “...we neither saw nor heard from them,” he finished for her, not even trying to be anything but abrupt.

  “Even after she was expecting the twins?”

  “She didn’t tell them.” At least, not at the time.

  “They don’t know they’re grandparents?”

  “Yes, they know now. I wouldn’t agree to sign our final divorce papers, giving me full custody, until they knew.” He’d actually expected them to care.

  “Did you get a decent settlement?”

  What the... “No.” Justin would be quaking in his seat at that tone. Spencer didn’t care what it did to Natasha. She could handle it.

  “I didn’t want their money.” True enough. He’d also had more put away than they’d thought. Spencer had been left with plenty of security. He just wasn’t going to steal from it to get his cattle operation going. That security belonged to his children... “I wanted nothing from her but my children,” he continued. “I wanted to make certain that everyone involved knew I was signing away our rights to any part of their money, current or future, in exchange for full custody of Justin and Tabitha. Everyone on the same page. Everything clear.”

  He wanted it clear to Natasha, too. He and his kids were Kaylee’s little embarrassment. Her walk on the wild side. The thing her parents wanted swept under the rug. He might be a rancher in the sticks, but he knew how it all worked. And his kids were not going to be subjected to such treatment again.

  Ever.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TAKING HER PHONE and a cup of hot chamomile tea with her to the walled-in backyard of her condo, Natasha wandered over to the play pool she’d had installed before she moved in. The yard wasn’t huge. The kidney-shaped pool and hot tub weren’t, either.

  But the effect—with the flowering landscaping, pavers and lighting—was paradise.

  “I make a mean chili,” Spencer was saying as, still holding the phone to her ear, she relaxed into one of two padded loungers by the pool. Cool night air caressed her skin, cooled her cheeks. She breathed in and closed her eyes. “I’ve won the local chili cook-off two years in a row.”

  She’d known he did most of his family’s cooking. The subject had come up sometime during their initial interviews. But that hadn’t meant he was good at it.

  After her college gaffe, she hadn’t been about to ask.

  “I’d like to taste it,” she said now. Thinking chili sounded wonderful for a Friday-night dinner on the ranch.

  They’d somehow made it past the awkward moments and had been chatting for almost half an hour. He still hadn’t told her his decision regarding the twins as judges on her show. She wasn’t pushing him.

  Wasn’t in any hurry to get off the phone, either, in spite of the fact that Angela would wait up until she called. Since she hadn’t called earlier in the evening.

  She’d been riding uncharacteristically rough seas of emotions, what with her mother’s breakup and the station’s merger. It felt good to have a conversation that didn’t affect her life in any way.

  Spencer Longfellow was not only a surprisingly great conversationalist but also absolutely no threat to any part of her life. Their lives, the wants and needs that drove them, were so different, never had the cliché ships passing in the night been more apt.

  Glad for the sweater she’d thrown on, she leaned back, lifted her face to the night sky. And then immediately brought her gaze back to the pool again. She was too wired to go without visual stimulation.

  He’d fallen silent. And hadn’t offered to make his chili for her during her time on the ranch.

  “You still there?” she finally asked.

  “I am.”

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No...sorry.” He was practically whispering. “Sorry,” he said again at a normal volume. “I heard noise upstairs and went to check it out.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled. “Justin was playing with some cars on the floor of his bedroom. I could hear them rolling...”

  “I take it he’s supposed to be asleep. Did you bust him?” She grinned, feeling good as she sat at her pool, enjoying the atmosphere.

  “No. The little guy has trouble sleeping sometimes. He’s always been that way. He’d play in his crib as a toddler, too. And then fall asleep in the middle of whatever he was doing. I once found him sitting up asleep in the corner of his crib with a cloth book open on his feet.”

  That pang she’d felt when she’d seen a little boy with Down syndrome stroke his mother’s cheek on her show the previous year...it was back.

  “So you just let him play.”

  “Not at first. I used to stay on him. Take things away over and over...”

  Made sense to her.

  “But all that did was make bedtime a horror story. And make us both tired in the morning. When I let him work out
his energy in quiet play, he’s asleep much sooner and sleeps soundly.”

  “But you still go check on him when you know he’s up...” Parenting was complex. Which was why she steered clear of it. She liked to be in charge. In control. And you couldn’t control another human being.

  “No, I went up because I heard Tabitha get out of bed. That one is usually asleep the second her head hits the pillow.”

  A vision sprang to mind of the long-haired cutie standing on her stage, so seriously describing her peanut butter sandwich. Natasha was smiling as she said, “What was she doing?”

  “Talking to her brother.”

  “Telling him to get back to bed?”

  “No, asking him what he was going to do if he hated food he tasted. Since they aren’t supposed to say mean things to people and hurt their feelings.”

  She blinked. Sat upright, her gaze frozen on a reflection of the moon on the water near the edge of her pool.

  “You didn’t say... I... You’re letting them do the show?”

  “I have a feeling I’m going to regret this in a big way, but...yes.”

  They talked for another couple of minutes, and then Natasha had to go. With the twins doing the show, she had work to do.

  Natasha knew the surge of pleasure she felt was beyond the scope of mere professional satisfaction. Of having the judging problem solved.

  Which was why, when she called Angela to let her know the news, she paid close attention to the amount of inflection she allowed in her voice.

  She had an issue to deal with where the Longfellow children were concerned. Or...where her life was concerned.

  She was aware, and dealing with it. She was spending way too much time thinking about the kids. Lily was the solution. The kitten would be a family of her own. They just needed a tincture of time for bonding, for emotions to settle into place.

  What she didn’t need was her stage manager circling around her, watching, judging and drawing completely erroneous conclusions.

  * * *

  THE ONLY REASON Spencer was watching for Natasha’s SUV to pull onto the ranch Friday morning, the only reason he was waiting for her arrival, was that he needed to get a few things fleshed out with her while the twins were at school.

  He’d called Jolene the night before. Suggested that they go dancing Saturday night. Maybe to get things back to what they’d been—friends who made great dance partners. But maybe they could test other waters, as well. Betsy had agreed to watch the kids. He’d also already had one response to the profile he’d put up online. And planned to answer it sometime that weekend. Working toward his plan grounded him. Made him more comfortable facing his interactions with Natasha Stevens.

  The security camera at the gate a half mile from the house showed him when she turned onto his property. Which gave him time to meet her at her cabin as she pulled up. Based on her previous visits, he’d known she’d stop at the cabin first, where she always left her car.

  He also expected that once she got over to the studio, she’d be surrounded by her crew for the rest of the day.

  “Can I have a word with you?” he asked, meeting her at her vehicle. While he owned the cabin, its premises were off-limits to him while she was in occupancy.

  In jeans and a form-hugging dark blue tank top partially covered by a sheer tapered white shirt, she looked...not completely out of place on the ranch that morning. Her long auburn hair, though still curled and attention-grabbing, was up in a simple ponytail.

  “Sure. Walk with me.”

  Pulling a duffel bag from the passenger seat beside her, she took one step, and he noticed her shoes—changing his mind about the whole fitting-in thing. They were tennis shoes. Of sorts. But instead of flat soles, hers had two-inch heels.

  He took her duffel while she grabbed a garment bag from the backseat. He headed toward the front porch by her side.

  Caught a whiff of the perfume he’d come to associate with her, making him feel things he had no business feeling.

  He had ranching to do.

  “I’ve set very particular behavior guidelines for Tabitha and Justin.” He dropped her bag just inside the door of the cabin and repositioned himself outside, several feet away.

  She nodded. “We’ve got things to go over,” she told him. “And I need some coffee. Why don’t you come in and let me get my notes, and we can get this nailed down so that you feel comfortable.”

  He was going to feel more comfortable as soon as he delivered his news.

  The woman he’d chatted with on the phone Wednesday night was nowhere in sight. Relieved, Spencer followed the all-business television producer inside.

  * * *

  SHE KNEW RIGHT where his old mugs were. Grabbed the coffee carafe he’d used during the years he’d been commuting between Palm Desert and the ranch and pulled a filter out of the drawer where he’d always kept them.

  The big house already had a full supply of...everything...when he’d moved up there. Made sense to leave his old place furnished and stocked.

  Still, it made him a tad bit...antsy...seeing her so familiar with his things.

  While the coffee dripped, she pulled a pad out of her purse and set it on the table. A tablet and a couple of folders followed from a satchel she’d left on the old leather couch. Her hands reminded him of Kaylee’s. The fingers were slender, soft-looking. Unblemished by the scars and calluses that came from working with cinches and harnesses, angry chickens and their coops. Tractors. Natasha’s hands were pearly, not weathered.

  He needed weathered hands in his life.

  * * *

  HE TOOK HIS coffee black. She liked hers with goodies in it. Different goodies for different moods. Or times of day.

  Natasha added a little cream to her mug, put in a dash of nutmeg and sat down.

  “Tabitha and Justin can’t be on your show.”

  She continued with the sip she’d been taking. Swallowed. Held her mug with both hands in front of her chin.

  The rancher, in his plaid button-down shirt and jeans that fit him sinfully well, could have been a fantasy from the big screen.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t.

  “What do you mean, they can’t be on my show? Why not?” If they had some other obligation, fine, but she was only a day out. He shouldn’t have taken this long to tell her. He should have called...

  “Because it won’t be good for them.”

  Wait. “You’re changing your mind?” she asked, one eye on the folder off to her left. The kids’ contracts were inside. Unsigned.

  “I am.”

  “But...you can’t.”

  “Of course I can.” His tone was even. The expression on his face congenial.

  He wasn’t a stupid man. He had to know...

  “The show’s tomorrow.” Angela could find another young judge. Someone local. But vetting would take time—putting them in more of a scramble than either she or Natasha liked.

  “I know. And I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t look sorry.

  Her sudden sense of disappointment had no place at this meeting. Frustration, yes. Maybe a dash of anger for his inconsideration. But...

  “A little advance notice might have been nice.”

  “I didn’t decide until this morning.”

  She was upset with him. And yet...he was a man who seemed perfectly at peace with himself. With his decisions.

  She respected that.

  “Why’d you change your mind?” What did it matter? She needed to call Angela. And then get on with the business of prepping him for their run-through later that morning.

  “Because doing the show goes against the behavioral guidelines I’ve given the kids. Those lines will blur soon enough, as they face life’s challenges. But ideally not until they’re a little o
lder—old enough that they’ll be able to rely on their own judgment. For now, their rules are their boundaries, which are the source of their security.”

  “What’d you do, stay up all night reading a parenting book?”

  She hadn’t meant the words to come out of her mouth. Was shocked that they had. Natasha always weighed her words.

  It was the second time she’d had an outburst where Spencer was concerned. And probably only the second time she’d unintentionally blurted out anything in her adult life.

  “I’m sorry,” she said when he sat there looking at her. Not with pity. Not condescendingly. As though he was telling her everything was okay.

  But it wasn’t.

  She’d lost her judges. She’d spoken without thinking. She was upset beyond what the situation called for.

  “What boundaries are we talking about?” she asked in her most measured tone. She sipped coffee. Wished it was something calming, like chamomile tea.

  “I’ve told them that if they can’t say something nice about someone, they shouldn’t say anything at all. And that they are never to use their words in a way that they know will hurt someone’s feelings. They understand that just because they don’t like something doesn’t mean it’s bad. That they have to be respectful of the fact that someone else might like it.”

  Was this guy for real?

  Was she being foolish in wanting to believe so?

  What did it matter, either way? He was a blip in her life.

  “I have very clear boundaries for my judges, too,” she told him, pleased with how businesslike she sounded.

  The loop he’d thrown her for was minimal compared to some she’d had. Like last season, when there had been numerous security meetings and checks because someone had threatened one of her finalist contestants.

  His raised eyebrow invited her to continue without any promises that there was room to change his mind.

  “The judges are not there to make or break a cook. Or even to determine if someone is a good cook. They have to say something nice before they can criticize. Any criticism has to be offered in a kind way, and then only if it’s constructive...”