The Triplets' Cowboy Daddy

by Patricia Johns

  “I emailed an adoption agent,” Nora went on. “We went back and forth a little bit, and she’ll come by and see us next week, give us some more information.”

  She tried to blink back the tears that welled up in her eyes, but they slipped down her cheeks. She hated this—she loved these girls so much that she was willing to give them up. But it hurt so much more than she’d thought it would. Dina came over to Nora, and Nora leaned her face into her mother’s side. She could feel her mother’s fingers smoothing over the top of her head, just like when she was little.

  “I’m so sorry, baby,” Dina whispered. “I’m so, so sorry...”

  They both were—everyone was. It seemed that pain was the price paid for having loved.

  Chapter Eleven

  Saturday morning Easton pulled up in front of Beauty’s Ice Cream. His mom had brought him here once that he could recall—after some massive fight she and Dad had had, and she’d bought him an ice cream cone and stared at him morosely while he ate it. Treats didn’t come often, so he’d scarfed it down, but he could still remember offering her a bite. She’d said no. Funny the things that stuck.

  He parked next to the red SUV—she was here already, apparently. Glancing in her window, he saw a kid’s hoodie in the backseat, next to an empty chip bag. This was it. He was about to meet his brother for the first time, and he honestly couldn’t say he was looking forward to it.

  Beauty’s Ice Cream was a quaint little shop with a red and white awning. Windows lined the front, and he could see the back of a woman’s head in a booth. Was that Mom? He assumed so. Most guys could pinpoint the backs of their own mothers’ heads easily, but his mom had changed a lot over the last twenty years.

  Mom... He still felt a well of emotion at the thought of her, and he hated that. It would be easier to just be angry, or to resent her, but his true feelings were more complicated—so much more difficult to separate.

  He opened the front door and entered the air-conditioned interior. Trent, the owner, stood behind the counter. He wore a heavy metal shirt, partially covered by a white apron, and he gave Easton a nod.

  “Morning,” Trent said. “What can I get for you?”

  “Uh—” Easton glanced toward his mom, his gaze landing on the sandy-haired boy. He had a sundae in front of him, chocolate sauce in the corners of his mouth, and Easton found all of his thoughts suddenly drain from his head. “Nothing right now,” he said, then angled over to the booth.

  “Easton.” His mother smiled up at him then scooted over. “Come sit.”

  Brandon stared at Easton wide-eyed then took a bite of ice cream as if on autopilot. Easton scooted into the semicircular booth so that his mom sat at the bottom of the curve between both sons.

  “Brandon, this is your brother,” she said.

  “Hey,” Easton said. “Nice to meet you.”

  “He’s a man,” Brandon whispered, eyeing his mother questioningly.

  “Yes. He’s grown-up.”

  Brandon’s clothes looked new, and he had an iPad on the table next to him, a set of headphones draped around his neck. The kid had stuff to entertain him, that was for sure. Easton had never had a Game Boy or decent headphones. His headphones had always been taped together where they broke so that they wouldn’t fit right.

  They were silent for a few beats, and Easton searched his mind for something to say.

  “Easton is a ranch manager,” his mother said at last. “He runs someone’s ranch for them—he’s very good.”

  “Oh.” Brandon frowned slightly. “I’m in grade three.”

  “Yeah...” Could this get any more awkward? This kid didn’t care about meeting his mom’s adult son. If anything, Easton’s existence was confusing.

  “Brandon loves horses,” his mother tried again. “He draws them all the time.”

  “Not anymore,” Brandon replied. “I draw monster trucks now.”

  Easton wondered if this had been a mistake. What had his mother been expecting from this little get-together—warmth and coziness? She hadn’t provided that when she’d been in his life, and it wasn’t going to suddenly materialize because they all shared some DNA.

  “Mom brought me here once when I was your age,” Easton said.

  Brandon looked around. “Here?”

  “Yeah. She used to live in this town with me and my dad.”

  “She lives in Billings now,” Brandon said, and Easton caught the flicker of fear in the boy’s eyes. He was eight years old, and he was scared of losing his mom. That was something Easton could sympathize with. Eight was too young to worry about those things, and this kid had all the security that Easton had lacked growing up. He had the clothes, the toys, the stay-at-home mom who drove him to chess practice.

  “I know,” Easton said quietly. “I’m grown-up, so I don’t need our mom to take care of me anymore. She belongs with you. So don’t worry about me trying to keep her here.”

  His mother’s eyes filled with tears, and she put a hand out, tentatively touching Easton’s arm. What, did she suddenly want to be needed in his life?

  “Dad was right about me being okay,” Easton said, turning to his mom.

  “I’m glad,” she said. “I’d hoped so... I made mistakes, son. I wasn’t sure if I’d want to do this in front of Brandon, but I think it’s better for him to see his mother acknowledge her mistakes than to wonder about them for the rest of his life.”

  “Were you a little kid when Mom left?” Brandon asked.

  “Yeah.” The same age as Brandon, but he wouldn’t torment the boy with that. “I was. I had my dad, but he drank a lot, so...” He sucked in a breath. He didn’t exactly want to horrify the boy. “You know, I got a job, and my boss was a really decent guy. He helped me figure things out, and he taught me how to work a ranch. So I was okay, actually.”

  “Didn’t you miss her?” The kid was connecting the dots here. He was thinking about what it would be like to face his young existence without his mom by his side.

  “I did,” Easton nodded, a lump rising in his throat. “I missed her a whole lot.”

  Mom reached out and brushed Brandon’s hair off his forehead, and Easton saw it—his fantasy of a loving mother being played out in the life of his half brother. He’d longed for a hand to brush his hair off his forehead just like that...

  Easton cleared his throat. “So tell me about your dad.”

  “Dad works a lot,” Brandon said. “But when he’s home, he plays LEGO with me. I’ve got the whole cops and robbers setup, and I play cops and Dad plays robbers. Have you seen the new prison?”

  Brandon scooped up his iPad and turned it on. “I’ll find it for you—Mom, is there Wi-Fi here?”

  For the next few minutes they talked about Brandon’s love of LEGO, they discovered that Beauty’s Ice Cream did not, in fact, have Wi-Fi and Easton ordered himself a chocolate cone. Brandon was a sweet kid—an untarnished version of himself at that age. Easton had grown up with substance abuse, poverty, neglect, and he’d raised himself. He’d been tougher than other kids his age, and while he used to think of himself as resilient, he wondered now if he’d merely been damaged.

  Brandon was smart, intuitive, passionate about his interests. But he wasn’t tough—his emotions swam over his face and he didn’t hide behind a mask of indifference. Easton was willing to bet that this kid didn’t know half the curse words he did at that age. Maybe this was what he’d have been like if he’d been raised in a safer environment.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” Brandon asked him.

  “No—” Easton paused and looked into the face of this boy who was finally relaxing a little bit. His little brother. Whatever happened all those years ago, this kid was related to him, and he’d probably want to be in his life somewhat as the years went on. He could close off and keep this impersonal, or he c
ould share something. He decided on the latter.

  “There’s a woman I care about a lot,” Easton said.

  “Who is she?” Brandon asked.

  “Her name is Nora, and I’ve had a crush on her since I was a bit older than you. Do you like girls yet?”

  Brandon shook his head. “But they like me. Isabel T. said that Olivia liked me last year. I think she did. She was really annoying.”

  So it began. Easton shot his mother a rueful smile.

  “Does Nora like you back?” Brandon asked. “Because if she likes you back, then she’s your girlfriend.”

  “It’s a little more complicated when you get older,” Easton said.

  Life was pretty simple if you were a kid—especially a protected kid like Brandon. But life had a way of getting difficult when you least expected it; of kicking your expectations out from under you. Easton needed a woman who would face the hard times with him, be the shoulder he needed once in a while. Love wasn’t enough to make a relationship last, and Easton had been let down in life too many times to take a risk when it came to a life partner. And Nora was a risk. A beautiful, passionate, intoxicating risk. She could be there for him when he needed some emotional support—like that kiss in her bedroom in the moonlight—but Nora also had a pattern of taking off again once her own problems were solved. Had she changed now that she had the babies to care for? Or was he just hoping?

  An image rose in his mind of that morning he’d woken up to find his mother gone. His father was drinking already at the kitchen table, and he’d pointed to the note on the fridge.

  “Your mom took off,” his father said, words slightly slurred.

  “What?” Easton hadn’t believed it. She wouldn’t just leave him. He was her kid, and moms didn’t walk out on their kids. He’d searched around, looking for the things that cemented her in their home—her nightgown, her jewelry, the hairbrush that always had hair stuck in it like a small animal. They were gone. Her clothes—the nicer ones—were gone, too. There was an empty space in his parents’ closet. Her purse—that sagging bag he was forbidden to touch—was gone from its place on the back of a kitchen chair.

  He could still remember what it felt like as the truth dawned on him—Mom was gone. He’d headed up to his room and sobbed his heart out. He wasn’t safe alone with Dad—he knew that well enough. He’d have to fend for himself now, because his father sure wouldn’t be doing his laundry or cooking him meals. Dad didn’t make school lunches.

  And when he crawled into his bed that night, the house silent except for the sound of the TV downstairs, he’d closed his eyes and imagined that his mother was stroking his hair away from his face...

  “Will you come visit us?” Brandon asked, and Easton pushed the memories back.

  His mother looked at him, her brow furrowed, and she clutched at the handle of a new purse—something expensive by the look of it.

  “We would really like that,” his mom said. “Tom wants to meet you, too. You’ll like him, I think.”

  Had she ever wondered how he went to sleep at night without her there to say good-night? Or if he was eating properly, or if he was embarrassed at school because his dad had drunk away the money for bigger clothes? Did she ever wonder if she’d broken his heart beyond repair?

  “Okay. Sure. One of these days.”

  His mom was back. As weird as this felt. She looked so successful now, so put together. Her hair was nicely done, her makeup making her look a little younger. And he was glad that she was doing it right with her second-born. That was something, wasn’t it?

  Even if it had all started with an escape...from him.

  * * *

  THAT EVENING NORA sat on the front steps of the homestead, her arms wrapped around her knees. She’d found an old framed photo up in the bedroom closet, and she sat outside in the lowering light, looking at it. She hadn’t seen this one before. There were a certain number of photos that everyone had a copy of—her great-grandparents’ wedding portrait, a picture at some family member’s funeral with all the extended family present, grouped around the coffin. There were a few others of her great-grandparents and their children seated on kitchen chairs stuck out in the yard—their equivalent of a family portrait. But this photo was different than the others.

  The photo was a small rectangle, not even filling up the entire frame. It depicted her great-grandparents standing alone, likely in their first years of marriage because there were no children about. They were in front of a large tractor—the kind that would be in a museum these days. Her great-grandmother was wearing a pair of overalls, her light hair swept back by the wind, and she leaned against a tractor tire. Her great-grandfather was in a pair of patched jeans, looking at his young wife with adoration. His shirt was open a few buttons, and his sleeves were rolled up to reveal tanned forearms. It was such a perfect moment, and Nora could understand why someone had framed it.

  Tomorrow they’d have the corn roast, and somehow she thought her great-grandmother might have made the same choice she and Dina had, to face it head-on. There was something brave and almost defiant in her eyes, and when Nora looked closer at the photo, she noticed something she hadn’t seen before in the other, more formal pictures.

  Mia looked an awful lot like their great-grandmother. Wow. Funny how DNA worked. Nora didn’t take after their great-grandmother physically. She looked more like her mother’s side of the family, but she’d still felt a great connection to the Carpenter lineage. Yet Mia, who was the accidental love child conceived during some tryst, was the spitting image of their ancestor. Genetics certainly didn’t take legitimacy into account. Mia would have liked to know this, Nora realized sadly. She might have even taken some pride in knowing where her looks came from.

  Easton’s rusty truck rumbled up the drive, and she watched as he parked and got out. He slammed the door behind him and came toward her. He paused before he reached her then took off his hat.

  “Hey,” he said. “Care for some company?”

  “Sure.” She moved over and he sat down next to her, tossing his hat onto the step beside them. His hair was disheveled, an errant piece of hay stuck into one of his flattered curls. He was dusty, and he smelled like hard work and sunshine.

  “How was your day?” she asked.

  “Not bad.” He nodded slowly. “I met my half brother.”

  “Really?” She shot him a look of surprise. “What’s he like?”

  “A nice kid,” he said. “He’s got the whole package—parents who love each other, financial security, all the attention that he needs.”

  “That’s a good thing,” she said. “Right?”

  “Yup.” He smiled wanly. “At least Mom figured it all out eventually.”

  “Will you see them again?” she asked.

  “Probably,” he said. “But I’m not ready to hammer out Christmas plans or anything. I’m taking it slow.”

  That was fair. Still, she could see how much this had hurt him. Sometimes when a person’s deepest longing was fulfilled, it hurt as much as it healed. Mia might have discovered the same thing if she’d ever met their father. To Nora, her dad was a superhero. To Mia, he was the selfish jerk who missed her childhood. It might have hurt a lot to see the parenting he was capable of.

  Easton nodded toward the photo in her hands. “What’s that?”

  “My great-grandparents,” she said. “I found it up in the closet in your guest bedroom.”

  He leaned closer to look, slipping a hand behind her as he did so, but it didn’t seem intentional. Without really thinking about it, she leaned back against his arm. He looked startled, then he nodded back to the photo.

  “He loves her,” Easton said, his voice low and next to her ear.

  “They were the great Carpenter love story,” she said. Easton straightened, pulled away. She swallowed, trying not to let her
discomfiture show. “She came from a moderately wealthy family in the city. She and my great-grandpa met at a dance, I think. I don’t know how that worked out exactly, but she ended up eloping with him. It took years for her family to forgive her. Even then, she never got a penny from them.”

  Easton smiled then shrugged. “I’d say she made the right choice.”

  “They ended up having seven children together,” Nora said. “But that picture—I’ve never seen it before.”

  “No?”

  He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and she found herself so tempted to slip her arm through the gap and take his hand. Why was her mind constantly going there with him?

  “It makes you wonder,” she said quietly, “if he was faithful.”

  “Why wouldn’t he be?” Easton asked. “He had a beautiful wife.”

  “So did my father.”

  That was the problem all along—there had been no good reason for her father’s cheating. Not that there ever was when someone did that kind of thing. Had he loved Angela? Had it been meaningless sex, or had he fallen for her on some level? And if it was love, how could he claim to love his wife at the same time? She’d believed that her father was above that kind of ugliness, but she’d seen that he wasn’t.

  “I saw my aunt today,” she said after a moment of silence. “She blamed Mom for Dad’s affair.”

  “What?” Easton straightened and shot her an incredulous look. “How’d she figure?”

  “She said Mom was too bossy and she implied that it was understandable that Dad would use cheating as a way to gain a bit of freedom from her.”

  “That’s BS.”

  “Yeah, well... I always thought my parents had a marriage of steel. My dad would come and talk to my mom before he made any decision. I mean, any decision. He wouldn’t buy a cow without her input, and it wasn’t because she demanded it. He just really wanted to know what she thought first. But Audrey said that Mom was too controlling. Was I wrong about it? Did I see a strong marriage, where really my father was suffocating?”