A Weaver Vow

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  “No.” The answer was grudging.

  “So why do you think someone would go to the effort of starting something like that? There were dozens of letters, Murph! And there were just as many about you from your schoolmates as there were about me.”

  “All right!” He threw up his hands. “All right, okay? I talked Con and Zach into it,” he blurted. “I told ’em where Dr. Templeton’s office was, and they got some of the other kids in the class to send letters, too. ’N’ then the next thing I knew, I heard Mr. Rasmussen talking about it to Miz Timms in the office. I didn’t know there’d end up being all those letters!”

  Her jaw had gone slack. Mr. Rasmussen was Murphy’s teacher. And he had a wife named Pam, she thought dimly, and the dispatcher had duly dispatched. “You started it,” she finally managed. Not Erik at all. “But...but why?”

  “’Cause at least here I got some real friends,” he said defensively. “And Erik said everyone needs a place where they feel like they belong, and you said you knew what it felt like never to belong so I figured if ever’body started saying we belonged we would! Mr. Rasmussen talked about how that sorta thing works sometimes—grassroots movement, he calls it—and—” He gave her a pained look. “Oh, jeez. Now you’re gonna cry, too?”

  She leaned over him, catching his face between her hands, and kissed his forehead. “And that, too,” she said thickly. Then she sat back in her seat, giving him his freedom.

  She was exhausted. “I want to go home.” She started the car. “How about you?”

  “Uh-huh.” He flipped his foot up onto the dash, then just as suddenly yanked it back down again and brushed off the dusty mark his shoe had left. “You’re not mad?”

  She swiped another tear from her cheek and blinked hard so she wouldn’t run into another car as she left the parking lot and turned onto Main. “I’m not mad.” Unbearably touched, more like. Maybe Murphy hadn’t told Hayley outright that he wanted to stay. Maybe she’d simply figured out he’d been behind the letter campaign.

  “When do I get to have my dad’s knife back?” he asked suddenly.

  She’d practically forgotten about the knife he’d taken to school. She’d stuck it on the top shelf in her closet after his suspension. “Why?”

  “I just wanna be able to gut my own fish with it next time we go fishing. Erik says a Buck knife’ll work real nice for gutting, and he’ll teach me how so’s I don’t cut off my fingers.” His voice filled with relish. “I bet Con and Zach have never gutted fish.”

  “I’ll call him about it,” she managed faintly.

  In short order, they were back at the house.

  They were greeted by the sight of Erik’s truck parked in front of it.

  Murphy was silent for a long moment. “Guess you can ask him now,” he finally said with studied casualness. Then he pushed open the car door and climbed out.

  She slowly followed suit and got out herself but felt too unsteady to get much farther than that. She saw Murphy’s pace slow when Erik got out of the truck. The boy gave a jerk of his chin in greeting. Then he looked back at Isabella for a moment, before he turned and went into the house.

  It hadn’t been a grin of glee on his face.

  But a smile had been there. Small. But there.

  Feeling as if she’d dropped down the rabbit hole, Isabella pushed her door closed and focused on Erik’s face as he slowly headed her way. “What’d the caseworker say? Are you all right?”

  She swiped her hand over her damp cheeks. For some reason, the waterworks had been turned on but good. “Nothing’s settled,” she told him. Though she still felt as if everything had changed. “And I’m fine. What’s all this about you teaching Murphy how to use that knife of his dad’s?”

  “You’re crying.”

  She shook her head. Sniffed. “I’m not crying,” she lied.

  He gave her a look. Brushed his hand down her cheek. Then the other. “Your caseworker called me today.” His voice dropped a notch. “I wanted to let you know about it, but it was only a few minutes before you were meeting with her so I didn’t have a chance.”

  She twisted her hands around the strap of her purse to keep from reaching out for him. “Did you know about the letters?”

  His brows pulled together. “What letters?”

  She gave a watery laugh. “Oh. I imagine you’ll hear about them soon enough. So.” She moistened her lips. She couldn’t seem to get enough of looking into his eyes. “About the knife?”

  “Yeah. I told Murph I’d show him how to use it. I was younger than him when I got my first knife.”

  “From your dad?” She still felt she’d never be able to repay Tristan Clay for the way he’d located Murphy that horrible day.

  He laughed softly. “My dad? Hell no. He taught me how to make computers from scratch and hack into the school’s grading system if I wanted. Squire’s the one who gave me the knife. I still use it.”

  “You hacked into the school’s grading system?”

  “No,” he said, looking amused. “That would be wrong, wouldn’t it?”

  She eyed him, not knowing whether he was pulling her leg or not. “I’ll give him the knife as long as you think he’ll be safe with it.” She didn’t know why they were still talking about the knife.

  There were so many more important things she needed to say....

  “He won’t hurt himself or anyone else with it,” Erik assured. “As for the trees he’ll inevitably try carving up? That’s another matter.”

  “Erik?”

  The lines beside his eyes crinkled softly. “Yeah?”

  She let out a shuddering breath. “I think I’m in love with you.”

  He went silent.

  “No.” She unwound her hands from her purse. She’d spent too long being afraid. “I know I’m in love with you.”

  His gaze had gone sharp. His deep voice dropped a few notches and it washed over her like a warm, soothing wave. “I love you, too.”

  She bit the inside of her lip. “So what do we do now? If my guardianship of Murphy is finalized—”

  “When it’s finalized,” he corrected, and brushed his thumb along her cheek again.

  She trembled. “When.”

  His gaze dropped to her lips, then he leaned down and kissed her softly. “That’s better.” He suddenly straightened, turned around and strode toward the house. “Murphy,” he yelled.

  Murphy appeared instantly, as if he’d been hovering inside the door waiting. “Yeah?”

  Erik looked at the boy for a moment. His pulse was pounding in his ears. “I’m gonna ask you something, but I want your promise first that you’re not gonna pull some damn fool stunt again like when you ran away.”

  Murphy frowned. Erik saw the look he shot toward Isabella when he stepped warily down the porch steps. “What?”

  “No dice. Give me your word.”

  The boy’s lips pressed together. “I promise,” he said after a moment. “What you gotta ask me?”

  “Isabella doesn’t have any parents for me to go to,” he said. “She’s got you.” Maybe in a few decades, when their children were grown and thinking about having their own, Erik would find some amusement in just how nervous he suddenly felt talking to an eleven-year-old kid. Wanting that boy’s acceptance more than he’d ever believed possible. “So it’s your blessing we’re going to have to have.”

  Murphy stared at him. He crossed his arms and looked sideways again at Isabella, who’d come up to stand beside Erik. She pressed her hand against her mouth as she realized what was happening.

  “I love Isabella,” Erik said gruffly. “And I want to marry her. I want us all to be a family. And someday, if we’re lucky enough to have more kids, I’m hoping you’ll open your heart to them as much as Isabella’s opened her heart to you. But even if you can’t bring yourself to give that blessing, I’m still gonna be here. I’m still going to love her. And I’m still going to love you.”

  Murphy’s eyes skidded back to Erik.

>   “Nobody’s ever going to replace your dad,” he managed. “But you need a family. And turns out, so do I.”

  Isabella sniffed loudly. He held out his arm and she turned into it, pressing her cheek against his chest. She could hear his heart beating. It was steady and true, and she knew there was no place else she wanted to be. No one else she wanted by her side. Through the good and the bad. “Murphy,” she said softly and held out her hand. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  “What if Miz Solis says I gotta go somewhere else?”

  “Then we’ll convince her otherwise,” Erik said simply.

  Murphy looked from her to Erik, then back again. “Can I have my baseball bat back,” he finally asked.

  Erik let out a strangled chuckle. “You give your blessing, you can have the bat back. But you’ve still got to work off the window until school’s out.”

  Murphy screwed up his face, considering, and Isabella realized she was holding her breath.

  She’d finally realized that Erik meant what he said. He wasn’t going anywhere. And even if it took Murphy more time to adjust, he still wasn’t going to go anywhere.

  Because he loved them.

  Because from the very beginning, he’d been able to see their future together, even when she hadn’t.

  But it still would be so much easier if the son of her heart would realize he had nothing to fear. Not where they were concerned.

  Finally, Murphy’s face smoothed out. “I guess it’s okay. Long as I get my bat,” he added warningly.

  Then, as if he hadn’t just made a momentous announcement, he headed back up the porch steps and went inside.

  Isabella let out a weak laugh. “Is that it? That’s all he has to say? Will I ever understand the mind of an eleven-year-old boy?”

  Erik wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “It’s a guy thing,” he murmured. “And you don’t have to understand him.” He tilted her chin up until she was staring into his violet eyes and seeing the same future as he. “Because I do.”

  Isabella’s eyes flooded. Being swept off her feet didn’t have to involve lavish displays of flowers and romantic words.

  Sometimes all it took was a man with a quiet smile and a heart the size of Wyoming.

  “I do love you, Erik Clay,” she said softly. “And I think it’s time you and Murphy finally gave me that tour of the Rocking-C. A woman ought to know her way around the place that’s going to be her home, don’t you think?”

  His lips tilted into a long, slow smile. “I do.” Then he drew her up onto her toes and leaned down, pressing an even longer, slower kiss to her lips.

  Epilogue

  Three months later

  Isabella heard the crunch of tires on the gravel and looked up from the bodice she was working fine hand stitches into. It was the height of summer and she was sitting on the porch in one of the oversize wooden chairs that she’d already come to love.

  In all of the delightfulness to be found at the Rocking-C, the porch was her favorite spot.

  Well, that and the big bedroom she shared with Erik. It was on the back side of the house, and she loved waking in his arms to the sunlight shining in. At least, she did on those mornings when he and Murphy weren’t already out working cattle even before the sun was up.

  She might have been born in New York, but living at the Rocking-C had taught Isabella that not only was she Erik’s girl through and through, she was a ranching girl to boot.

  At the sight of the dusty delivery truck driving up to the house, though, Isabella set aside the wedding gown she was working on and went down to meet it. She was expecting a special delivery of fabric, and she’d paid extra for the weekend delivery. Now she could start working on her own wedding gown, instead of someone else’s. She and Jolie had already finished the design. It was traditional. Simple. With a splash of sass. And Isabella couldn’t wait to wear it.

  They’d set the wedding date for the first of November.

  Just over three months away.

  There were days that she wished it were here already. And days that she still had to pinch herself to believe it was happening at all.

  As the driver was climbing out of his truck, she hurried down to greet him. But the delivery turned out not to be her box at all. Instead, it was a thin envelope that she had to sign for. As soon as she did, the deliveryman drove away, leaving her standing there holding the envelope.

  It was from New York. From Monica Solis.

  She suddenly turned and ran around to the back of the house where Erik and Murphy were working on the addition. They both had on safety glasses and construction belts, and despite one being big and blond and one being wiry and dark, they looked like two peas in a pod.

  Erik had originally planned for the addition to be a new great room. Now it was going to be bedrooms. Three. One for Murphy that would be larger than the upstairs one he was currently using. Two more for...whoever came along to fill them.

  She had to raise her voice to be heard above the noise of their hammering. “Erik!” She waved her hand, the white envelope between her fingers.

  He straightened, pulled off his safety glasses and smiled his quiet smile. “Decide you want to try pounding some nails again after all?”

  Murphy snickered. The one and only time she’d tried her hand on the fancy pneumatic thing that Erik used, she’d nearly shot a nail through his foot.

  Isabella ignored him, but not really. The fact that he was smiling more often, snickering more often, was music to her ears. He was twelve now and officially in junior high. He was also taller than she was, a fact that he liked to lord over her at every opportunity. And then Erik, who towered over them both, would lord it over him a little, just because it made her smile.

  “It’s from Monica,” she told them now, holding out the letter. “You read it. I’m afraid to.”

  Erik set down his hammer and slid his arm around her as if he’d been doing it all of his life. As long as he continued doing it for the rest of their lives, that was fine with her. She tore open the letter and removed the sheet and handed it to him. Murphy wormed his way closer, so he could read, too.

  “Hot damn,” he hooted a moment later.

  “What’s it say? And what I have told you about swearing, Murph?”

  “If ever there’s a hot-damn moment, this is it,” Erik said. “Monica says she knew we wouldn’t want to wait a minute longer than necessary.” He read from the yellow sticky note attached to the front of the document that he held. “‘Legal custody of the minor child Murphy James Bartholomew is granted to Isabella Mercedes Lockhart,’” he read aloud. “Signed by Judge Everett Saunders.” He looked at Murphy. “Judge signed it on your birthday. Not a bad present.”

  Murphy shrugged, as if—despite his initial jubilation—it was no big deal. But he was twelve. “No big deal” had become the new norm.

  Isabella folded the cherished letter and held it against her chest. Surprisingly, it had been Monica who’d advised Isabella to file for custody after her guardianship had been made fully legal back in May. With custody, she wouldn’t have to report regularly to the court. Nor would she have to worry that Kim might one day appear and expect to exercise the rights she’d so willingly tossed away. In the end, all Monica had wanted was for a family to stay together that deserved to be together.

  “So,” Murphy said with the utmost casualness, “when you and Iz get married, what’s that make you?”

  “One happy man.” Erik’s whisper against her ear tickled. She smiled and slid her fingers up the back of his shirt, finding the spot where she knew for a fact he was particularly sensitive. She felt him jerk and then he caught her hand in his, dragging it away. “She’s got custody of you.” Erik’s voice was just as casual as Murph’s as he answered.

  And she didn’t buy it from him any more than she did from Murphy. She knew he wanted to adopt Murphy, as well. But that could come later.

  “I guess that makes her your new mom,” he continued. “So I gu
ess that’ll make me your stepdad.”

  Murphy was nodding. She had no doubt that he’d already put plenty of thought into that very matter, too. He rubbed his hand over his short hair. He’d gotten a buzz cut halfway through the baseball season. It made him look even older. And more like his father.

  But Isabella could look at him now and not ache for what she’d lost. She’d loved Murphy’s dad. And she loved Murphy. And together with Erik, they were going to see him grow into a fine young man.

  As if he were reading her thoughts, Erik’s arm tightened around her. He kissed her temple.

  Murphy rolled his eyes. But instead of annoyance or disgust, he just looked resigned. And amused. “When’re we going over to the Double-C?”

  It was Sunday. And Sunday in the Clay family meant big family dinners together. Today, it was at the Double-C. Matthew was grilling ribs again and Jaimie would undoubtedly be trying to take the credit. Murph and Erik already had the baseball team lineups planned out.

  “Soon as you’re ready,” Erik said.

  Immediately, Murphy undid his tool belt. He set it next to his safety glasses on a stack of lumber. “I’m ready.”

  Isabella laughed. “I think a shower might be in order.”

  He made a face. “Don’t know why,” he complained, but he was already walking away. “We’re just gonna end up swimming out at the hole after we smear you in five innings.” Then he looked back at Erik and Isabella and grinned. “At least Megan’ll be there,” he said with relish. She was Sarah and Max’s daughter and was a few years older than Murphy. “She’s hot.”

  “Murphy!”

  He’d already disappeared around the corner of the house.

  “He thinks every girl he sees is hot,” Isabella told Erik as he turned her in his arms. “What’re we going to do?”

  His hands settled on her hips and he pulled her even closer. Heat, never far away when he was near, bloomed inside her. “He’s twelve,” he said. “It’s a guy thing.” Then he lowered his head and took a quick nibble on her neck. She shivered, her hands tightening around the warm brown column of his neck. “He doesn’t realize I’m the one with the hottest one around.” He rocked her against him. “Think we’ve got time for a quickie in the new barn? Maybe make a baby sister for that boy of ours?”