The Cowboy's Family. Brenda Minton

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      The shoes made a flap-flap sound on the tile floors that distracted him for a second, until she cleared her throat.

      “Upstairs, Wyatt?”

      He glanced up, meeting brown eyes and a hint of a strawberry-glossed smile. Molly’s hand slid into his and he squeezed lightly, holding her close, grounded by her presence and shifted back to reality by her shoulder against his leg.

      Eighteen months of holding it together, just trying to be a dad and trying to make sense of life, and now this. This, meaning Rachel Waters and the sudden realization that he was still a man. He blinked a few times, surprised that he’d noticed anything other than the broom she held in her hand. When was the last time he’d noticed a woman’s lips? Or her hair?

      He’d seen her at church every Sunday, though. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed her, her smile, her laugh. It wasn’t the first time she’d taken him by surprise.

      “Yeah, sure, go ahead. The bedrooms are fine, though. The girls clean their own. Kind of.” He grinned down at his daughters because that cleaning part was an exaggeration. “Anyway, there are a couple of bathrooms up there.”

      “Good, I’ll clean those, too.” She grabbed a broom and swept at his feet. “Scoot, now.”

      Scoot. Molly was already pulling him toward the hall. He glanced back at Rachel. She had turned on the CD player hidden under the upper cabinets and in moments Sara Evans was singing about a runaway teen leaving the suds in the bucket and the clothes hanging on the line.

      As his daughters led him down the hall to the office, he could hear the chorus of the song and Rachel singing along. Her voice got a little louder on the line about wondering what the preacher would preach about on Sunday. He shot a look back in the direction of the kitchen, but the wall blocked her from sight.

      Kat was dragging him into the office, jabbering about ponies and wondering when she would get one of her own. She was two. He considered reminding her of that fact, but she’d been reminded more than once.

      For the next couple of hours the girls colored pictures and he went over farm accounts and receipts for taxes that had to be filed. The vacuum cleaner rumbled overhead. Rachel was still singing. She was always singing. Even when he picked the girls up in the nursery at church he could hear her singing to them.

      He should be glad about that, that someone sang to them, someone soft and feminine. And she laughed, all the time. At least with the kids she laughed. He tried to remember the last time he’d really laughed. He watched his daughters trade crayons and he remembered. Kat had done something that made him laugh. They laughed more than they had six months ago. Far more than they had a year ago.

      He shook his head and glanced back at numbers blurring on the ledger he’d been staring at for the last hour. Ryder had just about let the ranch run into the ground. Not financially, just upkeep, the things that required sitting still.

      His cell phone rang and he reached for it, distracted. Wendy’s mom’s voice said a soft hello. Mother-in-law? Did he still call her that? She was still grandmother to his girls. A week didn’t pass that she didn’t call to check on them. More than once a month she and William, her second husband, drove up from Oklahoma City to visit.

      He didn’t want to sound paranoid, but he thought it was more like spying. It was Violet’s way of making sure he was surviving and that her granddaughters were being taken care of. He didn’t really blame her. There had been a few months when he hadn’t been sure if he was going to make it.

      “Violet, how are you?”

      “I’m fine, of course. The question is, how are you?” The southern accent should have been sweet and maternal. Instead it held about a dozen questions pertaining to his sanity.

      Which was just fine.

      “Good, Violet. The girls are coloring pictures and we’re getting ready to eat lunch.” He glanced at his watch and winced. It was past time for lunch.

      “Isn’t it a little late for lunch?” She never missed a thing. He smiled.

      “A little, but we ate a late breakfast.” That probably didn’t sound better, but he wasn’t going to lie to her.

      “Right. Well, I thought I’d come up this week, just to…”

      “Check up on us?”

      “Of course not. Wyatt, you know we love you and the girls. I miss…”

      Broken sentences. He held back the sigh. In the last eighteen months they’d talked in broken sentences, half-finished thoughts and unspoken accusations.

      “I miss her, too.” He finished the sentence for her.

      “So, about this week?”

      It wasn’t a good week for a visit. He leaned back in his chair and stared out the window at the overgrown lawn. He needed to hire a lawn service. “Sure, Violet, I’ll be here.”

      The vacuum cleaner stopped.

      “What’s that noise?” Violet asked.

      “Ryder hired a housekeeper.”

      “Oh. Well, that’s good.”

      “I guess it is.”

      “And a cook?”

      Of course it came back to cooking. He smiled a little. “I don’t need a cook.”

      She didn’t respond for a minute. “Okay, Wyatt. Well, I’ll call and let you know what day I’ll be up.”

      No, she wouldn’t. He slipped the phone back in his pocket knowing full well she’d launch a sneak attack when he least expected it.

      He leaned to kiss Molly on the top of her head. “You girls stay here for a second. I’m going to talk to Miss Rachel and then we’ll blow up our balloons. Later we’ll go to town.”

      To the store for groceries and a cookbook for dummies. Maybe he could learn to cook before Violet showed up.

      Molly shot him a narrow-eyed look. Kat ignored him. The girls were like night and day. Molly was her mother all over, but she looked like him. Kat looked like Wendy. They both had dark hair, but Kat’s was a little lighter and she had Wendy’s light brown eyes. It was getting easier to stare into eyes that reminded him of his wife.

      He hurried up the stairs and met Rachel in the hallway. She picked up her bucket of cleaning supplies and then smiled at him. Perspiration glistened on her brow and her hair was a little damp. But the upstairs smelled clean for the first time in a long time.

      The windows gleamed at either end of the hall and there were no cobwebs clinging to the ceiling. Maybe a housekeeper wasn’t such a bad idea. It might be a great idea. But he didn’t know if Rachel Waters was the one he wanted. She wore faded jeans and had the tiniest butterfly at the small of her back. Shouldn’t a housekeeper wear something more…housekeeperish?

      He pictured Alice from The Brady Bunch. Or the robot maid from The Jetsons. Yeah, that’s what a housekeeper should look like. A housekeeper should make PB and J sandwiches and smell like СКАЧАТЬ