Her Cowboy's Triplets
Autore
Sasha Summers
Letto da
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17
Chapter One
India Boone pushed her glasses into place and shoved another pencil into the top-knot of curls atop her head. “Work. Please work.” She typed in the code again, pressed Enter and held her breath. The same error box popped up on the computer screen. India covered her face with her hands and bit back a string of curses.
“Mom?” her five-year-old son, Cal, and his dog, Tanner, peered over the edge of the desk. “How many years before the Indians got here did the dinosaurs go extinct? Was it fifty-five or sixty-five millions years?”
She grinned at them, her frustration momentarily forgotten. How could she stay frustrated in the face of such adorableness? Most five-year-olds wouldn’t think about these things, but Cal was anything but normal. He was gifted and talented—something his old private school in Dallas was thrilled about. According to them, he was very gifted. Not that she’d needed anyone to tell her that.
“I’m not sure Cal. A long, long time. But if you want a firm answer we can go to the fort later on and ask Ada.” If the internet was working, she could answer the question in no time. But that was the problem. Her computer skills were solid—once internet service was set up. She skimmed the software manual again, hoping she’d missed something.
“Ada knows everything about Fort Kyle, doesn’t she?” Cal asked.
“Pretty much.” India nodded. “Too bad she doesn’t know everything about installing software.”
“Take a break? Maybe it’ll come to you after?” Cal suggested.
She smiled at him, rubbed behind Tanner’s soft ear and took off her glasses, tucking them into their case. “A break, huh?” she asked, tugging the pencils free from her hair and rubbing the back of her head.
“Sara said the Soda Shop is almost out of peach ice cream for the year,” Cal said, grinning. “That’s your favorite, isn’t it?”
“You know it is.” And it sounded delicious.
He stood, tucking his favorite plesiosaur dinosaur into his pocket. “Let’s go get some. Come on, Mom, you deserve it.”
“You’re allergic to peaches. What about you?” she asked, knowing exactly what he wanted. Something chocolate. Cal was all about the chocolate.
“Yeah, but...” He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, rocking on his boots. “I’m not allergic to chocolate. Or ice cream. Or brownies.”
Tanner stood, tail wagging, his golden gaze bouncing between them. The Belgian Malinois came around, pushing his broad head under her hand and leaning into her until she scratched behind his floppy, dark ear.
“See, even Tanner needs a break,” he tacked on.
She giggled, loving the smile on her son’s face. “You’re willing to suffer through a brownie sundae for me?”
“Sure.” He laughed. “You did work at the school lots this week. Now you’re helping Gramma and Papa.”
That was her—a jack-of-all-trades. Finding steady, good-paying work in a town the size of Fort Kyle was near impossible. Instead, she took what she could. Including installing internet and new inventory and accounting software for her parents’ antiques shop, along with substitute teaching and filling in at her parents’ dude ranch when they were shorthanded.
“It’s the weekend, Mom,” Cal added.
She’d come into the shop on her Sunday afternoon because it was closed. Meaning her father wasn’t around to stop her from dragging their business into the twenty-first century. His insistence on using paper ledgers and calculators took twice as long, and other than being inefficient and exhausting, the system was prone to errors. Her father would use the computer’s noncooperation as proof that relying on a “box full of wires” was “the stupidest idea” she’d ever had.
“A break it is.” She pushed out of the wobbly office chair and flipped off the office lamp. If nothing else, Cal’s patience deserved ice cream.
Cal led her to the front door of the antiques shop, Tanner trailing after them. “Did you know Gramma brought over another box of stuff from the big house?” He held the door open for her.
“She did?” She pulled the shop door shut and locked it. “I haven’t seen it or inventoried anything new.”
“And Papa snuck in two more when Gramma was talking to that loud lady from Nebraska.” He grinned up at her. “Hope Gramma doesn’t notice anything missing this time.”
“Let’s hope not.”
There was no denying her parents had too many things. Her mother’s penchant for collecting bordered on hoarding. The ranch house attic was packed tight, the closets were overflowing and their storage shed was a virtual museum of unique and fascinating items. Items her mother treasured. Items her father was determined to sell and make a tidy profit from.
When he’d tried to sneak things from the house into the shop, he’d gotten caught. Her mother hadn’t talked to her father for two days, which was torture for him. Woodrow Boone had one weakness: his wife. Apologies, flowers and chocolates, whatever made her happy, he did it.
But Woodrow Boone also never gave up—the man had a stubborn streak a mile wide. Within a few weeks, he’d managed the feat again, but this time he was smart enough to pick things from buried trunks and the back of closets. So far her mother had yet to miss any of it.
Her parents’ relationship was a mystery to her, but it had lasted for thirty-six years. Her marriage had barely lasted three years. Her divorce had left wounds so deep there was still some healing to do.
“Sky is pink.” Cal pointed at the horizon. A pink sunset and wafer-thin clouds greeted the eye. The West Texas breeze held the promise of fall. She leaned against the wood railing, letting the familiar sights and sounds of the small town ease the stress from her shoulders. The town was proof positive that the Old West wasn’t just the stuff of John Wayne movies. She and Cal were living it.
For a few more months.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” he asked.
“It is.” She lingered, appreciating the rugged beauty of the place where she’d grown up. When she’d been in Dallas, she’d missed Fort Kyle. Missed her sweet sister, Scarlett, and her mother’s smile. But now that she was here, she was reminded of the reason she left every time she looked at her father. He wore his disappointment for everyone to see. Failed marriage, flunked out of school and a son who was more interested in books than ranching—she was an all-around embarrassment to the Boone name. She’d come home because she wouldn’t let her pride keep Cal hungry. She shoved thoughts of her past and her father aside and opened the door of the Soda Shop for her son. “Ready for the Monarch Festival? And the cattle drive?”
Cal nodded. “Think Papa will let me ride a real horse? On my own?”
India wrinkled her nose. “We’ll see, Cal.” But she knew the answer. Her father wouldn’t spend the time teaching his grandson how to ride, even though it was tradition for Boone men. Cal hadn’t grown up on the ranch. He’d grown up in Dallas, a city boy with little time in the saddle. Like her ex-husband.
Cal’s father always said Fort Kyle was too remote and too backwater for a man like him. But India knew the truth. He’d never been welcome in her hometown. She’d met Jim Thomas Cleburne—JT to his friends—while away at college and had gotten so swept up in their relationship, she’d eventually dropped out of school. Marrying into the wealthy Boone family had suited JT just fine, but not her father. Woodrow Boone pegged JT as bad news from the first time she’d brought him home to the ranch on a school holiday, and he’d done his best to drive the man away while they were dating. India had been too outraged by her father’s meddling and harsh treatment of JT to consider he might be right.
As a self-described man of high ideals, JT liked the idea of success—but not the work. A pattern developed. JT chased after the latest get-rich scheme to wealth only to take his disappointment out on her when it all fell apart—and she had the scars to prove it. When he’d finally left, she’d been physically bruised and emotionally damaged, with a pile of debt and a vague assurance that he’d found a sure thing.
That was three years ago. Three years with no letters, phone calls or birthday or Christmas cards, which suited India just fine.
India and her son each took a seat on the bar stools lining the service counter.
“Hey, Cal. Hey, Miss India. What’ll it be?” Sara asked from her spot behind the counter.
Cal grinned at the teenager, the shop’s namesake. “You don’t know?”
She tapped her chin with a finger. “Let me think. Hmm, a hot-fudge brownie sundae?” she asked, smiling. “And some water for Tanner?”
Tanner’s ear perked up at his name, but he stayed seated at India’s feet—on his best behavior.
Cal nodded, tipping his straw cowboy hat back. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Hats off inside, Cal,” India whispered, pleased when he did as she said.
“What would you like, Miss India?” Sara asked.
“A single scoop of peach ice cream in a sugar cone.” Brody Wallace’s voice rang out, the slight gravel a pleasant surprise. He was the last person she’d expected to find sitting on the bar stool beside Cal. But there he was, all tawny eyes and red-gold hair, broad shoulders—broader and bigger than she remembered. But then, it had been years since she’d seen him last. “If I remember correctly?” He grinned, his brows rising in question.
India stared at him, stunned. By his transformation. And his presence. It was so good to see him. “Brody?” She hopped off her stool, hesitating seconds before wrapping her arms around his neck. “It’s so good to see you. It’s been too long. When did you get back in town? You visiting? Is your dad okay?”
He pulled back, his eyes crinkling from his grin. “Hold on, now. I’ll pick one. My dad’s fine. Ornery as ever, but fine.” His gaze explored her face, his smile never wavering. “You look good, Goldilocks.”
His nickname for her made her hug him again. Brody Wallace had been her very best friend in the world. Having the comfort of his arms around her now reminded her just how much she’d missed him. He’d been her shoulder through thick and thin, her confidant and her adviser. The last few years, when things had been so damn hard, she’d thought about reaching out to him. But calling him after all this time had seemed wrong—selfish.
“You okay?” he whispered.
She nodded, forcing herself to step back. “It’s just so good to see you.”
His eyes narrowed just a hint, stared a little too hard. “You, too.”
“Mom?” India felt Cal’s tug on her arm. “Goldilocks?”
She stepped back then, sliding an arm around her son. “Cal, this is Brody. He was my best friend growing up here.” She squeezed her son’s shoulder. “Brody, this is my son, Cal.”
Brody held his hand out. “Nice to meet you, Cal. And who’s this?” he asked, nodding at Tanner.
“That’s Tanner.” Cal shook his hand. “You got Mom’s order right.”
Brody nodded. “Thought so. Her love for peach ice cream was unrivaled by just about anything.”
Cal smiled.
“You want something?” Sara asked him.
Brody sighed, staring at the old-fashioned chalk menu.
“A root beer float,” India said. “With chocolate ice cream.”
Brody chuckled. “Haven’t had one of those in a long time.”
“Chocolate ice cream?” Cal asked. “Is it good?”
Brody nodded. “Last time I checked, you can’t really go wrong with chocolate.”
Cal nodded slowly. “Can’t argue with that.”
India glanced at Brody. He winked, the slight shake of his head so familiar. He’d always had a ready smile and a big, contagious laugh, and a kind word for everyone—and she’d admired him for it. He’d been a refreshing change from the other guys in her life. She and her father had tended to butt heads over every little thing. And the other boys in school were either too full of themselves or too eager to get into her pants to take the time to get to know her.
Of course, things were different now. But she hoped Brody, the man, hadn’t outgrown the generous spirit and easy nature she’d held so dear through school.
His gaze was just as thoughtful, just as warm. Which was nice.
Most of the men in her life stirred up other reactions. More like doubt. Insignificance. Defeat. Not that her father meant to undermine and belittle her. But he was a concrete sort of man. It didn’t matter if you tried, only if you succeeded.
Unlike JT. If JT was upset or disappointed, his words didn’t hurt half as much as his fists. JT had instilled all sorts of cold, hard feelings—fear being right at the top. She hadn’t missed him much the last three years.
“Here ya go,” Sara said, interrupting her thoughts.
Her hand was shaking as she took her ice-cream cone, so bad she almost dropped it.
“Careful, Mom,” Cal said, already scooping into his brownie sundae.
That was the plan. Being careful. As long as she stuck to the plan—save every penny and pass her school counselor certification exam—she and Cal would be on their way to bigger and better things. None of which included staying in Fort Kyle much longer. Until then, she’d be extra careful with her ice cream, her son and her still-battered heart.
* * *
BRODY SHOULD HAVE outgrown staring at India Boone like some lovesick teenager. He was a man now. A man with more than his fair share of responsibilities. Responsibilities that included a curmudgeon of a father, a high-strung high-needs mother, almost three-year-old triplets and one hell of a decision to make. He didn’t have time to sit beside India Boone, sipping on a root beer float. And watching her savor every lick of her ice cream...well, that was downright dangerous. India Boone had always made his brain short-circuit.
Dammit. He was older, wiser and a little harder now. She should know that, respect that. But one of her impish grins had him downright tongue-tied.
“You know anything about dinosaurs?” Cal asked between bites.
He shook his head, studying the boy. Good-looking kid. No surprise considering who the boy’s mother was. “I’m a lawman and a cattleman. Fair to middling on my horse knowledge. But my dinosaur knowledge is rusty.” He nodded at the toy sticking out of the boy’s pants pocket. “That looks like one poking out of your pocket.”
“Plesiosaurus,” India said. “That’s what that one is called. Cal is a dinosaur expert.”
“My daughters are more interested in mermaids than dinosaurs.” Brody nodded. “And fairies.”
India’s brows shot up, her not-so-subtle glance at his left hand making him smile. She hadn’t kept up with him, then.
“What’s her name?” Cal asked. “Your daughter, I mean?”
“I have three.” He smiled. “Suellen, Marilyn and Amberleigh.”
“Three?” India asked. “Wow.”
He chuckled. “That’s about right.”
“Where are they?” Cal asked.
“They’re at the ranch, with my parents. They love Nana and Granddad,” he said.
“Where’s their mom?” Cal’s question was innocent enough.
“She lives in Houston.” Working seventy-hour weeks as the youngest partner at the Law Offices of Hirsch and Martinez. That was who Barbara was. “She’ll be out next month for the girls’ birthday party. But they Skype most nights, so they can see each other.” Barbara worked hard, but she made sure to set aside time just for their girls. And when she visited, she left her work behind.
“Divorced?” Cal asked, waiting for his nod before asking, “Miss her?”
He shrugged. “We’re good friends.” Which was true. He and Barbara might want different things, but they both wanted the best for the girls.
“I don’t see my dad at all anymore,” Cal said. “I don’t mind.”
Brody tried not to look at India. He tried not to react to Cal’s matter-of-fact delivery. It didn’t work. His gaze met India’s—before she turned all of her attention on the remains of her peach ice cream. The look in her eyes made his stomach drop. He didn’t like it.
“How long are you visiting?” India asked him, still focused on her ice-cream cone.
“I’m staying put.” The corner of his mouth cocked up, waiting for her reaction. They’d made a pact, years ago, to get out—and stay out—of Fort Kyle. Now, here they were, eating the same ice creams and sitting on the same stools they’d always frequented.
“I thought you were some fancy lawyer?” she asked, putting her cone in Cal’s empty sundae cup and wiping off her fingers with a napkin.
“I was,” he agreed. “Big cars, fancy house, all the bells and whistles.” He smiled, shaking his head. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
His father’s heart attack hadn’t been unexpected. His dad ate badly, drank too much and refused to exercise. The family doctor had written down a detailed list of the changes he need to make to increase his health and posted it on the refrigerator so there was no confusing things. But had Vic Wallace listened? Hell, no. That man was stubborn as a mule. And twice as crotchety.
Since his mother couldn’t handle her husband on her own and Brody didn’t want the girls raised by a nanny, moving home made sense. Barbara, thankfully, had agreed.
India glanced at him then, her smile back. “You gave that up? And moved back?”
He nodded, wishing her surprise didn’t still make him go soft inside. “You?”
“Mom and I live on Papa and Gramma’s ranch,” Cal offered. “It gets crowded sometimes.”
“I’m working at Antiques and Treasures, doing some substitute teaching—until I can take my school counselor certification test.” She ran a hand over Cal’s close-cropped hair. “It’s all temporary.”
Brody was sad to hear that. And more than a little curious to know what had brought her back here in the first place. Not that he’d ask—not yet.
“You any good with computers?” Cal asked. “Mom’s trying to fix the computer at Gramma’s shop.”
“Oh?” Brody knew a thing or two about computers.
“I’ll figure it out,” India interjected, stubborn as always.
“You always tell me to ask for help,” Cal grumbled. “You’ve been trying and trying—”
“And I’ll get it,” she interrupted, sounding tense.
Brody knew a thing or two about the Boones. India Boone was stubborn as hell—just like her father. Not that he’d dare say such a thing to her.
His cell phone rang, the old-fashioned telephone ringtone echoing in the Soda Shop. “Excuse me,” he said. “Brody Wallace,” he answered.
He saw Cal’s eyes go wide, saw him tugging on his mother’s arm and his frantic whisper into her ear.
“Mr. Wallace, this is Rebecca Grant, your father’s nurse. He’s refusing to do his therapy again. Insurance won’t cover my care if he won’t comply with doctor’s orders.” It was the same song and dance every couple of weeks. And one of the reasons Brody had to stay. His mother would wring her hands, cry and call him anyway. Better to deal with it here, in person, head-on.
“Mrs. Grant, I’ll head that way now.”
“Well, I can’t make him, you know that.” She sounded exhausted.
His father had that effect on people. “No, ma’am, I know you can’t. I’ll do the arguing when I get there. You just stay put, I’m coming.”
“Yes, sir,” she said before the line went dead. He shook his head and shoved his phone into his pocket. “Better head out.”
“Your father?” India asked. “Everything all right?” There was concern in her green-blue eyes.
“He’s fine. Just being pigheaded is all.” He stood. “It was real nice to meet you, Cal.”
Cal frowned at him. “It was?”
Brody nodded. “It was.”
Cal leaned forward. “Aren’t you and Mom supposed to be enemies? You’re a Wallace and she’s a Boone. Everyone in Fort Kyle knows the Wallaces and Boones don’t like each other.”
Brody looked at India. “Is that so?” He’d grown up in the shadow of the feud between India’s father and his own. It was nonsense, really. His uncle had lost his part of the Wallace ranch to Woodrow Boone in a heated poker game. Woodrow won, he had the deed to prove it, but his father had been crying foul ever since. A few public yelling matches, several fistfights and their never-ending smear campaign against one another had turned a fair, if ridiculous, game of poker into a legendary feud.
India rolled her eyes. “Stop, Brody.”
How he loved hearing his name from her lips. “Your papa and my daddy might not get along. But I’ll tell you a secret.” He leaned forward, whispering loudly. “Your mom is one of my favorite people. I never cared much what her last name was.” He paused, glancing at Sara. “But if you’re worried about it, Cal, we can keep this quiet.”
Sara nodded. “I won’t tell a soul.”
Cal nodded, smiling. “Probably best. Papa gets loud when he gets upset. And he gets upset a lot.” Brody exchanged a grin with India. Cal continued. “’Sides, you’re nice. Mom needs nice friends.” He patted his mother’s hand.
Brody glanced at India again, struck by that distant look in her eyes. She was still smiling, but it was taking effort. He just didn’t know why. “I can do that,” he said. “Always liked being Goldilocks’s best friend.” He touched his hat. “I’ll be seeing you around. Bet my girls would love to hear all about the dinosaurs, Cal.”
“I don’t care much for mermaids,” Cal said, looking doubtful.
Brody chuckled. “That’s okay. Me neither.”
“It was so good to see you,” India said. “Really.”
He smiled. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again? Say, Tuesday. The Soda Shop still have a chicken fried steak dinner special on Tuesday, Sara?”
“We sure do,” Sara agreed.
“I might just be here around, say, six o’clock on Tuesday, having one. If you two decide you’re hungry about that time.” He winked at Cal.
Cal smiled. And so did India.
He walked out of the Soda Shop before he did something stupid. Like hug her again. Or ask her to go on a date with him. Or sit there and stare at her...
He was knocked back a few feet, a solid blow to the shoulder catching him by surprise.
“Watch where the hell you’re going—” Woodrow Boone broke off, his eyes narrowing.
“My apologies, Mr. Boone.” Brody touched his hat. “Didn’t see you there.”
The man gave him a slow toe-to-head inspection. “Didn’t see me? How’s that?” He frowned. “Something wrong with your eyes, boy?”
Brody bit back a grin. “No, sir.”
Woodrow Boone grunted and pushed past him into the Soda Shop.
“You have a good day,” Brody called out, not bothering to wait for a response from his father’s self-proclaimed enemy.
Brody climbed into his bright red truck, threw it into Reverse and headed down Fort Kyle’s main drive from town. Miles of dirt roads, cattle guards, cacti and tumbleweeds led him home to Wallace ranch. By the time he’d reached the main house, he’d pushed all thoughts of Woodrow Boone aside. Taking care of his family came first, even if Brody’s father was determined to challenge him.
