The Wrong Cowboy
Author
Sasha Summers
Reads
15,5K
Chapters
13
CHAPTER ONE
“HAVE YOU SIGNED the petition yet?” Mabel Briscoe stood outside the Garrison Family Grocery Store with a clipboard in one hand, fanning herself with the straw cowboy hat she held in the other.
“Why, Mabel Briscoe! Is that you?” Barbara Eldridge paused and came around her full grocery cart to hug her. “Look at you. Like a ray of sunshine.”
“I am wearing yellow.” She smiled, pointing down at her attire. She wore a bright yellow sundress, cowboy boots and one of the large green buttons the Garrison Ladies Guild had made for fundraising. It read, “Save erste Baum. Say No to Quik Stop and Shop.”
“Well, you look lovely,” Barbara said, nodding with approval. “And, yes, I signed the petition—proudly. But I appreciate you standing out here, getting more signatures.”
“I should have known, you being on the Ladies Guild and all.” Mabel tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s why I came home. I want to help.” And the only reason she was standing directly beneath the midday sun, melting.
Garrison was home to what was purported to be the oldest tree in Texas. Named erste Baum or First Tree, the tree and the large tract of land around it had always been for public use—a part of the town heritage and a place where the community often gathered. Now, the new city manager was talking to a big-box chain store about selling the prime real estate—erste Baum and all.
“You’ve always had such a big and giving heart, Mabel. I know having you on our side will give us an extra advantage.” Barbara Eldridge winked. “The more signatures we get on this cease and desist petition, the better.”
“Yes, ma’am.” So far, she’d collected three pages of names—and been hugged and welcomed home more times than she could count. It did make standing in the sun more bearable, but Mabel would have stood out in the rain if it helped. She couldn’t think of a better place to stand to catch all the Garrison citizens as they went in and out of the town’s only grocery store—even if the temperature was rising. “You should probably get your groceries out of the sun.” She nodded at the container of ice cream sticking out of one shopping bag.
“Oh, goodness, yes.” Mrs. Eldridge patted her cheek. “I look forward to catching up with you and hearing all about your... What was it again? Donkeys?”
“Mustangs.” Mabel smiled. “Wild mustangs.”
“Yes, that’s right.” She nodded. “You take care now. I’ll see you at Miss Martha’s birthday next weekend?”
Martha Zeigler was the galvanizing force behind the Save the First Tree movement. As the richest person in Garrison, the older, highly opinionated, prickly woman was someone folks tended to accommodate. Miss Martha never celebrated her birthday, as a result no one knew exactly how old she was, but she was doing everything she could to bring attention to the plight of the beloved tree. That was the only reason for her last-minute idea to throw herself a massive birthday party beneath the branches of the First Tree this upcoming weekend—on the heels of last weekend’s well-publicized and awareness-boosting community picnic. Miss Martha was hoping for an even bigger turnout for her birthday. Mabel suspected it would be a bigger crowd, too, out of sheer curiosity. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“It’s sure to be quite the production. Martha wouldn’t have it any other way.” Mrs. Eldridge chuckled. “And good luck getting those signatures.”
Once Mrs. Eldridge was heading across the parking lot, Mabel went back to fanning herself with her cowboy hat. Harvey, her brother’s massive part Great Dane, part Great Pyrenees, eyed her from his spot in the shade against the side of the building.
“You’re no help.” She shielded her eyes, smiling at the dog’s massive yawn—not in the least offended by her rebuke.
The doors slid open, and a cool gust of air rolled over her, giving her a moment’s reprieve from the stifling heat.
“And she said...she said... Daddy, are ya listenin’?” A little girl with a head full of black curls came skipping out, pausing to stare back over her shoulder. “Daddy?”
“Right here, Samantha.” The deep voice was all warmth and amusement.
For Mabel, the sound of that voice had her heart hammering and her whole body tightening—torn between running and hiding. But her legs and feet wouldn’t cooperate. She was frozen in place. Wide-eyed. Staring. A ball of anticipation and distress formed in her stomach and worked its way up to lodge in her throat. Every bit of her seemed to coil up, waiting for...
Jensen Crawley stepped outside and Mabel had to bite into her lower lip to stop from sighing aloud. Jensen was, to Mabel, the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on.
He’d always been...different. Since she lived with four brothers and an uncle who were constantly teasing and arguing and making too much noise, she’d found Jensen’s careful use of words and more serious nature highly appealing. He was kind; his smile was shy and warm. And his hair... The girls at school had all been so jealous of his hair. Dirty blond with streaks of gold running through his silky curls. Most of the time, he’d kept his hair short but Mabel had always liked his hair longer—usually right before he’d go for a trim. And, since he was a head taller than everyone and he had that hair, she’d always been able to find him in a crowd.
Because I was always looking for him. Even though Jensen was the one boy in all of Garrison she shouldn’t have been looking for. He was a Crawley. She was a Briscoe. That simple fact was enough for them both to keep their distance. And since that hadn’t changed... I shouldn’t be looking now, either.
From her quick assessment now, it appeared he was, for the most part, unchanged. Older, of course. Taller, too. And thicker. He wasn’t the string bean he’d been in high school. Now—she swallowed—his muscles were obvious.
While Mabel was having thoughts about things she shouldn’t care one whit about, the little girl with the curls stopped right in front of her. “Hey. I’m Samantha, what’s your name?” The little girl stared up at her with dark blue eyes—almost black.
You have your father’s eyes. “I’m Mabel.” The little girl smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Samantha.” She held out her hand to shake.
Harvey, who loved kids, hopped up to trot across the concrete sidewalk.
Samantha backed up, her bright smile fading as she ran around her father and hid behind his legs. “Daddy, is that a bear?”
“No, little miss, that’s a dog. One big dog.” Jensen Crawley reached around to pat her on the head. “No worries. Miss Mabel’s always been able to talk to animals. I’m sure she’d say something if the dog meant us any harm.” Jensen’s deep blue eyes scanned her face quickly, his smile hesitant. “Probably.”
Mabel put her hat on, smoothing her hair from her shoulders. “Probably?” Her laugh was nervous. Why? Why was she nervous? It had been years since she’d last seen him—let alone talked to him. He was practically a stranger. Heat exhaustion. That was what it was. I need water.
He touched the rim of his hat. “It’s been a while.”
Mabel nodded, her gaze falling to Samantha. “I’d say at least...five years?”
“Hey, I’m five.” Samantha held up five fingers. “Almost six.”
“Almost. Only ten more months to go.” Jensen’s gaze fell to the button pinned to the wide strap of her sundress. “Taking up the cause?”
“Of course.” Mabel hugged the clipboard. “When Uncle Felix told me, I thought he was joking. I’m still...in shock.”
“It won’t happen.” He shook his head.
“I hope you’re right.” Which reminded her of why she was standing there, in the sun, hugging a clipboard. Way to be on the ball, Mabel. “I know a way you can make sure it doesn’t happen.” She smiled sweetly and held out the clipboard.
“What’s that?” Samantha wasn’t budging from behind Jensen—even though Harvey was sitting, patiently, tongue lolling out of his mouth and his thick plume of a tail wagging in greeting.
“It’s a petition,” Mabel explained. “We are trying to save erste Baum.”
“The tree?” Samantha asked, her gaze bouncing from Harvey to Mabel’s clipboard. “Is it sick? Does it need medicine?”
“No. Not exactly.” Mabel crouched, holding out the clipboard. “This paper says whoever signs it doesn’t want anything to happen to the First Tree. I’m trying to get a whole bunch of people to put their names here so we can take it to the city council—the people that make decisions.”
“Oh.” Samantha nodded, running her fingers over the paper. “Daddy needs to sign it?”
“Only if he wants to.” Mabel was aware that Harvey was now belly-crawling, inch by inch, toward her side—closer to Samantha. “What is it, Harvey?” She paused, watching as Harvey turned to look at her, cocking his head to one side. His whimper was soft. “You want me to introduce you to Samantha?”
Harvey’s tail wagged.
“He said that?” Samantha asked, moving back behind Jensen, but peering around his legs with eyes round as saucers.
“More or less.” Mabel gave Harvey a good scratch behind the ear. “I promise you, Samantha, he’s not a bear. But if he was one, he’d be a big ole teddy bear. I know he’s on the big side, but he’d never hurt you.”
Jensen’s hand dropped to rest on Samantha’s shoulder. “Mabel knows.”
Samantha was studying Harvey now, not convinced. “But he looks like...like a polar bear.”
Mabel turned, studying the dog. “You know, you’re right. He does.” She faced Samantha. “But did you know polar bears only live in the Arctic? That’s very far away. And much colder than Garrison. So, even though he might look like one, I can assure you Harvey is not a polar bear.”
“And zoos,” Samantha said. “Daddy took me to the zoo and there was a polar bear there.”
Mabel glanced at Harvey again. “Zoos, too. They do all sorts of work to keep animals safe and healthy.”
Samantha nodded. “And they have yummy popcorn, too.”
Mabel laughed. “Do they? It’s been a long time since I’ve been.”
“You should go.” Samantha watched as Harvey continued his snail-paced belly-crawl, scooching closer to her. “So, you’re sure he’s not a polar bear?”
“One hundred percent. Cross my heart.” She drew a cross over her heart with her fingers.
“Okay, then, I guess I can meet him.” Samantha shrugged.
“Harvey,” Mabel called, patting him when he sat up straight and tall at her side. “Harvey, this is Samantha. You use your best manners and say hello.” She held his broad head in her hands and stared into his eyes. “Nice and gentle, okay?”
Harvey blinked.
“Samantha, this is Harvey—the not polar bear.” Mabel watched as Samantha leaned forward, hand outstretched, to touch Harvey on the nose. “It’s wet.” She smiled, stepping around from behind Jensen so her hand could slide up and over his head. “Ooh, he has soft fur.”
“Doesn’t he?” Mabel nodded, staying close. Samantha was doing well, but it was clear the little girl was uncertain.
Harvey must have sensed it, too, because he flopped onto his back and offered up his tummy.
“He’s says he trusts you.” Mabel pointed. “A dog does that to tell you that you’re in charge and he just wants to be friends.” She glanced up to find Jensen Crawley watching her closely, his expression blank.
What did that mean? Had she overstepped? Just because she didn’t buy into the whole generations-old Briscoe-Crawley feud didn’t mean he didn’t. It wasn’t like the two of them had ever talked about it. Not that we’ve had all that many conversations, period. For all she knew, he could think like his father did now: the Briscoes were the enemy. “Is this okay?” She nodded at Samantha and Harvey, for clarification.
“It’s more than okay.” He shook his head, a crease forming between his brows as he turned his attention to his daughter and Harvey.
Harvey, good boy that he was, was perfectly still while Samantha carefully inspected his paws. When she seemed satisfied, she reached out a tentative hand to stroke the thick fur on Harvey’s tummy. “Nice, Harvey,” she said softly, making Harvey’s tail wag.
“Samantha’s usually very wary around animals. This is...nice.” He shook his head, that slow smile returning to his face.
“Are you friends with Daddy?” Samantha asked.
Mabel tore her gaze from Jensen. “Um...” I used to be madly in love with your father but, as a mature grown woman, I am totally over him now. No. That wouldn’t work. “We went to school together.”
“You did?” Samantha asked.
“Sort of. Miss Mabel’s younger,” Jensen said, his smile growing as he watched his daughter with Harvey.
Oh, that smile. Mabel swallowed, hard. That hadn’t changed. Not one bit.
A sharp whistle reached them, announcing the arrival of her brothers, Webb and Forrest. The sudden tension in the air told Mabel all she needed to know. People might grow and change, but the grudge between their two families wouldn’t. Not that I was expecting anything different. She stood, smoothing the skirt of her sundress and waving at her brothers. “Is it time already?” she asked.
“Yep,” Webb said, giving Jensen a narrow-eyed look.
“Okay.” Her gaze shifted to Jensen.
Jensen and Forrest exchanged a stiff nod, before Jensen said, “Come on, Samantha, we need to get home.”
“Oh.” Samantha stood, taking Jensen’s hand. “Did you sign Miss Mabel’s papers?” She tugged on her father’s hand. “Save the tree, Daddy.”
Poor Jensen. Mabel felt certain all Samantha would ever have to do was use that look right there to get whatever she wanted. The big blue eyes. The tiny crease of concern between her brows. The twist to her lips. Samantha Crawley was too adorable for words.
It was no surprise that Jensen took the pen Mabel offered, signed her petition and handed the pen back without saying a word.
“Okay.” Samantha went back to wide-eyed, bouncy enthusiasm. “Bye, Harvey. Bye, Miss Mabel.”
“Bye, Samantha. It was nice to meet you.” She waved at the little girl, her gaze darting to Jensen. “Nice seeing you, Jensen.”
Jensen looked genuinely surprised, but he managed a small smile and said, “You, too, Mabel. Thanks for...that.” Without another word, he and Samantha walked into the sea of cars in the parking lot.
“What was that about?” Webb’s tone was sharp as he scowled down at her.
“That was me, being neighborly.” Mabel sighed. “Harvey wanted to meet Samantha. Samantha wanted to meet Harvey. And Jensen—”
“Jensen is a Crawley,” Webb interrupted.
“Jensen’s not so bad.” Forrest glanced after Jensen and Samantha. “I can’t say I’m a fan of Crawley senior, but Jensen... Well, Mabel did right by being neighborly. He and his little girl have had a hard time the last few years.” Forrest placed a hand on his little brother’s shoulder. “Besides, go easy on Mabel. You know how she is with kids and animals. We want her to stick around now, you hear?”
Webb frowned, but didn’t argue.
“Kids and animals always turn me to goo.” Once upon a time, Jensen Crawley did the same. Maybe not goo—but definitely weak-kneed and flustered. Nothing at all like the way she’d reacted today. Right. Sure. Whatever. It was fine. It’d been a while, that was all. She’d be better next time she saw him and, since Garrison wasn’t exactly a big town, she’d likely be seeing him again. There’s not a thing to worry about. “Thanks for coming to get me.” Mabel hooked arms with her brothers, eager to change the subject to something non-Crawley related. “I could use an ice cream. My treat.”
“DOES MABEL REALLY talk to animals?” Samantha asked, bouncing her feet as Jensen buckled her into her booster seat. “Is she magic?”
Jensen chuckled. “I don’t think so.”
“I dunno anyone who talks to animals, Daddy.” Samantha put her hand on his arm. “’Cept the princesses in my movies. They talk and dance and sing with them.”
“I don’t think Mabel’s a princess, either.”
“Then how did she talk to Harvey?” Her brows rose. “How?”
He shrugged. “Well, now...” He didn’t have an answer for that.
“She’s pretty, too,” Samantha added. “Princesses are pretty and nice—she was nice, too. I think she was prettier than anyone. Ever. She has long, long, long black hair.” She clapped her hands. “And she was wearing a dress, too, and princesses always wear dresses, Daddy.”
All true. His daughter was so serious and her arguments made perfect five-year-old sense, so Jensen said, “Maybe.”
Samantha’s feet stopped bouncing. “Maybe? Maybe Mabel is a...a princess?” She stared up at him with wide eyes. “Really, Daddy? Really?”
“Well... Probably not. I don’t think there are any princesses in Texas, little miss.” He shrugged, wishing he’d thought before he spoke. Samantha took every single word to heart—remembered every word, too.
“There are. There are. On the floats, Daddy. ’Member?” Samantha waited for his answer.
“Ah, well... Those are for pageants—”
“Queens and princesses and duck-chesses.” Samantha counted off on her fingers.
“Duchesses,” he corrected.
“Yep.” Samantha nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. “See. They are here. In Teshes. And they all wear crowns and stuff.”
She looked so proud of herself that he didn’t have the heart to argue with her. “Well, little miss, I guess you’ll have to ask her next time you see her.”
Samantha nodded, a little shell-shocked and a whole lot excited over the possibility that Mabel Briscoe was a princess.
“You all buckled in and ready to go?” he asked.
“Yessir.” She reached into the basket beside her and pulled out one of her books. “Princess,” she whispered, staring at her well-read fairy-tale book. “A real princess.”
Jensen closed the back door, knowing he was going to regret this entire conversation. How was he going to keep her from mentioning this to his father? His father, Paw-Paw to Samantha, was gruff and harsh—with one exception: Samantha. When it came to his granddaughter, his father would do anything to make her happy. But he didn’t think that would extend to something that included a Briscoe, even if the Briscoe was Mabel. The origin of the Briscoe-Crawley grudge went back three generations, but over the years, each generation seemed to add their own offense to it.
As he headed around the hood of his truck, he glanced back at the front doors of Garrison Family Grocery. Mabel, arm in arm with her brothers and Harvey the non-polar bear at her side, laughing and talking as they made their way to the crew cab truck with the Briscoe Ranch brand stenciled on the doors. He’d grown up hating that brand and that name. To his father, Briscoe was a dirty word. If his father did utter the name in their home, he spat it out with outright disgust.
When Jensen had walked into his classroom on the first day of kindergarten, he and Forrest had been on the way to being friends—right up until their teacher had called the roll. Then Forrest wasn’t just Forrest, he was Forrest Briscoe. Briscoe. The bad name. The bad family. That boy was a Briscoe. The ones that had done the Crawleys wrong at every turn—his father had said so, over and over again, and back then, Jensen believed his father’s every word. Like Samantha believed him.
Was it any wonder that he and Forrest had wound up in the principal’s office with bloody noses and an assortment of bruises? Forrest had called him Creepy Crawley, Jensen had dubbed him Bratty Baby Briscoe—he’d been especially proud he’d gotten in two insults—and the floodgates had opened and the fists had started flying. He didn’t know half of what he’d said, only that he’d repeated things his father had. That had been his and Forrest’s first fight. The next ten years were chock-full of playground bullying, athletic rivalry, romantic sabotage, competing over class-rank placement and pretty much anything to get under each other’s skin.
After Forrest’s parents died, Jensen didn’t have it in him to be as brutal as he’d been before. It felt...wrong. Not too long after that, Forrest’s older brother, Gene, was killed overseas while on active duty. That had been when Forrest changed. The two of them might not see eye to eye, but Jensen wasn’t heartless. Losing so many loved ones? It had been beyond imagining. But when Jensen had tried to tell Forrest how sorry he was, Forrest had...snapped. Later, Jensen understood. Forrest had been grieving and angry and he’d taken it out on Jensen. But even then, as Forrest was beating him senseless, he hadn’t fought back. That had been their last fight.
He absently rubbed his nose. The break had long since healed, but he’d never forget that day or the pain that haunted Forrest Briscoe’s eyes.
As the Briscoe Ranch truck cut across the lot and onto Main Street, Jensen climbed into his truck, turned on the ignition and peered into the rearview mirror at his daughter. He was thankful none of the Briscoes had a child the same age as Samantha. His little miss wouldn’t grow up knowing someone hated them purely because their name was Crawley.
Samantha looked up from her book, her big eyes meeting his. “We going now, Daddy?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He winked at her. “First, we gotta go pick up the new microwave from Old Towne Hardware and Appliances—”
“’Cuz Auntie Twyla blew up the old one.”
“Because Aunt Twyla blew up the old one.” He hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time. His little sister had put her brand-new coffee mug into the microwave, not thinking about the gold rim and lettering. Seconds later, a series of sparks and pops began, followed by a deep humming. The microwave started vibrating, the front glass broke, and black smoke started billowing out and into the kitchen. Jensen couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his father move that fast. “After we get the new microwave, we’ll go visit with Aunt Kitty and Aunt Twyla for a bit. Then we’ll head out for Mr. Earl’s place and, finally, the dance shop.”
“Okay, Daddy. Lots to do today.” She went back to looking at her book.
“Yes, ma’am, lot of errands.” During the week, it was his job to oversee Crawley Cattle Ranch operations. If he wasn’t out working the land or tending the herds, he was ordering feed and equipment and balancing the books. Most days he was up and gone with the sun and back around suppertime, so he didn’t get as much time with his little girl as he’d like. On the weekends, he did his best to spend every minute with her. Lucky for him, she liked running errands and visiting folk. Just like her mother, Samantha never met a stranger.
“I like Mabel, Daddy,” Samantha said, turning the page on her book.
“She’s nice.” He backed up and headed out onto the main road. Mabel had always been nice. There’d been times he’d almost forgotten she was a Briscoe. And now, apparently, she’s a princess.
“And pretty, too.” Samantha turned the page. “Like a princess,” Samantha added, whispering. “But her hair isn’t long enough to climb...” It sounded like this might be a strike against Mabel.
Jensen had to chuckle.
Weekends in Garrison meant out-of-towners shopping up and down Main Street, sidewalk sales and the occasional church, school or club fundraiser. This month, things were a little different. Last weekend, the big community picnic had brought in more tourist and media than ever. This weekend, Miss Martha was throwing a huge birthday party—with a Save the First Tree theme, of course. She’d invited everyone who was anyone from all over Texas. Meaning, Garrison would be bursting at the seams this weekend. On just about every corner and in every shop window were large green banners and posters with “Save the First Tree” printed in large white letters.
The whole town was in an uproar over the city manager, some wannabe big shot from the city, talking to the retail giant Quik Stop and Shop about buying a large parcel of land in town. There were two concerns. First, no one in Garrison wanted Quik Stop and Shop moving in and running the mom-and-pop stores out of business. Second, the parcel of land being considered had the First Tree right smack-dab in the middle of it. That was like taking the Statue of Liberty out of New York City or the Eiffel Tower out of Paris—it was unthinkable.
Maybe that was why Jensen wasn’t too worried about it actually happening. Between the tricounty-area media blitz, the Garrison Ladies Guild’s activism and the fact that the city council would never approve such a thing, the First Tree was in no real danger. Still, he respected the effort being made by all age levels. From Samantha’s kindergarten class making a “Why Trees Are Important” video, the petition going around, the community picnic, Miss Martha’s Save the Tree birthday party and the rumored drive-by protest parade and mass attendance at the next city council meeting, it seemed like the whole town had rallied around the iconic landmark that put Garrison on the map.
They headed down Main Street and turned right on the corner of the courthouse square, before doing a U-turn and parking alongside Old Towne Hardware and Appliances.
“Is Mr. Nolan here?” Samantha asked, holding up her hands so he could unbuckle her booster seat.
“I’m thinking so.” Jensen lifted her from the truck cab and set her on the sidewalk. Samantha loved visiting Mr. Nolan because Mr. Nolan always seemed to have a lollipop set aside just for her. “But if he’s not here, I bet Mr. Rusty is.”
“He’s okay.” Samantha took his hand, shrugging.
Jensen chuckled. Rusty was Nolan’s son, good-natured and helpful, but he wasn’t always as lollipop-prepared as Mr. Nolan was. Jensen held the door open and followed her in, letting her lead the way—skipping—to the main counter.
“Well, lookee-here, it’s Miss Samantha Curly-Locks.” Nolan Woodard came around the counter to meet her. “I thought you might be coming in with your daddy.”
“Yes, sir.” Samantha nodded. “We have to pick up the new microwave since Auntie Twyla blew up the old one.”
Mr. Nolan nodded, looking very serious. “Well, now, that happens from time to time.”
“Daddy said that’s the second time Auntie Twyla blew one up.” Samantha nodded.
“I do seem to recall ordering this model at least once before.” Mr. Nolan shook hands with Jensen. “Let’s get you set up now, shall we?”
After ten minutes of talking about Mr. Nolan’s pet bearded dragon, Bongo, Jensen carried the microwave to the truck with Samantha following, sucking on a bright red lollipop. The drive to his sister’s shop was the other direction—just long enough for Samantha to get good and sticky.
“Look, Daddy, balloons.” Samantha’s voice carried from the back seat. “Auntie Twyla and Auntie Kitty have balloons.”
He pulled into one of the angled parking spaces in front of The Calico Pig, his sisters’ Main Street shop, and peered out the front windshield. “I’d say that’s a few balloons.” Not only was there an arch of green balloons over the shop door, there was also a large swath of green-and-white-plaid fabric with large calico letters that had “Save the First Tree” sewn on.
“Here ya go.” He offered Samantha a wipe. “You got...all over.” He waved his pointed finger in a circle over her face, making her giggle.
“Are they having a party?” Samantha asked, less sticky, as he unbuckled her from her seat once more.
“Sort of. Looks like they’re helping out, like Mabel.” He helped her from the truck.
“To save the tree? Trees are important, Daddy. The give us ox-y-gen to breathe.” She took a deep breath. “We need the trees.” She took his hand and skipped along at his side.
“Yes, ma’am.” He stepped inside to find his sisters in deep conversation with Hattie Carmichael, the county game warden. “You three look like you’re planning something.” He tipped his hat. “Hattie.”
“Jensen.” Hattie waved her fingers, grinning.
“Hi, Samantha. Hey, big brother. We’re not up to a thing.” His sister Kitty waved aside his question and turned, sliding a stack of folded aprons—newly embroidered with Ellis Family Feed and Ranch Supplies on the bib—into a brown paper sack. “Thanks for taking these to Earl.”
“Headed that way, anyway,” Jensen said.
“How do, Samantha.” Hattie was all smiles. “You keeping your daddy out of trouble?”
Samantha glanced up at him. “I think so?”
Hattie and his sisters laughed.
“Jensen is never in trouble,” Twyla said, rolling her eyes. “He’s as good as gold.”
Jensen shot his sister a look. “You’re right, I haven’t blown up any microwaves recently.”
“Who would do that?” Hattie, ever practical, asked.
“Auntie Twyla,” Samantha said. “Makin’ coffee. Paw-Paw jumped up and sprayed that white stuff all over the kitchen.”
“White stuff?” Hattie looked among the adults for clarification.
“Fire extinguisher,” Jensen murmured, managing to swallow his laugh.
Twyla sighed, covering her face with her hands.
“I see...” Hattie said, then burst out laughing. “That sounds downright exciting, Samantha.”
“It was. Oh, and Mr. Nolan just now gave me a red lollipop. It was yum-my.” Samantha licked her lips. “Mr. Nolan is so nice.”
“He did? Well, he never gives me a red lollipop.” Kitty sighed. “Sounds like he treats you special.” She winked at her niece.
“Of course she is.” Hattie shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Anything else exciting happen recently?”
“Oh...” Samantha bounced up and down on her toes, her eyes going round. “Yes. Yes. Something happened.” She clapped her hands together and her whole face lit up.
It wasn’t just the way her voice wavered or how her whole body seemed to vibrate that drew all eyes her way. It was the pure, unfiltered excitement that rolled off his little girl in waves. He had a pretty good idea what had her all worked up and suspected his sisters wouldn’t be as excited as Samantha was. But he waited, along with Hattie and his sisters, to see if he was right.
“Well, don’t keep us waiting.” Kitty crouched in front of Samantha. “What is it?”
“I met a real live princess this morning.” Samantha’s announcement was more a giggle and squeak than anything else. But it was just intelligible enough to be understood.
“Here?” Hattie frowned. “In Garrison?”
“Why do you say that, Samantha?” Twyla asked, peering up at him for clarification.
Jensen sighed, ran a hand over his face and offered up the only explanation that wouldn’t immediately break his daughter’s heart. “Samantha’s a lot like Nancy Drew. You give her the pieces and she puts together the puzzle. The way she sees it.” Not necessarily the right way... Like this time.
Samantha nodded. “I can’t read those books, though.”
Kitty lifted Samantha up so she could sit on the wide wooden counter with the large glass front. “I’ll read them to you, if you like?”
“Okay.” Samantha nodded. “But some of the covers are scary.”
“Hold on, I’m still waiting to hear about this princess.” Twyla smoothed Samantha’s red-and-white gingham skirt.
“Oh, that. She has to be. She is pretty and has long hair and she can talk to aminals, too.” Samantha was ticking off the princess list she’d developed on her fingers. “And she was nice, very nice, and she wore a pretty dress.” She took a deep breath. “She was standing outside the food store holding papers and getting names to save the tree. A princess would save a tree. For her aminal friends.”
Jensen smiled. Try as she might, Samantha always said animal as aminal.
“A princess?” Kitty shot another questioning gaze Jensen’s way.
“Your auntie Kitty and I are helping save the tree,” Twyla pointed out. “Are we princesses, too?”
“No, Auntie Twyla. Course not.” Samantha giggled, her ringlets shaking as she shook her head. “You’re funny.”
“Nice. Pretty. Long hair. Talks to animals. That describes the only princess I know.” Hattie nodded. “I heard Mabel is back in town. Can’t wait to catch up with her.”
“That’s it, Miss Hattie.” Samantha nodded. “You guessed it. Princess Mabel.”
But Jensen saw the way his sisters’ excitement faded. It wasn’t the origination of the Crawley-Briscoe feud or the years of skirmishes since that got his sisters really worked up and feisty, though. It was about protecting their family now. They’d watched him come home with cuts and scrapes and a bruised ego since he was Samantha’s age. That, coupled with their father’s long-standing bitterness, had laid the groundwork for them to have their own feelings about the Briscoe family. And none of it was good.
“She had a dog, too,” Samantha said, spreading her arms out wide. “A big one. Like this.” She stretched out even farther. “Bigger.”
“Did it hurt you?” Twyla asked, her hand resting on Samantha’s knee.
“Oh, honey, are you okay?” Kitty shot him a look full of reproach.
His sisters knew how fearful Samantha was of dogs...and most animals, come to think of it.
“Uh-uh. Mabel told me he’s no polar bear an’ he won’t ever hurt me an’ he didn’t. He was so soft on his tummy.” She tucked her hands between her knees and grinned. “He was... What was he, Daddy?”
“Like a big old teddy bear?” Jensen offered up.
“Yep.” Samantha nodded.
“You didn’t have to pet the dog if you didn’t want to.” Twyla was giving Samantha a thorough once-over.
Samantha nodded, her little gaze bouncing between her aunts. “But I wanted to. Mabel said he was nice. And he was. An’ she said he was soft. And he was soft.” She blinked. “And she was nice and Daddy said she could talk to aminals an’ if she said the doggy was nice, the doggy would be. Daddy was right, too.”
His sisters both turned to stare at him now.
But Hattie was smiling. “I don’t know about the princess part, Samantha, but I do know Mabel Briscoe can talk to animals.”
“Really, truly?” Samantha asked. “For sure?”
Jensen started to nod, but his sisters’ glares stopped him. Mabel had never done or said a thing to any of them. He’d always thought she was different. Not just from the rest of her family, but from...well, everyone. She just had this thing about her—something empathetic and honest and intense. Like she could stare into a person’s eyes, read their troubles and offer them help. He’d never forget her kindness after his mother died. Never. He shook his head, giving his still-glaring sisters his best disapproving dad face. It wasn’t Mabel’s fault that her last name was Briscoe and, when they were alone, he’d remind his sisters of that.
“She can’t, honey,” Kitty assured her, almost apologetic.
“No,” Twyla interrupted, shaking her head. “No one can.”
“Maybe not with words, I’ll give you that,” Hattie agreed, undeterred by his sisters. “But she seems to, I don’t know, have a...a connection with them. An understanding, I guess you’d say. I’ve called her a time or two, before she went off to protect the wild horses, to see if she could help me out when an animal was acting different or worrisome.”
“She’s protectin’ horses?” Samantha’s eyes were round once more, absorbing this new piece of information.
“Yes, ma’am.” Hattie nodded.
“Did she help you, Miss Hattie? When those aminals acted funny?” Samantha was leaning forward, waiting eagerly for the answer.
Hattie nodded. “She did.”
“See?” Samantha nodded. “Mabel is a princess. I know she is. She’s gotta be.”
“She did get Samantha to pet a dog. Not just a quick pat, but a full belly rub.” Jensen shot his sisters a meaningful look. “A dog that was bigger than she was, I might add.”
“He was, he was.” Samantha nodded, spreading out her arms again. “Bigger than this.”
From the lock of Twyla’s jaw, to the deep crease between Kitty’s brows, he could tell his sisters weren’t going to give an inch on this. When they were in a stubborn sort of mood, like now, the best thing was to wait until the mood had passed. He shrugged, grabbing the paper bag. “We should get going, Samantha. We still have to go see Mr. Earl before we can head to the dance shop for your sparkle tights.” When his little girl was clogging, she had to sparkle—from head to toe.
“Okay, Daddy.” Samantha let him lift her off the counter. “Bye, Auntie Twyla, Auntie Kitty and Miss Hattie.”
“Bye, Sugar,” Hattie said, smiling. “You have fun with your daddy.”
“I will.” Samantha smiled up at him. “We always have fun together, don’t we, Daddy?”
That smile, right there, was the thing that got him out of bed every morning. And when the ache in his chest just about brought him to his knees, it was hearing her humming along to one of her sing-along princess tapes that eased the pressure until he could breathe. “We do indeed, little miss.” He squeezed her hand and gave her a wink, chuckling as she skipped—still holding his hand—all the way back to his truck.
