Tina Leonard - Triplets' Rodeo Man Page 10

  Jack’s throat went dry. Pop’s words seemed like good advice. “It does sound like something Cricket would do,” he said slowly, realizing that if she was reluctant now, she wasn’t going to become any more eager. “She’s not the most conventional woman.”

  Josiah chuckled. “You wouldn’t have wanted a conventional woman.”

  “I suppose not,” Jack said, uncertain. He would have at least liked the woman he chose to be more excited about being his wife. “Hey, congratulations, Pop, on finding a good woman.”

  “I found two good women,” Josiah said, “and I don’t intend to make the same mistakes with the second one that I made with the first. Fortunately for me, the first one has forgiven me. Which reminds me, when are you going to do some forgiving of your own?”

  Jack winced. “I’ve forgiven you, Pop.”

  “I don’t need your forgiveness!” Josiah stated. “I meant your mother!”

  Jack shrugged. “I’m not sure what to forgive.”

  “Well, you better figure it out,” Pop said, “because as far as I can tell, you’ve got three babies on the way and a woman who doesn’t want to marry you—two strikes against you—and you don’t seem to have moved your things to the ranch.” Josiah sniffed. “If I were a betting man—and I am—I’d bet your million dollars is going to stay safely in my wallet.”

  Jack wondered how much more a man had to be willing to give of himself besides a kidney to get a little peace. But with Josiah Morgan, Jack knew peace was a long way off.

  JACK HAD a weighty decision to make. He was a godfather now, and that gave him a new look into the life of a man responsible for a child. He wanted to be a good godfather and a good parent, and the one thing that was staring him in the face was his lifestyle and lack of a secure income.

  As his brothers were quick to point out, babies were expensive.

  He knew Cricket well enough to know that she was going to try to raise three children and run the tea shop to pay her bills. Maybe she’d meant to purchase the tea shop and have someone else run it as an investment, but he doubted that. Cricket was an independent woman; she’d want to be involved in everything. She said she’d quit her job because of her unwed-and-pregnant status, but the ladies in the waiting room of Dr. Suzanne’s office hadn’t seemed cool to her at all. In fact, they’d seemed quite warm and friendly. He wondered if Cricket had made a decision she’d regret by resigning from her deacon’s position, then decided it was none of his business for the moment.

  What he had to decide was how he intended to convince her that he had the ability to take care of her.

  The easiest way to financial stability was to do as Pop asked, blast him, which was exactly what had hung up his brothers. However, they hadn’t wanted to get married—not at first—and he did, pronto.

  It was a weird thought. He was begging to be a family man, and he couldn’t get his lady to have him.

  His cell phone rang, and to his surprise he saw it was Cricket. His heartbeat sped up. “Hello?”

  “Jack, it’s Cricket.”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Listen,” she said, “I apologize for ditching you this morning.”

  “I know you’ve got a lot on your mind. I shouldn’t have teased you about your car.” He mentally slapped himself, thinking it was a subject best left alone, like the parachuting. She’d come to her senses about jumping out of high-flying vehicles when the babies were born. Three small infants would settle her down.

  “Jack,” Cricket said, “I just want you to know that I think it’s best if we don’t see each other for a while.”

  His heart crashed. “Why?”

  “I…I’m just not comfortable,” she explained. “I need to figure some things out on my own. When you’re around, I catch myself falling into a pattern of convenience.”

  He frowned. “What the hell is a pattern of convenience?”

  “Something I don’t want. When you’re around, you take over. And I seem to let you.”

  “Yeah, well,” Jack said, not sure that he agreed that she let him do anything, “I think you should just marry me and be an independent wife.”

  “Jack, I can’t marry you. It would be a mistake. The fundamental differences in our lifestyles would eventually catch up with us.”

  She meant rodeo. She envisioned herself as a rodeo widow. He shook his head. If that’s what this all came down to, he supposed he’d have to concede the point. “I’ve got to make a living.”

  “I understand.”

  He didn’t think she did, especially when he couldn’t say, “Hey, let’s compromise, no rodeo for me, no parachuting for you,” because he knew very well she’d blast his ears for trying to tie her down. It stunk being the one who was trying to do the tying down. “Cricket,” he said, “I’m trying really hard to change.”

  “I don’t want you to change,” Cricket said. “I think things that are wild should be left to the wild.”

  “Well, I’m getting tamer all the time, Deacon. I’m a godfather now.”

  “To Laura’s baby? Did she have her baby?”

  “Yes. A healthy baby girl named Gabriella Michele. And I’m pretty darn excited about being a god-pop.”

  “That’s great, Jack.”

  She didn’t sound like she much cared. “Hey, Pop was asking about you.”

  “I hope he’s doing well,” she said quickly. “Will you please tell him I won’t be able to do those drapes like I promised? I’m sure your mother would probably prefer to select her own, anyway.”

  Curtains were just the cover for what she was really trying to say. He sensed her slipping away from him. He knew the sound of someone escaping—he’d done it often enough to know. “Cricket—”

  “I have to go, Jack,” she said, and he heard the inevitable thanks for the memories in her voice.

  “Cricket, dammit,” he began, but the phone went dead. “That conversation went nowhere,” he muttered. Didn’t she care that she was shredding his heart? He wanted to be with her—he was darn sure they belonged together!

  She didn’t think so. And she was holding all the aces.

  He had no choice but to try to convince that stubborn woman he was serious about being a family man.

  His phone buzzed, alerting him that he had a text.

  Just heard that you’re expecting some ankle-biters, he read. Congratulations, you ol’ dog.

  He snorted at the words from a good rodeo buddy.

  Another buzz.

  Three children for the man who always said he’d never be a father? Way to ride!

  Jack sighed. It was true—he’d certainly won the prize for fastest ride to fatherhood.

  The texts kept rolling in. His spirits sank a bit as he received blessings and well wishes from his rodeo family. His worlds were colliding, shifting.

  Which was exactly what he knew was bugging Cricket—she didn’t want to change him. She didn’t want to be responsible for him having to change.

  Change was going to happen to both of them eventually. On whose terms, he wasn’t certain.

  For now, he turned his truck toward the Morgan ranch.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jack walked inside the house on the Morgan ranch, stunned to find his mother in the kitchen making cookies. He cleared his throat. “Hi.”

  She turned, smiling when she saw him. “Bonjour!”

  He was uncomfortable with finding her in the house, much more than he’d thought he’d be.

  “Moving in?” Gisella asked.

  “I guess so.”

  She began rolling dough. “I’m glad you’re here. Your father needs to lose his bet.”

  He blinked. Was that a friendly comment, or was she being antagonistic toward Josiah? “Why do you say that?”

  She shrugged. “He wants to. He likes to think he’s moving all of us around. Josiah is a stubborn man.”

  He sat at the kitchen table, deciding that maybe it was time they had this conversation. “What’s in it for yo
u?”

  “Me?” She glanced at him. “My kids.” She bobbed her head up and down. “And I’ll have to admit, I’ve long wanted a second chance with Josiah.”

  Jack frowned. “He’s planning to marry Sara, you know.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean that kind of second chance. I like Sara. I’m glad they’re getting married!” She washed her hands as she finished placing dough balls on the cookie sheet. “But I never felt good about leaving Josiah the way I did. So I jumped at the chance to come back on different terms than we had before.”

  He was starting to get the picture. “You want redemption.”

  “Of course I do. Don’t you?” She looked at him curiously.

  He didn’t know if he could forgive this stranger standing in the kitchen enough to forget all the years he’d wondered why she left. “I’m sure I do,” he said carefully, knowing he was in much the same position as his mother, “but it goes both ways.”

  “I can do no more than hope for reconciliation. I can’t change the past.”

  He didn’t say anything, his silence an acknowledgment of her hopes. She was being very brave about returning home to a family she didn’t know, and he realized he couldn’t quite say the same about himself.

  “I’m going to make the guesthouse my home,” she said. “You’ll be able to live here, if you want to.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said quickly. “In fact, Cricket’s leaving the draperies and doodads to you. This is your home.”

  She shook her head. “The guesthouse is more space than I need. You, on the other hand, have a growing family. Unless you’re planning on living in Fort Wylie.”

  “I don’t know what I’m planning.” Would Cricket move into this house with him when she had the babies? He didn’t think she’d want to leave her mother, father, brother. Her tea shop. Her friends. He’d move there in a snap, but he didn’t think Cricket would welcome that. Hadn’t she just told him to shove off, in so many words? “I’m not planning anything,” he said, “because the mother of my children seems to think she should raise our children on her own.”

  Gisella looked at him curiously. “I doubt she intends to keep you from your children.”

  “No, but she doesn’t intend for me to live under a roof with her, either.” Why was he telling his mother this? He hadn’t planned to. It felt strange, out of place. And yet somehow comforting.

  “It’s a difficult thing you’re both trying to do.” Gisella put some baked cookies onto a plate, then took some flour out of the cupboard. “Let me make you a crepe.”

  “A crepe?” Was that the French version of comfort food? “You don’t have to do that,” he said, stiffening against the idea of her trying to mother him. The time for that was long past. “Thanks, though.”

  “A little powdered sugar,” she murmured, looking around in the cupboard. “Simple food, you know. When you were a boy, you loved my crepes.”

  He frowned. “I don’t remember.”

  “Of course you do not. It was a very long time ago. Still, I remember.”

  He suddenly realized how hard it had been on his mother to live with the memories of them growing up. She alone had held her memories, knowing that her children would not remember her, not much about her, anyway. He remembered some vague things, a flash of memory here, a sliver of laughter there.

  “Look,” she said with delight, “my old crepe pan!”

  She held up a small copper pan, her face joyful. It wasn’t gleaming—he doubted anyone had polished—or used it—in years. A slight smile twisted his lips. He watched her look at the pan with delight, as if she remembered all the times she’d used it fondly, and sudden bittersweet nostalgia overwhelmed him. He had loved his mother. He had missed her fiercely.

  He got up and enveloped her in his arms, giving her the embrace he should have given her when she’d returned. “I’ve missed you,” he said suddenly against the ache, and she laid her head against his chest for just a moment.

  “When I left, I was taller than you,” she said. “You were a little boy, only eight years old. Now you are so much taller than me.”

  “It’s all right,” he said, feeling her pained sadness in her thin shoulders, even the bones in her back, as she seemed resigned to the dark-shadowed memories. “You’re home now.”

  “But I’m not forgiven,” she murmured.

  He said, “You are by me, Mother,” and then he held her as she wept the same tears he knew he would one day if he wasn’t there every moment for his babies’ tears, their laughter, their falls and their eventual flights from his own nest.

  SETTLING AT THE RANCH was part of the bargain, and now that Jack had chosen his course, he was determined to do it well. He moved into the main house as his mother had suggested, then arranged a meeting with his brothers to discuss the best options for making a living.

  “I don’t have a whole lot of time,” he said to Dane, Pete and Gabe as they all sat in the den of the home Josiah had envisioned as the place where the brothers would one day forge familial bonds. It hadn’t happened, not the way their father had hoped, anyway, and yet still Jack felt closer to his brothers than he had in years.

  “Hell, you’ll think you have no time once those babies of yours are born,” Pete told him. “You’re still a bachelor right now with time to spare. We’re the ones with no time.”

  “Sorry,” Jack said gruffly, handing out beers. “I didn’t mean my time was short today. I meant that Cricket’s going to give birth, and I need to make some viable plans for the old bank account.”

  Dane grinned. “It’s kind of funny to hear you talking like a family man.”

  Jack grunted. “Laugh all you like. The gods are laughing, too. But I still need to figure out my finances. I didn’t know if you guys were interested in doing anything around here.”

  “Gisella owns the place now,” Gabe reminded him.

  Jack nodded. “She gave us the free and clear to make the property our own. She said she’d like to see it become a useful and lively place. Apparently, her parents baked pies and grew vines for homemade wine, so she believes land should stay busy and productive.”

  Pete looked at him. “We never met our grandparents. Are they still alive?”

  “I don’t know.” Nobody knew much about Gisella’s family. “Guess you could ask her. And I suppose one day we should open up Pandora’s box and read the letters she sent us over the years.” Jack frowned. “Not that I’m eager, but I sort of feel like we owe it to her.”

  He felt a little sadder than he expected to over his father’s confession about the letters. All the years he’d believed his mother hadn’t cared enough to write, cared enough to remember them…him.

  “I’m sort of surprised she’d care to return after what he did to her. It takes an awful lot of forgiveness to love someone who sabotages your relationship with your children,” Gabe said.

  They digested that silently. Her return was too new for any of them to start examining the family tree. Jack certainly didn’t want to stir up anything that might be painful to her. “Maybe she came back here because she had no one left in France.”

  Dane shrugged. “Possibly. Anyway, baking’s not a bad idea, but none of us bake anything anybody would want, and vines take time and water and real experience that none of us have. We should probably stick to livestock, which we do know something about, if we’re going to pick a family brand.”

  “I heard some of you were thinking about breeding horses,” Jack said.

  Gabe said, “I assume you need fast income.”

  “True,” Jack said. “My window of opportunity is somewhat shorter than it used to be.”

  “There’s all those pecan trees,” Dane said thoughtfully.

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “That’s right.”

  They sat silently, sipping their beers.

  “The obvious answer might be to open a dude ranch, or even a bed-and-breakfast,” Pete said. “But I don’t know if I’ve got the stomach for strangers.”


  “Or the time,” Gabe said.

  “Cricket parachutes,” Jack said, feeling the sudden need to have some sympathy from his brothers.

  “No,” Pete said. “If we bring a business like that out here, the liability would be insane.”

  Jack blinked. His brothers didn’t seem surprised by his announcement at all. Why did he have to be the only one bothered by his woman’s penchant for danger? “All I know is rodeo.”

  “Here’s a stupid idea,” Gabe said. “What about a haunted house?”

  His brothers stared at him, their jaws slack for an instant.

  “Why don’t we just go all the way and open up an alien-sighting tourist attraction?” Pete asked, his tone ironic. “Or a circus. We’ve got enough sideshows in this family.”

  “Go ahead,” Dane said crossly, “we’ll just finally confirm to everyone in Union Junction that we’re all crazy as goats around here.”

  “I said it was a crazy idea,” Gabe said, “but at least I threw out a suggestion. What have you guys got?”

  “Okay,” Jack said, deciding to intervene before tempers flared. “Brainstorming’s good. We need something that’s—”

  “Making money hand over fist doesn’t seem to come easy to us,” Gabe said. “Maybe Pop didn’t pass his golden touch along to us.”

  They sat silently, considering the fact that maybe Pop was the only one among them who knew how to turn dirt into gold. “We haven’t had any practice,” Jack said. “This is the first time we’ve ever tried to come up with a creative plan for fiscal benefit.”

  “Which is scary when you consider that there are four of us trying to figure it out, and Pop did it on his own with four kids,” Dane said, not pleased. “Pete, you have an excuse if your brain is mush with four infants keeping you up at night, but the rest of us should be pretty sharp.”