Pine Country Cowboy

“We see who can go the longest without saying anything,” Betsy piped up, proud that she knew the answer.

Abby’s eyes widened as she stared at him in disbelief. Catching on now, was she?

“Does the winner get a prize?” one of the visitors demanded, his freckled face screwed up in concentration at the challenge ahead.

Brett’s Jeremy had sported freckles, too. Blond hair and the biggest blue eyes, just like his mama. “There’s no prize. But it’s fun, so we don’t need prizes.”

The boy didn’t look convinced, but Brett pulled up another tiny chair and sat down, too. Then he leaned forward to clasp his hands on the table and the children likewise clasped theirs. After a slight hesitation, Abby followed suit.

“Are we ready?”

Nods all around the table. A giggle from Mary garnered her a glare from the others.

“Okay, here we go. Say it with me.” He made eye contact with each eager face, making sure all were on board. This was such a fun age. Or it could be when kids were healthy and whole, not laboring for every breath drawn into fragile lungs.

“Little red schoolhouse...” a chorus of childish voices chimed in with his. “One...two...three.”

Blessed silence descended as each child pressed lips tightly together, watchfully peering around the circle of faces in search of the first culprit to break the quiet.

As the blissful moments stretched, a broad smile appeared on Mary’s face and several others pointed accusingly, hands clamped to their own now-smiling mouths to keep from saying anything.

“She’s still in the game,” Brett assured softly. “She hasn’t said anything.”

Mary gave them a “so there” look, lips tightening with renewed resolve. Brett winked at Abby, who slowly shook her head. He imagined she’d remember this crowd control ploy for some time to come. It was so quiet he could hear a baby crying in the nursery across the hall.

Abruptly, the boy who’d demanded a prize gave a loud, overly dramatic gasp and gulped in mouthfuls of air. “I can’t breathe!”

Initially startled, the other kids stared with rounded eyes. Then almost in unison, they cried out in grinning triumph. “He talked!”

“You don’t hold your breath, silly,” red-haired Skyler admonished with a sigh of disgust. “Can we start over, Brett? He’s doing it wrong.”

Brett leaned over to pat the visitor on the back, making sure he was okay. He was fine, but liked putting on a show.

“That’s right, don’t hold your breath. You can breathe through your mouth or through your nose or...through your ears if you want to.”

The kids giggled.

Mary plugged her ears with her fingers and made a face of distress. “I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!”

The room erupted in laughter, and Brett caught Abby’s eye. She was laughing, too, and his heart unexpectedly lurched. Man, was that glimpse behind the starchy-mannered exterior worth waiting for.

The now-composed boy grinned. “I won’t hold my breath again. I promise.”

“We’ll play one more time.” Brett again caught their teacher’s eye. “Then I believe Miss Abby here has a Bible story for us and probably something fun to make to take home.”

Abby nodded and the kids turned to look at her as if noticing her for the first time. Another round of the game and the kids were settled down enough to focus on a Bible lesson. All except Skyler, that is, who gave Mary’s ponytail a tug. Brett hauled him into his lap and, after a halfhearted struggle, the boy finally relaxed against him, a too-familiar weight and little boy scent that brought back memories. Wrapping his arms around Skyler’s waist, Brett rested his chin atop the soft thatch of hair and nodded for Abby to begin.

David and Goliath. A bittersweet heaviness settled into Brett’s chest. Wouldn’t you know it? One of Jeremy’s favorite stories. Right up there with Noah and the ark, Jonah and the whale, and Daniel in the lion’s den. Thankfully the Lord had gotten hold of that precious boy’s daddy just in time or he’d never have heard those stories—or about how Jesus loved the little children.

Brett swallowed, forcing away the past as he concentrated on the woman in front of him. She recited the story slowly, with enthusiastic animation, as she moved magnetic cutout characters across the whiteboard. The gentle voice, tinged with a slight huskiness that lent it a distinction of its own, held the children riveted.

Brett shifted Skyler on his lap, as captivated as any of the kids. His ex-wife, Melynda, never read Bible stories to Jeremy. She’d wanted no part of God after the cystic fibrosis diagnosis, and no part of her husband, either, once Jeremy passed away. Brett didn’t often allow himself to dwell on those dark times and God had been faithful to ease the relentless, piercing pain of loss. So why today?

If there was anything he’d learned over the past seven years since losing Jeremy and the shock of his wife’s departure, it was that there were good days and there were bad days. On both, he could only thank God for allowing him to have a wife and a son in his life for as long as He had—and take another step into tomorrow without them.

* * *

Abby had never seen anything quite like it. The man had merely entered the classroom and suddenly the world was all about him. Or the children’s world anyway. Even when at the hour’s conclusion they’d gathered up their papers to await their parents, Brett had once again become the focus of their attention and she was all but invisible.

Had she known Brett went to Canyon Springs Christian, she wouldn’t have been so easily persuaded to take on Meg’s Sunday school class. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate how he’d settled the children down with that clever schoolhouse game of his. She’d been on the verge of panic before his arrival. But really...had he needed to remain through the entire lesson? Help out with the crafts? Not that she wasn’t grateful for the assistance, but his watchful eyes, teasing remarks and knowing smiles had made it harder on her, always wondering what he was going to do next.

That was one thing she’d appreciated about Gene, her steady-as-he-goes fiancé. Twelve years her senior, the long-widowed university professor was a man of fixed routine and predictability. A creature of habit. No surprises there. Or at least that’s what she’d thought until he broke off their engagement, annoyed that she’d be unable to fulfill her part of the marital bargain and had messed up his carefully laid plans to father a child of his own. He’d acted as if it hadn’t been as equally a painful blow to her.

Brett saw the last of the kindergartners off with a wave, then turned to where Davy had joined her to help gather materials back into his mother’s canvas bag. Snatching up a roll of paper towels, the cowboy moistened a few in the room’s corner sink, then wiped down the tables with every bit as much enthusiasm as he seemed to lavish on anything he set his mind to. Which, she had to admit, could be irritating. Must be nice not to have a care in the world.

But why did he keep hanging around? Didn’t he have any place he needed to be?

Slinging the lesson bag over her shoulder, she patted Davy on the back. “Why don’t you find Grandpa? I’m sure he’ll be expecting you in church.”

Davy’s brow wrinkled. “You’re not coming?”

“No, I have a few things to attend to. But I’m sure your grandpa will see that you get lunch and bring you home afterward.” Or at least that’s what he used to do when she was a kid.

Even though only the Diaz children—not the adults—had actually attended church, Dad enjoyed Sunday family times and they’d given his wife a break from meal preparation. Mom still hated cooking. Dad had done much of it whenever he could, so they’d probably consumed way too many meals prepared on his oversize grill and Sunday specials at Kit’s Lodge.

“You’ll still be there when I get home, won’t you?” Davy’s eyes sought hers for reassurance. Thank goodness his mother would return this afternoon. Abby was already losing her heart to this little guy and he seemed to be latching on to her, too.

“I’ll be there. Me and that shoe-chewing pooch of yours.”

Davy grinned, then with a wave to Brett he disappeared out the door.

“Good kid.” Brett retrieved his hat from atop the supply cabinet, a version that was in more pristine condition than the one he’d worn at the equine center yesterday. He’d donned his Sunday best, too—well-oiled boots, dark jeans and a crisp white Western-cut shirt. “So how’s his mom and the bambina?”

So that’s why he’d lingered. He wanted an update on Meg.

“She and the baby are both stabilized and she’s hoping to come home this afternoon. She can’t return to work, of course, but at least she may be able to wait things out at home.”

“Glad to hear it.” Rotating his hat in his hands, he didn’t seem in any hurry to be on his way.

She patted the bun on her head, ensuring it was still secure, then took a step toward the door. “Thank you for helping out. That little red schoolhouse thing is ingenious.”

“I was more than happy to assist.” He cocked his head, eyes twinkling. “But I thought you librarians knew all the tricks in the book about kid control. Assuming, of course, they still have story hours at libraries these days.”

Abby shrugged. “I was a high school librarian.”

“Was?”

Ugh. He’d picked up on that slip of the tongue.

“Yes, was.” But she didn’t intend to discuss it. Cutbacks in funding weren’t kind to a private school librarian with a paltry four years of experience. Even with a master’s degree, she’d been among the first to be let go at the end of the spring semester.

In the weeks since school ended, she had no idea how she’d managed to motivate herself to apply for the few available librarian job openings in the Tucson area, let alone make a good showing in the interviews. Nevertheless, she hoped to hear an affirmative for the fall semester soon. It didn’t much matter which one. With an apartment to maintain and car and education loans to pay off, she couldn’t afford to be choosy.

Eyeing her curiously, Brett nevertheless didn’t press her for an explanation, for which she was grateful.

“There you are.” A masculine voice came almost accusingly from the doorway. Her dad. The stocky, mustached Bill Diaz stepped into the room, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his hawklike nose and salt-and-pepper hair highlighted by the fluorescent overhead lights.

“Hey, Bill.” Brett stepped forward to shake his hand.

He knew her dad?

The older man’s smile broadened. “I should have known you’d manage to find the prettiest girl in the building.”

Brett darted a look in her direction, the first uncomfortable one she’d seen coming from him. Had he naively assumed she hadn’t already heard of his ladies’ man reputation and thought Dad was spilling the beans? He must have forgotten she’d observed him with the women at the equine center and borne the impact of his heart-stopping grin.

Brett sheepishly returned her father’s knowing smile. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on them. Keep the rounders at bay.”

“You’re the man for the job, son.” Her father gave him a nod of approval, then turned to pin Abby with a frown. “What’s this Davy’s saying about you not staying for church? Come on now, folks are wanting to see you again. Since you’re staying the weekend after all, you need to give your old man a chance to show off his beautiful daughter.”

Why was Dad being so jolly this morning? When they’d last spoken as she packed her car on Saturday morning—before Meg’s SOS to help with Davy’s riding lesson—things had been extremely awkward. “Dad, I don’t want to be shown off.”

“Indulge me. Sit beside me during the worship service and join me and Davy for lunch at Kit’s.”

Her hopes lifted. Did he want to put more effort into bridging the gap of too many lost years? To try again to establish a relationship with his long-absent offspring?

Then she remembered Sharon.

“I don’t want to intrude.”

He lowered his glasses on his nose to peer at her. “Intrude? On what?”

She cast an uneasy look in Brett’s direction. He didn’t need to be privy to family matters. “I assume Sharon’s joining you?”

Her father’s brows took a dive. “She’s not. She has a ladies luncheon to attend. But what if she were coming? She wants to get to know you better, honey, just like I do.”

“Dad—”

“You can bring your friend here, too.” He waved his hand toward Brett.

Brett wasn’t her friend. He wasn’t her anything. “Dad, I don’t—”

“You both have to eat, don’t you? My treat.”

Brett shook his head. “Thank you, sir, but—”

“Come on, join us. Abby needs to get to know some young folks in Canyon Springs. Maybe you can talk her into staying a few weeks. Maybe all summer.”

Hope flickered. Dad wanted her to stay? It sure hadn’t felt like that yesterday morning. He’d seemed as bewildered as she was about how to build a real-life bridge between them, not just communicate through birthday cards and an occasional ill-at-ease phone call. The past few days she’d spent with him had seemed, well, more than weird. And disappointing. Maybe he’d been disappointed, too?

“Come on, Brett,” Dad urged again, almost as though needing an ally in the struggle to find comfortable ground with his only daughter. A third party to balance things out?

While her instincts warned to stay away from Brett—he was a heartache waiting to happen—his presence at lunch might ease the tension between her and Dad. He and Davy would keep conversation at a superficial level and his happy-go-lucky approach might deflect the wounding sparks that sometimes flared between father and daughter. Despite her misgivings, Brett’s accompanying them suddenly seemed vital to paving the path to a harmonious connection with Dad.

Brett’s eyes narrowed as if trying to read her thoughts, then he dropped his gaze to the hat in his hands. “I appreciate the invitation, Bill, but I’m sure Abby can make up her own mind as to how long she wants to stay in town.”

He moved toward the door.

“You’re welcome to come.” Her rapid response provoked a surprised lifting of a brow as his gaze met her now-pleading one. Couldn’t he see that just as he’d barged into the Sunday school class, he needed to barge in here now, too? Needed to be a buffer between her and Dad?

Come on, cowboy. Say yes.

Chapter Four

Monday morning Brett rolled over with a groan and felt around blindly on the nightstand for his ringing cell phone. Six o’clock. It was his day off, but he’d overslept by two hours. He had someplace he had to be. Early. Before the wind picked up.

“Brett?”

He recognized the voice of his sister Geri, one of the twins. Two years older than him, both sisters sported red hair, a sprinkling of freckles and energy that wouldn’t quit. He collapsed back on his pillow. “What’s up?”

“It sure doesn’t sound like you are yet. Oversleep?”

“I forgot to set the alarm.” A Singing Rock emergency had ensured he’d gotten to bed late, then he’d lain awake too long kicking himself for not taking Bill Diaz up on his lunch invitation yesterday. Abby had clearly wanted him to come with them, as he’d interpreted it anyway, to be a buffer between her and her father. Not a spot he cared to be in. But it had eaten at him the rest of the day, second-guessing his decision not to go along. He’d wondered about Abby’s sadness when he’d first met her and it seemed likely the father-daughter relationship played a role in it. There had been an evident tension between the two of them in the brief interchange he’d witnessed.

“You have to plan a weekend at Mom and Dad’s sometime soon,” Geri insisted. Despite being the bossier of the twins who often acted like a second mom to him, she was the sibling he felt closest to. Even though she had a look-alike playmate, she’d nevertheless loved joining him in his childhood adventures and they developed a special bond. Through the years Geri had become—and remained—his confidante.

“That’s not on my agenda. Why?”

“Amber, Erin and I were thinking about getting everybody together. We haven’t all been in one place since Thanksgiving. Maybe you could stop in Ashfork and pick up Grandma and Grandpa on your way.”

He scrubbed his free hand over his face, cognizant of the morning stubble along his jaw. A Marden family get-together at the ranch his folks managed was always an event to look forward to. He hated to miss out.

“You know summers are the busiest time of the year for me. That popular blog that’s been featuring our town jump-started the tourist season early, too. We have a lot of events scheduled at the equine center, and here at Singing Rock we’re already filling up.” He worked part-time at both locations, having been fortunate enough to snag accommodations as a part of the deal at the cabin resort, where he was usually on call evenings. “I’m still picking up work on the side and the kids’ camp is coming along, too.”

For a long moment his sister remained silent.

“What?” he prompted. But he could guess what she was thinking. He’d heard it enough times from all three sisters. And Mom. His three older brothers and Dad weren’t so disapproving of his choices.

“You’re still burying yourself in your work, Brett.”

Readying for a lecture, he reluctantly pulled himself up and propped the pillow against the headboard, behind his back. “It’s called being fond of eating and having a roof over my head. Oh, and providing the same for that spoiled horse of mine.”

After a too-long time in the city, it had been a joy to have a horse of his own again and to hit the forested trails surrounding Canyon Springs. Just him, Cinnabar, Elmo and God.

“I’m not making light of your situation, but it’s been seven years since you lost Jeremy and Melynda left you. Care to share when you’re going to let yourself have a life again?”

He had a life. Maybe it wasn’t how the happily married Geri with her two rambunctious kids thought it should be. But he had a good life. Interesting work and a kid-oriented project occupied his time, involvement with children being a step he’d once thought he’d never again choose to take.

“Does anyone there even know what you’ve been through? Offer support?”

He’d shared bits and pieces of his past with Janet Logan, who’d skillfully and compassionately pried them out of him. A no-nonsense, practical type, she hadn’t fawned over him and his losses. No stranger to heartache herself, she could be counted on to keep private what he’d confided to her.

“I’ve mentioned it to a discreet, older lady from church. But you know I don’t like people knowing my business.”

Geri made a scoffing sound. “Doesn’t that strike you as odd? I mean, you are one of the most open, gregarious men I know. Yet you’re still keeping all of this to yourself.”

“I don’t imagine hearing about it would brighten anyone’s day.” It hadn’t brightened Janet’s by any means, but her grandson’s challenges with cystic fibrosis had built a strong bond between them.

“Maybe not, but you’re not allowing anyone outside the family to serve as a support system. Don’t you dare tell me doing that is ‘a guy thing.’”

Why couldn’t the females in his family leave him in peace? He shook his head and leaned over to turn on the nightstand lamp even though sufficient sunlight peeped in around the edge of the curtains to make it an unnecessary effort. “I don’t need a support system. I’m doing fine. God is good. Life is good. And I’m better than good.”

Considering what he’d been through, that was the truth. He was happy...for the most part. Enjoying life. No, maybe it wasn’t all he’d once dreamed of, but did anyone ever have it all? Doubtful.

“You still aren’t seeing anyone, are you?” Not surprisingly, her tone rang with accusation. “No one special, I mean.”

Special. That meant letting a woman get close enough that you cared when she walked out. “In God’s time, Geri. I’m in no hurry to run ahead of Him.”

He hadn’t even been much tempted to. No woman had caught more than his slightest interest in a long time. Unbidden, the image of Abby Diaz reading the Sunday school lesson to the kindergarteners slid into his sleep-fogged mind. He could picture how the kids sat rapt, listening to the animation in her somewhat husky voice—a voice that could get under a man’s skin real quick if he let it.

He ran a hand through his hair, dismissing the memory.

“Maybe you’ve barred the door to God’s plan,” his sister persisted. “Have you ever considered that?”

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, the hardwood floor cool under his bare feet. He needed to replace the rug his overgrown pup, Elmo, had chewed up last week. “So now you’re evaluating my spiritual life?”

“Of course not. But a man who is looking for a wife—”

Where’d she get that idea?

“—doesn’t move to a town with a population of less than three thousand souls and hide out with his horse.”

He cracked a smile. “I lived in Phoenix for five years before coming here. Fifth largest city in the country, with probably half the population female.”

“And the whole time you were there you were hanging on to the hope Melynda would come back, so you didn’t date even then.”

“I was doing what I believed God wanted me to do.” Working full-time to pay off the medical bills and taking classes on the side didn’t cater to an active love life.

“If you hadn’t been funneling money to Melynda through her folks,” she chided, “maybe you could have paid the bills off sooner. Her folks blindsiding you with the news that she’d gotten pregnant and remarried proves she didn’t deserve your help.”

Brett held back the growl forming in his throat. Geri would have to remind him of Melynda carrying another man’s child. But helping his ex-wife financially was something else he’d felt led to do even though it hadn’t been a requirement of the divorce settlement. Up until two years ago when she’d remarried, he’d never thought of her as an ex. After all, he’d signed on for the long haul even if she hadn’t. He’d hung on to the belief that if she saw him living a convincing life of faith, walking in Jesus’s footsteps, she’d eventually give her life to God, too, and find her way back to her husband.

That had been his prayer anyway.

Hearing a robin’s insistent chirp, he moved to a window of the one-room cabin and pulled back the curtain to a day well on its way. His day off and he was already burning daylight.

“Face it, Geri. I could move to a planet populated entirely by women and not meet Ms. Right if it’s not in God’s timing.”

“You have to at least give Him something to work with. Canyon Springs is beyond remote.”

He let the curtain drop and headed to the kitchenette to get coffee started. “You’ve forgotten that Mom and Dad’s pastor met his better half on the mission field in Peru. God picked up another missionary and plopped her right down in the middle of that remote mountain village. When the time is right, it happens.”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m not saying God can’t do anything He wants to. I’m just saying—”

“That you love me and you want me to be happy.” He picked up a ceramic coffee mug from the stack of dishes in the sink, rinsed it and set it on the counter.

Her voice softened. “You’re such a wonderful guy, Brett.”

“I know. I try not to let it go to my head.”

She snorted. “I’m serious. You deserve to have a woman who loves you. You’re so good with kids, too.”

“I’m an uncle times fifteen, does that count?” With six siblings, the youngsters had added up fast, now aged four through nineteen years.

“It counts, but...you were such a great dad.”

Silence hung momentarily between them as they reflected on unspoken memories of son and nephew.

“Thanks, Geri.” He’d like to think his child had a father he could count on, that Jeremy had known he was loved beyond measure. Yeah, he’d see his boy again when he himself departed this world, but he’d long harbored a dream that he might one day hold another of his children in his arms in the here and now. His sisters meant well but, unfortunately, tended to forget one critical factor.