Cowboy Daddy Read online

  She eased out a sigh and slipped down the tree, wrapping her arms around her knees as she watched the boys clamber from tree to tree, yelling and daring each other to go higher, farther, faster.

  “Look at me, Auntie Nicole,” Justin called out. “I’m flying.”

  “Me too,” Tristan said, determined not to be outdone.

  Nicole watched, and applauded and made appropriate noises of admiration.

  Reluctantly she glanced at her watch again. Now she really had to go.

  “C’mon boys. Let’s get back to the house,” she said, getting to her feet.

  “Just a few more minutes.”

  “Nope. We have to go. Now.” She was already twenty minutes past her visiting time. All she could do was hope Kip was still busy welding and wouldn’t notice. She climbed down the ladder to let the boys know she meant business and reluctantly they followed her.

  “Can we come here again tomorrow?” Justin asked.

  “Of course we can.” Nicole looked behind her once more with a smile. Maybe she’d stop in town and pick up some treats. They could have a picnic.

  Nicole heard the hum of the welder coming from the shop as they got nearer the house and felt a surge of relief. Kip was still busy.

  “What’s that smell?” Justin said, wrinkling his nose.

  “Smells like—”

  “Something’s burning,” Nicole said. She dropped the boys’ hands, took the stairs two at a time and burst into the house.

  Mary was leaning on the counter with one hand as she struggled to pull a pan out of the oven with the other.

  Smoke billowed out of the oven and the smoke detector started screeching.

  “Let me do that,” Nicole said, grabbing a tea towel as the boys followed her into the kitchen, hands clapped over their ears and yelling questions.

  Ignoring the boys and the piercing shriek of the smoke detector, Nicole rescued a blackened casserole dish from the oven, set it on top of the stove and turned the oven off.

  Then she supported Mary and helped her back to her chair.

  “Open the back door,” she called out to the boys above the ear-piercing shriek as she slid open the window above the sink. “Where’s the smoke detector?” she yelled at Mary.

  Mary pointed to the hallway off the kitchen and Nicole grabbed a couple of tea towels. She flapped the towels at the detector, the noise piercing through her brain. Justin and Tristan joined her. “We’ll help you,” they called out, waving their hands at the ceiling.

  Nicole laughed at the sight, but kept flapping. Then the smoke detector abruptly quit and peaceful silence fell on the house.

  “That was very loud,” Tristan said, digging his finger in his ear, as if to dislodge the noise.

  “You boys were big helpers,” she said, patting them on the head as they walked back to the kitchen.

  “Thank you so much,” Mary said. “I could smell something boiling over for a while from my bedroom, but I thought Isabelle was watching the casserole.”

  “I was,” Isabelle said, finally making an appearance from upstairs. “I had to make a phone call.” Isabelle glanced at Nicole. “What are you doing here?”

  “What you should have been doing.” Nicole brushed past the sullen girl, and moved to the oven, wincing at the streaked, black goop baked onto the side of the casserole dish. From the condition of the dish and its contents, the phone call had been lengthy.

  Nicole found a knife in the sink and pried the lid off the pot, making a face at the burnt mess inside. “There’s not much left of this.”

  “Well, so much for dinner,” Mary said with a heavy sigh. “Isabelle, did you forget to turn the oven down after the first ten minutes?”

  “I guess.”

  Nicole glanced around the kitchen. Potato peelings and carrot scrapings filled the sink. The counter was covered with bowls and empty plastic bags and pots. She glanced back at Mary, who was struggling to her feet as if to start making supper all over again. The poor woman looked exhausted.

  Nicole tried to imagine herself in the same situation. However, living with her father, they had a housekeeper and a cook who came in three times a week. And she didn’t have a son, a teenage daughter and two young boys to cook for.

  She made a sudden decision. “Don’t worry about supper,” she said, shooting a glance at Kip’s sister. “Isabelle and I will pull something together.”

  “What?” Isabelle exclaimed.

  “Why don’t we go through the refrigerator and see what we can do?” She gave Isabelle a sweet smile, as if challenging her to protest.

  Isabelle simply rolled her eyes and sighed.

  “Can we help too?” Tristan and Justin asked.

  “Of course,” Nicole exclaimed. “You guys will be our biggest helpers.”

  At least this way she could spend the rest of her time with the boys, Nicole thought.

  She didn’t want to think how Kip would react. He would just have to accept it.

  Chapter Eight

  What was Nicole still doing here?

  Kip glanced at his watch, pushing down a beat of anger. Six-ten. She was supposed to have left over an hour ago.

  He forced his frustration back as he toed off his boots on the verandah, then stepped inside the house to speak to Ms. Williams.

  The first thing he noticed was the clean counters. Then an unfamiliar but savory smell.

  His mother sat in a chair directing Tristan on how to set the knives by the plates on the table, which was covered with a tablecloth. He didn’t even know his mother owned a tablecloth. Isabelle was washing dishes and Nicole stood beside her, wearing an apron, her hair tied back, drying a bowl. She handed the bowl to Justin who sat on the counter beside her and he put it in the cupboard.

  The kitchen was a rare picture of domestic bliss, with Nicole running point.

  He glanced over at Nicole just as she looked back over her shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and she was smiling a genuine smile that gave his heart a lift.

  A smile that faded when she saw him.

  He shouldn’t care, he thought, pushing his reaction to the back of his mind. He had too many things going to be concerned about her reaction to him. On Monday he’d picked up the stuff for the DNA test, gotten everything done just the way the instructions had told him, then ran it all back to town on Tuesday. It was easier than he thought and though he didn’t have time to do all the running around, he wanted that whole business out of the way. Now he didn’t have to think about it anymore.

  “I thought Isabelle was making supper,” he grumbled, walking over to the table. He bent over and touched his mother’s shoulder lightly. “How are you feeling?”

  Mary smiled up at him as well. “Much better. I got up and around a bit. Nicole helped me with my exercises.”

  “Making yourself indispensable?” Kip asked Nicole.

  “Just trying to help,” she said with a forced sweetness.

  “Auntie Nicole did help,” Tristan said looking up from his work. “The house was almost burning down, but then Auntie Nicole pulled the yucky casserole out of the oven—”

  “And Auntie Isabelle was supposed to watch it,” Justin interrupted. “She forgot because she was on the phone and then we had to help Auntie Nicole wave at the detector.”

  “You little tattletale,” Isabelle snapped, slamming another bowl onto the drying rack.

  “It’s true. You were talking on the phone and Gramma couldn’t sleep ’cause the detector went off,” Justin said, his face growing red. “I’m not a tattletale.”

  “You are,” Isabelle retorted.

  “I’m not. You’re a tattler. All you do is tattle on the phone.”

  “You better watch yourself, mister,” Isabelle said.

  “I think we’re done here,” Nicole said, flashing Isabelle a warning look. “Unless you want to continue an argument with a five-year-old?”

  Isabelle blew out a sigh, but to Kip’s surprise, said nothing more.

&n
bsp; Nicole pulled Justin off the counter, then slowly pulled off her apron. “And I’d better be going.”

  Kip wasn’t proud that he felt relieved. She’d made supper, brought order to the chaos that had been the kitchen, yet he was glad that she wasn’t sticking around. Besides not being a friend to this family, she was starting to slip into his thoughts the times she wasn’t here.

  “What? No. You can’t. You have to stay.” His mother and the twins all spoke at once.

  “Ms. Williams probably has business to get to,” Kip added.

  “Of course you have to stay for supper,” Mary protested. “If it wasn’t for you we’d be eating peanut butter sandwiches.” Kip’s mother turned to him, frowning. “Kip, make her stay.”

  Kip glanced from his mother to the boys, feeling outnumbered.

  “Please stay,” he said to Nicole, relenting. “I appreciate what you did for us here.”

  Nicole slowly folded the apron she’d been wearing. “You don’t have to go through the motions for me,” she said quietly.

  The thought of her going back to an empty motel room bothered him.

  “No. Really,” he said, projecting some warmth into his voice. “Please stay. It’s the least we can do for all your help. You made dinner. You should at least stay around to eat it.”

  Nicole’s smile shifted and she angled her head to one side as if studying him. “Thanks for that. I believe I will stay.”

  Five minutes later everyone was gathered around the table. Nicole sat directly across from Kip, the twins flanking her. Usually they sat beside him, but the boys had scooted over to her side when she sat down.

  He felt a pang as he watched them take her hands before they prayed. She smiled down at them and the picture eased sorrow into his heart.

  They would never remember their mother. Though they had grown up with his mother and his sister in their lives, it wasn’t the same.

  He wished again that things were different for the boys. He wished again that he could give them all the things they missed out on.

  Which made him wonder when he should tell them about their mother. An opportunity hadn’t come up, and he didn’t want Nicole to be the one to tell them.

  Just at that moment Nicole looked up at him. Their gazes met and a peculiar awareness rose up. It was as tangible as a touch, and it not only surprised him, it rocked him. He looked down, not sure where to put feelings he had neither space nor time for. Feelings for a woman whose plans had the potential to throw his life into turmoil.

  Kip cleared his throat, pulling himself back to reality. “We usually pray before our meals.”

  He lowered his head, waited a moment while he shifted his focus. He never spent enough time in concentrated prayer. Too often his prayers were a hurried, please, please. Or an equally rushed, thank you, thank you.

  But at mealtime, he had an opportunity to slow down, at least for a few moments, and make his prayer sincere.

  “Thank you, Lord for our food. For the hands that prepared it.” His thoughts slipped to Nicole as he hesitated. While he was thankful for what she did, he still struggled with her presence in their lives and what might happen. He pushed on, determined not to let her dominate his life right now. “Thank You for the lives You give us and the many blessings we have. Thank You for each other. Help us to be a blessing to this family. Help us to use our gifts, our time and our lives for You. Be with us this evening. Help us to trust You in every part of our life.” Help me to trust that you didn’t bring the boys into our lives just to take them away, he added quietly. “All this we ask in Jesus’ name, Amen.”

  He waited a moment, then lifted his head. Justin and Tristan began talking right away, as they usually did, but Nicole was looking across the table at him again. Her forehead held the faintest of frowns. As if she was trying to figure him out.

  “I hope you like quiche,” Isabelle said to Kip, her voice dripping with disdain. “Because that’s what Ms. Williams made us for supper.”

  He wasn’t crazy about it, but he wasn’t about to diss food that he didn’t make himself.

  “Looks good,” Kip said, serving up his mother.

  “What is this stuff?” Justin asked, poking his quiche with his fork. “It looks gross.”

  “Justin, you know we don’t use that word when we talk about food.” Kip shot him a warning frown to underline his reprimand.

  “I like it,” Tristan said, taking a big mouthful. “It’s really good.”

  “I still think it’s gross.” Justin leaned back in his chair, his chin resting on his chest.

  “Justin, what did I say?” Kip warned. The boy had been pushing his patience the past few days. It was as if he understood on some level the tension between him and Nicole.

  Justin stared back at him, then his lower lip quivered. “I don’t want to eat. My stomach hurts and I miss my dad.”

  Kip’s anger left him like air out of a balloon. “Oh, Justin,” he said, his own sorrow sliding into his voice. “Come here, buddy.”

  Justin slipped off his chair and walked over to Kip. Kip pulled the little boy up onto his lap and held him close. “I’m sorry, buddy. I wish I could make it better,” he murmured, wrapping his arms tightly around his nephew.

  He looked over at Tristan, who was still eating as if he hadn’t even noticed Justin’s little breakdown. Kip often wondered how could two boys could look so alike and yet be so different.

  Justin was all drama and noise, just like Scott could be, and Tristan was quieter and more sedate. Which made him wonder what Tricia was like.

  His gaze drifted over just enough to catch Nicole watching him. Her fingers rested lightly on her lips, as if holding back the glimpse of sorrow he caught in her eyes. Then she blinked and looked away and the moment was gone.

  Justin sat quiet a moment, then sniffed. “Do I still have to eat my quiche?”

  Kip sighed, feeling as if he had been played by his nephew. He wasn’t sure what to say, but before he could speak his mother touched Justin on the arm.

  “No, you don’t, honey. I’ll make you something else when dinner’s over.”

  “Mom, you shouldn’t…” but then he stopped himself. He didn’t have the energy to deal with this.

  “If Justin doesn’t have to eat his quiche, do I?” Isabelle asked hopefully.

  Kip shot her an annoyed glance. She got the hint and resumed poking at her supper with her fork.

  “I’m sorry,” Nicole said quietly. “I thought quiche would be safe.”

  “It is,” Kip said. “We haven’t eaten it a lot.” Juggling Justin on his lap he took another bite. It tasted a bit better now that he knew what to expect.

  “You should try a bite, Justin,” he encouraged. “It tastes really good.”

  Justin lifted his head and with a sigh took an offered bite. He ate it, then laid his head down on Kip’s chest again. Kip didn’t mind. His nephews were getting more independent every day, so he enjoyed the moments when they needed him.

  “She made this out of her head,” his mother told him. “I watched her.”

  “I like cooking,” Nicole offered. “I often helped our cook make meals.”

  “You had a cook?” Isabelle asked. “You must be rich.”

  Kip had wondered himself about Nicole’s financial situation. Having a personal cook definitely put her beyond his financial situation.

  “We had a cook, yes, and I liked helping her.”

  “If I was rich I wouldn’t help cook,” Isabelle continued. “Of course the only way I might get rich is to move off this ranch.”

  “What do you want to do when you’re finished high school?” Nicole asked.

  Isabelle tossed her hair. “Be an actress. See the world.”

  “Do you take drama in school?” Nicole asked, reaching across to help Tristan with the last of his supper.

  “I wish. They don’t offer it in my school.”

  “That’s too bad. It’s always helpful to get a taste of what you want to do when you�
�re young.” Nicole turned her attention back to Justin. “Do you want to try some of your own supper? It tastes the same as your uncle’s.”

  Justin lifted his head and looked across the table at Nicole, then to Kip’s surprise, he slipped off Kip’s lap and scooted around the table to Nicole.

  Kips wished Nicole had left Justin be. Soon enough the little boy wouldn’t want to sit on his uncle’s lap.

  “So where in Toronto do you live?” Kip’s mother asked Nicole.

  “My father has a home in Rosedale.”

  “Where’s that?” Isabelle asked.

  “Rich part of Toronto,” Kip said. “Lot’s of walls and gated yards.”

  “Did you live all your life in Toronto area?” Mary asked, ignoring Kip’s jibe.

  “My parents did.” Nicole’s smile tightened. “I was born in Winnipeg, Manitoba.”

  Kip was puzzled. “So your parents moved—”

  “Sam and Norah Williams are my adoptive parents,” Nicole said. “I grew up…spent the first years of my life in, uh, foster homes.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Mary said, sympathy lacing her voice. “Was that difficult?”

  Nicole lifted her shoulder in a delicate shrug. “I was blessed to be taken in by the Williamses when I was eight. They’ve been very good to me and I owe them more than I can ever repay.”

  Her voice faltered, and as Kip witnessed the faint break in her defenses he felt a nudge of sympathy that was both unexpected and unwelcome. He didn’t want to feel sorry for her.

  It was easier to deal dispassionately with her if he could see her simply as an opponent. Bad enough that she had come into his house and blurred the lines.

  “I’m done,” Justin announced, shoveling more food into his mouth. The little boy’s stomach couldn’t be that sore, Kip thought.

  “Good. You’re the last one,” Nicole said, getting up. “Now we can do the dishes.”

  “If you don’t mind, Nicole, we often have devotions after supper,” Kip said. “The dishes might have to wait a bit.”

  She immediately sat down, looking a bit flustered. “Oh. I see. I’m sorry.”

  “Tristan, can you get me the Bible?”