(Calahan Cowboys 08) The Cowboy Soldier's Sons (18 page)

There was no time to see what all the excitement was about over there; someone would tell him soon enough. He headed over to Shinny’s Ice Cream Shoppe to find Tempest.

“Hi, Blanche,” he said as he walked through the door.

“Well, if it isn’t the town hero.” She gave him a broad smile. “That sure was good of you to rescue Bobby Taylor from that burning house. I know you two have no love lost between you.”

“I didn’t rescue Bobby from anything. In fact, I might have tossed him in if I’d had the chance. Let him take a personal tour of Dante’s
Inferno.
” Shaman glanced around. “Do you know where Tempest is?”

“She took the babies back to the bungalow so they could eat and nap.” Blanche grinned. “Those sure are sweet little boys. Reminds me of their mother when she was a wee thing. You never saw such an ugly baby in your life, though.” She laughed at the memory. “Red and wizened and always yelling. She had colic, you know. And no hair.”

Shaman blinked. “My wife is drop-dead gorgeous. She makes men run into light posts. Why are you telling me my fabulous, sexy wife was an ugly kid?”

“Ah, well. That was then and this is now.” Blanche wiped down a counter, then paused thoughtfully. “You know, it’s a funny thing, but she and Bobby Taylor never looked a bit alike. Guess that’s because they had different mothers.”

Shaman turned, his hand on the doorknob. “They don’t look alike now. He’s a blockhead of stupidity and she’s an angel. He’s dumber than a rock and it shows on his greedy face. My lady would give you the hat off her head if you needed it to stay out of the rain.”

Blanche smiled. “All true.”

He looked at her. “Who was Bobby Taylor’s mother?”

“Clara Jane Simmons.”

“What happened to her?” He had a funny feeling he was missing some information, and Blanche was trying to help him see the light.

“She died. She was a nice lady. But she missed her people and she’d had those three boys and I don’t think she cared for living out at what is now Dark Diablo. It was lonely and Bud Taylor was gone a lot. She got some infection and died.” Blanche shrugged. “I went to her funeral. Bud Taylor was a mess, I can tell you. I don’t know that he loved his wife, but he sure didn’t want to be left alone with three young boys.”

“Young?”

“Pretty much. I’d say Bobby was probably eight at the time, his siblings younger.”

Shaman let go of the doorknob and went back over to the counter. “How many years until he took up with Tempest’s mother?”

“Right after. Men don’t tend to wait long. They don’t live without a woman too well. Anyway, it was just a casual thing for a while, and then Zola was born.” Blanche washed out some ice cream glasses and dried them with a paper towel. “She started school, of course, six years later. Bobby was about fourteen then. The kids gave him hell about his sister, because everybody knew. We didn’t know for sure, but we suspected.”

“Poor Cupertino,” Shaman said.

“Yeah. I don’t think it was easy for her. Anyway, Bobby’s been festering about being the butt of those jokes for years. Then the old man died and didn’t leave any of them a dime. And they never knew what happened to the money.”

Shaman knew. “Why would Bobby Taylor take all this out on Tempest?”

“I suspect as a child he was afraid that his father might fall in love with her mother. And then Zola was born, an instant rival. She went off and got famous, he stayed here and made a mess of his life. You wonder why you don’t see his siblings around these parts?” She put the glasses in the cupboard. “Because they made something of themselves. And they didn’t care to live in the past like Bobby did. But I still say Tempest was such a neglected, hungry kid that none of this matters.”

“You think Mr. Taylor would have helped out with some money when she was young, if she was his. If he believed she was his.”

“Would be a likely thing to happen.”

Maybe Bud Taylor had felt guilty that he’d never helped his only daughter out when she was young, and thus he’d left her all his money.

“Hi,” Tempest said, pushing the pram through the door. “I went to see you at the jail, but Sheriff Nance said he’d let you go. Said you were getting on his last nerve.” She smiled. “Sheriff Nance’s nerves are not the thing to get on the wrong side of, just in case you weren’t aware, Shaman.”

He looked at his darling and opinionated wife. He thought about blockhead Bobby and his wide face. None of Blanche’s hints made sense. If Tempest wasn’t Bud Taylor’s daughter, then why did everyone think she was?

Gage let out a squawk, and his brother added to the noise. “You sure are loud little men,” Shaman said, picking his children up from the pram, holding one in each arm. “Loud, but good lookers, too. It’s clear you get your looks from your mother.”

Blanche and Tempest laughed. “They are Phillipses,” Tempest said. “I was not a beautiful baby. Somewhere Blanche has some baby pictures of me, and you can see that for yourself.”

He blinked. “You couldn’t have ever been ugly, Tempest.”

She smiled. “Haven’t you ever heard of the ugly duckling, Shaman? The fortunate thing for our boys is that they have good genes from your side of the family tree.”

“Yeah,” Shaman said, gazing down at his sons. “Not so much mine, though. That was Xav’s arena. I was the thinker, and Gage was the wild one.”

“No,” Tempest said, “your sister says you and Gage tied for the wild prize. You always tried to do him one better. She said you felt a need to prove yourself.”

Most men did. Shaman kissed his babies on their soft, fuzzy heads, thinking. “When was the last time you saw your mother’s husband, Cupertino?”

“I don’t know.” Tempest frowned at him. “Mac Cupertino came by to visit a time or two, maybe three or four, throughout my childhood. I was probably twelve the last time I saw him.” Her face had darkened. “He died about five years ago. Why do you ask?”

Blanche smiled, and came to take little Gage from Shaman’s arms. Shinny walked into the shop and put his apron on. “We had quite a run of customers this morning and early afternoon, thanks to you being in jail,” he told Shaman. “Folks want ice cream when they’re all lathered up about injustice and stuff. We need more drama in this town, I guess.” He took Josh and went to join his wife in a booth.

“Why do you ask?” Tempest said.

“I don’t know. I just never heard you speak about him. I talk more about my old man than you do about the guy your mom was married to.”

She did not look happy. “Well, there’s nothing to tell. He was a really handsome man. My mother was crazy about him. It drove her nuts, always waiting on him. He was fair-haired and liked the drink, so he went from town to town getting a job and then getting fired. Mac Cupertino was not one for staying in one place. Or raising a family.”

“Hey, that gives me a few points, maybe, huh? I’m not so good-looking, I don’t drink very much unless you bring it in the picnic basket, and I’m all over raising a family. You should give me a second look, Cupertino.”

She pressed her lips together for an instant, then shook her head. “Let’s just stick to the original plan.”

“I suggest an extension on the original plan.” He’d known this moment was coming. Every time she got close, she skittered away. Like Candy, the wild mustang who wanted to kick him every time he put a lead rope on her. He’d had to watch for those nimble hooves.

Now he had a woman who’d been distinctly nervous ever since he’d put a wedding band on her finger.

“I can’t,” she said. “I can’t make myself believe in fairy tales, Shaman. I know all about make-believe—that’s my business, it’s what I do. But I just can’t make myself trust that you and I will make it for the long haul.”

It would be hard to do that if one’s supposed “father” had blown in and out of one’s life growing up. And that’s when he knew he was up against more than just a woman who didn’t want to “be married for the sake of the children.”

Tempest really didn’t understand that a marriage could be something better than emotionally devastating. As she’d said, she didn’t believe in fairy tales.

He had a slash across his cheek and a chunk torn out of his shoulder, scars and rough patches all over. There was no make-believe about his life, or him.

She was going to have to learn to believe in herself.

“Look, doll. I’m not that easy to get rid of. I’ve been in firefights and war zones, and I’ve hung on many a bronc till the bell. If you don’t want to stay married, fine. But you think long and hard about what you’re going to tell those boys later on. I am not going to be a dad who blows into their lives from time to time.”

She stared at him silently, her eyes wide.

“Think about it,” he said. “And when you’re ready, you come tell me that you know the man you married is the one who’s always going to wake up next to you, look out for you and give you that ride to happily-ever-after. You’ve got to believe, Tempest, and trust that it will. Or it was over before you ever unpacked that first picnic basket of yours. Whatever it was you were looking for that day you came to my house, only you know. Let me know when you figure it out.”

Chapter Fifteen

Shaman headed over to see the sheriff at the jail. It was time to get some answers.

“Oh, no,” Nance said, pushing his hat back to glare at him. “I thought I told you to git. This is a jail, not an army barracks.”

Shaman smiled. “You may have to let me sleep here. There’s no room in the inn in Tempest.”

“Not my problem if you got yourself on the hot seat with your woman. When I annoy Mrs. Nance, I’m smart enough to stay out of her way for a while. Then I hit the flower shop on my way home. That’s all the advice I have to give you.”

Shaman looked around the barren room. There were no pictures or posters, not much of anything on the pale white walls. A small lamp burned on the sheriff’s desk. “The ambience of this place isn’t bad. Think you could use a green plant, though.”

“Thank you, Martha Stewart. What can I do for you?”

Shaman grinned. “I want to know what you’re going to do about Bobby Taylor. He has no place to live now. I don’t want him making any trouble for my wife.”

“I haven’t seen him today, so I have no idea what he’s going to do now that his rat hole’s been destroyed. My best guess would be you watch your back. Bobby doesn’t have much use for you, is what I hear.”

“Shaman,” Tempest said, breezing into the jail.

Both men looked up, surprised.

“Yes, honey bunch?”

She shook her head at him. “Don’t sweet-talk me. Ask Sheriff Nance. It doesn’t work.”

“Not on females who have a decent spirit,” the sheriff told Shaman. “And your wife’s spirit is pretty supersized.”

“Okay. Yes, Cupertino?” Shaman amended, smiling.

Tempest gave him a don’t-push-me glare. “You don’t get to just have a meltdown and then walk out. What got into you, soldier?”

“I think it’s you,” he declared, and the sheriff said, “Always a good answer, cowboy.”

“This is not my first rodeo, Sheriff.” Shaman looked at his wife. “Tempest, this is what I think. I think you’re crazy about me, but I don’t think you trust yourself to believe it’s real. I think you always dug me a lot, from the very first time you met me, but you’re used to glowing reviews in the newspapers, and I’m pretty much that strong, silent type you thought you wanted. That’s all I was saying.” He smiled at her. “I’m aware that an unemployed ex-soldier isn’t what you had in mind for your future husband, but this is the card you’ve drawn, beautiful.”

“Thank you for explaining that,” she said. “I’ll let you know my answer when I’ve considered your résumé.”

She went out, and Shaman looked at Sheriff Nance.

“You were doing good until you reminded her you were broke.” The lawman laughed. “You’re supposed to be a prince.”

“I am,” Shaman said. “I just have other gifts to offer. The size of my wallet is not the thing I’m going to be able to win her with.”

“That’s too bad. Size does matter.”

“I do all right. I saved a lot of what I made in the military. Jonas isn’t the tightwad you might think he would be, and I did okay working for him.” Shaman looked at Nance. “Maybe you’ve got an opening for a deputy.”

“You lied to an officer of the law,” the sheriff reminded him. “Not a quality characteristic.”

“I thought my wife had done it. What would you do if you thought Mrs. Nance had suddenly burned down a house?”

“I don’t know. I love her. I’d probably build her a new one.”

Shaman straightened. “That’s a good idea.”

“Isn’t that what you came in here for? A good idea?”

“Actually,” Shaman said, “I came in here to find out if you knew who Tempest’s real father is.”

The sheriff stared at him. “I have no idea. Some said Bud Taylor, but I never knew if that was so. If you want to know, go to the courthouse and pull her birth records.”

“Can I do that?”

“Mrs. McTavish can help you. Tell her you want to see the birth records from that year. Better yet, have Tempest go with you. Make a date of it. I bet you haven’t had many of those with your wife.”

Shaman hesitated. “Actually, you’d be right.”

“This younger generation,” Sheriff Nance said with a sigh, “they have no idea of romance. It’s all sex, and then—”

“’Bye, Sheriff. Thanks.” Shaman headed out of the jail, running smack into Bobby Taylor.

“Hey,” Bobby said. “How come you’re not locked up? You shouldn’t be out.”

“I didn’t do anything. Nothing to keep me on.” Shaman’s temper went to red-hot. “Why did you do it?”

The sneaky man appeared openly amused. “Why would I burn down the only place I had to live?”

“Because you have a twisted mind,” Shaman retorted. “And because you’re determined to hurt Tempest.”

“Hey, that sounds almost like you think you know what I’m thinking. However, you don’t. Anyway, I need to talk to the sheriff about giving me a cell for the night, since I’m homeless and all.”

Shaman grimaced, telling himself that smashing Bobby a good one would get him nowhere but back in Sheriff Nance’s unhomey cell. “Good luck with that.” He took off toward the flower shop, the sheriff’s idea uppermost in his mind.