True-Blue Cowboy Christmas (7 page)

That had not been a good moment. It could not be repeated, and even as he told himself that, his eyes dropped to the tiny strip of pale skin. It was the smallest of gaps between jacket and skirt—how the hell had his hand landed there?

Warm. Soft.
Shoot.
“I talked to Mel. And Rose,” he announced with no finesse whatsoever before Summer could answer.

Her eyes widened. “You did?”

“Yes.” Thack cleared his throat, trying to find some sense of balance. Of authority. He was in charge here. “I also heard most of what you said to her back there. You told her to follow the rules.”

“Well, of course I did.” Summer clasped her hands in front of her, something like a nervous gesture, only her expression radiated nothing but a calm kind of peace.

God, he could use some peace.

“I happen to agree with you on a lot of things when it comes to Kate. I don't think she should be crossing property lines alone. Though she does know the way, and she wants to explore. I can't help but think there's a happy medium somewhere.”

Ah, not peace at all, because people always seemed to discount his worry without thinking things all the way through. “What if it had gotten dark?” he demanded. “Would she still know the way? Would she know what to do if she came across a wild animal?”

Summer's eyebrows drew together, and she seemed to think about his words, considering them far more than his father ever did. “Maybe you should teach her,” she finally offered.

“Give her the skills to disobey me?”

“Give her the skills to survive,” she replied without even pausing. “Everyone deserves those.” She said it quietly but firmly, passionately. As though survival was something she'd ever had to worry about. Looking at this colorful, jewelry-bedecked woman, he had a hard time imagining her needing to know how to
survive
.

“That's why I'm here. A parent's job is to keep their children safe. She's seven. Needing the skills to survive—”

“She escapes.”

Thack opened his mouth to argue, to tell her she was wrong, but given the simple way she offered the truth, he couldn't argue. He couldn't fume that she wasn't listening. He couldn't pull out any of the arguments he used with his father.

Because Summer was right.

He was supposed to protect his daughter. He had promised Michaela, but he couldn't do it. Not when Kate escaped at every turn, determined to be wild and free. She didn't understand the potential consequences of that. She didn't have nightmares about all the things that could happen, but he didn't want to give her those either. She deserved a few years to think of the world as it was in her books, full of fairies and princesses and happy endings.

She would learn soon enough that happy endings didn't exist, that the world was harsh and unforgiving too much of the time. She could live without that knowledge for a few more years.

“I do think you're trying to do what's best for her,” Summer offered quietly into the twilight.

“But you think I'm failing?”

Silence stretched out between them, and he looked toward the setting sun. The orange ball burned brightly, but would soon be gone and the world would be dark.

“Does it matter what I think?”

It did and it didn't. He didn't know how to explain that. By itself, her opinion didn't particularly matter because he didn't know her enough to value it, but…

He knew. He knew he was failing whether she agreed or not. He just didn't know what to do about it.

“If you're sure you want to accept my father's job offer, I won't stand in your way. You can be here and you can work for him. You can even be around Kate, but not alone.”

She frowned, but he couldn't let her argue with him. This had to be ultimatum time, and then he would walk away. He didn't have the fortitude for more arguments.

“I don't know you well enough to let you be alone with her yet. If she's there, my father or I need to be there. End of story. And if you do anything to jeopardize my daughter or the environment I am trying to raise her in, I can fire you without my father's permission. The house is his, but most of the land is mine. I am in charge, and my daughter is my number one priority. You can take it or leave it.”

Odd how he somehow hoped for both. Parts of him wanted her to take it, wanted to believe that some amount of the weight he hefted could be lessened by this woman's help. Most of him wanted her to leave it because he couldn't shake the feeling she would only be another burden.

“I'll take it,” she said resolutely.

“I'll let Dad know,” he replied. Only his mother's voice in his head kept him from leaving it at that. “Would you like me to drive you back to your place?”

She shook her head, eyes on the sky to the east where things were already dark. “No, thank you. I'll be all right.”

Wasn't she the lucky one?

Summer woke up to the telltale hush of fresh snow. The last week had held on to the slightest hints of fall, and she'd been hopeful it would hold out.

She should have known better. Maybe someday she would. Winter in Montana meant the icy grips of snow and below-freezing temperatures could show up at any time and stay as late as they wished.

She peeked out the window, and sure enough, a few more inches of white snow had fallen overnight. Even though she was disappointed, she had to smile at learning her guess had been right. She was getting to know Montana. She was getting to know her life.

She went through her normal morning ritual: tea and stoking the woodstove that kept the caravan warm. Bundling up to do her yoga outside with the sunrise. Scraping the snow off her platform took a few minutes, but she didn't mind. There was a newness to this morning and a freshness to the week.

She was starting to work for the Lanes today, and along with nervousness was an odd giddiness she didn't know what to do with. She'd felt this way when she'd started singing at Pioneer Spirit too.

And yet…

There was something different at play this time, but she wouldn't dwell on that. As she stretched and greeted the sun, she did
not
think about Thack Lane. Or his hands. Or the green of his eyes. Or the way he held his jaw so tightly that she thought no one must ever run their palm along it and tell him to relax.

She wasn't new to inappropriate crushes, but she had at least thought she'd left them behind in California. Apparently she hadn't mastered keeping her heart and imagination out of things yet.

But she would. She would take an example from Mel and Delia. She could learn from the way they held themselves, believed in themselves, followed their goals. They didn't moon over inappropriate people. They didn't let others walk all over them.

They were strong women who'd paved their own ways, rather than manipulating someone else to pave it for them. That was the type of woman she wanted to be. Good and kind, but also a little formidable. Not scary like her mother could be, but confident.

She'd found that there was a whole world of things she
could
do, if she only put her mind to it.

The job was only part-time and wouldn't interfere with her gigs in the evenings. While she knew her existence didn't cost the Shaws
much
money, and she paid them back with meals and cleaning, this would ease her conscience as well as keep her busy.

Mornings would be for exercise and doing her work up at Shaw house. Afternoons, she'd work for Mr. Lane, and evenings would either be for quiet meditation or singing.

She was building a life she had not dared to dream of two years ago. A life with family and filled with activities
she
enjoyed.

It was heaven.

She soaked in the weak rays of the sun, stretching her muscles, taking strength and center from the familiar movements, breathing in the fresh crispness of snow and the blue-skied winter morning.

No, she didn't miss California at all.

Once through her quick yoga routine, she grabbed her bag and hiked up to the Shaw house. Though it was bitterly cold, she never tired of the scenery or the way Shaw house would warm her up. She'd have a shower and breakfast, put a few things together for lunch and dinner for the Shaws, and then go off to the Lanes.

She ignored the jitter of nerves and focused on routine. It was a pleasure to have a routine of her own making, where no one could tell her what to do or who to spend time with. No one could monitor her eating, what she wore, or what she said.

She got to be
hersel
f
.

With a smile on her face, she reached Shaw house. Caleb and Delia would already be out with the herd, feeding, breaking ice on water troughs, or checking on the heaters.

But when Summer stepped inside, there wasn't silence, or even the blaring of the TV. All she heard were Caleb and Delia, voices raised.

“No.”

“You can't… Are you…” Summer heard a bang and rushed into the living room. Delia and Caleb were squaring off, which wasn't all that unusual. They fought. A lot. Even though Summer could see the love that wound its way through their battles, she still wasn't comfortable with the way they went after each other when they were mad.

She stepped into the fray because her heart couldn't take the thought that people she cared about were hurting. Not if she could do something about it.

“Good. We have a second opinion,” Caleb said, gesturing toward her. Both Caleb and Delia had their work gear and coats on. Their cheeks were flushed and their fists clenched as they faced off.

“I don't need Summer's fucking opinion.” Delia glanced back at her briefly. “You know I don't mean that in the way it sounds.”

“Well, su—”

Caleb glowered. “Until you go to the doctor—”

“Until you bite me—”

“You could be—”

“I know very well what I could be and what that means and what I'm capable of, you self-righteous jackass,” Delia returned. “You do not get to boss me around just because you put a ring on my finger or because you may have knocked me up.”

“Funny, I thought that meant I had some say in—”

“Funny, you're wrong.” Delia gave his chest a shove and then stomped past Summer and into the mudroom.

Caleb glared after her, but he stayed where he was in the kitchen.

“What's going on?” Summer asked, schooling her voice to sound calm and sympathetic.

He shook his head. “Someone needs to talk some sense into that woman. She…” He shoved a hand into his hair, knocking his hat to the floor. He didn't seem to notice. “I don't know what the hell happened.”

“I'm going to take a guess,” Summer offered, picking his hat up off the floor and handing it to him. “You're both scared.”

Caleb scowled at her. “I don't want to be psychoanalyzed by you.”

“You never do.” Still, he tended to listen. He tended to act like she might have something to say. Oh, he blustered a good deal about it, but he cared.

“Instead of poking back, why don't you try to talk calmly and—”

“That's not the way we work, Summer.”

“Maybe you should.”

He tossed his hat on the couch, shaking his head again. “No. Listen. Do you have time to check the water and break any ice?”

“Of course, but I think—”

“I think you need to mind your own business.” Caleb forced a cheerless smile. “I'm not trying to be a dick, I'm just… I know you don't like discord, but this is how we work.”

“But, that's—” She stopped talking because he was already going up the stairs after his wife. Still, she couldn't get over the idea he was wrong. How could yelling at each other be good? If she was ever going to find someone she wanted to marry, she'd want them to be sweet and good and nice. No yelling. No anger. It would be pleasant. It would be calm and comfortable.

The telltale squeak of a wheelchair sounded behind her and she turned. She never knew what to call…
him
. She'd been here a year and a half, and she couldn't muster up a “Dad” any more than she could call him by his first name.

But he didn't wheel away, which was his norm about ninety-nine percent of the time. He seemed poised to say something, but then he gave a little shake of his head. His hand moved to the wheel of his chair, but she took a step toward him.

“Is there…anything I can do for you?”

Summer didn't know why, after all this time, she was still nervous. She shouldn't be. He didn't care. He probably wouldn't care if she turned out not to really be his daughter. To him, most of the world meant nothing. He barely engaged with the children he'd raised, and he'd been in a wheelchair for seven years now.

He'd refused to hold Lissa, had refused any and all attempts to get him to visit Mel in the hospital or at her ranch.

Summer wished she had the courage to shake him, to yell at him. She wished she could muster Delia's condescension or Mel's force, but mainly she felt…

Like a fraud.

But he was a fraud too, because whether she was his or not, he'd known about her, thought she was his. Unless he was keeping even deeper secrets than he'd admitted to last year—that he'd known Mom was pregnant when she'd left him. That he'd let Mom leave with his child inside her in order to keep his other child. That he'd sacrificed Summer for Mel, even if it had been an unfair deal Mom had insisted upon.

“No,” he finally said, his voice gruff from disuse. He turned his wheelchair so his back was to her, and Summer exhaled. She always seemed to hold her breath around him, like she was waiting for him to see through her.

“Sometimes the worst thing is someone you can't trust with your anger.”

She stared at his retreating back, trying to make sense of the words. Or why he'd spoken them…or even why he'd spoken them to
her
.

But his comment didn't make sense. He didn't make sense, and she had work to do.

* * *

Thack tried to concentrate on inventory. He really did. It was important to gauge how much feed he had, to note if he would need to make adjustments to his normal order. November and December were hard months to get in to Bozeman and unpredictable weather-wise.

He needed to concentrate, but all he could think about was Summer inside his house with his little girl. Who had spent almost all of Halloween night talking about Summer. About her caravan, about how she looked like the fairy queen and how she hoped Summer would teach her how to braid her hair.

Thack knew Kate needed that. The hair braiding. Kate loved things that were so beyond his realm of experience. Thack
knew
he had to unclench.

But knowing and doing were two separate things.

Thack gave up concentrating. It'd make more sense to eat lunch, then check on everything. Then he could concentrate. Of course, with his luck, he'd discover that Dad had taken off for Bermuda or some such, and Summer and Kate would be in the kitchen dancing with knives over hot coals. Or something.

Okay, he was probably nuts, but that didn't stop the worry from clutching his mind like some kind of robot claw. He forced himself up the stairs of the porch and in through the front door—and then immediately froze.

What on earth was that noise?

A guitar. Singing. Had he fallen into some bizarre rendition of
The Sound of Music
? Of course, he didn't have six kids, Summer wasn't a nun, and there was no way he was that… They were…

Okay, his stalling had officially taken a ridiculous turn, so it was time to force himself to move into the kitchen. He would eat his lunch, then go back to work and somehow not worry that everything had taken a turn for the
different
.

He stepped into the kitchen, hoping the visual check would calm the constant whirring of his brain. There were just so many things to worry about, so many things he couldn't seem to let go of.

Summer was sitting on one of the counter stools. Dad had his harmonica out and was playing and tapping his foot while Summer accompanied him on a guitar. Kate sat at the kitchen table, clapping along.

His gaze dropped to Kate's lunch plate. Half a hot dog, two nibbled-on strawberries, a couple half-eaten carrots. Cracker crumbs. A glass of milk, half drunk. If she'd honest to goodness eaten what was missing off that plate, he was almost ready to call Summer a miracle worker.

“Daddy, listen to Summer. She sounds like an angel when she sings.”

Thack glanced at the woman sitting next to his father, the fair skin of her cheeks going pink. “Oh. Well. Let your dad eat lunch, sweetheart.” Summer popped off the seat, heading for the fridge. She was wearing another one of those long, colorful skirts that swished around her like fairy mist.

Kate's books were apparently getting to him.

Summer glanced back at him, catching him looking at her.

Why was he staring? He was just getting used to her in his space. It didn't mean anything. But she caught him anyway and inclined her head, as if she wanted him to come stand next to her.

Stiffly, he walked over to the fridge. She handed him a plate made up of a big sandwich and fruit and celery filled with peanut butter. It was such an odd meal, all in all, something he never could get Kate to eat.

“Do you push?” she whispered, leaning her head toward his as she handed off the plate.

She was wearing some kind of flowery scent, a feminine perfume that mingled with the smell of the peanut butter, and he felt like a child. For a flickering instant he was entirely at the mercy of this woman—Summer, who was supposedly five years his junior but somehow felt like the only adult in the room.

“Push?” he repeated dumbly.

Summer's eyes slanted to Kate behind them, but she was busy making designs out of her half-eaten strawberries and not paying them any mind. “Do you push on the food? Would you want me to push her to eat more, or is that okay? Or do you want me to mind my own business?”

Her questions were so deferential that he was caught by surprise, somehow forgetting that he'd been the one to set all the strict ground rules. “That's a lot more than she usually eats.”

“Oh.” Summer looked down at the counter, gathering up plates and things that must have been left over from lunch prep, but he couldn't miss the way her mouth curled into a smile, or how gorgeous her profile was.

Which was just… She was beautiful. He couldn't argue himself out of that. But it really, truly, one hundred percent didn't matter either way.

“Well, I tried to give her a little bit of a lot of things. I hope that's okay.”

Thack opened his mouth to tell Summer she didn't have to ask if things were okay, but that was the whole point. He didn't know her, didn't trust her, so she
should
ask regarding anything that involved Kate.