True-Blue Cowboy Christmas (9 page)

“Your mother would be proud of you. More than you'll ever know. You got her strength—but you know that. What I don't think you know is she would have wanted you to let yourself be weak now and again too.” Dad gave him one last pat on the back before slipping inside.

Thack knew he should go inside too. It was too cold to be out here without a coat, and he had a daughter to eat dinner with and watch a movie with and love.

He'd have to figure out how to be
weak
some other day.

“How many of your sisters are going to be here, Delia?” Summer asked, pen poised over her notebook for Thanksgiving preparations.

“Just Rose this year. The rest of the girls have to work either Thursday itself or Friday morning,” Delia replied, sitting very stiffly on the couch with baby Lissa in her arms.

“She isn't going to bite you, Delia,” Mel said, doing a terrible job of hiding her amusement at Delia's discomfort.

Delia shot her a killing look. “But I might break her.”

“You're doing just fine.”

“First, you're sick for, what, months? Then you're gigantic and waddle around, and then you have to shove the thing out of your—”

“You'll be fine,” Mel interrupted firmly. “I'd focus on surviving morning sickness before I'd get worked up about shoving things out of places.”

“Just think,” Summer quipped cheerfully. “Next Thanksgiving, you'll have one.”

Delia's eyes widened as she looked down at the bundle in her arms. “Guess what, Summer? Not a comfort right now.”

“Oh, don't be difficult. The hard parts will be over, and you'll have a sweet little baby in your arms.”

“Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say the hard part is over,” Mel replied. “I have bags under my eyes and still wince when I walk.”

“Okay, we have to talk about anything else. Anything. Else.”

“We could talk about Thanksgiving dinner,” Summer gently suggested. That's why the three of them had met this morning, but every time Summer tried to focus on the subject at hand, Mel or Delia went in a completely different direction.

“Ugh,” Delia said, shifting uncomfortably with Lissa still dozing in her arms. “How's work with the Lanes going?”

“Oh, well. Good.”

“Rose mentioned that Thack came in and asked her about you a few weeks ago.”

“He asked me too. I don't remember him being so…” Mel's eyebrows drew together. “I don't know how to explain it.”

“Rose said he walks around like he's got a stick shoved up his ass.”

Mel pressed her lips together before giving into a laugh. “Well, I suppose if anyone's got a right, it's Thack.”

“What do you think of him, Summer?”

“U-um…” Summer tried to smile, but she felt oddly put on the spot. “He's a very dedicated father.” Her face was warming, and she couldn't stop herself from fidgeting. Why on earth was she blushing?

She tried to ignore her body's odd response, but Delia gave her a speculative look and Summer blushed even more furiously. Seriously, what was wrong with her?

For the first time this morning, Delia looked at ease holding Lissa. “He's attractive, wouldn't you say, Mel?”

Mel was also studying Summer a bit too closely for Summer's comfort. “Yes, very…classically handsome. Gary Cooper type.”

“Who's Gary Cooper?” Summer asked, hoping to change the subject to anything but Thack's attractiveness.

Delia shrugged. “Got me there, but the fact of the matter is, he fills out a pair of Wranglers very nicely, wouldn't you say?”

“I-I don't know.” Summer stammered. “I work for him. I don't…look at his Wranglers.” Which was a lie. She'd noticed far too many things working for Thack the past few weeks. The exact shade of green of his eyes and the way the tendons in his neck stood out when he was well and truly at his wit's end with his father. She'd memorized the way his arms moved when he reached out to touch Kate's hair or give her a casual squeeze. And, more than she'd like to admit even to herself, she had found herself staring at his butt.

His butt! She didn't even know why. It was just kind of mesmerizing. And it always led to uncomfortable fantasies that made her feel very conflicted and confused. A far different conflicted and confused than she'd felt when Mom had insisted she let some man inappropriately talk to her.

“What does working for him matter when it comes to looking at his ass?” Delia jerked her chin toward Mel. “Pretty sure Mel here was shacking up with Dan when he was technically her boss.”

“Shh. Not in front of the baby,” Mel hissed.

Delia grinned. “Some day the girl is going to find out her mommy and daddy were getting it on in the llama… What do you call it? A stable? A barn? Crazyville?” Delia closed her eyes suddenly. “Oh crap, I need to throw up again.”

“Karma,” Mel replied, scooping Lissa out of Delia's arms so Delia could lurch to the bathroom.

Mel crooned softly to her baby, and Summer didn't know what to do with all the pangs assaulting her. That she had sisters who were teasing her like she'd seen Delia's sisters do, that Mel had this beautiful little baby, and Summer knew that… Well, she wanted that. She knew she had so much love to give and…

She kept thinking back to the other day, when she'd been making fairies with Kate while Mr. Lane watched one of his TV shows.

Kate had been frowning at the door ever since she'd come home from school. When Summer had asked what was wrong, Kate had sighed, adding more glitter to her drawing of fairy wings.

“Daddy seems sad,” she'd said, playing with a glob of glue. Then she'd looked up at Summer innocently. “Don't you think
you
could make him happy?”

A few days later, the memory still gave Summer an odd, shuddery feeling somewhere in her chest.

Oh, where was her head? She needed to focus on one thing at a time. Thanksgiving, then Christmas. Making it perfect for the Shaws. Last Thanksgiving and Christmas had been a little awkward, but she felt like she belonged now. Almost one hundred percent, so she would make all these holidays perfect. “Well, I'm thinking one turkey should suffice. I'll make the stuffing, maybe a salad. Do you think you can handle the rolls? Well, no, I can make those ahead of time, and—”

“Summer.” Mel placed a hand on the arm that was furiously scribbling notes. “You don't have to do it all. This is a family affair.”

“I know, but you're busy with Lissa, and Delia's not feeling well, and I don't think Caleb can cook to save his life.”

“No, he couldn't, but that doesn't mean you have to take this all so seriously. It's a meal for us, not for a queen.”

“It's a celebration. A holiday.” How many had she spent alone or with only Mom for company? Lonely and sad, or trying to make Mom less lonely and sad, because Mom almost never had a steady relationship over the holidays. Mom tended to attach herself to men who had families and didn't want Mom or Summer to be anything more than a hostess, an…object. “It's… It should be perfect.”

“It won't be though.”

Summer shook her head. “I know you're too busy to make it perfect. That's fine. You can trust me.”

“Summer, I'm not… No holidays are perfect. No meals are going to be perfect. Especially with our group. Between a month-old baby, Delia sick as a dog, and Dad in whatever headspace he's currently occupying, no amount of food or preparation is going to make the dinner perfect, but that's okay.”

“But…”

“The thing is, life is sometimes poopy diapers and meals that don't turn out and a pain in the ass, really.”

Summer might have felt a little depressed at that estimation, but Mel was gently rocking the baby in her arm, while her free hand rested on Summer's hand. It was a comforting, caring gesture. Summer looked up at Mel from her seat, tears pricking the back of her eyes. “Are you big-sistering me?”

“Do you want me to?” Mel started to back away. “Oh no, not the waterworks. You know I never know what to do when you start blubbering.”

“Just think of it as one of those pain-in-the-ass things that you have to deal with,” Summer said with a little sniff. “It's just… All I ever wanted was family, you know?”

Mel's expression became concerned, mixed with a certain hesitancy. It didn't take a mind reader to know Mel's thoughts were drifting to the unspoken thing between them.

“So…Mom didn't feel like family?”

Summer shook her head. “Not… I mean, yes, but…all I ever was to her was a trophy or a pawn. Not a person. You guys—even, well, him… I know you see me as a person. You treat me as a person.” And she never felt
threatened
. Ignored on occasion, but never like she was in danger. “Even if he pretends I don't exist, at least it's honest.”

Mel looked through the doorway to the TV room where their father was likely parked. Quiet and in his own world of misery.

“I know you're still hoping he'll change,” Mel said quietly.

“But you don't think it's possible?”

Mel's gaze turned back to Summer and her lips curved, though it wasn't a joyful smile. Something more like an attempt at a reassuring one. “I hope it is. I really do. But I can't get him to hold my daughter, his granddaughter. You know? And I can wrap myself in that misery, or I can enjoy my daughter and my husband and…”

“Your llamas?”

Mel laughed. “Yes, oddly enough. And you, and my idiot brother and his wife, and my future niece or nephew and… The thing is, even just in a year and a half, I've gained so much. My life isn't perfect in the least, and even if you make the most amazing Thanksgiving dinner, things won't magically
become
perfect.”

Summer blew out a breath. “I know.” Maybe she'd hoped differently, but Mel was right. Trying to make everything perfect was never going to work. She only had control over herself—her decisions and how she treated the people around her. She couldn't make her father interact with her any more than she'd been able to make Mom care for her.

“But wouldn't it be nice if a carefully cooked turkey could make everything perfect?” Summer asked, resting her chin on her palm.

Mel chuckled. “It would indeed.” Lissa fussed and began to wiggle. “And that's my cue to hole myself up and feed her. I will handle the rolls and make Caleb pick up a dessert or something. Don't kill yourself over one meal. The fact that we'll be together is the important thing.”

Summer smiled genuinely at that. It was true. She was here. The Shaws had accepted her. She'd give them the best meal she could manage because she loved them, because she wanted to, but she wouldn't obsess. Or, she'd try not to anyway.

Mel grabbed the diaper bag, but Summer had one last question she couldn't swallow down, even though she knew it would mean more teasing.

“When you said Thack had a reason to have a stick up his… Well, what did you mean by that?”

“Oh, are you asking me because you're curious or because you're interested in the contents of his Wranglers?”

Summer blushed again. “I…”

“Because if it's the latter, I think that's a question you should be asking him. You know?”

Summer didn't really, or maybe she did and she didn't want to admit it. Either way, Delia returned looking gray. “You're going to have to finish any food talk without me, I think.”

“We've got it handled,” Summer offered, moving to help a very unstable-looking Delia get to the couch. “You just relax and grow that baby.”

Delia smiled weakly, and Mel disappeared to feed Lissa.

“Can you believe all this?” Delia murmured, her eyes closed, her hand resting protectively over her stomach.

“All what?”

“All we've got.”

Summer swallowed. No, sometimes she couldn't quite believe it, but it made her very, very happy.

* * *

Thack swung off Midnight and examined the weak spot in the fence. The wire sagged, and it would only take one intrepid cow coming out this far to cause a problem. They were unlikely to in this weather, but it was possible.

He checked his pack, getting more and more irritated when he didn't find the tools he needed. Someone had been messing with his stuff and hadn't put it back properly. He only had one glove, and the fence stretchers were nowhere to be found.

“Crud,” he muttered. The November wind was brutal today, and they were predicting significant snow accumulation for later in the week. Getting this fence mended was a priority, but he was already losing the light. The chance of him getting back to the barn, finding the tools he needed, and then getting back out here…

“Crud. Crud. Crud,” he muttered, pulling on the one glove. Without the fence stretchers, he couldn't fix the problem, but he could try to pull the lag and see if he could find a temporary solution.

He pulled and tugged and twisted, swearing mildly when he scratched his hand. When he stepped back to survey his work, he rolled his eyes. It would last through approximately one heavy gust of wind, but it'd have to do until tomorrow.

He swung back onto Midnight's back, murmuring encouragingly to the horse and moving her forward into a steady pace.

The sun was quickly disappearing, surrounding him with a kind of eerie gray twilight. Usually the snow sparkled in the fading winter sun, but today was too cloudy and dreary for that.

He glanced at his watch. Kate should be home by now, and by the time he got into the house, Summer would have dinner in the oven.

Alone in the midst of winter, he had trouble not thinking about Summer. The cheerful way she seemed to embody her name.

There'd been a change in his house over the past few weeks, and even if he didn't want to credit Summer, how could he deny it? She was the difference. He didn't have to worry so much now that Kate might escape. He didn't have to struggle every meal to find something she would eat or bargain endlessly with her about how many bites. He didn't have to clean up glitter or paint, and Kate still got to do all those activities.

And yet Summer still left him with a restless sense of trepidation. He couldn't analyze it, couldn't push it away. He watched her with Kate, he talked to her, and something in his chest tightened and shifted in a way that made no sense to him.