Elsa reached for her brush, then hesitated. Was she really getting ready for church, knowing Nick would be there with the girls? And was she a complete phony or only a partial phony, because would she have gotten up and ready if Nick wasn’t going to be there?
No.
But she’d have felt guilty about it, so maybe God had been working on her for a while and she hadn’t noticed. Or she’d ignored him because she was downright angry with him for letting Christiana and Braden down in their hour of need.
Like you did.
She set the brush down and stared at her reflection in the dresser mirror.
She’d run the gamut of self-help. She knew the rules of therapy, she understood the timeline, the grieving and guilt process, she could recite the textbook platitudes by heart, and she’d gone for professional help because she understood the value of it.
And still she heard their cries in the night.
Was there a God? Did he care? Did he shelter and embrace? And if he did exist, were Braden and Christiana safe in his arms, or was that a simplistic portrait the gullible painted to glamorize the reality of death?
Her gaze darkened, but then her phone buzzed an incoming text from Nick Stafford. “Heading to church in ten. Can I pick you up?”
No, he most certainly could not. Having a man pick a woman up for church in a small town like Gray’s Glen spoke louder than a ring on the finger. Worse than that, if things didn’t work out, everyone knew. Then it became item number one on the small-town gossip circuit, so no, she’d get to church on her own, thank you very much. She texted that she’d meet him there and then laughed at herself.
She’d talked herself into staying home, holding back, keeping her distance, and the minute he made contact, she’d caved. And if she was truthful with herself ?
It felt good.
“Elsa.”
Her heart tripped faster when Nick called her name. As she turned, the two girls raced across the stretch of sidewalk to throw themselves at her. “Good morning, ladies.”
“I’m so glad you came!”
Cheyenne grabbed one hand and Dakota latched on to the other. “Me too!”
“Will you sit with us?” Cheyenne wondered, but it wasn’t in her demanding, petulant voice that had been getting her into trouble on a regular basis at home and at school. This was a gentler, kinder version and Elsa appreciated the difference right away.
“Yes, because you’re precious and polite and not a demanding little twit.”
Cheyenne blushed, then smiled. “I’m trying.”
“Good.” She shifted her attention up to their father, mentally scolded her heart to keep it from jumping into overdrive, and kept her face placid. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” He looked at her, right at her, and even though he couldn’t take her hand because the girls had grabbed tight on either side, his eyes said he wanted to, and that was enough for now. “You look beautiful, Elsa.”
“You look mighty fine yourself, cowboy.”
A tiny smile that couldn’t be called a grin quirked his left cheek, and then he tipped one finger to the brim of his hat, cowboy style.
Her heart stutter-stepped all over again.
He led the way inside. If folks noticed them, they pretended not to, which was probably because some of them knew her story even though she’d kept out of the way. Still, in quaint places like Gray’s Glen, people had a way of finding things out. Anyone with access to a computer could find her history in a one-point-five-second Google search.
Let it go…
The words from the popular song touched her. She’d come to church because it felt like she should, and now that she was here, she didn’t want to fret. She wanted…
She glanced around the quaint Catholic church they were using while theirs was rebuilt. She didn’t know what she wanted, but she’d like to start with peace. Peace of mind, peace of heart, to toss the scarlet cloak of guilt away. That would be a wonderful way to begin.
Nick handed her a songbook. The bright Sunday morning bathed the simple windows in light, and a bank of flickering candles winked and bobbed with each breath of soft late-spring air.
And when a lone voice from behind them began the a cappella opening notes of an old-time hymn, her soul grabbed on to the words like a sponge seeking water.
She knew the rules of wellness better than most. She could either reach for the elusive healing with all its aches and pains or wallow in solitude.
Dakota took her hand on one side.
Cheyenne took the other.
The hymn’s words pitched up and rolled down, and for the first time in long years, Elsa joined in the song.
Within two minutes of the final hymn, Nick was sandwiched on the church steps by the town drunk and the elementary school principal he’d ignored the past year, who also happened to be Elsa’s older sister.
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
“I’m comin’ here to get a little religion,” the drunk explained, and when he hiccupped and swayed, Nick took him by the arm.
“Can I help you home, Johnny?”
“You’re a good-for-nothin’ Stafford so I don’t think so,” the older man argued, but he didn’t look any too sure. Several people passed by. Two women sniffed and scowled. One old-timer rolled his eyes as if seeing Johnny Baxter drunk was nothing new. Johnny had lost his wife, his home, his kids, and his self-respect when his drinking caused problems at the Double S. A part of Nick knew he could have mimicked Johnny’s outcome, except he was blessed to be born a Stafford with money and connections at his disposal when his marriage fell apart.
“Elsa, can you get the girls to the car?”
“I’ll walk with you, sis,” offered Rachel. Her glance sized up the situation as Elsa herded the girls north. “Cheyenne, that dress is lovely. The color is perfect on you. And Dakota, I love your pigtails. The matching bows totally rock the outfit.”
Dakota was easily distracted.
Not Cheyenne. She turned as they started to walk away. “Daddy, aren’t you coming?”
He was and he wasn’t because someone had to see Johnny home before he made trouble and turned a nice Sunday morning into a hometown fracas. “I’ll be right along.”
“I don’t need no help. I believe I said that.” Johnny shook him loose and took a wobbly step forward. “I got nothin’ but time, and I plan to spend it in church. It’s Sunday, ain’t it?”
Nick nodded about the same time his brother Colt caught wind of what was going on. Colt and Johnny weren’t exactly buddies. “Church just finished,” Nick explained, easy like, but he wasn’t feeling quite as magnanimous inside. A tractor rollover had burned his family time the previous day. He wasn’t about to let the town curmudgeon ruin Sunday, but he couldn’t exactly leave him stumbling. That fact that most everyone else had done just that wasn’t lost on Nick. He saw the reverend approaching from the side steps and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Service just ended, Mr. Baxter, but if you want time inside, we don’t need to lock up yet,” Reverend Stillman noted as he drew closer. “Father Mitchell said Mass early, and then we stepped in to do our service because he’s been kind enough to give us church time while ours gets rebuilt.”
“I don’t much care for all the hoopla.” Johnny squinted at the minister.
“I’m a simple man myself,” the reverend admitted. “Come on up. I’ll sit with you awhile.”
Johnny blinked, then stared around town as if realizing where he was. He scowled at Nick and doubled up his fists. “If it weren’t for dag-blasted Staffords, I’d be in the money now. Sittin’ pretty. I don’t need to set in no church to know I was done wrong.”
Nick stepped back when Johnny offered a weak side swing, and when Colt barreled their way, Nick grabbed his brother’s arm and kept him at bay. “He’s drunk and poor and pitiful and doesn’t know where he is half the time,” he whispered to his older brother. “Leave him be.”
“He’s spoiling for a fight, that’s what he’s doing,” Colt shot back, not nearly as quiet.
“A fight we’re not going to give him,” Nick continued softly. “Didn’t you just walk your sorry behind out of church?”
The reverend cleared his throat in a show of support for Nick’s reasoning.
“Do unto others? Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who’ve trespassed against us? Any of it ring a bell, Colt?”
His brother sighed, long and overdone, as if contrite, but Nick knew better. If he let go of Colt’s arm, Colt was liable to give Johnny a wake-up-call thrashing for trashing their name around town for two decades. “Let’s head home. The reverend’s got this.”
Sheriff Bennett rolled down the street in his black-and-gray police cruiser. He stopped, idled the engine, and leaned out the window. “Beautiful day, gentlemen.”
Nick followed his lead. “Best one yet. We’re throwing smoked brisket on the slow grill, Rye. Do you and the kids want to come by later?”
Rye Bennett looked like he was weighing his answer as the reverend led the drunken ex-cowboy up the church steps, and when they moved through the church door at long last, he leveled Colt a stern look. “Get over it. No one listens to what he says anymore. It’s time to move on.”
“That’s easier said than done when he turns up all over the place, telling everyone we ruined him, his life, his marriage, and his farm.”
“He’s not the only one holding a grudge against Staffords,” Rye reminded them. “Helping with this church and coming into town might balm some wounds, but it doesn’t happen overnight, Colt. You’ve only been home a couple of months. Give it time, man.”
“He was in New York for a lot of years,” Nick reminded the sheriff as he released his brother’s arm. “If it’s not going a hundred miles an hour, Colt needs to know why. Patience isn’t his long suit.”
“I’m patient when I need to be.” Colt stared up the church steps, clearly unhappy. “I don’t care what the old coot says about me, and I care less what he says about the old man because a good share of that’s deserved and we need to fix things. But there are kids involved now.” He looked to where Elsa and Rachel were talking in the far parking lot. “And that changes things.”
“It sure does,” Rye told him. “It means you have to mind your manners and set the better example. And I can’t deny, brisket sounds real good for later. What time should we come by?”
“Any time after three’s good,” Nick told him. He pointed up the sloped road and gave his brother a shot in the arm. “Ange is looking for you, and Noah’s eying that playground. Let’s give the kids some time to play before we head back to the ranch.”
Noah ran their way just then, and Nick watched his brawny, in-your-face brother cave totally as the little guy launched himself into Colt’s arms. “Why not?”
“And if Johnny Baxter comes wandering out of that church before you head home, leave him alone. Better yet?” Rye hiked a brow when the two Stafford men turned back his way. “Offer up a prayer or two. Spring’s a tough time for him.”
Nick and Colt knew that. Johnny had messed up his life as a younger man. Sam Stafford cut him no slack when he started hitting the bottle. They’d lost two pricey calves in one night because a drunken cowboy failed to tend the birth mothers properly. He’d been thrown off the ranch and fell behind on his home payments. He lost his home and his wife twenty years ago now. Since then he scraped along by getting sober once in a while, working here and there, receiving benefits now and again. It was a day-to-day existence that always seemed worse in late spring.
“Girls?” Nick called across the parking lot. “You want twenty minutes on the playground?”
“Yes!” Cheyenne looked delighted by the prospect.
“Yes!” Dakota echoed her big sister. Then they tore across the grass, looked both ways, and crossed the quiet street to join Noah, Angelina, and Isabo on the far side of the road. “We never get to stay and play on the playground! Thanks, Dad!”
Nick mulled her words as Elsa came up to his side. “They’re right,” he told her. “I’m always too busy to let them stay and play. There’s always ranch work or house stuff or fixing…” He let his voice wander on purpose. “Why do I forget to just let them play?”
“You take responsibilities seriously.” Her tone said that wasn’t a bad quality. “A good work ethic is a wonderful thing, but worker bees need to examine their lives with greater care than most others. Are they pushing forward so much that they forget to relax and enjoy the sun?”
“Time is money on a ranch.”
She didn’t appear impressed. “Time is money anywhere. The skill is in learning to appreciate what you have and tether the constant desire for more. What is it you need that you don’t have?”
“Nothing.” That was true in a material sense, but not in other ways, because all he’d ever wanted was a normal family. He’d missed out as a kid, and when he married, that was his one true goal. A delightful, normal family. Healthy kids, loving wife. He’d been so determined to show his father how it was done. He’d met every demand Whitney threw his way, and it still didn’t keep her happy. “Well, nothing money can buy.”
She acknowledged that with a wise look. “Exactly. I didn’t realize how fortunate I was, growing up on a ranch. Other than caring for the puppies, I resented having to help. I wanted to be a town kid in the worst way. They had the coolest clothes and the best cars. Our Walmart jeans and pickup trucks couldn’t compete. So I plotted my course to be a well-educated city professional, and in the end?”
He waited for her to continue.
“I missed the ranch.”
Nick understood the night-and-day rigors of living off the land. He loved the Double S, but he wasn’t one to paint rosy pictures about it. “I hear you, but a ranch isn’t just a postcard prospect. It’s work, every day. It’s living, breathing creatures, us against Mother Nature. It’s reaching goals—daily, monthly, yearly. And if you fall short, you have to try harder next time.”
“All well and good as long as we don’t lose the beauty of the hills. The forest. The birds. The children,” she chided gently. She swept the town a soft smile. “The little town trying to rebuild itself.”
“Well, missy, while you’re busy jawin’ on all that utopia stuff, here’s the reality.” He tipped a knowing look down to her. “To everything there is a season.”
“Ecclesiastes.”
“Yup. And there’s a reason the Bible understands simple people. We make up most of the world, and we have to plant when we’re supposed to and reap when it’s ready. We can’t just glance at a clock and decide it’s time to swing by the coffee shop, because if we miss that window of time before the rain, we’ve ruined thousands of dollars’ worth of cattle food.”
“But is that the exception or the rule?” she wondered. “Is every day that structured and important, or does it become a habit because it’s in your nature to overachieve and possibly best your father and brother?”
“Both.” He grumbled the word because she was right. Some things needed immediate attention, while others could be let go for a little here and there. “The problem is, I get worried if I let too many things go. It piles up in my head, and then I feel like the work’s controlling me instead of the other way around.”
“Will it be easier with Colt here?”
“Already is, but I’m not about to tell him that.” Nick watched his brother dash from swing to swing, pushing kids from behind. “He’s got a big enough head already. With my father and Hobbs down and out right now, we’ll be working double time for a while. So that’s a consideration too.”
“Kids! Time to go!” Angelina tapped her watch. “We’ve got chores and berry picking back home.”
Elsa’s eyes lit up. “Berry picking?”
Nick nodded. “It’s that time of year for the late season ones.”
“I want to pick berries. I haven’t done that since I went off to school. I used to make jam with my mother, and we’d freeze gallons of berries to use over the winter.”
He scanned her church dress with no small measure of skepticism. “You’re going to pick berries wearing that?”
“Of course not. I brought along some proper ranch clothes. Preparation is often the key to success.”
“Perfect.” It felt nearly perfect, like the kind of early summer day a body waited on all winter.
He looked down. Met her gaze. And when the color of her cheeks went deeper, the only thing he could think of was leaning down. Kissing her. Seeing if kissing Elsa Andreas would be as perfect and nice and delightful as he thought it would be, but the laughing voices of racing children made him put that thought on hold.
“Dad, let’s go! Elsa, can you come? Dad said you might. Please?” Cheyenne skidded to a stop by her side, scattering pebbles and scuffing her church shoes. “Oops.”
“I am coming,” Elsa told her. “And clothes and shoes don’t grow on trees. Someone works hard to make money to buy them. Don’t take them for granted.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Cheyenne grabbed her hand as naturally as if she’d been doing it forever. “I’m glad you’re coming over. Isabo is making strawberry shortcake and pie, and Daddy said he’d cook on the grill, and Uncle Colt said we could have a bonfire tonight to celebrate the end of the school year.”
“And Mommy said we can make s’mores.” Noah whispered the words with a little boy grin as Colt drew closer. “She said they will be so dewicious!”
“Chocolate and marshmallows?” Cheyenne smiled down at Noah. “Noah, you’re going to love them so much!”
“They’re marvelous,” Elsa promised him. Dakota came up, side by side with Angelina and Isabo.
“This is going to be the best summer ever,” Dakota announced. She spun around, carefree, arms out. “Elsa, I’m so glad you’re coming to the ranch with us! We’re going to have so much fun!” She spun again as the group turned.
A small, roughed-up car wove its way up Center Street. It rolled through the stop sign as if there was no need to obey something as mundane as traffic rules, cruised to edge of the community park, and came to a halt. Nick was ready to scold the driver for disregarding the stop sign, but then a cloud shadowed the glare of late-morning sun, letting him see the driver.
Disbelief and raw emotion gripped him. His hands went damp. His breath caught. And if Colt hadn’t had the presence of mind to put a firm “I’ve got your back” hand on his shoulder, Nick wasn’t sure what he might do.
The door swung open. Mere seconds dragged like minutes as the driver pushed the door open farther and stepped out. “Cheyenne? Baby? I’m back!”
Dead silence reigned until the woman stepped forward, bent, and put her arms out.
“Mommy?” Cheyenne’s voice broke, uncertain.
Dakota stared at Whitney as if she’d never seen her before, and Nick understood her reaction. Short, dyed blond curls had replaced Whitney’s nut-brown hair. She’d done something with her eyebrows, giving them an unnatural arch, and the dress she wore like a second skin wasn’t generally seen on Gray’s Glen streets on Sunday mornings. Long legs ended in pointed-toe heels, and the only thing missing from the overdone look was fishnet stockings.
“It’s me, baby! I’ve come home!”
Elsa slipped back, allowing Nick room.
Colt did just the opposite. He stepped forward as if shielding his brother, the women, and kids, and folded his arms across his chest in a formidable pose.
Cheyenne dashed toward her mother. Nick went to stop her, but she slipped away from his grasp and raced across the narrow road.
The force of Cheyenne’s embrace knocked Whitney off her feet. Nick was pretty sure he was okay with that and didn’t hurry to help her.
What was she doing here, with no warning?
What was she thinking?
And why was she dressed like that?
“There’s much we need to learn.” Angelina’s voice came from behind him, and it wasn’t her gentle, helpful tone. This was her cop voice, tough and succinct. “Don’t believe anything without proof and make no assumptions.”
Wise words.
He moved forward.
Dakota hung back, untrusting, and when he glanced back over his shoulder, she’d moved to Angelina’s side. She tucked herself into the curve of Ange’s arm, staring at the unfolding drama in total disbelief.
He stared in disbelief too.
He reached out a hand to Cheyenne as Whitney quickly brushed off the seat of her dress, and the way she turned to do it, so that everyone saw, made him cringe. She’d always loved attention, but this —
This was different, and his mind went to several unappealing scenarios. He wanted to send Cheyenne back to the group, but she clung tight to Whitney’s hand as if never letting go. The look on her young face mirrored his confusion. He took Angelina’s caution to heart and faced Whitney, arms crossed, legs braced. She’d broken a trio of hearts once. He had no intention of allowing her to do that again. “What are you doing here?”
She aimed a smile at Cheyenne. “I believe I live here.” She arched her sculpted eyebrows as if she spoke the obvious, and when Cheyenne’s smile grew, Whitney laid a confident arm around the girl’s shoulders. “I realized nothing was more important than my children and my family, and so…” She lifted her shoulders. “Here I am.”
“I’m so glad, Mommy! So glad!” Cheyenne embraced her mother once again, as if all her hopes and dreams had just come true. “I’ve been praying about this for so long! Thank you!”
“Oh, baby, I couldn’t stay away forever,” Whitney crooned, but Nick would have to be blind not to miss the cool stare she swept the gathered family. “Not from my girls.”
Anger boiled up inside Nick.
She hadn’t cared a fig about these girls when she ran off with a rodeo cowboy. She hadn’t given a second thought to breaking up a family, abandoning her daughters, leaving her husband, and sticking him with over three thousand dollars in credit card bills that financed her getaway. And then the significant sum her lawyer demanded for the divorce.
Separate her from the girls.
Think first. Then act.
The bit of wisdom said he’d done some growing up himself, because three years ago he’d have acted first and regretted at leisure later. What had Elsa told him? “In all things, put the girls first. What is good for them? What will work for them?”
Dakota didn’t look excited or welcoming. She looked terrified. Little Noah stared, eyes wide, but then Colt handed him to his grandmother, said something Nick couldn’t hear, and moved their way as Isabo turned and walked toward the ranch SUV.
“Colt’s here.” She flashed an insincere smile his way but kept her arm snug around Cheyenne as if using the girl like a shield. “How nice.”
Colt ignored her completely. He squatted down, faced Cheyenne, then indicated the group with a nod. “Ange is going to see you guys home so you can get changed, okay? Can you help her get the berry baskets organized? Can you help make sure there are plenty for everyone who’s going to pick?”
She stared at him, then her mother, then her father. “But what about Mom?”
“Not sure,” Colt replied smoothly. “But I expect there’s some adult talking that needs to go on.”
“There is, Colt.” Nick smiled down at Cheyenne, but he saw the change already. She’d spent the last few weeks looking happier. Easier. More settled.
Not now.
Shadows darkened her eyes. She stared up at her mother, then her father, then took a step back toward Whitney. “I want to stay with Mom. She just got here, Dad, and she came a long way. Can’t I spend some time with her? Can’t she come to the ranch for supper with us? To the bonfire?”
The last thing Nick wanted was to have Whitney at the ranch. Ever.
She hated the ranch, she hated his job, she hated his father and the entire life the Double S stood for. The mockery that she ran off with a cowboy wasn’t lost on him. He knew then it wasn’t his life that didn’t satisfy her.
It was him.
“Not today, Cheyenne. You’ve got to —”
“Why?” She took a step back and faced Nick square. “Why don’t you want her around?” she shouted. “She’s my mother and she came back to see me!” She stared up at him, trembling with anger. “Why can’t you just let her come back? We need her! Elsa, tell him!”
Silence hung still and deep until a soft, sensible voice said, “Nick, Cheyenne’s made a very good point. There’s plenty of food and it’s a perfectly gorgeous day.”
“Elsa, really?” Cheyenne’s gaze flew to the woman behind him, and while he appreciated what Elsa was trying to do, she didn’t understand how deeply Whitney had hurt so many.
“Well, of course it’s up to Dad, right?” Elsa stepped forward, smelling of springtime and sunshine and sweet moonlit nights. Her soft, flowy dress was a direct contrast to Whitney’s honky-tonk-friendly outfit. She looked up at Nick, and he read the warning in her eyes, a message that had nothing to do with him or her and everything to do with Cheyenne.
“There is plenty of food and it should be a good time.” He faced Whitney, and it took a supreme effort to hold back all he wanted to say. “We’re heading back home now.”
“To the house?” she asked, and Cheyenne shook her head.
“Dad’s going to build us a new house on the ranch, Mom! It’s beautiful, and he’s teaching us how to ride and how to take care of animals. But if you don’t like it,” Cheyenne added quickly, “we can just stay in our old house. Like, forever! That would be just fine!”
Nick’s heart melted while his backbone hardened to forged steel. How could anyone turn away from the longing in Cheyenne’s voice and face? And yet Whitney had done that before. He had no doubt she’d do it again, but right now, Elsa was right. He needed to look out for Cheyenne first and figure out Whitney’s motives second. If nothing else good came of this, maybe Cheyenne would see her mother’s true colors before she caused more pain.
His beloved daughter had built up a fantasy, trying to rationalize and excuse her mother’s actions, exactly like Nick had done as a boy. Maybe Whitney’s surprise reappearance would give the girl the closure he never had. He took Cheyenne’s hand and stepped back. “We’ll see you at the ranch.”
“I know the way.” The smug look she sent him refueled his anger, but he walked back to the group as if he hadn’t seen a thing.
“Elsa, can you ride with us?” Dakota clung to Elsa’s hand like a lifeline. Nick firmly expected Elsa to smile politely and deftly remove herself from the specter of family dysfunction spiraling around them, but to his surprise she bent and kissed Dakota’s cheek and said, “No, I’m bringing my car. That way when I need to head home later, I don’t have to disturb anyone.”
“Wise move,” Angelina muttered as the girls moved ahead with Colt.
“I’m assessing variables and coming up with so many potential scenarios that I’m losing count. This is not going to be the day they expected.” She indicated the girls with a quick glance. “I could duck out and go home, but that would create another action/reaction sequence, so I’ll come and lay low while preparing myself to expect the unexpected.”
“That’s the only kind of attitude a woman can have around here.” Angelina kept her voice soft as they walked back to the cars. “Just remember I’m trained in all kinds of defensive maneuvers.”
“None of which will be needed,” Elsa told her. When Angelina looked doubtful, Elsa added, “But it’s good to know you’ve got my back. Just in case.”
Nick climbed into the SUV, his thoughts churning.
Cheyenne hurried into her seat. Dakota moved more slowly, methodically, as if delaying her buckles might put off facing this stranger.
One too willing. The other untrusting. How was he supposed to make sense of this? And if he couldn’t make sense of it, how could he expect the girls to? Whitney had deliberately broken their vows with her secretive life and her quick getaway.
He’d trusted his mother when he was a child.
She left without a backward glance.
He’d trusted his wife.
She ditched him and their daughters the same way.
He never wanted to be in those throes again, caught in deceit and lack of faith. He’d been there, done that, and the last thing on earth he wanted was to be involved with another dissatisfied woman. A part of him had been happy that Whitney stayed gone once time marched on.
But now she was back.
They made an odd convoy, following the turns and twists up to the ranch house, and as they pulled into various parking areas east of the first barn, a new thought hit.
How would his father handle Whitney’s surprise return?
He didn’t have long to wait because Sam appeared at the door as soon as Nick pulled in, which meant Colt had forewarned him. The old Sam Stafford would have needed no warning. He’d have simply tossed her off the ranch, and if she refused to leave, he’d have wasted no time in having her arrested.
But this new, gentler Sam—the one facing grim illness—Nick wouldn’t stake a claim on how he’d react. He stood just outside the door, hanging on to the railing, but not as if he needed it for support. No, it looked more like he was tempted to wrangle someone and was holding himself back by sheer force.
Nick didn’t pray often enough, but he prayed right now that this meeting of opposing forces wouldn’t put his father into some kind of cardiac arrest or scar his daughters for life.
Was there such a thing as liver arrest?
He didn’t think so, but he knew Sam was in rough shape, no matter what kind of face he put on for show. And right now, Sam’s stern countenance said he’d drawn on his reserves, full force.
“Grandpa!” Cheyenne raced to the porch, delight painting her face. “You’ll never guess what’s happened. Mommy came home!”
“Did she now?” He pulled her in for a hug looking like a sweet, old story-time bear, but the look he raised and pinned on Whitney said he’d protect what was his, regardless.
Whitney climbed out of her car, spotted Sam’s hard gaze, and faltered. While everyone else moved forward, Whitney stayed silent and still, eyes locked on Sam, until Elsa moved in her direction. “Does coffee sound as good to you as it does to me?”
Whitney broke the standoff with Sam and looked at Elsa, really looked. Her eyes narrowed. She swept the group a look, but then drew her attention straight back to Elsa, and the expression on her face wasn’t one bit pretty. “You must be Nick’s newest little friend.”
“Flavor of the month,” Elsa agreed cheerfully, and Nick stared at her, wondering what she was doing. Saying. “Which reminds me, Angelina has chocolate truffle coffee in the kitchen. It’s to die for, and I’m not even really exaggerating. Are you a coffee drinker?”
Nick thought Whitney would explode over the nonchalant dismissal, but she accepted Elsa’s overture after a few long, drawn-out seconds of silence. “I could go for a cup, no lie.”
“Then let’s do it.”
“Girls, head upstairs and get changed.” Angelina pointed to the door. “Noah, you too. Cheyenne, can you make sure he gets play clothes on?”
“Sure.” She hesitated before going inside, staring at her mother as if Whitney might disappear again. “You’ll be here when I come down, won’t you, Mom? Or you can come upstairs with me.”
Nick wasn’t about to let Whitney have the run of the house. She knew too much about their cash flow on the ranch, and she’d had the old combination to the safe. Wisely, he’d had the lock changed when he realized she’d taken him to the cleaners a few years before. “She’ll be down here, honey. I promise.”
“Okay.”
Dakota followed, still quiet, an unusual circumstance for the gutsy child, but the look she shot her sister questioned Cheyenne’s intelligence, and when she narrowed her eyes and sent the same look toward Whitney, his ex-wife had the decency to look uncomfortable, and that spurred Nick’s memory.
She’d never been able to con Dakota the way she manipulated Cheyenne. Even as a tiny girl, Dakota had migrated more toward Nick, as if she sensed the insincerity in her mother. Was that possible in such a small child?
Nick didn’t know, but Dakota’s reaction made one thing clear: she had no vested interest in building a relationship with this stranger, and from the look on Whitney’s face, she recognized the girl’s reticence and was focusing her attention on Cheyenne. The fact that her actions could hurt Dakota didn’t seem to matter.
She’d shown up out of the blue purposely. A responsible adult who loved her children would have tiptoed back into their lives, allowing the girls some time to adjust and react. And that responsible adult would have worn something less scandalous.
Whitney hadn’t put her children first when she left. She wasn’t prioritizing their well-being now, and that meant she’d come back for one purpose only: money. He saw it in her eyes as she glanced around, sizing up the ranch, and in her gaze as she clutched the too-large purse to her side.
“Lock up the silver,” Colt muttered as he swung open the door. “And move petty cash upstairs.”
Nick sighed but couldn’t disagree. They moved inside where the smell of fresh coffee indicated Isabo hadn’t waited for the unfolding drama. She’d set out plates of cinnamon rolls and danish, a new Sunday morning tradition, and as Nick and Colt went upstairs to change into ranch clothes, the last thing Nick heard was his father’s voice. Deep. Hard. Guttural. “Sit here and tell me what you want.”
“Well, to be here, of course.” Whitney’s voice sounded as fake as her eyelashes. “With my family, Sam.”
Nick left her alone to face Sam’s inquisition for two reasons. First, she absolutely deserved to be uncomfortable, and Sam Stafford knew how to make people squirm. Second, his father’s newfound faith would be tested by Whitney’s return, and that was something Sam had to deal with on his own. He’d grabbed the reins of redemption with both hands over the long winter, wanting to make amends.
Facing the woman who’d hurt so many might push that fledgling grace beyond its limits, or it might strengthen Sam’s resolve. Either way, Nick was locking up the valuables.