“You promised you’d be sober.” Nick stared at Whitney, dismayed. To be wasted at this hour meant she started drinking hours before. He stepped back from the steps leading up to the inn and held his hands up, palms out. “I’m out.” He turned on his heel and strode toward the pickup, not wanting a Center Street scene, but Whitney chased after him, yelling.
“Nick, wait!”
So much for discretion. He turned back between the sidewalk and the truck and folded his arms. “We had a meeting scheduled. You promised to be sober. You’re not. End of meeting.”
“You can’t just dismiss me like this. I’m the mother of your children.”
He bit back what he wanted to say, and it wasn’t easy, because he’d had a lot of time to build up anger, but Elsa’s wisdom kept him in check. “Put them first. Always.” “Whitney, Dakota doesn’t remember you. Cheyenne remembers the way you were years ago. This”—he waved a hand toward her —“doesn’t enter into the equation. You say you’ve got problems.” He shrugged. “So do I. But they don’t get fixed with drugs and alcohol. If you love the girls at all, if you want to see them, you’ve got to get clean. It’s that simple.”
“Simple?” She didn’t shriek the word; she hissed, and that drew the attention of two older women passing by, walking their dogs on a beautiful night. “Nothing about being with you high-and-mighty Staffords is simple. Nothing is easy, and barely anything is acceptable.”
He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t do it. He turned to get back into the truck, and she came up behind him and grabbed his arm. “Don’t walk away from me! They’re my girls too, and Cheyenne wants to be with me. You can see it in her eyes when she looks at me! Don’t think because you’re rich that you can do to me what your father did to your mother. Buy her out and send her off so he didn’t have to deal with her influence in your life.”
Buy her off…
Anger didn’t snake Nick’s spine; it catapulted.
He’d heard the rumors all his life, that the high-and-mighty Sam Stafford paid off his mother to leave because she didn’t hold a candle to his first wife, Colt’s mother. Johnny Baxter was fond of spreading it around on the worst of his bad nights.
Nick had never asked because he didn’t want to know. What was worse? His father paying off a wife so she’d leave peacefully or a mother who took money in exchange for a child?
He hated both scenarios equally, so why search for truth when either truth might strangle the thin relationship he and Sam already had?
He controlled his face with effort and faced Whitney, a caricature of the woman she’d been. Buy her off ?
If only that would work, and if only his conscience would allow such a luxury, but it wouldn’t, so he decided to take another page from Elsa’s book and kill her with kindness. He started to speak.
She took a step back as if in fear, and he sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, counted to ten, then opened his eyes. “I don’t want you gone.”
“What?”
She looked dumbfounded, so that made two of them.
“I don’t want you to leave or go anywhere. That would be the worst possible choice, Whitney.”
She stared hard at him, then scowled. “You’re lying.”
“I never lie. You know that.”
She gulped because she did know that.
“We’ve got two beautiful daughters. They deserve a chance to know and love their mother. I came here to tell you that, but I wanted you to be sober enough to understand.”
“I’m sober enough.” She folded her arms, mimicking his stance. “Mostly.”
“I’ve got an offer for you,” he went on, deciding to take a chance while wondering if he was downright stupid to do it. “A contract.”
“Gotta get it in writing, of course. You’ve always gotta dot your i’s and cross your t’s when you’re a Stafford.” She slurred her words slightly, and he shrugged.
“It’s how things get done. Here’s the deal: The girls and I will move to the ranch for the summer. As long as you stay sober, you can have the house in town. I won’t try to sell it until later. You come visit the girls on the ranch, and if you can stay clean and sober, we’ll talk again next fall. But for now, I’d like to offer you a roof over your head and a clean bed to sleep in.”
“How much?”
He frowned, confused.
“How much rent do you want? I’m pretty tapped out right now.”
“No rent.”
She stared as if trying to read his angle.
“I don’t need the money, and you don’t have the money. Why make the situation worse?”
“I get to stay there, rent free?”
“That’s the gist of it. But no booze, no drugs, no partying that gets me hot-under-the-collar phone calls from the neighbors. And you need to agree to some kind of program.”
“Not happening.” She dug her heels in and glared. “A small town like this, you go to AA, everyone knows you’ve got a problem.”
“Small town like this, everyone already knows you’ve got a problem,” Nick reminded her. “At least if you’re in a program, people know you’re trying your best to get back on your feet. Folks around here like that.”
“What do you know about folks around here?” Disbelief colored her tone. “You haven’t spent time with the townies. You’re too busy playing lord of the manor with Daddy to know what goes on with simple folks.”
“That was true once. Not anymore.”
“That’s not what I hear.”
He drew a mental line in the sand before she pulled him off topic. She could wade into deeper waters only if he allowed it, so he wouldn’t. “I’m having my lawyer draw up the contract, just like I stated. We’ll do a three-month trial basis to see how things work. Your only stipulation is to keep the terms. You visit the girls at the ranch, and no drinking or drugs.”
She stared at him, then flicked a look around the town. “I don’t need your charity, Nick.”
“You do,” he surmised softly, “but I wouldn’t call it charity. I’d call it help, Whit. When things go bad or life kicks us in the head, it’s nice to have a little help.” He threw that out there, then waited, wondering.
Would she accept the offer?
Did she have the willingness to walk away from whatever sordid habits she’d adopted?
He didn’t know, but if he never offered her the chance to come clean, he couldn’t live with himself. His father might call him foolish. Colt might think he was weak or touched in the head, but they didn’t have much skin in the game. It was his, and he did a lot better with an olive branch of peace than brute force. “Dakota’s moving-up ceremony is tomorrow at eleven. Coming to it clean and sober might be a great first step, Whitney. She’s already got three years of pictures without a mother present. It would be a nice way to change that up, don’t you think?”
She stared at him as if disbelieving, then stepped back and rubbed her arms. “I don’t expect I have the right things to wear.”
“If Angelina takes you shopping in the morning, we could change that.”
She stared into the distance, then shifted her gaze back to his. “She’d do that?”
“She said so.”
“What time?”
“It’s got to be on the early side. The mall’s over forty minutes away.”
“Walmart’s closer. If I’m ready at ten, that would work.”
He nodded. “Walmart works for me, Whit.”
She hesitated as if tempted, then dropped her arms. “I don’t have money. No money, no credit, no job, Nick.” She held his gaze, and for the first time since she rolled into town, he felt like she was being honest. “I can’t pay for the clothes.”
“You had money enough to drink today.”
“Johnny Baxter bought me a round or two. He saw I was down on my luck.”
His ex-wife drinking with Johnny Baxter. That meant Johnny probably wanted to dig up dirt on the Staffords, or he wanted to wave a relationship with Whitney in Nick’s face. It also explained the tough piece of information she flung at him. “I’ll cover the clothes. Once you’re working, you can pay me back or we’ll put it toward something for the girls. We can figure that part out then. Right now, all we should be looking at is one day at a time.”
Her eyes went wide, which meant she recognized the familiar phrase from Alcoholics Anonymous. “Tell your friend I’ll be ready at ten.”
“I will.” He climbed into the truck and drove away, half of him glad it went all right, the other half stewing over what he really wanted to say.
He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he hadn’t realized it would be this hard either. He’d had words to hurl, and in the end he had to swallow his pride and the words. He drove out of town, wishing he could stop by the church to spend a little time in thought and solitude, but the church was closed for the night and the pastor was gone. He punched a few keys on the radio, but nothing appealed to him.
The local baseball team was practicing on the town field, west of the village. He pulled off the side of the road, climbed out, and watched. He loved playing basketball as a kid. He loved being part of a team, which was why helping to rebuild the church felt so good. Straddling walls, walking scaffold, talking with others. He hadn’t been part of a team effort in a long time, not away from the ranch, that is.
He liked the synchrony of it.
His phone warned him that it was almost time to pick up the girls. Once they were in bed, he’d talk with Elsa. That thought encouraged him. He’d handled these opening volleys with Whitney without making a fool of himself because he’d put Elsa’s advice to work. She’d come into their lives when he needed her. When they needed her.
That had to be a God thing, because while it seemed that the timing couldn’t be worse, he realized it couldn’t be better. “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Paul’s words to the Corinthians—God’s reassurance in times of trouble.
He pulled into Elsa’s yard, put the truck in park, and climbed out.
“Daddy! Do you love it so much?” Excited, Dakota jumped up and down to point out the bright, merry, imperfect blossoms decorating the whitewashed picket fence sections. “Elsa’s going to put it in her garden!” She swung her paintbrush in a wide arc, spraying droplets of water left and right. “And she let us paint the flowers all by ourselves.”
“Gorgeous.” He winked at Elsa over Dakota’s head, scooped her up, and moved closer. “You guys got a lot done.”
“Elsa bought some pretty paints. Finally.” Cheyenne drew out the last word out, as if pained. “Not those dull colors she’s got inside.”
“There is a time for every purpose under the heaven, kid,” Elsa reminded her. “Some things call for dull, and some moments call for bright. But it’s never okay to fault someone else’s feelings or choices, because you’re not walking in their shoes. Got it?”
Cheyenne frowned but nodded. “Yeah, I guess. Did you go see Mom while we were here? And did you tell her to get out of town? She told me that’s what you’d try to do, so I wondered all night if that’s what you were doing.”
At least she’d asked him outright instead of sitting around stewing. “I did go see her, but she was wrong, Cheyenne.” When Cheyenne looked skeptical, he shrugged. “I told her I don’t want her to leave, that you girls need your mother around, and that she could stay in our house for the summer and we’ll move onto the ranch.”
“For real?” Cheyenne stared up at him, and the look of hope in her gaze went deeper than words. “What did she say? Did she say yes?”
“She’s thinking about it.”
“I don’t mind if she leaves.” Dakota clung to Nick’s neck and muttered the words softly. “I think it’s okay to be just us, isn’t it, Daddy?” She pulled back and gazed into his eyes. Distrust flattened her features. “But I’ll love living on the ranch with Noah and Ange and all the animals.”
“Why can’t we all stay in our house, together?” Cheyenne set down her brush and faced off with him. “Like we used to? There’s plenty of room, and you know it.”
“We’re not married anymore,” Nick reminded her. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t be a family. It’s only a fifteen-minute drive into town, Cheyenne. If your mom stays for the summer, she’ll come out to the ranch and visit you.”
“Which is a nice compromise on all sides, just like we discussed.” Elsa’s words suggested they’d discussed the merits of concession while he was gone. “Give a little, take a little.”
Chin down, Cheyenne moved toward the truck.
“Cheyenne, use your manners. Say good-bye to Elsa and thank her for letting you decorate the fence.”
She didn’t turn and barely spoke. “Good-bye. Thank you.” She climbed into the truck, plopped into the backseat, and turned away.
“Bye, Elsa!” Dakota reached down to hug Elsa’s neck and almost flipped herself out of Nick’s arms doing it. “I love the pretty fences so much! Can we do some for our house, Daddy? Elsa knows how to make things look special and pretty.”
“She does.” He locked eyes with Elsa. A growing appreciation for a kid-centric mind-set wrapped in a delightful feminine package swept him. “Let’s get you guys home. Big day tomorrow with the graduation. You’re moving up, kid.”
“I know!” She clapped her hands together, then put them over her mouth as if the thought of graduating to second grade was simply too amazing to contemplate. “I’m so excited!”
“Me too.” Nick tucked her into the back of the truck. She chattered all the way to the ranch.
Cheyenne sat in sullen silence, punishing him for decisions he had to make. Well, that’s why he was the parent and she was the child, but his younger illusions about being the best dad ever flew right out the window on a central Washington breeze. And when he got back to the ranch and got the girls settled in, a call from the birthing barn stymied his plans to meet Elsa. He picked up the phone and dialed her number.
“What’s up?”
The inviting quality of her voice sounded light and easy. “I can’t make it, sorry. We’ve got a cow in a bad way.”
“Why are you on the phone? Go save her.”
“I’m heading that way,” he promised as he hurried toward the barn. “Meet me at the graduation tomorrow. It’s at eleven o’clock. Dakota would love it if you were there.”
“Dakota’s father would like it,” she corrected him as he crossed to the barn. “But this is a delicate time in family relations, and I’m okay with taking a backseat as needed. I hope you invited Whitney, and I hope she comes. I’m going to keep painting my hobbit house and keep Achilles company. Now focus on the cow, and I’ll talk to you soon.”
She hung up as he entered the barn.
Murt met him halfway in. “I canceled the veterinary.” His grim expression said the rest.
“We lost them both?”
“Yes.”
Sam came through behind him. He caught sight of Nick and frowned. “You had her up here. You must have suspected something was wrong, but you took off and didn’t bother leaving instructions.”
He hadn’t, Nick realized. He’d meant to alert Murt or Brock, but he was running late and forgot.
This was all on him.
The loss of the cow and the calf was his fault, and all because he didn’t alert anyone that he’d brought her down low for a reason.
“I meant to check over here. I saw you out back earlier, and then I got hung up and by the time it occurred to me again, it was too late.” Murt sounded angry at himself. “I should have come this way first thing.”
“You’re not generally sloppy, Nick.” Sam didn’t look like a warm, forgiving father right now. He looked steamed. “And we didn’t build this place to where it’s at on careless practices.”
If he mentioned they were down two experienced hands and that cleaning up Hobbs’s accident the other day had cost valuable hours, he’d sound like a whiner, and Nick Stafford never whined. “No, sir. I’ll take care of it.”
“See that you do.”
He wanted to shout as his father pushed by. He wanted to profess that he was one person spinning a whole lot of plates right now, but what would his father know about that?
Nothing. Because he’d spun one ever-growing plate for decades, with one thing dead center. The Double S.
“He’s hurting, Nick.”
Nick said nothing.
“I mean in the gut, death-is-approaching kind of pain, but he won’t take pain meds because then he can’t function on the ranch. You might want to cut him some slack.”
“Like he’s done for me so many times?”
Murt winced and rubbed his jaw.
Sam Stafford cut no one slack. He worked hard, he excelled, and he expected the same from everyone around him, even the sons he ignored.
He’d left child raising to the handful of housekeepers and school teachers while he built his empire. He ate as needed and drank when he liked, and Nick could count on the fingers of one hand the number of school functions his father had bothered with.
Michael McMurty had come to more of Nick’s basketball games than Sam Stafford ever had. The idea of putting the girls first wouldn’t occur to the old Sam, and maybe not the new one either, from the looks of things. “I’ll get the backhoe.”
“I can do that, Nick.” Murt reached out a hand. “It’s a ranch. These things happen.”
Nick knew that, but they usually happened when it couldn’t be helped.
This could have been helped. He’d messed up, and at the end of the day, there was no one else to blame. He moved deeper into the barn. An aching sadness grabbed hold and refused to shake loose. “You go on, Murt. I’ve got this.”
He didn’t turn around, and after several seconds, Murt’s footsteps moved off.
He propped the doors open, crossed the shadowed barnyard, and climbed onto the loader. As he steered the rig into the barn, movement caught his eye. He paused the rig.
Colt moved in from the side, not laughing, not joking. He didn’t say a word. He just motioned for him to lower the big shovel.
Nick did. As he inched the shovel closer, Colt eased the pregnant heifer aboard with a gentleness that made Nick’s throat go tight. And once she was safely tucked in the crook, Colt gave him a sign.
He brought the shovel up. Colt climbed aboard the opposite side, still quiet, and he stayed quiet as they drove the sad load out to the designated burial spot just shy of the first hill. And when they’d taken care of the heifer with a thick layer of soil, Colt climbed back in. “Isabo has soup.”
Just that. Nothing more, nothing profound, but after a long day and long night, soup sounded good.
They parked the rig back in the yard and started for the house, but when Nick paused, so did Colt. Nick looked toward the barn, then his older brother, the man who’d gone off to build his fortune in Lower Manhattan and never looked back until this year. “Thank you.”
Colt shrugged it off and started for the house again.
Nick reached out and stopped him. “I mean it, Colt.”
Colt stopped. He sighed, staring off, then looked back at Nick. “I know you do, but from now on, when we help each other, it’s okay to use words, but it’s not necessary.” He drew up straight and gazed into Nick’s eyes. “We’re partners, but more than that, we’re brothers. And that means no matter what happens, I’ve got your back. Twenty-four seven. Got it?”
Nick’s stomach calmed. His heart went soft. The weight that had been hanging on his chest dissipated. “Got it.”
“And not for nothing…” Colt strode across the porch and drew open the screen door. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”
Rachel called Elsa first thing the next morning. “I need your opinion on something.”
“My advice? On what?” Elsa asked. “And no, do not stop dying your hair. You’re better blond. Leave it.”
“Not the hair, this time. This is work. Career oriented. I’ve got the end-of-year things going on today, but if you can stop down before ten thirty, I could go over this quickly.”
“I don’t want a career. I believe I’ve made that plain.”
Rachel sighed purposely. “That was then. This is now. You’ve stepped out of your self-imposed cocoon and eased Mom’s worry.”
“Mom isn’t worried about me anymore.” Saying the words, Elsa knew they weren’t true. Her mother was probably concerned and pretending, a skill they’d all perfected the last couple of years. But she was tired of pretense and was truly enjoying the steps she’d taken toward mainstream existence. She woke each morning not just happier but invigorated.
It felt great.
“Of course she is, and you know that, but I don’t want to do a phone chat dissecting the matter. Stop by the school before the day gets crazy on my end.”
Months ago she’d have avoided the school at all costs. When had that changed?
Since meeting Nick and the girls. Since stepping back into life. And Rachel was right to push now, before school was out for the summer. “I’ll get dressed and come right over.”
“Excellent. See you in a few.”
She didn’t waste time with delaying tactics or she might call Rachel back and cancel. She drove to the school, parked in the visitors’ lot, and walked to the main door as if she belonged there.
She didn’t, of course.
She’d lived in Gray’s Glen for two years and had never come to her sister’s workplace. The doors, the walls, the sounds transported her back to Brant Park Elementary.
She paused, unnerved, but then looked around. As she did, she breathed a little easier. Was it because this was a different school? Or was she finally moving on?
The initial noise took her by surprise. Little voices mixed with teachers offering direction, the rustle and bustle of the last day. Kids on the playground and kids playing ball while sacks of well-used supplies sat atop many of the desks. At twelve fifteen, the bell would ring for the last time this year. The students would scatter far and wide across the valley, and the buses would stand parked in the transportation lot behind the middle school building.
She moved down the hall leading to the main office. When she opened the door, the woman manning the front desk waved her in. “You must be Rachel’s sister. Come on in. Door’s open, right through there. I’m Casey Szady, the office assistant.”
Elsa put out her hand. “Elsa Andreas.”
“Nice to meet you.” Casey clasped her hand in a quick, self-assured grip.
“Elsa.” Rachel popped her head through the open door to her office. “Come back here. I’ve only got about ten minutes but I wanted to run this by you. Thanks, Casey.”
Casey moved toward the office door. “I’m going to make sure the teachers are all on schedule for the K through one festivities, but I’m going to do it personally so we don’t have a repeat of last year’s snags.”
“Perfect.” Rachel stepped aside as Elsa approached her office. “I’ll be in the auditorium by ten fifty.”
“Mr. Harvey texted me that he’s conducting a sound test right now.”
“Good.”
Elsa crossed into the principal’s domain and gave it a quick once-over. “I like it, Rach.”
“Me too, but I spend too much time in it these days. You’d think the age of technology would sidestep red tape and bureaucracy, but it doesn’t, even in a fairly small district like ours. Here.” She handed Elsa a sheet of paper. “I wanted you to see this before they do the public posting.”
Elsa read the job description for the grades five through eight school psychologist, then lifted her brows. “This isn’t subtle. In fact, I’d call this the opposite of subtle.”
Subtlety had never been Rachel’s forte. She admitted that as she closed the door. “I only practice sensitivity with my K through three crew, and honestly, the third graders barely make the cut.”
“Eight-year-olds are in a whole new league these days, aren’t they?”
“Unfortunately so,” Rachel agreed. She eased one hip onto the edge of her fairly plain desk. “This is tailor made for you, Elsa, and I didn’t want time to get away from us. They’re doing interviews the week following Independence Day, so there’s plenty of time between now and then to refresh your resume and send it in if you decide to throw your hat in the ring. I’d love to have you on board in this district. You like junior high, and you’ve got the credentials.”
“I didn’t come here to stay.” She’d come to Gray’s Glen to get her feet back under her. Or she came here to hide, a skill she polished until pushed to work with the Stafford girls.
Rachel faced her directly. “Not then, no. But I think you like the valley. The hills, the peace and quiet when you need it, and maybe now a little activity to balance that out.”
She did like it here. She liked the sun-soaked valley and the shadowed gloaming. Acres of rich, fertile farmland lay in every direction once she came down the hill, and more stretched beyond.
She glanced around.
“It’s just an application process, and if they call you for an interview, you don’t have to go.” Rachel shrugged. “But it’s a step, Elsa.”
It was.
A month ago she’d have said no instantly, but a month ago Rachel wouldn’t have mentioned the opening. Had she come that far?
Cars began streaming into the west-end parking lot of the elementary school. She folded the posting and slipped it into her bag. “I’ll think about it.”
Rachel stood.
Elsa wanted to say more. She wanted to tell Rachel how much her unobtrusive support had meant, that the phone calls, the drop-by visits, the invitations—even the ones she ignored—had kept her in the loop of normalcy when life seemed cruelly abnormal. She faced Rachel, and her sister waved her off. “You’ve got that sentimental look on your face, and I can’t be a bucket of tears in here and then walk out on stage and be Miss Congeniality for the moving-up festivities. I love you, Elsa.”
“Me too.” She hugged her quickly. “No mushy stuff. Got it.” She opened Rachel’s office door, then crossed to the second door before she turned back. “Thanks, Rachel.”
“You’re welcome.”
Elsa opened the door.
Parents and grandparents clogged both ends of the hall leading to the auditorium. People chatted as they moved, a kaleidoscope of bright clothing and happy faces.
This is the normal, her conscience scolded softly. What you see right here, right now. This is what God intended, for his people to pass through life sure footed, to care for their young with love and compassion. Don’t blame God for what man has put asunder.
“Elsa?”
She turned toward Nick’s surprised voice. “Hey.”
He spotted Rachel behind her and nodded. “Mrs. Willingham, I know you’re busy, but I’d like to thank you for recommending your sister to work with my girls.” He settled his gaze on Elsa just long enough to make her wish it were longer. “She’s making a difference already.”
“I’m glad.” Rachel tapped her watch. “I’ve got to run. Mr. Stafford, there are seats saved down front so you don’t all have to walk so far.”
Sam was coming up behind Nick, flanked by Colt and Isabo. Angelina followed with Noah. Sam looked aggrieved at first, then nodded. “I’d appreciate not walking too far, actually.”
“I’ve always been a front-row-seat kind of guy.” Colt tipped an imaginary hat Rachel’s way. “You’ve got my thanks, ma’am.”
Rachel grinned and moved off as they followed her to the first access door.
Nick turned back to Elsa. “Stay.”
She almost did. It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes when Whitney strolled through the door.
She spotted Elsa standing near Nick. Her countenance changed. Her affect darkened and her gaze narrowed as if looking for confrontation. Elsa wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction. “I’ve got to get things done today, but I needed to meet with Rachel first thing. I’ll be ready to start with the girls tomorrow, all right?”
He began to say something, then paused and let it go. “Cheyenne’s teacher sent home three study guides. Math, language, and reading with spelling lists too. They’re pretty big books.”
“We’ve got all summer, and we’ll take it day by day.” She moved another step back as Whitney drew close. “Enjoy the moving-up ceremony.”
“We will.”
It wasn’t Nick who answered. It was Whitney, smiling up at him as if he mattered. Touching his arm as if they were a couple. Standing close enough to send a proprietary message.
Her body language hinted one thing. Her eyes said another.
Nick eased away from her proximity. He kept his arms firmly at his side and didn’t make eye contact with her. Elsa started to turn, then remembered their last conversation. “Nick, I forgot to ask about the cow. How is she? How’s the calf ?”
He shook his head.
“Oh, Nick. I’m so sorry.” She was too. Her parents had taken animal losses seriously on their smaller ranch. Maybe it didn’t mean quite so much on a big holding, but Nick’s expression indicated otherwise.
“Rough night.” He splayed his hands slightly. “Today’s another day.”
She grimaced because she knew he meant more than the ranch loss.
Whitney looked bored. Maybe worse than bored. Disgusted was a better term, as if the thought of the ranch and the animals and the everyday dance of life and death annoyed her.
“Well, if you need an experienced hand on deck when those puppies come due, I’m happy to jump in.”
“Thanks, Elsa.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Whitney said nothing. She didn’t acknowledge Elsa’s existence with anything more than a cold hard look. She turned toward the auditorium and tugged Nick’s arm as Elsa moved toward the door.
Explosive.
The word filled Elsa’s mind as she went outside.
Whitney was a powder keg, waiting to explode, but why? Because of Elsa?
That made no sense. She’d left of her own accord and had been gone for years. So what was driving her return and the negative attitude? Lack of money? Regret? A combination of the two?
She started her car, and as she appropriately circled the parking lot to the exit, late arrivals pulled in, ignoring the exit arrows, using the exit for quick access to the school. As she waited, then threaded her way through, she was a salmon, swimming the right direction, but the wrong way, it seemed.
In Rachel’s office it had seemed momentarily right and tempting to take that next step forward. Did she dare?
Her bag had flopped open on the passenger seat. The folded sheet of copier paper lay tucked just inside, inviting her to take a chance.
You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Why not? Are you willing to let one person’s horrid choice steal your life too?
No.
She made up her mind as she took a left into town. She’d always have regrets about Will Belvedere’s precious children. But it was his choice, not hers, that stole two sweet lives that warm spring day.
She stopped by Hammerstein’s Mercantile and bought cream for her coffee and coarser sandpaper for the neglected shutters. And then she went back to the woods, determined to use this time to help shape up the odd little house, because if she did get a job…
She breathed deep and it felt good.
When she started working, she wanted something cheerful and friendly to come home to. She parked the car, made a cup of coffee, and got to work.
Ladies first. Nick allowed Whitney to precede him through the auditorium door and regretted the action as they descended the long, sloped ramp. Their entrance through the emergency exit door turned heads, and Whitney made the most of the moment. She paused, not quite striking a pose, but with a “notice me” stature, and Nick was pretty sure at least eighty percent of the crowd noticed her, all right.
He moved right by, refusing to be part of her charade. Colt had kept a seat at the far right, while Isabo had saved one at the near left.
He slipped into the tufted seat next to his brother and whispered, “Thank you.”
“Yup.”
Eyes forward, Colt ignored Whitney’s approach from the left, and when she made a show of smoothing the bottom of her dress over her hips before she settled into her seat, Nick bit back a sigh.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
He’d used that prayer long ago, and it helped. Then he spent some years not praying at all. Once he’d married Whitney and had Cheyenne, he prayed for show, he and his perfect family lined up in church.
He wasn’t sure when he’d started praying sincerely again. Sometime between Whitney’s departure and that second Christmas alone, when he realized it was time to be something better than a fake example to his daughters.
The program started, and as the kindergarten and first grade classes marched in wearing miniature caps and gowns, adult drama faded.
“ ’Kota!” Colt pseudo-whispered her name as she walked by. She giggled, hands up to her mouth, and sent her dad and her uncle a look of delight. The line had to pause as they mounted the steps on the right-hand side. Row by row they marched up, each child taking a seat on the graduated risers. Dakota peeked back over her shoulder. She waved to Angelina, then to Sam and Isabo.
And then she turned back toward the teacher, dismissing her mother completely.
Nick refused to glance Whitney’s way.
Kids had their own ways of getting a message across, and Dakota had made hers clear. She didn’t remember Whitney, she didn’t think she needed her mother, and she wasn’t about to acknowledge her. Did that hurt Whitney? He didn’t know, and if it took years for her to regain ground with their youngest child, so be it. He didn’t walk out. She did. Simple science said reactions generally met actions headfirst. If that held true, Whitney would be working her way back into Dakota’s good graces for a while.
Elsa’s sister moved to the podium. The teachers instructed the first row to stand and come forward. One by one their names were called to accept their scrolled diploma from the principal. And when it was Dakota’s turn, she clutched Rachel’s hand with a squeal of delight. “Mrs. Willingham! Your sister is coming to my house this summer. To help us! Isn’t that so special?”
The crowd tittered.
The Staffords exchanged looks, unsurprised because Dakota wasn’t one to hold back her enthusiasm.
Whitney froze.
“It is.” The principal smiled down, squeezed the little one’s hand, then turned for the next student.
Dakota hurried down the left-hand steps, curls bouncing, and when she passed in front of their seats again, she waved to her family, a picture of innocence. She made eye contact with everyone in the row, starting with Isabo and working her way down. And once again she ignored Whitney’s existence.
As the program drew to a close, teachers released the students to their parents, ready to begin summer vacation.
“Daddy!” Dakota launched herself into Nick’s arms, then held on tight. “I’m so glad you came!”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweet thing. We’re going to gather up your sister from her class and take everyone out to lunch. Sound good?”
“Even her?” She whispered the words, but when she pointed to Whitney, her expression made it clear that she didn’t consider her mother to be part of the family.
“All of us.” Angelina didn’t wait for Nick to answer. “Because we’re all quite proud of you, little one.”
“And I was so good!” Surprise hiked Noah’s voice and made people smile around them. “Can I have chocolate chip pancakes for lunch, just like Uncle Nick’s?”
“Well, little man”—Nick aimed his gaze down —“there isn’t a restaurant around that makes chocolate chip pancakes better than the Christine Stafford original recipe. Your grandma started the tradition a long time ago. I’m just happy to keep it going.”
“Huh?” Noah looked up, befuddled.
“The restaurants won’t have the right ones,” Nick explained in easier terms. “But I’ll make your favorite ones soon, if you’re good.”
“I’ll be good,” Noah promised.
“Me too!” Dakota squeezed Nick’s neck in a big hug. “So maybe I’ll just get chicken nuggets to celebrate today, okay?”
“Me too!” Noah fist-pumped the air. “And then we can play, ’Kota!”
“Some of us can.” Cheyenne came toward them. Stubborn reluctance dragged her steps. Nick had given her the choice of staying in class or being excused for Dakota’s special moment. She’d stayed in her classroom. Now she totally ignored the joy of her little sister’s moving-up ceremony as she shifted her gaze from her mother to Nick and back again. “I bet if I lived with Mom, I wouldn’t have to do stupid summer school every single day and miss out on all the fun stuff kids are supposed to do in summer.”
Angelina started moving toward the door, but she shot a quick look over her shoulder. “You should have considered that last fall, darlin’. You set the stage by your choices then. And now you have to fix those choices.”
“Like you and Elsa know so much,” the girl muttered. She folded her arms and glared at Nick. “Why do so many people get to boss me around? All I need is one mother and one father and not so many bosses. Why can’t we just be normal?”
She’d raised her voice as she spoke, until she ended on a note loud enough for half the thinning auditorium to hear.
“We’re as normal as anyone else these days, kid.” He reached out to ruffle her hair.
She edged away.
“Why is she doing summer school?” Whitney faced him much like Cheyenne had done, and the resemblance wasn’t lost on Nick. “Kids are supposed to be able to relax and enjoy summer. Not be tied down to a desk. That comes soon enough, doesn’t it?”
This from the woman who’d worked for less than four years of her thirty-one years on the planet. “She needs to make up work she missed this year.”
“Why did she miss it?” Whitney’s eyes went sharp. “Was she sick and you didn’t tell me, Nick?”
He refused to play her game and let Cheyenne and Dakota think this was his fault. “You were unreachable, as you know. And she wasn’t sick. She simply didn’t complete assignments. Now she needs to make them up. It’s that simple.”
“Were they too hard, baby?” Whitney bent low and gazed into Cheyenne’s eyes. “Did you ask for help and no one helped you?”
“All right, before this enchanting little display of enabling behavior gets out of hand, Cheyenne and I have this all worked out, and none of it is open for discussion. Everything’s arranged, and if she doesn’t like it?” Nick shrugged and started for the door. “Maybe she’ll work harder next year. Let’s go, girls, the family’s waiting.”
“Isn’t Mom coming?” Cheyenne hung back and put a death grip on Whitney’s arm. “I’m not going if Mom’s not invited.”
Should he count to ten? Or discipline Cheyenne for her very public display of bad manners? He almost stayed calm, then didn’t. “Go to the car. Now.”
Cheyenne froze, staring up at him.
“Nick.”
“Go.” He ignored Whitney and leveled a hard look at his daughter. “I’m the parent, I make the rules, and no kid of mine is going to issue challenges to me. Got it?”
She scowled and scuffed her feet all the way out of the auditorium and probably to the car. He turned back to Whitney. “Listen, you’re more than welcome to join us for lunch. Cheyenne would love it and that’s reason enough for me, but you’ve been gone, Whitney. You walked away and gave up custody of them three years ago, so don’t think you can stroll into town and start making waves. You can’t. You need to abide by my rules for them or leave them alone. We’ve spent three long years without a mother’s help, so don’t think you can instantly reassume the role. You made your choice, just like Cheyenne did in school, and in the real world, those choices have consequences.”
Dakota buried her head in his shoulder.
He sighed.
He shouldn’t be doing this here, in front of his little girl. He took a deep breath and began again. “You’re welcome to come along. We’re going to Mustang Bob’s off I-90. But there can’t be any more talk of Cheyenne getting out of schoolwork. It’s not an option.”
She glared up at him, then lifted one shoulder in an insolent shrug. “You go have lunch with your family, Nick. I’ve lost my appetite.”
She stalked off, and when they both reached the parking lot, she made a show of stomping to her worn car, enough of a performance for any remaining people to notice.
Whitney had always loved a public fuss, but they used to be more positive in nature. Her love for attention came flooding back into his memories as he crossed the asphalt and settled Dakota into the backseat.
Colt pulled up alongside, his window down. “We’ll get a table. See you up the road. And congratulations, kid.” He smiled down at Dakota from his higher vantage point. “Nice job.”
“Thank you!”
Her smile returned and she wriggled in delight.
Nick climbed into the driver’s seat, torn.
He didn’t want to fight with Whitney. Yes, things were easier with her gone, but he understood that having your mother shrug you off was one of those things you never forgot. To this day he still wondered why his had never bothered looking back. Or returned just to check up on him.
Had Sam paid her to leave?
He’d never asked. What if his father confirmed the rumor? What kind of woman could be paid to abandon her child?
He didn’t like to think about it, so he didn’t, but if he purposely pushed Whitney away, he’d be guilty of the same thing, laying the groundwork for his girls to ask the exact same questions.
He didn’t want that gaping hole for the girls, but he didn’t want a drunken caricature of a mother either. At the moment those appeared to be the only two choices he had.
Elsa finished painting the trim, put a first coat on the clapboards lining the south side, and lightly sanded all six shutters.
Then she cleaned up her hands and studied the school district application she’d just printed.
The ideal job. Perfect for her credentials. And the weaker pay scale of a smaller district didn’t pose a problem for her here. Her costs were low, and she kept her needs minimal.
A job. With kids. Surrounded by coworkers. Tackling the things she’d loved.
You loved it then. Are you strong enough to take this on?
She studied the multipage document while she pondered that question.
She’d stepped out of the shadows, ready to embrace the light, but applying for this job would bring everything out into the open by necessity. Professionals would handle her past based on facts and discernment. They’d assess if she’d overreacted, and they’d decide if she’d done anything wrong.
But it wasn’t their rejection that made her fingers grip tighter. What if Nick couldn’t handle it? Would his reaction send her back into doubt and despair? Was she ready to take a chance on the truth?
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”
She’d tried that. She’d been a staunch believer, a front-pew cheerleader, but grievous actions had doled out a mind-numbing dose of reality. Professing love for God and others did little if the mind clung to the poisons of hate.
She sat on the bench and let afternoon sounds churn around her. Achilles came around from out back. He moved quietly through the yard, then sat at her feet, staring out, mimicking her stance.
The finches had chorused all morning. Now they sat silent, enjoying an afternoon nap. Birds flitted above, darting for food here and there, but other than the pass of their wings, the forest was quiet. Waiting. Wondering. Just like her.
Our Father, who art in heaven…
Her phone interrupted the old prayer. She saw Rachel’s name and lifted the receiver. “Hey, Rach. What’s up? How did your little-people celebration go today?”
“It was marvelous and cute and reminded me of all the reasons you and I focused in on working with kids. They’re an absolute pleasure, most of the time, which is why I printed off the job posting for you. But that’s not the reason I called.”
“Then what?”
“I’m having second thoughts about you working with Nick’s girls.”
This was about the last thing Elsa expected to hear. “A little late now.”
“It’s not too late. It’s never too late, Elsa. I shouldn’t have pushed it. There’s no reason a well-off guy like Nick Stafford can’t take his kids into the city for treatment. I really think it would be better if you didn’t see them anymore.”
“Why?”
“A number of reasons. He likes you. You like him. Let’s just cite conflict of interest and be done with it.”
“How about we don’t cite that at all,” Elsa replied. “Nick and I are working well together, and that’s been a positive for his kids. I’ve made a promise to Cheyenne to tutor her, and I’m not going to break that promise. Especially now, with her mother’s unexpected return. For Cheyenne’s sake, I think continuity is in her best interests and outweighs other factors.”
A moment of silence yawned between them, and in its wake Elsa sensed the truth. “Whitney makes you nervous.”
“I don’t want to get into this, Elsa. I just want —”
“You’re afraid she’ll tip me over the edge. Or worse, that she’s a danger to those girls and I’ll feel responsible.”
“There are plenty of therapists around. He can get someone else to counsel them. And someone else to teach Cheyenne. Honestly, Elsa, it’s for the best.”
“A few weeks ago you thought this was a great idea.”
“I was wrong. Not the first time, won’t be the last,” Rachel admitted.
“But if not now, when? If not me, then who?” Elsa asked, and when Rachel started to answer, she interrupted. “I’m being rhetorical, Rach. I hear what you’re saying. I understand your concerns. But if I don’t step out and take hold now, I’m afraid I might never do it. And besides, who better to be observing than someone with my experience? Maybe I’m here for just that reason. Have you considered that?”
“And if she messes things up? If she does something rash? I knew her years ago,” Rachel pressed. “And this Whitney is like a shadow of the former one. A dark shadow. Looking at her today I got weird, menacing vibes, and I don’t want anything to happen to you, Elsa.”
“Me either,” Elsa assured her. “But I don’t want to slip backward again. No more living in the shadows. I intend to stick with the plan to help Nick’s girls, and I’m filling out the middle school application as we speak.”
“The application is fine. Testing Whitney Stafford’s claws is probably not the best idea. Please remember that when I suggested all this, she was nowhere in sight. That’s a game changer.”
Rachel’s concern had the opposite effect. Instead of worrying Elsa, it empowered her. “I’ve made a commitment, Rach, and I intend to keep it. What can go wrong in a house full of Staffords? As discordant as that family can be on the outside, they’ve got a solid internal bond. Real family. Like ours.”
“You’re sure, Elsa?”
“Positive. Now stop mother-henning me. I’ve got papers to fill out.”
“I’ll hound you daily.”
“If you do, I won’t answer,” Elsa replied. “Treat me normally please. At least that way I feel like I’ve regained ground. Okay?”
Her reply didn’t sit well with Rachel, and she didn’t like that her sister picked up bad sensations from Whitney. But Elsa understood what Angelina and Rachel couldn’t see: those early days of coming off addictive habits drove the self inward. If Whitney got through the first few weeks of sobriety and still sent off stress-inducing vibes, then Elsa would take the warnings more seriously. For the moment, the woman needed a chance.
Wasn’t that why Christiana and Braden’s mother brought civil charges against you? For giving Will Belvedere too much of a chance?
It was.
But she’d done nothing wrong in her recommendations or her treatment. She’d come to understand that. What Will did wasn’t her fault. But how she wished she’d followed her instincts that day.
She hung up the phone and moved into the wide patch of late-afternoon sun.
She could help Cheyenne and Dakota. She loved being around Nick, and he seemed to reciprocate the feeling. But could she differentiate the rest of the family dynamics enough to assess Whitney?
She didn’t know, but it came down to this: she believed the kids were safer with her around, and that made the decision to stay involved a no-brainer.