Easton’s father, Mike Ross, lived at the end of Hunter Street. There were no shade trees, just brown lawns and old houses—several of which were empty. The Ross house was at the end of the road before asphalt simply evaporated into scrub grass. A couple of cars were on blocks in the front yard, and a chain and a massive dog bowl sat abandoned by the front door. The dog had died years ago, but the reminder of his presence seemed to help keep thieves and religious proselytizers at bay. Which was good when it came to thieves, but in Easton’s humble opinion, a little religion wouldn’t hurt his old man.
When Easton pulled into the driveway behind a red SUV, all those old feelings of anger and resentment settled back onto his shoulders, too. This was why he never came home—it reminded him of things he’d rather leave in the past. Like constantly feeling like a failure no matter what he did, and acting rough and angry to get away from the pity.
Except he’d longed for his mom every day since she’d left, imagined ways she might return, set scenes in his mind when she’d see him as a grown man and her heart would fill with pride. Those had been fantasies, because her actually coming back would solidify the fact that she’d been able to return all along and had chosen not to.
He sat in his truck for a couple of minutes, his hands on the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. That was probably her SUV, all new and shiny. So she had enough money for that. Maybe she’d stayed away for the same reasons he did now—because she didn’t like to remember. He undid his seat belt and got out of the truck.
The front door was never used; in fact, his dad had a bunch of junk piled in front of it from the inside. Easton angled around to the side door. He didn’t bother knocking, just opened it. The kitchen was smoky from his father’s cigarettes, so Easton left the door open to let it clear a bit.
“Hello?” he called.
A woman emerged from the living room—slim, made up, wearing a pair of jeans and a light blouse. Her hair was dyed brown now, cut short but stylish. Her face was the same face he remembered, though. Even that one crooked tooth when she smiled hesitantly.
“Easton?” she whispered.
“Mom.” Tears welled up in his eyes, and he stood there looking at her awkwardly.
“Oh, sweetheart—” She came forward as if to hug him, but he didn’t move into it, so she ended up patting his arm a few times. She looked up into his face, and he could see that she’d aged. She was no longer the woman in her early twenties matching his dad drink for drink—she would be forty-seven this year. He’d done the math.
“So—” He cleared his throat. “Where’ve you been?”
“Can I hug you?” she asked softly.
“Not right now.” If he let her hug him, the tears he’d been holding back for years would start, and he couldn’t let that happen. He could cry later, alone, but not in front of her. He needed answers.
His father came into the room and scraped back a kitchen chair. He was thin and tall, lined and slightly yellowed from nicotine.
“Should we sit?” she asked cautiously. “Just come sit with me, son.”
He followed her to the flier-strewn table and sat opposite her. She looked him over then reached out and put her hand on top of his.
“You look good,” she said. “Really good.”
“Thanks.” He pulled his hand back as the tears started to rise inside his chest. “You look like you’re not doing too badly for yourself. What took so long to come see how I was doing?”
“I wanted to—” She looked toward his father. “I talked to your dad on the phone a few times, and he said you were doing really well. He said if I came around I’d ruin things for you.”
“What?” Easton darted a disgusted look at his old man. “And you believed that lying sack of—” He bit off the last word and sucked in a shaky breath. Profanity was a bit of a habit when he felt cornered. “You left me.”
And suddenly, he was nothing more than an eight-year-old boy again, staring at the mom who was supposed to be better at this. In that note she’d left on the fridge, she hadn’t said anything loving. Her last words had been “He’s your problem now.” She’d ditched him, left town, and while he’d squirmed his way around those words over the years, trying to apply different meaning to them that would still allow her to return for him, looking at his mother now brought the words back like a punch in the gut.
“I know...” She blinked a few times then licked her lips. “I was young when I had you—seventeen, if you remember. I didn’t know how to deal with everything. I was so overwhelmed...”
“Except you weren’t seventeen when you left. You were twenty-five. That’s a solid adult.”
“Yes.” She didn’t offer any excuses.
“And the note—”
“I wasn’t in a good place when I scratched that out,” she interrupted. “I don’t remember exactly what I said.”
“I do.” Easton glanced at his old man. His dad would remember that note, too. “You said you were sick of this life and I was Dad’s problem from then on.”
She winced. “I didn’t mean—”
“Sure you did. Or you would have come back.”
She swallowed, glanced at his father. What was she looking for, some kind of united front?
“So you figured you’d leave me with him.” Easton jutted a thumb toward his father. “He was a more suitable parent?”
“He had the house,” she said. “I just drove away one day. I wasn’t thinking about the future—just about getting some space.” She was quiet for a moment. “And I knew I wasn’t much of a mom.”
Yeah, that was evident. With her sitting in front of him, he was able to separate the fantasies of the gentle mother stroking his hair from the reality of the emotionally distant mother who’d spent hours a day smoking in this very kitchen.
“I tried to see you,” she added.
“When?” he demanded. He found that hard to believe.
“The summer you were fourteen. I was in the area and I called your dad. He said he got you a job at a local ranch and you were doing really well. He said you were happy, and you didn’t remember me.”
“You said that?” Easton glared at his father across the table. “I was happy, was I? I didn’t need her?”
His father shrugged. “We did okay. She’s the one who left.”
That had been his father’s mantra over the years—she was the one who left, as if all their problems had been caused by the one who walked away instead of the parents who hadn’t done their job to begin with.
Easton turned back to his mother. “I was doing okay because Cliff Carpenter hired me and took over where Dad left off. I wasn’t happy. I was making do. And Dad didn’t get me anything. I waited outside the ranch and feed store and asked every single rancher that came and left if he’d hire me. Cliff was the only one to say yes. Dad didn’t do squat for me. He drank every day, ran this house into the ground and smacked me around if I was within reach.”
“Hey—” his father started.
“Shut up, Dad.” Easton wasn’t in any mood to argue about facts with his old man, and his father seemed to sense that, because he subsided back into a brooding silence.
“I—” His mother swallowed hard and dropped her gaze. “I didn’t know all that.”
“I’m a ranch manager now,” he added. “I own my own home. I have a life, and I steer clear of this dump.”
“Maybe I could—”
“No!” He knew what she was about to ask—to see the life he’d built for himself. And while he’d dreamed of that opportunity since he was eight years old, he realized that he didn’t actually want it now. She didn’t deserve to feel better about how he’d turned out. He wanted to hurt her back—make her feel the rejection he’d felt his entire life. “You aren’t welcome in my home.”
They fell into silence for a few beats. He could take all his pain and anguish out on her, or he could get some of those answers at last.
“So what have you been doing all these years?” Easton asked. “You’re dressed pretty well.”
“I’m—” She looked down at her hands splayed on the tabletop, and his eye followed hers to the wedding ring. “I’m married again. His name is Tom. He’s very sweet. I’m a recovering alcoholic, so I don’t drink. It took a few years of hard work, but I got there.”
“So where’d you find... Tom...then?” The name tasted sour on his tongue.
“Church,” she replied. “We’ve been married sixteen years now. He’s a good man.”
Sixteen years of marriage, and she’d stayed away from him. There had been a home she could have brought him to, a cupboard full of food... He did the mental math, and he’d been twelve when she’d gotten married—plenty of time to have given him some sort of childhood.
“What does Tom do?”
“He’s an electrician.”
Blast it—so normal and balanced. His mom walked away and got to marry some utterly normal Tom, afford new clothes—something he’d never had growing up—and drive a new SUV... And he’d been left in addiction-induced poverty, dreaming of some fantasy mother.
“Where do you live?” he asked.
“Billings.”
“Three hours away?” he asked incredulously. “I was here missing you, longing for my mom to come back for me, and all that time you were a mere three hours from here?”
Easton rubbed his hands over his face. He’d dreamed of a chance to see his mother again, to try to mend this jagged hole in his heart that she’d left behind. Some days he wanted answers, and other days he wanted comfort. Today he had the chance to hug her and he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was finally face-to-face with his mom again, and he felt something he’d never expected—he hated her.
“I’m so sorry—” Her voice shook and she wiped a tear from her cheek. “I thought you were doing well, that if I came back I’d ruin things for you. I was so ashamed of the woman I used to be. I was mean, drunk most of the time and just a shell of a person...” She shook her head. “I thought you’d remember all of that.”
“Not really,” he admitted. “A bit, I mean. But I was young. I think Dad remembered that more. I...uh... I kept your Led Zeppelin T-shirt under my mattress. I remembered the smell of your cigarettes in the morning, and the sound of your laughter.”
“My T-shirt—” The look on her face was like he’d punched her with those words.
“It helped me sleep sometimes.” Why was he telling her this? Blast it, his complaints made him sound like a whimpering puppy! He wasn’t meaning to open up, but he’d been holding all of this in for so long...
“I wasn’t sure you’d want me back.”
“Not sure I do now, either,” he snapped. That was half of a lie. He did want her back, but he also wanted her to pay for her absence. He wanted her to feel some of what she’d done to him. “So why now?”
“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I got into my vehicle and started driving. I called Tom from the road and said I was coming to see my son. I need to go back tonight, but I had to see you again. I missed you so much.”
“Not enough to drive the three hours before this,” he pointed out.
“I wanted to...” She swallowed hard. “I couldn’t shake the guilt of having left you like I did. Then Brandon had his eighth birthday...”
“Brandon?” he asked slowly. “Who’s that?”
“My son—your half brother...” She grabbed her purse from the back of her chair and rummaged through it. She pulled out a school photo and pushed it across the table toward him. Easton didn’t touch it, but he looked at the smiling face of a kid with dirty-blond hair and a lopsided grin. Her son.
Easton’s stomach dropped as the reality of this moment settled into his gut. She’d gotten married, had another little boy and she’d been the mom she should have been to Easton to this other kid.
“So...” Easton’s voice shook. “I have a half brother.”
“Yes.” She nodded, a tentative smile coming to her lips. “And he’s a sweet boy. I know you’d like him. He’s got such a big heart.”
“And you’ve been there for him,” Easton clarified, his voice firming up as rage coursed through him. “You’ve taken him to soccer practice and given him birthday parties...hell, even birthday presents?”
“He likes chess, actually, but—” She stopped, sensing where he was going with this. “I was older. I was wiser. There’s enough money now—”
Easton let out a string of expletives and rose to his feet, the chair underneath him clattering to the floor.
“You were my mother!” he roared.
She sat in stunned silence, and his father shuffled his feet against the crumb-laden floor. Easton stared down at the parents who’d brought him into this world and then failed to provide for him. He couldn’t stop the tears anymore—he was blinded by them. His shoulders shook and he turned away, trying to get some sort of control over himself, but now that it had started, he couldn’t seem to dam it up. He slammed a hand against the wall then leaned there as he sobbed.
He felt his mother’s arms wrap around him from behind, and she shook with tears, too.
“Damn it, Mom, I hate you,” he wept.
“I know,” she whispered. “I know...”
Then he turned around, and for the first time since he was eight years old, he wrapped his arms around his mom and hugged her. He hugged her tighter than was probably comfortable, but she didn’t complain, and he didn’t dare let go.
She’d learned how to be a mother after all, but she’d learned with somebody else. And that didn’t do a thing for Easton. He’d already grown up, and he’d done it without a mom.
Nora stood in the kitchen mixing baby formula at the counter. She shook up the third bottle, watching the bubbles form. She was getting used to this hour, and she woke up before her cell phone alarm now. It was midnight, and she was in her white cotton nightgown, the cool night air winding around her bare legs. It was strange, but this house, which had always been so firmly hers in her heart, felt empty without Easton in it. He’d driven off that evening, and he hadn’t come back.
Earlier that evening, her mother had asked if she’d come for lunch at the house. She was having Nora’s aunt and uncle come over, and she needed some moral support. This was Cliff’s sister and her husband—both of whom had been close with Cliff.
“They’ll want to meet the babies, too, I’m sure,” her mother had said. “They’re Cliff’s grandkids, after all.”
There weren’t going to be any easy explanations, no simple family relationships for these girls. And they needed family—the supportive, loving kind, not the backbiting, gossiping kind. Nora needed to know now if that was even a possibility after what her father had done. She was willing to look into adoptive options for the girls, but she hadn’t fully committed to it—not yet. Other single mothers managed it—pulled it all together on their own—but how?
Normally at this time of year, the Carpenters hosted a corn roast and barbecue for family and friends, also as a way to thank the staff for their hard work over the summer. She’d asked her mother if she wanted to go ahead with it this year, but with Cliff’s death and the subsequent drama, it hardly seemed like a priority.
Standing in the kitchen at midnight, Nora put down the last bottle of formula. She’d considered calling Easton’s cell phone a couple of times, but hadn’t. This was her problem to untangle on her own, and while a listening ear might be comforting, no one else could give her the answer. Besides, it wasn’t Easton’s job to listen to her go on about her problems. He had problems of his own. But would it be too much to ask of a friend?
As she gathered up the bottles, a truck’s engine rumbled up the drive. She felt a wave of relief. Why she should feel this way, she didn’t know, but perhaps it was just old habits dying hard—tough times nudging her toward Easton. She really wanted to talk to him about the girls—but more than that, she wanted to hear what he had to say about them. It would help her hammer out her own feelings out loud with another person who wouldn’t judge her, because Heaven knew she was judging herself pretty harshly right now.
The back door opened and Easton stepped inside. His shoulders were slumped, and his face looked puffy and haggard. If she didn’t know him better, she’d think he’d been crying. He didn’t look up at her as he kicked off his boots and hung his hat on the peg.
“Easton? Oh my goodness, are you all right?”
He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not!” She crossed the kitchen and caught his arm on his way past. “Look at me.”
He turned toward her and she could see the red rims of his eyes, the same old sadness welling up in his dark gaze. “My mom came back.”
Nora stared at him. A slew of questions cascaded through her mind, but they swept past as she saw the pain etched in Easton’s features.
“She was at my dad’s place.”
Nora’s breath came out in a rush and she looked from Easton to the bottles and then back at her friend again. His mom—she knew what this meant...or at the very least she knew how heavily this would have hit him.
“I need to feed the babies,” she said quietly. “You want to help? We could talk...”
He was silent for a beat, and she half expected him to say no, that he was fine, and to go up and lock himself into his bedroom.
“Sure,” he said.
She picked up the bottles from the counter and they moved together toward the stairs.
“What happened, exactly?” she asked as they climbed the narrow staircase. “Is she still here?”
“She’s left already—for Billings. She’s been there this whole time. She’s remarried with another kid.”
His voice was low and wooden as he went over what had happened tonight. Nora picked up Riley and passed her to Easton. He was more practiced now in handling babies, and he took the infant easily. His expression softened as he looked down into the sleeping face.
“They’re so little,” he said quietly. He teased the bottle’s nipple between her lips. Nora scooped up Rosie and let Bobbie sleep for another few minutes. “Can you imagine anyone just walking away?”
Tears misted her eyes. Wasn’t that exactly what she was considering with the triplets? Was she just as bad as Easton’s mother? Or had Easton’s mother done the best that she could under the circumstances? Maybe she just wanted to excuse Easton’s mom because it would make her look infinitely better by comparison.
“How do you feel now that you’ve seen her again?” Nora asked quietly.
“Conflicted,” he admitted. “I’ve wanted this for years—a chance to see her, to hug her again—and now that I have it, I’m filled with rage.”
“You’re probably in shock,” she said.
“I spent years loving her in spite of her faults.” He heaved a sigh. “But she figured out how to be a decent parent when she had her second child—Brandon. I saw a picture. Cute kid. And all I could feel was anger. That’s awful, isn’t it? He’s just some kid. Do I really want him to suffer like I did?”
She didn’t respond, and the only sound in the room was that of the babies drinking their bottles.
“She wants me to meet him,” Easton said after a moment.
“Do you want to?” Nora asked.
“I don’t know. Not really. Yes.” He shook his head. “You know what I want? I want to go back in time and have her be there for me, too. She takes Brandon to chess club three times a week, and she drives him to birthday parties. She’s a stay-at-home mom.” He muttered an oath then looked sheepishly at Nora. “Riley’ll never remember that.”
Nora smiled. “She’ll be fine.”
Easton jiggled the bottle to get Riley drinking again and adjusted her position, then he continued, “My mom said she wanted to be home for Brandon, because her husband works long hours, and he needs someone to talk about his school day with. Talk about his school day! What I would’ve given for my mom to just sit and listen to me for a few minutes.”
“Will you see her again?” she asked.
“She’ll come back again on Saturday afternoon. She’ll text me the details.”
Nora tipped Rosie up against her shoulder and patted her back. Easton did the same with Riley. From the crib, Bobbie was starting to squirm in her sleep, probably feeling hungry. Riley burped, and Easton wiped her mouth with a cloth, then laid her back down in the crib. He picked up Bobbie next. When had he gotten so good at this?
“Should I feed her?” he asked.
Rosie hadn’t burped yet, and Nora nodded. Easton grabbed the third bottle and Bobbie immediately started slurping it back.
“It’s funny—I have her cell number. I could call her if I wanted to... I could text my mom. How many times have I wished I could contact her—say something to her? Now I could...with a text.” A smile creased his tired face. “That’s something, isn’t it?”
And in those shining eyes, she saw the boy she used to know, who would sit next to her in the hayloft, listening to her go on about her small and insignificant problems. He hadn’t mentioned his mother often back then, but she could remember one time when he’d said, “When my mom comes back, I’m going to buy her a house.”
“A house?” she’d asked. “How will you do that? Houses cost more than you’ve got.”
“In three years I’ll be eighteen. I’ll drop out of school and work full-time,” he’d replied. “And then we’ll live in that house together, and my dad can rot by himself. I’ll take care of her.”
He’d always planned for his mother’s return. Somehow he’d been convinced that she’d come back, and he’d been right. Except when they were kids, he’d been certain that she’d need him.
They resettled the babies into the crib, but they stayed there in the darkness, standing close enough together that she could feel the warmth of his body radiating against hers.
“The one thing she didn’t tell me—” His voice broke. “She never said why she left me behind.”
She couldn’t see him well enough in the dim light, but she could hear that rasp of deep emotion against his iron reserve. That was a wound that wouldn’t heal.
“Easton...”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her cheek against his broad chest. He slipped his muscular arms around her and she could feel his cheek rest on the top of her head. He smelled good—musky, with a hint of hay. His body was roped with muscle, and he leaned into her, his body warming her in a way that felt intimate and pleading.
Neither of them spoke, and he leaned down farther, wrapping his arms around her a little more closely, tugging her against him more firmly. She could feel the thud of his heartbeat against her chest, and she closed her eyes, breathing in his manly scent. Somehow all either of them seemed to want was to be closer, to absorb all of each other’s pain into their bodies and share it.
Easton pulled back and she found her face inches from his, and his dark eyes moved over her face. She could see the faint freckles across his cheekbones, the soft shadow of his stubble veiling a few acne scars. He was the same old Easton, all grown up, and while she could still see the sweet boy in those dark eyes, she could also see the rugged man—the survivor, the cowboy—and the intensity of that gaze also reminded her that he was very capable of being so much more than that...
“I missed you,” he whispered.
“Me, too.” And standing there in his arms, his muscular thighs pressed against hers, she still missed him. Pushed up against each other wasn’t close enough to touch the longing for whatever it was that they’d lost over the years.
His dark gaze met hers and her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t have looked away if she’d wanted to. His mouth hovered close to hers, a whisper of breath tickling her lips. He hesitated, and before she could think better of it, Nora closed the distance between them, standing on her tiptoes so that her lips met his. He took it from there, dipping his head down and sliding a hand through her hair. His other hand pressed against the small of her back, nudging her closer, closer against his muscular body, her bare legs against his jeans, her hands clutching the sides of his shirt. His lips moved over hers, confident and hungry, and when he finally pulled back, she was left weak-kneed and breathless.
“Been wanting to do that for a while,” he said, running the pad of his thumb over her plumped lips.
She laughed softly. “Oh...”
“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice a husky growl. “We can chalk that up to an emotional evening, and tomorrow you won’t have to think about it again.”
Easton’s gaze moved down to her lips again, then he smiled roguishly and took a step back, cool air rushing over her body. She didn’t know what she thought, or what she wanted, but he wasn’t asking for anything. He moved to the doorway and looked back.
“Good night,” he said and then disappeared into the dark hallway.
Nora stood there, her fingers lightly touching her lips. He’d kissed her just now, and she realized that the attraction he felt for her was very, very mutual.
Nora went to close her bedroom door, and she paused, looking out into the hallway. All was quiet, except for the soft rustle of movement coming from the room next door. He was probably getting ready for bed, and she pulled her mind firmly away from that precipice.
If only she’d seen deeper into Easton’s heart when they were younger...she might have been a bigger comfort to him, a better listener. If she’d realized then the man he’d mature into in a few years—but all of that was too late. If there was one thing the discovery of her father’s unfaithfulness had taught her, it was that a man could be as loving and doting as her father had been, and he could still cheat, lie and hide his tracks. Nora needed to be able to count on a man for better or for worse, or those vows were pointless. She’d been lonely for what she and Easton had experienced together in that innocent adolescent friendship, but she’d been hungry for something more just now—something that hadn’t existed before. She’d wanted security—she’d wanted kisses in the moonlight that didn’t have to end, that could be hers and only hers...
Nora shut the door and slid back into her bed. Two and a half more hours until the girls needed another bottle. She’d best get some sleep.