Turned out that the two youngest Dalton brothers, Shep and Dale, who lived in the main house, had filled in Morgan and Boone on what had happened with Robby that morning, so the four Daltons insisted on taking Robby to town for cheer-up burgers, fries and ice cream after his tutoring session. Another major plus in the working-for-his-dad column was that Holt and his brothers had gotten closer, and they all adored Robby. They also knew what a hothead their father could be.
Now, a few minutes after Robby had gone off with his uncles, Holt and Amanda sat across from each other at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in front of each, neither saying a word. Amanda sipped her coffee. Holt stared out the window at the moment, trying to figure out where to start, what to say. How to do the least damage.
Amanda cleared her throat. “Before we started reading, Robby told me what happened at the main house this morning. He asked me if his grandfather didn’t love him anymore.”
Holt winced, but before he could respond, Amanda continued.
“I did my best to tell him that his grandfather does love him,” she said. “As he told me you did. But it got me thinking, Holt. That’s how I’m left feeling right now. Unsure of where I stand. Off balance. Last night, in your bed, in your arms, all I could think was how much I still love you. How I have you back. And then bam, all I feel is a cold draft.”
How much I still love you...
He’d done a double take at those words, staring at her as if shocked she’d said such a thing. He kind of was, though. Shocked. That she felt that way. That she’d said it.
She met his gaze, but when he didn’t say anything, she sighed and looked out the window.
He had no idea how he felt. Everything—all the complex layers of what was going on in his life—was balled up so tight.
Dammit. This was not what he wanted. He’d made Amanda feel the way his father had made Robby feel. The way his father had made him feel. How had he screwed up to this degree?
Love was powerful and all-consuming and everything. And right now, he needed to reserve it all for Robby. “I thought I had things figured out,” he said, staring at his coffee before looking up to face her. “I thought I could do this. But then I realized I can’t. I’m not about to let Robby get hurt all over again.”
Amanda gasped. “What? You think I’m going to hurt Robby?”
“You won’t mean to. You won’t want to. But you’ll leave and he’ll be devastated and think it’s his fault. I went through all that with him once and the after-effects are horribly painful and long-lasting. We won’t go through that again. I won’t allow it.”
Amanda stood up. “Are you kidding me? You’re ending things between us—when we just got started—because you expect me to break both your hearts?”
He got up too, moving to the counter to lean against it. “Yes.”
She glared at him, but then her expression softened into something more like sadness. “That’s what you think of me? That’s how little you trust me?”
“I don’t trust anyone,” he said. “Except Robby.”
She was staring at him, sparks in her eyes. “Holt. This is no way to live. Expecting everyone to be like Sally Anne. Hell, you were Sally Anne in our last go around. Not me.”
I did the same thing then that I’m doing now, he realized, his heart cracking. He was leaving Amanda before she could leave him. And this time—Robby.
He hated the wall he felt building around the weaker one she’d managed to get past. “I never wanted to hurt you, Amanda. You mean a lot to me. You know that. But I can’t do this. I won’t do this. I have to protect Robby.”
She shook her head. “I know how much you love your son. I understand how you feel, Holt. I know what that run-in with Sally Anne did to you. But you’re going to throw love away in case it doesn’t work out? Does that really make sense to you?”
“I need to focus on my son, Amanda. There’s no room in my life for anyone but him right now.” There, he came out and said it, openly and honestly. No miscommunication. “I need to protect Robby—heart, mind and soul,” he added, hoping she understood.
Tears welled her in her eyes.
And I need to protect myself, he said silently.
Holt crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll take over working with him on reading. I’m not an expert, of course, but I did some research on how to help a struggling reader improve.”
She barely nodded and headed for the door. “I guess this is goodbye, then.” She whirled around. “For the record, though, Holt. I think you’re wrong here. I love you and the two of us have something very special. And I love Robby, and he and I have a very special relationship too. Same goes for the three of us. We fit. We blend. We belong together, Holt. I’d lost my ability to believe in love, but my feelings for you and for Robby renewed it. I’m glad I believe—even if it means hurting this bad. And for a long time. Because at least I feel. At least I try.”
She pulled open the door and left, and it took everything in him not to follow her, to keep her talking, keep her in sight. But he had to let her go. For everyone’s sake. And that included her own.
“Goldilocks is gonna be okay, right, Daddy?” Robby asked, sitting beside Holt in the small barn where they were nursing one of their ill goats back to health. So far, so good.
For the goat, anyway. Holt was another story. Almost a week had passed since his awful conversation with Amanda. He hadn’t called or texted and neither had she. Sometimes he missed her so much he felt sick. And there was no medicine. But spending the past few days with Robby and poor Goldilocks practically 24/7 had done wonders for the ill goat.
“I think she’ll be fine,” Holt assured his son. “She probably just needs a day or two more of round-the-clock care. Thanks to you, she’s on the mend.”
Robby beamed. “I did help, didn’t I, Daddy?”
Holt nodded, slinging an arm around Robby’s shoulders. “You did more than just help. You saved that goat’s life. If you hadn’t insisted on us sleeping right outside her pen, we might not have been there when she needed us at three in the morning two nights ago. You were right to argue for that.” Goldilocks had needed constant fluids, but she’d worsened. Thanks to Robby’s sweet insistence on camping outside her pen “just in case,” they’d been ready with water when the goat had needed it.
He’d known, of course, that Robby cared about the animals on the ranch, from the cattle to the small number of farm animals like the goats and lambs, but the extent of his compassion and his interest in Goldie’s illness had surprised him. Holt also knew that kids whose attention could generally be all over the place could focus intently on things that supremely held their interest. Robby had not only just wanted to sit outside Goldie’s pen and monitor her, but he’d done his own research about her illness via a kid’s farming website and had learned a lot about goats and illness in the process. A lot of text for a little boy who struggled with reading. But he’d worked hard. Granted, Robby was only seven, but for him to say he wanted to be a “doctor for farm animals” was a big deal.
And Robby looked so proud right now. Goldilocks was a favorite of Holt’s mother, and she’d been out helping to care for the goat too. Holt had avoided his dad the past several days, easy to do on the vast ranch. The couple of times he’d seen his dad headed in his direction, Holt turned. And he’d kept Robby away from the main house too. That hadn’t felt good at all. But the burn in his gut over his problems with his dad, especially where Robby was concerned, kept his mind off Amanda. Until late at night when he would try to sleep and all he could think about was her.
Their last night together.
How he missed her.
How he wished he could undo hurting her without undoing the part that kept him and Robby on the right track.
“I hear Goldie’s better, thanks to you two,” a familiar voice said.
Neal Dalton. He was in his work clothes, his jeans and a western shirt with a leather vest, and his black Stetson. He had his phone in his hand, as usual. His sons managed various aspects of the ranch and one of them was always contacting him. Holt had simply avoided checking in with his father about anything that had come up the past bunch of days. He’d just dealt with whatever needed dealing with.
“Gramps, guess what?” Robby said. “I helped mix Goldilocks’s yogurt and honey. And she ate most of it!”
One of the pluses of Robby’s impulsivity was that he didn’t shy away from people who he knew were upset with him. That always helped smooth things over since Robby rarely cowered or ran off. But his grandfather was a tough customer.
Neal Dalton smiled and took off his hat. “I heard that you’ve taken real good care of her. You saved your gram’s favorite goat. I’m proud of you, Robby.”
“You are?” Robby asked, tilting his head.
“Sure am,” Neal said.
Holt had never been able to read his father all that well, but the different emotions on the man’s face clued him in that Neal Dalton was uncomfortable as heck right now. His father seemed about to say something, then clamped his mouth shut, glancing over at Goldie. Neal ran a hand under his right eye, then his left, and Holt peered more closely at him.
Was his father crying?
Robby got up, hay in his hair and all over his back. He walked over to his gramps and pulled out a baggie with carrot slices, which they’d packed just in case the goat got well enough to have the special teat. “I walked and didn’t run this time. Do you want some carrots, Gramps? Goldilocks isn’t feeling good enough to have them yet.”
Neal Dalton slashed a quick hand under both eyes again, then wrapped Robby in a hug. “I’d love a carrot, Robby. And thank you for walking and not running.”
Robby smiled. “Because sometimes it can make the animals feel scared. I wouldn’t want Goldilocks to feel scared.”
“I’ll bet she really appreciates that you’re taking such good care of her,” Neal said, his eyes soft.
Robby grinned, glancing at the goat, then his face fell and he looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry I’m not a good grandson.” His eyes welled with tears. “I really am trying to be better, Gramps.”
Holt closed his eyes for a second, his own eyes stinging. Oh, Robby, he thought, wanting to scoop up his boy and hold him close, save him, somehow, from this hurt.
And if his father blew his response, there’d be hell to pay.
He’d give Neal Dalton five seconds to make this right.
Neal Dalton’s face almost crumpled. “You’re a great grandson, Robby. Of course you are. I’m so glad you’re my grandboy.”
Holt almost gasped, his heart squeezing in his chest. Robby’s face brightened, the tears abating.
“Now, it is true that sometimes you’re a little too loud or fast or wild for me,” Neal continued. “But I’m an impatient type. But you know what, Robby? I’m gonna try to be more patient because I love you and I want us to spend more time together. We’ll both try.”
Robby smiled and seemed about to jump up and down, then thought better of it. “Daddy always says that all we can do is try.”
This time, Holt did gasp. As Amanda’s words came back to him. I’m glad I believe—even if it means hurting this bad. And for a long time. Because at least I feel. At least I try.
He didn’t want to think about this right now. Things were finally okay. Yeah, he missed the hell out of Amanda but this—him and Robby, on the ranch, his livelihood and future and Robby’s legacy—was how it was supposed to be.
“I am very sorry for making you feel bad, Robby,” Neal said. “I shouldn’t have because I love you so much.”
Robby smiled. “I love you, Gramps.” The boy hugged his grandfather tight, Neal Dalton scooping Robby up and holding him close.
Well, that was all very unexpected. The relief that came over Holt undid muscles he hadn’t even realized were bunch up and stiff. He was about to pull his dad aside and tell him how much all that meant to him when a gruff voice sounded from outside the barn.
“Holt Dalton!” a man called out. “I’m looking for Holt Dalton.”
Holt frowned and eyed his dad and shrugged. “Robby, you wait with Goldie, okay?”
“Okay,” Robby said, sitting on a stool just outside the pen with his Rocco the Raccoon book. “I’ll read to her.”
Holt nodded, and then he and his father walked out. Standing in front of the barn, hands on hips, was Edward Thompson.
A vein was popping in the man’s neck, his blue eyes shooting sparks. “My daughter informed me this morning that she and your ranch hand are engaged,” Thompson said. “That is absolutely unacceptable, and I want to know how you’re going to fix this mess.”
Engaged. Holt wasn’t surprised to hear that. That meant Brody and Piper had made their plan. “I did talk to Brody,” Holt said. “He’s a smart, levelheaded young man who loves your daughter very much. In fact, he has Piper’s interests above his own. If he proposed, it’s because he has a solid plan for their present and their future.”
Thompson grimaced. “Oh please. All she is to him is a pretty girl with a rich daddy. Give me a break.”
“That’s how little respect you have for your daughter?” Neal Dalton asked, staring Edward Thompson down. “That she’d choose a man like that?”
“A man? The kid is eighteen,” Thompson bellowed. He shook his head. “I guess I’ll just have to take away the money I set aside for college. We’ll see how fast she runs off with that boy when that part of her plan falls through. Love. What the hell does either of them think they know about love?” He shook his head again.
“So you’d rather lose your daughter than try to see things through her eyes?” Holt asked. “To understand how she feels?”
“I’m coming down hard on her for her own good!” Thompson said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“No, Thompson,” Neal said. “And it’s too bad you can’t love her for who she is instead of who you want her to be. I almost made that mistake myself with my grandson. And my son. But considering you don’t give your daughter any credit...”
Huh. Would wonders never cease. His father was surprising him left and right this morning.
“Don’t you tell me how I feel about my daughter!” the man boomed. “I love that girl with all my heart.”
“If you did, you’d care how she’d felt,” Neal said.
“I care how she feels,” Thompson countered. “But she’s throwing her life away!”
“Is she?” Neal asked. “Because she fell in love with a terrific young man who’s making his own way? I heard you did too, that you started from nothing.”
Edward Thompson lifted his chin. “I didn’t work so hard to own a very successful corporation so that my daughter could take up with a ranch hand.”
“Interesting point of view,” Neal said. “Because I heard a little bit about your family. Your wife, Marianne, eloped with you when you barely had a hundred dollars to your name. And you’re happily married to this day.”
Thompson seemed to think about that for a moment, but then he frowned. “Marianne was denied a lot for years. And worked hard right beside me. I don’t want that for Piper.”
“Well, Piper is her own person,” Neal countered. “Give yourself some credit for how you raised her. And give her some credit too.”
Holt could see the man was relenting. Slowly, but he was.
“Holt here was a ranch hand with nothing to his name at eighteen,” Neal continued. “Now, I couldn’t be prouder of the man he is.” His father turned to him. “You tried to tell me and I wouldn’t listen. I called you stubborn? No one is more stubborn than I am. Except for maybe Thompson here. I’m sorry, Holt. For everything. I hope you can forgive me.”
Once again, Holt almost gasped. He certainly hadn’t expected his father to say anything like that. And he could tell Neal Dalton had meant every word.
“You got it, Dad. We’ll talk later?”
Neal nodded, then turned to their guest. “Look, Thompson, why don’t you come up to the house for some coffee,” Neal offered. “We’ve got a lot in common, more than either of us thought, most likely. Let’s talk this through.”
Thompson’s shoulders slumped. “Guess I could use some caffeine.”
And just like that, the two men nodded at Holt and then headed up the path toward the main house. Holt had a feeling his father and Thompson were going to be solid friends. And that Brody and Piper would end up with Edward Thompson’s blessing. Maybe not today but very soon.
Holt went back into the barn and smiled at Robby. “How’s Goldie doing?”
“She loves this book,” Robby said. “I read the whole thing to her. And I only messed up a few times. I wish I could tell Amanda about that but she hasn’t been around. How come, Daddy?”
Holt’s stomach twisted and he sat back down beside his son, his knees drawn up to his chest. “Well, I decided I wanted to do your reading with you. That way I get to spend even more time with you before school starts. I can’t believe the summer is coming to an end so soon.”
“I miss Amanda, though, Daddy. She’s so nice.”
Holt’s heart squeezed and he reached a hand over to brush back Robby’s ever-present mop of bangs from his eyes. “Yeah, she is.”
“Do you miss her too?”
“I do,” Holt answered honestly.
“Then you should ask her to come over for lunch, Daddy. You make the best grilled cheese. And then the three of us can take Bentley for a walk in the woods.”
“Not today,” Holt said. “But I promise you that grilled cheese for lunch. And the walk in the woods.”
Robby brightened. “I wish Oliver could come too. And Amanda.”
Me, too, Holt thought.
“Daddy, if you and Amanda got into a fight, you just have to become friends again. Did I tell you that I saw Ethan at the burger place when my uncles took me, and Ethan came over and said he was sorry about being mean at the fun run and he asked if I wanted to help him build his new Lego set?”
Holt smiled. “Yup, you told me. And I’m really glad about it.”
“Ethan said he didn’t know he was being mean when he said those things about my mom.”
Holt tilted his head. “What do you think about that?”
“I believe him. I think most kids have moms so they don’t understand when someone’s mom isn’t around.”
Holt nodded, again wishing he could protect Robby from this—from the truth. And that was crazy. He couldn’t. Helping him deal with the truth, particularly when it reared its ugly head—that was what Holt could do for his son. “Yeah.”
“But my mom isn’t here and even though sometimes I get sad about it, I like to be happy.”
Holt felt the backs of his eyes sting. “I’m so glad you do, Robby. That’s a great attitude.” It really was.
“You know what? I think people can choose to be grumpyheads like Gramps used to be. Or nice, like Gramps is now. Don’t you think, Daddy?”
Holt smiled. “I suppose so. Though I guess sometimes people can’t help how they feel.”
“I don’t know about that. Uncle Morgan said you can’t make other people do what you want, but you can make yourself do what you want. I’m saying it wrong, but I think I knew what he meant.”
So did Holt. That you couldn’t control others, but you could control your reactions to them.
How did a seven-year-old get to be so wise? Robby had this wonderful ability to take in the best parts, the positive parts, of chaos around him.
“Like Ethan,” Robby continued. “He couldn’t make me want to be friends with him after he was mean to me so he said sorry. And now we’re friends.”
On the very edges of Holt’s consciousness, he knew there was a lesson in there for him, but the new wall he’d erected around himself was impenetrable. He’d made it that way.
“I’m gonna read Goldilocks another book about Rocco,” Robby said. “You can listen too, Daddy.”
“I will,” he said, wanting to grab his son and hold him tight and never let him go. But also on the edges of that consciousness he knew he had to do just that. He had to have faith in his smart, caring, wonderful son to fight his own battles, work out his issues. Even at seven years old.
And Holt, at thirty-two, had to do the same. Damned if he knew how right now, though. Because when he thought about it, Holt had knocked himself out.