The Cowboy's Twins
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But they were seven. And it was TV.
Not sure if he was praying that the kids were there or not, he sped up, his boots kicking up dust on the dry ground as he switched course.
“Today I’m giving you my best peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” Cocking his head, Spencer picked up his pace even more as he heard his daughter’s voice coming out loud and clear from a location that was still some distance away.
A mixture of stunning relief—they were safe!—and tense disappointment—they’d not only disobeyed him, they’d involved the one place on the farm he wanted them the least—flooded him. No one had prepared him for the emotional roller coaster of parenting.
“I have the best bread—white—and I have two pieces of it...” He’d always served his kids wheat bread because it was healthier, but Betsy had white bread at home, and when they ate there...
His step grew heavier, frustration growing right along with dread. He’d heard that the Family Secrets crew had gone into town for the afternoon and evening—and had been relieved to have the place to himself. If Tabitha had found a way to make a mic work, he could only imagine the damage Justin had done.
Was doing.
“I have peanut butter—just the butter part, no peanuts.”
She liked it smooth.
“And jelly—we use grape because Daddy likes it best, not jam with the lumps in it.” The note of authority in her childish voice was growing in leaps and bounds.
Spencer started to leap, too, or at least it felt that way as he took the last few yards at a dead run.
He couldn’t afford to repair an entire studio.
Nor did Family Secrets have time to build another one. Contestants were due to arrive the next day.
Rounding the corner in the barn, his worst imaginings became reality. There was Justin, sitting at what could only be some kind of sound board—or control center. His hands were on knobs. Turning.
“I take a knife, this kind, because I’m not allowed to use the sharp ones...” Tabitha’s voice was loud and clear—far too loud and clear—coming from somewhere on the other side of a temporary wall. He didn’t want to think of the mess she was making.
He’d seen her “cook.”
Justin hadn’t noticed him yet, and Spencer had to rein himself in before he approached his recalcitrant son. The boy had gone too far this time.
He was going to be meting out some serious discipline.
As soon as he trusted himself not to lash out first.
His good day had just gone really, really bad.
* * *
“JUSTIN GERALD LONGFELLOW, please take your hand off that board. Now.”
Natasha froze. And watched as seven-year-old Tabitha, with a rather large glob of peanut butter dangling from her table knife, stopped moving, as well. Rising from her seat in the middle row of the bleachers in their makeshift studio, Natasha kept her eye on the child but spoke into the headset she was wearing.
“Justin, are you okay?” She hadn’t recognized the voice she’d just heard issuing an order to the boy in what could only be termed a threatening tone.
But then, the only men she’d spoken to on the farm, other than her own crew members, were Spencer Longfellow and the cowboy, Bryant.
“No, ma’am.” She’d known the child only for about an hour, but long enough to tell her that the vulnerable tone in his voice was not common.
“Who are you talking to?” The male voice came again. But Natasha recognized it that time.
“Spencer?” she called as she rounded the corner of the wall in back of the stage. Locating the control booth behind the stage had not been anyone’s first choice, but for remodeling cost effectiveness and electric concerns, they’d made the decision to put it there. Monitors allowed views of the stage from every angle. Monitors that were not currently turned on.
“Natasha?” The cowboy in dusty, faded jeans, a red plaid shirt and the inevitable boots stood there, his gaze piercing as he looked between her and his son.
“I’m so sorry...” Words came tumbling out of her mouth. “It didn’t occur to me that I should have told you I was keeping them awhile,” she said. “It should have. I apologize.”
His frown deepened. The opposite of the effect for which she’d been aiming.
“Tabitha? You can join us.” Spencer’s tone, though not as fierce, still remained unrelenting.
The little girl, knife still in hand, though free of peanut butter, came around the corner of the stage. She didn’t walk down the steps.
And Natasha’s heart gave a little twitch. She’d told both children they weren’t to climb those stairs unattended because the safety rail had been defective—the wrong size had been sent—and the new one wasn’t being installed until the morning.
Moving forward, she took Tabitha’s hand and held on while the girl slowly descended the four steps to the linoleum laid temporarily on the barn’s dirt floor.
“I’m sorry, too, Daddy,” Tabitha said. But while Justin’s face was pointed at the floor, his sister’s nose pointed straight at their father. Natasha’s heart noted that, too.
What in the heck was wrong with her, getting emotional all of a sudden? These children were interlopers who’d interrupted her only afternoon with solo access to the studio. She had much to do to satisfy herself that the set was ready to welcome contestants the next day.
And...
“I’m disappointed in you,” Spencer said, the words clearly delivered to his daughter. Her lower lip quivered.
“Wait.” Natasha couldn’t stand back, in spite of her self-admonition to do so. “It’s not her fault...”
She knew she’d made a mistake before his gaze landed on her.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“What did I tell you two about this barn?” he asked.
“Not to go here,” Tabitha answered, still looking right at him.
“Justin?”
With his chin to his chest, the boy mumbled, “Stay away.”
“You have Ms. Stevens apologizing for you, but I’m fairly certain that she didn’t pick you up and carry you to this barn, did she?”
“No.” Justin spoke, though he didn’t look up to see that his father was pinning him with that stare.
“You walked here.”
“Yes.”
“Even though I told you not to.” He glanced at Tabitha then, too.
“We didn’t walk, Daddy,” she said, her big brown eyes solemn as she shook her head of long, tangled hair.
“You didn’t.”
“No, Daddy, we ran.”
“You ran over here?” The little girl had his full attention. “Even though you know I expressly forbade you to be here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
In that second, Natasha’s feelings of protectiveness toward the children changed to sympathy for the man standing there in front of them. He was clearly perplexed.
And alone in his parenting responsibilities.
She could only imagine... No, she couldn’t even imagine trying to run a ranch and be the sole parent of two hooligans with acres and acres spread before them...tempting them...
“Because I was chasing Justin.”
Spencer’s brow cleared. For the second it took him to face his son. Down on his haunches, he placed his face within inches of the boy’s.
“Is this true, Justin?” Spencer’s tone was soft now but, Natasha imagined, no less menacing to his seven-year-old son.
“Course. Tabitha doesn’t lie...”
Implying that the boy did?
“You deliberately disobeyed me,” Spencer reiterated.
The boy nodded.
“You weren’t chasing a butterfly...there was no frog hopping in this direction...you didn’t think you’d heard a cow...you weren’t lost...”
The ease with which the words came gave Natasha the idea they were all excuses Spencer had heard before.
“No.”
“Then why?”
She supposed he had to do this. Had to call the boy out in front of her so he’d learn his lesson. Still, she wished he’d take his disciplining home.
“I smelled the cookies.”
Spencer’s gaze turned unexpectedly in her direction, catching the grin that had sprung to her face. She wiped it away. Immediately. But suspected she hadn’t been quick enough.
“You were baking cookies?” he asked. And the twinkle in his eye made her heart twitch again.
CHAPTER FIVE
SPENCER STILL WASN’T sure how it happened, but he ended up staying at the studio, eating the best chocolate chip cookies he’d ever had and watching while his children continued to help Natasha Stevens with the independent sound check she’d been running.
She’d explained that her crew ran the official checks. And that since the very beginning, she had run one of her own, as well. Because it set her mind at ease to know firsthand that everything was running properly.
Tabitha had been the one to explain that she and Justin were working for her for free as punishment for trespassing and stealing cookies.
And then he’d been hoodwinked into inviting her to share their dinner with them. He’d promised them hamburgers, camp potatoes and grilled corn because it was Friday night and they didn’t have school the next day. He’d also promised roasted marshmallows over the fire pit.
With her crew gone for the night, it had seemed churlish to make a big deal out of his kids’ invitation to her to their Friday soiree.
He just hadn’t expected her to hang around after the kids went to bed.
He’d left the fire burning, because it was a nice night, and he’d intended to come back out with his tablet and get some work done.
The kids had said good-night to her. He’d nodded his goodbye.
And yet when, fifteen minutes later, tablet in hand, he’d carried a cup of coffee out to the fire pit, there she was, still sitting in the sling chair she’d occupied during dinner. Elbows on her knees, she was leaning forward, her hands folded, and dangling by the warmth of the fire. The formfitting, long-sleeve black shirt she was wearing outlined a perfect female form.
Attraction flared for the instant it took him to clamp down hard on it.
“I didn’t expect you still to be here.” He tried to come off as cordial, enough so that she could think he was pleasantly surprised to find himself still in possession of her company.
But even to his own ears, he sounded surly.
“I was enjoying the fire,” she told him. “I can’t remember the last time I had the chance to sit by a campfire.”
“People don’t have fire pits in Palm Desert?” He knew they did. A buddy he’d graduated with had one in his backyard, right next to his pool. Spencer had taken the kids there for a Fourth of July party the year before. Justin had put his hot dog in the pool to see if it would float...
“I don’t have one,” she said.
Taking a seat, he set his tablet on his knee. Tapped it. Waited for her to go. He watched stock prices every day. Wanted to see what the farm markets were doing. And then place a couple of orders.
He purposely did not make conversation. Enough was enough.
“You don’t like me, do you?”
He’d just spent the evening with her. Was it wrong to need a little time to himself?
“I don’t know you.” Yet he recognized the way her eyes glistened in the firelight. They’d had that same glint the night before, under the light in Ellie’s stall, just after Natasha had witnessed her first calf birth.
He could have sworn, that night, that the sheen was due to tears she was refusing to shed.
But tonight?
“You say that like you don’t want to get to know me.”
Apparently he was easy to read. But, hey, he lived a simple life—a cowboy on a ranch. He didn’t need subterfuge. Or societal graces.
It wasn’t like his cattle were going to get an edge on him because they could tell what he was thinking.
“I could pretend otherwise. Our business arrangement, you here on my ranch, I probably should pretend. But no, I don’t.”
She gave a soft chuckle. And he started to relax. At least she wasn’t overly sensitive. Not that it would really matter to her if a country boy ranch owner didn’t like her.
“Mind my asking why?”
He minded that her smile made her look even more beautiful—softer—in the night air. And he minded that she wasn’t leaving him to enjoy the rare moment of solace in his day.
“It’s nothing against you,” he quickly assured her. He needed her money. And because of that, truly wanted her experience on his ranch to be a good one.
He just didn’t want to be the one to show her a good time.
There were plenty of others who’d jump at the job.
“I didn’t think it was.”
She picked up a bottle of water at her feet—which was when he noticed she’d helped herself to a fresh one—uncapped it, took a sip and, slowly, with fingers that were long and slim, turned the cap back into place.
He wanted to kiss those fingers. Heat rose up his neck. How could a guy be embarrassed when he was the only one who knew of his humiliating thoughts?
He had to get rid of her. In a way that let her know, quite clearly, that she shouldn’t come back. He’d designated the part of his property that was temporarily hers. She had plenty of room. She needed to stay there. In spite of whatever else his kids might pull.
“You’re a city woman,” he said now, feeling stronger already as it occurred to him that if he was boorish, she’d have no way of knowing it wasn’t his norm. Seemed an easy enough way to ensure that she’d stay clear of him.
And what better way of convincing her than a version of the truth?
“You don’t like me because I carry my New York upbringing with me?”
“What?” He frowned. What had he missed?
“You said city woman. I thought you were referring to the fact that I grew up in New York City.”
“How would I possibly know that?”
She shrugged. And chuckled again. A nice sound. Not a derisive or sarcastic one. “My bio is public knowledge,” she told him. “I just assumed, since the show was going to be filmed here, that you’d read up on it.”
He’d read about the show’s success. Had purposely shied away from any personal information about the show’s founder, producer and on-air host.
Thankful for the darkness, he sat back from the firelight, hiding his expression from her gaze.
“So, what do you have against city women?”
“Nothing.”
“You just dislike them all? For no reason?”
His version of boorish was clearly not working.
Maybe honesty would do it. Changing tactics, he said, “I don’t dislike city women. I just don’t get friendly with them.”
Eventually, after more than a couple of minutes passed without a response, and without her leaving, Spencer looked away from the fire to see her studying him.
“What?”
She shook her head. “I’m just trying to figure you out,” she said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You seem like such a smart—and, judging by the way you deal with your kids, fair—man. Yet you’d have me believe that you arbitrarily disregard much of the female population simply because they live in the city.”
“What’s with you?” He leaned forward now, too, exposing his face to the firelight. “You get some perverse delight putting a damper on my evening?”
“No.” She didn’t smile, and his gut clenched. He wanted her gone. He didn’t really want to hurt her. From what he’d seen, she was a genuinely nice person.
And a miracle worker with his kids that afternoon. Justin had called her ma’am. He couldn’t get the sound of his son’s reply to her out of his brain. What had she done with his boy? And how did he get it done, too?
“I’m taking advantage of your good nature, and your fire, to give me an excuse not to go back out to the cabin earlier than I have to.”
Her words knocked him back. Almost literally. Wow. Talk about getting what you give out. The whole honesty idea...it had been a bad one.
“Life on a ranch can get lonesome,” he said, “especially if you aren’t used to it.”
“I actually kind of like the quiet,” she said, surprising him again. Why had he ever thought he was a natural with women?
“Something wrong with the cabin? It’s the largest, and most newly remodeled, but we’ve got others a little closer together...”
“It’s fine.” She shook her head. “I’m being ridiculous. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”
He didn’t know her well enough to make a guess. Not that he wanted to.
“It’s just... I had a call from my mother this morning...” She glanced at him again. But differently. Uncertainty didn’t look right on her. Or normal.
“Is something wrong?”
“No. At least, according to her it isn’t.”
Okay. So now things were starting to make sense. She was out of her element, away from her friends, stuck in the middle of nowhere. And she’d had bad news.
Now, that he could wrap his mind around.
And deal with, too. After all, except for when city women cramped his space, he really was a nice guy.
“You want to talk about it?”
“No.” She laughed, but there was no amusement now. “I generally keep my own counsel.” She picked up her water bottle. “It’s probably just some manifestation of jitters because my first show on the road has its official start tomorrow...”
“I’m a good listener.” Wait. He was getting exactly what he wanted. Her taking her departure. “It’s not like you’re ever going to see me again,” he reminded her. “After our six weeks are up, that is.”
The first week of filming was just preliminary stuff. Introductions. Some interviews. She’d given him a complete schedule so he’d know. Then, starting the next Saturday, four weeks of competition would follow. The sixth week was the final round, a cook-off between any and all contestants who won the preliminary rounds. That winner would receive, among other things, a contract to have one of his or her recipes mass-produced and packaged with national retail distribution.
Dropping her water bottle onto her lap, she relaxed against her chair. “My mom called to tell me that she was breaking up with her boyfriend.”
“She’s not married?” He gave himself a mental kick as soon as the words slipped out. Of course, if she had a boyfriend, she wouldn’t be married. He really did need to get out more.
“No.”
“How long has she been divorced?”
“She isn’t divorced. She’s never been married.”
“Oh.” The ensuing silence felt awkward, and he said, “Not that I’m judging. Just...”
“My father was a fellow law student at Georgetown. He had an interest in her, in hooking up, but not in marriage and children. Not until he’d established himself in Massachusetts law and politics.”
Okay, now he was out of his league.
“The thing is, my mom said she wouldn’t have married him if he’d offered. She claims that, like him, she’d had goals and didn’t want to be tied down, either.”
Wait... “I kind of know firsthand that when you’re a parent, that’s exactly what happens. Your wants and needs take second place to your children’s...”
“At home, yes. Emotionally, maybe. But not professionally. Look at you. You’ve got this ranch. It’s obvious that you love it. And that you give it, professionally, everything it needs.”
“I inherited the ranch. You know, from my parents. Who inherited it from their parents...”
Legally, anyway. Legally he’d inherited it from his parents. Sort of.
Legally the ranch was all his. That was what mattered. Why he’d suddenly thought of old news, he had no idea. And had no intention of doing so again.
Longfellow Ranch was his without question. Fairly. Legally. And morally, too. Just as it would one day belong to Justin and Tabitha...
“My mom had career goals. She cared more about them, has always cared more about them, than she’s ever cared about a partner relationship.”
He’d invited the conversation. Proclaimed his listening skills. Finding no response to her statement, he nodded.
“She’s strong-minded. Knows what she wants. But it’s not so much a selfish thing as it is that...she’s right. She’s accomplished everything she’s set out to do. Including raising me in an environment where I never, ever had to doubt her love for me.”
Now she had his attention. Having not had that kind of assurance in his own formative years, he wanted more than anything to get it right for his kids.
“Because she paid someone to watch out for you?”
“No. Because she was always there for me. And anytime I was otherwise involved, she focused one hundred percent on her career.”
“Which is?”
“She’s a trial court judge in New York City.”
Wow. He was so far out of his league, he was surprised he was still sitting there with her.
“It suits her, being the boss. Making the decisions. She’s good at it. Happy doing it. And I know in my heart, if she’d had to live side by side with another adult all her life, compromising her needs and ideals to fit another’s, she’d have been miserable.”
“But she had a boyfriend.”
“Another judge, in appeals court. They were suited because there was no need for compromise. They both had their lives. And happened to enjoy doing the same things. It was perfect. At least, I thought so...”
Now he had to wonder: What did it do to a girl, growing up with such a strong female influence, and no male influence whatsoever?
Unless... Had the boyfriend been around all those years? She clearly cared about the guy.
“How long were they together?”
“Ten years.”
“Were there boyfriends before that?”
“Not that she actually brought home.”
Her eyes had that sheen again.
Prompting within him another tug that he didn’t like.
“So, what happened?” Best to get through this and move on down the road. She did, that is. She needed to move on down the path to her cabin. And the next evening, when that week’s filming was over, ideally she would drive her SUV and her crew right back to Palm Desert until the following Friday. “Did they have a fight? Was he unfaithful to her?”
“He asked her to marry him.”
And they broke up.
Spencer studied her in the firelight. Could see her struggle. If he let himself, he was pretty sure he’d feel her pain.
And do something stupid, like give her a hug.
Yep. He was having a seriously bad day.
CHAPTER SIX
FEELING ABOUT AS stupid and awkward as she’d ever felt, Natasha stood up. She’d outstayed her welcome by a long shot and needed to take her demons to her temporary home.
“Thanks for dinner,” she said, water bottle in hand. “You’ve got great kids.”
Yeah, they’d disobeyed his direct orders, for a chocolate chip cookie. But they’d taken responsibility for their actions.
When he stood, too, she tensed a bit. In a not altogether horrible way. Except that that in itself was horrible.
She was not going to like this guy. He was as different from her as night was from day. And had made his dislike of her quite clear.
When he wasn’t busy being sweet.
“I’ll walk you back” was all he said.
“I know the way. It’s fine.”
“It’s dark. And your people aren’t back yet. Because we turned that part of the yard over to you, it’s pretty much deserted until they return. I’ll just see you to your door.”
Because she was, as she’d just acknowledged to herself, completely out of her element, she accepted his offer rather than take a more normal course of action and assert her independence.
She could hear voices in the distance and see lights shining from the bunkhouse complex. He’d said that they had a kitchen over there—which the ranch hands were responsible for keeping stocked—and that, depending on the season, he employed up to fifteen men in addition to Bryant. He was still running hay while he built his cattle operation and needed men skilled in both business ventures.
He’d already answered any lay ranch questions she might have come up with on their walk in the dark.
When her hand brushed his, she sidestepped. And he noticed. Maybe he’d been more on target than she’d realized earlier. The silence was getting to her.