Finally Home (15 page)

“Soph's mother?” he asked and tried to concentrate on their conversation.

“Yeah. What if she's planning to remarry or something?”

“You think she'd show up at Christmas time to tell her daughter that?”

She sighed. The high tops of her breasts rose and fell. Colt kept himself from swooning like a half-starved debutante. “Her parents separated while they were on a family vacation together.”

“Well, that's just screwy.”

“Sophie said it was no big deal.”

He swore softly.

“Yeah,” she said.

“So what do we do?”

“Leave home?”

He chuckled. “Or we could send Soph to my folks' house. Tell Ms. Day-Bellaire that we don't know where she is.”

She rolled her eyes at the absurdity of his suggestion.

“There's more,” he said.

“What?”

“She wants to stay here.”

She canted her head a little and raised her brows. “She what?”

“She wants to stay—”

“Well, she can't!” Casie rasped. Her expression was nothing short of horrified. “There's no room at the inn.”

He kind of wanted to laugh, but he was a little bit afraid. “She said she can stay with Sophie.”

“In her room. She said it would be fun. Like camping.”

“Was she kidding?”

“I don't think she's that kind of woman, Case.”

“Then she's on drugs.”

“Maybe it won't be so bad.”

“Are
you
on drugs? Colt—”

“Shhh.”

“Colt,” she said, softer now as she leaned toward him, revealing more creamy skin. “It's the holidays.”

Merry Christmas to me, he thought, and forced himself to look her in the eye. “I know that.”

“If she comes here and . . .” She shook her head. “Sophie could be devastated.”

“Or she could be happy.”

“Have you . . .” She squinted a little as if deep in thought. “Are we talking about the same girl?”

“Well, I'm not saying she'll be ecstatic,” he admitted. “But she might be . . . mildly content.” He stared at her, so beautiful and vulnerable and painfully empathetic that he felt an overwhelming need to shield her from life. “You can't be everything to everybody, Case.”

“What are you talking about? I don't want to be anything to anyone.”

That wasn't true, but maybe she didn't know it. He wasn't entirely sure she was capable of lying. “Sophie deserves to have a mother.”

She stared at him, then blinked. “You think I'm trying to take her mom's place?”

“It's not that I think you're
trying
to.” He drew a careful breath. “I think you
have
. Or maybe you've taken the place her mother
should
have had. But at what cost, Case?”

She shook her head. “First of all, I haven't taken anybody's place.” She leaned forward for emphasis, nearly baring her breasts completely.

“And in the second place?” he asked, gaze eighteen inches lower than he knew it should be.

“In the second—” she began, then realized where his attention lay and snatched a towel from the floor. By the time she was covered and he had forced his eyes upward, her cheeks were pink.

“I like the second place even more than the first place,” he admitted.

She gritted her teeth and almost shifted her gaze away, but she held steady. “I get more from those girls than I give them,” she said.

He stared into her eyes, almost able to forget all those places that mesmerized him. “And therein lies the magic of Casie Carmichael,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes a little and tilted her head as if awaiting a trap, but there was none. No trap. Unless it had been laid for
him
.

He shrugged. “It's why kids are drawn to you, Case. Why they seem to show up from . . . who knows where.”

She still stared. Maybe she herself was a little baffled about how the Lazy had ended up with so many teenagers.

“Because you make them feel as if you need them more than they need you.”

“Maybe I do,” she said, and suddenly her eyes were very earnest, her mouth achingly soft. “And maybe that's what scares me.”

For a moment he almost leaned down, almost drew her into his arms, but the time wasn't right, and if he had learned anything from riding broncs, it was that timing was everything. One wrong move, and a cowboy could find himself flat on his back with a broken heart and a shattered clavicle.

“Maybe it shouldn't scare you,” he said. “Maybe it should make you realize how amazing you actually are.”

Her lips parted, those beautiful, irresistible lips. “You think I'm . . .” she began, then scowled. “That's not funny,” she said.

“And I'm not laughing.”

Her expression went serious. He could feel her weakening. And that was bad. Really bad, because
he
had weakened years ago. Had damn near fallen apart the very first day she'd stood in front of Mrs. Littleman's classroom with those stupid lopsided ponytails and gigantic eyes. If she stood up right now, there would be nothing in the world to stop him from lifting her into his arms. Nothing to keep him from ruining any small chance he had with her. But she was rising. Dear God, she was—

“Hey, Case,” Sophie said, voice loud on the far side of the door. “I've got to brush my teeth. Are you decent or what?”

CHAPTER 14

“G
ood morning,” Casie said and smiled as she turned from the stove.

Ty nodded. He knew he should be more effusive, more extroverted and loquacious. Emily had once told him he had the social skills of a potato. Luckily, she said, potatoes were the Lazy's most versatile tuber. “Morning,” he managed and tried not to worry about the hole in his left sock. If Colt's mom saw it, she'd buy him new ones. There would be no questions asked or blame handed out. He would simply find them atop his dresser, and it was that silent thoughtfulness even more than the money expended that would exponentially increase his debt.

“How's Angel today?” Casie asked, and pouring a second cup of coffee, handed it to him. He took it in fingers numb with cold and wondered if she looked a little stiff.

“Seems okay,” he said. “Maybe a tad sore on her left fore again.”

She nodded, leaned her hips against the countertop, and took a sip of coffee. “The ground's as hard as granite. It probably makes her more tender.”

He exhaled and curled his palms around the mug. The heat was comforting, relaxing muscles he hadn't known were tense. It was kind of like love, curling into places you were sure had shut down for good. “Thought I might keep her inside more, where I can keep her comfortable.”

“Do you think that's a good idea?”

He searched her eyes, already worried that he'd upset her. Even potatoes worried. “I'll pay for the straw.”

Her brows dipped a little. She went entirely silent.

The nagging worry amped up a notch. His stomach clenched. Was she angry with him? Were finances so bad that—

“How many hours do you think you put in here a day, Ty?” Her gaze was extremely steady on his.

He shrugged, agitated by her attention. “Couple, maybe.”

She smiled. The expression did something weird to his gut. “A couple in the
morning,
” she corrected.

He gripped his mug tighter. “A man ain't no better than the work he does before breakfast.” It was something his grandfather used to say. Grand would have liked Colt's dad. And probably Colt, too, come to that.

“Then you're a very good man,” she said.

For one terrible second he thought he might cry. What kind of man would
that
make him? He blinked and glanced away.

“I'm sorry I'm so late,” Emily said, rushing into the kitchen, baby at her shoulder. “Bliss—oh, Ty. Thank God you're here. Take her, will you?” she asked, and with that pressed the solid little bundle into his arms. Bliss was dressed in a green oversized sweater that swallowed her tiny fists. One sleeve seemed to be a couple inches longer than the other. At this rate, Bliss would be lucky to be out of her mother's experimental cable-knits by August. “She's been so crabby. And she just adores you. Caffeine! Thank you, Jesus,” she said and poured herself a cup. “I swear she didn't sleep more than thirteen seconds all night. She didn't keep you awake, did she, Case?”

“No,” Casie said.

Ty caught a glimpse of her face. She was lying. He knew it. But Casie would do that. For others, she could lie.

“That's good,” Emily said, then turned toward Ty, mug cupped in her hands. Her sweater was green, too, also with sleeves of varying lengths. She must have found a really dynamite sale on yarn. “How's Angel?”

He shrugged as he settled the baby into the crook of his arm. She still seemed shockingly tiny. Had he ever been so small, so vulnerable? Had his mother ever looked at him and felt that almost painful tug in her gut?

“She's a little sore again, I guess,” Casie said.

“Oh no.” Emily sighed as she set her coffee aside and pulled a carton of eggs from the refrigerator. “Can't Sam do anything for her?”

Ty glanced toward the stairway, hoping Sophie wasn't within hearing. She didn't seem to care for the female farrier who worked on Angel. He didn't know why. It would be understandable if Casie held a grudge against her, because there had obviously been something between Sam and Colt at one time, but Case didn't appear to care much. Maybe she realized there wasn't a woman alive good enough to polish her boots, but he kind of doubted it.

“Ty?” Emily asked as she glanced over her shoulder.

Bliss complained quietly. He bounced her on his arm and returned to the conversation with an effort. “I think Sam's done 'bout all she can do. Pads to reduce concussion. Bars to prevent contracted heels.”

“What's that?” Emily turned on the oven while simultaneously pulling ingredients from the cupboard.

“It's when their feet don't expand proper.”

She made a face as she cracked the first egg. “Why do you want big feet anyway?”

“Not big,” he said, and lifting Bliss in both hands, raised her above his head in a slow sweeping motion. She brought her tiny fists together and gave him a toothless grin that made his heart hurt. “But their hooves take the weight of a thousand pounds of horse, so they gotta be able to spread a little on impact. Iron don't allow for much of that, so we took some precautions.”

She nodded. “What are you going to do?”

“What's for breakfast?” Sophie asked as she clattered down the stairs. “I'm—

“Oh.” She stopped short before entering the kitchen. For a second she was framed by the doorway. As if she were the center of the universe, the center of his world. Her hair swung free, as shiny as an agate against her trim shoulders. Her eyes were the wide, deep green of a summer pond, able to showcase a dozen emotions at once. “Ty.” She blinked. “Good morning.”

He nodded and tucked the baby back against his chest, fingers splayed across her tiny shoulders. Sophie stared. Her lips parted a little. From the corner of his eye he thought he saw Casie and Emily exchange a glance, but he wasn't sure. Sometimes it was hard to focus on everyday stuff when she was near. And sometimes it was hard to breathe.

“We were just discussing Angel,” Emily said. “I was saying maybe he should have Sam come back out. What do you think, Soph?”

The girl snapped her gaze from his, arched brows already descending. “What?”

Em's grin was a little impish. It was impossible to guess why. “I said, that Sam is a marvel, don't you think?”

“Em . . .” Casie's voice was soft and sounded sort of like a warning.

They all glanced toward her, but she lowered her eyes and sipped her coffee.

Sophie shrugged, but the movement was stiff as she moved toward the coffeepot. “I think we should hire someone else.”

“Why?” Emily asked. Her tone had gone from mischievous to innocent in a heartbeat. There was no use pretending; he didn't understand women.

“Angel's not cured. So we should get someone else in here.” She shifted her gaze to Ty. “If you don't mind.”

Bliss squawked a little. He cradled her tiny head with one chafed hand and bounced her more vigorously. “You got someone in mind?” he asked.

Sophie stared at the baby's back or maybe she was looking at his hand there. Maybe his fingernails were dirty again, but she didn't look disgusted. Her eyes were wide and liquid, like a lost puppy's or a broken doll's.

“Soph?” Emily said. “You okay?”

“What?” she asked, jolting back into the conversation. “Of course I'm . . . I'm going to go . . . feed Jack,” she said and all but galloped toward the entry.

Emily chuckled softly.

Casie said something under her breath. Ty couldn't quite hear what it was.

“I didn't do anything,” Emily said and chuckled again, but in a matter of seconds the front door opened and Max Barrenger stepped into the kitchen.

Casie turned toward him, expression concerned and hopeful and guilty all at once. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Me?” He put a hand to his back and arched a little. “I think I'll survive, if Emily's breakfast is as good as her supper.”

“What will you survive?” Emily asked.

“I just about fell headfirst off the wagon last night.”

“Are you speaking metaphorically or . . .” Em paused, allowing him to fill in the blanks.

“I
wish,
” Max said. “I was throwing . . . correction . . .
attempting
to throw a bale onto the loft.” He shook his head. “If Colt hadn't grabbed me I would have splattered like a water balloon. Is there coffee?”

“Here,” Casie said and hurried to pour him a cup. Ty had been right: She was limping, but she was doing a fair job of hiding the pain. He scowled. “Are you sure you're okay?” she asked.

“Absolutely.” Max stepped forward to take the mug from her hand. “Is this going to stop my heart?” Apparently, he had already tasted Em's coffee.

Sophie arrived. Ty ignored her as best he could. But heart pal-pations are not easily disregarded.

“You might want a good cardiologist on speed dial just in—” Emily began, but then another man stepped into view. She stopped midsentence.

“Morning,” he said. The newcomer was tall and lean. His hair stuck up in odd tufts as if he'd been wrestling with it during the night.

“Hi,” Emily said and turned abruptly back toward the stove.

The young man shifted his attention to Ty. Their eyes met. The other didn't turn away.

“Ty, this is Lincoln Alexander,” Casie said.

Max was pouring fresh cream into his coffee. He glanced up. “So, what's your job here at the Lazy, Ty?”

There was a second of silence, which Casie filled. “He keeps the place from falling apart.”

Ty felt his cheeks redden, but the younger man was already speaking. His eyes were serious, his lips unsmiling. “How long have you worked here?”

Ty studied him, wrestling with a half dozen questions. Who was this guy and why did he want to know? “Six months or so maybe.” He looked over at Casie. Did she seem tense? “But I'm here a lot,” he added and tightened his grip on the baby. “And I just live down the road if trouble stirs up.”

Max glanced toward him, brows raised. The attention made Ty fidgety, but there was too much at risk to sissy out now. “And Colt . . .” The door opened again. It was a pretty good bet that it was Dickenson himself. So far as he knew the man hadn't come home last night. There was the sound of him toeing off his boots in the entry. In a moment he was stepping into the kitchen. “He's here near
all
the time.”

“Morning,” Colt said, and nodded at the guests before looking at Ty. Their gazes met. Had he spent the night here or elsewhere? Ty wasn't sure which might be worse. He glanced at Casie. She looked edgy but not miserable. His own tension eased up a little. “You get Dad's steers fed?”

“Yeah,” he said. Bliss mewled softly and wriggled a little in his arms.

“Any problems?”

Ty shook his head and bounced the baby. Lincoln's brows lowered the slightest degree as he watched.

“That gimpy one was eating?”

“Yeah, he seemed better.”

“I owe you one,” Colt said, and crossing the kitchen, poured himself a cup of coffee. “You want some?” he asked Lincoln and lifted his mug a little.

“No thanks.”

Colt raised dark brows. “You're really
not
from around here,” he deduced and took a slug from his own cup.

The kitchen went quiet for a second, then, “You can all sit down,” Emily said. “Breakfast will be ready in a minute.”

They shuffled toward the table as a unit, but Max spoke as he pulled out a chair. “Let me guess,” he said. “You're from . . .” He shook his dark head. “Bangor, Maine.”

“Detroit,” Lincoln corrected and settled his lank body into the nearest chair. He wore a long-sleeved collarless thermal under his Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt. His hands looked pale, his knuckles scuffed against the dark fabric.

“Yeah? How's the Motor City faring these days?”

“All right, I guess,” he said and shrugged as he put one nervous hand atop the table.

Max laughed. “You must not be in the auto industry.”

“Not directly.”

“Indirectly?”

“Dad worked for Chrysler.”

“Got laid off?”

“Died.”

Emily dropped a metal lid. It clattered like a castanet onto the counter. She muttered an apology under her breath.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Max said. “Pass the sugar will you, Colt?”

“Were you able to be with him?” Colt handed him the sugar bowl, then set his cup near his plate before stepping away to retrieve the cream pitcher from the counter.

Lincoln curled his fingers up a little. “No.”

“That's tough,” Colt said. “I always worried something would happen to my folks while I was on the circuit.”

Lincoln remained silent.

“You have a job you couldn't get away from?” Max asked.

Lincoln shook his head, face expressionless.

“Hey,” Max said. “If your old man worked for one of the Big Three, you must know something about cars.”

They all stared at Lincoln. His brows dipped toward never-tell eyes. His body language was taut. “A little, maybe.”

“You ever work on Dodge trucks?”

“ 'Fraid not.”

“Well, you don't have to be afraid,” Max said. “Unless you look inside Emily's old vehicle.” He laughed. “That's a pretty scary sight.”

Casie poured the contents of a teakettle into a ceramic mug. Steam rose from its curved top. “You want some spiced cider, Lincoln?”