Small-Town Brides (13 page)

On the trip back into town she'd had to do some major soul searching.

Positively Zoey needed someone in her corner other than her hopeless uncle. Maybe she was overreacting, but she was questioning everything about this job. One question weighed the heaviest on her mind. Was helping him gain full custody of his niece was really in the girl's best interest?

As she pulled furniture wax, pillows and an array of other items from their bags, the question plagued her. Working in the living room alone gave her the space to think. She sent a prayer up that the Lord would give her some kind of peace about what she was doing.

P
aisley soon realized that though Trace was out of sight, he wasn't out of mind and definitely not out of earshot. He was fond of Brooks and Dunn tunes but she had a feeling that if Kix and Ronnie heard his rendition of “Boot Scootin' Boogie” they might pay him not to whistle it!

She was seriously considering doing that herself. But she wouldn't, because, oddly enough, his whistle-while-you-work attitude gave her some peace. It showed her that he was actually enjoying himself back there. As upset and angry at him as she was, there was no denying that the man seemed sincere about making things perfect for Zoey. Which reminded her why she'd gone to the store with him in the first place.

Paisley moved around the living room, waxing tables, resituating furniture and began cleaning out a chest she found in the corner. It would make a perfect toy chest. And all the while she worked she wondered about the man in the other room.

He seemed completely out of touch with the softer side
of life; his bare “bunkhouse” decorating style proved that, but he was determined to make it right for Zoey. And, despite everything, that was the reason Paisley hadn't completely given herself over to the fact that she was making a mistake helping him gain custody of Zoey.

Feeling more content with her decision, she worked diligently. There was a lot to be done before Zoey arrived.

She'd just draped the new, red throw over the back of the couch and walked into the kitchen when he came up the hall with the wooden headboard from the adult bed. Seeing that his arms were full, she rushed toward the back door to open it for him.

“Thank yo—” he said, but the words died midstream as his gaze locked on the living room over her shoulder. He set the headboard down with a thud. “Is that
my
living room?”

She fought a smile, really fought it because she didn't want to smile at that man. But the smile battled through and her lips turned up on both ends. How could she not smile? He was looking at her handiwork with the awe of a kid who'd just gotten his very first pony! His expression was so delighted that she turned to survey the room again. It was the same room, but the furniture now gleamed bright and smelled of lemon. She'd placed pillows and throws across the couch and a colorful rug, along with a couple of real plants. And in the corner she'd placed the small chest, now full of toys. In that same corner was a pint-size table with coloring books she thought Zoey might enjoy.

“I'm not finished, but I think it's looking cozy,” she said, glancing up at Trace. Her shoulder was brushing his and she stepped slightly away, ignoring the way her skin tingled.

“Cozy. No joke! It's gone from looking like the inside of a tack room to a room that a little girl can be nurtured in.”

Paisley turned to him. “I promise you, Zoey will be nurtured while I'm here.” He looked pensive at her words.

“Please don't take that wrong. I didn't mean any disrespect to you.”

“I didn't,” she said. “I'm just saying you don't have to worry about that.”

“Believe me, the one thing I'm not worried about is you,” he said. “I know you'll do great by her. It's me I'm worried about. Honestly, I know all there is to know about taking care of a calf or a colt. You know, what they need in order to grow up strong and healthy. But a little girl…”

Touched, Paisley felt compelled to reassure him. “Relax. You'll do just fine.” He didn't look too sure but picked up the headboard and walked away, giving her a small smile as he went. There was nothing flirtatious in the smile. It was more from uncertainty—nervousness. The man was a puzzle. She watched him far longer than she should have as he headed toward the barn. A puzzle she had no business wondering about, she reminded herself as she hurried back to work.

However, her thoughts weren't cooperating and went immediately to a small box of professional photos she'd found buried at the bottom of the chest she'd cleared out for Zoey's toys. They were several action shots of Trace competing at different rodeos. The fact that he'd hidden them beneath a trunkful of old horse magazines instead of hanging them on the wall made her think he wasn't as full of himself as she'd thought. Maybe.

She'd lain them on the coffee table, as if she'd been dealing cards, not sure what to do with them. Now she
gathered them up and headed toward the kitchen and slid them into a drawer. But not before pausing to riffle through them again. He was riding bulls in several of the shots, and just looking at him on top of those animals made her heart stop. She had to admit that though she knew nothing about bull riding, he did look like he had everything under control. He was stretched back, one arm gripping the rope and the other flung out for balance. It was breathtaking and dangerous, and she couldn't seem to stop gawking at them. The other photos were of him doing what she thought they called steer wrestling. He was flinging himself out of his saddle going after the steer. In others shots he'd taken hold of the animal and was wrestling it to the ground by hooking his arms around the animal's horns, planting his boots and twisting. While these shots weren't so dangerous looking, they still showed Trace Crawford “the cowboy” off to perfection. He was agile, athletic and by the look on his face extremely dedicated to accomplishing the task at hand…and now, he was putting all that intense focus on making a home for a little girl who had no home or mother.

He
still
acted like a jerk too many times to count, but not where Zoey was concerned. Maybe it
was
nerves. Of course, nerves might be excusable in some instances, but that still didn't get him off the hook where Rene was concerned.

 

“Here she comes,” Paisley said on Thursday. She and Trace were standing beside each other on the porch watching as a car turned into his drive. The man had very nearly paced a hole in the porch while they'd been waiting for Zoey to arrive.

The last few days had been busy as they'd transformed
his house into a home. The social worker, a Mrs. Reynolds, had come out on Tuesday and to his complete shock she'd given him the official nod—which paved the way for Zoey to arrive today. When Mrs. Reynolds gave him the news Paisley had never seen a man so relieved and surprised and scared in all of her life.

She'd been forced to spend much time with him, getting the house in order and she'd thought the seal of approval had helped him relax a bit. But watching him now, pacing a hole in his porch, she wondered if maybe she should have spent time getting
him
in order.

He looked petrified as he spun toward her. “Do I look all right? I mean, do I look—do you think she'll like me? I'm not going to scare her, am I?”

Even knowing how nervous he was, his statement was unexpected. “Of course you won't scare her,” she said, then shocked herself by taking his hand and squeezing. “She is going to love you,” she assured him. Not that it did any good. He still looked like he was about to go over the edge of a cliff as his gaze shifted back to the car stopping in the drive. Paisley let go of his hand and expected that he would walk off the porch to greet Mrs. Reynolds, but he didn't move.

Mrs. Reynolds hustled over to them, her arms pumping, and with the harried look of a woman with much to do and not enough time to do it.

“I have her things,” she said in a rush. “If you'll unload the trunk while I get her out of her car seat that would be good. Remember that I said she is a quiet one. But I think with time she'll come out of her shell. Normally I would stay while she acclimates but I've had a call that I'm needed elsewhere. There is an emergency case. I'm going to take
charge of several children.” She spun and sped back toward the car.

“But aren't you going to stay long enough to help her settle in?” Trace called after her, finally moving as he followed with apparently lead-filled boots.

“You don't need me. Per my preliminary visit, you're prepared. Zoey is in very capable hands. And you have Miss Norton's help,” Mrs. Reynolds rattled off over her shoulder. “Have no fear. You'll all settle in together.”

He halted and looked back at Paisley, so alarmed she imagined him screaming, “What do you mean have no fear?”

“But I
do
need her,” he said instead.

Paisley's brow furrowed. This was ridiculous! What was
wrong
with him? “Will you relax? She can't help it if she has to go. Kids need her more than you,” she hissed under her breath, not wanting Mrs. Reynolds to hear. “It's going to be fine. Go unload the trunk and pull yourself together.”

Grim faced he strode toward the trunk while she went to watch Mrs. Reynolds lift Zoey from her car-seat into her ample arms.

Zoey had long, sandy-blond ringlets that hung nearly to her shoulders and big, serious eyes that immediately reminded Paisley of Trace's. The clear hazel tone mingled with brown was so like his that Paisley would have known this was his niece or even his daughter if they'd been in a roomful of twenty children. She was darling.

Trace eased around the back of the car with a small suitcase in his hand and stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Zoey. His expression was heart wrenching, even to Paisley, as he took in the sight of his niece for the first time. He seemed to stop breathing, and in the bright sunlight the gleam of tears was unmistakable in his eyes. Paisley swal
lowed hard and felt tears pool in her own eyes. She was mesmerized by the emotions radiating off of Trace. She expected by his expression that he would swing Zoey into one of his exuberant hugs at any moment…only he didn't move. Instead he shifted lost eyes to Paisley.

In that instant Paisley realized that something was wrong.

Really,
terribly
wrong.

All this time she'd put his actions off as a scared bachelor navigating the new waters of unexpected parenthood…yes, she'd believed he was going a little overboard with his reactions. But now, looking at his complete lockdown, she understood his fear went deeper than ever she'd expected.

Zoey was clinging to a rag bunny but looking at him with bright eyes. Paisley was afraid he was going to scare her after all.

“Zoey, this is your Uncle Trace,” Mrs. Reynolds said, so intent on getting to the emergency case waiting for her that she was oblivious to the fact that she had one happening right in front of her. She stood the poor child on the ground and spoke to her like she was old enough at two years to understand what was happening to her. “Like I told you before, honey, you'll be living with him now. Isn't that wonderful?”

Trace set the case down but made no other move—at least he wasn't running away. Paisley willed him to say something, to reach out and give Zoey a hug. Or
at least
bend down to her level and say something to make her transition easier. It was evident in her face that she was growing more and more uncomfortable with the situation. Instead he just stood as rigid as a frozen flagpole.

Mrs. Reynolds' brow bunched, but she kept on trying. “Zoey, say hello to your Uncle Trace,” she urged, more firmly.

“'Lo,” Zoey murmured obligingly in a tiny voice that ripped at Paisley's heart.

Trace finally reacted! “Hi,” he croaked, but he still didn't make a move!

Mrs. Reynolds glanced at her watch and then shut the door to the car. She was ready to leave. Paisley couldn't stand the look that flashed in Zoey's eyes as she stared at that closed door. It was as if she dreaded once more being left on this side of it with total strangers. Even at her age she understood that much.

A flashpoint of anger swept through Paisley, and unable to stand it any longer she stepped in and took charge of the deteriorating situation. It was similar to how she would have handled a child who wasn't ready to let go of a parent on the first day of school.

What in Trace Crawford's background would explain his behavior? Kneeling down to Zoey's level Paisley smiled warmly. “Hi, Zoey. I'm Paisley, and I'm going to be taking care of you. I think we are going to be great friends. What's your bunny's name?”

A flicker of warmth moved through her eyes as she glanced from Paisley to her rag bunny. Paisley ached to pull her into an embrace.

“Friend,” Zoey said in her two-year-old voice as she held out the bunny. The word came out sounding more like
Fa-wind,
but it was clearly understandable. The bunny was her friend…her comfort, too, Paisley could see.

“What a perfect name,” she said. “How about you, Friend and I go up to the house for cookies and milk? I'm going to be your friend, too, okay?”

Zoey shot a hesitant look Trace's direction, then nodded.

“Can I pick you up?” Paisley asked her and was relieved when the tot gave her another tiny nod. Paisley had wanted to give her a hug from the moment she'd seen her and now she did just that. And to her surprise Zoey hugged back and didn't let go, clinging to Paisley with more strength than she'd thought possible for a little girl. Holding her tight, Paisley stood up with her in her arms and shot the
statue
a scathing glare, but she kept her words light for Zoey's ears. “We are going for cookies while y'all get everything else figured out. How does that sound?” she asked Mrs. Reynolds, but at this point she wasn't really interested in what the woman or Trace had to say. She was here for Zoey and suddenly very thankful that God had brought her, even if it was kicking and screaming, into this situation.