The Cowboy's Twins

CHAPTER THREE

THE PEAL OF her old-fashioned ringtone woke Natasha from a sound sleep. Not sure where she was at first, Natasha reached an arm toward the side table, pulling herself to a sitting position.

Her mother called only when she had something important to say. And the ringtone was reserved exclusively for the woman who’d birthed her thirty-one years before.

Birthed. She knew, firsthand, what that meant.

By the time her eyes were fully open and focused on the paneled walls of the cabin’s master bedroom, Natasha had regained full faculties. And memories of helping to bring a calf into the world came flooding back.

“Hi, Mom. What’s up?” She forced cheer and wakefulness into her tone. Susan Stevens wouldn’t approve of sleeping past six—no matter that she’d not made it back to bed until sometime after four that morning.

The red digital numbers glaring at her from the nightstand let her know that she was over two hours late getting up.

By her mother’s standards. Which had been firmly indoctrinated as her own...

“How are you, dear?” Polite conversation meant that her mother was displeased. Or worse, disappointed. Now she felt like a real slough off.

Searching her brain for what she could possibly have done to earn this, she came back to the time. Had her mother already called once? Had she slept through the ring?

“I’m fine, Mom,” she said, standing beside the bed to ensure that her blood was flowing and she sounded busy.

It was half past eleven in New York City. Her mother would have already handled a full calendar that morning and would be off the bench for the next hour and a half before her afternoon calendar began.

Susan wouldn’t think ill of her for not taking her call. It was understood that they were both busy women. Missing a call was to be expected...

Which meant her own sleeping habits had nothing to do with her mother’s displeasure.

Maybe a case had gone bad. As a superior court judge on the criminal bench in a city like New York, Susan led a less-than-peaceful life.

She lived in a less-than-peaceful city.

So had Natasha...until...

“The new season of the show starts in a couple of days,” Susan stated, as though Natasha didn’t know her own schedule. Because she wanted Natasha to know that she knew. That she kept track.

Her way of saying that she cared.

“I’m already at the ranch,” Natasha said, collapsing to the side of the bed. She told her mother about Ellie. About birthing the cow. And when Susan asked how she was going to integrate the experience into her show, a fifteen-minute conversation followed. A good, meaty, mind-melding conversation.

Between mother and daughter. Two high-powered women whose minds were simpatico.

“So...how’s Stan?” Natasha asked, after their brainstorming morphed into a series of ideas, a plan, that pleased them both.

When she was up and ready, Bryant’s wife was going to be doing a walk-through with her of the staging and kitchens that had been built in a tractor barn on the property. The pantry and green room. Now that she was awake, she was eager to get to it.

“That’s what I called about...”

Back straightening, Natasha slowed her thinking. Had something happened to her mother’s long-term companion? While not technically her father, Stan had been in their lives for over a decade, and...

“What’s wrong? Is he ill?”

The appeals court judge had been in perfect health when she’d visited her mother over Christmas. But that had been...nine months ago.

“No...to the contrary, he’s more physically fit than he’s been in years,” Susan said. A note in her mother’s voice gave her concern. Or rather, a lack of any particular one did.

“He’s taking an early retirement,” Susan continued, her words even. Emotionless.

“But...he’s only, what, fifty-one?” Her mother had thrown a high-powered fiftieth birthday bash for him. The guest list had included most anyone who was anyone in power in the city. Natasha had flown home to New York to oversee the caterer her mother had hired for the occasion.

“Fifty-two. And he’s decided that he wants to sail around the world,” she continued. Natasha sat frozen on the bed. She couldn’t tell if her mother was being literal. Normally she’d have been able to tell.

“Wow.” Not her best articulation, but she was shocked. To the bone. “I thought he’d die at ninety-five, still on the bench,” she half murmured.

“I know. Me, too.”

Just as her mother planned to do...

Unless... With a surge of...she didn’t know what exactly—an emotion that felt a lot better than the disbelief and uncertainty weighing her down—she entertained the thought that had struck.

Could her mother be calling to tell Natasha that she was retiring, too? That she’d finally reached a point where she felt she’d done her duty to the world that had given her life—to the purpose for which she’d been born—and could just relax?

Where that thought came from, Natasha didn’t know. She was certain it was unbidden. And unwelcome, too.

Her mother and she were not women who wanted to just relax. They weren’t made for sitting around.

And yet...to think that Susan and Stan were moving on to the next stage of their lives together was...reassuring. In an odd, offhand sense...

“So, I just thought I should let you know...”

Wait. What? Wasn’t there more? “Are you having a retirement party for him? Do you need me to cater?” Sense was coming back into focus.

“No. I won’t be doing that.” Susan sounded distracted now. Which made no sense again.

“My gosh, Mom, he’s been employed by New York’s legal system for thirty years. Has had an illustrious career. I can’t imagine him not wanting a party to celebrate that. If nothing else, I’m sure there are a lot of people who’d be offended not to be a part of such a celebration.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Natasha. Which is why I’m certain he’ll have a party such as you describe. I just won’t be having it for him.”

Oh. No. With a sudden thud, realization dawned. “Why not?” she asked, dreading the answer.

Her entire life, anytime anyone had tried to get too close to her and her mother, Susan had ended the relationship. Because invariably, the man had wanted her to become less of who she was and more like he’d needed her to be. Less powerful. More nurturing.

But Stan...

“We are no longer...friends.”

They’d broken up, Natasha translated.

“Because he wanted to retire?”

That didn’t sound like Susan. Even if she didn’t want to join him in early relaxation, Susan wasn’t one to ask anyone to be anything they were not. Because she couldn’t be who she was not. Her mother was nothing if not fair...

“Because he wanted me to marry him. He wants to get married again. He said if I won’t marry him, we’re through.”

Mouth open, Natasha just sat there. What was probably one of the most critical moments of her life, and she had nothing to offer in response.

Except a couple of inexplicable, seldom-present tears that slid slowly down her cheeks.

It was happening again.

Just as it always would.

For her mother.

For her.

Because, as the women they were, the women they’d been born to be, there was no other choice.

* * *

“SO, BRO, THAT’S one hot babe you’ve got staying with you,” Bryant said. Spencer had stopped to tell his right-hand man that he was taking the kids to school. Bryant, who’d been after Spencer to take a look at some new side-by-sides for hands to use to check fence line, had invited himself to hook up the trailer to the back of Spencer’s truck and ride along.

He’d talked Spencer into purchasing two of the all-purpose off-road vehicles. Which had used up more of his cash than he’d have liked. There was still a bundle put away. But that was all the security his kids had, and he didn’t like dipping into it. Ever.

“She’s not staying with me,” he said now, still brewing over the side-by-side matter. Maybe he was being too much of a stickler by refusing to buy anything on credit. Maybe Bryant was right and he needed to loosen up a bit.

“You put her up in your old house...”

With a sideways glance at a man he wanted to punch on a regular basis—mostly because Bryant knew Spencer too well—he shrugged.

If he overreacted, Bryant would be on it like a newborn calf on her mother’s teat.

What a night they’d had. The city woman had not puked as he’d been half expecting—hoping?—and she’d actually been a bit of a help there, toward the end. For a second...

“You got nothing to say for yourself?” Bryant’s words prodded him. But not as much as the other man’s grin. “You know when you say nothing, you’re just telling me that I’m getting to you.”

There came that urge to punch again.

“I’m not going to feed your lurid and completely drama-filled and ludicrous imagination,” Spencer said, focusing on the road. He was kind of looking forward to getting the new vehicles off the back of the trailer he was pulling and giving them a go. So they’d be ready for a spin when the kids got home...

“She’s in that house because it’s the nicest one on the ranch.” As it should be, since, as Bryant said, it had been his.

He’d built it himself when he and his mother had decided it was time for him to have a place of his own. He’d moved back into the big house only after his mother had passed. The year before he’d married Kaylee—another city girl.

And the biggest mistake of his life.

“And be a little more respectful, would you?” he continued, because Bryant had a way of putting him out of sorts like none other. “You don’t go around referring to a successful television producer and star as a hot babe. Next thing you know, Justin will be calling her that to her face.”

His son adored Bryant—a lifetime cowboy if ever there was one—which mostly pleased Spencer no end. Justin was one of them.

He was also young. Impressionable. Had an overabundance of energy. And no mother.

“Point taken,” Bryant said. And then turned a wicked grin on him. “But just between me and you...she’s hot.”

He didn’t agree. “If you like that type of woman, maybe,” he allowed so Bryant wouldn’t think he was holding out on him. And start thinking he had something for auburn-haired model types.

Although...her hair was almost as long as Tabitha’s. Perhaps the woman could give him a hint about the morning tangles...

With an eye on meeting his goal of a winceless morning for his little girl, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“You like that type of woman.” Bryant’s words dropped to the floor of the truck with such force Spencer could have sworn he felt it.

He wasn’t going to validate them with an answer.

“All kidding aside, Spence, we both know what type of woman gets to you. I’m only saying that if you keep it light, joke about it, she’s not going to do a number on you.”

Though he’d cooperated because Spencer had asked him to do so, Bryant had been against him signing the contract with Family Secrets from the beginning. Was this why?

He gave his best friend a quick once-over.

“No worries, bro,” he said, feeling easy again. He sat back and put the pedal to the floor as they crossed miles of empty California desert. “Glamorous women might be tempting, but Kaylee cured me of ever...and I mean ever...wanting to be with one again.”

He spoke with total confidence. The second his wife had left her dust behind her as she’d driven off the farm—leaving him with full custody of their two-year-old twins—he’d been cured of any attraction he might have had.

Glancing at Bryant one more time, he grinned.

It was good to know that he had a friend—more like brother—who had his back.

CHAPTER FOUR

“JUSTIN! JUSSSTIIIIN! YOU come out of there right now.”

In the middle of spooning a batch of chocolate chip cookie dough onto a tray in one of the kitchens on her newly staged set, Natasha froze.

Her staff, including Angela, had all been dismissed to other tasks. At the moment, “staff” meant a handful of techies, two camera operators and her stage manager/right hand/assistant. All of whom—except for Angela, who’d driven back to Palm Desert—had been sent off to town to squeeze in what R & R they could before working almost around the clock for the next few days.

Filming the show on location was taking more out of all of them than they had expected. She had to make sure they enjoyed their lives, too.

Losing employees was not something she took lightly.

The Family Secrets crew were her family. And...

“Justin, I mean it. Come out now.”

The first command had come in the form of a stern whisper. The second in a more stern, loud whisper. The identity of the commander was a mystery.

Whoever Justin was, or wherever he was, remained unknown to her, as well.

But she had a theory.

She’d heard that Spencer Longfellow had a couple of children. And the whisperer was definitely of the child variety.

From what she’d understood—and she’d been pretty clear about gaining complete understanding on this point—the Longfellow children were the only human minors on the ranch. She’d have chosen to film elsewhere if that were not the case. And had almost chosen to move on down the road when she’d heard about the rancher’s kids.

While she had nothing against children, Natasha needed to be able to work undisturbed. And to have her contestants and staff able to do the same. A lot was at stake for the winner of the show. Her show offered external economic value to the winner, and to contestants as well, and it was paramount that she provide a fair competition environment.

Filming on location was already going to create certain levels of stress and inconvenience, and they couldn’t have added interruptions from little ones.

“Justinnn. I’m telling you.” The voice was just above a whisper now. And closer. “Daddy said to stay out of this barn. Period.”

Other than the voice, she heard nothing. No movement. Shuffling. Breathing. Or any other indication of life. Hair tied back, she wiped a hand on the full-body apron covering her jeans and black Lycra pullover. Thought about calling the children out, giving them a warning and sending them on their way.

A mental flash followed right on the heels of that thought. A picture of her mother all alone. She shook it away.

Hoping that if she ignored the interlopers, they’d mind their father and vacate the barn, she continued to scoop spoonfuls of batter from bowl to pan. She had a system. One pan’s worth of cookies was cooling on foil, one pan was baking, and she needed to have the third ready to go in the oven when the others came out. Efficient.

Technically, she was checking out the kitchens. Testing the equipment. Making certain that everything was in place, worked and was fully stocked so that each contestant had an equally fair chance.

Normally that meant something simple. Prepared by someone on staff. And it had been that day, as well. For the first six kitchens. The last two hadn’t been ready—some last-minute electrical hookups—and she’d sent her staff on to enjoy their free afternoon and evening.

That was technically the situation. And all true.

But also true was that today she’d needed comfort. And was taking it in the form of chocolate chip cookies.

With one eye on the timer and the rest of her attention on the bowl, Natasha figured she’d finish panning her cookie dough with about ten seconds to spare. More foil was laid out, ready for the cookies coming out. She could see it in her peripheral vision.

Except...something was wrong with the symmetry.

She gave the foil-covered counter a full-on glance.

And noticed a cookie missing from the far corner.

Only one.

Split between two children? Or had Justin glommed it all for himself?

She’d never had a brother. Wasn’t up on little-boy things.

But...she’d known two mothers with sons recently. Contestants on her last two series. And had been drawn to both the mothers and their sons.

Been personally touched by them. By their stories...

Shaking her head, Natasha finished spooning dough. In spite of her hurried efforts, the timer went off before the spoon was sitting in an emptied bowl. But only a second before.

Transitioning trays was easy. Mitts on both hands, one out, one in, close door, set timer. And then, with freshly baked tray still in hand, she faced the counter.

Two cookies were now missing.

* * *

“JUSTIN? TABITHA?” SPENCER hurried from the back door into the yard. He’d been later than he’d expected, coming in from checking on the calf. Fifty percent of calf deaths within the first forty-five days of life came from birthing difficulties. Getting enough colostrum from the mother’s milk—which provided the antibodies a calf needed to survive—had to happen within the first twenty-four hours. And Ellie’s calf wasn’t nursing enough. He’d left Bryant tube-feeding her colostrum.

“Justin!” He raised his voice as he ran into the yard. He’d missed the school bus dropping the kids off. They knew to leave their backpacks in the hall and go immediately to Betsy if he wasn’t there.

The backpacks were in the hall. “Tabitha?” He was on his way to the cabin Bryant and Betsy shared, but his number one man had already told him that the kids weren’t there. He’d called Betsy’s cell the second Spencer had noticed the time.

“I’ve been all over the yard.” Betsy ran up to him. “Over to the tree house, and down by the creek.”

“Would you mind going up to the house?” he asked now, his chin tight as he fought back the thread of fear piercing his heart. If something happened to those two... “Just stay there in case they return? Or call or something?”

His kids didn’t have cell phones. But they were going to. Flip phones. With no data capability. Just so they could call him.

“I’m going to check the other barns,” he told her, knowing as he did so that the kids wouldn’t be there. Not together. The barns were off-limits unless they were with Spencer or Bryant, or had permission from one or the other.

Justin might get sidetracked by something and disobey him. Tabitha...never.

There were six big barns within walking distance of the main house. He headed toward the horse barn first. Tabitha wanted her own horse. Bad.

He was going to have to take care of that. Sometime. When she was big enough that the thought of her falling off didn’t choke the breath out of him. She’d asked him again that morning how old she had to be.

He’d given her his standard answer: “Older than you are now.”

Nodding at Will, the twenty-one-year-old who kept up the stables for him and fed the horses Spencer boarded to help make some extra cash, he walked up to the stall Will was mucking out. “You seen the kids?” he asked.

“Nope.” Will kept right on raking. “Not today. But I heard about a foal that’s going to be available for sale,” he said, giving Spencer an over-the-shoulder glance.

“I’m not in the market for a foal.”

“She won’t be ready to ride for at least another year,” Will said.

He had to find his kids. Not talk about horses. “If you see the kids, tell them to get back to the house, pronto,” he said on his way out.

“My grandpa says you were riding by the time you were five!” the young man called.

Spencer ignored him. Because he had his children’s safety on his mind. And because he was not ready to risk Tabitha’s life on a horse. No matter how good a trainer Will Sorrenson might be turning out to be.

The tractor barn was empty of human life. He took a turn from there and, at a jog now, went down the row of cottages—some empty, some occupied—that housed married cowboys. And on to the bunkhouse. Justin had been known to wander in there a time or two, in spite of Spencer’s strict instructions that he not do so.

If he’d taken his sister in there, he was going to get the first hiding of his young life.

The bunkhouse was empty, too. As it should have been. Most of his men were out on the range this week—their absence scheduled purposely to coincide with filming.

And that was when it hit him. He’d told the kids that absolutely, under no circumstances were they to go near the outer barn that had been changed into a television studio for the next six weeks.