The Cowboy's Twins
She was undersensitized.
“Can I ask a personal question?” It was better than stumbling in the dark.
“Yeah. I might not answer.”
“What happened to Justin and Tabitha’s mother?” None of them had mentioned her all day. Even over dinner. They’d laughed and told her about some of their other cookouts. Told her about a time when they’d been having a picnic at a lake on their property—Spencer had inserted that it was just a pond—and Justin, who’d been standing on the shore, had seen a fish and had tried to catch it with his bare hands. He’d fallen into the water instead. It had been only a couple of feet deep, but that was when they’d both had to start swimming lessons. Every day. Until they could each make it across the small lake on their own.
They’d taken several steps since she’d asked her question. He hadn’t responded. As he’d warned he might not.
Her door was in sight. He walked her to the stoop. Waited while she took out her key.
“She left,” he said when she’d opened her mouth to say good-night.
“What? Who?”
“Their mother. They were two. And don’t remember her.”
“She’s never been back? She doesn’t come to see them?”
“Nope.”
She wanted to know why. In the worst way, she wanted to know.
But he wasn’t her friend. Wasn’t even a friendly acquaintance.
So she didn’t ask.
* * *
THE RESTLESSNESS PURSUING Natasha as Spencer walked away might have caught up with her once she was alone inside the cabin, except that her phone rang.
“Do you have any idea how long this stretch is in the dark?” her assistant said in lieu of hello.
“The same sixty miles it is in the daytime, I expect,” she said, grinning. Angela had a cryptic way about her, an almost impenetrable independent shell, but she was as hardworking and loyal as they came.
She was also fabulous at her job.
“It’s really dark.”
“I know. I drove it myself a couple of weeks ago, going the opposite direction.”
“You could have warned me.”
“I believe I did.”
“Yeah, well, you could have made me listen...”
Sitting in the rocker by the unlit fireplace, Natasha relaxed. Really relaxed. This was her life.
Angela was her “people.”
“How were things at the hotel?” she asked, knowing that she and Angela could just as easily have had this conversation in the morning when they met at Natasha’s cabin for an early breakfast. She’d invited Angela to stay with her. Her stage manager had opted to take a smaller cabin by herself, closer to the crew.
“Good,” she said. “Great, really. All eight contestants were at the cocktail party, and everyone was pumped up for the road trip.” While most of their crew had just gone into the small local town half an hour from the ranch, Angela had driven into Palm Desert. While there, she’d stopped by the hotel that had a contract with Family Secrets for contestant accommodation.
“The bus is confirmed for a nine a.m. pickup, which will have everyone here by eleven. We can give them the abbreviated tour of the ranch and have them on stage inspecting their kitchens by noon. The bus will be bringing the catered lunch. We should be filming segments by twelve thirty and have them out of here no later than two, which will have them back to the hotel around four, giving them a full evening to enjoy Palm Desert.”
They’d made it a condition of the show that contestants’ flights back home had to be Sunday, not Saturday evening as sometimes happened when they filmed in the Palm Desert studio.
They talked a bit more about the logistics of the next day’s events. About the interviews Natasha planned to do that would be a bit different from every other show’s because she wanted to tie the unique ranch setting in to something personal for every contestant. Something to convince viewers to root for each one. That was her job. To draw in the viewers who continued, after five years of watching four five-week segments a year, to make the show such an unexpected success.
Mostly she was talking to keep Angela awake, to keep her company, while she made the seemingly endless trek back across the desert.
She was talking so she didn’t think about being a city girl. About a rancher who didn’t like city girls. About two little motherless kids who’d loved her chocolate chip cookies. About the glob of peanut butter she’d cleaned up off the floor of the stage, and the smears off the counter, when she’d done her final walk-through just before dinner that evening.
Her mind wandered through all of those thoughts, though, as Angela ran through lists they’d both been over already for the first official event in their very first show on the road. Angela listed which crew members would be staying behind at the ranch Saturday night to clean up and ready the set for the first competition the next week.
“You’ve got dinner with Chandler Grey tomorrow night,” her assistant reminded her when they’d exhausted the next day’s details.
She’d shockingly forgotten about the business meal back home in Palm Desert with one of their cable network’s executives.
Her mind appeared to have taken a long trek away from home, out here on the ranch.
“I’m looking forward to it,” she said with real enthusiasm. She’d been away only for a couple of days, but it seemed like weeks. She missed the city. Missed her condominium.
Missed her usual unflappable calm.
“I think he has the hots for you,” Angela was saying now.
“He’s married.”
“Separated. I hear his wife was unfaithful.”
She still wasn’t interested.
“You haven’t been on a date in months.” Angela was really digging deep for conversation now.
While her assistant wasn’t in a committed relationship, either, she went out several times a week. Mostly with the same guy. Natasha’s theory was that if he asked Angela to be exclusive, she would be. If he asked her to marry him, she’d do that, too—not that she volunteered either theory to Angela.
“I’m not the marrying kind, and men my age are looking for commitment.” That wasn’t entirely true. There were plenty of men who were willing just to have fun, but she wasn’t interested in their kind of fun.
The show was her life. It fulfilled her. And made her so happy she didn’t ever even question her personal choices.
She knew what drove her. Knew her goals. She knew who she was. And knew what she could and could not let others expect from her. She knew what promises she could and could not make.
“I know Johnny hurt you, Natasha, but it’s been almost a year...”
Johnny Campbell. Her “Stan.” The man she’d thought would be her companion for life. They were best friends. Good together. Neither of them were interested in cohabitating or giving up their autonomy.
He was a stockbroker, a mover and shaker who worked unending hours. He’d been her stockbroker. Until she found out he’d been stealing from her. Telling her he was investing her money when what he’d been doing was gambling with it.
Thankfully she’d found out during one of his winning streaks and hadn’t lost as much as she might have.
“I’m not still hurting over Johnny,” she said now, a bit surprised to feel how completely true those words were. “I’m open to dating on occasion. I just haven’t met anyone who tempts me to spend time with him more than the show tempts me to spend time with it.”
Also true.
She was thirty-one, not twenty, and knew that her chances of finding a companionship as open-ended as the one she’d shared with Johnny were dwindling.
She just didn’t dwell on the fact. She wasn’t going to let panic or fear for her future change her mind about what she knew she needed in her present.
Like her mother, she was too bossy, too impatient, too strong and independent to be good in a commitment like marriage.
As she sat there, talking Angela all the way back to the ranch, she found peace with her day. Her mother’s breakup with Stan...it was okay. Because her mother was truly okay with it. She’d made the choice that was best for her, the one she could live with, be good at, be happy with. Which made it the right choice.
Whew.
Getting ready for bed an hour later, Natasha was humming to herself. The day had been rough. Touch and go for a second or two there. But she’d made it through.
And was ready to embrace her world in the morning.
* * *
SPENCER WAS UP before dawn. He checked on Ellie. Had a meeting with Bryant to ensure that he had no immediate problems on the ranch. The ranch hands were handling several tasks that day—fixing a fence that was showing wear, checking a couple of cows from the stock herd who were close to calving, seeing to a bull that had been seen limping on one of the camera monitors, receiving a large load of hay that was being shipped...
And Spencer was packing a lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on wheat bread with potato chips and apple slices. As soon as the twins were up, they were heading out for a day of four-wheeling. Spencer driving and the twins strapped in beside him. Far enough away from the compound that Justin couldn’t somehow create havoc among the ranch visitors that day.
He had the TV filming schedule. And though his kids were tired, he kept them off-roading, laughing over dips in hills and taking small mountains like pros, until well after the tour bus had been scheduled to roll off his property with all Family Secrets contestants on board.
Making a mental note to give Bryant the rundown on the state of more fence lines he’d inspected that day, he fed the kids an early dinner and left them with Betsy while he went to check on the rest of the ranch. On Ellie.
Because it was on his property, and ultimately his responsibility, he stopped by the barn-turned-television-set. A handful of crew members remained, busily moving around the stage with clipboards, setting up cameras, working with lighting, cleaning mini-refrigerators in the kitchen.
He didn’t see Natasha, which was fine. He wasn’t looking for her.
The only reason she’d been on his mind all day was the money she was paying him. He needed her contestants able to cook in his barn, her filming to go well and her crew willing to work with what they had and be able to produce the quality show her network and viewers expected out of Family Secrets.
In the end, after collecting the kids and putting them to bed, he headed out to the farthest cabin in the compound. Just to be a good host. And put his mind at ease that all had gone well.
The cabin was completely dark, and Natasha’s SUV was no longer parked beside it. He’d thought she, like her crew, would be spending one more night on the ranch before heading back to the city for the week.
Apparently he’d been wrong.
She’d already left—without bothering to say goodbye.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SPENCER GOT UP Sunday morning with a new lease on life. Natasha Stevens was gone. Her crew would be pulling out sometime that day. He and his family, his people, would have the place to themselves. Business as usual.
Blue skies and sunshine greeted him as he glanced out the kitchen window while whipping up batter for pancakes. Betsy had offered to cook for him and the kids. She’d suggested he hire a girl from town to do so as well when he’d said he couldn’t have his best friend’s wife waiting on him.
He’d conceded only to having someone come in twice a week to clean.
The rest was up to him. His kids were going to be fed and nourished by him—their father. Their parent. Tabitha and Justin were going to have a solid foundation. A sense of who they were, where they’d come from. A sense of home and belonging.
To add icing on that cake, he grabbed a bag of chocolate chips and mixed a pile of them into the pancake batter. The griddle was heating. As soon as the twins appeared, he’d pour the batter—enough for the eight pancakes the griddle would hold.
In the meantime, because it was taking them longer than usual to get down to Sunday breakfast, he grabbed some oranges from the refrigerator—it would be another couple of months before the ones on the tree in the yard were ripe—and juiced enough for three glasses.
Still waiting, he warmed the syrup. Put butter on the table. Three forks. Extra napkins.
Lined up the plates on the counter.
Decided to go ahead and pour the glasses of milk his kids usually drank with their breakfast so they’d have strong bones.
And then he climbed the stairs. They’d taken way too long now, making their beds, getting into their clothes and brushing their teeth. And been too quiet, too.
Justin’s room was first. He wasn’t there. His bed was made. About as sloppily as usual, but made. The bathroom between his room and Tabitha’s was empty, as well. The counter was wet, and there was a glob of toothpaste in the sink.
“Hey, slowpokes, what’s...” His words fell away as he entered Tabitha’s room. Her pink-and-white polka-dot ruffled pillow sham was on top of the pillow. The matching comforter evenly spread over the bed and wrinkle-free. And his daughter was nowhere to be seen.
“Tabitha? Justin?” he called to them as he checked his own room across the hall. He poked his head in the guest room as he ran past, then took the stairs down at a trot.
“Justin?” He always heard them on the stairs.
And had been listening while he prepared breakfast. It was routine. A normal day like every other day.
They weren’t in the family room. Or the living room. Not in his office, where they weren’t allowed to be without him present. Not in the dining room. Or the laundry room.
“Tabitha!” He raised his voice as he exited the house. What was up with his kids? Twice in less than forty-eight hours they’d disappeared. Twice he’d lost them.
It wasn’t like him.
Or them.
“Tabitha! Justin!” he called, heading toward the calf barn while pulling out his phone and dialing Betsy.
People were going to start thinking he was a bad dad or something.
They’d made their beds. Brushed their teeth. There’d been no sign of a struggle. But he hadn’t heard them on the stairs. Or heard them talking, either.
How could that have happened? Unless...he’d been so distracted by thoughts of the woman he’d refused to think about...
Or... Had they been purposefully quiet? It was the only way Justin kept quiet. By trying really, really hard.
Had his kids snuck out on him?
At seven years old?
Taking a quick turn, he headed toward the temporary television studio he wished he’d never agreed to allow on his property. He’d had great plans for the day. More four-wheeling. A visit to the horse barn for Tabitha. Hot dogs on the grill. Maybe some fishing. It all faded away, usurped by punishment.
He didn’t discipline his kids often. Betsy said not enough. He did what he needed to do. As long as they followed his rules, they were allowed to be free thinkers. To develop their own individual personalities.
Until this weekend, the plan had worked. Almost unfailingly. With some Justin exceptions.
It was time to get a dog. An outdoor dog. One that Justin would have to feed. One who would bark in the yard anytime there was movement—as in kid movement. One who would follow the kids wherever they went. One he could whistle for and, by his response, would tell Spencer where his children were.
Scrap the entire rest of the day’s plans. No full day of fun for the kids. They were going into town to get a dog. And then the kids were going to be yard-bound.
They hated that—not being allowed outside the perimeter he’d designated as the yard for punishment purposes.
He could see the activity at the studio before he was close enough to hear distinct voices. No cooking had happened the day before, but for all of the upcoming weeks, prepared dishes would be transported out on the bus with the contestants, along with any perishable pantry food—bound for homeless shelters, Natasha had told him during one of their original interviews.
Whatever else was going on, he didn’t know. He could see big black equipment boxes going out on the buses. Probably because his barn didn’t have the security of a television studio.
What he couldn’t see, as he strode closer, was his children.
Angela, Natasha’s second-in-command, stage manager, assistant and, he’d concluded, friend, met him before he’d reached the studio.
“You need something, cowboy?” she asked with a grin. The woman had a curious, flamboyant style, dressed in clothes that were as tight as they could be, and yet he was comfortable with her. Like, what he saw was what he got. He liked that. And liked that he wasn’t the least bit tempted to get to know her any better.
She also seemed completely unflappable.
“My kids,” he said, continuing toward her.
“Justin and Tabitha?” Her frown slowed his step. “They aren’t here.”
He stopped. “You’re sure?” They’d hidden from Natasha on Friday. But just for a little while.
Justin could be crafty. But he was only seven. And he had a very black-and-white, mind-the-rules Tabitha with him.
“Positive. I’ve done a final check of the space. We’re out of here in the next five minutes.”
Good. He needed his life back to normal. But...
“Well, thank you.” He smiled. And then, because he wanted to know how long he got to enjoy his freedom from invasion, he asked, “When will you and Natasha be back?”
“I’ll be here Thursday,” she said. “With the crew.”
Yes, that was what he’d meant. Just because the boss lady had been there first this past week didn’t mean she would be again.
“...I’m not sure when Natasha’s going to be here,” Angela was saying. “My guess would be Friday. She’ll want to check things over before Saturday’s show. I’ll ask her and give you a call.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I figured you’d want to know for whoever’s cleaning her cabin...” He didn’t like the quirk of Angela’s head, the way she was studying him.
“It’ll be done Wednesday,” he told her, backing up. His cleaning lady was handling it all for him. And he had to find his kids.
“Well, I’ll let you know when her plans—”
Shaking his head, he said, “Don’t worry about it. I have to find my kids. Have a good trip back.” And he was around the corner, out of her sight.
“Tabitha! Justin!” He jogged. He called. Checked the barns between the studio and the house, intending to head toward the stream by way of the bunkhouse.
“Justin, don’t!” Tabitha’s stern shriek stopped him as he passed the house.
“You know Daddy says you can’t put your dirty finger in the bowl before he cooks.”
They were in the kitchen?
He was inside before his daughter could make another attempt to corral her wayward brother.
Catching Justin in the act.
The boy jerked his hand back and would have splattered breakfast all over the ceramic tile floor except that Spencer, knowing his son well, was there to catch it.
“Go wash up,” he told his son.
“I already washed when I brushed...”
“And you had your finger in pancake batter. Go.” He didn’t raise his voice.
As soon as his son was out of the room, he gave Tabitha a very firm stare. “Where were you?”
She looked away. “I’m right here, Daddy.”
“I went upstairs looking for you.”
That brought her big brown eyes back to him. “We wanted Natasha to have pancakes. Justin says she’s a good cook, and our Sunday pancakes are the best.”
Sunday was always pancake day. Because the kids didn’t have school and he had the time to make them. Because it was a tradition left from his childhood. Because traditions were important.
Sometimes they were everything.
“You went to Natasha’s cabin?” he asked now.
“Yes.” Tabitha nodded. “But she wasn’t home.”
“She left last night.”
“She didn’t tell us ’bye.”
Yes, well, that was for the best. But he wasn’t going to have his kids’ feelings hurt.
“She’s not our friend, Tabitha. When other workers come to the ranch, they don’t tell you goodbye, either.”
“She is, Daddy.”
“Is what? A worker?”
Tabitha’s tangled hair flopped around her shoulders with each vehement shake of her head. “She’s my friend.”
“No, sweetie, she’s just someone who’s working here...”
The shake of her head stopped him. “She is.”
Tabitha was his reasonable child. “Honey, it’s—”
“I know, Daddy. She is. I know ’cause I asked her, and she said yes.”
“You asked if she was your friend?”
“I asked could we be friends.”
His day just shot to Hades. He had no idea how to handle this one.
Because he needed time to figure it out, he changed the subject. “So, you and Justin, you wanted to invite Natasha to breakfast,” he said, his gaze as calculating as he could make it while looking at the cutest thing he’d ever seen on earth.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you come to me about it?”
“You were a little mean to her, Daddy. She’s our friend. If you asked, she mighta’ told you no.”
He was the parent. Disciplining his child. So why did he feel like he’d just been chastised?
“You thought you two would just show up here with her? Without letting me know?”
“No.” Her face solemn, she shook her head again. “We were going to run back fast and tell you before she got here so that you could make enough. Or at least, Justin was going to while I walked with her.”
His little mite thought of everything.
And was going to pose far more of a threat to his peace of mind than her brother ever would.
As though they were done with their conversation, she pulled out her chair and scooted her little body up onto it, her chin still only inches from the table.
He’d been against getting rid of the booster seats, but both kids had insisted when they’d started school that they were too old for boosters.
Spencer spooned batter onto the griddle, realizing too late that he’d turned it off before he’d left the house. He turned it back on, figuring it was good they weren’t going to have a professional chef joining them that morning.
He waited until Justin returned. The boy picked up his glass of juice and took a drink before sitting down.
“So... Tabitha.” He included both of them in his glance. “Did you and your brother purposely keep quiet as you came downstairs this morning?”
She nodded.
“And you snuck out the side door so I wouldn’t hear you leave.” It was off the laundry room. And rarely used.
She nodded again.
“You snuck out behind my back.” He stated the crime in clear terms so they were all on the same page.
This time he received two very solemn nods in reply.
“You know that means you will be punished.”
Tabitha’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away. Justin sighed and looked down at the table.
“We were going to go four-wheeling and fishing today. And visit the horses. Instead, as soon as we get back from town, you will be confined to the yard until bedtime.”
“Why we goin’ into town?” Justin asked, while Tabitha’s lower lip trembled.
“To get a dog. You two aren’t going to be free to roam alone anymore. You’ve betrayed my trust twice in one weekend and...”
“A dog?” Justin’s grin just about split his face.
“A dog!” Tabitha’s squeal might have hurt his ears if he hadn’t loved the happiness it embodied so much.
“Yes, a dog,” he said sternly. A watchdog. To watch his kids.
“Yippee!” Justin jumped up so fast his milk sloshed over the top of his glass.
The boy threw his arms around Spencer’s hips. Tabitha’s were already there. His little girl looked up at him, melting him with those eyes.
“Thank you, Daddy. You know, I really wanted a dog.”
“I wanted one, too,” Justin said. “I always wanted one. Didn’t I, Daddy?”
Spencer hugged his kids. But before he could answer the question, he heard a sizzle from the griddle. Had to tend to the pancakes.