Her Cowboy's Triplets
Sasha Summers
A place to call home…Forever?After a toxic first marriage, India Boone wants a fresh start for her and her son. Returning home, India runs into Brody Wallace, a childhood pal who has always carried a torch for her. Brody’s thrilled the attraction seems mutual, but can make India stay for good?
A PLACE TO CALL HOME
Recovering from a toxic first marriage, single mom India Boone wants nothing more than a fresh start for her and her five-year-old son. Coming home to Ft. Kyle, Texas, was only supposed to be a stepping-stone along the way. But then India runs into the man who’s always been her rock, childhood pal Brody Wallace, and suddenly she’s not so eager to leave.
Having carried a torch for India since grade school, Brody’s thrilled the attraction finally seems mutual—except India’s still got one foot out the door. As much as it kills him, with precocious triplet daughters to worry about, he needs more than a no-strings fling. But how can he make India see that the home she’s looking for is right under her nose?
SASHA SUMMERS grew up surrounded by books. Her passions have always been storytelling, romance and travel—passions she’s used to write more than twenty romance novels and novellas. Now a bestselling and award-winning author, Sasha continues to fall a little in love with each hero she writes, from easy-on-the-eyes cowboys and sexy alpha-male werewolves to heroes of truly mythic proportions. She believes that everyone should have their happily-ever-after—in fiction and real life.
Sasha lives in the suburbs of Texas Hill Country with her amazing family and her beloved grumpy cat, Gerard, The Feline Overlord. She looks forward to hearing from fans and hopes you’ll visit her online: on Facebook at Sasha Summers Author (https://www.facebook.com/Sasha-Summers-Author-213036208773108/), on Twitter, @sashawrites (https://twitter.com/sashawrites), or email her at sashasummersauthor@gmail.com
Also by Sasha Summers (#u721228e6-66c1-5699-a81c-9e1c7d2cd399)
The Boones of Texas
A Cowboy’s Christmas Reunion
Twins for the Rebel Cowboy
Courted by the Cowboy
A Cowboy to Call Daddy
A Son for the Cowboy
Cowboy Lullaby
Seducing the Best Man
Christmas in His Bed
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Her Cowboy’s Triplets
Sasha Summers
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07769-9
HER COWBOY’S TRIPLETS
© 2018 Sasha Best
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Suellen Foxhall.
Your love of life and joyful spirit were gifts to all who knew you.
Contents
Cover (#u1410db2b-179b-58f1-8c9e-4c6a8b8c6e38)
Back Cover Text (#u69e8e6aa-bece-5d7a-90b3-ba0bede28e0b)
About the Author (#u85d57fc7-a6fc-5f99-9c08-60bfd5f061e3)
Booklist (#ue83e8f4b-b03a-505e-a839-7ec673ac2e17)
Title Page (#ub6b9a2e7-1a3c-5946-a948-b8ba248b7bcb)
Copyright (#u14560334-bcba-53e8-b816-69539200d5f6)
Dedication (#u309c778a-f989-5279-bdee-996144b15433)
Chapter One (#uf47e2f2a-8fde-5c0f-bb6a-954824bbb910)
Chapter Two (#u6f1ee07e-e7f4-5917-ad40-a6ed851072eb)
Chapter Three (#u66d9427b-972a-5d61-a932-3851fb043a52)
Chapter Four (#u3eb3581f-b116-5b3d-b4f4-49959bb43551)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u721228e6-66c1-5699-a81c-9e1c7d2cd399)
India Boone pushed her glasses into place and shoved another pencil into the top-knot of curls atop her head. “Work. Please work.” She typed in the code again, pressed Enter and held her breath. The same error box popped up on the computer screen. India covered her face with her hands and bit back a string of curses.
“Mom?” her five-year-old son, Cal, and his dog, Tanner, peered over the edge of the desk. “How many years before the Indians got here did the dinosaurs go extinct? Was it fifty-five or sixty-five millions years?”
She grinned at them, her frustration momentarily forgotten. How could she stay frustrated in the face of such adorableness? Most five-year-olds wouldn’t think about these things, but Cal was anything but normal. He was gifted and talented—something his old private school in Dallas was thrilled about. According to them, he was very gifted. Not that she’d needed anyone to tell her that.
“I’m not sure Cal. A long, long time. But if you want a firm answer we can go to the fort later on and ask Ada.” If the internet was working, she could answer the question in no time. But that was the problem. Her computer skills were solid—once internet service was set up. She skimmed the software manual again, hoping she’d missed something.
“Ada knows everything about Fort Kyle, doesn’t she?” Cal asked.
“Pretty much.” India nodded. “Too bad she doesn’t know everything about installing software.”
“Take a break? Maybe it’ll come to you after?” Cal suggested.
She smiled at him, rubbed behind Tanner’s soft ear and took off her glasses, tucking them into their case. “A break, huh?” she asked, tugging the pencils free from her hair and rubbing the back of her head.
“Sara said the Soda Shop is almost out of peach ice cream for the year,” Cal said, grinning. “That’s your favorite, isn’t it?”
“You know it is.” And it sounded delicious.
He stood, tucking his favorite plesiosaur dinosaur into his pocket. “Let’s go get some. Come on, Mom, you deserve it.”
“You’re allergic to peaches. What about you?” she asked, knowing exactly what he wanted. Something chocolate. Cal was all about the chocolate.
“Yeah, but...” He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, rocking on his boots. “I’m not allergic to chocolate. Or ice cream. Or brownies.”
Tanner stood, tail wagging, his golden gaze bouncing between them. The Belgian Malinois came around, pushing his broad head under her hand and leaning into her until she scratched behind his floppy, dark ear.
“See, even Tanner needs a break,” he tacked on.
She giggled, loving the smile on her son’s face. “You’re willing to suffer through a brownie sundae for me?”
“Sure.” He laughed. “You did work at the school lots this week. Now you’re helping Gramma and Papa.”
That was her—a jack-of-all-trades. Finding steady, good-paying work in a town the size of Fort Kyle was near impossible. Instead, she took what she could. Including installing internet and new inventory and accounting software for her parents’ antiques shop, along with substitute teaching and filling in at her parents’ dude ranch when they were shorthanded.
“It’s the weekend, Mom,” Cal added.
She’d come into the shop on her Sunday afternoon because it was closed. Meaning her father wasn’t around to stop her from dragging their business into the twenty-first century. His insistence on using paper ledgers and calculators took twice as long, and other than being inefficient and exhausting, the system was prone to errors. Her father would use the computer’s noncooperation as proof that relying on a “box full of wires” was “the stupidest idea” she’d ever had.
“A break it is.” She pushed out of the wobbly office chair and flipped off the office lamp. If nothing else, Cal’s patience deserved ice cream.
Cal led her to the front door of the antiques shop, Tanner trailing after them. “Did you know Gramma brought over another box of stuff from the big house?” He held the door open for her.
“She did?” She pulled the shop door shut and locked it. “I haven’t seen it or inventoried anything new.”
“And Papa snuck in two more when Gramma was talking to that loud lady from Nebraska.” He grinned up at her. “Hope Gramma doesn’t notice anything missing this time.”
“Let’s hope not.”
There was no denying her parents had too many things. Her mother’s penchant for collecting bordered on hoarding. The ranch house attic was packed tight, the closets were overflowing and their storage shed was a virtual museum of unique and fascinating items. Items her mother treasured. Items her father was determined to sell and make a tidy profit from.
When he’d tried to sneak things from the house into the shop, he’d gotten caught. Her mother hadn’t talked to her father for two days, which was torture for him. Woodrow Boone had one weakness: his wife. Apologies, flowers and chocolates, whatever made her happy, he did it.
But Woodrow Boone also never gave up—the man had a stubborn streak a mile wide. Within a few weeks, he’d managed the feat again, but this time he was smart enough to pick things from buried trunks and the back of closets. So far her mother had yet to miss any of it.
Her parents’ relationship was a mystery to her, but it had lasted for thirty-six years. Her marriage had barely lasted three years. Her divorce had left wounds so deep there was still some healing to do.
“Sky is pink.” Cal pointed at the horizon. A pink sunset and wafer-thin clouds greeted the eye. The West Texas breeze held the promise of fall. She leaned against the wood railing, letting the familiar sights and sounds of the small town ease the stress from her shoulders. The town was proof positive that the Old West wasn’t just the stuff of John Wayne movies. She and Cal were living it.
For a few more months.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” he asked.
“It is.” She lingered, appreciating the rugged beauty of the place where she’d grown up. When she’d been in Dallas, she’d missed Fort Kyle. Missed her sweet sister, Scarlett, and her mother’s smile. But now that she was here, she was reminded of the reason she left every time she looked at her father. He wore his disappointment for everyone to see. Failed marriage, flunked out of school and a son who was more interested in books than ranching—she was an all-around embarrassment to the Boone name. She’d come home because she wouldn’t let her pride keep Cal hungry. She shoved thoughts of her past and her father aside and opened the door of the Soda Shop for her son. “Ready for the Monarch Festival? And the cattle drive?”
Cal nodded. “Think Papa will let me ride a real horse? On my own?”
India wrinkled her nose. “We’ll see, Cal.” But she knew the answer. Her father wouldn’t spend the time teaching his grandson how to ride, even though it was tradition for Boone men. Cal hadn’t grown up on the ranch. He’d grown up in Dallas, a city boy with little time in the saddle. Like her ex-husband.
Cal’s father always said Fort Kyle was too remote and too backwater for a man like him. But India knew the truth. He’d never been welcome in her hometown. She’d met Jim Thomas Cleburne—JT to his friends—while away at college and had gotten so swept up in their relationship, she’d eventually dropped out of school. Marrying into the wealthy Boone family had suited JT just fine, but not her father. Woodrow Boone pegged JT as bad news from the first time she’d brought him home to the ranch on a school holiday, and he’d done his best to drive the man away while they were dating. India had been too outraged by her father’s meddling and harsh treatment of JT to consider he might be right.
As a self-described man of high ideals, JT liked the idea of success—but not the work. A pattern developed. JT chased after the latest get-rich scheme to wealth only to take his disappointment out on her when it all fell apart—and she had the scars to prove it. When he’d finally left, she’d been physically bruised and emotionally damaged, with a pile of debt and a vague assurance that he’d found a sure thing.
That was three years ago. Three years with no letters, phone calls or birthday or Christmas cards, which suited India just fine.
India and her son each took a seat on the bar stools lining the service counter.
“Hey, Cal. Hey, Miss India. What’ll it be?” Sara asked from her spot behind the counter.
Cal grinned at the teenager, the shop’s namesake. “You don’t know?”
She tapped her chin with a finger. “Let me think. Hmm, a hot-fudge brownie sundae?” she asked, smiling. “And some water for Tanner?”
Tanner’s ear perked up at his name, but he stayed seated at India’s feet—on his best behavior.
Cal nodded, tipping his straw cowboy hat back. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Hats off inside, Cal,” India whispered, pleased when he did as she said.
“What would you like, Miss India?” Sara asked.
“A single scoop of peach ice cream in a sugar cone.” Brody Wallace’s voice rang out, the slight gravel a pleasant surprise. He was the last person she’d expected to find sitting on the bar stool beside Cal. But there he was, all tawny eyes and red-gold hair, broad shoulders—broader and bigger than she remembered. But then, it had been years since she’d seen him last. “If I remember correctly?” He grinned, his brows rising in question.
India stared at him, stunned. By his transformation. And his presence. It was so good to see him. “Brody?” She hopped off her stool, hesitating seconds before wrapping her arms around his neck. “It’s so good to see you. It’s been too long. When did you get back in town? You visiting? Is your dad okay?”
He pulled back, his eyes crinkling from his grin. “Hold on, now. I’ll pick one. My dad’s fine. Ornery as ever, but fine.” His gaze explored her face, his smile never wavering. “You look good, Goldilocks.”
His nickname for her made her hug him again. Brody Wallace had been her very best friend in the world. Having the comfort of his arms around her now reminded her just how much she’d missed him. He’d been her shoulder through thick and thin, her confidant and her adviser. The last few years, when things had been so damn hard, she’d thought about reaching out to him. But calling him after all this time had seemed wrong—selfish.
“You okay?” he whispered.
She nodded, forcing herself to step back. “It’s just so good to see you.”
His eyes narrowed just a hint, stared a little too hard. “You, too.”
“Mom?” India felt Cal’s tug on her arm. “Goldilocks?”
She stepped back then, sliding an arm around her son. “Cal, this is Brody. He was my best friend growing up here.” She squeezed her son’s shoulder. “Brody, this is my son, Cal.”
Brody held his hand out. “Nice to meet you, Cal. And who’s this?” he asked, nodding at Tanner.
“That’s Tanner.” Cal shook his hand. “You got Mom’s order right.”
Brody nodded. “Thought so. Her love for peach ice cream was unrivaled by just about anything.”
Cal smiled.
“You want something?” Sara asked him.
Brody sighed, staring at the old-fashioned chalk menu.
“A root beer float,” India said. “With chocolate ice cream.”
Brody chuckled. “Haven’t had one of those in a long time.”
“Chocolate ice cream?” Cal asked. “Is it good?”
Brody nodded. “Last time I checked, you can’t really go wrong with chocolate.”
Cal nodded slowly. “Can’t argue with that.”
India glanced at Brody. He winked, the slight shake of his head so familiar. He’d always had a ready smile and a big, contagious laugh, and a kind word for everyone—and she’d admired him for it. He’d been a refreshing change from the other guys in her life. She and her father had tended to butt heads over every little thing. And the other boys in school were either too full of themselves or too eager to get into her pants to take the time to get to know her.
Of course, things were different now. But she hoped Brody, the man, hadn’t outgrown the generous spirit and easy nature she’d held so dear through school.
His gaze was just as thoughtful, just as warm. Which was nice.
Most of the men in her life stirred up other reactions. More like doubt. Insignificance. Defeat. Not that her father meant to undermine and belittle her. But he was a concrete sort of man. It didn’t matter if you tried, only if you succeeded.
Unlike JT. If JT was upset or disappointed, his words didn’t hurt half as much as his fists. JT had instilled all sorts of cold, hard feelings—fear being right at the top. She hadn’t missed him much the last three years.
“Here ya go,” Sara said, interrupting her thoughts.
Her hand was shaking as she took her ice-cream cone, so bad she almost dropped it.
“Careful, Mom,” Cal said, already scooping into his brownie sundae.
That was the plan. Being careful. As long as she stuck to the plan—save every penny and pass her school counselor certification exam—she and Cal would be on their way to bigger and better things. None of which included staying in Fort Kyle much longer. Until then, she’d be extra careful with her ice cream, her son and her still-battered heart.
* * *
BRODY SHOULD HAVE outgrown staring at India Boone like some lovesick teenager. He was a man now. A man with more than his fair share of responsibilities. Responsibilities that included a curmudgeon of a father, a high-strung high-needs mother, almost three-year-old triplets and one hell of a decision to make. He didn’t have time to sit beside India Boone, sipping on a root beer float. And watching her savor every lick of her ice cream...well, that was downright dangerous. India Boone had always made his brain short-circuit.
Dammit. He was older, wiser and a little harder now. She should know that, respect that. But one of her impish grins had him downright tongue-tied.
“You know anything about dinosaurs?” Cal asked between bites.
He shook his head, studying the boy. Good-looking kid. No surprise considering who the boy’s mother was. “I’m a lawman and a cattleman. Fair to middling on my horse knowledge. But my dinosaur knowledge is rusty.” He nodded at the toy sticking out of the boy’s pants pocket. “That looks like one poking out of your pocket.”
“Plesiosaurus,” India said. “That’s what that one is called. Cal is a dinosaur expert.”
“My daughters are more interested in mermaids than dinosaurs.” Brody nodded. “And fairies.”
India’s brows shot up, her not-so-subtle glance at his left hand making him smile. She hadn’t kept up with him, then.
“What’s her name?” Cal asked. “Your daughter, I mean?”
“I have three.” He smiled. “Suellen, Marilyn and Amberleigh.”
“Three?” India asked. “Wow.”
He chuckled. “That’s about right.”
“Where are they?” Cal asked.
“They’re at the ranch, with my parents. They love Nana and Granddad,” he said.
“Where’s their mom?” Cal’s question was innocent enough.
“She lives in Houston.” Working seventy-hour weeks as the youngest partner at the Law Offices of Hirsch and Martinez. That was who Barbara was. “She’ll be out next month for the girls’ birthday party. But they Skype most nights, so they can see each other.” Barbara worked hard, but she made sure to set aside time just for their girls. And when she visited, she left her work behind.
“Divorced?” Cal asked, waiting for his nod before asking, “Miss her?”
He shrugged. “We’re good friends.” Which was true. He and Barbara might want different things, but they both wanted the best for the girls.
“I don’t see my dad at all anymore,” Cal said. “I don’t mind.”
Brody tried not to look at India. He tried not to react to Cal’s matter-of-fact delivery. It didn’t work. His gaze met India’s—before she turned all of her attention on the remains of her peach ice cream. The look in her eyes made his stomach drop. He didn’t like it.
“How long are you visiting?” India asked him, still focused on her ice-cream cone.
“I’m staying put.” The corner of his mouth cocked up, waiting for her reaction. They’d made a pact, years ago, to get out—and stay out—of Fort Kyle. Now, here they were, eating the same ice creams and sitting on the same stools they’d always frequented.
“I thought you were some fancy lawyer?” she asked, putting her cone in Cal’s empty sundae cup and wiping off her fingers with a napkin.
“I was,” he agreed. “Big cars, fancy house, all the bells and whistles.” He smiled, shaking his head. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
His father’s heart attack hadn’t been unexpected. His dad ate badly, drank too much and refused to exercise. The family doctor had written down a detailed list of the changes he need to make to increase his health and posted it on the refrigerator so there was no confusing things. But had Vic Wallace listened? Hell, no. That man was stubborn as a mule. And twice as crotchety.
Since his mother couldn’t handle her husband on her own and Brody didn’t want the girls raised by a nanny, moving home made sense. Barbara, thankfully, had agreed.
India glanced at him then, her smile back. “You gave that up? And moved back?”
He nodded, wishing her surprise didn’t still make him go soft inside. “You?”
“Mom and I live on Papa and Gramma’s ranch,” Cal offered. “It gets crowded sometimes.”
“I’m working at Antiques and Treasures, doing some substitute teaching—until I can take my school counselor certification test.” She ran a hand over Cal’s close-cropped hair. “It’s all temporary.”
Brody was sad to hear that. And more than a little curious to know what had brought her back here in the first place. Not that he’d ask—not yet.
“You any good with computers?” Cal asked. “Mom’s trying to fix the computer at Gramma’s shop.”
“Oh?” Brody knew a thing or two about computers.
“I’ll figure it out,” India interjected, stubborn as always.
“You always tell me to ask for help,” Cal grumbled. “You’ve been trying and trying—”
“And I’ll get it,” she interrupted, sounding tense.
Brody knew a thing or two about the Boones. India Boone was stubborn as hell—just like her father. Not that he’d dare say such a thing to her.
His cell phone rang, the old-fashioned telephone ringtone echoing in the Soda Shop. “Excuse me,” he said. “Brody Wallace,” he answered.
He saw Cal’s eyes go wide, saw him tugging on his mother’s arm and his frantic whisper into her ear.
“Mr. Wallace, this is Rebecca Grant, your father’s nurse. He’s refusing to do his therapy again. Insurance won’t cover my care if he won’t comply with doctor’s orders.” It was the same song and dance every couple of weeks. And one of the reasons Brody had to stay. His mother would wring her hands, cry and call him anyway. Better to deal with it here, in person, head-on.
“Mrs. Grant, I’ll head that way now.”
“Well, I can’t make him, you know that.” She sounded exhausted.
His father had that effect on people. “No, ma’am, I know you can’t. I’ll do the arguing when I get there. You just stay put, I’m coming.”
“Yes, sir,” she said before the line went dead. He shook his head and shoved his phone into his pocket. “Better head out.”
“Your father?” India asked. “Everything all right?” There was concern in her green-blue eyes.
“He’s fine. Just being pigheaded is all.” He stood. “It was real nice to meet you, Cal.”
Cal frowned at him. “It was?”
Brody nodded. “It was.”
Cal leaned forward. “Aren’t you and Mom supposed to be enemies? You’re a Wallace and she’s a Boone. Everyone in Fort Kyle knows the Wallaces and Boones don’t like each other.”
Brody looked at India. “Is that so?” He’d grown up in the shadow of the feud between India’s father and his own. It was nonsense, really. His uncle had lost his part of the Wallace ranch to Woodrow Boone in a heated poker game. Woodrow won, he had the deed to prove it, but his father had been crying foul ever since. A few public yelling matches, several fistfights and their never-ending smear campaign against one another had turned a fair, if ridiculous, game of poker into a legendary feud.
India rolled her eyes. “Stop, Brody.”
How he loved hearing his name from her lips. “Your papa and my daddy might not get along. But I’ll tell you a secret.” He leaned forward, whispering loudly. “Your mom is one of my favorite people. I never cared much what her last name was.” He paused, glancing at Sara. “But if you’re worried about it, Cal, we can keep this quiet.”
Sara nodded. “I won’t tell a soul.”
Cal nodded, smiling. “Probably best. Papa gets loud when he gets upset. And he gets upset a lot.” Brody exchanged a grin with India. Cal continued. “’Sides, you’re nice. Mom needs nice friends.” He patted his mother’s hand.
Brody glanced at India again, struck by that distant look in her eyes. She was still smiling, but it was taking effort. He just didn’t know why. “I can do that,” he said. “Always liked being Goldilocks’s best friend.” He touched his hat. “I’ll be seeing you around. Bet my girls would love to hear all about the dinosaurs, Cal.”
“I don’t care much for mermaids,” Cal said, looking doubtful.
Brody chuckled. “That’s okay. Me neither.”
“It was so good to see you,” India said. “Really.”
He smiled. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again? Say, Tuesday. The Soda Shop still have a chicken fried steak dinner special on Tuesday, Sara?”
“We sure do,” Sara agreed.
“I might just be here around, say, six o’clock on Tuesday, having one. If you two decide you’re hungry about that time.” He winked at Cal.
Cal smiled. And so did India.
He walked out of the Soda Shop before he did something stupid. Like hug her again. Or ask her to go on a date with him. Or sit there and stare at her...
He was knocked back a few feet, a solid blow to the shoulder catching him by surprise.
“Watch where the hell you’re going—” Woodrow Boone broke off, his eyes narrowing.
“My apologies, Mr. Boone.” Brody touched his hat. “Didn’t see you there.”
The man gave him a slow toe-to-head inspection. “Didn’t see me? How’s that?” He frowned. “Something wrong with your eyes, boy?”
Brody bit back a grin. “No, sir.”
Woodrow Boone grunted and pushed past him into the Soda Shop.
“You have a good day,” Brody called out, not bothering to wait for a response from his father’s self-proclaimed enemy.
Brody climbed into his bright red truck, threw it into Reverse and headed down Fort Kyle’s main drive from town. Miles of dirt roads, cattle guards, cacti and tumbleweeds led him home to Wallace ranch. By the time he’d reached the main house, he’d pushed all thoughts of Woodrow Boone aside. Taking care of his family came first, even if Brody’s father was determined to challenge him.
Chapter Two (#u721228e6-66c1-5699-a81c-9e1c7d2cd399)
“You realize there haven’t been fireworks in two years, Brody?” asked Miss Francis, Fort Kyle’s busybody with a heart of gold who had the scoop on everyone. “And we’re not a stop on the West Texas Rodeo circuit. And the bike race we started a couple years back, to help the fort—it’s all but disappeared.”
There was no denying this was a sad development. Fort Kyle received only so much money from the state, a fact he knew from serving on the fort’s nonprofit board. And losing the rodeo? Rodeo brought in dollars, heads in beds and outside marketing—all good things for a small town off the beaten path. But what the hell was he supposed to do about it? Of all the things to fall on his plate since returning home, Miss Francis had been chosen by some “concerned townsfolk” to convince him he was the town’s best option for the upcoming mayoral election.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested, he was. But taking on a task that big would conflict with his current family responsibilities—and there were lots of those. He needed to remember that. He glanced up from where he squatted at his daughter’s side, tucking Amberleigh’s arm back into her sundress. Amberleigh wasn’t fond of clothes. Or shoes. A fact that kept him and his mother trailing after his little girl.
“We’ve lost the Monarch Festival. Mayor Draper seems to think it’s silly.” The older woman’s sales pitch was interrupted by sweet Marilyn, offering a mud pie with a smile. “Oh, thank you, Marilyn.” Miss Francis, a grandmother many times over, took the small plastic plate covered in mud.
Marilyn’s grin grew. She was pleased as punch—and covered with mud. “Welcome.”
He could imagine his girls chasing after the clouds of monarchs that visited Fort Kyle on their migratory path. The town had always turned their arrival into something special, closing up shops and keeping as many cars off the road as possible to prevent damage to the hundreds of thousands of monarchs. The festival and cattle drive—the short trek from Alpine to Fort Kyle—rounded things out. “How did we lose a festival?” He ran a hand over his face. “Don’t eat the mud, Suellen, sweetie.”
“’Kay, Daddy.” Disappointment lined Suellen’s face. But she put her plastic spoon full of mud and dirt back onto her plate.
“Bet Nana has some cookies,” he offered, reaching for his coffee cup on the porch step. He took a sip, swallowing the now-cold liquid. Cold coffee was the norm. So were piles of laundry, playing pretend and braiding hair. He was an only child, and his mother was just as clueless about little-girl hairstyles as he was. Since tangles were the enemy, learning to braid had been an essential life skill.
How was he supposed to take care of his daughters, his parents, the ranch and Fort Kyle?
Amberleigh was going in circles, trying to pull her arm from her sundress. Lollipop, the white puffball of a dog his wife had given the girls last Christmas, spun along with Amberleigh.
“What’s she got against clothes?” Miss Francis asked.
Brody shook his head and stood. “Don’t know. But that’s the fourth time I’ve put her dress back on this afternoon.”
Miss Francis chuckled. “You don’t say?”
“Water those flowers over there, Suellen. Marilyn, you help.” He smiled at his girls, nodding at the identical watering cans.
Marilyn was sparing with her water, barely letting a few drops out for each plant.
Suellen started at one end of the flower bed and walked along, sprinkling the soil with a steady light shower of cool well water. Lollipop followed along, his little pink tongue searching for water. Suellen giggled, pouring the last of her water on the dog.
Amberleigh walked to one large sunflower and dumped the entire contents of her watering can on the dirt—making a mud puddle. She dropped her watering can and stooped to scoop out the fresh mud.
He sighed. “Don’t dig up Nana’s flower, Amberleigh.”
“You’re quite the multitasker,” Miss Francis teased.
“Not like I have a choice. About my family. But running for mayor? Well, that’s a horse of a different color.” He shot the older woman a look. “Something tells me you’re not going to give up.”
“Why would I give up?” Miss Francis asked. “Fort Kyle needs young blood and fresh ideas, Brody. You want these girls to grow up having the same experiences you did, don’t you?”
Brody shook his head as Amberleigh tugged her dress off and tossed it onto the ground. “I wouldn’t have brought them back otherwise.” He picked up Amberleigh’s dress and followed her across the small fenced yard his mother insisted on keeping green and flowering even when West Texas was fighting drought. “Amberleigh.”
His daughter turned, her huge hazel gaze meeting his. She held her hands up and waited. Even with mud streaked down her arms and across one cheek, she was precious. Each of his girls was unique and special. Amberleigh didn’t talk much, but that didn’t seem to get in her way. He crouched at her side and slid the dress back on. “You don’t like your pretty dress?” he asked. Amberleigh shook her head but kissed his cheek.
He hugged her close, breathing in her baby-shampoo scent. Baby shampoo and dirt. “You go make some mud pies with your sisters. Keep your dress on.”
Amberleigh nodded and joined her sisters by the large planter he kept dirt in just for them. They had shovels and funnels, various-sized cups—anything to keep them occupied for a while. He sighed. His three girls, barefoot, with mud-streaked clothes, and playing with dirt.
Yes, the girls looked like little angels, but they played hard. Chicken chasers. Puppy groomers. Pillow fort builders—and destroyers. And master mud pie bakers. Something his father found highly amusing, and his mother tolerated. As long as he sprayed off the porch and cleaned up when they were done. He didn’t mind—his girls’ happiness made cleanup duty worth it.
“Have you talked to Gabe Chasen over at the Tourism Department?” Miss Francis asked.
Brody nodded. Gabe was worried, like Miss Francis, about their small town. Between the fort, the dude ranches, the observatory and how close they were to the Grand Canyon, they should be seeing more tourism dollars. Things like festivals and special events were necessary. And not happening the last two years.
“You know there’s a problem, then,” Miss Francis pushed.
“I do.” He glanced at the older woman, then the back door of the ranch house. “I don’t see why I’m the one who needs to fix it. Why don’t you run, Miss Francis?”
“Honey, I’m old. And tired. I don’t want to be in charge of everyone else’s business, but I don’t mind getting in the middle of it now and then.” She winked. “You can do this, Brody.”
“Can do what?” His father walked onto the back porch. “Marilyn, that mud’s not for eating.”
Brody pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and headed toward his daughter.
“I’m trying to convince your son to run for mayor, Vic.” Miss Francis put her hands on her hips. “You know as well as I do John Draper needs to step aside, for the good of our town.”
His father grunted. “You thinking about it, Brody? Being mayor?”
Brody considered his father’s questions as he cleaned up Marilyn’s face. “Marilyn, baby, please don’t eat the mud. It’s almost dinnertime and we’ll eat real food. Okay?”
Marilyn nodded, wiping off her tongue. “Nasty mud.” She wrinkled up her little freckle-covered nose.
“Daddy.” Suellen held a long, wriggling earthworm between her fingers. “Look.”
“You found a friend?” he asked. “Might want to let him go home, Suellen. He lives here, taking care of the flowers.”
“He does?” Suellen asked, studying the worm.
“Yes, ma’am. He helps them grow.” He ran his hand over Suellen’s cheek. “Be gentle with him.”
She cradled the worm in both hands then, stooping to carefully place the worm back in the soil Amberleigh had saturated. “Good, Daddy?”
“Perfect, baby.” He smiled, nodded and turned to face his father. “I’ve been thinking about it. Miss Francis hasn’t given me much choice.” He glanced at the grinning older woman. “What do you think, Dad? About me running? I’ve been gone for a while—”
“You’ve always been a Fort Kyle boy, Brody. Even if you did hang your hat in Houston for a while. You came home,” Miss Francis argued.
“Dad?” Brody pushed. If he did this, and it was a big if, he’d want his father’s support.
His father stared at him, considering his words. Which meant he was thinking of the right thing to say. “You want to do it, you should.”
Brody sighed. His father had lumped him into the defector camp the day he’d left for law school. Vic Wallace had money, and his son didn’t need to go off to make more—that was what he’d told Brody anyway. But Brody needed to find his own way, become his own man, and leaving had been the best way for him to do that. He didn’t regret going. Or coming back.
“I’m not sure,” he confessed, glancing at his girls. “Got plenty to keep me busy right now.”
His father snorted. “You think it’ll get easier when you have three teenage girls running around? Live your life, boy. Fort Kyle’d be lucky to have you for mayor.”
The hint of pride in his father’s voice was the best endorsement Brody could ask for.
His father burst out laughing. “Besides, I can’t wait to see Woodrow Boone’s face when a Wallace is mayor.”
And there it was. Brody frowned, his gaze returning to his daughters. He had no expectation when it came to India Boone, he knew better. The bad blood between their fathers was too full of vitriol to allow their long-term secret friendship to become public. Or for India to ever discover how deeply he’d loved her for the past fourteen years.
* * *
INDIA SAT AT the table in the back corner of Fort Kyle’s small library. Her textbooks, notes and laptop covered the table, along with an array of highlighters, pens and pencils. She’d been reviewing her best practices for school counseling prevention and intervention for the last two hours, and her head was starting to spin.
She had five weeks until her test. Once she passed, she could apply for a full-time counseling position—which she was more likely to find in the city. She’d never be rich, but she and Cal wouldn’t have to stay here, being a burden to her father. That was what she wanted: choices. For the last few years, her fate had been determined by someone else. From now on, she would be the one to decide her fate. And when she stood on her own two feet, she wanted it to be away from her dad’s judgment and scrutiny. A positive fresh start for her and Cal—in a place where her father’s unwavering disappointment wouldn’t have her questioning her decisions and weighing her down. She could be a better person—a better mother—if she wasn’t living in the shadow of a painful past her father still blamed her for.
“Mom,” Cal said from the beanbag in the corner. “I’m hungry.” Tanner, whom the librarian kindly turned a blind eye on, sprawled on his patch of carpet, snoring.
She glanced at her watch. “You’re always hungry, Cal.” But it was 6:13 p.m. Dinnertime.
He chuckled. “I’m a growing boy, Mom.”
She glanced at her son, already taller than most boys his age. “Don’t I know it?” JT had been tall. And broad. And strong. All nice traits. Thankfully, that was where the resemblance ended. He’d just turned two when JT left, so Cal had been spared most of his father’s mercurial mood swings. But India remembered things all too clearly. How jealous he’d been about Cal, how frustrated he’d been by their infant son’s tears and how needy the new baby was. Thinking of how he’d yanked Cal from his high chair on one particular occasion still knocked the breath from her lungs. She’d managed to get her baby into the safety of his room and locked him inside before JT turned violent. The marks he’d left on her that night must have scared him, too, because JT had left the next day. The divorce papers she’d received six months later was the last she’d heard of him. She hoped it stayed that way.
“Are we going to the Soda Shop?” Cal asked.
She started packing up her things. “For dinner?”
“It’s Tuesday,” he said. “Isn’t it?”
She nodded, powering off her laptop.
“Chicken fried steak. With your...friend?” He glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one was listening.
“Cal.” She giggled, instantly remembering Brody’s offer. “He was kidding.” Surely he had been? Besides, she wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Not because of their fathers or their ridiculous feud, but because she needed to stay strong—without leaning on Brody’s broad shoulders. “Do you want chicken fried steak?” she asked, zipping up her backpack.
He shrugged. “I don’t want brisket.” Which was standard Tuesday fare at her parents’ dude ranch.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She glanced at her watch again. It was after six. Chances were, he’d eaten and left. If he’d even shown up. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“Come on, boy,” Cal said, patting his side. Tanner hopped up, instantly ready to go.
They strolled down the stone sidewalk. The walk from the library to the Soda Shop was short—nothing was far in town. They said hello to their neighbors, watched the storefronts closing up and crossed the street to get to the Soda Shop. She ignored the sudden onset of nerves that gripped her as she pushed through the door. It was just Brody, after all.
“Maybe he didn’t come,” Cal said, glancing around the restaurant.
“We can still have dinner.” She nudged him, smiling. “Even if it’s just me.”
He smiled up at her. “I don’t mind.”
“Miss Boone,” Sara greeted them from the bar. “You two here for dinner? Pick a table and I’ll bring you some menus. I might even have a bone or two for Tanner.”
Cal waved at the teenager. “Thanks, Sara. Let’s get a booth, Mom.” He led her to a booth on the far side of the restaurant. Tanner sat at the end of the table, staring at them. “Sara’s checking on something special, boy.”
They were just seated when a little girl came walking down the hall. Her long strawberry blond pigtails bounced above her shoulders. She had pink embroidered jean shorts on. But she was wearing no shoes.
“Amberleigh,” a voice called after her. “Shoes.”
The little girl stopped, sighed and walked back down the hallway.
“You think she’s lost?” Cal asked.
India grinned. She had a pretty good idea whom the little girl belonged to. Besides the little girl’s red-gold curls, India recognized the man’s voice. That precious barefoot toddler had to belong to Brody Wallace. Which meant he was here.
A few seconds later, Brody appeared—followed by three absolutely adorable little girls.
He stopped when he saw her, smiling widely at her quick back-and-forth inspection of his daughters. “Yep, they’re mine,” he said.
“I can see that,” she returned, marveling how similar they were. Similar, but not identical. “Wow. I mean, really, wow.”
He nodded. “Yep. India, Cal, these are my girls. This is Marilyn.”
Marilyn wore a headband and had a light dusting of freckles and a quick smile.
“And Suellen,” he said, patting his other daughter’s shoulder.
Suellen’s hair curled up tight, two tiny bows—one on each side of her head—and a dimple in her left cheek.
“And Amberleigh,” he finished.
Amberleigh had lopsided pigtails, lots of freckles and a slow, shy smile. She’d been the shoeless one.
“It’s nice to meet you,” India said. Brody had kids. Three girls. Would they ever know how lucky they were to have him for a father?
“Your dog?” Marilyn asked, pointing at Tanner.
“He’s big,” Suellen said, hiding behind Brody’s leg.
“This is Tanner,” Cal said. “He’s a real good dog.”
But the two little girls didn’t look convinced. Only Amberleigh approached Tanner, smiling as the dog sniffed her all over before licking her cheek. Amberleigh giggled.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” Brody said, one brow arching and the corner of his mouth kicking up. Almost embarrassed.
“You asked us,” Cal said, matter-of-fact.
“Daddy,” Marilyn spoke up. “Color?”
“You sure can, darlin’.” Brody pulled back a chair at a table next to their booth. “Climb on up and we’ll get you girls situated. Thing is, my folks decided to invite themselves. I imagine they’ll be along shortly.”
Meaning she and Cal would not be enjoying the pleasure of Brody’s adorable girls for dinner. Not unless Vic Wallace had decided to stop blaming her father for stealing his family’s land. As ridiculous as the feud was, she didn’t deny that the insult to her father—and her family name—stung.
“That’s nice,” India said, watching as Brody pulled coloring books and crayons from his beaten leather messenger bag.
Brody made a face. “I guess.”
She giggled.
“Fairies? Mermaids?” Cal frowned at the girls’ coloring books. “And dragons.” His disapproval lessened. “Who likes dragons?”
“Amberleigh,” Suellen said. “Dragons. And mud.”
“No clothes. Or shoes,” Marilyn added.
India shot Brody a grin. He shrugged.
“Dragons are cool.” Not that Cal was fully on board.
“Color?” Suellen asked. “There’s a scary fairy picture I don’ wanna color.”
“Scary?” Cal asked, peering at the picture Suellen showed him. “She is mean looking.”
Amberleigh proceeded to make the mean fairy face. Suellen and Marilyn covered their faces with their napkins, but Cal only grinned at the scowling little girl. Which made Amberleigh giggle again.
“That’s twice,” Brody said, smiling at his daughter. “Just about the sweetest sound imaginable.”
The tenderness on his face was too much for her. So she focused on his little girls, diligently coloring, instead. “They’re gorgeous.”
Amberleigh waved Cal forward and patted the chair beside her, holding her coloring book. “Mom?” Cal asked India.
“Amberleigh doesn’t share her coloring book with just anyone,” Brody said.
“Just until we order.” Which probably wasn’t the smartest answer—considering his folks were on the way. But, resisting Amberleigh’s offer was plain wrong. Cal climbed into the chair beside Amberleigh, and conversation came to a stop. All four kids were coloring quietly, happily preoccupied.
Leaving her and Brody, sitting next to her at his table. Her nerves returned. Now they’d have that awkward what-have-you-been-doing-with-your-life conversation she dreaded. She’d gone to school, gotten married, had Cal and divorced. Now she was back home. Not exactly riveting conversation.
Considering they were both back in the place they’d been so determined to leave, it was clear things hadn’t gone according to plan for either of them.
But she had questions for her one-time best friend. Like, what did she do to make you divorce her? India knew without asking that Brody hadn’t done a thing. He was a good guy, always had been—always would be. Even though he was much taller and larger and all man, he had the same kind eyes and warm smile. He was handsome in a way any woman would appreciate. Whoever his ex-wife was, she was an idiot.
“What’s a fancy-pants lawyer like you going to do with all your free time?” she asked, diving in. Had he chosen to leave his high-power, big-money job in Houston, or had something happened that made him leave?
“Well, you’re looking at a good portion of it.” He leaned back, long legs sprawled out in front of him. He sort of spilled out of the wooden chair, too big and broad for it. “The ranch won’t run itself, either. And the grocery and feed stores will need looking in on now and then.” He shrugged, glancing her way, then away.
When they’d been younger, that look meant he was holding out on her. “Why do I get the feeling there’s more?”
He shrugged again, smiling this time.
“As I live and breathe, a Boone and a Wallace sitting down and working together?” Miss Francis’s startled question caught her and Brody by surprise. “I’m all for ending the feud, but you might want to build up to it first. I just saw your folks parking out front, Brody.”
India’s stomach churned with anxiety and frustration. She’d grown up knowing the Wallaces were stubborn, mean-spirited people. But she’d never thought about Brody as one of them. He was just Brody.
“Cal,” she said, calling her son back to their booth—across from Brody and his girls. “We should order. I don’t want you up too late.”
Cal handed Amberleigh the crayon. “I’ll finish next time.” He stepped over Tanner and slid into the booth.
Amberleigh frowned but took the crayon. She slumped in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest and huffed out a big sigh.
India tried her hardest not to laugh.
“India, you don’t have to—”
“She’s still wearing her clothes, Ramona. No need to worry,” Vic Wallace announced as he entered the Soda Shop. “Your mother was fretting the whole ride. Francis, why are you everywhere I look?”
“You’re just lucky, I guess,” Francis answered.
The man had aged. She had few memories of Vic Wallace. When she’d been little, she’d been scared of him. He’d been taller than her father, his fiery red hair making him appear all the more hot-tempered. Her father wasn’t a small man, but something about Mr. Wallace had seemed...looming. And when he got riled up, his red face would rival his red hair. Her father tended to make sure Vic Wallace’s face was blazing red before he walked away.
When Ramona Wallace glanced at their table, India did her best to appear absorbed in her menu. Like Cal. He read well enough for a five-year-old—he wouldn’t need help choosing his dinner. “Not getting the chicken fried steak?” she asked.
“Just seeing what else they have.” He grinned at her. “But I think I’ll go with the steak.”
“Sounds good,” India said.
“Done coloring?” Miss Francis was talking to Amberleigh.
Amberleigh had stopped coloring and was now peeling all the labels from her crayons. A shoe sat on the table, by the little girl’s fork.
“Amberleigh, put your shoe back on, sweetheart.” Mrs. Wallace was embarrassed more than anything.
The little girl picked up her shoe, tried to put it back on, then tossed it in frustration. The white slip-on went flying, landing on the floor in front of Tanner. Tanner sat up, glanced at the shoe, then Cal. It took every ounce of India’s control not to laugh. Brody was fighting the same battle. She saw it in those clear toffee eyes of his.
But the expressions on Ramona’s and Vic Wallace’s faces, on Miss Francis’s, were simply hilarious. She giggled, pressing her napkin to her mouth to stifle it.
Brody, she noticed, was clearing his throat behind her.
Cal studied the shoe, then Amberleigh. He slipped from the booth and picked up her shoe. “Lose your shoe?” he asked.
“She threw it, Cal,” Marilyn offered. “Don’t like them.”
“Hit your dog?” Suellen asked, hiding behind her napkin again.
“Nope. Tanner is fine,” he said, slipping from his seat and walking to Amberleigh. “Want it?”
Amberleigh shook her head, but there were tears in the little girl’s eyes. And India couldn’t stop herself from joining her son. “Want Cal to help you put it on?”
Amberleigh stared at her with wide hazel eyes. India could only imagine what was going on in that little head of hers. “Don’t like ’em,” Amberleigh announced.
“Your shoes?” India asked, taking the shoe from Cal and peering inside. “I had shoes like this when I was little. They pinched and made my toes feel squished.”
Amberleigh watched her closely.
“Is that the problem?” Brody asked. “We can get you new shoes, darlin’.”
Amberleigh shook her head. “Don’t like ’em.”
“Don’t blame you,” Cal said, sounding off. “Barefoot’s always better. Unless you’re working outside.” He placed the shoe back on the table.
Amberleigh smiled at Cal again, offering him more of her newly peeled crayons.
“Not in a restaurant, it’s not,” Vic Wallace said, recovering from his embarrassment to scowl in Cal’s direction.
She stiffened. He could be as rude as he wanted to be to her father—or her. But her son was another matter. She urged Cal back to their table and sat, smiling his way.
“The boy’s trying to help,” Miss Francis said.
“No help needed. She needs to learn to keep her shoes on,” Mr. Wallace grumbled. “It’s ridiculous.”
India watched Amberleigh slump farther down in her seat.
“Vic,” Mrs. Wallace scolded, softly.
“I’m so hungry I could eat a cow,” Brody said, making the girls laugh. “Or a hippopotamus.”
“Or a ephelant?” Marilyn asked.
“Elephant?” Brody nodded.
“Or...or a whale?” Suellen asked.
“Maybe,” Brody agreed, winking at them. “I’ll ask Sara if there’s whale on the menu.”
The three girls “aahed” in unison, their little noses wrinkling up in distaste.
“We should celebrate. Sara, get the little ones here a milk shake,” Mr. Wallace said. “Not every day your son decides to run for mayor. We’ll run a big campaign, plaster the name Wallace all over the place.”
Brody for mayor?
“Might run.” Brody glanced her way.
He’d do a good job—because he was a good man.
“Time to make a decision. There’s not a single reason to stop you, Brody,” his father said.
Brody glanced her way again. “I can think of a few. Besides, I’m not much of politician, Dad. What you see is what you get.”
“That’s why at least half of Fort Kyle wants you, Brody. There’s no one else in these parts with the experience you have.” Miss Francis seemed to be his biggest fan. “You’d do good things. Be fair.”
India agreed, but she didn’t say a word. Brody would make this town proud and make the town a place to be proud of.
“And you’d make your daddy happy.” Miss Francis nudged Vic Wallace in the side, earning a small smile from the man.
India had given up trying to make her father happy—it was impossible. Besides, something this big shouldn’t be about one person. It was a lot to take in, to consider. Especially for a single father of three.
She was a single mother to the smartest, kindest, most patient five-year-old in the universe, and it was tough.
Brody’s sigh drew India’s attention his way. There was a slight furrow on his brow, like he was working through something complicated. Did he want this? If there was one thing the last few years had taught her, it was to follow your instinct.
Clearly, Brody was conflicted. Did he have someone to talk to, to weigh the pros and cons of such a monumental job? Did he have someone special? Or was he lonely, like her?
Her phone alarm jingled, reminding her to pick up milk on the way home and jarring her from thoughts of Brody and his life choices. Brody Wallace was part of her past, not her future. If he was serious about running for mayor, her father would consider that an act of war. Being Brody’s friend—an act of treason.
Chapter Three (#u721228e6-66c1-5699-a81c-9e1c7d2cd399)
Brody rode around the near-dry water tank. The ground wasn’t baked dry enough to crack yet, but it was coming. Texas weather was erratic, arctic cold to blazing heat—in the span of a day. But occasionally they had a nice in-between. Like today. A cooling breeze, bright blue sky and fluffy clouds towering up and casting long, slow-moving shadows on the ground beneath his feet.
“We could use a good rain.” He spoke to his horse, Bear.
The massive buckskin snorted in reply.
He chuckled, tipping his hat forward to shield his gaze from the glare of the sun. He scanned the horizon carefully.
A pack of wild pigs had come through the back property, tearing through the fences and digging ruts to keep cool. Besides being mean-tempered, the animals could cause a hell of a lot of damage to property. The game warden had called and asked him to keep an eye out, but Brody had yet to see them.
A distant whip-poor-will sang out, making Bear’s ears perk up and Brody search the blooming cactus, mesquite and grasses for some sign of the bird. No luck; the bird was camouflaged well.
Out here, things were clear-cut and simple. He could whittle through what he wanted and what he needed and envision what his future could be. A future that included things like happy daughters, healthy parents and a loving woman at his side.
He knew who he wanted that woman to be. But, even out here, he had no idea how to make that work.
She was beautiful. But the world knew that. Head cheerleader, prom queen and Miss Fort Kyle Cattle Queen four years in a row. The girls liked her. And the boys lined up to date her. He’d grown up seeing her for who she was—an awkward lonely girl who’d just wanted to be one of the crowd. Not looked up to or fawned over, but accepted.
His mission was to be that person for her. It hadn’t happened overnight. Hell, it probably wouldn’t have happened at all if her father hadn’t made him off-limits. Nothing spurs a teenage girl into action like her father’s disapproval. Surprisingly, their friendship had become important to both of them. But what had started out as friendship turned into something more for him, something he’d never been able to shake, something India never knew about.
When she’d headed to Texas Women’s University in Dallas, he’d headed for University of Texas in Austin. The distance had changed things.
College, law school, Barbara, his career and the girls. Life had kept him too busy to think much beyond what was right in front of him. When he’d decided to bring the girls here, he’d made the choice to make time for the things that mattered. Like his girls. His parents.
And now, maybe, India.
He and Bear headed back to the ranch and straight for the barn. He stored his saddle and bridle, brushed Bear’s coat and made sure to clean out his hooves before turning the horse into the large pasture behind the barn.
“How’s it look?” His father joined him at the fence. “They’re saying we might get a shower or two end of the week. That’d help.”
Brody nodded, inspecting the sky. “Depends. We need a good soaking, not a flash flood.”
“I’ll take what I get, son.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Water’s water.”
Which was true, but a hard, fast rain eroded just as much as drought. “The well looks good. If the tank dries out, we’ll fill the troughs. We’ll be fine. Like always.”
His father nodded. “Chance of heading into town? Your mother got a package needs to be picked up. Maybe stop in, check on Willie, see how he’s running the store.” His father leaned against the fence, doing his best to act casual.
“Can do,” he agreed. On top of the ranch, the Wallaces owned the local grocery store and feed store. Both were successful, thriving businesses his father oversaw personally. But now, with his health, it was too much. His father had a hard time asking for help—that was one of the reasons he’d come home. If his father wanted something done, and he often had a roundabout way of asking, Brody would do it.
“Give Mom a hand with the girls?”
The older man nodded. “Can do. Maybe check in at the bakery, see if they’ve got some of that peach cobbler for dessert. Don’t tell your mother, though.”
Brody chuckled. “Can do.” His mother wasn’t much of a baker, but neither of them would ever say as much.
He walked his father back to the house, kissed the girls on the head and headed into town with a grocery list from his mother—and Amberleigh. By the time they’d reached Wallace Family Grocery, Amberleigh had tugged off her boots and her socks. But she was happy, her little feet bouncing along with the George Strait songs coming through his radio.
“Shopping for Nana?” Amberleigh asked when they’d parked in front of the grocery store.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, carrying her inside. “Wanna ride?”
She nodded, sliding her legs through the grocery cart opening. “Go fast, Daddy.”
He grinned, pushing the cart down the aisle at a slow jog. Amberleigh squealed with glee, her little eyes shut and her head tilted back. Until they rounded a corner and came to a screeching halt a few feet from an old woman pushing her cart.
The old woman scowled and kept on going, moving at a snail’s pace.
“That was some look,” he said to Amberleigh. “Think we’re in trouble?”
Amberleigh nodded. “Scary fairy.”
Brody burst out laughing at the comparison of the old lady and the mean fairy in their coloring books. “Pretty close, Amberleigh. Pretty close.”
He stopped in the office, talked to Willie and let Amberleigh ride on the coin-operated horse by the ice-cream section.
“Like Bear, Daddy.” His daughter smiled. “Giddy-up, horsey.”
“Don’t let him get away from you.” He winked at her.
Her hold tightened on her reins. “Whoa.”
“Good job.” He nodded. His father had purchased ponies for the girls, but only Amberleigh had been interested. Marilyn had refused. Suellen was more interested in petting it and sneaking the pony carrots and apples. He knew they were fraternal triplets, but he’d never expected the girls to be so different.
Not that he’d have it any other way.
“All done.” She reached for him, laughing when he swung her around and deposited her back into the cart.
“Time to get some shopping done.” He set off again.
He turned shopping into a game, sneaking around corners and dodging all the other carts. All it took was his daughter’s laugh to keep him going. He figured her sisters talked so much Amberleigh didn’t feel the need to join in. Hearing her talk was a rare treat.
They loaded the groceries into the truck. But the sight of India disappearing inside Antiques and Treasures made him pause.
* * *
INDIA HIT ENTER on the computer keyboard. Nothing. The prompt popped up again, so she reentered the access code—rechecking each keystroke before moving on. If it took the entire hour she had before Cal got out of school, so be it. She could do this. She would do it. She hit Enter again.
“Come on,” she said, frowning at the computer screen. “Please.”
“Pretty sure manners won’t make much of a difference,” Brody said from the doorway, startling her so that she knocked her bottle of water from the desk and into her lap. “Damn, India, I’m so sorry.” He was across the room in an instant, offering his handkerchief.
“It was an accident,” she said, pushing out of her chair. “There wasn’t much left anyway. It was...refreshing. And cold.”
He shook his head, eyeing her pants.
“It’s okay,” she assured him, resting her hand on his arm. “It’s water. Not a national security crisis. Or a stupid software problem.”
His hand covered hers. “I might be able to help with the computer. Make up for dousing you with cold water?”
His hand was warm. His arm was warm. Even the look in his tawny gaze was warm. And it washed over her, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. A peculiar tightening settled deep in her stomach.
“Will it get me out of the doghouse?” he asked.
She swallowed. “If you’re offering to help me not throw this piece of junk into the trash, I’m not going to complain about getting a little water on my pants.” She glanced down at her pants. “Okay, more than a little water.”
Brody chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
India wasn’t sure what was happening, but it was good. All the warmth and the touching and the smiling... She should let go of him.
“Let me see what I can do,” he offered, moving toward the computer—and taking his warmth with him.
This was weird. Brody was, had been, her friend. She’d never stared at his broad shoulders before. Or, when he climbed under her desk, his rear. But now, India was completely distracted by pretty much everything about Brody. It was unnerving as hell. But not necessarily bad.
“Looks like the modem was plugged in incorrectly,” he said, sitting back on his knees and inspecting the back of the modem.
“Of course it was.” She shook her head. “Please don’t tell me I’ve spent the last week stressing out over nothing.”
He grinned up at her. “If it was stressing you out, it was something.” He’d always been good at that—making things better. “Let’s try it now.” He tucked the modem back into place, then sat in her chair. “Aw, shit.”
She covered her mouth, laughing at the wet spot soaking the back of his pants. And his mighty-fine rear. “Um, it might still be a little wet.”
He cocked a brow. “Thanks.” With a shake of his head, he sat and focused on the task at hand. His expression changed, eyes narrowing, lips quirked, his jaw going rigid as he plugged in the codes. With a few more clicks, the screen turned blue and the welcome popped up. “Looks like it took.”
“That was it? A plug? Really?” She glanced back and forth between him and the computer screen. “I don’t know whether to hug you or hit you.”
He stood. “I’d prefer a hug. A hug is the better choice.”
She laughed, hugging him before she had time to think it through. “Thank you, Brody. You have no idea how frustrated I’ve been.”
His arms were strong and secure around her. “Life’s too short to sweat the small stuff.”
She nodded, far too content to stay in his arms. “You were right,” she whispered, trying not to burrow closer. It was hard.
“About not sweating the small stuff?” he asked. “Can’t take the credit. It’s one of those inspirational quote-of-the-day things.”
“Not that.” She laughed again. “About the hug.”
“Oh.” His arms tightened. “That. Yeah, I’m enjoying it. You always gave good hugs.”
She gave up the fight and burrowed closer. “I was going to say the same thing.” The problem was she didn’t want to let go.
“You okay, Goldilocks?” he asked, his voice close to her ear.
“Of course.” Was she? She was trying to be. Maybe her hold on him was a little too tight, a little too needy, to be convincing.
“I think we should load up the truck and head out to the ridge—like we used to,” he said. “A little stargazing and solving the world’s problems.” His breath brushed her ear.
“Think it’ll work?” she asked.
“Might be worth a try.” His hand stroked her back.
Except they were no longer teenagers. They were adults. Parents. With very different goals. Hers was to get out of Fort Kyle. His was to become mayor.
“Um, hi.” India’s sister, Scarlett, stood awkwardly in the doorway, Amberleigh in her arms. “She was looking for her daddy.”
India stiffened. At least it was Scarlett. She wouldn’t say a word to anyone—not that there was anything to tell.
“You need to get a doorbell or something,” Brody said, letting go of India. “Or someone could sneak up on you and scare you.”
India laughed in spite of herself.
“We didn’t mean to scare you, did we?” Scarlett asked Amberleigh.
Amberleigh shook her head. “Brought cookies, Daddy.”
“Thank you, darlin’.” Brody crossed the room to his daughter.
India watched as he stooped, taking the cookie his little girl held up. Maybe his hug had reinforced just how lonely she was. Maybe it was because Brody was synonymous with comfort and security. Or maybe it was because he was incredibly attractive. It was probably a combination. Whatever the reason, she couldn’t shake this new awareness of Brody.
“Share, Daddy,” the little girl said. “Manners.”
Brody broke the cookie evenly, offering India half.
The brush of his fingers against hers was far too potent for her liking. “That’s right, Amberleigh. Manners are important,” India agreed.
Amberleigh smiled. “Where’s Cal?”
“He’s still at school.” She grinned.
Amberleigh nodded.
“In a few years, you’ll be at school, too,” Scarlett said. “You’ll see Cal all the time. And bunches of other kids.”
Amberleigh perked up.
She’d have to talk to Brody about the half-day pre-K program the school offered. Amberleigh was smart and busy and ready for more social interaction. “Lose your shoes again?” India asked, smiling at the little girl.
Amberleigh shook her head. “Daddy’s truck.”
“I pick my battles,” Brody said, winking at her.
India tried not to stare.
But Brody’s gaze held hers, and his jaw tightened.
“Want me to go put Amberleigh in the truck?” Scarlett asked. “Or wait outside?”
Heat singed her chest, up her neck and cheeks. “He fixed my computer.”
“After I spilled water all over her,” he interjected.
“The hug was a...thank-you?” Scarlett didn’t buy it. But she smiled. “That’s all?”
“What else would it be?” Brody asked. “I’ve got too much sense to fall for a woman who has no intention of staying put.” He scooped up Amberleigh. “We’d better head out soon or your grandparents will run for the hills.”
“Thank you, Brody,” India said, waving them off.
Scarlett waited until they’d gone before turning a wide-eyed gaze her way. “You know, Fort Kyle is a good place, India. I’d love it if you stayed. So would Mom. I know you and Dad don’t always see eye-to-eye, but that won’t change whether you stay here or go. Don’t let him steal your chance at a very good thing.” She pointed out the large window at Brody and Amberleigh. “That right there is a very good thing.”
India watched Brody pack his little girl into his truck, her sister’s words more tempting than they should’ve been.
Chapter Four (#u721228e6-66c1-5699-a81c-9e1c7d2cd399)
“What in tarnation is happening to this town?” her father asked, slamming the newspaper down on the breakfast table hard enough to make the glasses shudder and the cutlery clink.
“What’s the matter, dear?” her mother asked, unruffled by his outburst.
“That boy, that Wallace boy, is running for mayor? There’s an official press release,” he thundered. “What is he thinking? Why, he hasn’t even been in Fort Kyle long enough to run, has he?”
He’d done it. Brody Wallace was officially running for mayor of Fort Kyle. And, after spending the last few months listening to her father hem and haw over the current mayor, he stood a very good chance of winning. Even with the last name Wallace. India caught Cal’s eye. He winked at her, chewing his pancakes with enthusiasm.
“He’s a lawyer, isn’t he?” Scarlett asked. “He’s really nice, Dad—”
“Really nice?” her father interrupted. “A snake in the grass, I’ll bet. Just like his father. Full of venom, too.”
Scarlett glanced at her and tried again. “Click knows him pretty well—”
“Click Hale?” he snapped. “Hmph. I know he up and married your cousin Tandy, but that doesn’t magically erase his past. Makes sense he and the Wallace boy would be friends.”
“Click’s past?” India asked, her patience vanishing. Why she let her father get to her was a mystery she’d yet to solve. She wasn’t normally adversarial. But she and her father couldn’t seem to avoid ending every conversation with an argument. In this case it was justified. Her father was too quick to label and criticize. Now he wanted to judge the sons on the sins of their fathers. Click. And Brody. “Click Hale never did anything to anyone—except marry Tandy. And I’m pretty sure that was one hundred percent voluntary on both their parts. His parents’ drama shouldn’t be his burden to bear.”
All eyes were on her.
“You turn everything I say into an argument.”
She stared at him. She did?
“When did you get so fond of Click Hale?” her father asked.
“The day he became family,” she countered. “You’re the one who says blood is thicker than water.”
“Let’s try to have a peaceable breakfast,” her mother pleaded. “Cal, would you pass the toast, please?”
Cal nodded, passing the towering plate of toast to the other end of the table.
“Besides, Woodrow, I wouldn’t worry too much about Brody Wallace, dear. Mayor Draper’s done a fine job.” Her mother took a piece of toast. “I’m sure he’s not going anywhere.”
“No, in point of fact, Draper has not.” Her father stared at the newspaper. “The last few years he’s gotten downright lazy, and Fort Kyle’s suffered for it.”
India glanced at her father then, hearing the slight strain to his normally booming voice. He’d never hinted that their financial security was in jeopardy.
“Maybe a change is good?” Scarlett asked.
Her father scowled. “Maybe. If the change wasn’t named Wallace.”
India sighed, loudly, and rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you run, then?”
Her mother made an odd choking noise that had Scarlett patting her on the back.
Her father shook his head. “I’ve no interest in politics. I’m a little too rough around the edges, as you have all pointed out on more than one occasion.”
They all smiled then.
“Should we give him a chance, Papa? Mom says it’s important to give everyone a chance.” Cal shoved a huge bite of pancake into his mouth then.
Her father grunted. “Look how well that turned out when she married—”
“I think that’s a lovely idea,” Scarlett interrupted.
India chose to ignore her father’s reminder that she’d married a man he’d never approved of and moved on. “Does he have a solid platform?”
“He’s got little kids,” Scarlett said. “He’ll be thinking about their future.”
Her father grunted again. “Where’s his wife? A man who can’t commit can’t be trusted.”
“Well, dear?” her mother asked. “What is Mr. Wallace’s campaign platform?”
Her father glared at all of them before opening his paper. “Bringing tourism dollars back to the area, cleaning up and updating the schools and renovating the seniors’ community center with increased programming.” He snorted.
India exchanged a look with her sister and mother.
“Sounds smart,” her mother said. “Something for the young, something for the old and something the whole town needs.”
“He always was smart,” Scarlett said. “And nice.”
“He is,” Cal agreed.
“When did you meet Brody Wallace?” her father asked.
“In the Soda Shop,” Cal answered, his cheeks and ears turning bright red. “He said hi to Mom and me.”
Her father glanced her way. “Don’t go getting friendly with the Wallaces just to spite me.”
India put her napkin on her plate and stood. “Dad, believe it or not, I don’t take joy in getting your blood pressure elevated. I didn’t think exchanging hellos with the man would be a problem. We went to school together, we’re not strangers.” She left it at that. For now. “Cal, you ready for school?”
Cal shoved the last of his pancakes into his mouth and nodded, pushing his chair back.
“Are you working at the school today?” her mother asked.
“No. My test is coming up so I thought I’d head to the library to study. Unless you need me at the shop?” she asked.
“Not this morning.” She paused. “Could you come in after you pick up Cal? Just for a few hours? I need to get my hair touched up.”
With a nod at her mother, a quick hug for her sister and a stilted wave for her father, she and Cal headed out.
“Tanner?” Cal called, smiling as the large dog came barreling around the front porch and jumped into the backseat of the truck.
“Ready to go to town?” she asked, rubbing the dog behind both ears before climbing into the truck.
“Papa was sure in a mood this morning,” Cal said, slamming the truck door behind him.
“The name Wallace has always had that effect on him.” She started the truck, pulled onto the main road and headed into town.
They chatted the rest of the drive. Cal had to make a diorama for school, and he was determined to work a dinosaur into it—one way or another she knew he’d have the most impressive project in class. She pressed a kiss to his cheek as they pulled up in front of the school.
“Be good.” Not that Cal needed reminding. He was, always, good as gold.
He nodded. “You, too, Mom,” he called back to her. “Study hard.”
She watched him hurry inside, pulling forward only when the doors closed behind him. Tanner whimpered, so India patted him on the side. “He’ll be home soon.”
She navigated the quiet streets of Fort Kyle, bought a large coffee at the tiny diner that was open early and headed to the library. The streets were quiet, the sky shot through with a dozen shades of pink and blue, and the air was crisp and cool. She loved mornings like this—in Fort Kyle. The library wasn’t open yet, but Helen Jones, the librarian, would let her in so she had a nice, quiet place to study.
The amount of cars and trucks parked in front of the library was a surprise, but she didn’t let it slow her down. She pushed inside, Tanner at her side, and paused at the table set up right inside the doors. Among the group gathered, she recognized Miss Francis—and the woman waved her over.
“Well, I’ll be,” Miss Francis said. “Don’t tell me you’re here to volunteer for Brody’s race for mayor?”
India shook her head. “N-no. I came to study.”
“Good for you, India. A gal needs to be able to take care of herself these days.”
India nodded. “That’s the plan. And Cal, too.”
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