Cowboy Daddy (4 page)

K
ip pulled off his “town” shirt and tossed it onto his unmade bed. He grabbed the work shirt from the floor where he'd tossed it. He'd been in too much of a rush to clean up before he left for town.

He buttoned up his shirt as he headed down the stairs to where the boys were playing a board game at the kitchen table with his mom.

Isabelle stood at the kitchen sink, washing dishes from lunch, her expression letting him know exactly what she thought of this chore.

“Oh, Gramma, you have to go down the snake,” Justin shouted, waving his arms in the air as if he had won the Stanley Cup.

“Oh dear, here I go,” Kip's mother said, reaching across the board to do as Justin said. “This puts me way behind.”

Kip caught her grimace as she sat back in her wheelchair and wondered again how long it would be before his mother was mobile. Though the kitchen was still clean from Nicole's visit on Saturday, he knew it was simply a matter of time before things slowly deteriorated.

“Isabelle, that laundry that got folded yesterday is still in the laundry basket upstairs,” Kip said.

“Yeah. I know.”

“So what should happen with it?”

Isabelle set a plate on the drying rack with agonizing slowness, punctuated her movement with a sigh, then shrugged. “I guess I should put it away.”

“I guess,” he reiterated.

“I think someone is here,” Tristan said, standing up on his chair.

Kip groaned. Probably Nicole. Well, she'd have to tag along with him. He had promised the boys they could help him fix the tractor. They weren't much help, but they were slowly learning how to read wrench sizes and knew the difference between a Phillips and a flat screwdriver. Plus, it was a way to spend time with them.

“It's Nicole,” Justin yelled, confirming what Kip suspected. “I'm going to go say hi.” He jumped off his chair, Tristan right behind him. The porch door slammed shut behind them, creating a momentary quiet in the home.

His mother turned in her wheelchair, wincing as she did so. “Now that the boys are gone, what did Ron tell you?”

Kip glanced out of the window. Nicole was barely out of her car and the boys were already grabbing her hands. Their hasty switch in allegiances bothered him in a way he didn't want to scrutinize.

Isabelle stopped what she was doing and turned around, listening with avid interest.

“For now we have to allow her visits with the boys,” Kip said, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “He's looking into how legitimate Tricia's will is, but nothing has been settled And…” he hesitated, wondering what his mother would think of this new wrinkle. “She and her father insist on you taking a DNA test.”

His mother frowned. “Is that hard? Do I have to go to the hospital?”

“Apparently there's a test for grandparents. You can order it and then bring the results to a couple of clinics not far away. It's nothing to worry about. Just a formality so we can prove that Scott is as much a parent to the boys as Tricia was.”

Kip stopped there. Until Nicole brought the news she had, Kip hadn't been able to think of Tricia without a surge of anger. She'd left her boys behind. But knowing she had been dead the past years changed a lot.

And raised a few more questions.

Kip brushed them aside. The boys were Scott's. He knew it beyond a doubt. Scott wouldn't have taken them with him back to the ranch if they weren't.

“So Nicole is really the twins' aunt too?” Isabelle asked.

“I think so.”

“Is she taking the boys?”

Kip shot Isabelle a warning glance. “No one is taking the boys anywhere. They belong here.”

His mother placed her hand on his arm. “But if she's their aunt—”

Kip squeezed his mother's hand in reassurance. “I won't let it happen. I promised Scott I would keep the boys on the ranch, and I keep my promises.”

“You always have,” Mary Cosgrove said with a wan smile. “You've been a good son. I'm so thankful for you. I still hope and pray that you'll find someone who sees past that gruff exterior of yours and sees you for who you really are.” She gave his hands a gentle shake. “Nancy Colbert didn't know what she gave up when she broke up with you.”

Kip sighed. He didn't want to think about his ex-girlfriend
either. “Nancy was never cut out to be a rancher's wife,” he said.

“I never liked that Nancy chick,” Isabelle added. “She reminded me of a snake.”

“Thanks for that, Izzy. Maybe those dishes could get done before the day is over.”

This piece of advice netted him an eye roll, but she turned back to the sink and plodded on.

“I still wonder, if you hadn't agreed to take on the boys, if she would have stayed with you…” his mother's voice trailed off, putting voice to the questions that had plagued Kip for the first two months after Scott had died.

“Scott begged me, Mom,” Kip reminded her. “He begged me to keep the boys on the ranch. I owed him. It was because of my horse—” he stopped himself there. He still couldn't think of his brother's death without guilt. He wondered if that would ever leave. “Besides, if Nancy had really loved me, she would have been willing to take on the boys as well as me.”

Mary nodded, but Kip could see a hint of sorrow in her assuring smile.

“I know you really liked her, but the reality is anyone who wants me will have to take the boys and the ranch as well—”

“And your mother and your little sister,” Mary added. She shook her head. “You took too much on when you took over the ranch after Dad died. You take too much on all the time.”

Kip gave her a quick hug. “I do it because I love you, and anything taken on in love isn't a burden.” He heard the noise of the boys' excited voices coming closer. “And now I'd better deal with Ms. Williams.”

He gently squeezed his mother's shoulder, squared his own and went out the door.

Nicole was leading the boys up the walk, holding both boys' hands. She looked up at him and Kip felt a jolt of surprise.

She had completely transformed. Gone was the suit, the tied-back hair, the high-heeled shoes. The uptight city woman had been transformed.

She wore blue jeans, a loose plaid shirt over a black T-shirt and cowboy boots. And she had let her hair down. It flowed over her shoulders in loose waves, softening her features.

Making her look more approachable and, even worse, more appealing.

He put a brake on his thoughts, blaming his distraction on his mother's mention of his old girlfriend. Though he didn't miss Nancy as much as he'd thought he would, there were times he missed having someone special in his life. Missed being a boyfriend. He'd always wanted a family of his own.

“Hello,” Nicole said, her voice as cool as it had been in Ron's office.

He acknowledged her greeting with a curt nod. “Okay boys, let's go work on that tractor.”

“Yippee.” Justin jumped up and down. “Let's go, Tristan.”

Kip glanced at his other nephew who was staring up at Nicole, looking a little starstruck. “I want to play with the puppies,” Tristan said. “Can you play with the puppies with me?” he asked Nicole.

“I thought you wanted to help me,” Kip said to Tristan with a forced jocularity. Tristan was never as adventurous as Justin, but he always came along.

Tristan shook his head still looking up at Nicole. “I want to be with Auntie Nicole.”

Auntie Nicole? The words jarred him, and he stifled a
shiver of premonition. She had already staked a claim on his boys.

“So do I,” Justin shouted out.

Nicole glanced from Kip to the boys. “Your Uncle Kip said I had to help him with the tractor.” She shot him an arch look. “Unless he was kidding.”

“Nope,” he said, deadpan. “Absolutely serious.”

“Then I'll come,” Justin said, turning on his allegiances as quickly as he turned on his feet.

“What are those,” Nicole asked, as they walked past two of his wagons parked beside the barn. Grass had grown up a bit around them. He'd parked them there last fall and hadn't touched them since.

“Chuck wagons.”

“What do you use them for?” Nicole asked.

“Uncle Kip used to race them,” Tristan said. “Before my daddy died.”

“Race them? How do you do that?”

“You don't know?” Justin's astonishment was a bit rude, but Kip didn't feel like correcting him.

“I'm sorry. I do not.”

Kip wasn't surprised. Chuck-wagon racing had originated in Calgary, and while it was an integral part of the Calgary Stampede, it wasn't a regular event in all the rodeos scattered around North America. He'd grown up with it, though. His father and his uncle and his grandfather all competed in the chuck-wagon races. It was in his blood.

He knew he should be teaching the boys so they could carry on the tradition. It was in their blood too. They were as much Cosgroves as he was.

“Uncle Kip will have to show you, won't you, Uncle Kip?” Justin said.

“Maybe,” was his curt reply.

Since Scott died, he hadn't worked with his horses.
Hadn't competed in any of the races. Chuck-wagon racing took up too much of the time he didn't have anymore.

He felt a pinch of sorrow. He missed the thrill of the race, the keenness of competing, the pleasure of working with his horses.

“Uncle Kip was one of the fastest racers,” Tristan said, pride tingeing his voice. “But he doesn't race anymore. He says it's not 'sponsible 'cause now he has us.”

“Well, that sounds like a good way to think,” Nicole said.

Kip shot her a glance, wondering if she was serious. But he caught her steady gaze and she wasn't laughing.

“So where's the tractor?”

“Just over here.” He was only too glad to change the subject. Chuck wagons were in his past. He had enough going on in the present.

“What do we need to do?” Nicole asked as they walked across the packed ground toward the shop.

Kip gave her a curious look. “You don't have to help.”

“Of course I do.” She gave him a wry look, as if to say “you asked for it.”

Their eyes held a split-second longer than necessary. As if each was testing the other to see who would give. Then he broke the connection. He didn't have anything to prove.

Yet even as he thought those brave words, a finger of fear trickled down his spine. Actually, he did have something to prove. He had to prove that Justin and Tristan's were Scott's boys. That they belonged here on the ranch.

Kip pulled on the chain and the large garage door creaked and groaned as light spilled into the usually gloomy shop. He loved working with the door open and today, with the sun shining and a bright blue sky, was a perfect day to do so.

“This is where the tractor is,” Justin said. “Uncle Kip took it apart and he said a bad word when he dropped a wrench on his toe.”

“Did he now?” Nicole's voice held a hint of laughter and Kip made a mental note to talk to the boys about “things we don't tell Ms. Williams.”

“Tristan, you can wheel over the tool chest. Justin, you can get me the box of rags,” Kip said, shooting his blabbermouth nephew a warning look as he rolled up his sleeves.

“I got the rags the last time,” Justin whined. “How come Tristan always gets to push the tool chest? I never do.”

As Kip stifled his frustration, he caught Nicole watching him. As if assessing what he was going to do.

“Just do it, Justin,” he said more firmly.

But Justin shoved his hands in his pockets and glared back at him. Kip felt Nicole's gaze burning on him. For a moment he wished he hadn't insisted that she visit the kids here. Now everything he did with the boys would be with an audience. A very critical audience who, he was sure, would be only too glad to see him mess up.

He tried to ignore her presence as he knelt down in front of Justin. “Buddy, I asked you to do something. You wanted to help me, and this is part of helping.”

“But…my dad always…” Justin's lower lip pushed out and Kip could see the sparkle of tears in his eyes and his heart melted.

“Oh, buddy,” he whispered, pulling Justin in his arms. He gave him a tight squeeze, his own heart contracting in sorrow. It had been only six months since they stood together at Scott's grave. In the busyness of life, he sometimes forgot that. He held Justin a moment longer and as he stood, he caught Nicole looking at them both, her lips pressed together, her fingers resting on her chin.

She understood, he thought, and he wondered if she was remembering her own sister.

Their gaze held and for a moment they shared a sorrow.

The rumbling of the tool chest broke the moment. “I got it. I got it.” Tristan called out.

Kip gave Justin another quick hug, patted him on the head and turned back to the tractor with a sigh.

“What do you have to do?” Nicole asked.

“It's a basic fix,” Kip said as he pushed a piece of cardboard under the tractor. “Replace a leaky fuel line, but whoever designed this tractor has obviously never worked on one.” Kip bent over, squinting at the nuts holding the old line. Then he grabbed the tools he needed, lay on the cardboard and pulled himself under the tractor.

“Justin, why don't you get those rags for your Uncle Kip,” he heard Nicole say. “Tristan, maybe you can clean up those bits of wood lying in the corner.”

A born organizer, he thought, straining as he tried to pull off a bolt. He was still trying to wrap his head around the woman whom he'd seen in the office this morning—the all-business woman in her stark suit—and the woman wearing blue jeans and a flannel shirt, standing in his shop.

He pushed the picture aside, focussing on the job at hand.

“Tristan, does your Uncle Kip have a broom?” he heard her asking, and a couple of minutes later he heard the swishing of the broom over the concrete floor accompanied by her quiet voice giving directions to the boys to move things out of the way.