Teardrop Lane (31 page)

She barely spared him a glance, so intrigued was she by the sculpture.

“Don’t be silly. It’s like it’s dancing. Or—no—it looks like it’s floating.” She recited the Emily Dickinson poem and said, “I can see it, Hunt. I can’t put into words exactly why it fits, but it fits.”

Her praise warmed him more than he would have imagined. “Thank you.”

“I can’t wait to see what you do with Alfred.” She glanced at him, then did a double take. “Oh my gosh. You’re wearing a suit.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to dress up tonight?”

“I did. I just—wow, Hunter. You totally
are
Uncle Hunk.”

He gave a snort. “Speaking of the royal pains, Galen called me today.”

“He did? Who got hurt?”

“Nobody, believe it or not. He wanted to tell me that the cowboy who drives the chuck wagon is called Cookie. Then Keenan got on the phone to tell me that his horse was named King, but everyone called him Exxon because he had so much gas.”

“I can hear the giggles now. What about the girls? Did you talk to them?”

“Misty had a piece of news to pass along. It seems the Parnells are getting a dog. A puppy.”

Rose cut him a look.

“Seriously? I thought dogs were an issue with them. Misty wanted one when the kids lived with them.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. Guess Misty’s been driving the guilt wagon there, too.” He returned his gaze to the Albritton piece and thought about Pike.

Lord Tennyson, my ass
.

His fiancée interrupted his reverie. “What about Daisy? Did she say if she liked her hayride?”

“I didn’t talk to her. Amy didn’t put her on the phone.”

At this, Rose nibbled her bottom lip and frowned.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Nothing, probably.” She brushed a speck of lint from the lapel of his charcoal-gray suit jacket. “Did Amy strike you as a little, well, possessive when she held Daisy?”

“No.” Cicero waved away her concern. “I thought she looked a little guilty, which she darned well should, considering.”

He slipped his arm through hers and said, “How about we declare a moratorium on kid talk for the night. They’ll be home tomorrow and they’ll eat up all of our free time and energy. I’d like for tonight to be about you and me. Deal?”

“Deal.”

They walked to dinner at Ali’s Yellow Kitchen where they dawdled over Tuscan chicken and a lovely Chianti. After their meal, they strolled over to Murphy’s to listen to live music on the new outdoor patio Shannon had opened for the tourist season. They returned to the house, where he poured after-dinner brandies and they sat snuggled up together in the front porch swing.

Cicero stroked his thumb up and down her bare arm and announced, “Your sister flagged me down as I walked past Vistas this afternoon.”

“Oh?”

“Supposedly she wanted to tell me that she sold one of my pieces in the gallery today. That was just an excuse. She really wanted to chew me out.”

Rose pulled a little away from him. “About the Albritton? I told you that you should have tipped her off about the nomination before news got around the art world.”

“Yeah, well, apparently, she’s going to hold that against
me for a very long time.” He pulled her back against him. “I still say that that Sage should understand and respect the creative muse better than anyone. However, that’s not why she gave me grief. I got to hear about our wedding instead.”

“Our wedding?”

“I’m supposed to ditch any ideas I’ve entertained about eloping. You’ve never been married, and you deserve a wedding with all the bells and whistles.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Did you tell her I was the one who suggested we head for the courthouse?”

“And throw you under the bus? No way. I’m smarter than that. I told her that she was absolutely right. I explained that we’ve decided to wait until fall to get married. I didn’t tell her that’s as far as we’ve gotten with the discussion.” He frowned. “I don’t think she likes me.”

“She loves you. If she didn’t like you, she’d ignore you rather than yell at you.”

“Okay, then. I guess that makes me feel better. So,
Bellissima
, let’s talk weddings. Do you want a wedding? Like the one you were supposed to have? White dress, church, and a cake that’s four stories tall?”

“I want you and the kids.”

“That’s not what I asked you. I don’t want you to give up on the perfect wedding if that’s what you want.” Locusts buzzed in the trees and she could smell the lemony perfume of the heritage rose in the yard. She lifted her head to a starry sky and watched the stars, swinging back and forth until she finally spoke.

“There was a time when I did want the dream wedding with all of the bells and whistles, as you said. I think that’s likely something most women think about at some point in their lives. But I’ve learned that it doesn’t matter if the dress is white lace or if the cake is slathered in buttercream icing and the bridal bouquet is white roses. What matters is the man who is standing
there giving me his heart and his name and his children. Our wedding can be in a church, in a courthouse, or next to Angel Creek. All I want is to marry you. The how doesn’t matter to me. It’s the why. We’re getting married because we love each other and we’ll make a family with the children. That’s what will make a perfect wedding.”

Cicero’s smile was sweetly endearing as he drew her in for a kiss. “I think you’re perfect, my Rose.”

“You aren’t so bad yourself.”

They took full advantage of the children’s absence by making love outdoors, on the staircase, and in the shower before finally making it to his bed. They enjoyed a lovely, romantic weekend—one he hated to see end. Kids certainly put a kink in a man’s love life. October and the white gown and Rose’s wedding couldn’t get here soon enough.

Yet, by midafternoon on Sunday when the Parnells were due back with the little monsters, both he and Rose waited anxiously for their arrival.

“They’re like mold in the bathroom shower,” he observed as he watched from their bedroom window as the Parnells’ car pulled into the driveway. “Grows on you when you aren’t looking.”

“You do have a way with words,” Rose said as they walked downstairs.

Outside, doors slammed and feet pounded. The marauding multitude burst into the house with raised voices and overstuffed backpacks and grins as wide as the Grand Canyon.

Amy paused in the doorway with Daisy in her arms. Scott brought up the rear. Just as Cicero untangled himself from Keenan’s chocolate-smeared embrace, he saw the two adults share an enigmatic look. Detecting some unknown undercurrent, his radar engaged. What the heck was going on here?

He pasted a friendly smile on his face. “Come on in, folks. What can I get you to drink? Tea? Water? A beer?”

“Since I’m driving, iced tea is fine,” Scott said, returning Cicero’s smile. “Thanks.”

“Just water for me,” Amy added.

Since the Parnells had an early morning flight out of Gunnison the following day, Cicero had invited them to dinner before making the two-hour drive to their hotel near the airport. He’d figured since they were making the effort to mend their relationship with the kids, he should do his part to help.

Now though, after seeing that look, he wished they’d kicked the kids out at the curb and headed on their way. Something put him on high trouble alert.

Cicero grilled steaks and potatoes and Rose made a salad. The still excited kids kept conversation flowing as they all sat down to eat. The dude ranch trip had apparently erased any resentment they’d harbored against Scott and Amy for making them move. That was a good thing, he told himself, trying to shed his unease. The Parnells were family. Family mattered. He was glad to see them so happy.

And Houston was a long way from Eternity Springs, so he and Rose wouldn’t have to put up with them often.

Cicero poured a Napa cabernet that paired well with the rib eyes he served. He didn’t think twice about serving it to Amy. It was only when he caught sight of Rose’s frown that he made the mental connection between her pregnancy and alcohol.

She noticed his hesitation, lifted her glass, and gave her head a sad shake. “Any reason I had to avoid alcohol no longer exists.”

She’d miscarried?

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Amy changed the subject by saying,

“This salad dressing is spectacular, Rose. Is that a hint of ginger I taste?”

Rose flashed a look filled with wariness toward Cicero, then said, “Yes. It’s a favorite of mine. The owner of a local restaurant gave me the recipe. The Yellow Kitchen serves the most delicious food. You should try it sometime when you come to visit the children.”

Scott and Amy’s gazes met and in the process of cutting a bite of steak, Cicero went still. He felt as if he stood at the end of a cliff.

“Yes,” Scott said, finally.

Cicero’s tension eased. A bit.

The rest of the meal dragged by, the chattering of the children providing cover for the undercurrent of tension flowing from the adults. The boys yammered on about horses and cowboy rope tricks. Misty rather defiantly talked about the puppy due home from the breeder by the Fourth of July. Despite the hit to his appetite caused by the stress, Cicero ate every last piece of his steak. Some primal instinct made him want to eat red meat before the battle.

Because he had the distinct feeling that a battle lay before them. Rose sensed it, too, judging by the wary little looks she sent his way. She served apple pie for dessert, and he kept a sharp eye on the children’s plates.

The minute they finished, he said, “Okay, heathens. You smell like billy goats. It’s time to hit the showers and get ready for bed. Thank your Aunt Amy and Uncle Scott for the trip.”

“Oh, Uncle Hunk,” Keenan protested. “I don’t need a bath.”

“Some things never change, do they?” Amy said with a laugh. She stood and swooped Daisy up out of the high chair. “Come here, peanut. Why don’t I help with baths, Rose, while you do the dishes?”

Rose’s smile went brittle. “How sweet of you to offer,
but it’s Hunt’s turn for the dishes.” She held out her arms and said, “Her eyes are getting that droopy look. I’ll take her now.”

Amy’s obvious reluctance to hand over the toddler made Cicero go quiet.

“Say good night, children,” he said.

“You sound like Captain Von Trapp,” Misty said. Giggling, she made an exaggerated wave with her hand and sang, “So long. Farewell.” She gave first Scott, then Amy a hug saying, “Thanks so much for everything. I can’t wait to see him in person.”

“Him?” Rose asked, her arms still outstretched for Daisy.

“The puppy.” Misty shared a look of joy with Amy and added, “And guess what? I get to pick out his name.”

That’s it, Cicero thought. Enough. Taking control of his household, he plucked Daisy out of Amy’s arms and handed her over to Rose, saying, “Thanks for the help with baths, honey. Kids? Upstairs. Now. Amy, Scott, please join me in the living room.”

He marched into the room without waiting for them and went directly to his desk. When they walked in hand in hand, he gestured toward a manila folder and extended a pen toward them. “Since the paperwork I sent a couple weeks ago seems to have gone astray, I asked my attorney to make another copy of everything. You can sign them while you’re here. My next-door-neighbor is a notary and—”

“We received the paperwork,” Scott said. “I planned to speak with you about it this evening.”

“No time like the present.”

Amy tilted her head toward the staircase where the children lingered. “Kiddos, we’ll probably be gone when you finish your baths. Give us good-bye hugs.”

One by one, the older children hugged the Parnells
and thanked them again before going upstairs with Rose. Cicero didn’t miss Amy’s soft “See you soon” to Misty, and once the children were gone, he abruptly turned on his heel and marched toward the front door. “Let’s do this out on the front porch. Little pitchers and all.”

Once the door shut behind them, he whirled on them. “What the hell is this? What sort of crap are you trying to pull now?”

Scott sucked air into his lungs, then exhaled in a rush. “Amy and I have reconsidered. We’ve decided not to relinquish our guardianship.”

“If you think I’m going to let you steal Daisy away from her sister and brothers, just forget it. I’ll be damned before—”

“No!” Amy interrupted. “Not just Daisy. You were right before. It’s wrong to split them up. We see that now. We want all of the children.”

Shocked, Cicero went silent. For a split second, he thought of how much easier life would be. No diapers. No babysitters. No tattling or whining or hitting. No chaos.

He loved the chaos.

“You can’t have them,” he snapped back.

No way were they taking his kids
.

Scott said, “Actually, yes, we can. Our court hearing isn’t for another week. We are still their legal guardians.”

“When it’s convenient for you, that is. I’ll go to Texas and tell the judge the truth. You didn’t want them. You threw them away. You sent them home with me.”

“We requested help of a family friend while Amy soldiered through illness with a difficult, and ultimately unsuccessful pregnancy.”

They were words right out of a lawyer’s mouth.

“That’s bullshit.”

“That’s the way it is.”

Amy said, “Look, Cicero, we know you love them and that they love you. As long as you work with us, we are not going to keep them away from you. We sincerely appreciate how you stepped up when we needed help with them.”

“As long as I work with you? I didn’t ‘help.’ I accepted responsibility. Responsibility you shirked. Don’t try to rewrite history, here. If I hadn’t taken them, you were going to dump them on social services. That’s what you wanted to do! Do you have the first clue what that’s like? Thank God I did. I knew I damned well couldn’t let it happen. Jayne would have been devastated to know that you put her kids into the foster care system.”

Amy’s face fell as his words struck a nerve. “No. We never would have gone through with that. We weren’t thinking straight. I was so ill. Trying so hard to hold on to my baby. It was a difficult time for us. I needed—”