The Maverick's Ready-Made Family. Brenda Harlen
pointing to his watch and miming his intention to drive into town.
“Because he doesn’t answer his phone,” Ellie complained.
“Maybe he’s driving,” Clay suggested.
“Maybe,” she allowed. “Or maybe he’s ignoring my calls.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because he hasn’t been very communicative since he got back from Iraq.”
Watching his brother make a hasty escape from the dining room, he couldn’t deny that was true. “He just needs some time, Mom.”
“I’ve tried to be patient,” Ellie said. “But I need to know that he’s doing okay.”
“He is,” Clay assured her. “I promise.”
“Well, I want to see for myself, and I need a grandbaby fix, so your dad and I are thinking about making a trip to Thunder Canyon this weekend.”
“We’d love to see you.”
“Good. I’ve already spoken to Allaire. She promised to pull some strings to get the private dining room at D.J.’s Rib Shack for the whole family. Friday night at seven.”
“That works for me,” Clay told her.
“Make sure it works for your brother.”
“I’ll try,” he said, unwilling to make any promises on Forrest’s behalf.
“I guess I’ll have to be satisfied with that,” she allowed. “Now tell me how my grandson’s doing.”
Clay was happy to regale his mother with details about Bennett’s growth and development and everything else he’d been doing over the past few weeks.
He didn’t tell Ellie that the little boy seemed to have developed a major crush on their landlady at Wright’s Way—because he was afraid that Bennett wasn’t the only one.
Chapter Two
Antonia usually waited until most of the boarders had left before she started clearing the tables, and when she returned to the dining room today, she saw that aside from Clay and his son the room was completely empty. As she began to stack plates, she could tell that Clay was on the phone, and though she wasn’t trying to listen in, she couldn’t help overhearing bits and pieces of his conversation.
And then she heard him say, “I love you, too.”
The words, spoken with easy affection, made her pause with a handful of cutlery in her fist. But before she could even begin to speculate about who might be on the other end of the line, he added, “Mom,” and she let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.
It wasn’t any of her business, of course. And she really hadn’t intended to eavesdrop. But when she glanced over as he disconnected the call, his gaze met hers and she knew that she’d been busted. Her cheeks filled with color.
He pushed his chair back as she picked up the stack of plates. “Let me get those for you.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got it.”
“They’ve got to be heavy.”
She couldn’t help but smile at that. “I’ve been working on this ranch since I was a kid. Before I got pregnant, I was mucking out stalls and training horses. I think I can handle a stack of plates.”
“You’ve been carting plates and platters from the kitchen since 6:00 a.m.,” he pointed out. “Why don’t you sit down for a minute?”
“Because these dishes won’t put themselves in the dishwasher.”
Bennett banged his cup on his tray, then held it out to her.
“I think somebody wants more juice.” Just a couple of weeks earlier, Clay had told her that he’d introduced the little boy to apple juice diluted with sterile water. Since then, Antonia had ensured she always had some on hand. “Can I get him a refill?”
“Sure,” Clay agreed.
The baby smiled at her as she took his cup, and her heart melted.
“Coming right up,” she promised.
While she was in the kitchen refilling Bennett’s drink, Clay gathered up the rest of the dishes still on the table.
“Are you trying to get me fired?” she asked, when she returned with the juice.
“I don’t think you’ll lose your job because you let someone else carry a few plates into the kitchen,” he chided.
He was right, of course, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she was used to doing things for herself—she preferred doing things for herself. And she’d learned a long time ago that if she didn’t depend on anyone else, she didn’t have to worry about being disappointed.
Bennett took the cup and yawned.
“Are you ready for a nap already?” she asked.
His only response was to lift his arms up to her.
She hesitated, because every time she picked him up, she never wanted to let him go again. But Bennett was clearly tired of being strapped in his chair and, based on the sounds emanating from the kitchen, Clay was thoroughly occupied with the dishes and not planning to return to the dining room anytime soon.
With a sigh that was more resignation than reluctance, Antonia removed the tray from Bennett’s chair, unfastened his belt and lifted him into her arms. He curled into her easily, his head dropping against her shoulder, his eyes already drifting shut.
She’d never thought it was possible to fall in love so quickly and completely, but since the doctor had confirmed the news of her pregnancy, Antonia had realized that none of the usual rules applied to babies. She didn’t know if it was their innocence and vulnerability or her own maternal instincts, but she’d always had a weakness for children. From the moment she first suspected that she was pregnant, she’d been overwhelmed by emotion. And the first time Bennett had looked at her with his big blue eyes, she’d been hooked.
Now, with the slight weight of his body in her arms and the subtle scents of baby powder and shampoo teasing her nostrils, that hook snared her heart even more deeply.
She ventured into the kitchen and confirmed that Clay was loading up the dishwasher. Not with the skill or efficiency of someone who had a lot of experience, but he was getting the job done.
“Why don’t you take Bennett back to your room for a nap and let me do that?” she suggested.
“He doesn’t sleep for more than fifteen or twenty minutes after breakfast,” Clay told her. “So if you could sit with him for a little bit while I finish up here, that would be great.”
“Why don’t you sit with him while I finish cleaning up?” Antonia countered.
“Because I’m almost done here,” he pointed out.
His logic was indisputable and, with a sense of relief she refused to let him see, Antonia settled into one of the wooden ladder-back chairs beside the old kitchen table.
Bennett snuggled in, rubbing his cheek against her shirt, and Antonia’s heart gave another squeeze.
She didn’t know anything about the little boy’s mother—who she was or where she was. She only knew that in the five weeks that had passed since Clayton Traub had showed up at Wright’s Way with his son, she hadn’t heard a single word about the woman who’d given birth to the darling little boy. And she had to admit, the lack of information made her curious.
Not any of your business, she mentally admonished herself.
Just like information about her baby’s father was no one’s business but her own.
“He’s