Claiming The Cowboy's Heart. Brenda Harlen
when one of her kids did something special to warrant a breakfast celebration.
“Well, we’ve got something to celebrate today, too,” Macy said.
Her mother looked up from the batter she was whisking. “You got the job?”
Macy grinned and nodded. “You are looking at the new manager-slash-concierge of the Stagecoach Inn.”
Bev set down the whisk to hug her daughter. “Oh, honey, I’m so proud of you.”
“I’ll work Monday through Friday for the next few weeks, and then, when the hotel is open, Wednesday through Sunday, eight a.m. until two p.m.”
“That’s perfect,” her mom said. “You’ll have more time with your kids and be able to work at a job you enjoy.”
Macy carried the bowls of oatmeal to the table. “I’m already looking forward to getting started,” she confided. “This is exactly what I’ve always wanted.”
Her mother sprinkled a few drops of water on the griddle, testing its readiness. “Except that it’s in Haven,” she pointed out.
Macy scooped up some oatmeal and moved the spoon toward Max’s open mouth. “You don’t want me to stay in Haven?”
“Of course, I want you here,” Bev said, ladling batter onto the hot pan. “But I know that was never your first choice.”
“Where are you getting that from?” Macy shifted her attention to the next bowl, but she was sincerely baffled by the statement.
“Maybe the fact that you were on your way out of town practically before the ink was dry on your high school diploma.”
Macy used the spoon to catch the cereal that Sam pushed out of his mouth with his tongue. “I graduated in June and I moved in August—three days before the start of classes at UNLV.”
“Well, you’ve hardly been home since,” her mom remarked.
“I came home every chance I got, which wasn’t a lot because I was juggling two part-time jobs along with my studies.” Ava swallowed her first mouthful of cereal, and Macy gave her a second before making her way backwards down the line again.
“We could have helped you a little more,” Bev said.
“You offered,” Macy assured her. “But the experience of those jobs was even more valuable than the paycheck.”
“I know you’ve always wanted to work in the hospitality industry—ever since we visited your aunt at The Gatestone in Washington when you were a little girl,” her mother noted, as she began to turn the pancakes. “And, of course, the best career opportunities are probably in Las Vegas.”
“There were zero career opportunities for me in Haven when I left,” Macy pointed out, as she continued to feed her babies. “The only place around that offered any kind of temporary accommodations was the Dusty Boots Motel, and they weren’t hiring.
“I came back to Haven because I knew I couldn’t handle—or afford to raise—three kids on my own in Vegas. Maybe I was a little disappointed to give up my career, but I was happy to be home and happier still to know that my babies would grow up close to their extended family.
“I might not have envisioned an arrangement quite this close,” she said. “But it works. And if I haven’t mentioned it lately, I’m incredibly grateful to you and Dad for everything you’ve done for all of us.”
“You tell us every day,” Bev said. “And we’re happy to help.”
“Still, I should probably look into making other arrangements for part-time childcare, don’t you think?”
“What?” Her mom turned around so fast, the pancake on her spatula dropped to the floor. “Why?”
Macy got up to retrieve the broken cake and toss it into the sink. “Because I feel as if I’m taking advantage of you and Dad.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Bev said. “Your father and I aren’t doing anything that we don’t want to do.”
“You’re also not doing things that you would like to do,” Macy pointed out. “Like last Saturday, when Dad had to cancel his fishing trip with Oscar Weston because I was working a double shift and you were in bed with a migraine.”
“Well, he’s fishing with Oscar today.”
“And you gave up your pottery classes because I worked almost every Wednesday night.”
“I was happy to have an excuse to quit—I couldn’t ever make a lump of clay look like anything else.”
“I don’t believe it.” Macy scraped the last of the cereal from the bottom of Ava’s bowl. “But I appreciate you saying so.”
“And since you won’t be working nights anymore, I can join Frieda’s book club.”
She wiped Ava’s mouth with her bib, then offered the little girl her sippy cup of juice. “Mrs. Zimmerman has a book club?”
Her mother nodded. “She started it last summer, after she saw the movie.”
“The movie?” Macy echoed, because she was pretty sure that the local movie theater would have shown more than one movie the previous summer.
“Book Club.”
“Ahh, that makes sense,” she said, helping Max finish his breakfast.
Bev stacked three pancakes on a plate, added four strips of bacon, then set it on the table. “Eat while it’s hot,” she instructed her daughter.
Macy picked up a slice of crisp bacon, nipped off the end. “I’m glad the pediatrician finally approved the introduction of solid foods for Ava, Max and Sam,” she said, pouring maple syrup over her pancakes. “They’re definitely sleeping for longer stretches now and waking up happier.”
“You’re grumpy, too, when you’re hungry,” her mom noted, bringing her own plate and mug to the table to eat with her daughter.
“Is that why you always have breakfast ready for me when I get up on a Saturday morning?”
“One of the reasons,” Bev acknowledged. “Another is that I really do enjoy having someone to cook for.”
“You cook for Dad,” she pointed out.
“Bacon and eggs. That’s what it’s been every Saturday morning for forty years.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to eat bacon and eggs.”
Her mother shrugged. “It seems like too much bother to make something different just for myself, but it’s a pleasure to make it for you.”
“Maybe I’ll make breakfast for you tomorrow,” Macy offered impulsively.
“You’ve got enough to do with three babies without worrying about cooking for anyone else,” Bev protested. “Plus, you’ve got to get ready for your first day at your new job on Monday.”
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