Gambling On a Heart. Sara Walter Ellwood
He’s worn out.” She retook her seat across from her mother.
Tracy cringed when her dad chuckled and took a chair beside her mother. A team of interrogators couldn’t be more intimidating than her mother and father. “He and Cartwright’s little girl seemed to get along well.”
She jumped out of her chair and headed for the teakettle on the stove. Was there no escaping the topic of Zack Cartwright and his little girl? At first, Bobby hadn’t wanted to have anything to do with Amanda when she’d approached him while the adults danced and mingled after the wedding dinner.
“I think it was a combination of boredom on Bobby’s part, and Amanda’s determination in showing Bobby she wasn’t a sissy.” Tracy went about making her father a cup of the god-awful instant coffee he drank from the hot water still in the teakettle.
She returned to the table with the cup of the so-called coffee and asked her mother if she wanted more tea. Despite their tiff, Eileen was still Tracy’s mother, and she’d been raised to respect her parents. Her mother declined. Tracy refreshed her cup, set the kettle back on the stove, and returned to the table.
Her father took a sip of his coffee. “I enjoyed watching the kids. Amanda’s definitely a tomboy under the lace and frills.”
Once her mother finished her tea, she raised her brow and smirked at her husband. “You and Zack seemed to get along well.”
Dad shrugged and lifted the lid on a cookie jar in the middle of the table. “Zack’s came a long way from the days he played cowboy. He’s a good man.”
He removed five chocolate chip cookies, and her mom held up three fingers. He sighed and dropped one of the cookies back into the jar. “Damn shame about his being wounded, then losing his wife, but he seems to have bounced back and settled into civilian life. He told me he and his cousin Lance are seriously getting into the cattle business.” He dunked one of the cookies into his coffee and popped it into his mouth. “I guess when it’s in the blood, the ranching bug can’t be fought. Look at my own son. The Quinns have a military history going back to an aide de camp to General George Washington, but Dylan’s damned Texas blood is too strong. I’ll never understand the whole cowboy allure.”
“That’s because you’re a damned Yankee,” her mother teased in her best southern drawl and leaned toward him. She kissed him on the lips and winked. Then she took one of his remaining cookies, but he took it back by grabbing her wrist and plucking the cookie out of her fingers. She narrowed her eyes at him. “But I’ve never held that against you.”
He held up the cookie and popped it into his mouth around his smile. Her father’s gray eyes twinkled. He loved his wife with his entire being.
What Tracy wouldn’t do to have a man–have Zack–look at her that way, especially after thirty-eight years of marriage.
He swallowed the cookie with a sip of coffee. “Well, I’m glad that’s the only thing you haven’t.”
Tracy groaned and covered her ears with her hands. “Ugh! I’m gonna be scarred for life soon.” She loved her parents and admired their relationship. It hadn’t always been easy for them, not with her father away for months at a time and moving every few years when he was in the Army.
“Sorry, sweetie, I guess your daddy and I need to learn to behave ourselves.” Her mother bent and ruffled the fur of the two Yorkies sitting by her feet. “I think Ginger, Cinnamon, and I are going to bed.” She stepped in behind Tracy. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” With her eyes full of sorrow and her smile rueful, her mother patted Tracy’s shoulder.
Tracy smiled her forgiveness. “Goodnight, Momma.”
Her mother nodded once and headed out of the kitchen with the little dogs padding along on either side of her.
Several minutes of silence passed until her father asked, “So, what’s going on between you and the good sheriff?”
What was with her parents? Back when she and Zack actually had a chance at a future together, Mom and Dad hadn’t wanted them together. Now, they were all but planning their wedding. She looked down at the cup between her hands. “Nothing.”
“Why not?”
“You know very well why not.” She narrowed her eyes on her father.
He raised a brow and set his mug on the table. “I don’t think I do. You aren’t married. He’s a widower. And there’s no one who attended that wedding today who doesn’t know Zack Cartwright and you would’ve preferred to have been somewhere else instead of on the dance floor.”
She leaned back in the chair and laughed. “Well, you’ve got that right. We wanted to be on opposite sides of the state.”
“I meant somewhere alone–together.”
“Huh?” Zack had treated her like a leper.
Her father leaned over his arms with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Do I really have to spell it out?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know what you and Mom think you saw, but I know Zack, and I know now that Dylan is okay, we’ll go back to avoiding each other. He has made it pretty damned clear what his opinion of me is.”
Shaking his head, her father sat back. “Tracy, I’m going to give you a piece of advice.”
“Why bother? You know I’m not going to take it.” She stood and carried her cup to the sink.
“This time I hope you do,” he softly said, and she looked over her shoulder at him. “I know you think there’s no future for you and Zack, but I think differently.”
She hurried toward the door to the hallway. She’d had enough of her parents thinking they knew something when they didn’t. Neither one of them had seen her since last Christmas when they’d come to Texas for a few days to celebrate the holidays. “Well, good for you, but I know better. Goodnight, Dad.”
“Tracy,” he said as she reached the door.
Against her better judgment she stopped. She drew in a breath and turned. Why had she been raised to obey that particular tone in her father’s voice? She crossed her arms.
He picked up his cup and her mother’s, and headed for the sink. “So, you’ve made mistakes. But if you’re given a second chance, don’t screw it up.”
“That’s your advice?” She clamped down on the rest of her retort. Nice that you’re such an expert on my life.
Her brother’s final words, as he left her on the dance floor, eerily echoed her father’s statement.
Depositing the mugs in the sink, he shrugged, then strode across the kitchen to her. He patted her on the shoulders and looked her in the eye. How could she be an inch taller than her father, even without her shoes, but still feel insignificant?
“Yes. I suppose it is, but I also think that advice could be taken for a lot of things. Not just concerning Cartwright. Are you really happy, Tracy Caroline?” Before she could process an answer, he kissed her on the cheek. “All I want is for you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for both of my children. Sweet dreams, Pixie.”
She watched him leave through the swinging door into the hallway.
The last time he’d called her by the pet name had been when she’d clung to him before he boarded a plane headed to the first war in Iraq twenty-two years ago when she was twelve years old.
* * * *
Zack pulled the extended cab Ram truck into the two-car garage he’d built onto the log and limestone house. The old homestead had seen six generations of Cartwrights come and go. Cutting the engine, he looked over his shoulder at his daughter sleeping in her booster seat. It wasn’t incredibly late, but she and Tracy’s boy had played long into the evening.
He got out and opened the