A Cowboy For The Twins. Carolyne Aarsen
suspected it was a way of recognizing the hard work his father had done to make up for the way Noah’s grandfather ran the T Bar C into the ground with his poor management. Though his father had struggled to bring it back to its former glory, low commodity prices had made it almost impossible. He worked like a dog and made sure Noah did as well. He’d died from a heart attack when he was feeding the cows. Noah often felt that the hard work, stress and his father’s personality had combined to cause his death.
Shauntelle came back and got into the truck, giving him a tight nod. “Thanks.”
“So you’re okay with stopping to see my mom?” Noah asked.
“I can hardly complain,” Shauntelle said with a note of asperity.
He sensed it was difficult for her to spend time with him, but she had no choice.
They drove just half a kilometer back down the road and under the imposing gate of the T Bar C.
“That’s an awesome gate,” Millie said, craning her head to get a better look.
“It should be,” Noah said. “I helped build it.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Took me and my dad two days and a lot of stress to get it up.”
He stopped as he heard the bitter note that entered his voice. Too well, he remembered being perched on the top of the upright, reaching for the cross beam his father was raising with the tractor. The near miss as the beam swayed and almost knocked him off. The anger his father spewed at him even though it wasn’t his fault.
No, the T Bar C held no memories he wanted to nurture.
They drove down the winding drive lined with elm trees his great-grandmother had planted in a fit of optimism. To everyone’s surprise, they flourished and now created a canopy of shifting shadows that teased the sunshine filtering through.
“Wow. This is beautiful,” the girls breathed.
Then they turned a corner, and the log ranch house came into view.
It was perched on a hill with a small creek flowing in front of it. A wooden bridge arched over it. Flower beds, in various states of neglect, stair-stepped up the side of the hill toward the imposing log house.
“That’s the coolest house ever,” Margaret breathed, unbuckling and leaning over the seat.
“Did you build it?” Millie asked.
“No. My grandfather did. He was a carpenter as well as a rancher.” Noah shot a sidelong glance at Shauntelle to gauge her reaction. Though she had lived here most of her life, she had never been on the ranch, to his knowledge.
Her eyes were wide and her mouth formed an O of surprise. Then, as quickly as that came, her features shuttered and her lips pressed together.
He guessed she was comparing his place with her parents’, a place he had seen from time to time.
And though his parents’ financial circumstances had nothing to do with him, he couldn’t get rid of a sense of shame.
And, even worse, guilt.
“Who all lives in that fancy house now?” Margaret asked, hanging over the front seat of Noah’s truck.
“Just my mom,” Noah said.
“That’s a big house for one person,” Millie said. “She must rattle around in it. That’s what my mom always says when she sees big houses.”
Shauntelle wanted to reprimand Millie, but it would only draw more attention to her comment. Right about now Shauntelle was having a hard enough time stifling her own reaction to Noah’s place and his presence. She struggled with a mixture of frustrated fury with him and an older, traitorous attraction.
Noah Cosgrove had always been one to make young girls’ hearts beat faster. At one time, so had hers.
But he was older. Then he’d left, and her life moved on.
Now here she was, a widow responsible for two children and full of plans for a future of her own. Roger had been a good man, but it seemed they spent most of their married life chasing after his dreams and plans, to the detriment of their family life and finances.
She learned the hard way that it was up to her to make something of her life. She couldn’t count on anyone else’s help. Now she was determined to make a future for herself and her daughters by way of her restaurant. This would require all her energy and concentration.
Besides, after what happened to Josiah, Noah was so far off her radar he may as well be in another solar system.
Noah pulled the truck up in front of a double garage. “Home sweet home,” he said, but Shauntelle heard a puzzling tone in his voice. Sarcastic almost.
“I’ll just be a minute,” he said, walking to the door.
Millie was about to get out to follow him when Shauntelle caught her by the arm. “Stay here. Mr. Cosgrove just wants to say hello to his mother, and we should let them do that alone.”
“But I want to see the house,” her daughter cried.
“Doesn’t matter. Stay put.”
“I want to see it too,” Margaret added.
“Learn to live with disappointment,” Shauntelle said in a wry tone, though she was talking as much to herself as she was to her daughter.
Part of her would have loved to see the inside of this very impressive home. She was always interested in floor plans and the layout of rooms. Someday she hoped to build her own house, though it would never approach the size of this place.
She looked over the massive expanse of lawn that needed mowing spread out in front of the house, the flower beds that had seen better days and the older hip roof barn beside them. Beyond that were rail fences and pastures all flowing toward the mountains guarding the valley where the house was situated.
It was a showpiece, that was for sure. However, no swing sets stood in the yard, no play center or sandbox. No sign that, at one time, a young boy had lived here. She knew Noah had been an only child, but still.
Her parents’ yard still had the old tractor tire sandbox she and Josiah had played in, as well as the rickety swing set the girls liked to play on.
But nothing here.
A few moments later the door of the house opened, and to Shauntelle’s surprise, Noah and Mrs. Cosgrove came out.
She looked tired and frail. Her once-dark hair hung in a gray bob. The gray-and-pink-striped tunic she wore over leggings seemed to hang on her narrow frame. Shauntelle had seen Mrs. Cosgrove in town from time to time and at church once in a while. Though she couldn’t be more than sixty, she looked far older.
“I told my son I wanted to say hello to you,” Mrs. Cosgrove said, waving at them as they came nearer. “He said he was helping you make deliveries.”
“My mom’s car broke down,” Millie announced, clambering out of the truck before Shauntelle could stop her. And where Millie went, Margaret followed.
They gathered around Mrs. Cosgrove, looking all demure and sweet. It would be rude if she stayed in the truck, so Shauntelle came to join them as well.
Mrs. Cosgrove gave her a gentle smile, holding her hand out to her. “And how are you doing, my dear? You have been through a lot. First your husband and then your brother.”
Shauntelle was surprised Mrs. Cosgrove mentioned Josiah in front of Noah. But she swallowed an unwelcome knot of sorrow and gave her a faint smile.
“It’s been difficult,” she said. “But I have my girls and the community, and I’ve gotten a lot of support