To Trust A Rancher. Debbi Rawlins
Thirteen
Becca Hartman’s heart pounded. Today was the start of a new phase of her life. One where she’d have the time to give her son dinner and put him to bed every night, instead of just checking in on him after he was already asleep. It felt like the best gift she’d ever been given, and she didn’t want to screw it up.
She checked her reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to remember the last time she’d worn a dress. The second it hit her, she wished she hadn’t tried so hard. It had been her grandfather’s funeral. Two years ago. She’d rushed back to Montana but had almost missed the service. Grams had taken one look at her and cried for an hour straight.
Oh, God, Becca couldn’t think about that now. She smoothed a wrinkle on the blue dress, then dabbed on some lip gloss. Satisfied that she looked presentable for the first day in her brand-new position, she went to the kitchen.
Noah sat at the table in his booster seat, making designs in his cinnamon-topped oatmeal.
“Hey, sweetie. What do you think about you and me celebrating my promotion tonight?” Becca opened the fridge and brought out the orange juice. “Pizza sound good to you?”
He was too quiet.
Reaching into the cupboard for a glass, she glanced over her shoulder. “Noah? Did you hear me?”
Making a face, he stuck the wrong side of his spoon into the cereal.
“What’s wrong? You love oatmeal.”
“I want bananas.”
“I’ll pick some up after work,” she said. “For now, you eat it like that, okay?”
From the window, she saw Isabella coming up the crumbling cement walkway, sidestepping the neighbor kid’s rusty bike. The relief that swept Becca was more proof she was far too anxious over her new job. The woman hadn’t been even a minute late in the four years she’d been watching Noah.
“Mommy?”
Becca turned a smile on him.
A glob of oatmeal hit her chin. She gasped, looked down and watched the goop slide down the front of her dress.
Noah broke into peals of laughter.
People always said the twos were terrible. Yeah, well, four was no picnic either.
Although, as a rule, Noah was a very sweet little boy. It was usually after he’d spent time with Amy that he acted out like this. She spoiled him terribly, all because she felt guilty for abandoning him. And then, consistent with their longtime friendship, Becca was left to clean up the mess.
“Noah?” She grabbed a paper towel. “Why did you do that?” She heard Isabella’s quick knock, then the door squeaked open, but Becca kept her eyes on him as she dampened the towel. “Noah? Answer me.”
He bowed his head and shrugged his thin shoulders.
Isabella quietly set her tote aside. Becca sure hoped the woman knew a trick to get the stain out, or she would have to wear the only other dress she owned. The black one, stuffed far, far back in her closet.
Her stomach rebelled at the thought.
“I’m sorry,” Noah mumbled.
“You must never do that again. Do you understand?” Becca waited for his nod. “Now, aren’t you going to say hello to Señora Rios?”
He looked up with a tentative smile. “Hola, Señora Rios.”
Señora came out garbled, and Becca had to stifle a grin.
Isabella ruffled his hair. “Mmm, I smell cinnamon,” she said. “Better hurry up and eat your oatmeal before I do.”
Noah giggled and shoveled a big spoonful into his mouth.
“They’re making you wear dresses now?” Isabella joined Becca at the sink and took the paper towel from her.
“No one said I had to.” Becca gladly handed over the task before she made a mess. “I’ve never worked in an office before so I thought I’d go all out for my first day.” She worried her lip. “Pants better be okay. I can’t afford to buy new clothes.”
“I bet my daughter has some things that would fit you, if you don’t mind secondhand.”
Becca smiled. If she did, she wouldn’t have a couch or a dresser, or much of anything, really. “You don’t mean Lydia...”
Nodding, Isabella used a tiny drop of dish detergent to rub out the cinnamon smudge below Becca’s collarbone. “Sure I do. What’s she going to do with a closet full of size sixes?”
“She’d be crazy to give up anything.” Becca guessed most of it was designer stuff. “She’ll lose the pregnancy weight.”
“No, she won’t. And now she’s pregnant again.”
“Well, you must be thrilled. Another grandchild for you to spoil.”
Isabella snorted but couldn’t help looking pleased. “There you go, good as new,” she said, stepping back and inspecting her handiwork. “Don’t worry if you have to stay late. Just call and I’ll feed him his dinner.”
“Thank you. I’ll try not to be past five thirty, and I can always call Amy to come over...” Becca trailed off as she looked into Isabella’s kind, knowing eyes. Amy was about as reliable as a broken watch.
“I pray for her,” Isabella said, lowering her voice and glancing at Noah. “Maybe one day she’ll surprise you.”
Becca nodded. No prayers had helped so far, just like no amount of Becca’s determination had managed to bring Amy to her senses. First, it had been Derek who’d gotten his hooks into her, and later, so had the drugs. But Isabella was a devout, churchgoing woman, and who knew, maybe her prayers carried more weight.
Noah slammed down his empty cup. “More milk.”
Becca gave him a warning look. “Is that how you ask?”
“Please.”
“And no more slamming your cup,” Becca said, turning toward the fridge.
Isabella had already opened the door. “Go. Don’t miss your bus. I’ll take care of Mr. Cranky Pants,” she said, the last of it loud enough