Redheaded Stranger: A Cowboy Love Story (Bluebonnet, Texas) (8 page)

"Dad put a twelve-year-old on the payroll?" he echoed, shades of his chat with Ty coming back to him a bit too late.

"Mmm hmm. Apparently, a couple months back, Rene sassed your mother and told her 'no way, no how' was she getting stuck in a kitchen just because she couldn’t write her name in the snow—" Kei laughed softly while he winced at the crude image. "She pulls her weight ranch-wise, helps her dad train horses, makes good grades, and stays out of trouble." She set aside the bag she'd been fooling with and pinned him in place with a reproachful stare. "Like I said, she's nothing like Connie's girls, but she seems like a really good kid."

"I can’t win," he said, his voice low. He stood, picked up an armful of gift bags and deposited them on top of the dresser.

"Excuse me?"

"First Betti, then Ty, and now, you. Every time I turn around someone’s chewing my ass out." And he was starting to feel like a human piñata. "If I could leave, I would."

"I love you, Alex, but—"

"I love you, too." He turned to face her. He was exhausted both physically and mentally, and he didn’t want to hear anymore. "Keilana," he whispered. "I love you so much but—"

"Thank you for doing this. For sticking to it. It means a lot."

She hadn’t exactly given him much of a choice and he told her so. His smile disappeared. "I’m doing this for Darrach. You left me. You lied to me and you left me. If I could leave I would, but I'm not leaving without my son. And I'm not leaving without you."

She had the grace to blush as he knelt beside her and started fussing with the bag she'd set aside. "You’re wrinkling the tissue."

She stopped him with a hand on his wrist. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

He nodded and cleared his throat before speaking. "You scared the
shit
out of me. I thought someone had taken you."

She took the bag from him and settled on her knees so they were almost face-to-face. "I’m sorry for scaring you. I'm not sorry for lying to you."

He smiled reluctantly as she wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back, one hand buried in her soft curls. Then he told her about his talk with Ty. "He yelled at me because I wasn't here for him."

"I hate to say this," Kei whispered against his shirt, "but can you blame him?" Alex stiffened at her words, but she refused to let go of him. "Growing up, all I ever had were my cousins, but we're close. You know this." He did. He'd seen the cell phone bill. "We still email and text, but you? You barely spoke to your family for ten years, including your brother. I can't even imagine what he went through and neither can you." She smiled up at him, her eyes suspiciously damp, and cupped his face in hers. "I thank God for you every day. I thank God that you are the man you are, and whether you like it or not, I see now where it comes from."

Just like last night, he felt something suspiciously like guilt. He didn't like it. He didn't like that she was right. He didn't like admitting that he'd let his brother down.

He stood and stacked all the presents by the bedroom door as Darrach started moving around. "I got him." He crossed behind Kei and picked up the baby, snatching a diaper from the bag that hung on the bedpost, and quickly changed him. "I’ll take him downstairs while you finish up."

Anything to get out of that room.

* * *

"Y
’all still planning on going tonight?" Maggie asked as Alex settled Darrach into his highchair for a dinner of spaghetti, green beans and pears. He alternated between feeding himself and his son.

"I thought all he needed was milk?" Rene asked, plopping into her grandmother’s vacant chair.

"Not anymore. Not at his age." Alex sighed in frustration as Darrach spit out another bite of green beans.

"I don’t think he likes those," his mother said.

"He doesn’t. But it’s all Kei packed."

"I wasn't paying attention," she said as she joined them.

"Are y'all having a fight?"

"No, Rene," his mother said, "they’re discussing."

"That’s what Dad used to say about Toni. That they were just discussing. I guess she got tired of discussing, 'cause she took off just like my mom did." Before anyone could speak, she stood and headed for the kitchen door as if she’d said too much, pausing for one brief parting shot. "Suits me just fine. I didn't like her no-how."

"Who’s Toni?" Alex asked, almost against his better judgment.

"A woman," his mother said. "Tim...she broke his heart. I guess she broke Rene’s too."

He’d been gone for ten years, almost Rene’s entire life. Kei was right. Ty was right. He barely knew Rene. To be honest, he
didn’t
know her. He wasn’t even sure he knew his brothers anymore. He hadn’t just stayed away, he hadn’t called, he hadn’t emailed; he hadn’t texted. And he hadn’t known about anyone named Toni.

Where was Delaney? Where was his dad?
What the hell was he doing? What the hell was he supposed to do?

"Are you two still going tonight?" his mother asked again.

The big Christmas party at his aunt's dancehall.

"The baby and I are...at least for a little while," Kei said before he could say no.

"Zander?" his mother asked.

He shrugged noncommittally, then stood and took his plate to the sink, sliding it into soapy water.

"Well—" Maggie fished his plate out, "—while you make up your mind, I’m going to get ready. I could use a night out." She quickly finished up and disappeared through the kitchen door, leaving him alone with his wife.

While Kei quickly ate, he wiped down already clean counters, aware of her eyes on him. He dampened a paper towel and cleaned Darrach’s face against his angry protests. "I’d rather stay here with you."

No way in hell did he want to go to the dancehall, but there was no way he could get out of it without looking like a total ass, and it was Christmas Eve. He trudged past the Christmas tree surrounded by a growing mountain of presents and headed upstairs to give Darrach a quick bath.

The sight of his grandfather’s fiddle case on the bed brought him up short. He hadn’t seen it in years. In fact, didn’t even remember leaving it behind. Honestly, hadn’t given it much thought.

Slowly he crossed the room, tensing slightly at the sound of his mother’s voice behind him. "I thought you might like to have it back, and I couldn’t figure out what to get you for Christmas."

"You didn’t have to get me anything."

"You’re my son." She came up beside him and took Darrach, who squealed with joy at his grandmother’s kisses.

"I think he likes me," she said softly. "Can you still play?"

"I doubt it." His fingers ran across the old dusty case. "Where’d you find it?"

"In the window seat. Probably where you left it," she said with a laugh. "Where are his clothes? You practice while I change him."

"I can’t, Momma. I haven’t played in years." And, oddly enough, he felt bad about that.

She was challenging him. Not only to play, but to remember. He’d been eight when she’d given it to him the first time. At first he’d been disappointed at getting a fiddle for his birthday—and lessons. He’d been awful...at first. But maternal guilt had made him stick with it and over time he improved. He and Zack used to play for hours—him on the fiddle and Zack at the piano—and eventually they ended up playing together at the dancehall while they were in high school. Aunt Susie had let them sit in with the regulars any time they felt like it. How Ty and Tim had
both
gotten out of music lessons was the big mystery.

"He needs a bath," Zander mumbled, his attention on the fiddle.

She patted him on the shoulder, bustling about. "I don’t think a swipe with a warm washcloth and a promise for more tomorrow will kill him, do you?"

"No, ma’am." He flipped the latch on the case and opened it up. If he didn’t know better he’d swear the fiddle looked the same as it had when he was eight—as when he was eighteen, too. Someone had obviously been taking care of it.

"You gonna just stand here, or are you going to play something?"

He glanced over at Darrach, who lay on the bed in just his diaper, attempting to shove one foot past the grin on his face while his grandmother wiped him down. "Be still, boy."

Darrach smiled and shouted, kicking his legs while his mother grumbled. "Thanks a lot."

"Sorry." He smiled, unable to help himself as he watched them together, his mother and his son, then grimaced, glad she couldn’t see his face in that moment. He schooled his features and cleared his throat. "I’m sorry, Mom."

She stopped and turned to smile up at him, then took a seat with the baby on her lap. "I know, son."

She knew what he meant and he appreciated the fact that he didn’t have to elaborate about his apology. No long explanations, no discussions. She just got it. She understood he was sorry for staying gone and for hurting her like he had. For depriving her of knowing Darrach. Nodding, he picked up the bow, and with his back to her, rosined it with shaking fingers, afraid he’d forgotten how. He reached for the fiddle and tucked it beneath his chin, still facing the wall, back to his mom and Darrach, who made his usual assortment of baby noises. He gave it a couple of test runs, both abysmal failures, and came away chuckling.

"Been a while," came his father’s gruff voice from the door.

He wasn’t ready for
that
apology yet. Other than the fight they’d had over who would give Darrach his first ride, they’d barely spoken, and that suited him just fine. His brothers and his mom were different.

"Yes, sir." He tried for simple and managed to pick through something that sounded like "Dixie" and half of "Greensleeves" before giving up with a laugh. He was awful and it felt awkward as hell. He looked over at Darrach, who’d grown strangely quiet, and found him dressed in a light blue turtleneck and jeans, sitting on his grandmother’s lap, one fist in his mouth, legs ‘a swingin’.

He pulled the bow across the strings, giving a long, drawn out "C". Darrach smiled and leaned against his grandmother. He liked it. Zander tried again, this time picking out "Noel, Noel" while never taking his eyes off his son. It was rough and still a bit ugly, but definitely an improvement, judging from the smiles on his mother and son’s faces, so he pushed on.

It struck him that he was standing there playing his maternal grandfather’s fiddle for his mom and son. The thought, full of sentiment and nostalgia, wasn’t his usual fare, but something Kei would think up, and that dug at him.

If you’d asked him a week ago, he would have laughed at the notion or worse, never even given it a second thought, but now it choked him up, and he had to turn away from them again. Turn away from the blue eyes that looked like his; from his mother’s all-knowing green ones; from a touch of guilt that was mixed with the nostalgia. As the last notes faded away, he turned back and give his mother a small smile.

"I didn’t know you could do that," came a soft voice from the door. Kei stood leaning against his father. She’d never even heard him play before. Again he felt a twinge of regret.

"He sings, too. I put my boys in the church choir when they were about ten. Well, Darrach’s all dressed, and so am I. Why don’t I take him downstairs, and you two can get cleaned up?" Maggie stood and headed for the door.

"Are you gonna share that baby?" Jerrod asked as she approached him.

"
No
."

Alex looked at Kei, who shrugged and giggled, a grin on her pretty lips. He could hear his parents arguing over the baby all the way down the stairs. "You should play more often. Darrach liked it."

"I know." He turned to set the bow and fiddle back in the case as she came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist.

"You’ll have to play for us again." Her fingers slipped between the buttons of his shirt and rubbed his belly.

He groaned and grasped her wrist, pulling her hand free and turning to face her. He wanted her,
needed her
. They’d go to that damn Christmas party, but they weren’t staying long. "We don’t have time, but if we did, I’d take you into that shower and give your hands something to do."

Her brown eyes turned soft and misty as he kissed and nibbled at her fingertips. "I bet you would."

"Later?"

"Count on it." She rubbed a thumb across his unshaven chin. "Now we better get dressed, or they’ll leave without us."

"Maybe we should let ‘em." He kissed her palm.

She tugged her hand free and skirted around to her suitcase, pulling a white, ribbed turtleneck and a pair of jeans free. "Do you need me to iron a shirt for you? Never mind. You brought everything fresh from the cleaners, didn’t you?"

He chuckled, looking down at the perfectly creased khaki’s and blue plaid shirt he'd worn shopping. She hated going to the cleaners for him and griped about the bills, so he went himself and never showed them to her.

"You are so mean." He grinned and shook his head, heading for his own suitcase, which sat atop a chair in the far corner. They changed quickly, hustling and bustling around each other like the old married folks he sometimes felt they were. He enjoyed the feeling of peace that settled over him. Despite her,
Delaney
, and his dad, it seemed some of the equilibrium had been returned to his world. Everything was almost in order.

"And not a hair out of place." She grinned back, makeup in one hand, a cosmetic brush in the other. "I should mess up your hair, but you smell too damned good to be that mean to."

He stepped closer, leaning against the doorjamb of the tiny bathroom, arms crossed. "Keep sassing me like that, and I’m going to quit letting you hang around my mother. Now, turn around."

One last swipe of the brush across both cheeks, and she turned. He laid the heart-shaped diamond pendant across her chest and hooked it. She turned to face him, pausing to look in the mirror and run her fingers across it. The stone shimmered even in the dull bathroom light. "I never told you how beautiful this was or thanked you properly."

"You can thank me properly later," he teased, handing her a velvet box.

"Keep sassing me like this, and I’m gonna quit bringing you to the country. What’s in the box?" She eyed him, taking it from his outstretched fingers and opening it with a breathless, "Alexander!"