Snowed in with the Rancher: Christmas Cowboy Romance with Unexpected Twin Daughters, page 11
“Thanks, but Olivia and I decided last night that the best thing for all of us right now is a little normal. After all that new information in three days, everyone just needs to get back to regular life, you know?”
Thomas's brow furrowed, and he rocked back on his heels before settling again. “I understand it's been a lot in a very short time. But you do realize that you've got a whole new normal now?”
Tate's midsection tightened, and he took a deep breath. “Sure, we've talked about how I'll spend time with the girls, become a regular part of their lives. Olivia suggested some dinners with them, to start. But that doesn't have anything to do with my job. I have a ranch to run, kids or no kids, and that doesn't change.”
Thomas didn't answer that, and Tate relaxed a touch. Good. His dad obviously understood what he was saying. He loved that the girls were in his life, and he had hopes that maybe he and Olivia could work something out, too, but there was no rush. Everything didn't have to change. Some things could stay the way he was so accustomed to. Satisfied that he'd cleared that up, he said goodbye to his father and set off to tackle his day. It was going to be a long one, no point in wasting any more time chatting.
A week later, Olivia stood looking at what had been the living room of the house she was supposed to be living in by now. The floors were missing, and the walls were torn down to the studs. Meanwhile, her belongings from Washington were wedged into a very expensive storage unit ten miles up the road in the next town.
“So we'll need to lay new boards, then finish them, replace the drywall, float and tape it, texture coat and paint.” Jake continued his explanation before leaning toward her. “And you didn't hear this from me, but you should insist that Mrs. Anderson get the rewiring done before we start putting up the drywall. This knob-and-tube is about thirty years past when it should have been replaced.” Folding up the piece of paper with the list of tasks, he tucked it in his pocket and gave her an earnest look. “I'm not trying to get more money, I'm really not, but it's not even allowed by code to leave that wiring in—for good reason. I won't turn her in because she owns half the rentals in town and I need the business, but if the town inspector catches wind of it, she'll fine old lady Anderson a lot more than the cost of the replacement.”
Olivia's head throbbed. As always, she'd been trying to put a positive spin on this. And truly, most days she could find the bright side of things, if she looked hard enough. However, this week had been a doozy, even by her standards.
“Is there any chance of another rental in town?” she asked. “I think I'd have better luck getting her to let me out of the lease than getting her to spring for new wiring.”
Jake gave a sharp bark of laughter, then sobered when he saw she was serious. He scratched the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “Last time someone tried to break one of Mrs. Anderson's leases, she took 'em to court. They won, but not before she dragged things out so long that they ended up paying ten grand in lawyer fees. Would have been cheaper to just pay her the rent.” He smiled sympathetically. “Besides that, she's the only landlord in town unless you want to go out to the mountains.”
Olivia sighed. “Okay, I'll talk to her about the wiring, but will you do what you can to keep things moving along? It's hard on my girls not to have a real house, and with everything in storage, things are stressful for all of us.”
Jake looked perplexed. “I've been up to Tate's place, it's real nice.”
“It is, but it's not our house. You understand, I'm sure.”
He nodded, although she didn't think he really got it.
As she drove back to Thomas and Lucy's, where she'd left the girls while she ran errands for the afternoon, Olivia thought back over the last few days. Since the first night when she'd told Tate they should work at getting back to their normal habits, he'd seemingly done exactly that. But his going back to his normal routine meant that he went to work while it was still dark, came home long after it had gotten dark again, and spent most of his time in the house reading ranching journals and taking Lobster out to snowshoe.
He'd eaten dinner with her and the girls exactly once, had breakfast with them once, and spoken probably fifty words to them in all that time. She was beginning to get the impression that he had no idea what to do with them being in his house…or in his life.
And while it might have broken her heart if she'd let it, Olivia simply didn't have the time to worry about it. Christmas was only three days away, and she had nothing for the girls. The tree they'd decorated at Tate's was fine, but all their ornaments, the ones she'd inherited from her parents, the ones the girls were attached to, were packed away in the storage unit, and nothing felt like Christmas. There'd been no trip to see Santa, no baking Christmas cookies, no attending parties at friends' homes. The girls were cranky, Olivia was overwrought, and any ideas she'd had about getting a partner in all of this had rumbled out the door with Tate the first morning she'd woken up to find him long since gone.
She pulled up in front of Thomas and Lucy's and released a long sigh. The one bright light in the whole situation had been Tate's parents. She couldn't have asked for kinder, better people to be grandparents to her children, and that alone reminded her that this move had given the girls something irreplaceable.
As she walked up the stairs of the porch, the door swung open. Melissa came bouncing out and threw her arms around Olivia's legs.
Olivia was surprised by that kind of exuberance from her quiet one. “Hey Lissa, everything okay?”
Melissa's eyes shone as she gazed up at her mother. “Mommy, we had so much fun!” she exclaimed in a loud whisper as if speaking out loud might ruin it.
Olivia smiled, stroking her daughter's hair. “I'm really glad. Why don't we go inside where it's warm, and you can tell me all about it.”
She let Melissa lead her inside, where she took off her coat and boots. She could hear Lucy and Jackie in the kitchen, but instead of leading Olivia there, Melissa pulled her along to the study. The walls in the big room were lined with bookshelves. The furniture was comfortable Western style, overstuffed leather sofas and chairs, a large oak desk, cowhide rugs.
Thomas was sitting in an armchair, reading glasses perched on his nose, a photo album in his hands.
“There she is,” he said with a warm smile. “We've been watching out the windows for you.” He winked.
“I hear you've had a lot of fun this afternoon,” Oliva said, sitting on the sofa adjacent to his chair. She blinked in surprise when Melissa went over to Thomas and climbed onto his lap as if she did it every day.
Thomas moved the photo album aside to make room for his granddaughter and wrapped an arm around her casually. “Well, you want to tell your mama what we've been up to?” he asked.
Melissa turned to Olivia and began a recitation of their activities that included visiting the barn and learning the names of all the tack for the horses—and the names of all the horses, of course—then a trip to the attic to play dress-up in their late grandmother's wedding dress, a lesson in how to cut the end off a cigar—”but grandpa's not allowed to smoke them, just chew them”—and finally story time with the photo album that was all about Daddy.
By the time the recitation was over, Olivia's eyes were burning with unshed tears, and she had to pause before she could comment on any of it. “That's—” she cleared her throat. “That's the best day I've heard about in a long time.” She looked Thomas in the eye. “I can't thank you enough.”
He smiled gently at her. “It's only the first of lots of days, we hope. I haven't had this much fun in years.”
“And did your sister do all those things with you?” Olivia asked.
“Just the barn and the dress-up. Then she wanted to go plant the herbs in the kitchen and bake cookies.” Melissa gazed up at Thomas adoringly. “But I wanted to stay with Grandpa. Grandma Lucy says next time we can trade—and also, I still get to eat the cookies even though I didn't bake them.”
Thomas laughed. “And I bet if you ran into the kitchen, Grandma Lucy has some all ready for eating, along with a big glass of milk.”
Melissa looked at her mom. “You'd better run,” Olivia said, unable to hold back a laugh. “I'll be right behind you.”
Melissa ran out of the room, and Olivia moved to stand as well, but Thomas interrupted her exit.
“The girls say they haven't seen much of Tate since those first couple days,” he said somberly.
Olivia hesitated, not sure how to handle the situation. She didn't want Tate to think she'd complained about him to his parents. And while Thomas and Lucy had been perfectly respectful of boundaries up until now, she wanted to make sure that continued. She knew it wouldn't be appropriate to let them interfere in whatever was happening in Tate's house.
“You don't have to worry about telling me the truth,” Thomas seemed to be reading her thoughts. “I'm not trying to interfere, but I do know my son.” He sighed and set the photo album on the coffee table as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Melissa reminds me so much of him as a kid. The way she observes everything so carefully. She wants to learn, and she doesn't want to try anything until she's sure she can do it perfectly.”
Olivia was floored by how well he already knew her child.
“Tate was like that from the start. But…well, it got worse after we lost his mama.” She saw him swallow hard. “Anne was an angel. Brought this quiet and peace to everything she did.” He cleared his throat. He obviously still had strong feelings for his late wife. “When Anne died, I wasn't prepared for what it meant to Tate. I did the things I understood needed to be done—I kept him busy, made sure I was always here for him when he got home from school, learned how to cook some of the things his mama used to make. But I thought as long as he wasn't acting out or telling me he was upset, that meant he was doing fine.”
Olivia reached over and gave Thomas's knee a squeeze. “I'm sure you did everything you could. It must have been such a hard time for both of you.”
“What I didn't realize was that for a kid like Tate—a kid like Melissa—if you don't find a way to help them say what they're feeling…” He shrugged. “They won't.”
Olivia didn't know how to respond, didn't know what he wanted her to say, so she just waited.
“But I've been Tate's father for over three decades, and for many of those I was his only parent. Over time, I've come to realize what he hasn't been able to say—my son struggles to connect with people. Deep down, I think he's afraid to care for anyone because he knows how much it hurts to lose someone you love.”
Olivia made a strange sound in her throat as tears threatened to spill.
“He's kept a distance between himself and everyone else in his life for years now. And when the girls told me he hadn't been around this last week—hell, when I saw him here before seven a.m. every day—I knew he was doing it again.”
Well dammit, Olivia thought. Just in case she'd thought her day couldn't get any worse.
She shook her head. “I'm not sure what to do with that information.” Feeling sad, she looked at Thomas. “What are you asking from me?”
The older man smiled sweetly and patted her on the hand. “That's up to you, dear. Like I said, I don't want to interfere. I just thought that you should know, so maybe you can be a little patient with him. He has it in him to love deeply, but he's been hiding for a very long time. It's not going to happen quick.”
Lucy called from the kitchen, echoed by the twins, and he added, “Sounds like we'd better head that way.” He got up from his chair, and she followed suit.
“Wow, everything smells so good. My compliments to the bakers,” she told Lucy and Jackie as she followed Thomas into the kitchen. She looked around the airy kitchen, surprised at the number of racks hosting cooling cookies.
“They're for Christmas,” Jackie announced, looking every bit the baker in her flour-covered apron. “But we made extra so we could have some now, didn't we, Grandma?”
“Indeed we did,” was Lucy's reply as she walked to the cabinet to take down empty glasses for milk.
Olivia watched Melissa inspect the cookies while her sister whispered in her ear, pointing out the different types. As if on cue, Melissa reached for a sugar cookie decorated in what looked like crushed peppermints and white chocolate.
“Those are one of my favorites,” Lucy told her, grabbing a cookie for herself and biting into it.
Melissa lifted her chosen cookie to her lips and took a careful bite. Her eyes seemed to light up when the peppermint and sweetness from the white chocolate hit, and she nodded her head in agreement. Pointing to what looked like snickerdoodles, Jackie proudly proclaimed that she'd made those, and Oliva picked one up. Before taking a bite, she inhaled deeply of the rich scent of sugar and cinnamon.
“Well now, I'd best catch up,” Thomas chimed in, breaking Olivia out of her thoughts. They all talked and laughed together while overindulging in warm cookies and cold milk. It was the first time in nearly five years she'd felt anything like what she'd had with her parents, and it helped ease her mind somewhat. These were two people who already loved her children. Good people. Trustworthy. People who would support her. By the time she'd packed up the girls and was heading to the car, Olivia had at least one thing in her new life settled—no matter what happened with Tate, both she and the girls had people they could rely on. Thomas and Lucy were going to make wonderful grandparents.
Now if only she knew whether their son could fulfill his role.
FIFTEEN
Normal did not include one twin screaming while the other stood naked, dripping water all over the living room floor.
Tate stood, arms crossed, facing Melissa as she shivered and dripped. An equally wet Jackie sobbed in Olivia's arms.
“It's okay,” Olivia soothed. “But I can't listen to what you want to tell me if you don't stop crying.”
Melissa's obstinate expression told Tate that whatever had happened, she was likely the one responsible for it. He reached over to the back of the sofa and grabbed a chenille throw, bent down, and wrapped it around forty pounds of wet, slippery child.
Jackie buried her head in Olivia's shoulder, and the sobs finally quieted. Tate hated to see the girls upset, but he'd also had a very long day at the ranch. His plan had been to come home, take Lobster out for a quick hike, eat something in front of the television, and read Rancher's Quarterly until he fell asleep—the sooner the better.
Instead, he'd come home to a kitchen that looked like a tornado had passed through, both girls out of sorts, and Olivia trying to fill out some sort of paperwork for her rental house while simultaneously dealing with the girls, a load of laundry, and Lobster's dinner.
He'd quickly realized that he wasn't going to be able to cook what he wanted, watch what he wanted, or do what he wanted. This was the new normal his father had been warning him about, and it was deeply unsettling. He wasn't meant to feel this lost and out of place in his own home.
“So, why don't we start from the beginning,” he said to Melissa as he knelt in front of her. “What happened?”
Above him, he heard Olivia sigh as she rocked with Jackie in her arms. Melissa continued to scowl.
“Lissa,” Olivia said. “You need to tell us what happened.”
The small girl shook her head and crossed her arms.
“Well,” said Tate, at a loss for what to do. Only one idea seemed like a decent possibility. “I guess everyone can just go to bed, then.” Jackie started wailing again, and Melissa glared at him before her bottom lip began to quiver. She turned around and stomped upstairs.
Tate looked up at Olivia in time to see her narrow her gaze, her lips uncharacteristically tight. Then she too marched upstairs, carrying Jackie, indignation following in their wake.
Tate stood and looked at Lobster, who had wisely stayed on his bed in the corner during the fracas.
“At least I got my quiet back,” he mumbled—though that was poor compensation for having all three of the ladies of the house angry with him. Lobster sighed, his big, soft eyes accusing.
Half an hour later, after cleaning the kitchen for the second time since he'd been home, Tate finally sat down on the sofa and opened his Rancher's Quarterly. It was after nine, and he needed to be at work before six in the morning, so he didn't anticipate much reading at this point.
“We need to talk,” he heard Olivia say and looked up to see her standing at the bottom of the stairs. Her tone told him this wasn't going to be good.
He set the magazine aside. “Okay.”
She began to pace in front of the fireplace, arms crossed, before finally speaking. “I understand that you had a long day at work, and I realize that this is all new, and having us crammed in the same house in the middle of winter isn't the best setup.”
He silently said an amen to that.
“But you can't solve it by telling them to go to bed. When they're upset, they need attention, not to be pushed away like they're a bother. They're still learning how to deal with what they're feeling, and I don't want them to get the idea that bottling everything up or hiding it away is the right choice.”
“What is there to bottle up?” Tate asked, genuinely confused. “I mean, from the looks of it, they got into some kind of spat during bath time. Not really a lot to unpack there.”
“The issue is why they got into a spat. They're unsettled, and this is how they're showing it.” “They're four,” Olivia said, her voice sounding strained, “and they've been through a lot the last few weeks. They've left the only home they ever had, moved to different state, they have no one to play with here, they've suddenly gained a father and grandparents they didn't know existed…” At that, her voice cracked and she inhaled sharply before sniffling.
Oh hell. How could he have forgotten that it wasn't just him or the girls who were going through a lot? She was too—and he hadn't been much help. Tate was on his feet in a flash, moving around the coffee table and taking her in his arms. “I'm sorry,” he murmured as he held her stiff body as close as she'd allow. “I didn't mean to…” He searched for the right words.
