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Valentine was so shocked by Last coming to her house and asking her this question that it took her a second to shake her head. “I think we’re better off as friends. You don’t want more than that, do you?”
“I want to be first in my daughter’s life.”
“And you’re worried that you won’t be?” This was a side of Last she’d never seen before.
“Maybe.”
“Last, Annette knows who you are,” Valentine said softly. “That should be reassurance enough.”
“Yeah.” He backed away from the door. “Okay.”
Valentine took a deep breath. “For what it’s worth, Last, I never set out to trap you with fatherhood. If you avoid me because you think I’m after you, it’s not true. I don’t remember much about our night together, but I know it got out of hand pretty quick and that neither of us were ourselves. Nor were either of us under any delusions.”
He looked grim. “Sometimes I wonder if it really happened.”
“I know.”
His mouth settled into a tense line. “I think, Valentine, I owe you an apology. I had some wildness in me, and I never thought about the consequences of my actions. For either of us, but especially for you.”
Valentine smiled slightly. “Thank you. But it doesn’t matter anymore. We have a daughter we both love.”
“We sure do.” For the first time, he smiled. “I’m still kind of amazed that I’m a dad.”
“Scary?”
“Scary, but awesome.” He stepped down off the porch. “By the way, do you have a thing for my brother Crockett?”
Her smile slipped, and she gave him a warning glare. “Haven’t you asked the one question you came here to ask?”
He laughed and put up his hands in mock surrender. “All right.”
She opened the door. “I have to get to work early in the morning.”
He nodded. “Good night.”
“Good night.” Closing the door, Valentine wondered which of Last’s questions he’d really come to ask. She’d never know—but one thing she did know, she had a thing for Crockett.
OKAY, SO IT WAS WRONG to be hiding in the bushes. Crockett knew that. But he wasn’t so much hiding as skulking, he figured, in the old-time manner any villain from a black-and-white movie would appreciate.
But what else could a man do? The second he’d realized Last had a major burr under his saddle and was heading down to Valentine’s house, Crockett had to tag along to eavesdrop.
He’d heard everything, amazed that Valentine and Last spoke with each other so easily about such a difficult subject. And how dare Last ask her if she had a thing for him? Crockett was just honest enough to admit his ears had stretched out about a foot to hear her reply, his heart hoping for an affirmative answer of some sort.
Well, he hadn’t gotten an affirmative, but he hadn’t overheard a negative, either. Wasn’t that a good sign?
He untangled himself from the bushes and headed back toward the main house. Half of him wanted to go pound Last for muddying the waters; he’d have to keep an eye on that brother of his. But right now the other half of him wanted to express his joy.
She didn’t say that she didn’t have a thing for me, he repeated to himself happily.
IN MIMI’S TOWNHOUSE the next day Mimi and Mason were seated at the kitchen table drinking tea and glaring at each other. Mimi’s daughter, Nanette, sat in Mason’s lap, playing with a doll he’d given her, completely oblivious to the tension in the room.
“I don’t want to be your deputy,” Mason said. “It’s a harebrained idea, as usual.”
“Sometimes you like my ideas,” she reminded him.
Mason wondered if he’d truly liked her ideas, or if he’d simply been driven by the inner devil that sometimes took the wheel of the Jefferson boys. “I may have lost my sense of direction and allowed you to lead me astray a time or two.”
“So you don’t want to be my deputy because of the news about Maverick?” Mimi asked. “Are you leaving to look for him again?”
“No.” He kissed the top of Nanette’s head, drawing peace from her presence. “It wouldn’t do me any good. Hawk and Jellyfish can find whatever is out there. They’re the trackers. Me, I’m just a farm boy.”
She laughed. “Right.”
“So.”
Taking a sip of tea, he considered Mimi. She was just as pretty as she’d ever been. Maybe even prettier. He supposed that now that she was officially divorced from Brian, men would flock to her door. That thought rattled him quite a bit more than it should. So he thought about Nanette instead. She needed a stable male influence in her life. She had Mimi’s father, the sheriff, of course. And Barley, Calhoun’s father-in-law, who came around often to play checkers and carouse with the sheriff a bit. And all the Jefferson brothers did their part for their former neighbor, because they loved Mimi like a sister and adored Nanette like one of their own.
But was it enough? “I may take Nanette to the park today.”
Mimi’s brows raised. “She’d like that.”
“Yeah.” He’d like it, too. He liked spending time with this child. Maybe he felt sorry for her since her father was never around. One thing Mimi’d had while growing up—wild March hare that she was—was the stable influence of the sheriff.
Nanette was a baby, really, but she still needed at least one man who cared about her in a…fatherly way.
He decided it was up to him. “Yeah, the deputy thing isn’t for me. And now that the sheriff has nearly gotten over the liver infection, can he keep his post?”
Mimi shook her head. “He can’t run for sheriff again. Dad really needs to take it easy. He’s happy here in town, too, more than I thought he’d be.” She sighed. “Although I will admit I never thought we’d leave our little farm.”
Mason was just glad they hadn’t moved farther away. With Mimi, you could never tell what might happen. “Ever hear from Brian?”
“No. Not really. He still does some paperwork for Dad.”
“Ah.” Mason felt the tiny stab of jealousy inside him recede. He supposed he’d always been a bit worried that Mimi and Brian might work things out. It was so wrong of him to be happy that their marriage had failed! What kind of friend was he?
“You know, Mason,” Mimi said, “that little bundle of joy you’re holding is what gave my father the will to live. I think he fought that infection with every shred of strength he had in him just to see her grow up.”
“Miracle girl.” Mason kissed the top of her head again. “Don’t start thinking you’re special, though, toot.”
Nanette patted his face, then pretended to steal his nose.
“Okay, off to the park we go. You want to come?”
Mimi shook her head. “Thanks. You go on.”
Mason gathered Nanette in his arms then turned to look at Mimi. “I don’t think you should run for sheriff, either. It’s too dangerous. You need to think of your little girl.”
“And I’ve decided to take your advice on that matter. Of course, your horsey opinion doesn’t have anything to do with my change of mind, but I have thought long and hard on it. You’re right.”
Mason was shocked. “Is that a first?”
Mimi laughed. “Hell, yes, so don’t be annoying and gloat.”
“Humph.” He thought about her capitulation and wondered aloud, “What else could I get out of you while you’re in this easy mood? One ought to grab all the candy while the store’s open and free, I think.”
“I’m not exactly candy,” Mimi said.
No, but she was being sweet. He frowned. “Mimi,” he said, “have you ever thought about the fact that sometimes you and I really get along?”
Chapter Four
Hidden in the attic that he had accepted as his artistic loft, Crockett stared at the clay lump in front of him. This was definitely a new playground. Clay didn’t have the color of paints, or the lightness of spirit that said, “Create freely!”
But the lump represented wonderful opportunities. It gave him a chance to think about the new him. Sculptor. Artist of a molding medium. He worked the clay between his fingers. He had eschewed white, opting to start with red clay. Would he enjoy making something without a brush? He hoped he didn’t become frustrated or miss the sensation of a brush sliding across canvas.
“I have a barn to clean out, so you and I better come to terms,” he told the lump. “Be beautiful.”
“Crockett?” a voice called up the stairs.
Valentine! Blast! “Yes?”
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
So much for having a secret lair. Had someone put out a sign when he wasn’t looking? This way to Crockett’s cave? But if someone had to bother him he was glad it was Valentine. She was worth a break.
“Sure. Come on up.”
She appeared at the top of the ladder, and he reached to help her into the room. “This space is nice.”
He glanced around. “Not really.”
“Oh, sure. This is the perfect place to read a book! Especially on a rainy day.” She smiled, giving a fake shiver. “A cold, rainy day.”
“It’s July. Hard to think about cold, rainy days.”
“Yeah. You know, you just need a window seat up here, a fresh coat of paint, and this place would be a wonderful studio.”
Of course, she was right, but he didn’t want her redecorating his hideout. Ugly and in some disarray, it suited his mood. “Hey, what’s up, anyway? What brings you to the dustiest part of the ranch?”
She turned to look out the window, which he appreciated, because he could now evaluate her curves. Yes, she was just as he remembered: full and feminine and made for a man who appreciated round, apple-shaped—
“You’re making me self-conscious, Crockett,” Valentine said, laughing. “You always seem to be staring at my fanny.”
“Your jeans fit good,” he said. “I’ve never known Wrangler jeans to fit anyone quite like yours fit you.”
“And you would be a connoisseur of fannies,” she teased.
“Purely a statement of truth.” Valentine was hotter than a pistol, in his book—but it was a book he wasn’t going to read, window seat and fresh paint or not. “So once again, what do you want?”
She took a deep breath. “I was going to see what you thought about me having a special little ‘do’ here for Father’s Day.”
He stopped fiddling with the lump of clay. “Father’s Day? That was last month.”
“Yes. Well there are rather a lot of fathers around here. And we didn’t have a real celebration for them. Last, the sheriff, Barley, Calhoun—”
He scowled at his brother’s names. “You’re doing this for Last.”
“I would like to do something for him,” Valentine admitted. “I think he would enjoy being celebrated as a father. He has really been good to Annette.”
He guessed late was better than never. “Have you mentioned this party idea to Mason?”
“Not yet. I thought I’d speak to you first.”
“Why me? I’m not a father.” A fact he hated to admit, for some reason. Why wasn’t he a father? Because he hadn’t gone on a hootenanny and gotten someone pregnant as Last had, he supposed. But that route to fatherhood seemed unappealing when there were other ways.
Like with Valentine.
The thought swept over him before he could stop it. Valentine made beautiful babies; she made beautiful everything.
“I like to talk to you about whatever’s on my mind,” she said simply. “You’re reasonable.”
Reasonable was the last thing he was feeling. “I’m not a father,” he repeated, “but it sounds like something my brothers, at least, would enjoy. Can I come if I’m not a father?”
She looked at him. “Why do you keep saying that?”
“I don’t know. It could be bothering me.”
They stared at each other for a long time, and the silence felt awkward.
“Do you want to be a father?” Valentine asked softly.
Crockett eased back on his stool. “You seem happy being a parent.”
She smiled. “Yes, I love being a mother. But I am a parent of one. I’m not having any more children, so the burden doesn’t seem overly large.”
His brows rose, and an uncomfortable feeling lodged in his stomach. “You’re never having any more kids?”
She shrugged. “I’m a single mother. It’s rewarding, but enough of a struggle that I know I don’t plan on having more children.”
“I think Annette would like a little brother to drag around.”
“I think she has plenty of people wrapped in the crook of her finger.” She sat down across from him. “So about the party.”
“Yeah,” Crockett said reluctantly, realizing he wouldn’t enjoy watching his brother get kudos for being a dad. “Sounds like a real wingding.”
He scratched his head. His brain disliked the notion of Valentine not having more children. It didn’t sit right with him. Why? He drummed his fingers, then cracked his knuckles—and then it hit him.
He really wanted a child.
