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“Who knows what goes through the minds of children?” Allison said, warming to this new viewpoint. “Especially Sheriff Garrett’s children. You could be onto something with the notion that they don’t want anyone upsetting the status quo. I’m not sure children understand the different kinds of love or that it’s possible to love more than one person.”
She took a final sip of her cooling coffee and drew her purse closer, ending the conversation. “Homer said he’d think things over and decide on a course of action.”
She pulled some coins from her purse to pay for the coffee, but Ellie pushed them aside. “It’s on the house.”
“Thank you. I’d better start pinching pennies since I may soon be without employment. You don’t need a waitress, do you?” The expression in Allison’s eyes belied the lightness of her voice.
“Not really,” Ellie said with a laugh. She gave Allison’s hand a pat. “I know you’re worried, sister dear,” she said, falling back on the childhood term for Allison. “I can’t imagine it coming to that. Homer is one of your most loyal fans.”
“Maybe so,” Allison said, “but everyone knows that he’s very pleased with Colt as our sheriff, too.”
Chapter Two (#ulink_52fd56d7-4f98-5d45-b96c-57dede65f1a6)
Colt scraped the fingers of both hands through his light brown, sun-bleached hair, rested his elbows on the desktop and clutched his aching head. The minute Allison Grainger was out of his sight, his anger had more or less dissolved. He resented her audacity, but he couldn’t deny that what she’d said, combined with what Ellie had told him, brought sharp focus to something he’d known for a while: he had a problem.
He wasn’t totally oblivious. He’d heard the whispers that accompanied the kids wherever they went. The people he considered true friends, like the Gentry brothers, had come straight out and told him pretty much what the teacher had—that he’d best get them in check before it was too late. As hard as it was to swallow, he knew they were all right. Something had to give. He didn’t want Brady to be illiterate or Cilla to be a shrew. Patrice certainly hadn’t been, and Colt didn’t think he was too cantankerous...except maybe when he dealt with the oh-so-prim Miss Grainger.
Why was he such a hopeless parent? He loved his kids. Would die for them. He tried to balance his time at home with work and gave them pretty much whatever they wanted, but according to Miss Grainger, they wanted boundaries. In other words, rules. Oh, he’d made lots of rules through the years. The problem was that he was much better at enforcing the laws of the land than he was at enforcing his own regulations.
He admitted to being bad about threatening them with dire consequences if they misbehaved but not following through. He knew he was too lenient and should punish them when that happened, but the thought of them being unhappy was more than he could stand, especially since he was their only parent. He supposed that leniency was his way of trying to make up for the loss of their mother.
Patrice had died when Brady was born, forcing Colt to take on the role of both parents. His son had been reasonably easy until he started school, but as Miss Grainger had told him time after time, he had a problem learning, which frustrated Colt and made Brady angry. Too often that anger drove him to disobedience.
Cilla, just five when her mother died, was definitely Daddy’s girl. Like her brother, she hadn’t been much of a problem until she’d begun to grow up. In a lot of ways, she seemed too old for her twelve years, and in others she was very immature.
In recent months, her moods had begun to fluctuate from childlike joy to pouty moodiness. Colt knew enough about the fairer sex to know that it was because she was fast approaching the time when she’d become a woman in the truest sense of the word. He had no idea how to explain the physical and emotional changes she was going through, so he just ignored them—and her—as best he could until her disposition changed back to something he could deal with. It seemed that women were born knowing how to deal with those emotional things men were not so good at.
There were times, though, like today, when he was forced to face his shortcomings. When that happened, he tried to put himself in their place and imagine what it must be like to grow up without a mother to confide in, talk to or look up to.
Wallowing in self-pity wouldn’t get him anywhere. The handwriting was on the wall. Looking the other way wouldn’t work this time. He knew Homer Talbot thought Allison Grainger was tops when it came to teachers, so it made sense that he would not want to lose her, which meant Colt would have to take charge of his progeny at last.
How are you going to do that? You haven’t been able to do it in seven years.
He had no earthly idea, but he thought he knew where to go to get some no-nonsense advice.
When Dan Mercer, Colt’s deputy, returned from running some errands, Colt left the office in his care and went to get Ellie’s take on things. Thankfully, the café was all but empty. Ellie was filling saltshakers. The expression on her face when she looked up told him she’d already heard the news.
“You’ve heard.”
She nodded and gestured toward an empty table. “From several folks, actually, including Allison.”
“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” Colt asked as he pulled out a chair for her.
Ellie glared at him over her shoulder. “Her story matches Sarah VanSickle’s.”
Colt planted his hands on his hips and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling.
“Sit,” Ellie said.
He sat, and buried his face in his hands.
“Colt, look at me,” she commanded, circling his wrists with her fingers and tugging his hands down. His troubled gaze found hers. “You have to know...even I’ve told you...that the kids are...less than angels.”
A bitter laugh sputtered from his lips. “So it seems.”
“Well, then, the time has come for you to do something about it.”
“What? I don’t have a clue about what needs to be done.”
“Well, first you should stop letting them take advantage of you.”
“How do you figure?” he asked, scowling.
It was Ellie’s turn to laugh. “Everyone in town knows you’re tough on criminals and soft on your kids.”
His eyes widened in disbelief. That was exactly what he’d just been thinking. “So it’s a topic of dinner discussions, is it?”
“You know as well as I do that everyone’s circumstances are the topic of dinner discussions at one time or another,” she said with a little shrug.
“I’m all they have,” he said, as if that explained everything. “And they’re all I have of Patrice. Priscilla still misses her mom, and I hate to make things tougher on her by—” he spread his hands in a vague gesture “—being too strict. And Brady has never known what it is to have a mom, and as his only parent, I don’t want to be an ogre.”
“And they instinctively know that and use it to their advantage.”
“How could they know?”
“Children are like a wild animal stalking its prey,” Ellie said with a wry smile. “They instinctively know the weakest link. Even Beth is a master of it. It’s just a part of their makeup. I don’t want to make you angry,” she said, “but—”
“I have to get them under control,” he said.
“Yes.”
They sat in silence for several moments, while Colt digested the situation. It didn’t sit well. “Your sister said she would give up her teaching position before she spent another year with them.”
“She told me,” Ellie said in a gentle voice. “She’s a good teacher, Colt. A good person.”
“If you say so.”
Ellie smiled. “I do, and I think I’m in a position to know. Have you ever tried talking to Brady and Cilla about why they’re so disruptive?”
“I’ve had talks about them not misbehaving, but no, I’ve never tried to get to the root of why they do it.”
“Gracie has a theory,” Ellie told him. “And both Allison and I think she’s onto something. She believes they sabotage your associations because they don’t want to share you. I think she’s right.”
“That’s crazy,” Colt said with a hint of irritation.
“Is it? I started thinking back over the past year, and every time you’ve shown interest in a woman, they’ve done something to ruin things.”
It was true that something had gone wrong with each attempted relationship. Now, looking back, the kids were somehow the culprits in every case. Holly Jefferson. Leticia Farley. Jocelyn Cole. All of them had cried off, citing that they had too little in common and it would be silly to try to take things further. Rachel Stone was the exception. He and the lady doctor had soon realized that while they liked each other a lot, there was no romantic spark between them.
“If you plan to marry at some time in the future—”
“I do,” he said.
“Then you’d better make it clear to the kids that marrying again is your intention no matter what they think, how they feel about the woman or if they approve.”
“Isn’t that being a bit insensitive to their feelings?”
“Do they care about yours?” Ellie retorted. She reached out and gave his hand a friendly pat. “I don’t mean to sound cold, Colt. You should tell them that they must trust that you won’t fall in love with someone who will mistreat them or you.”
“I’d hope I’ll be smarter than that.”
“Allison made a good point, too.”
A muscle in Colt’s jaw knotted at the teacher’s name. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear anything she had to say about children. “And what profound statement did Saint Allison contribute?”
Ellie gave him a strange look. “She pointed out that children don’t always understand that you can love more than one person at a time,” Ellie said, “or that there are different kinds of love.”
Colt conceded that she had a point.
“The main thing to remember is that you’re the adult. You set the rules and the tone from here on out. If they don’t follow them, then there are consequences. And stick with those consequences!” she added, giving his hand a light slap. “Don’t let them butter you up to get on your good side. Believe me, they might not like it now, but they’ll thank you later.”
Boundaries, again. He blew out a deep breath and said the word aloud. It tasted like ashes in his mouth.
“What?”
“Your sister claims that children need boundaries, that they ache for boundaries.”
Ellie smiled. “She’s right. They do.”
“It’s a tall order, Ellie,” he said, rare uncertainty in his eyes.
“Perhaps,” she agreed, nodding, “but there’s far more to being a parent than doing your part in their conception. It means molding and shaping them into good people and productive citizens, and giving them the necessary skills to cope with whatever comes along. With God’s help, you can do this.”
God. Colt’s relationship with the Almighty was a topic he didn’t want to address. He’d once been a devoted Christian, but when God hadn’t answered his prayers to spare Patrice, Colt had turned his back on everything spiritual, though he still tried to live a decent, honest life.
“Who would have believed I’d be raising a couple of kids alone when Patrice and I got married?”
Who would have thought that circumstance would force him to cross the boundary into a woman’s role? But someone had to.
* * *
Colt thought about his conversation with Ellie all the way home. He had to admit that what she said made sense, and so did Gracie’s theory about why the kids were so unkind to the ladies he’d courted. Ellie agreed with her sister’s claim that children needed limitations, and as much as it galled him, and as uncertain as he was that he could set and maintain those restrictions, his gut told him they were right. He wanted to have children people liked, children whose behavior he could be proud of. It was no fun wondering when he would hear about another of their escapades.
He’d also talked with the young women he’d courted, and when pressed, they’d each acknowledged that Cilla and Brady were the real reasons behind their breaking things off.
The onus was definitely on him. It wouldn’t be easy, and it wouldn’t happen overnight, but he was nothing if not determined. Or maybe that was hardheadedness, something he’d passed on to his children.
Colt’s gaze sought the small white house situated at the edge of town. Smoke billowed from the open parlor windows. A giant fist seemed to grab his heart. Fire! Gripped with sudden panic, he broke into a run, sorting impressions as he went. No tongues of flame licked at the curtains, and he didn’t hear the pop and crackle of burning wood. The house didn’t appear to be on fire, so what was going on?
Breathing heavily, he pulled open the screen door, flinging it against the outer wall and rattling the windows in their frames. A thick fog of smoke and the stench of charred bacon assaulted him. Narrowing his burning eyes and waving his hand in front of his face in a futile attempt to dissipate the acrid air, he made his way to the kitchen. A quick look around the room told him he’d been right. There was no fire. Thank heaven.
Cilla stood at the open back door, an old apron of Patrice’s tied around her waist as she fanned the air with it, as if the feeble effort might clear the room faster. Brady stood bent over with his palms on his knees, hacking and coughing. A cast-iron skillet lay in the yard beyond the covered porch, where Cilla must have thrown it, its charred contents scattered about. The neighbor’s mutt approached a piece of the bacon, nudged it with his nose, whimpered and backed away. Colt wondered if it was still hot or if even the dog found it unpalatable.
“What happened?” he asked, nearing the two culprits.
They both looked at him, smoke-induced tears streaming down their cheeks. “I was trying to fix you some supper,” Cilla said, her blue eyes, so much like her mother’s, filled with remorse and trepidation.
Newly aware of how they played on his sympathies, and with the unexpected declaration coming so close on the heels of his talk with Ellie, little warning bells began to sound inside his head. Why was Cilla attempting to cook when she seldom had before? Was this one of those attempts to “butter him up,” as Ellie suggested?
“Why?” he asked, taking them each by the arm and ushering them out into the fresher air of the summer day.
Wide-eyed, Brady looked at Cilla, who was dabbing at her watering eyes with the hem of the apron. Colt waited.
Cilla finally looked at him, a limpid expression in her eyes. “I was going to fix you some bacon and pancakes since it’s your favorite and you hardly ever have them.”
Oh, yes. Definitely buttering him up. Colt hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his denim pants. “That’s mighty nice of you,” he said, “but why today of all days? Are we celebrating something?” He looked from one child to the other with feigned nonchalance.
“Uh, no, not really. We just thought it would be a nice thing to do, since you work so hard and everything.”
Never one to put off an unpleasant chore—unless it came to his children—Colt decided it was time to get on with it. No more dillydallying. After all, he was turning over a new leaf as a parent. “Then is anything wrong? Did something happen?” he asked with an inquisitive lift of his eyebrows.
Cilla stared into his eyes for long seconds, and turned to her brother with a sigh. “He knows, Brady.”
“Who told you?” Brady demanded, whipping up a healthy indignation.
“Miss Grainger.”
“That mean old tattletale!” Brady cried, his voice strident with outrage. Cilla gave an unladylike snort.
“Let’s go sit under the oak tree,” Colt said, gesturing toward the shaded area. “Maybe the house will air out enough to go back inside in a bit.”
When they were settled beneath the gnarled limbs of the tree, Colt stretched out his long denim-clad legs and crossed them. Where should he start? He decided to approach the situation the way Patrice would have. The trouble was, he had no notion of how she might have handled things.
“It’s way past time the three of us had a talk,” he said, deciding to jump in feet first.
“About what?” Cilla regarded him with wide-eyed innocence.
Colt pinned her with a look that said without words that she knew what was coming. She dropped her gaze and plucked at the apron still tied around her waist.
“We need to talk about you and Brady and the fact that the two of you are gaining quite a reputation. And not a good one, I might add.”
The children darted glances at each other.
“First let me explain that my position in town is an important one. It makes me look bad when the two of you are mixed up in one unpleasant incident after another.”
“What does it mean that you look bad?” Brady asked.
“It means that the whole town thinks that I’m a bad father. They think I don’t care about you enough to teach you how to behave, and that I’m allowing you to be hurtful, disrespectful and destructive.”
