Big Sky River. Linda Miller LaelЧитать онлайн книгу.
even now, must have felt like an outsider, looking in. He was the prodigal who hadn’t actually gone anywhere.
“We’re a phone call away if you need us,” Hutch said.
“Thanks,” Boone replied. Yet another inadequate word. “Listen, about the truck—I’d like to run it through the car wash and fill the tank before I bring it back to you, unless you need it right away.”
“Never mind all that,” Hutch answered. “We’ve got plenty of rigs around here. Just bring it by when you can, and we’ll make the switch.”
Boone grinned. Folks probably hadn’t even noticed that Hutch was driving an old junker instead of his pricey new truck; for years, he’d used any rattletrap ranch pickup that would run to get where he was going, provided it wasn’t already in use. He had land and plenty of money, Hutch did, but he’d never given two hoots and a holler about appearances, and that hadn’t changed. “I guess the old beater didn’t quit on you,” he said.
“I kept it going, but it took some spit, duct tape and elbow grease,” Hutch joked. “You ought to spring for something a little more dependable, now that you’re going to be hauling a couple of kids around most everywhere you go.”
“That’s a distinct possibility,” Boone admitted. “They like riding in the squad car, but that’ll probably wear thin sooner or later.”
Hutch laughed. “I’m thinking sooner,” he said.
“Dad?” The voice was Griff’s.
Boone turned, saw his boys standing side by side just inside the kitchen, both of them pajama-clad, with their teeth gleaming so white they must have already brushed. Fletcher stood as close to his brother as he could without climbing right up on his shoulders.
Another pang struck Boone, partly sorrow but mostly love.
“Gotta go,” he told Hutch, probably sounding a touch more confident than he really felt. “My boys are about to turn in, and I’ve had a hell of a day myself.”
Hutch said goodbye and they both hung up.
Griff’s expression was earnest. “Fletcher wants to know if we can sleep with you tonight,” he said bravely. “He says he won’t pee the bed if you let us.”
Boone wanted to grin at the proffered bargain, but he didn’t. “Fletcher’s gone mute all of a sudden?” he asked, though not unkindly. “He can’t speak for himself?”
“It’s more like he won’t,” Griff said seriously.
“Yeah,” Boone agreed. “It’s more like that.”
“Can we? Sleep with you?” It was Griff who asked, but the answer seemed important to both of them. Fletcher’s eyes looked enormous in his small face.
“I don’t see why not,” Boone replied offhandedly. He didn’t want them to make a habit of bunking in with him, but this was their first night home, after all, and Fletcher was pretty shaken up. Griff might have been, too, but if so, he was hiding it better.
Both of them looked relieved. Evidently, Fletcher didn’t think his dad was a complete monster.
“Go on,” Boone said, his voice gone gruff again. “Hit the sack. I’ll be with you in a minute or two.”
Griff nodded, and the two of them turned and scampered for Boone’s room, which was only slightly bigger than their own, landing on the mattress with a ruckus audible from the kitchen. In the trailer, which wasn’t nearly as well made as some of its modern counterparts, sound carried.
Boone shook his head, smiled and waited for them to settle down a little before he went to tuck them in and get out a pair of sweatpants to put on after his shower. He found them crowded together on the side of that bed that had once been Corrie’s, with the covers pulled up to their noses and their eyes round.
“Guys?” Boone said huskily. “I love you, like it or not.”
“I like it,” Griff said.
“I don’t,” Fletcher clarified. He was a man who knew his own mind.
Boone laughed and went off to take his shower.
When he returned to the bedroom half an hour later, both boys were sleeping, Fletcher spooned close against his brother’s back.
Boone switched out the light but lingered in the doorway for a few moments, just looking at them. Corrie, he said silently, help me get this right. Please.
After that, he crawled into his side of the bed, closed his eyes and thought what a strange and unfair thing it was that something bad had to happen to Bob and Molly and their kids for something so good to happen to him.
Griffin and Fletcher were home with him, where they belonged. Tired as he was, as sorry as he felt for Bob and Molly and the kids, something inside him soared in celebration because, finally, he had his kids back.
Soon, he fell into a sound sleep and didn’t wake up until the wee small hours, when he rolled over into a wet spot in the middle of the bed.
* * *
JAMES’S TEXT DIDN’T come in until late that night, long after Kendra and Joslyn had paid their visit to Tara, consumed their lemonade and heard the whole story, from the day Tara met James to that day’s phone call.
Kendra, with pregnancy hormones running amok in her system and her empathy meter hitting the red zone, had teared up as she reached across the table to squeeze Tara’s hand. “It must have been the hardest thing in the world to leave those children,” she’d said. “I can’t even imagine being separated from Madison.”
Madison, a precocious, copper-haired five-year-old, was the biological daughter of Kendra’s late ex-husband, Jeffrey Chamberlain, and the classic Other Woman he’d fooled around with while he and Kendra were still married. That hadn’t stopped Kendra from adopting the child as her very own and loving her completely; in fact, Madison had the distinction of being adopted twice. Soon after Kendra and Hutch were married, Madison had officially become a Carmody, too.
Moved by Kendra’s understanding, Tara had cried then, too, letting down the last of her guard, she supposed, and nodded in agreement. “It’s been worse than hard,” she admitted.
Joslyn had seemed a little miffed in the beginning, because Tara had kept such a secret from her two closest friends for all this time, but she got over that fast, knowing that Tara had barely been able to think about parting with the children she’d loved as much as if they’d been born to her, let alone talk about it, even with the people she trusted most.
The evening ended around nine that night.
Tara saw her friends to their cars, waved them out of sight as they drove away, and then went back into the house to check her cell phone for the umpteenth time.
No message from James.
Sleeping was impossible—had her famously temperamental ex changed his mind about sending Elle and Erin to her? Had he ever intended to put them on a westward-bound airplane at all? It would be like him to set up Tara for a disappointment like this. He was a man with a score to settle, in his own opinion at least, and he could be ruthless at times.
No, her sensible side argued, as she locked doors and put away the pitcher of lemonade in the refrigerator. This visit from the children wasn’t something James was doing for Tara’s sake, certainly, or even for that of his daughters. The whole thing was all about him, what he wanted. And that was some “alone-time”—read: lots of impromptu sex—with this Bethany person. The deal was simple enough: if he didn’t send the twins to Tara in Montana, he wouldn’t get that.
Calmer now, Tara fed Lucy, let her outside, let her back in again. She watched the news on her small kitchen TV, the only set in the house, and shut it off when, after fifteen minutes or so, the programming looped back around to the beginning.
Tara retreated to her study, keeping her cell phone