His Texas Runaway. Stella BagwellЧитать онлайн книгу.
that you know your limitations.”
“Hmm. I didn’t know I had limitations. I just thought I was a busy man.”
She forced herself to smile. “Sorry. You’ll have to overlook me. I’m rather tired and things aren’t coming out of my mouth exactly right.”
“Well, just a few more miles and we’ll be at Three Rivers. You can put up your feet and eat some of Reeva’s good cooking.”
Three Rivers. Each time he spoke the name it was like he was speaking of a place close to heaven. And for this one night that was exactly what she needed.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Chandler helped Roslyn into the house. After depositing her in a comfortable chair in the den, he went looking for his mother.
“Mom! Are you in here?” he called as he entered the large kitchen located at the back of the house.
Reeva, a tall slender woman in her early seventies with a long salt-and-pepper braid, was standing at the sink. She looked over her shoulder at him and frowned.
“You’re filthy and I’m shutting down the kitchen.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. Like where is Mom.”
“She’s down at the foaling barn with Holt. Better not go down there. You know that they’ll put you to work and you don’t look like you can stand on your feet much longer.”
After working on Three Rivers for too many years to count, Reeva was crusty and cranky and very astute.
“Well, I’m going to have to call her up here because I’ve brought company home with me. And I’m not sure where to put her.”
Reeva turned away from the sink to level a speculative glare at him. “Company? ‘Her’? Have you brought a mama dog home with you?”
“No. This is a girl. A pregnant girl.”
“Oh, Lord.”
At that moment, the back door of the kitchen opened and Maureen Hollister entered the room. She was dressed in her usual work attire, which consisted of jeans, a long-sleeved shirt and cowboy boots. Her chestnut hair was slightly threaded with silver and pulled into a ponytail at the back of her head. At sixty-three, she was ageless and beautiful. She was also the glue that held the Hollister family together.
“Mom, thank God, you’re here.” He crossed the room and latched on to her arm. “You have to come with me. There’s someone in the den waiting to meet you.”
As he pulled her out of the kitchen, Maureen shot him a comical look. “Son, please tell me you’re joking. I can’t deal with company tonight! We’ve been branding calves all day and then one of Holt’s mares, Tootsie, finally decided to give birth. And you know how he feels about that mare—you’d think his own child was being born. And—”
As they headed down a long hallway toward the den, Chandler pulled his mother to a halt. “Mom, I know it’s late. And I know you don’t need anything else to deal with tonight. But this girl—I just couldn’t leave her there at the clinic. She needs rest and a woman’s touch right now.”
Her expression softened. “Oh, Chandler. Don’t tell me you’ve brought home another stray.”
Rather than trying to explain, Chandler gave his mother a tired smile. “Just come to the den with me.”
When they entered the long room, Roslyn was sitting in an armchair with her back to them. But as soon as she heard their footsteps on the parquet floor, she rose to face them.
“Oh, my!” Maureen gasped. “You’re a woman!”
“What were you expecting, Mom?” Chandler asked wryly.
She slanted Chandler a reproving look. “A dog with pups. Or a pregnant cat. Or a mother raccoon with her kits.”
Leaving her son’s side, Maureen rushed over to Roslyn and reached for her hands. “Hello. I’m Maureen Hollister,” she said, introducing herself. “And you are?”
She smiled tentatively at his mother, “I’m Roslyn DuBose,” she said, then cast Chandler a hopeless look. “And I’m sorry to interrupt your evening like this. I tried to tell your son that I’d be an intrusion, but he insisted on bringing me out here.”
“Roslyn has been driving for long hours and she had a little fainting spell,” Chandler explained. “I thought she needed a quiet rest where someone would be around if she experienced another light-headed spell.”
Roslyn continued to look apologetic and Chandler wondered if she was unaccustomed to asking people for help. Or maybe she simply felt awkward because she was among strangers. Either way, Chandler wanted her to trust him and his family. She needed to understand she was safe here.
She glanced at Maureen. “I could’ve gone to a motel, Mrs. Hollister, believe me.”
Maureen immediately wrapped a supportive arm around Roslyn’s shoulders. “Oh, honey, I’m so glad that you didn’t. You’re not in any condition to be staying by yourself. And company is always welcome here at Three Rivers. Did you bring a bag with you?”
Before Roslyn could answer, Chandler said, “I left it at the stairwell. I’ll carry it upstairs. Which room?”
“The one across from Vivian’s old room should be fine. I believe Jazelle freshened it up only a few days ago.”
Maureen urged Roslyn forward and Chandler followed them out of the room and into another hallway that intersected with a wide staircase.
“Where’s Blake and Katherine and the kids?” Chandler asked his mother as he picked up Roslyn’s case and proceeded to climb the steps behind the two women.
“You never know what time it is, Chandler. It’s late. They’ve retired for the night,” Maureen answered. Then she explained to Roslyn, “My oldest son and his family stay on the third floor. They don’t want the twins crying to disturb the rest of us.”
“Hah! That’s just an excuse to get away from all the noise we make down here,” Chandler said jokingly, then tossed another question at his mother. “If it’s so late, what’s Reeva still doing in the kitchen?”
“Tessa and Joe and Little Joe came over for dinner, so Reeva made several extra dishes. I couldn’t help her with the cleaning up because Holt called me down to the foaling barn.” She glanced over at their houseguest. “Just a regular night on the ranch, Roslyn. Around here, you never know what’s going to happen next.”
On the second floor, they walked halfway down a wide passageway to a partially open door and entered a bedroom decorated in reds and browns and furnished with a queen-size bed and a large chest made of knotty pine.
Chandler said, “If the room looks masculine, Roslyn, that’s because this used to be Holt’s room. He moved downstairs a few years ago.”
“During foaling season Holt is called out at all hours of the night,” Maureen explained. “And as our resident vet, Chandler usually has to go with him.”
“But even when it’s not foaling season, Holt is coming home at all hours of the night,” Chandler added with a sly chuckle.
Maureen let out a good-natured groan. “Chandler, our guest doesn’t want to hear about the playboy of the family.”
“No,” he agreed. “She needs for us to get out of here and let her rest.” He placed Roslyn’s bag on the end of the bed.
His mother gestured toward a door in the far left corner of the room. “There’s a private bath there with a shower. You should find plenty of towels and things. And if you get chilled in the night you’ll find extra blankets in the closet. Now with that settled, are you hungry?”
“Thank you. I’m fine. Dr. Hollister gave me a chicken leg and a carton of yogurt.”
Maureen