The Cowboy's Family. Brenda MintonЧитать онлайн книгу.
capable.”
“Of course you’re capable.” Etta turned and waved when she saw Rachel. “There’s Rachel with my tea. Well, have a seat and while you have tea, I’ll look for a cookbook.”
“I appreciate it, Etta, but I don’t have time for tea. The girls are waiting in the truck. We’re going grocery shopping.”
Etta argued, of course she did. “Well, get the girls out.”
Wyatt laughed, white teeth flashing in a kind of hot smile. He shook his head. “I’m not getting them out of the truck. If I do, I’ll never round them up and get them back in the truck. I just thought rather than taking my chance with any old cookbook I found in the store, I’d see if you had one that spelled it all out.”
Etta held the rail and walked up the steps, Wyatt following. “I’ll see what I have. Something with casseroles would be best.”
“If I can throw the whole meal in one pan, I guess that would be the best thing.”
“You ought to know how to cook, Wyatt. It isn’t like you’re a kid.”
“I never thought much about it, Etta.” His neck turned a little red. “I guess I always thought…”
Etta’s eyes misted and she patted his arm. “I’ll be right back. I’ll pick you out a couple and you’ll be cooking us dinner in no time.”
After Etta walked away, Rachel didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t been at a loss for words in years. Probably about twenty-eight of them. Her mom liked to tell people that she was talking in complete sentences when she was two and that she’d been talking ever since.
But at that moment she was pretty near speechless and so was Wyatt Johnson.
“My mother-in-law is coming to visit.” He had placed the cowboy hat back on his head. He leaned against the rail of the porch, tall and confident. His boots were scuffed and his jeans were faded and worn in spots.
How many people would guess that the Johnson brothers had part ownership of a bank in Tulsa and subdivisions named after their family? She only knew those things because Andie, Wyatt’s sister-in-law and Etta’s granddaughter, had told her. Andie had married Ryder Johnson before Christmas and their twin babies were due in a month or so.
“I see.” She nearly offered to help, and then she didn’t. She’d already told him she’d clean or watch the girls. He’d rejected both offers.
“She’s worried that I’m not coping.” His smile lifted one corner of his mouth and he shrugged. “I guess it won’t hurt me or the girls to have a home-cooked meal once in a while.”
“I imagine it won’t.” Rachel poured her tea. “Do you want a cup?”
“No, thanks. I like my tea on ice and out of a glass that holds more than a swallow.”
She smiled and listened for Etta’s footsteps. Etta would give him a long lecture if she heard him demean her afternoon tea ritual.
It was a few minutes before Etta appeared, her arms holding more than a few cookbooks. “Here’s a few to get you started.”
“That’s a half dozen, Etta, not a few.”
“Well, you can find what you really like this way.”
He took the books from her arms. “Thanks, Etta. Rachel, see you at church.”
He nodded to each of them and walked down the steps.
The truck was pulling down the driveway when Etta laughed a little and whistled. “That’s tension you could cut with a knife.”
“What?” Rachel nearly poured Etta’s tea on the table.
“The two of you, circling like a couple of barn cats. I’m no expert, but I think it’s called chemistry.”
“I think it’s called, Wyatt knows that everyone, including his brother, is trying to push me off on him.”
“And would that be such a bad thing?” Etta sat down on the lavender wicker settee.
“I’m not sure, but I think he believes it probably would be.”
“What about you?”
Rachel sipped her tea and ignored the question. Etta smiled and her brows shot up, but Rachel didn’t bite. No way, no how was she chasing after Wyatt Johnson or any other man, for that matter. She’d done her chasing, she’d had her share of fix-ups, and she’d learned that it worked better to let things happen the way they were supposed to happen.
Or not. But she had decided a long time ago that being alone was better than pushing her way into the life of the wrong person.
It had been two days since Rachel cleaned and his house still looked pretty decent. Wyatt stood in the kitchen with its dark cabinets, black granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. A chef’s kitchen for a guy who had to borrow cookbooks because he couldn’t make mac and cheese. That was pretty bad.
He hadn’t planned it, but Rachel was front and center in his mind again. She was a strange one. First glance and he would have thought she had all the confidence in the world. But the other day on Etta’s porch, there had been something soft and kind of lost in her expression, in those dark eyes of hers.
Not that it was any of his concern.
He dropped bread into the toaster and started the coffeemaker. Excited voices and little feet pattering overhead meant the girls were up. His day was about to start.
At least he’d had fifteen minutes to himself. That didn’t happen often these days. It hadn’t happened much in the last eighteen months. Since Wendy left him.
He stopped in front of the kitchen window and looked out. For a minute he closed his eyes and remembered that he used to pray. He used to believe that with Wendy he could build a life far from this ranch and the chaos of his childhood. He opened his eyes and shook his head. Prayer these days was abbreviated. It went something like: God, get me through another day.
That would have to do for now. It was all he had in him, other than anger and guilt.
Eighteen months of trying to figure out what he could have done differently. He was still trying to come to terms with the reality that he couldn’t have done anything more than he’d done. Wendy had made a choice.
The choice to leave him and their daughters. She wrote a note, opened a bottle of sleeping pills and she’d left them for good.
Eighteen months of wondering what he could have done to stop her from going away.
He breathed in deep and it didn’t hurt as much as yesterday, even less than a month ago. He was making it. He had to make it—for the girls. He had to smile and make each day better for them. And he calculated that he had about two minutes before they hit the kitchen, ready for breakfast. Two minutes to pull it together and make this day better.
On cue, they rushed in, still in their pajamas. Man, they made it easy to smile. He leaned to hug them and pulled them up to hold them both. He brushed his whiskered cheek against Kat and she giggled.
“What are we going to do today, girlies?”
“Get a pony!” Kat shouted and then she giggled some more.
“Nope, not a pony.” He kissed her cheek.
“Let Miss Rachel clean again.” Molly’s tone was serious but her smile was real, her eyes shining. She knew how to work him.
He sat both girls on the granite-topped island that sat in the center of the kitchen. “Miss Rachel? Why do you want her to clean?”
He liked the idea of a clean house, but he was determined to find a nice grandmotherly type. He wanted control top socks and cookies baking in the oven. It sounded a lot less complicated than Miss Rachel I’ve-Got-Secrets Waters.
Kat