The Maverick's Ready-Made Family Page 3

  He pushed his chair back as she picked up the stack of plates. “Let me get those for you.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”

  “They’ve got to be heavy.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at that. “I’ve been working on this ranch since I was a kid. Before I got pregnant, I was mucking out stalls and training horses. I think I can handle a stack of plates.”

  “You’ve been carting plates and platters from the kitchen since 6:00 a.m.,” he pointed out. “Why don’t you sit down for a minute?”

  “Because these dishes won’t put themselves in the dishwasher.”

  Bennett banged his cup on his tray, then held it out to her.

  “I think somebody wants more juice.” Just a couple of weeks earlier, Clay had told her that he’d introduced the little boy to apple juice diluted with sterile water. Since then, Antonia had ensured she always had some on hand. “Can I get him a refill?”

  “Sure,” Clay agreed.

  The baby smiled at her as she took his cup, and her heart melted.

  “Coming right up,” she promised.

  While she was in the kitchen refilling Bennett’s drink, Clay gathered up the rest of the dishes still on the table.

  “Are you trying to get me fired?” she asked, when she returned with the juice.

  “I don’t think you’ll lose your job because you let someone else carry a few plates into the kitchen,” he chided.

  He was right, of course, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she was used to doing things for herself—she preferred doing things for herself. And she’d learned a long time ago that if she didn’t depend on anyone else, she didn’t have to worry about being disappointed.

  Bennett took the cup and yawned.

  “Are you ready for a nap already?” she asked.

  His only response was to lift his arms up to her.

  She hesitated, because every time she picked him up, she never wanted to let him go again. But Bennett was clearly tired of being strapped in his chair and, based on the sounds emanating from the kitchen, Clay was thoroughly occupied with the dishes and not planning to return to the dining room anytime soon.

  With a sigh that was more resignation than reluctance, Antonia removed the tray from Bennett’s chair, unfastened his belt and lifted him into her arms. He curled into her easily, his head dropping against her shoulder, his eyes already drifting shut.

  She’d never thought it was possible to fall in love so quickly and completely, but since the doctor had confirmed the news of her pregnancy, Antonia had realized that none of the usual rules applied to babies. She didn’t know if it was their innocence and vulnerability or her own maternal instincts, but she’d always had a weakness for children. From the moment she first suspected that she was pregnant, she’d been overwhelmed by emotion. And the first time Bennett had looked at her with his big blue eyes, she’d been hooked.

  Now, with the slight weight of his body in her arms and the subtle scents of baby powder and shampoo teasing her nostrils, that hook snared her heart even more deeply.

  She ventured into the kitchen and confirmed that Clay was loading up the dishwasher. Not with the skill or efficiency of someone who had a lot of experience, but he was getting the job done.

  “Why don’t you take Bennett back to your room for a nap and let me do that?” she suggested.

  “He doesn’t sleep for more than fifteen or twenty minutes after breakfast,” Clay told her. “So if you could sit with him for a little bit while I finish up here, that would be great.”

  “Why don’t you sit with him while I finish cleaning up?” Antonia countered.

  “Because I’m almost done here,” he pointed out.

  His logic was indisputable and, with a sense of relief she refused to let him see, Antonia settled into one of the wooden ladder-back chairs beside the old kitchen table.

  Bennett snuggled in, rubbing his cheek against her shirt, and Antonia’s heart gave another squeeze.

  She didn’t know anything about the little boy’s mother—who she was or where she was. She only knew that in the five weeks that had passed since Clayton Traub had showed up at Wright’s Way with his son, she hadn’t heard a single word about the woman who’d given birth to the darling little boy. And she had to admit, the lack of information made her curious.

  Not any of your business, she mentally admonished herself.

  Just like information about her baby’s father was no one’s business but her own.

  “He’s never taken to strangers,” Clay noted. “But there’s no doubt that he likes you.”

  And because it was too good an opening to resist, she ignored her own admonition to herself and said, “Maybe I remind him of his mother.”

  “Not likely,” Clay said. “Considering that he hasn’t seen her since he was two weeks old.”

  She looked up, startled by this revelation. “Why not?”

  “She decided a baby was too much to handle and she left him with me and moved to California.”

  Antonia was stunned.

  She couldn’t imagine any mother choosing to walk away from her child. Her baby wasn’t even born yet and she knew there was nothing she wouldn’t do for him or her. But of course she didn’t say any of that to Clay, she said only, “Why California?”

  “To be a movie star.”

  “She was an actress?”

  “A much better one than I ever suspected,” he noted wryly.

  She didn’t have any trouble picking up on the undercurrents in that response. “It must have been difficult—to be on your own with a newborn.”

  “That’s the understatement of the century,” he admitted. “I hadn’t planned on becoming a father at this point in my life and I knew absolutely nothing about babies. In fact, I’m not sure either Bennett or I would have made it through the first few weeks without my mom.”

  In many ways, Clay’s story was similar to her own. She hadn’t planned on becoming a mother at this point in her life, either, and while she wouldn’t say she knew “absolutely nothing” about babies, her experience was limited. But unlike Bennett, her baby wouldn’t have a grandmother to help them through the rough patches.

  She shifted her gaze away, so Clay wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. “You’re lucky to have her,” she murmured.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot that your mother passed away.”

  She nodded. “Two years ago.”

  “I bet you miss her.”

  “Now more than ever,” Antonia admitted.

  Lucinda Wright had been more than a parent. In a lot of ways, she’d been her best friend, and Antonia missed her gentle guidance and sage advice. Mostly she missed the way her mother always knew when she was worried about something, she missed the comforting weight of the arm she would put across her daughter’s shoulders and the confidence in her voice when she promised that everything would work out for the best.

  As her baby shifted in her belly, Antonia wanted desperately to believe her mother’s promise, but right now she didn’t have a clue what would be best for her baby.

  * * *

  Clay didn’t see his brother again until later that night. Aside from the twice weekly group therapy sessions at the hospital, he wasn’t sure what Forrest did to occupy all the hours in his day. Then again, some people probably wondered what Clay did to fill his days, but anyone who had ever been responsible for the full-time care of a baby wouldn’t need to wonder. Bennett kept his daddy hopping 24/7.

  He was in the common room on the main floor of the boarding house, watching a National League playoff game, when Forrest came in with a bowl of popcorn and a couple bottles of beer. Sometimes the room was so crowded it was impossible to find a chair, but most of the boarders started work early in the morning and, c
onsequently, retired to their rooms early at night—particularly at the beginning of the week. So tonight, Clay had been alone with the ball game until his brother joined him.

  He accepted the bottle Forrest handed to him and took a long swallow before setting it on the coffee table beside the baby monitor.

  “Ben’s asleep already?”

  “It’s almost ten o’clock,” Clay pointed out.

  Forrest looked disappointed.

  Clay hadn’t been thrilled when his brother enlisted, but he understood that Forrest wanted to serve his country and that it was his decision to make. But when he came home, it was apparent to everyone that the injury to his leg wasn’t the deepest of his wounds.

  And yet there had been rare moments when Clay caught glimpses of the easygoing brother he remembered. There had been a few more of those moments since they’d come to Thunder Canyon, illustrated by good-natured teasing and dry humor. But the clearest evidence was in his brother’s interactions with Bennett. The little boy was the only one—at least so far—who had proven capable of breaching all of Forrest’s defenses.

  “There was a time when he didn’t settle down until midnight,” Forrest recalled.

  “Then I wised up and stopped letting him nap after dinner.”

  “If you kept him up later at night, he wouldn’t be awake so early in the morning.”

  Clay shrugged. “I’m used to starting the day early.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  Forrest was asking about the work he’d done on the family ranch back in Rust Creek Falls, and Clay nodded. “I miss the physical labor, the satisfaction that comes from getting a job done, and I feel guilty as hell for leaving Dad, Dallas, Braden, Sutter and Collin with all the work.”

  “You didn’t have to come to Thunder Canyon to babysit me,” Forrest told him.

  “I didn’t come to babysit you,” Clay told him. “I came because I couldn’t stand being the center of attention every time I took Bennett into town. It was as if no one had ever known anyone who was a single father before.”

  “Try being the wounded war hero,” Forrest told him. “People tiptoed around me as if my gimp leg was contagious—or maybe it’s the rumors of my PTSD that freaked them out.”

  “Not everyone was freaked out,” Clay reminded him. “In fact, Marla James only wanted to show her appreciation for the sacrifice you made for our country.”

  Forrest tipped his bottle to his lips, but Clay saw the color rise in his brother’s cheeks.

  “I still haven’t decided whether I should thank you or kick your ass for deflecting her attention,” he finally said.

  Clay just grinned.

  Marla James’s crush on Forrest had been something of a legend in Rust Creek Falls. Her family had moved into town the summer before she started fifth grade, and on the first day of school, she’d set her sights on Forrest Traub and had never looked back. It didn’t matter how many times he brushed her off or how many other girls he dated, she remained adamant that they would one day be together. When Forrest returned from Iraq, she decided that day had finally come.

  She stopped by the Traub Ranch at least once a day to check on her injured hero. Forrest—wounded more deeply than the scars on his leg—wasn’t even kind in his dismissal of her efforts, but Marla refused to be dissuaded. Not until Clay, with feigned embarrassment and reluctance, implied that his brother’s injury had affected more than his leg and that he wasn’t able to appreciate what she was offering.

  Marla had cried genuine tears over that, but her lifelong love for Forrest clearly was not as strong as her sexual desires.

  “You could always call Marla up and tell her you’re all better now,” Clay teased.

  “If only that were true,” Forrest said.

  And Clay knew his brother’s comment had nothing to do with the fabricated injury. Which was why Ellie was so worried about her son, and why Clay had to do everything he could to keep his promise to his mother.

  “Bennett and I are going to take a drive to Billings for a farm auction in the morning to check out a tractor that’s on the block. Did you want to come with us?”

  Forrest just shook his head and munched on a handful of popcorn.

  “Okay,” Clay said easily. “How about dinner at D.J.’s Friday night?”

  His brother looked up at that, his gaze narrowing. “Friday is three days from now,” he noted. “Since when do you plan that far ahead?”

  So much for thinking that he could slip anything past Forrest. But instead of answering the question directly, he only shrugged, as if his brother’s response was of no concern to him. “If you’ve got a hot date and don’t want to go, just say so.”

  Forrest lifted a brow. “Well, I’ve had so many hot dates recently I’d have to check my calendar to know for sure.”

  “You do that,” Clay advised.

  His brother mimed thumbing through a little black book. “I have Skinny Ginny penciled in, but I can reschedule. At least at D.J.’s, I’ll get some meat on my ribs.”

  “I’m glad to see your sense of humor is still intact,” Clay noted. “Even if it’s deeply buried most days.”

  Forrest looked away. “Just ’cause I said I’d go out with you Friday night doesn’t give you the right to turn this into some touchy-feely moment.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Clay assured him.

  “Good.” Forrest tipped the bottle to his lips and shifted his gaze back to the television.

  * * *

  D.J.’s Rib Shack in the Thunder Canyon Resort was usually busy, especially on a Friday night. While Antonia waited for her friend Catherine to arrive, she glanced around the restaurant with its sepia-toned pictures of cowboys and an extensive mural that depicted a visual history of the town. But more than the décor, it was the scent of D.J.’s famous sauce thick in the air that assured the customers packed into the benches and booths that they would enjoy genuine Western barbecue.

  Antonia breathed in deeply, inhaling the rich aroma, and the baby kicked in approval—or maybe it was demand. If Antonia was hungry, it was a good bet that her baby was, too.

  “I feel like Pavlov’s dog,” a familiar voice said from behind her. “I just walk through the door of this place, and my mouth starts to water.”

  Antonia laughed and hugged her friend. “I know what you mean.”

  The hostess led them to a booth against the back wall.

  When the waitress came, they ordered right away, both familiar enough with the menu to know what they wanted. Fifteen minutes later, they were digging into plates laden with saucy ribs, fresh-cut fries and tart coleslaw. Antonia had considered ordering the daily vegetable option rather than fries, but the baby wanted fries and she’d learned not to ignore the baby’s demands. If she indulged now, she wouldn’t find herself raiding the fridge at three o’clock in the morning.

  “I can’t remember the last time I was here,” Antonia admitted, popping a fry into her mouth. “Which proves that it’s been way too long.”

  “I’m glad you finally hired someone else to serve dinner at the ranch,” Catherine said. “We haven’t had a girls’ night out in far too long.”

  “You’ve been even busier than I have. As if getting Real Vintage Cowboy up and running wasn’t enough, you had to go and fall in love with Cody Overton and get married.”

  Catherine grinned. “I guess I have been busy.”

  Antonia sat back, licking rib sauce off of her fingers, and assessed her friend. Tonight she was wearing a lacy white blouse over a long, flowing skirt with well-worn cowboy boots on her feet. Her long, dark hair hung loose over her shoulders and her chocolate-colored eyes glowed with a happiness that seemed to radiate from deep within her.

  “But you look happy, Mrs. Overton. As if married life agrees with you.”

  “
I am happy,” Catherine agreed.

  “And I’m glad that Cody turned out to be the real deal,” Antonia said, and meant it.

  She was genuinely thrilled that her friend had everything she’d always wanted—both professional success and personal happiness. But seeing the vibrant glow on Catherine’s face, Antonia couldn’t deny that she felt a twinge of something that might have been envy.

  She had no cause for complaint. She was content with her life, grateful that things had started to turn around at the ranch so that their finances weren’t stretched quite as tight as they’d been a few months earlier. But she was also conscious of the fact that, despite living with her father and her brothers and with a baby of her own on the way, she was alone.

  “I just wish you could find someone like him,” her friend said. “Someone genuinely wonderful and kind and smart and sexy.”

  “I don’t think there is anyone else like Cody.” But even as Antonia said the words, she realized that there was another man who at least came close. A man who doted on his son, who wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty in the kitchen, and who had an easy sense of humor and a quick smile. A man whose mere presence made every nerve-ending in her body stand up and take notice.

  And then Clayton Traub walked into the restaurant with Bennett in his arms.

  Not just Clay, she realized, but his brother, Forrest, too. But Antonia knew there could have been a parade of men, all of them tall and handsome, and it still would have been Clay who drew her attention.

  “There’s someone out there for you,” Catherine insisted. And then, aware that her friend’s attention had wandered, she turned her head to see the two men making their way to the private dining room in the back.

  “Oh, my,” she said in a reverent whisper. “Or maybe there’s someone in here for you.”

  Antonia couldn’t blame Catherine for her reaction. The first time she’d set eyes on Clayton Traub, she’d felt the exact same way. And neither time nor familiarity had done much to dim her reaction. But she had learned to ignore the physiological response—most of the time, anyway.