Chapter Twenty-Two
Rose hugged Sage around her middle while the boy, asleep, draped his head on her shoulder. She cradled his dark, silky hair with one hand, boosting him on her other forearm to improve her grip.
“Pa, it’s all right,” she said as her father carried Sage’s overnight bag and pillow on his arm and followed her into the driveway. The goats, crated, were ready to load in the back. Poor things might bleat up a storm and Sage, who could sleep through a tornado, probably wouldn’t even stir. The things she did for her little guy. Rose shook her head.
The gravel crunched beneath their feet. Not the fine, smooth pavement of Dixon Cattle Co., but familiar and homey nonetheless. She’d always be the little ranch girl in denim overalls tearing up and down this stretch of road on her banana-seat bike.
“But this beater isn’t your truck, Rosi. This cowboy, Toby, doesn’t expect anything for his trouble, does he?”
Ugh. She knew what her dad was getting at. “Come on, Pa,” she laughed uncomfortably, hushing her voice so Sage would remain asleep. Silly because if the goats wouldn’t wake him up, neither would she. But so far, Toby hadn’t expected anything more than what she’d given him. “It’s the landowner’s personal vehicle. He insisted I take it. And no, he’s a…” She smiled. “Gentleman.”
“But he likes you, no?”
Rose couldn’t help the ridiculous, girlish blush that stained her cheeks in the house lights. Oh no. The way her father remained quiet told her he noticed it, too. He wasn’t a pushy man. She knew he’d only say his piece and keep it to a few words. But ever since she’d announced her pregnancy with Sage, she knew her dad wasn’t eager for her to get serious about a man and probably questioned her choice of man, too.
“Si, he likes me. And,” she shrugged, “I kind of like him.”
“Kind of” was an understatement. She’d climbed onto Toby’s lap so effortlessly, it had felt like the world was clicking into place. Had the door to his office been closed and locked, there was no telling how far she’d have allowed herself to go.
Something had been different between them tonight. There’d been meaning in Toby’s handholding and the way in which he’d embraced her. There’d been no teasing, just sweet exchanges of lips and tongues that had fired her blood and made her want to stretch out beneath this man and let him give her what she wanted from him.
Standing here, on this beautiful cloudless night beneath the wide Texas sky twinkling with millions of rhinestones, she realized she missed Toby. At least missed his presence, though took comfort in knowing he was only a text message away and would drop everything if she asked it of him. Her dad was the only other man who’d ever been that way, but she’d never had the heart to ask it of him. He had the ranch to worry about—and her mother. Losing her mother had sometimes seemed like a cruel joke. But aside from her dad, there’d been no other man willing to be a support for her to lean on until now. Toby hadn’t once pressured her about his job offer—he’d just left it hanging out there. And he’d already texted a photo of five different brands of peanut butter he’d snagged from the store, saying in jest that he had all the bases covered: Skippy, Jif, Peter Pan, store brand, and overpriced natural organic. Toby seemed nervous to meet Sage and yet excited about it, as if he didn’t want to screw it up and thus screw up something bigger.
Sage was going to love him. Rose could already tell.
“Be careful, mija. I don’t want my girl to get burned again.”
“I am being careful.” She smiled and pulled back the Bronco door while her dad put Sage’s bags on the floorboard and took Sage from her arms to lift him up into his seat.
She reached up to make sure Sage’s belts were secure, then wedged his stuffed animal—what she jokingly called his velveteen dog because it had been loved so much—against his head to cushion him as they drove and, after caressing his cheek, shut the door.
Her father wrapped her in a warm hug that always struck her as surprisingly firm for a gentle soul like him. He’d looked so tired tonight, weary and full of grief, as if he’d aged considerably. His deep wrinkles from a life working beneath the sweltering sun had seemed heavier, baggier, and his hair, always groomed, had seemed grayer and disheveled from untold finger rakes. If only he’d sell off the ranch and move south with her mother so they could spend their golden years together. If only he’d let go of needing to be there for her.
“Take care of mami,” she whispered, swallowing to stave off the tears that tingled her eyes.
He nodded. “I’m packed and ready to drive. I’ll stay with her until she’s discharged, then I’m driving her to her cousins’ house in DF. I don’t want her living in that village anymore.”
“She’ll argue with you.” Rose said the obvious. And her mother would. Her mother wanted to be as close to them as she could be, and just over the border was closest, not all the way down south in Mexico City. “But I agree. She’d be safer with Emilio and Delfina.”
“She’ll not want you dating some Texas vaquero who drives a rusty can like this.”
Rose shook her head. “He drives this for nostalgia’s sake. He got it in high school.”
Her father harrumphed, so she continued.
“He owns a ranch. He’s a working man, not a cowboy. Not anymore anyway, though he did ride in the rodeo—”
“Ay, mi hija,” he groaned, shaking his head. “Don’t ever tell your madre that.”
Rose smiled at his concern. Yes, her mother would cry and wring her hands and lament that Rose had gone to the wolves.
“What ranch does he own? Not a good one, if he can’t even afford a decent vehicle.”
“He owns Dixon Cattle Company.”
Her father paused. “The Legacy?”
Every rancher knew of it. Rose nodded. “He has garages full of shiny trucks, a gorgeous house, and a fine family of brothers.” Her father was listening warily, so she added, “He also earned his doctorate at A&M, and he’s building up a research and education component to the ranch. He’s a good guy, Dad, and we’re, you know, still figuring out where we stand, so there’s no need to panic.”