A Weaver Vow Read online

  And she’d flatly refused to take back the window. He hadn’t wanted it. So he’d contacted the church.

  “Women think about marriage all the time, I hear.”

  He blinked away the image of Isabella Lockhart that kept swimming into his head. He’d told Jess he wasn’t looking for a wife. He wasn’t all that interested in looking for a girlfriend, either.

  And hookin’ up for a night or two with a woman raising an angry kid like that Murphy of hers just didn’t seem right. No matter how pretty she was.

  He looked over when his cousin yawned again. “Keeping you up here?”

  “Been up late all week working on a project.”

  His cousin worked for Erik’s dad, Tristan, out at Cee-Vid. The company designed and manufactured computer games, and had made Erik’s dad a millionaire several times over. But Erik had grown up knowing the business was still a cover for what his dad really was. An intelligence expert. And even though Erik and Case never discussed it, he figured his cousin’s “projects” more likely involved Erik’s dad’s true calling than the computer games.

  “Be glad Jessica lives over in Gillette,” Case had continued. “You won’t run into her unless you make the effort.” He pulled his boots off the rail and sat up. “Pretty as your face is, I’m headin’ home.”

  “Wash that bowl,” Erik said. “I’m pretty but I’m not doing your dishes.”

  Case grinned and headed inside the house. A few minutes later, Erik heard the slap of the kitchen screen door followed by the rumble of his cousin’s ancient pickup.

  Erik waved as Case drove past, and then looked out over his land. The sun was still a big, burning ball of red hanging in the thin clouds on the horizon. Snow could easily fall this time of year, but the fields in front of him were starting to green, and his horses were grazing in the pasture. All in all, it should’ve been a completely pleasant evening.

  If he hadn’t had to look forward to that hellion coming the next morning.

  He hunched forward and thumped his boots down onto the wooden porch. Isabella would have to drive the kid out to his place. It wasn’t as if Weaver had any sort of bus service. He’d given her directions to the ranch that day at Ruby’s. Warned her that the road had a few rough patches along the way.

  Personally, he liked the rough patches. They kept the occasional salesperson who thought they might head out his way from getting too enthusiastic about the trip. If someone drove out to the Rocking-C, it meant he really wanted to get there.

  Isabella Lockhart, he knew, was from New York City. She hadn’t been a dancer—Lucy had told him that—but she’d been in charge of costumes, or some such, at the dance company where Lucy had been the star dancer. When he’d been over at Lucy and Beck’s place for supper a few weeks earlier, Lucy had been all excited about her friend moving to Weaver. Erik hadn’t given her chatter much mind, mostly because he’d been more interested in the blueprints that Beck had drawn up for him for the great room Erik was adding to his ranch house. Now that he’d encountered the newcomer, he wished he’d paid his cousin more attention.

  Calling her about it wasn’t gonna happen, though. She might consider his curiosity more personal in nature than he intended. And after the mess with Jessica, he didn’t need anyone making more of a man’s simple curiosity than there was.

  If Isabella really wanted to make things right, as she’d said, she’d have to make the trip, rough road or not.

  He couldn’t help wondering if she’d have the fortitude to stick it out long enough to save her boy’s hide, or if she’d decide along the way that life back in New York was more preferable and hightail it right back out of town. She wouldn’t be the first person who did. Just because he’d never wanted anything else didn’t mean he failed to understand that life in Weaver wasn’t everyone’s cup of joe.

  Still, aside from the boy, the next several months were looking a tad more interesting than they might otherwise have been.

  If she stuck it out.

  * * *

  “You gotta be kidding me,” Murphy muttered, peering through the dusty windshield at the two-story house that finally appeared as they reached the top of a rise in the road.

  Road was a generous term, considering it wasn’t much more than two tracks in the dirt with a shorn strip of wild grass growing down the middle.

  Her would-be stepson continued complaining. “This is crazy out here, Iz. Like The Hills Have Eyes or something.”

  “You’re too young for R-rated movies. Especially horror stories like that one.”

  Murphy sat back in his seat and gave her a superior look. “I watched ’em all the time when Dad took me to the firehouse.”

  And had nightmares because of it, she thought but kept it to herself. “You heard Lucy as well as I did when we saw her yesterday. Mr. Clay’s place is a working cattle ranch. You’ll be outside, in the fresh air, exactly where you like to be.”

  “Yeah. Hanging with my friends, not with Bessie the cow.” He made a face. “I hate it here.”

  “And I hated seeing you sitting in that jail cell after you broke half the third-floor windows of Mr. Goldstein’s brownstone back home.” She shot him a look, only to quickly turn her attention back out the windshield when the steering wheel nearly jerked out of her hands. “We’re here only as long as the court allows it, Murph. Don’t forget that.”

  “What’s the difference between one foster home and another?” His shrug was uncaring, but Isabella heard the pain beneath his bravado.

  At least, she hoped she heard it. It was the only way she could look past her own sorrow, knowing he didn’t care that he was with her or not.

  In the eight months since he’d been provisionally placed under her guardianship, she still wasn’t entirely certain what was going on inside his head. While his father had been alive, Murphy had at least tolerated her. Since then, he seemed to enjoy taking every opportunity to prove otherwise.

  “There’s a lot of difference,” she said now, deciding not to get into the distinction between being his guardian and being a foster parent. “Believe me. I know from personal experience what it feels like not having a place to belong. I saw the size of that stained-glass window, Murph. You’re lucky he’s giving you a chance to work it off.” She had done some research online at the library and had a hefty suspicion that they were getting off incredibly lightly.

  Evidently losing interest, Murphy looked out the passenger-side window and remained silent.

  The entire car shuddered as she continued coaxing it along the ridiculous excuse for a road. Neither she nor Jimmy had owned vehicles in the city. She’d bought the four-door sedan from a dealer down in Cheyenne when they’d arrived in Wyoming.

  Isabella had been thankful that the car had been a thousand dollars less than she’d budgeted. Which meant she’d been able to apply that toward the restitution the court had ordered for the vandalized brownstone. She’d still be making payments for some time, but it had felt good to send off that chunk.

  With no small amount of relief, she felt the road beneath the tires smooth out as they drew closer to the house. It was white clapboard with dark green shutters at the windows and had a wide covered deck sticking out on one side. Not overly large, but with the ridiculously blue sky behind it, peppered with fat white clouds, it looked perfectly charming.

  Somehow, it seemed to suit a man who’d cover his filthy jeans with a paper napkin while he ate pie in a café.

  She followed the gravel-covered road around the side of the house. There was no obvious place to park, so she just stopped near the house. She turned off the car but left the keys hanging in the ignition. There wasn’t any danger of being jacked out here in this place. “Come on,” she prompted Murphy as she got out.

  He swore under his breath, but shoved open the door and climbed out, too.

  She looked at him over the roof of the car. “Remember what we talked about?”

  He made a face. “Be polite. Follow instructions. Don’t cause trou
ble.”

  She’d also told him not to curse. But she wasn’t going to nitpick. “Right.” She closed her door, and the sound seemed to get swallowed up in the quiet, open countryside.

  “So where is he?” Murphy asked. Their shoes crunched on the gravel as they walked toward the house.

  “Here.” As if by magic, Erik Clay appeared. He was wearing a white T-shirt that seemed stretched to its limits over his broad shoulders and another pair of jeans that were just as mud-caked at the bottoms as the ones he’d been wearing the week before. He was also wearing a cowboy hat and leather gloves that only made the tanned wrists above them look even more masculine. “Wondered if you were gonna make it or not.”

  She didn’t want him blaming Murphy for their lateness. “My fault. I didn’t think it would take me quite this long to drive out here.” She tried to aim her eyes somewhere other than at that impressive chest, but looking at his face was no less disturbing. And for some reason, those wrists above his gloves were...erotic. She finally settled for looking back the way she’d come. “When you said the road was a little rough, I had no idea.” She turned toward him. “Next time I’ll plan better.”

  His teeth flashed briefly. “Now that you’re here, I’ll show you around.”

  The desire to stay and have a tour was sudden and strong. So much so that it was unwelcome. “I can’t. I have to get back to Weaver for a class.”

  He thumbed his hat back a few inches. “What’re you studying?”

  “Teaching,” she corrected. “Lucy’s put me on the schedule for several classes at her dance studio.”

  “Is that right....” He didn’t seem to care when Murphy wandered away from them toward the wooden rails of the deck. “I didn’t think you were a dancer like Lucy.”

  Isabella waved her hands ruefully. “Believe me. I’m not.” Until an injury sidelined her career, Lucy had been one of the top ballerinas at the Northeast Ballet Theater. “I was the wardrobe supervisor at NEBT. But I’ve had enough training to teach some little girls a few basics.” She also would be teaching the big girls a few things throughout the week, but didn’t think tall-tanned-and-macho would be interested in hearing about yoga.

  “So that’s the reason for the getup?”

  She thought she’d given up blushing when she was about fifteen. But when his violet gaze seemed to travel down her body, that was exactly what she found herself doing. “Um, yeah.” She didn’t ordinarily go around wearing formfitting jazz pants and stretchy camis that clung like a second skin. She wished she’d zipped up the sweatshirt. Doing so now would seem obvious, though. “Tap shoes are in the car.”

  “Tap?”

  She nodded. One of her foster moms had been avidly into the activity. Isabelle had been happy enough to go along, because it meant she didn’t have to stay back at home with the other six foster kids living there. When she’d been granted her emancipation a few years later and could afford it, she’d taken more classes. “So—” she gestured toward Murphy “—it is okay if I leave him here with you like this?”

  Erik smiled a little. “Didn’t figure I’d be treated to your company all the while, appealing as it might be.”

  She was definitely blushing now. She brushed her palms down her thighs. The diamond engagement ring on her ring finger winked in the sunlight. She tried to remember what Jimmy’s wrists had looked like, and failed. “What time should I pick him up?”

  “What time are you done at Lucy’s place?”

  “I’m only on for two hours.” So far. If Lucy’s business kept growing, she could end up with more classes. Which meant a little more money and a little less debt.

  “Come on back anytime after that.” His tone was easy. “If we’re not finished, you can sit on the porch and relax a bit.”

  There were several rustic chairs scattered along the wide deck. Some had yellow-and-green cushions. Some didn’t. Overall, the whole effect was entirely inviting.

  Another unwelcome thought. Just as it was unwelcome recognizing that his deep, calm voice had a way of easing the knots between her shoulders.

  “You’re being very nice.” Lucy had said he was nice. A very decent, perfectly nice man. And Murphy would be as safe as houses with him. “I’ve really got to go now, though, or I’m going to be late to my class. Murphy?” She raised her voice, looking toward him. “Don’t forget what we talked about.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He twisted his heel into the gravel.

  Hiding a sigh, she gave Erik an apologetic smile. “Thank you again for giving us this opportunity.”

  “Not us.” He nodded his head sideways toward Murphy. “Him. He’s the one who did it, not you.”

  “Yes, well, he is my responsibility. And I do thank you.” She started edging backward toward her car. “I’ll see you soon, Murphy.”

  Aware of Erik’s gaze on her, she hurried to her car. When she started the engine and turned around to drive back the way she’d come, she could see in her rearview mirror that Erik and Murphy had not budged.

  “Please let this go well,” she whispered. Neither she nor Murphy could afford otherwise, whether her stubborn young ward realized it or not.

  * * *

  Once the faded red car was out of sight, Erik looked over at Murphy. Wearing an oversize black hoodie and blue jeans with a hole in the knee, he was still leaning against the porch, digging his shoe into the dirt. “All right,” Erik said. “Your mom brought you—”

  “She’s not my mom.” Murphy kicked the gravel, scattering the small pebbles. “She never married my d— She’s just my guardian.”

  Erik decided he really should have listened more closely to Lucy’s chatter. Or caved to his curiosity and called her at least once over the past week to pump her for more info, regardless of the consequences. “So where’re your parents?”

  “My dad’s dead.”

  Erik stifled an oath. “Sorry. I didn’t know.” He studied the kid for a moment, wondering about his mother. “How long ago?”

  “Nine months.” The kid lifted a shoulder that looked skinny even beneath the hoodie. “It’s no big deal, dude. Am I gonna shovel cow crap or what?”

  Erik figured it had to be a very big deal. Both his parents were still alive and he was glad of it, though he could do with a little less of his mother’s unsubtle comments that she’d like grandchildren before she was too old to enjoy them. A crock, since he considered his mom to be pretty darn young, having passed fifty only a few years back.

  He abruptly changed his mind about mucking out the horse stalls and pointed instead at the old barn. “You’re gonna help me tear that old thing down.”

  “Then can I have my bat back?”

  “Nope.” He started toward his new barn. “Come on.”

  “Where?” Murphy’s voice was rife with suspicion.

  Erik’s stride didn’t slow. “To get some tools other than your baseball bat.”

  After a moment, he heard the shuffle of footsteps following behind him.

  At least it was something.

  * * *

  “I’ve got a dozen women signed up for a second yoga class.” Lucy Ventura sat on the edge of the desk in her small office, jiggling the baby she held against her shoulder.

  Isabella swiped her neck with her hand towel. Tap dancing—even with six-year-olds—was a lot of work. “I can hardly believe a couple dozen women exist in Weaver who want to take yoga.” She’d been happy to think they had enough for one class. Two would be amazing.

  Lucy grinned. “You’d be surprised, Iz.” A small burp filled the office. “Genteel as always, my daughter.” She turned the infant around until she was sitting on her lap, facing Isabella. Where Lucy was fair, her daughter, Sunny, was dark. A mop of dark brown hair was tied at the top of her little round head with a bright red bow, and her dark brown eyes fairly snapped with cheer.

  Until Jimmy, Isabella had never aspired to motherhood. Not with the childhood she’d had. Then he’d swept her off her feet, and her orderly life had flown
right out the window. She couldn’t help wondering what might have happened if he’d lived. What their baby—if he’d ever changed his mind about not having any—might have looked like.

  An image of Murphy swam into her head. He looked like his father.

  Would Erik Clay’s children have his violet eyes?

  She banished the errant thought and draped the towel around her neck before giving Sunny her finger. The baby latched on and yanked it around. “She’s so beautiful, Luce. I can’t believe how life has changed for us.”

  Lucy smiled gently. “Weaver’s a good place to heal, Iz.”

  “I hope so,” she murmured. Sunny’s skin was as soft as down. “Murphy has a lot to heal from. He adored Jimmy.”

  “I was talking about you, too.”

  Isabella lifted her shoulder. “I’m a big girl. I’ll survive, as usual.”

  “Surviving isn’t necessarily the same as living,” Lucy countered. She’d dropped by the studio only to see how Isabella’s classes had gone and was dressed in a pretty sundress that Isabella herself had made for her a few years ago as a gift. “I learned that when I met Beck.”

  “He seems like a good guy.”

  “Oh, he’s good all right.” Lucy’s eyes suddenly danced. “Anyway, what did you think about the Rocking-C? Erik’s place,” she prompted when Isabella gave her a blank look.

  “I didn’t see much of it. The road out there is terrible.” She didn’t want to think about him. “I just hope this whole deal works out between him and Murphy.”

  “If Erik has any say in it, it will,” Lucy assured. “I told you. He’s one of the good ones.”

  The baby had lost interest in Isabella’s finger and she moved to peer through the window that overlooked the dance studio. The room wasn’t large but it was perfectly outfitted, which was typical for Lucy. “I don’t want Murphy to forget that his father was one of the good ones, too.” Her thumb nudged the engagement ring Jimmy had given her around and around her finger.