10. Flint
Flint
She nods, and the four of them follow me into the house. I don’t bother to unlock the door. I can’t remember the last time I worried about locking it, probably since before I moved to Courage County.
“I have a surprise for you two,” I tell the boys.
“For me?” Brock asks.
“He said two which means both of us! Tell him!” Branson demands.
“Cool it. The surprise is for both of you,” I say in my most authoritative voice when I see the deep lines on Ronnie’s face. She looks dead on her feet. She’s started a new job this week, packed up her home, and moved in with her future husband. It’s a lot to process.
I lead them through the kitchen and living room that they barely glance at because they’re busying trying to guess the surprise.
“It’s not a rocket ship or a horse or a race car,” I tell them as I open the door to the bedroom that’s going to be theirs. I step back and wait, letting them go in before me. I smile when I hear their gasps of delight.
“This is better than a rocket ship!” Branson shouts.
“Inside voice,” I remind him gently.
I turn to see Ronnie has pressed a hand to her mouth. Maybe it's my imagination, but it looks like there are tears in her eyes. “You built this for them?”
“I’ve been known to own a hammer,” I answer, rather than tell her that Kane, Ridge, and I have been working on this round-the-clock for the past five days. We built the boys a set of bunk beds. Except that the bottom is lined with a wooden cutout that looks like T-rex teeth, the same as the top.
When the boys go to sleep at night, it’ll look like they crawled into the mouth of a giant dinosaur. Judging by the way they throw themselves on the dinosaur themed bedspreads, I think they’re pretty happy with it.
“I can’t believe you did this,” she murmurs.
“I had a few spare minutes on my hands this week,” I explain.
Alice makes a disbelieving noise from where she’s standing. I'm not going to be able to get anything by her.
“Why don’t you both set up their room? I’ll get their boxes,” I tell the two of them. It’s been obvious from the moment I showed up to help them move that Alice and Ronnie both care the most about making sure the boys feel safe and loved.
Whistling under my breath, I make sure to unload their stuff first. It doesn't take me long to get everything unloaded. It’s not that the boys were difficult, but they definitely slowed me down when I was loading the truck at Ronnie’s house.
Now at my cabin, it’s easier to move everything while they’re distracted.
By the time I'm finished, the boys have their room completely set up thanks to Alice and Ronnie. They go to fuss over Ronnie’s room while I grab the hardware for Alice’s ancient bed. I make a note to have a new mattress delivered when I see the springs poking out of hers.
Clearly, their little family has been making do for a long time, and I want to be the man that changes things. I want the chance to spoil all of them day and night.
After the bed, I slide Alice's armoire into place followed by her armchair. I wonder again what she meant when she was referring to Ronnie’s condition. Maybe she has a bad back, I decide. I’ll ask Alice later if I should buy a heating pad for my girl.
“You kept that hammer handy,” Alice says with wonderment in her tone when she steps into the bedroom that’s become hers and sees the bed put together already. She pins me with a hard look. Her chin wobbles when she opens her mouth, “I love the most special girl in the whole world.”
I pause, setting down my screwdriver. “That makes two of us.”
She sinks into her white armchair covered in clear plastic.
The fabric has a pattern on it, pink and red roses that women seem to love so much.
“You know, I’ve buried two husbands and one son.
I loved all of them fiercely, and I believe each one died knowing that…
which means I’m left with only one regret in life. ”
“And what’s that?”
“That I didn’t choke the life out of Ronnie’s first husband when I had the chance.” There’s no mistaken the cold gleam in her eye. This is a woman that if she had a do-over probably would have ended him without a second thought.
“For your next birthday, what do you say me and you go to Thailand? We’ll celebrate your special day together.”
“I like the way you think, kid.” She smiles, all dentures and gums. “You be good to my babies. They’re all that’s left of this old, old heart.”
I go back to focusing on the dresser I’m trying to fix. Damn thing has clearly been patched together a few dozen times already. “You’re not leaving this earth any time soon, Alice.”
She lets out a dry cough. “Don’t I know it. I’m not getting into heaven, and hell won’t have me.”
“Is he dead?”
“We need a stick then we can poke him.”
The conversation pulls me from sleep, and I reach instinctively for Duchess who sleeps on my chest. I give her a little scratch behind the ears. It's early morning even by cowboy standards when I crack one eyelid open to see Branson and Brock standing at the couch.
They're dressed in their cartoon pajamas with their hair rumpled, little faces still creased from their pillows. “I'm not dead.”
“Cool. Can we play with your cat?” Brock asks.
“Does she like it when you pull her tail? My friend says if you pull a cat’s tail really hard that she makes awesome sounds,” Branson adds.
“This is Duchess. We don’t ever pull her tail. Or any cat’s tail. Your friend was mistaken,” I explain as I wonder which little psychopath told him that.
“But we can pet her?” Brock presses.
Duchess opens her eyes, looks at the boys with the usual disdain she reserves for Thomas, and scurries away from us. I hear the cat door swish, and I can’t blame her. Clearly, Duchess understands human conversations.
“Not right now,” I answer and fight a yawn when I see the time on my watch.
“Can we watch cartoons then?” Branson brandishes the remote in his hand. I'm not sure what Ronnie's rule is around TV. As it is, I already put a parental lock on mine.
I push myself into a sitting position. “Let’s start with breakfast. Do you guys like scrambled eggs?”
Brock scowls. “Gross.”
“They taste like slugs,” Branson adds.
“Well, that’s descriptive,” I mutter and get to my feet. Fortunately, I thought that maybe I should get some kid-friendly foods. “How about cereal then?”
I lead them to my walk-in pantry, opening the door to show them the cereals I purposely placed on the bottom shelf.
Am I trying to win their affection with sugar?
Yes, I am, and I’m man enough to admit it.
The T-rex bed was about delighting them and making this place feel like home.
But this? This is straight bribery, and I won’t apologize for it.
They each grab a different box then start fighting over which cereal flavor is better. I let them battle it out while I set the table, frowning at my ceramic dishes. I should buy some brightly colored plastic ones for the boys like Ronnie has.
Once they’re settled, I start the coffee pot and reach for the electric kettle I bought just for this moment. Except Ronnie isn’t awake yet, and I didn’t hear her grandmother creaking around either. I’ll wait on that.
Instead, I start on some bacon. The boys chatter the entire time about dinosaurs, horses, and how many farts you can hold inside your butt before you blow up. Apparently, the number is still up for debate.
“Mom!” Brock says.
I turn from my place at the stove to see Ronnie coming into the kitchen.
She’s wearing a thin cotton T-shirt that goes down to mid-thigh.
It’s an old one that has holes on the side, and the material stretches tight across her tits.
Have those grown? It feels like they have.
Or maybe it’s just the lust from not having had my mouth all over her for a month now.
“Hey, beautiful,” I say.
She blushes. “Thanks for settling them with breakfast.”
“Look at this, Mom. Flint has a grocery store right here!” Branson gets out of his seat and rushes over to the walk-in pantry, opening the door so she can see all of the different kinds of cereal I have.
“It does look like he owns a grocery store,” she agrees softly and presses a kiss to his soft head.
I shrug, not repentant at all. “I didn't know what they would like.”
“They're going to be bouncing off the walls in like two hours, and that'll be on you.”
I open my mouth to tell her I don't mind if the kids tag along with me today. Hell, I’d love to show them around the ranch and teach them about farm chores. I’ll make cowboys out of both of them if they want that.
But before I can tell her this, she gets a funny look on her face then she's running from the room. There's the distinct sound of doors opening and closing followed by her emptying her stomach.
“Mommy barfs,” Brock explains.
“She’s not even sick with a cold,” Branson says.
Brock tips his bowl up and drinks the last of his milk in it, setting it down on the table with a loud clatter. “Do cowboys barf? Do you know?”
“Have you ever tried to barf? Maybe he can’t,” Branson debates.
I can barely focus on their discussion because everything from yesterday is slotting into place. Alice's words about her condition, Ronnie sipping ginger ale, and barely eating lunch or dinner. My lungs are suddenly too tiny to hold any oxygen at all.
I lean over and turn off the stove, setting aside the half-cooked bacon. “Come on, kids. You get to watch cartoons today.”
I set them up on one of the pre-approved parental networks that a parenting magazine I read last week said was “age appropriate” for five-year-olds. The entire time, I’m running on autopilot. I can barely register anything over the whooshing sound of blood pounding in my ears.
As soon as they’re watching, I hurry to the bathroom. I don't knock on the door or announce myself. I just turn the handle and walk in.