“I get a room all my own,” she said, wiggling a bit. “Not pink, like at home. I’m tired of pink.”
“The pajamas you have on are pink,” he teased, using the towel to wipe away some of the water from the ends of her hair.
“I know, but it’s different. Stitch is a cartoon, and he’s blue, so he looks good against the pink.”
“I’d say he does,” Austin said, admiring her sense of color, something Mona hadn’t been able to train out of her.
“Will I get my boots in the morning?” she asked, suddenly turning in the chair, her fingers on the edge of the back as she looked up at him, hopeful, expectant. “And horse lessons?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding quickly as he moved a strand of hair away from her forehead. “We’ll get that all set up for you, but only if you go to bed at a reasonable hour.”
“Is the cabin haunted?” Bea asked.
She almost looked like she wanted it to be, but he knew it was a bad idea to encourage this. Austin looked around at the tabletop lamp on the end-table next to the short couch.
Beneath the ruby glass, the light was low and soft. In the bedrooms there were lights in the ceiling, but out here in the small living room, it was different, more cozy than efficient. And maybe a little spooky.
“No,” said Austin. He nodded to show he meant it. “Leland wouldn’t allow it.”
“That’s the tall man, right Dad?”
“Yes, honeybee, the tall man is the boss of the whole ranch. He’s my boss, too.”
“And Clay’s boss?” she asked. “Is he Clay’s boss?”
“Yes,” he said. “Now sit still a minute while I finish. Then you can read to me your favorite part ofThe Little Princessbefore I tuck you in. You brought it with you, right?”
“Duh.” Bea turned around and straightened up, an exaggerated posture to show how still she was sitting.
As Austin combed her hair, he went extra slow, enjoying this moment between them, when she was still little enough to need help with her hair. He could remember her being born as if it had happened only days ago, and now she was demanding her independence from pink, thinking about buildings being haunted, and doing her best to memorize all the names of the people she’d been introduced to.
And then there was Clay, who’d sat only feet away from Austin at dinner, but who barely looked at him. Who’d had that wrinkle between his eyes, and who’d left quite quickly after eating.
He’d much rather Clay had sat closer, like on the other side of Bea, who’d been a tad overwhelmed by the interest of his co-workers, who kind of acted like they’d not seen a nine-year-old before. The ranch had an age limit, and Bea was well below that, but she was, it seemed, being given the exception. But then, shewasexceptional, and he wasn’t ashamed to say that to anyone.
Clay and Bea would get along great, at least he thought so, given Clay’s ready smile and easy manner when he met Bea. That he’d been so patient with Austin’s issues spoke of a kind heart, and he felt it, deep inside, that he needed to make sure Clay knew he was welcome around them.
He’d make a point of texting Clay before meals so they could all sit and eat together, and he’d count on Clay to help him find a pair of cowboy boots for little girls that weren’t pink. He didn’t know anything about cowboy boots other than how to put them on, and Clay knew—well, Clay seemed to know everything to put Austin at his ease and make Austin feel welcome, and now he wanted to do the same for Clay.
“You ready to read to me, honeybee?” he asked, giving Bea’s hair a gentle tug before he wiped the comb on the towel.
“Yep.”
Bea raced to her room, half slipping on the wooden floor, and came back with her e-reader, throwing herself into the only easy chair in the room. That was fine with Austin. He sprawled on the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table, and waited with expectation.
When he’d left the house and moved to the Motel 6, he’d never thought he’d get to experience this kind of evening again. His daughter was reading to him from her favorite book, her voice smoothing out after a few minutes of reading, as she relaxed into her task, relaxed from showing off a little to her dad into something more enjoyable for her. Plus, she loved the story of Sara Crewe and read it over and over.
“I like Becky, Dad,” said Bea, stopping to look up at him.
“I like Becky, too,” he said.
“She’s had it much harder than Sara, right, Dad?”
“Yes,” he said. “And I think Sara knows that.”
What he didn’t know, what he wanted to know, was whether Clay understood how Austin felt about him. Which he almost didn’t know himself, but he knew that being with Clay was a good thing, and that they seemed to click in a way he’d not experienced before.
That Clay was a man was fast on its way to becoming unimportant, a category that was of no consequence. That Clay was patient with Austin was another thing that he cherished, and he refused to let himself dwell on how Mona had taken it that first evening when he couldn’t get it up.
