shake off the excess and rub it on her babies’ swollen gums. But some moms don’t like the idea of alcohol touching their baby, so it’s up to you.”
The baby let out an ear-piercing scream and Angie didn’t hesitate to rub the child’s gums with brandy.
“Please, oh, please,” Angie said as her baby chomped on her fingers, and within minutes the baby was as calm as a cat in the sun.
Blake gave Angie a few rubber teething toys he kept in an emergency kit in his pickup, and the combination seemed to work miracles.
By the time he eventually left, both Angie and her baby were fast asleep.
Another laid-back Sunday.
For once, he’d like to spend an entire Sunday doing nothing of any importance. Not that he didn’t enjoy helping his patients, but the thought of an entire day off seemed almost as impossible as trying to trim the whiskers off the man in the moon.
He climbed the wooden porch stairs of his ranch house and was greeted by Suzy and Mush. He bent over to give both dogs some good lovin’. They were siblings, part wolf with a whole lot more parts mutt. It was the mutt parts that loved attention and the wolf parts that kept critters out of the house and barn.
Wrestling with the dogs reminded him that Maggie Daniels had consumed him the entire day, even while he was singing “Home on the Range” to Angie’s baby.
For some reason, he couldn’t get rid of her image—those long legs, the girly underwear, and that sparkle in her eyes—but that didn’t mean he wanted her there with him. Regrettably, he had almost no control over his subconscious, where she now lived as sure as he knew he was dog-tired and wanted nothing more than to sit down with his family and share Sunday dinner, a perfectly cooked rib roast. Blake anticipated that first scrumptious bite as he grabbed the doorknob and swung open the front door, Suzy and Mush following close behind.
No matter what else happened during the week, come six o’clock on Sunday night it was dinner with the family. He could count on it like prairie flowers in spring.
“Daddy’s home,” his five-year-old daughter, Scout, shouted as soon as she spotted him. She came running toward him at full throttle, arms outstretched, ready to grab hold and give him her tightest squeeze. Her miniature cowboy boots were clacking across the wooden floor, strawberry-colored hair in its usual state of disarray, blue shirt falling out of her britches, and a look of absolute love on her adorable face.
For the umpteenth time since they had moved back to Briggs, Blake fully realized that his sweet daughter desperately needed what all the kids he’d treated that day already had: a loving mom. Unconditional and all-consuming love was an emotion Scout’s own mom sorely lacked.
Living in a house filled with boys had turned his little girl into a blustering tomboy. So much so that she had wanted to cut off all her hair—something Blake was not ready to accept. Not that he thought there was anything wrong with those tough-boy traits, but he wondered if Scout missed pink and had settled for blue to fit in with the rest of the family. But most of all he wondered just how much she missed the fuss and love a woman could give her. He knew it was time he found someone else to share his life with, but so far, he’d been too busy. Maybe he needed to do something about that.
He whisked his child up in his arms and twirled her around. They eventually landed on the sofa with his younger brother Colt’s three boys getting in on the fun, along with Suzy, who loved a good tussle. Mush sat on his haunches and barked.
Colt’s boys ranged in age from three to six, and all were loved like crazy by their father and the rest of the men in the Granger family. The boys’ mother had passed away from complications right after giving birth to the youngest, Joey. Colt never faltered in his dedication to his boys, especially to Joey.
“Dinner’s sittin’ on the table,” Blake’s father, Dodge, announced. He was a tall man, six foot four, with a stride like John Wayne, and a temperament like molasses. Nothing fazed him, ever, and in the scheme of Blake’s chaotic life, his dad’s rock-solid demeanor was the anchor that kept him grounded.
Dodge ran the house, cooked most of the meals and essentially kept the place from falling completely apart, especially during potato harvest season, which was coming up in a few weeks. This was where Dodge and Colt had it all over Blake. They ran the agricultural part of the ranch while Travis, his youngest brother, took care of the livestock. Blake contributed his time when he could, but essentially he had his hands full with his dental practice.
Blake had wanted to be a pediatric dentist ever since he’d been thrown from a horse when he was twelve and dislodged his two front teeth on a rock. Everyone thought he would lose those teeth, but Doc Greeley saved them with his expertise. Blake thought it was cool and became friends with the doctor who was soon his mentor. Colt and Travis gave him a rash about his obsession with teeth for the longest time, and when it came time for Blake to go off to college or get serious about ranching, he chose UCLA School of Dentistry in Los Angeles. Then when Doc Greeley retired and moved away right around the time Blake and Scout moved back to Briggs, he took over Doc’s practice, a dream he’d had ever since he was a boy.
The kids raced to the table to take their seats. Dodge sat at one end and Blake sat at the other. Travis and Colt sat one on either side in between the kids, acting as wranglers.
The table was set with the same mustard-colored, Fiestaware plates that had been a tradition in the family ever since Blake’s mom was alive. She had liked everything to be neat and color-coordinated just like in a magazine. Unfortunately, she had a house filled with boys, so nothing was ever quite up to her satisfaction.
A large bowl of Idaho mashed spuds sent up steam on one end of the wooden table along with a platter of mixed grilled veggies and a large wooden bowl filled with salad. Simple, but satisfying. A loaf of freshly baked rosemary bread from On The Rise bakery sat on a cutting board ready to be sliced. The two dogs made themselves comfortable under the table near Dodge.
“So,” Travis began once a short prayer of thanks had been said and the side dishes began to make their way around the table. “Amanda, over at Holey Rollers, said Kitty’s sister was checking you out through the window this morning. What’s up with that? Has yet another woman fallen for the poor, suffering Doc Blake?”
“Oh, Daddy, did you eat a doughnut?” Scout wanted to know.
Blake had no choice but to come clean. “Yes, I did.” He was not about to tell her how many.
Colt said, “I hear she’s hotter than a burnt boot. Just your type, big brother. Too much woman wrapped up in a city suit.”
“You were bad, Daddy. They’ll rot your teeth.”
“Yeah, Uncle Blake, sugar is the enemy,” Colt’s oldest, Buddy, chimed in.
“I’m not interested in Kitty’s sister,” Blake told Colt, but he knew he didn’t say it with much conviction.
“Busted,” Joey announced while holding up his fork.
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Travis joked.
Blake held up a hand. “Wait a minute.” He turned to Scout. “I brushed when I got into the office, like any good cowboy should.”
Colt pressed on. “Amanda said you interviewed the sister to take Kitty’s place when she leaves.”
Blake
