did his best to cheer them up, to make things right. Maybe when they wrapped things up here he could have a few words with her. Tease out a smile. Maybe even coax a laugh.
* * *
“Hand over that little lady, Mina.” Brett Marden tucked his gloves into his belt and reached for the now wide-awake infant. He paid no mind to Abby, for which she was grateful. The chattering, elementary-school-aged children still dawdled as they made their way across the arena toward the adults, but Brett had beelined to the group as soon as lessons concluded.
When the young mother released her baby to Brett’s care, he cuddled the squirming bundle close, nuzzling her until she rewarded him with a squealing, toothless grin. “She’s getting prettier every day, just like her mommy.”
Mina gave Abby a “what did I tell you?” look, but nonetheless smiled up at Brett, basking in his generous praise.
“Everyone says she looks like her father,” Mina corrected, and Brett pulled back with a frown to stare down into the little girl’s eyes.
He shook his head. “I have to disagree, ma’am. Anyone who says that must be trying to get on the good side of her daddy. Everybody knows her old man’s a big ugly brute.”
The ladies laughed as he handed the child back to Mina. Then placing his hands firmly on his narrow, jeans-clad hips, he pinned Melody with a knowing gaze.
“Now, young lady, what’s this I’m hearing around town about you and Kent having a bun in the oven?”
Melody’s cheeks flushed crimson, her hand again self-consciously dropping to her abdomen, the snug knit top obviously designed to enhance the barest of baby bumps. “A few weeks before Thanksgiving.”
Brett squinted one eye. “Boy or girl?”
“We don’t want to know,” she teased back with a saucy tilt to her head, obviously relishing being the focus of his good-natured attention. “We want him—or her—to be an old-fashioned surprise.”
“Good plan.” Brett nodded approval. “Congratulations, little mama.”
He turned to Abby and winked as if fully aware she’d been watching him. Caught off guard, she looked away, searching for Davy, who still lingered at the corral with Trey, patting the nose of a chestnut horse.
Behind her, Brett reminded Janet he’d be in touch before his shift at Singing Rock Cabin Resort started tonight. So he worked for her aunt and uncle, too? Then as the ladies shooed their charges out the arena gate, Abby rose and slung her purse strap over her shoulder, uncomfortably aware of Brett’s lingering gaze.
Didn’t the man have anything better to do than to torment her? Okay, maybe torment was too strong a word. But it seemed clear he wasn’t satisfied having the bevy of young mothers eating out of his hand. He needed assurance that the newcomer’s adoration was secured, as well.
Don’t hold your breath, cowboy.
She started off to get Davy, but less than half a dozen yards into her journey Brett joined her, his eyes still smiling almost as if holding on to an unshared secret.
“So Joe has a little sister.”
Reluctantly, she drew to a halt. “That’s me.”
For a moment she thought he was going to say “Why didn’t he ever mention you?” She couldn’t take offense if he did. Family usually talked about family. But there would be no reason for her brother to mention her in casual conversation. Five years apart in age, they’d barely been in contact after Mom took off with her when Joe was fifteen. Nevertheless, her little-girl heart had missed him and he’d told her a few days ago that he’d missed her, too.
“Are you in town for long, ma’am?” Brett’s voice drew her back to the present.
“No. I’m leaving as soon as I drop Davy off at home.”
“That’s a shame.”
Why? Because he wouldn’t have an opportunity to weave his charming wiles around another susceptible female heart?
She glanced again toward her nephew, who was still talking with Trey. Come on, Davy, let’s go.
Brett motioned in their direction. “A bright boy, that one, and he has a natural way with horses. You may have an accomplished horseman in the family one of these days.”
“He wants a horse. Bad.” She smiled inwardly at the remembrance of her own childhood demands. What kid doesn’t think they want a pony? “Joe thought it might be good to let him try it out. Kids often lose interest when they discover an imagined event, toy or pet isn’t as advertised.”
The cowboy nodded. “You can say the same thing of adults, I imagine.”
Where was he coming from with that comment? But he sure nailed it on the head. The shallowness of commitment on the part of her fiancé had been nothing short of deplorable. “I guess so.”
“Is your brother harboring any other pretty siblings?” Brett quirked a smile. “I may have to talk with him about holding out on friends.”
He’s a flirt. The women warned you. Don’t take his flattery to heart. Nevertheless, her breath came more quickly at the approving sparkle in his eyes.
“There’s one other...” She couldn’t help but toy, noticing with gratification how a brow lifted in surprised interest. “But our brother, Ed, might take exception to being termed pretty.”
Brett’s amused gaze pinned her just as her cell phone vibrated silently in the purse resting against her hip. Please don’t let it be Gene again. Since Sunday evening her ex-fiancé had been calling. Emailing. Texting. His messages were brief, only that he needed to talk to her. With each attempt to make contact, her hopes—and outrage—rose in unison.
Brett cocked his head to the side. “Is something wrong, ma’am?”
She wished he’d stop calling her that. It made her sound as old as dirt. “My phone’s vibrating.” She patted the purse at her side. “Incoming call.”
“Don’t mind me. Go ahead. Take it.”
With a grimace of apology, she pulled out the phone. Not Gene, thank goodness, but her older brother, Davy’s dad.
It was already nice getting more frequent calls from Joe. While they’d kept in contact sporadically through the years, they had a long way to go to rebond. Maybe they never fully would. But despite him not being around much the past few days, he was making an effort to reconnect, which was more than Dad seemed to be doing.
“Hey, Joe, what’s up?”
“Meg’s being air-vacced to the hospital at Show Low.”
Her throat tightened at his flat tone, recognizing he’d shifted into paramedic mode. The levelheaded corpsman pattern from his navy days divorced emotion from the situation at hand, conveying that the air transport was more serious than Meg merely going into a much-anticipated labor.
“Is she—”
“I’m on my way there now. She
