I have a cookie, too?” Taylor asked.
Mitch glanced from his daughter to Heather.
“They haven’t had lunch yet,” she supplied.
“Excuse us for a minute,” Mitch said. “Girls, you sit here while I talk to Heather.”
Wondering all the while what she’d gotten herself into, Heather followed him into the living room. He led the way, as though he’d taken charge of this situation, and his assumption ruffled her.
“It seems to me that constantly bending the schedule—and the rules—is the main problem here,” she said in a low, controlled voice.
His expression darkened. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I know they’re not angels. I haven’t known what to do with them most of the time. But I think they need a little flexibility.”
“Maybe it’s stability they need.”
His eyes seemed to soften. And his voice, when he spoke again, was laced with a combination of vulnerability and tenderness. “Can’t there be both?”
Four
H eather took a deep breath. She was a stickler for details, she knew that. She functioned best with order and discipline. Her children had always done fine under her leadership. But they had seemed to blossom more since they’d been at the ranch—since their days weren’t consumed with rigorous schedules. Perhaps there was a compromise.
She drew herself up and looked Mitch in the eye. “All right.”
She led the way back to the kitchen. “We’ll take a break and have some free time,” she said to the children. “You can watch a video or draw or anything you want until lunch.”
The kids looked at each other and grinned cheerfully.
Mitch gave her a grateful smile, then turned to have a few words with his girls. Within minutes he headed back outside.
By lunch Heather’s nerves were still on edge. She prepared sandwiches and sliced fruit and ushered the children out the front door for a picnic on the side lawn, where they could be entertained watching the workers.
“I don’t like tuna,” Taylor complained, peeling back her bread and wrinkling her nose.
“Me neither,” Ashley agreed. “I want skettios.”
“I’ll get some skettios for later in the week, but for now, we’re having tuna.”
“I don’t like it,” they chorused.
“Then don’t eat it.”
They looked at one another and blinked. Taylor looked back. “You’re not gonna make us eat it?”
“Nope.”
Taylor nestled onto the checkered tablecloth as though she’d won a battle. “What do we get, then?”
“There are chips on your plate and apple and orange slices.”
“That’s not a good lunch.”
“Everyone else is eating it.” Heather demonstrated by taking a bite of her sandwich. Patrick and Andrew were watching the exchange with interest while they chewed. Jessica already looked as tired of the girls’ complaints as Heather felt.
Ashley stared, agape. “But we’ll be hungry!”
“I guess you will.”
Taylor folded her arms over her chest and pouted.
The afternoon went a little more smoothly, because she’d purchased Veggie-Tales’ videos none of them had seen before. The kids watched and laughed, and at snack time, nobody complained about raisins, graham crackers, or juice.
“Now it’s time to pick everything up and put it away,” Heather announced.
“I’m not pickin’ stuff up. My leg hurts.” Taylor ensconced herself on the sofa.
Her leg had been fine all afternoon, Heather noted. “Everyone who helps, gets a treat,” she coaxed, thinking that would bring the girl around.
The others picked up puzzles and toys and rolled up the sleeping bags they liked to lounge upon, then Heather presented four of the five children with a heart-shaped treat from her private stash of Godiva chocolates.
Taylor scowled, pursed her lips into a pout, and glared at Heather. “You’re mean. I don’t like you.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. You had the same chance as the others to help clean up.”
“I’m just a kid.”
“You’re not just a kid. You’re a very bright and capable young lady.” With a negative attitude.
“What’s ‘capable’?”
“It means you’re smart and good at doing things.”
Apparently the compliment from someone she considered mean confused her. She leaned back on the aged sofa, refusing to watch the others finish their candy. Probably planning a dramatic tale with which to regale her father, Heather thought. “My daddy will buy me a treat of my own.”
While Patrick and Andrew took naps upstairs, Heather gave the three girls a stack of books, put on a tape of relaxing rainforest sounds, and with one ear zeroed on the chatter, familiarized herself with the blueprint program Mitch had given her on disk.
It was as easy as he’d assured her, and she enjoyed experimenting with the different kitchen scenarios. Before long, she’d narrowed it down to two floor plans. She would show them to him for his input on cost-effectiveness.
Heather rearranged the room again, making space for the washer and dryer to be enclosed. She checked the clock, saved her work to a disk, and went to check on the kids.
Taylor sat on a worn chair and slid down until her chin reached her chest. “I don’t wanna be here.”
Her heart softened toward the troublesome child. She picked up a book from the floor and perched on the sofa. “I guess this is different from the way things used to be for you, isn’t it?”
Blue eyes assessed her skeptically.
“I’ll bet you miss your grandmas, huh?”
Taylor allowed a fractional nod.
“And our mama,” Ashley said from the other side of the room. “We miss our mama, don’t we, Taylor?”
One side of Taylor’s mouth moved up in what might have been agreement.
“Did your mother read to you?” Heather asked, hoping to find a way to connect with the little girl.
“Yes, she did. She read to us all the time. Every night. Good books, too, not dumb ones.”
“Would
