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She glanced at her son, already taller than most boys his age. “Don’t I know it?” JT had been tall. And broad. And strong. All nice traits. Thankfully, that was where the resemblance ended. He’d just turned two when JT left, so Cal had been spared most of his father’s mercurial mood swings. But India remembered things all too clearly. How jealous he’d been about Cal, how frustrated he’d been by their infant son’s tears and how needy the new baby was. Thinking of how he’d yanked Cal from his high chair on one particular occasion still knocked the breath from her lungs. She’d managed to get her baby into the safety of his room and locked him inside before JT turned violent. The marks he’d left on her that night must have scared him, too, because JT had left the next day. The divorce papers she’d received six months later was the last she’d heard of him. She hoped it stayed that way.
“Are we going to the Soda Shop?” Cal asked.
She started packing up her things. “For dinner?”
“It’s Tuesday,” he said. “Isn’t it?”
She nodded, powering off her laptop.
“Chicken fried steak. With your...friend?” He glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one was listening.
“Cal.” She giggled, instantly remembering Brody’s offer. “He was kidding.” Surely he had been? Besides, she wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Not because of their fathers or their ridiculous feud, but because she needed to stay strong—without leaning on Brody’s broad shoulders. “Do you want chicken fried steak?” she asked, zipping up her backpack.
He shrugged. “I don’t want brisket.” Which was standard Tuesday fare at her parents’ dude ranch.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She glanced at her watch again. It was after six. Chances were, he’d eaten and left. If he’d even shown up. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“Come on, boy,” Cal said, patting his side. Tanner hopped up, instantly ready to go.
They strolled down the stone sidewalk. The walk from the library to the Soda Shop was short—nothing was far in town. They said hello to their neighbors, watched the storefronts closing up and crossed the street to get to the Soda Shop. She ignored the sudden onset of nerves that gripped her as she pushed through the door. It was just Brody, after all.
“Maybe he didn’t come,” Cal said, glancing around the restaurant.
“We can still have dinner.” She nudged him, smiling. “Even if it’s just me.”
He smiled up at her. “I don’t mind.”
“Miss Boone,” Sara greeted them from the bar. “You two here for dinner? Pick a table and I’ll bring you some menus. I might even have a bone or two for Tanner.”
Cal waved at the teenager. “Thanks, Sara. Let’s get a booth, Mom.” He led her to a booth on the far side of the restaurant. Tanner sat at the end of the table, staring at them. “Sara’s checking on something special, boy.”
They were just seated when a little girl came walking down the hall. Her long strawberry blond pigtails bounced above her shoulders. She had pink embroidered jean shorts on. But she was wearing no shoes.
“Amberleigh,” a voice called after her. “Shoes.”
The little girl stopped, sighed and walked back down the hallway.
“You think she’s lost?” Cal asked.
India grinned. She had a pretty good idea whom the little girl belonged to. Besides the little girl’s red-gold curls, India recognized the man’s voice. That precious barefoot toddler had to belong to Brody Wallace. Which meant he was here.
A few seconds later, Brody appeared—followed by three absolutely adorable little girls.
He stopped when he saw her, smiling widely at her quick back-and-forth inspection of his daughters. “Yep, they’re mine,” he said.
“I can see that,” she returned, marveling how similar they were. Similar, but not identical. “Wow. I mean, really, wow.”
He nodded. “Yep. India, Cal, these are my girls. This is Marilyn.”
Marilyn wore a headband and had a light dusting of freckles and a quick
smile.
“And Suellen,” he said, patting his other daughter’s shoulder.
Suellen’s hair curled up tight, two tiny bows—one on each side of her head—and a dimple in her left cheek.
“And Amberleigh,” he finished.
