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Thinking back to what Mr. Maxwell—John—had mentioned, I wondered if there was a nugget of truth to what he said, but not about the part of him being missing. Not to dismiss it—it was a valid point—but his mention of Sam being surrounded by cowboys struck me. Maybe she had picked up some aggression from them? Was there any female presence in the house at all?
I went to get my food, set it on the table then went to get a legal pad and a pen. I began jotting down the many reasons Sam could be acting out. She was ten; it was when her body was changing. Maybe she didn’t know how to deal with those new feelings.
I hoped she was not dissociating or developing sleep or eating disorders. Was it anxiety, heartache, or depression? Was it jealousy?
Sighing, I shifted the papers to the side and ate dinner. If I were to get the answers, they would have to come from Sam, not from any diagram or preset study about rebellious preteen daughters.
Kids had unique personalities, reasonings, and actions that fit into some reconstructs, but for the rest…no. To assume every child fit into the same mold was like trying to force a circle into a square; it did not work that way.
I wondered if John would be talking to Sam again and what he would say when he did. I just hoped he would take the tips I gave him and use them wisely. If not, it would make my job that much harder going forward.
ChapterEleven
John
Icould feel that Harper had entered my room about five minutes ago, but I kept pretending to be asleep. We haven’t done this game in a while, and I wanted to savor it, to take us back a few months in time.
I could count the moments before she scrambled into my bed and kneed my arm like a dough ball. It was our Sunday morning tradition, so I kept my face still and breathed deeply until I felt the king-size dip as she crawled onto it.
“Daddy,” Harper shook me. “Daddy, wake up.”
I turned over and snored, very loud and incredibly fake. She huffed and crawled closer. “Daddy, wake up. Wake up.”
I threw in a pig’s grunt just because, and I knew, at this point, I was giving my ruse away. My kids knew I was a light sleeper, and I didn’t snore, but this was fun.
“Daddy.” Harper poked my cheek. “Wake up. It's waffle day.”
Oh, that was what this was about. Once a month, I commandeered the kitchen from Ella and cooked up a waffle storm for my girls. It was one of the few things and times we had together as I was always on the move, either on a plane, the road, or the ranch. The rare Sunday mornings were ours, and my waffles were things of legend.
“Wakey, wakey, Daddy.” She poked me in the forehead. “I’m hungry, and I want eggs with my waffles. If you keep sleeping, Ella will make waffles, but yours are better. Wake up.”
Flinging my eyes open, I stretched my hands out, grabbed her to spin her around, and started a tickle war with her back to the mattress. Honestly, it wasn’t that much of a war; it was not as if she could get back to me with all her squirming, laughing, and twisting on the bed. I dug my fingers under her rib cage, and she tried to slap my hands away.
“Stop, d-daddy! Stop t-tickling me!”
“I heardmore, Daddy, more,” I teased, tickling her armpits. “I love being tickled by you. You’re the best!”
After a few more tortuous minutes of howling, kicking, red-faced laughter, I relented and released her before kissing her cheek. “Good morning, sweetheart, and of course, I’ll make the waffles. We do not want any substandard waffles this morning, do we? Only daddy’s cinnamon, chocolate chip waffles will do.”
Harper nodded, then lopped her arms around my neck for a lovely morning hug. “Morning, Daddy.”
“It’s the very best, pumpkin’,” I replied, hugging her back. “So, what do you want to do today, y’know, after I make breakfast? Do you want to go riding with Daddy, swimming? We could take the old boat out for a fishing trip.”
“I want to go see the bunnies,” she replied. “And the new baby goat Uncle Ben said we got for the petting zoo.”
“All right, a day with the tiny baby animals is what it’ll be,” I replied.
“…Daddy,” Harper asked, and something in her tone made me a bit wary. “Is Sam going to be okay?”
I pressed my lips tight for a moment. “Yes, princess, Sam will be right as rain soon. She’s just having a rough patch, okay? Things are confusing for her, but she’ll be all right.”
“Is Miss Everett helping her?” Harper asked while plucking at the sheet. “I like Miss Everett. She’s nice.”
“Me too, sweetheart,” I replied, smiling. “I like her too.” Sitting up, I said, “I’m going to brush my teeth and wash up, okay, sweetheart? Go downstairs and wait for me. We’ll make the best waffles you’ve ever tasted.”
She scrambled off the bed and left the room while I ruffled my tangled bedhead of hair, slipped off to the en-suite bathroom, and cleaned up. I would have my time in the shower with fantasies of RaynaafterI had served up the waffles for Harper and Sam.
Tugging on a shirt, I padded barefoot down to the kitchen where Harper was chatting Sarah’s ear off, and Sam was curled up on a chair with a beat-up copy ofThe Hardy Boysin hand. I smiled, happy that she was there.
