Kitabı oku: «Crockett's Seduction», sayfa 2

Last started laughing. Olivia hid a smile. Minnie and Kenny were agog, and Annette pushed mashed potatoes into her hair happily while the adults’ attention was elsewhere.

“The lady said she’d just been to Victoria’s Secret and wanted to send you something you liked almost as much as chocolate,” Valentine said.

She sounded on the verge of tears, so Crockett put an arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. To his surprise, she hid her face against his chest. It was only for a second, but it was enough to send an arrow of joy quivering straight into his heart.

“Oh, well,” Mason said. “I can’t imagine who sent it, but since you baked it, I won’t let a thong stop me from eating a delicious Baked Valentine. If you think about it, this brings a whole new meaning to the name of your store, Valentine.”

Crockett knew Mason was trying to make Valentine feel better by making her laugh, but she was too embarrassed. “It’s okay,” Crockett told her. “We get stuff like that all the time.”

The second he said it, he wished he hadn’t. Valentine pulled away from him. She took Annette from Last and started to wipe the potatoes off the baby’s fingers and from her hair.

“Nice going, Leonardo da Vinci,” Mason said to Crockett, slapping a piece of cake in front of him. “Now Valentine thinks we’re a bunch of panty-collecting apes.”

Helga used a pair of tongs to snag the offending missive off the table and toss it in the trash. “Bad girls.”

Silence fell.

“Don’t be upset, Valentine,” Olivia finally said. “The cake is wonderful. And so pretty, too.”

“Thank you,” Valentine said softly. “I’m sorry to have to call it a night in the middle of dinner, but Annette’s managed to get potatoes mashed into her diapers. I’m going to take her on home.”

They all stood, trying to get her to stay. Helga offered to rinse the baby at the sink, and Last said a bit of potatoes wasn’t going to hurt Annette. But Valentine thanked Helga for dinner and said good-night, not really looking at any of them.

The front door closed, and Crockett looked at Mason. “Sorry. I was trying to make her feel better.”

“I don’t think it worked.” Mason sat down, licking the frosting from his fingers. “I have to say, she bakes so much better than the folks who used to own the store. This is good.”

It was more than Crockett could stand, thinking about Valentine walking to her little house on the far side of the ranch, alone and upset. If Last wasn’t going to get up to walk her home, then Crockett would.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, hurrying out the door.

Valentine heard boots coming after her, and her heart jumped when she recognized Crockett’s voice. Oh, she didn’t want to talk to him now. Once he’d admitted that he and his brothers frequently received favors like panties from women, she had known she had to leave. The thought that one day she might take an order like that for Crockett made her whole inner being turn cold with some emotion she’d never felt before, an emotion she didn’t understand and wanted to get away from, quickly.

“Wait up,” Crockett said, swooping Annette from her arms. “The night’s still young, even for this tater-stealing spud.”

“Spud needs a bath and a bedtime story.”

“I don’t like the nickname Spud. Tater sounds a lot more feminine,” Crockett protested, his teasing voice trying to wheedle a smile from Valentine. “Give your uncle a kiss, Tater.”

Valentine appreciated his effort, but she couldn’t smile. He didn’t know how ragged her heart felt.

“Don’t be embarrassed about all that back there,” Crockett said. “It was the best thing that could happen to Mason. He’s getting way too stodgy. Didn’t you see how happy he was?”

“I’m sure he thinks it’s weird that I baked it for him. But I honestly thought she knew him and that maybe there was some shared history between them.”

“Nah,” Crockett said easily. “Mason’s never shared much history with anyone, except Mimi, and I’m not sure their history has anything to do with panties. Mimi would be more likely to leave Mason’s drawers in a tree somewhere for all the world to see.”

Valentine slowly smiled. “She wouldn’t.”

“She would. There is no limit to the fun we call Mimi.”

She gave Crockett a sidelong glance. “Do you have any history?”

“The kind where someone orders me a specially baked cake with lingerie filling? No. Not unless you want to order me one.” He gave her a devilish wink that made her heart race restlessly. “Bras, panties, it doesn’t matter. I’m not as picky as Mason.”

“I don’t know what temperature I’d have to put the oven on to bake a bra into a cake.”

“Hot, hot, hot,” Crockett said, kissing Tater on her head as he held her.

Valentine felt a blush steal over her cheeks. “Give me the spud,” she said. “We are late for a rub-a-dub in the tub.” She took Annette from Crockett, amazed by the warmth of his body as her arms brushed his. Hot, hot, hot was right. Cautiously, she glanced over Annette’s head, peeping at the big cowboy. “Good night, Uncle Crockett,” she said, waving Annette’s little fist.

“I could come in and make soap carvings for her,” Crockett offered. “It’s something I learned in Maverick’s boot camp.”

It was tempting, but Valentine knew too well that she had no business allowing herself to accept such an invitation. She and Crockett needed to stay separate, on the ranch and in their lives.

Annette started to fuss, giving Valentine an excuse to shake her head. “Thanks. Another time. Good night, Crockett.” She walked inside her house, then turned to wave one last goodbye.

He stood there, his arms crossed over his chest and his legs spread as he watched her, the very essence of sexiness and protectiveness. Everything that was female inside her electrified and went on red alert.

He tipped his hat to her.

Slowly, she backed away from the door, closing it behind her. Her pulse thundered. He was hotter than a man had a right to be.

“You like him,” she whispered to Annette as they walked down the hall, “and so do I.”

The flattered feelings Crockett gave her were like a sweet, forbidden confection—one an unwise woman ate and then later regretted.

Valentine might have made mistakes in her past, but this time she would be wise. If she didn’t lose her head, then she couldn’t lose her heart.

Chapter Three

If Crockett hadn’t been thinking about panty-filled cakes and how pretty Valentine’s fanny probably looked in a thong, he might have noticed Last waiting for him on the porch.

“Bro,” Last said, his arms crossed over his chest. “It seems strange to me that your creativity has returned, and now you’re walking Valentine home. It’s like…I don’t know. One and one makes two, you know?”

Crockett frowned, walking around his brother. “Seems to me the math’s already been done. One and one made three. You didn’t choose to walk two parts of the equation home, so shut the hell up.”

Last followed him into the house. “That doesn’t mean you should have.”

“Then who, Last?” Crockett put his hat on the counter and stared his brother down. “It was a courtesy, nothing more, one which you should have performed.”

Last shrugged. “At the table, it seemed like you two were getting along pretty well.”

Crockett sighed. “Are you trying to tell me that you have feelings for her? That you ever had feelings for her?”

“Not those kind of feelings.”

Crockett breathed a sigh of relief that he didn’t allow his brother to hear.

“But Annette’s my daughter.”

Crockett shook his head. “I thought I had all the jealousy in the family.”

“I’ve got my fair share.”

They sat down on the sofa, glancing around to make sure Helga wasn’t around before putting their boots on the coffee table.

“I’m just getting good at the relationship with my daughter,” Last said quietly. “Frankly, it took me a while.”

“I know. We thought your Mohawk phase might last longer than it did.” Crockett picked up the remote and began channel surfing. Some things were easier to discuss lightly.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Last said. “I just wanted you to know how I feel.”

Crockett nodded and closed his eyes, wishing Last would cool his jets. Family angst wasn’t what he wanted to think about. He wanted to think about Valentine—and her fanny—and about the creative ideas suddenly filling his mind. Something about that tiny woman with the very round, very upstanding tushie made his juices flow, made him want to…sculpt. Her.

She brought inspiration to life inside him in ways he had never imagined. What medium would best illustrate her curves?

Clay! Calhoun didn’t work with clay!

“I need some more time to work things out with Valentine.”

Last’s words penetrated the dense fog of Crockett’s inspired musing. “I wasn’t aware the two of you were trying to work anything out.”

“Not like that,” Last admitted. “It’s the family angle I’m working on. The father thing.”

A curious rush of jealousy, more powerful than anything Crockett had experienced before, surprised him. “Father thing?”

“Yeah, I’ve been polishing my game. Performing my obligations. Whatever you want to call it.”

“Let me get this straight. From the day Frisco Joe met Annabelle and her baby, Emmie, you talked about Jefferson children. You sent all our brothers off with marching orders to procreate. Surprise, surprise, you become a dad, too, only you get mad as hell and do everything you can to ignore Annette for months, leaving your responsibilities to Mason and me and our other brothers. Now you decide to bust my chops because I’m paying attention to Valentine and Annette?” He shook his head. “Dude, it’s not going to work. You can’t treat people that way. You’ve ignored Valentine since she came to the ranch. I’m not trying to get in your way when it comes to being a dad, but you’re not going to get in my way of…whatever.”

“And what is whatever? Just so I’ll understand.”

Crockett slapped his brother on the back of the head. “She’s a nice lady. I like to look at her.”

Last moved away from his older brother’s reach. “And if I don’t like whatever? If I need more time to get my own deal worked out with my family? Then what?”

“Have at it.” He looked his brother in the eyes. “Don’t get competitive, Last. You don’t like hanging around her, I do. Deal with it.”

Last got up from the couch, agony on his face. “I am trying to be as good a father as Maverick was.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

Last sighed. “I feel like I need something that’s mine, where none of my brothers overshadow me.”

Crockett could relate to that feeling. “We’re just friends. And I’m only interested in spending time with her because it seems I’ve recently turned into a butt-man.”

“Butt-head, you mean.”

“No, butt-man. Valentine has a great tush. It inspires my creativity. That’s all I’m thinking about. Nothing deeper than that.”

Last nodded, then left Crockett with the TV while he headed down to Valentine’s. He hesitated before knocking on the door. Crockett was pretty much correct: Last had avoided Valentine for a long time.

The realization that he was a father had changed his life and frightened him. He’d doubted his ability to be a proper role model. He hadn’t wanted to be tied down to a woman. At the time, it had felt as if he’d gotten roped in. Later, he realized that the few pounds of squealing flesh that bore his name wasn’t all that frightening. He’d slowly begun to worm his way into Valentine’s good graces, and he’d moved just as slowly over the first bumps of fatherhood.

He’d been feeling pretty good about matters—until Crockett had started eyeing his family.

The door opened and Valentine looked out at him. “Hi, Last,” she said, her tone somewhat surprised.

Of course she was surprised. “Is Annette asleep?”

“Nearly. Did you want to see her?”

He shifted. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something.”

Her big eyes widened. “All right.”

“There’s never going to be anything between you and me, is there?”

Valentine was so shocked by Last coming to her house and asking her this question that it took her a second to shake her head. “I think we’re better off as friends. You don’t want more than that, do you?”

“I want to be first in my daughter’s life.”

“And you’re worried that you won’t be?” This was a side of Last she’d never seen before.

“Maybe.”

“Last, Annette knows who you are,” Valentine said softly. “That should be reassurance enough.”

“Yeah.” He backed away from the door. “Okay.”

Valentine took a deep breath. “For what it’s worth, Last, I never set out to trap you with fatherhood. If you avoid me because you think I’m after you, it’s not true. I don’t remember much about our night together, but I know it got out of hand pretty quick and that neither of us were ourselves. Nor were either of us under any delusions.”

He looked grim. “Sometimes I wonder if it really happened.”

“I know.”

His mouth settled into a tense line. “I think, Valentine, I owe you an apology. I had some wildness in me, and I never thought about the consequences of my actions. For either of us, but especially for you.”

Valentine smiled slightly. “Thank you. But it doesn’t matter anymore. We have a daughter we both love.”

“We sure do.” For the first time, he smiled. “I’m still kind of amazed that I’m a dad.”

“Scary?”

“Scary, but awesome.” He stepped down off the porch. “By the way, do you have a thing for my brother Crockett?”

Her smile slipped, and she gave him a warning glare. “Haven’t you asked the one question you came here to ask?”

He laughed and put up his hands in mock surrender. “All right.”

She opened the door. “I have to get to work early in the morning.”

He nodded. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Closing the door, Valentine wondered which of Last’s questions he’d really come to ask. She’d never know—but one thing she did know, she had a thing for Crockett.

OKAY, SO IT WAS WRONG to be hiding in the bushes. Crockett knew that. But he wasn’t so much hiding as skulking, he figured, in the old-time manner any villain from a black-and-white movie would appreciate.

But what else could a man do? The second he’d realized Last had a major burr under his saddle and was heading down to Valentine’s house, Crockett had to tag along to eavesdrop.

He’d heard everything, amazed that Valentine and Last spoke with each other so easily about such a difficult subject. And how dare Last ask her if she had a thing for him? Crockett was just honest enough to admit his ears had stretched out about a foot to hear her reply, his heart hoping for an affirmative answer of some sort.

Well, he hadn’t gotten an affirmative, but he hadn’t overheard a negative, either. Wasn’t that a good sign?

He untangled himself from the bushes and headed back toward the main house. Half of him wanted to go pound Last for muddying the waters; he’d have to keep an eye on that brother of his. But right now the other half of him wanted to express his joy.

She didn’t say that she didn’t have a thing for me, he repeated to himself happily.

IN MIMI’S TOWNHOUSE the next day Mimi and Mason were seated at the kitchen table drinking tea and glaring at each other. Mimi’s daughter, Nanette, sat in Mason’s lap, playing with a doll he’d given her, completely oblivious to the tension in the room.

“I don’t want to be your deputy,” Mason said. “It’s a harebrained idea, as usual.”

“Sometimes you like my ideas,” she reminded him.

Mason wondered if he’d truly liked her ideas, or if he’d simply been driven by the inner devil that sometimes took the wheel of the Jefferson boys. “I may have lost my sense of direction and allowed you to lead me astray a time or two.”

“So you don’t want to be my deputy because of the news about Maverick?” Mimi asked. “Are you leaving to look for him again?”

“No.” He kissed the top of Nanette’s head, drawing peace from her presence. “It wouldn’t do me any good. Hawk and Jellyfish can find whatever is out there. They’re the trackers. Me, I’m just a farm boy.”

She laughed. “Right.”

“So.”

Taking a sip of tea, he considered Mimi. She was just as pretty as she’d ever been. Maybe even prettier. He supposed that now that she was officially divorced from Brian, men would flock to her door. That thought rattled him quite a bit more than it should. So he thought about Nanette instead. She needed a stable male influence in her life. She had Mimi’s father, the sheriff, of course. And Barley, Calhoun’s father-in-law, who came around often to play checkers and carouse with the sheriff a bit. And all the Jefferson brothers did their part for their former neighbor, because they loved Mimi like a sister and adored Nanette like one of their own.

But was it enough? “I may take Nanette to the park today.”

Mimi’s brows raised. “She’d like that.”

“Yeah.” He’d like it, too. He liked spending time with this child. Maybe he felt sorry for her since her father was never around. One thing Mimi’d had while growing up—wild March hare that she was—was the stable influence of the sheriff.

Nanette was a baby, really, but she still needed at least one man who cared about her in a…fatherly way.

He decided it was up to him. “Yeah, the deputy thing isn’t for me. And now that the sheriff has nearly gotten over the liver infection, can he keep his post?”

Mimi shook her head. “He can’t run for sheriff again. Dad really needs to take it easy. He’s happy here in town, too, more than I thought he’d be.” She sighed. “Although I will admit I never thought we’d leave our little farm.”

Mason was just glad they hadn’t moved farther away. With Mimi, you could never tell what might happen. “Ever hear from Brian?”

“No. Not really. He still does some paperwork for Dad.”

“Ah.” Mason felt the tiny stab of jealousy inside him recede. He supposed he’d always been a bit worried that Mimi and Brian might work things out. It was so wrong of him to be happy that their marriage had failed! What kind of friend was he?

“You know, Mason,” Mimi said, “that little bundle of joy you’re holding is what gave my father the will to live. I think he fought that infection with every shred of strength he had in him just to see her grow up.”

“Miracle girl.” Mason kissed the top of her head again. “Don’t start thinking you’re special, though, toot.”

Nanette patted his face, then pretended to steal his nose.

“Okay, off to the park we go. You want to come?”

Mimi shook her head. “Thanks. You go on.”

Mason gathered Nanette in his arms then turned to look at Mimi. “I don’t think you should run for sheriff, either. It’s too dangerous. You need to think of your little girl.”

“And I’ve decided to take your advice on that matter. Of course, your horsey opinion doesn’t have anything to do with my change of mind, but I have thought long and hard on it. You’re right.”

Mason was shocked. “Is that a first?”

Mimi laughed. “Hell, yes, so don’t be annoying and gloat.”

“Humph.” He thought about her capitulation and wondered aloud, “What else could I get out of you while you’re in this easy mood? One ought to grab all the candy while the store’s open and free, I think.”

“I’m not exactly candy,” Mimi said.

No, but she was being sweet. He frowned. “Mimi,” he said, “have you ever thought about the fact that sometimes you and I really get along?”

Chapter Four

Hidden in the attic that he had accepted as his artistic loft, Crockett stared at the clay lump in front of him. This was definitely a new playground. Clay didn’t have the color of paints, or the lightness of spirit that said, “Create freely!”

But the lump represented wonderful opportunities. It gave him a chance to think about the new him. Sculptor. Artist of a molding medium. He worked the clay between his fingers. He had eschewed white, opting to start with red clay. Would he enjoy making something without a brush? He hoped he didn’t become frustrated or miss the sensation of a brush sliding across canvas.

“I have a barn to clean out, so you and I better come to terms,” he told the lump. “Be beautiful.”

“Crockett?” a voice called up the stairs.

Valentine! Blast! “Yes?”

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

So much for having a secret lair. Had someone put out a sign when he wasn’t looking? This way to Crockett’s cave? But if someone had to bother him he was glad it was Valentine. She was worth a break.

“Sure. Come on up.”

She appeared at the top of the ladder, and he reached to help her into the room. “This space is nice.”

He glanced around. “Not really.”

“Oh, sure. This is the perfect place to read a book! Especially on a rainy day.” She smiled, giving a fake shiver. “A cold, rainy day.”

“It’s July. Hard to think about cold, rainy days.”

“Yeah. You know, you just need a window seat up here, a fresh coat of paint, and this place would be a wonderful studio.”

Of course, she was right, but he didn’t want her redecorating his hideout. Ugly and in some disarray, it suited his mood. “Hey, what’s up, anyway? What brings you to the dustiest part of the ranch?”

She turned to look out the window, which he appreciated, because he could now evaluate her curves. Yes, she was just as he remembered: full and feminine and made for a man who appreciated round, apple-shaped—

“You’re making me self-conscious, Crockett,” Valentine said, laughing. “You always seem to be staring at my fanny.”

“Your jeans fit good,” he said. “I’ve never known Wrangler jeans to fit anyone quite like yours fit you.”

“And you would be a connoisseur of fannies,” she teased.

“Purely a statement of truth.” Valentine was hotter than a pistol, in his book—but it was a book he wasn’t going to read, window seat and fresh paint or not. “So once again, what do you want?”

She took a deep breath. “I was going to see what you thought about me having a special little ‘do’ here for Father’s Day.”

He stopped fiddling with the lump of clay. “Father’s Day? That was last month.”

“Yes. Well there are rather a lot of fathers around here. And we didn’t have a real celebration for them. Last, the sheriff, Barley, Calhoun—”

He scowled at his brother’s names. “You’re doing this for Last.”

“I would like to do something for him,” Valentine admitted. “I think he would enjoy being celebrated as a father. He has really been good to Annette.”

He guessed late was better than never. “Have you mentioned this party idea to Mason?”

“Not yet. I thought I’d speak to you first.”

“Why me? I’m not a father.” A fact he hated to admit, for some reason. Why wasn’t he a father? Because he hadn’t gone on a hootenanny and gotten someone pregnant as Last had, he supposed. But that route to fatherhood seemed unappealing when there were other ways.

Like with Valentine.

The thought swept over him before he could stop it. Valentine made beautiful babies; she made beautiful everything.

“I like to talk to you about whatever’s on my mind,” she said simply. “You’re reasonable.”

Reasonable was the last thing he was feeling. “I’m not a father,” he repeated, “but it sounds like something my brothers, at least, would enjoy. Can I come if I’m not a father?”

She looked at him. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“I don’t know. It could be bothering me.”

They stared at each other for a long time, and the silence felt awkward.

“Do you want to be a father?” Valentine asked softly.

Crockett eased back on his stool. “You seem happy being a parent.”

She smiled. “Yes, I love being a mother. But I am a parent of one. I’m not having any more children, so the burden doesn’t seem overly large.”

His brows rose, and an uncomfortable feeling lodged in his stomach. “You’re never having any more kids?”

She shrugged. “I’m a single mother. It’s rewarding, but enough of a struggle that I know I don’t plan on having more children.”

“I think Annette would like a little brother to drag around.”

“I think she has plenty of people wrapped in the crook of her finger.” She sat down across from him. “So about the party.”

“Yeah,” Crockett said reluctantly, realizing he wouldn’t enjoy watching his brother get kudos for being a dad. “Sounds like a real wingding.”

He scratched his head. His brain disliked the notion of Valentine not having more children. It didn’t sit right with him. Why? He drummed his fingers, then cracked his knuckles—and then it hit him.

He really wanted a child.

He rolled the very foreign thought around in his mind again. Prickles ran across his scalp. Valentine eyed him with a concerned gaze.

“Are you all right? You’ve gone quite pale.” She moved closer to examine him. She smelled fresh. “No, you’re definitely pale. Crockett, is something wrong?”

Well, hell, yeah. He wanted a baby. He wanted a baby, more specifically, with her, the last person on earth he should be thinking about.

Yeah, something was very definitely out of whack. He was all screwed up. “I need to be alone.”

“Oh.” Valentine pulled away from him. “All right.” She walked across to the ladder before turning to say, “So you think it would be all right to approach Mason about the belated Father’s Day picnic?”

“Yeah. Sure.” He returned his gaze to the lump in front of him. With a sigh, he designated himself an oaf and told himself not to abuse Valentine’s kindness. “Hey, he’ll probably be all over it.”

Valentine smiled. “Thanks, Crockett.”

“Bye.”

She waved and headed downstairs. He told his baby thoughts and the rise in his Levi’s that always seemed to accompany Valentine to be gone. Snatching the clay from its mooring, he reviewed it. He would start out small and see where it would go.

A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER he had a rounded booty that was completely Valentine. Okay, so he still needed to work on the rest of the body, but the reclining piece had legs that flowed sweetly into a curving backside. The knees lay against each other in a position that was feminine and yet somehow sexual.

He liked the feeling of clay between his fingers, he decided, and the satisfaction of creating something from mere dirt. “Sweet,” he said. “Not too shabby for a beginner.”

Beyond the curving posterior, he needed a torso and head. But he’d think about that later. For now, the piece that had been teasing his brain was complete.

He covered his artwork and headed down the stairs. His passion had finally been lit again. His creativity was stoked after many months of lying quiet, like a banked fire. This could not be taken from him. None of his brothers sculpted. If he moved his lair somewhere else, everything would be perfect. He could work in total peace and quiet, without his brothers’ do-drop-in interruptions.

Speaking of interruptions… He was almost out the door when he saw Last waving at him. “Great,” he said, “here comes Mr. Father’s Day himself.”

Last jogged over and gave Crockett a pop on the arm. “Where have you been?”

“In none-of-your-business-land,” Crockett said pointedly. “Are you writing a book?”

“No. Do you have a second?”

“Is it a second in real time, or Last time?”

“Real time.” Last looked at him. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I don’t know what got into me.”

Crockett sighed. “You’re forgiven.”

“I know you mean the best for Annette and Valentine. I shouldn’t have gotten weird.”

“Whatever. Thanks.”

“Okay.” Last perked up. “Brothers?”

“Brothers.” They pounded each other on the back once, then Crockett headed off. He could understand what Last meant about being weird about Valentine. Even after sculpting her curves, Crockett was having a hard time forgetting about her.

“Uncle Crockett! Uncle Crockett!”

Kenny and Minnie ran over to him. “How’s my best kids?”

They hugged him, and the tension he’d been feeling melted away.

“We’re good. We want to go to town. Can you give us a ride?”

“Where’s your father?” Crockett asked. He was being wooed for something for sure.

“Painting something,” Minnie said. “We need to run an errand for Mom.”

In the distance, he could see Olivia working Gypsy. Barley stood nearby, leaning against the post, every once in a while gesturing some instruction. Next to Barley was Mimi’s father. Now that the sheriff was on the mend, Barley dragged him out to the ranch from time to time.

“Your mother doesn’t have any idea you’re trying to weasel a ride into town,” Crockett said. “So what’s up?”

“We want a cookie,” Kenny said. “And we want to go to the hair salon. We heard that Ms. Lily adopted a stray.”

Crockett sighed. Strays and cookies on a warm summer day. “I can play hooky for a bit,” he said. “Load up.”

“Yippee!” They ran off to tell Olivia where they were going, and Crockett headed to his truck.

Actually, a cookie sounded good—if it was from Baked Valentines.

VALENTINE WAS SURPRISED when Crockett walked into the bakery with Kenny and Minnie. He was tall and handsome, and the kids loved him, and the whole scene—of a big cowboy corralling constantly moving kids—made her smile.

She loved living in Union Junction. She adored being part of the Jefferson family, even if it was an extended part.

“What’s up, Crockett?” Valentine asked with a smile.

“They dragged me into town for a cookie.” He leaned against a wall while the kids stared eagerly into the glass case. “You painted this place.”

“I did.” Valentine was pleased he’d noticed.

“I like the soft blue,” he said, glancing around approvingly.

She smiled. Of course Crockett would notice everything. He was supposedly a wonderful artist. “And I wallpapered the bathroom and back of the store with a pretty blueberry and lemon design. Very French kitchen.”