Chiseled - A Standalone Romance (A Super Sexy Western Romance) Page 4

  "Yes, ma'am," Colton said, and I realized just how bossy I was being and blushed.

  "I'm sorry. I don't mean to act that way. It's just this is a lot to process. Even though I came to Riverbend hoping to find him, I never really thought I would. I just need some time before I confront him, if I even decide to. If everybody else knows, he's sure to find out, and then I'll have to meet him whether I want to or not."

  "You mean you might not even talk to him?" Colton sounded incredulous.

  "Maybe. I don't know. What if he tells me he did leave because of me? What if he hates me or says he doesn't want to know me? I don't think I could handle that right now."

  "You could handle anything." Colton winked at me, and I felt myself grow a little taller. "But whatever you decide to do is entirely up to you. I support your choice no matter what."

  "Thanks." I beamed at him, and then watched him lead the quarter horse back to the stable.

  That night at dinner, I could hardly eat.

  "Are you okay, honey?" Margie asked me while her busy boys wolfed down their food all around me.

  "Yes. I'm just tired. I think I'll go to bed early," I lied and excused myself up to the guest room. Once inside, I got out my cell phone and called the one person who could truly understand what it meant to have found my father.

  "What is it?" My mother's voice answered her phone with her usual charm, instead of the more traditional greeting of hello. Jillian Foster was not known for her warmth.

  "He's here. I found him," I said, with my heart in my throat.

  "Who? Did you hook up with some guy?"

  "No, Mom. Frank Hill. He's working here at the Hutchinson Ranch where I went to work for the summer."

  "I told you never to mention that son-of-a-bitch by name." Mom was livid, and I had to pull the phone back from my ear.

  "I know. I tried not to," I said, squirming where I was sitting on the bed. It didn't matter how grown up I was. I still hated being in trouble with my mother.

  "Don't give me your lip. Did you go there looking for him? How did you know he was there? I told you not to try to find him," she shouted questions at me faster than I could answer. I just sat there silently, letting her rant until she ran out of steam. "He's no good, Bethany. Nothing that man has ever said or done was any good. Stay the hell away from him."

  "He was good enough for you to fall in love with him once and decide to have a baby," I pointed out. It was the wrong thing to say. Mom went on for twenty minutes, telling me for the thousandth time what a miserable jerk my father was and how he had ruined her life and stranded her with a baby she didn't want.

  "Stay away from him, Bethany. Don't talk to him. Don't tell him you're his daughter. Don't even let him learn your name. Get the hell off that ranch and come back home before he discovers you’re there, or he'll ruin your life, too, just like he ruined mine."

  "I doubt he's going to strand me with a baby." I tried to lighten the mood with a little humor, but Mom wasn't laughing.

  "I mean it. Come home – now."

  "Well, I can't do that. I'm contractually obligated to complete the five paintings I promised to create. Margie Hutchinson already paid me half the money and will give the rest upon completion. If I left now, I'd have to pay her back the money, and I already spent most of it just getting out here."

  "Leave it to you to be stupid enough to take a job that costs your entire paycheck just to travel to and from work. Idiot," Mom said bitterly.

  I wanted to defend myself by telling her the reason I took the job was to find Frank Hill, so in that respect it was a success, but I decided to keep my mouth shut. She wouldn't understand.

  I had thought that just maybe she would have been happy to hear that I had found him. Obviously, the reason she hated him so much was because she had loved him. The opposite of love isn't hate; it's apathy. Hate and love are both emotions based in passion, just like she felt for my father. It was part of the reason I wanted to meet him so badly, to see what had caused that passion and to learn if he was the reason I had a passion for art.

  Now, I saw just how foolish it had been for me to think that she would be excited to learn I had found him. Her pain ran too deep, and now she was trying to mask that pain by lashing out at me with insults, just like she had done for my entire life.

  "Goodbye, Mom." I decided it was time to end the conversation.

  "I mean it, Bethany. Stay the hell away from that monster," she was still yelling into the phone.

  "Don't worry, Mom. I will," I promised.

  "When are you coming home?"

  "My internship doesn't start until the fall." I said.

  "I want you home sooner than that. When will you be done with this painting job?" Mama demanded and it wasn't worth fighting her on it.

  "In about a month," I said, calculating that it took me about a week to complete a painting, allowing time for layers to dry between adding gradations of shadow of light. It was how I made the reflective surfaces of the window panes on the house look so clear, the water in the puddles appear to ripple, and the individual blades of grass appear to flow in the breeze. It took time to create such realism – but there was another reality I was about to learn about.

  "That long?" Mom sounded disappointed, which surprised me and warmed my heart. But then she said, "There may not be a home to come to in a month."

  "Why not?"

  "The damn landlord says I'm a month behind on my rent. The bastard is threatening to evict me if I let it lapse into sixty days."

  "Well, I won't get paid for the rest of the job until I'm finished. I'm sorry, Mom." It was just like her to blow her paycheck on alcohol and then blame the landlord.

  "How about if I sell a few of your paintings?"

  "I guess that would be okay," I said hesitantly. She wouldn't sell them to an art collector or dealer. She'd stand on the street corner and take bottom dollar for them. I had put my heart and soul into my paintings, but she was my mother and I couldn't let her wind up on the streets.

  She cackled with glee and said, "Good because I already sold a few you left in your room. I was going through the storage shed yesterday and I found a bunch more. If I sell them, that will cover the rent. It's the least you can do after ruining my life. I could have had a career and been rich if I hadn't been stuck at home changing your diapers."

  "Fine, Mom. Sell them all," I sighed. It was an old story, and I was sick of hearing it.

  I felt utterly deflated. I'd come to Hutchinson Ranch with such hope. I was going to find Frank Hill living in Riverbend, tell my mother, she would praise me for a job well done, and we would all reunite.

  I realized now what a ridiculous and childish fantasy that had been. My mother was right. I should stay far away from him, finish this job as fast as I could, and return home where I belonged.

  The next day, I threw myself into my work, determined to forget all about Frank Hill and finish my work with record speed. I set up my easel and canvas outside the ranch house, facing the garden to the east of the stables, where Margie grew fresh vegetables.

  She could often be found working out there, pulling weeds, watering the plants, and guarding against insects and rabbits. Thomas went out there early mornings before driving to the middle school, and again in the evenings, as the sun was setting. Apparently, he hadn't just inherited his mother's looks, but her green thumb, as well. I decided that would be the perfect painting to make for Margie's second-youngest son.

  I tried to concentrate of the color of the soil, mixing browns with highlights and lowlights for that perfect illusion of earthiness. It was hard, though. My mind kept drifting to thoughts of my father.

  What made him come to the ranch, and what had made him decide to stay? Did he ever think about me? Did he feel guilty for having left? What had made him do it, and did he have regrets? Did he ever remarry? Did I have half-siblings I knew nothing about?

  "Penny for your thoughts," a familiar voice said, startling me from my thoughts. I snapped out
of my daydream to look at Mack, one of the oldest employees of the ranch.

  "I guess my mind just drifted there for a moment," I laughed awkwardly.

  "What are making now?" he asked curiously.

  Oliver Mackenzie had been working on the ranch since the Hutchinson boys were just kids. Everyone called him Mack, and I'd caught him watching me paint more than once. We got to talking one afternoon and became instant friends. He said I reminded him of his daughter Becky. With his crazy tales and weathered hands, he was just like the father I'd wished I had; although something told me Frank Hill was nothing like Mack.

  Smiling at my friend, I said, "Oh, it's going to be Margie's garden, but right now I'm just forming the backgrounds. Brown and black for the earth, various shades of green for the pastures, and blue and white for the sky."

  A row of tiny houses lined the edge of the property, and as I was painting a swath of dark-brown lowlights where they would eventually be, I asked Mack about them. "What are those tiny buildings? They look like houses, but they're too small. Are they used for storage?"

  "Oh, those are cabins employees can stay in if they want to," he said.

  "I thought all the employees lived in Riverbend."

  "Well, most of us do, but when calving season comes, there's always more work than the locals can handle, so Mr. Hutchinson hires travelers from out of town."

  "Like Frank Hill?"

  Now it was Mack's turn to look surprised. He spit out some of his chewing tobacco juices onto the ground and nodded his head. "Yeah, like Frank. He showed up here last calving season and decided to stay on. Most of them leave, but every now and then one will stick."

  "What do you think of him?" My curiosity had to know, and Mack was someone whose opinion I trusted. He was honest and down to earth, like a father figure should be.

  Running his foot along the ground, as if drawing a pattern, Mack thought long and hard. The he rubbed his hirsute jaw and said, "He's a man who likes to keep to himself. A loner. He never joins us down at the Lucky Horseshoe for a drink Friday nights. He just holes up in that cabin and never comes out until it's time to work again."

  "Does he have a wife or children?" I held my breath.

  Mack didn't even have to take the time to think. He just shook his head and said "Nope. No wife or girl that he ever talks about. I showed him a picture of Becky holding my first grandson, and he didn't even say congratulations. Why? Do you know him?"

  "He's a stranger to me. I was just curious." It wasn't exactly a lie, but with a man as good as Mack I felt guilty for leaving out the other half of the truth.

  "Well, he's a stranger to me, too. He's been here ten months and I don't know anything more about him than I did the day he arrived."

  "Thanks, Mack," I said gratefully. It hadn't been what I'd wanted to hear, but it had been the truth. Frank Hill didn't talk about me, but then again he didn't talk about much else, either. Was it really such a crime to be quiet? Maybe he was shy or just liked his privacy. Maybe he was ashamed and regretted leaving.

  For the next several days, I asked as many people as I could what Frank Hill was like. Did he drink? Did he chase women? Did he like to read? Did he go to the movies? Nobody seemed to know. Frank Hill was a loner, plain and simple.

  I decided to change tactics and find out what kind of an employee was he. Did he clock in for his shift early? Did he stay until the job was done or was he looking to leave just as soon as he could? Was he strong? Was he smart? Was he loyal?

  "Why are you asking so many questions about the employees?" William’s eyes narrowed at the dinner table. The officer in the house had a sharp sense for anything suspicious, and I felt myself sink lower in my chair.

  Brett was quick to my defense. "She's not asking about the employees. Just one particular employee."

  I should have known the brother with a crush on me wouldn't let any details about me slip past.

  "Leave her alone guys," Colton said sternly and tried to change the subject. "The vet said the neighboring ranch has a verified case of Brucellosis. He's got a new shipment of antibiotics and recommends we vaccinate the herd."

  "Won't paying for antibiotics screw up our profit margin?" Margie was worried.

  "Not as much as losing the herd," Tom chimed in. "Several kids in my class had to miss school because of Brucellosis last year. It's serious stuff."

  "Not as serious at that mother whose kid you were tutoring the other day. She was seriously hot," William teased his brother, and Tom shot him an angry glare

  "Dear Lord, I pray we don't get an epidemic here," Margie said, and clutched Brett's hand to her left and Colton's hand to her right. The men grabbed hold of the hand of the person sitting next to them, and before I knew it, we were all holding hands in a giant circle around the table.

  It was the kind of unity and caring I always wished for growing up and never had. Margie closed her eyes, and her five sons all followed suit. I just stared in awe, having been raised by a mother who surely would have been struck by lightning if she ever stepped foot inside a church.

  Margie said a quick prayer, and when everyone opened their eyes, somehow a cornbread muffin was missing off of William’s plate.

  "Where the hell is my cornbread?" He glared right at Tom, but the school teacher held up his hands to prove that he was innocent.

  Margie sighed heavily and rolled her eyes at William. "Don't swear right after praying. Now who the hell stole food while we were praying? Don't you know that's a sin?"

  "Mama, what the hell did you just say?" Colton teased, causing an uproar of laughter from around the table.

  She blushed bright red for having been caught doing the exact thing she was admonishing her son not to do. Brett pulled it out from under his napkin and threw it across the table, starting an impromptu food fight.

  It was a joyous scene filled with laughter and love. The warmth of family filled my heart, and I wished more than ever that I could be a part of one. Margie had done her best to make me feel welcome, and her sons did, too; but the truth was I wasn't one of them. I was just a guest at their family table. My own family was broken and spread across the States.

  My mother resented me for driving away her husband. My father had abandoned us both and was now working on a cattle ranch, unaware of my proximity.

  As food flew across the air amongst laughter, I realized more than ever just how important family was. My mother had told me to stay away from my father, but I believed deep in my heart that was just because she was afraid of being hurt again.

  Well, I was tired of being afraid and alone. First thing tomorrow morning, I was going to do the thing I came here to do: I was going to confront Frank Hill and tell him I was his daughter and find out once and for all if he wanted to be my father.

  Chapter Six: Colton

  "Are you all right?" I asked Bethany as she came down the stairs after having changed her clothes from the food fight. She was wearing jeans and a pale blue blouse, the same color as her eyes.

  "I'm fine." She sat down beside me in front of the roaring fireplace and stared into the flames.

  "You look worried about something. Tell me what it is. Maybe I can help."

  "I told you, I'm fine," she insisted and continued to stare emptily into the fire.

  Her hair was still damp from when she'd rinsed out the mashed potatoes in the sink, and her face had a rosy glow from being freshly scrubbed. Still, her eyes had the far off gaze of someone deep in thought with worry, and I was concerned about her.

  I alone knew that Frank Hill was her father. She had sworn me to secrecy after seeing him that first time several days ago, and I refused to break her trust.

  I had been lucky enough to be raised in a loving household by two parents who were devoted to one another and their children. I couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Bethany to grow up in a single-parent household, raised by a mother who resented her, and never even knowing her father. It was terrible burden and I had no right to judge her for h
ow she handled it. Still, I would have thought that after finally finding her father, she would at least want to meet him; but I wasn't going to push her. She would do it when she wanted to and not before.

  It seemed, however, that her curiosity about Frank Hill was growing rapidly by the day. Rumor had it she'd been asking all the employees about him, and now she was even pumping my brothers for information at the dinner table. I knew she was asking for trouble; Will was far too good a detective, and Brett was just plain nosy. If the food fight hadn't distracted everyone, she may have had to explain her relationship with him, whether she was ready to or not.

  When the potatoes, green beans, and cornbread finally stopped flying, I saw her face had become very serious, and she was much quieter than usual. At first I wondered if the food fight had upset her. Some girls didn't like getting messy, although I'd seen Bethany up to her elbows in paint with splatters in her hair. I didn't think she was the prissy type; so why was she suddenly so forlorn?

  After helping Mama clean up the mess, my brothers scattered to the wind, and I stayed behind in the den to light a fire in the fireplace. I was sitting there silently watching the flames perform their seductive dance when Bethany appeared at the base of the stairs.

  She sat down beside me, and I waited for her to tell me what was bothering her. Long minutes passed, and I realized she wasn't going to. It was going to be up to me to assuage her pain without even knowing what was weighing so heavy on her mind.

  "Come on. I want to show you something." I grabbed her by both hands to pull her up to her feet.

  "Where are we going?" she asked me. The sun had set outside and the night sky was filled with stars.

  "It's a surprise." I winked, and I saw the light had returned to brighten her eyes.

  I took her out to the stable, and she helped me fit Whiskey with her saddle and bridle. She hopped onto the back of the horse herself with the help of a nearby stepstool, and I climbed on in front of her.