The Maverick's Ready-Made Family. Brenda Harlen

      “It wouldn’t be an intrusion,” he assured her.

      “Thanks,” she said. “But I should be getting back to the ranch. Morning—and the breakfast crowd—comes early.”

      “It’s pancakes on Saturdays, isn’t it?” he asked hopefully, rising to his feet again.

      “It is,” she agreed.

      “Then we will be there.” He reached for his son, sighed when he saw that the little guy had fallen asleep on her shoulder again. “If I can get him up in the morning. Unfortunately, a half hour nap at this time of day will keep him up till midnight.”

      “Sorry,” Toni apologized as she shifted the baby to him. “I didn’t know I was supposed to keep him awake.”

      “You weren’t supposed to do anything,” he assured her. “That was my mother’s self-appointed task. But thank you again for stepping in.”

      She tapped a fingertip to Bennett’s nose. “It was my pleasure.”

      As Clay watched her walk away, he couldn’t help but think that every moment he spent with Toni Wright was very much his pleasure.

      The house was dark and mostly quiet when Antonia returned home—the only light and sound being that which emanated from the television in the living room. Her brothers had headed to Bozeman for a bachelor party for a friend of Hudson’s and wouldn’t be back until Sunday, so it had to be her father who was home.

      The Wright brothers worked hard during the week, and partied harder on the weekends. The Hitching Post used to be their favorite hangout and, in the past, they’d been known to drink beer and hustle pool there until all hours. Unfortunately, the establishment had gone out of business the previous spring after the owner passed away, forcing the locals to find other watering holes—at least temporarily. But shortly after The Hitching Post shut down, local boy Jason Traub bought the property and planned to reopen the renovated establishment later in October.

      If that timetable held, Antonia’s brothers—and a lot of other Thunder Canyon residents—would be very happy.

      Moving farther into the living room, Antonia saw that her father had fallen asleep in front of the television with a bottle of whiskey and highball glass on the table beside him. She sighed softly. For as long as she could remember, John Wright had always liked a glass of whiskey in the evening, but he’d rarely indulged in more than one glass. All of that had changed when his beloved wife passed away. John had turned to the bottle with increasing frequency, seeking solace in its contents, refusing to accept that there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to drown his sorrow.

      But over the past few months, Antonia had gotten the impression that his drinking had lessened somewhat. Apparently that had just been wishful thinking on her part.

      Except that when she reached for his glass, intending to take it to the kitchen, she noticed that the whiskey bottle still looked full. On closer inspection, she saw that the seal around the cap hadn’t even been cracked.

      She lifted the empty glass, sniffed.

      It was clean.

      She set the glass down again. She didn’t understand why he’d taken the bottle out if he wasn’t drinking, but she didn’t care. It was only the not drinking part that mattered.

      With a combination of relief and genuine affection, she touched her lips gently to his forehead, intending to slip out of the room and up to her own bed. In the past, if he’d drunken himself into a stupor, his only response would have been a snort or a snore. Tonight, he shifted, his eyes flickered open. Eyes that were weary but clear.

      “Antonia?”

      “Sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

      “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he told her. “Where are you comin’ in from so late?”

      She smiled. “It’s not that late, and I was out for dinner with Catherine.”

      “You missed a good meal right here,” he told her. “Peggy made roast pork tonight.”

      She’d known what was on the menu, of course, since she and Peggy planned the week’s meals together every Sunday. And she wondered, not for the first time, if John Wright had any idea what she did around the ranch, how many responsibilities she’d taken on to make sure the bills got paid.

      At one time, she’d thought he was proud of her. Since she got pregnant, she wasn’t so sure. And all she said now was, “I’m glad you enjoyed the pork.”

      “You had a good meal? It’s important to eat right—” he cleared his throat “—for you and the baby.”

      She thought again about her choice of fries rather than veggies but refused to feel guilty. Besides, she figured the glass of milk she’d had with her dinner helped balance out the indulgence.

      “Lucinda craved the most unhealthy foods when she was pregnant,” her father told her now. “Especially when she was expecting you.”

      Antonia’s breath caught in her throat at his mention of her mother. In the two years since Lucinda had been gone, she could count on one hand the number of times that he’d spoken his deceased wife’s name. The fact that he’d mentioned her now—maybe even in an effort to connect with his daughter?—was the most precious gift to Antonia.

      “What kind of unhealthy foods?” she asked, mentally crossing her fingers that he would keep talking, that her question wouldn’t cause him to shut down.

      “French fries, potato chips, ice cream.” He sent a pointed look in her direction, no doubt to let her know that he’d found her stash in the freezer.

      “Ice cream is a dairy product,” she said, just a little defensively.

      He smiled. “Just wait until your child uses that same line of logic on you.”

      “I’ll be ready.”

      “We’re never as ready as we think we are,” he told her.

      A familiar sadness clouded his eyes, and she knew that he was thinking of his wife again, but this time, the memories weren’t nearly as happy.

      “Life is so much easier when you have someone to share the ups and downs with,” he said. “I just wish you had someone by your side.”

      “I don’t need anyone to hold my hand.”

      “I know you don’t,” he agreed. “You’ve always been so strong and independent. But sometimes it’s nice to know there’s a hand there—just in case.”

      She understood that he was only trying to be helpful, but she didn’t agree. Experience had taught her that the only person she could truly rely on was herself.

      Clay and Bennett didn’t come to the dining room for breakfast the next morning.

      It wasn’t a big deal, really. Breakfast and dinner were part of the package at Wright’s Way, but there was no obligation on anyone to eat in the dining room or announce their intentions to do so. But Antonia was surprised by their absence because Clay had made a point of saying that he was looking forward to her pancakes.

      Still, she didn’t dwell on it while she finished cleaning up the kitchen. And when she sat at the table with a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, she certainly didn’t expect he would show up in the doorway. But he did, just as she was popping a spoonful of the frozen decadence into her mouth.

      He raised his eyebrows when he saw what she was eating, but didn’t comment, gesturing instead to the half-full coffeepot. “Mind if I steal a cup?”

      She swallowed quickly, then winced at the ice cream headache which burned across her forehead. “Help yourself.”

      He found a mug in the cupboard and filled it with French roast.

      “Sugar’s on the counter