The Cowboy Upstairs. Tanya Michaels

      And then the phone rang.

      My fault for not appreciating the silence while I had it. She picked up the cordless phone from the kitchen counter. “Hello.”

      “Rebecca?”

      Becca flinched. “Mother?” Had something happened to one of her brothers or sisters? It was difficult to imagine anything short of an emergency prompting Odette to call. Becca could count on her fingers the number of times they’d spoken since she left home. Her dad’s funeral, her sister’s wedding...the wheedling phone calls when Odette realized her late brother-in-law had left Becca all his money. When Becca had been pregnant with Marc, she’d reached out to her mother, but Odette had refused to take her calls, still holding a bitter grudge because her oldest child had eloped. “What’s wrong?”

      Her mother sniffed. “Does something have to be wrong for me to miss my firstborn?”

      Concern for her siblings dissipated, suspicion filling the vacancy. Her mother had alternately relied on her and resented her over the years, but they’d never been close. “The last time you ‘missed’ me, it was because you’d run through the bulk of Daddy’s life insurance settlement and wanted money.”

      “Rebecca Ruth, I did not raise you to be disrespectful. And taking care of children is not cheap.”

      What children? Everett drove 18-wheelers now, earning a living the same way their father had, Courtney was married in Oklahoma and Becca’s twin brothers, Sean and Shane, ran their own auto body repair and paint shop. Only eighteen-year-old Molly still lived at home. There were moments Becca suffered pangs of guilt for not maintaining a relationship with her little sister, but the age gap between them didn’t leave them with much in common.

      Is that the real reason you haven’t made more of an effort? Or are you just selfishly reveling in your freedom? Becca had given so much of herself to her siblings for so long that her relationship with her family had felt parasitic by the time she left home. Was it selfish to distance herself from them, or simply an act of self-preservation?

      Even these few moments on the phone with her mother were draining her. She sagged into a kitchen chair. “You’re not much older than we are,” Sierra had said. But sometimes Becca felt ancient. Being forced into a caretaker role at four years old aged a woman before her time.

      “I’ve had a long day,” Becca said. “How about we get straight to the reason you called?” She spared a glance at the digital clock above the stainless steel stove. Would she have enough time to squeeze in a bubble bath before the Whittmeyers brought Marc home? But then her mind strayed to Sawyer and when he might return. The idea of being naked except for a layer of scented bubbles with the cowboy in the house made her feel oddly vulnerable. That’s ridiculous. Are you planning not to bathe or change clothes while he’s staying here? Still...

      “It’s about your sister,” Odette said with an aggrieved sigh. “Molly’s been out of high school since January, and all she’s managed to do is get fired from three jobs and date two inappropriate men. The one who just dumped her is almost forty! Bet she’ll go running back to him if he calls. She did last time.”

      Becca’s stomach clenched, regret burning like an ulcer. Molly had always had good grades, nearly as good as Beccca’s had been, and she’d earned enough credits to graduate a semester early. Maybe if we’d kept in better touch, I could have helped her develop some ambition for college. Or for anything. Knowing Odette, Becca guessed she’d been leaning on her youngest as live-in help, so why would she foster Molly’s desire to leave?

      It sounded as if mother and teen weren’t getting along. On the one hand, discord between them might finally motivate Molly to seek greener pastures. But Becca wanted to see her sister in community college or IT courses or dental hygienist school—something productive—not shacked up with a man twice her age because she didn’t have the income to live on her own.

      “She’s impossible,” Odette complained. “I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with her.”

      Parent her. But there was no point in saying that. For all that Odette had given birth to six of them, she’d never been overly invested in raising children. In fact, Becca was almost surprised her mother even cared enough to seek guidance over Molly’s behavior. “Have you talked to Courtney to get her input?” Becca’s second-youngest sibling knew Molly a lot better than she did.

      “The situation is beyond ‘input.’”

      “But... I thought you were calling to ask my advice?”

      “Typical. You’re hoping to mumble a few parenting tips, then wash your hands of us. Is that it?”

      The seething accusation in her mother’s voice might have wounded Becca if she hadn’t built up an immunity over the years. Odette had used the same tone when she’d labeled Becca a spoiled ingrate for going away to college when her family needed her. She’d used it when she asserted that Becca had eloped out of spite—never mind that it had been a financial decision—and again when Becca had refused to turn over her inheritance from her uncle. Odette had called her a heartless miser who’d let her family starve rather than share her windfall.

      “I don’t need advice,” her mother said now. “I need you to look after your sister.”

      “No.” The rush of anger was dizzying, and Becca grasped the edge of the table as her blood pressure soared. “I’m not your unpaid babysitter anymore. I’m a grown woman with my own child and a mayoral campaign who—”

      “I bet you have all those Cupid’s Bow voters conned into believing you value family.”

      Becca had too much self-control to hang up on anyone...but just barely. “If you value family, talk to your daughter. Molly’s young. There’s time for her to get her life on track before she makes an irreparable mistake.”

      “You be sure to tell her that when she gets there.”

      “When she gets here?” Becca echoed, praying she’d heard wrong.

      “I was calling as a courtesy. She’s probably on a bus by now. Hateful girl told me to go to hell, declared she was moving in with you, and stormed out. The two of you should get along great.” And with that, her mother disconnected.

      Becca sat frozen, barely registering the unpleasant buzz of the dial tone. Was Molly really coming here, or had she given Becca’s name as a decoy because she didn’t want their mother to know where to find her? Considering how long it had been since the two sisters had spoken, it seemed more likely that Molly would crash with a friend or one of those “inappropriate men” Odette had mentioned.

      The sound of a vehicle in the driveway finally spurred Becca into motion. She put the phone back on its charger cradle and went to look out the window, expecting to see Sawyer. Despite her conflicted feelings about the man, at the moment she’d welcome a distraction. But it was the Whittmeyers.

      She walked out barefoot to meet them. “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour at least,” she told her son as he hopped out of the minivan.

      Lyndsay Whittmeyer rolled down her window, her Texas-sized blond curls filling the frame. “The movie was sold out, so we drove to Turtle for a round of minigolf and then brought him back.”

      “It’s probably just as well,” Becca said. “Now he can get plenty of rest before his game in the morning.” They were scheduled to play at nine, which meant arriving at the soccer fields by eight thirty.

      “Kick the other team’s butts,” Kenny called from inside the vehicle.

      Marc laughed even as he cast a cautious look at Becca to make sure she didn’t object to butts. Not tonight, kiddo. Between Mayor Truitt’s pettiness and having to talk to her mother, Becca found her mental vocabulary was a bit more colorful than usual.

      She was making sure her son had remembered to thank the Whittmeyers for taking him along when a taxi pulled up behind them, blocking their exit from the driveway. For years, there