Chapter Eleven
“Daddy, Daddy! You’re home!”
Sophie, racing ahead down the wide staircase, flew straight into the dining room where breakfast was about to be served. Caroline followed along, more slowly and with less enthusiasm. It would be—a choice of various adjectives came to mind, so she settled for “interesting”—to see Ben present again, after a week of fleeting glimpses and prolonged absence. Conversely, this meant meals presented in a formal manner in this formal setting, under the glaring supervision of a hostile cook / housekeeper.
All in all, Caroline preferred the simplicity of the kitchen.
Especially if Mrs. Wyeth were out of it.
“Hey, Princess, how you doin’?”
To give the man credit, he did put aside a Wall Street Journal to envelope his daughter in a hearty hug. Ah. No suit today; no customary cord jacket or neat rep tie. Evidently he was planning to stay home for something involving the ranch, since he had dressed in faded Levi’s, boots, and a lightweight chambray shirt. Blue, again. By accident? Or by choice, knowing the dynamite effect in conjunction with those devastating eyes?
“Morning, Carrie.” Still holding Sophie in one arm, he looked up with a smile. “C’mon in and join us. As you see, I’ve got my trusty crew here already.”
“I do see. Good morning, Marilou, Tom.” Caroline, in her favorite summer uniform of beige Capri pants and a black tee boasting the logo of some 80’s rock band, felt quite underdressed beside the lush and lovely Marilou. Blue, as well—were boss and worker bee doing a matchy-matchy, for some reason?
With a mental shrug, Caroline poured a cup of coffee from a silver pot on the sideboard, then took her seat at the foot of the table. It hardly mattered. Since when had she cared about another woman’s wardrobe?
“And then where did you go?” asked Ben of his daughter, who, seated on his knee, was regaling him with stories of yesterday’s adventure.
“There was old-fashioned cars on a track, Daddy. And Carrie and me went in one, and she let me drive, and she said I was so terrible that I couldn’t get my license till I’m fifty.” Little hand in front of her mouth, Sophie giggled. “What’s a license, Daddy?”
“Something legal, sugar, and I’m afraid I might have to agree with her.” Ben raised his brows and sent a crooked grin across the table. Much as she would not admit it, that grin did thaw just a bit of the frost collected around Caroline’s agitated spirit. “Here, why don’t you sit on your own chair and then you can tell me more while you eat?”
Sophie blossomed under the attention, as, over plates of fluffy omelets, a bowl of grits, a platter of sliced ham, and English muffins, her father, and even Tom and Marilou, plied her with questions.
She chattered on, describing the crazy collection of bumper cars (“I didn’t wanna go on those, Daddy, but Becca and her mom did.”) that had everybody at the rails laughing. The fire truck, with hoses attached so that each rider could put out the flames of a burning house with real water. The roller coaster, pulled by a dragon that breathed smoke. The helicopter ride, and the hay wagon ride, and the Ferris wheel all lit up.
“And what did you have to eat?” Ben asked quite seriously.
Digging into a mound of jelly, Sophie replied that they’d had hot dogs and French fries. “’Cause Carrie said it wouldn’t hurt me, just that once, to have somethin’ not so healthy. Aren’t hot dogs healthy, Daddy? They sure taste good.”
Again that considering look sent to the foot of the table. Helplessly blushing, Caroline ignored it to attack her own dish of raisin oatmeal. At last, the semblance of an appetite on her part!
While Ben’s thoughtful glance might have been critical, Tom’s was definitely approving. “Sounds like you two made a fine day of it,” he smiled. “Wish I coulda gone along.”
“That’s all right, Tom,” the little girl comforted him with a grown-up air. “We’ll do it again sometime, won’t we, Carrie? And I’ll make sure to invite you, special.” Then, tentatively, she turned toward her father. “Uh—Daddy, would you go with us, too?”
This grin encompassed his whole handsome face. For once, even his eyes danced with good humor. “Sweetheart, I’d enjoy being there. Depends on my schedule, though. We’ll just have to see, okay? Was there anything besides rides at this place?”
“Oh, yeah!” Sophie beamed. “A pettin’ zoo, Daddy. With bunnies, and goats, and even a—what was that funny-lookin’ animal that spits, Carrie?”
“A llama.”
“Uh-huh. A llama. And then we put on our swimsuits, and we played at the water park. And I went down the big slide!” She closed her eyes in remembered bliss. “It was such fun. Best day ever, Daddy!”
“Well, Princess, I’m sure glad to hear you had such a good time. Did you thank Carrie for taking you there?”
“I did. And I gived her a hug, too. I’m awful glad you two got married, Daddy. Carrie is real good company. Can somebody please pass the hash browns? And the ketchup?”
Once more that speculative look went slanting in Caroline’s direction. Wondering if this were a cuckoo brought up in a nightingale’s nest, no doubt; and what sort of rare (common?) bird he had brought into their family home.
She met his gaze with a challenging one of her own. “How nice of you to honor us with your presence, Ben. Is there some particular reason you’re here today?”
Brows quirked, mouth quirked, he was concentrating on a spoonful of buttered grits. “Yup. Need to have a look around outdoors, check on a few things. Thought you might like a tour.”
“Indeed I would,” said Caroline, surprised.
“You can check over the horses while we’re out there, see if there’s one that strikes your fancy.”
“Horse? To ride, you mean?”
“Well, yeah. That’s usually what we do with ’em.”
“Oh. Well, then I think I’ll pass, for the time being, if you don’t mind.”
A trifle miffed that his offer hadn’t been immediately accepted, he shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“Daddy,” said Sophie reproachfully.
“Yeah?”
“She hurt her leg, remember? It’s hard for Carrie to climb into a saddle.”
Nodding, Tom reached out to ruffle the child’s flossy hair. “Way to go, honey. It’s important t’ always stick by our friends, ’specially if they’re bein’ unfairly attacked.”
“Now, wait a minute,” protested Ben on what was almost a squawk. “I wasn’t attacking anybody. Certainly not my wife.”
The old cowboy stuck his chin out just a little, pugnaciously. “Sure sounded like it t’ me. But then, my hearin’ ain’t so good anymore. Hey, cricket, if you’re all done eatin’, let’s head out t’ the barnyard. Got a couplea young colts you can look over.”
That seemed an unusually quiet Marilou’s cue to disappear. “Thanks for breakfast, Ben. I’ll be in the office when you want to start dictatin’ those letters.”
Absently he waved a hand of acknowledgement. “Well, Carrie, horse or not, I reckon you can still take a walk with us, can’t you?”
“Absolutely. Give me just a minute, okay?”
Ben heaved up an elaborate sigh. “Why, gotta change your duds into something more pricey that the outside world can see, because what you’re wearing isn’t good enough?”
“No.” Her chin lifted. There seemed to be a lot of chin action in this house, probably due to its annoying owner. “I planned,” she said slowly and succinctly, “to fetch my hat.”