Claiming The Cowboy's Heart

* * *

After a late Friday night at Diggers’, Macy usually struggled to drag herself out of bed on Saturday mornings. But knowing that this was her last such morning after her last late night, she was able to greet the day with a little more enthusiasm.

“What are you doing up so early?” Bev asked, when Macy tracked down the triplets—and her mother—in the upstairs kitchen.

Ava, Max and Sam were in their high chairs, set up side-by-side at the table where their grandmother could keep a close eye on them while she fried bacon on the stove.

Sam spotted his mama first, and he gleefully banged his sippy cup on the tray of his high chair. Ava, not to be outdone by her brother, stretched her arms out and called “Ma!” Max just smiled—a sweet, toothless grin that never failed to melt her heart.

“I wanted to get breakfast for Ava, Max and Sam today.” And though caffeine was required to ensure that she could function, she paused on her way to the coffee pot to kiss each of her precious babies.

“Because you don’t think I can handle it?” her mother queried, transferring the cooked bacon onto paper towels to drain the grease.

“Because you handle it all the time,” Macy clarified, reaching into the cupboard for a mug that she filled from the carafe.

After a couple of sips, she found the box of baby oatmeal cereal in the pantry. She spooned the dry mix into each of three bowls, then stirred in the requisite amount of formula. Ava, Max and Sam avidly watched her every move.

“You guys look like you’re hungry,” Macy noted, as she peeled a ripe banana and cut it into thirds. She dropped a piece of fruit into each of the bowls and mashed it into the cereal.

“Ma!” Ava said again, because it wasn’t just her first but also her only word.

She chuckled softly as she continued to mash and stir.

“While you’re taking care of that, I’ll make pancakes for us,” Bev said, as she gathered the necessary ingredients together.

Macy had given up asking her mother not to cook for her, because the protests had fallen on deaf ears—and because it was a nice treat to have a hot breakfast prepared for her on a Saturday morning. Especially pancakes.

“You always made pancakes as part of a celebration,” she noted, with a smile. “Whether it was a birthday or a clean room or an ‘A’ on a spelling test.”

“Which is why you got them more often than your brothers,” her mother remarked, as she cracked eggs into a glass bowl.

It wasn’t true, of course. If Bev made pancakes, the whole family got to eat pancakes, but she always acknowledged when one of her kids did something special to warrant a breakfast celebration.

“Well, we’ve got something to celebrate today, too,” Macy said.

Her mother looked up from the batter she was whisking. “You got the job?”

Macy grinned and nodded. “You are looking at the new manager-slash-concierge of the Stagecoach Inn.”

Bev set down the whisk to hug her daughter. “Oh, honey, I’m so proud of you.”

“I’ll work Monday through Friday for the next few weeks, and then, when the hotel is open, Wednesday through Sunday, eight a.m. until two p.m.”

“That’s perfect,” her mom said. “You’ll have more time with your kids and be able to work at a job you enjoy.”

Macy carried the bowls of oatmeal to the table. “I’m already looking forward to getting started,” she confided. “This is exactly what I’ve always wanted.”

Her mother sprinkled a few drops of water on the griddle, testing its readiness. “Except that it’s in Haven,” she pointed out.

Macy scooped up some oatmeal and moved the spoon toward Max’s open mouth. “You don’t want me to stay in Haven?”

“Of course, I want you here,” Bev said, ladling batter onto the hot pan. “But I know that was never your first choice.”

“Where are you getting that from?” Macy shifted her attention to the next bowl, but she was sincerely baffled by the statement.

“Maybe the fact that you were on your way out of town practically before the ink was dry on your high school diploma.”

Macy used the spoon to catch the cereal that Sam pushed out of his mouth with his tongue. “I graduated in June and I moved in August—three days before the start of classes at UNLV.”

“Well, you’ve hardly been home since,” her mom remarked.

“I came home every chance I got, which wasn’t a lot because I was juggling two part-time jobs along with my studies.” Ava swallowed her first mouthful of cereal, and Macy gave her a second before making her way backwards down the line again.

“We could have helped you a little more,” Bev said.

“You offered,” Macy assured her. “But the experience of those jobs was even more valuable than the paycheck.”

“I know you’ve always wanted to work in the hospitality industry—ever since we visited your aunt at The Gatestone in Washington when you were a little girl,” her mother noted, as she began to turn the pancakes. “And, of course, the best career opportunities are probably in Las Vegas.”

“There were zero career opportunities for me in Haven when I left,” Macy pointed out, as she continued to feed her babies. “The only place around that offered any kind of temporary accommodations was the Dusty Boots Motel, and they weren’t hiring.

“I came back to Haven because I knew I couldn’t handle—or afford to raise—three kids on my own in Vegas. Maybe I was a little disappointed to give up my career, but I was happy to be home and happier still to know that my babies would grow up close to their extended family.

“I might not have envisioned an arrangement quite this close,” she said. “But it works. And if I haven’t mentioned it lately, I’m incredibly grateful to you and Dad for everything you’ve done for all of us.”

“You tell us every day,” Bev said. “And we’re happy to help.”

“Still, I should probably look into making other arrangements for part-time childcare, don’t you think?”

“What?” Her mom turned around so fast, the pancake on her spatula dropped to the floor. “Why?”

Macy got up to retrieve the broken cake and toss it into the sink. “Because I feel as if I’m taking advantage of you and Dad.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Bev said. “Your father and I aren’t doing anything that we don’t want to do.”

“You’re also not doing things that you would like to do,” Macy pointed out. “Like last Saturday, when Dad had to cancel his fishing trip with Oscar Weston because I was working a double shift and you were in bed with a migraine.”

“Well, he’s fishing with Oscar today.”

“And you gave up your pottery classes because I worked almost every Wednesday night.”

“I was happy to have an excuse to quit—I couldn’t ever make a lump of clay look like anything else.”

“I don’t believe it.” Macy scraped the last of the cereal from the bottom of Ava’s bowl. “But I appreciate you saying so.”

“And since you won’t be working nights anymore, I can join Frieda’s book club.”

She wiped Ava’s mouth with her bib, then offered the little girl her sippy cup of juice. “Mrs. Zimmerman has a book club?”