Beneath the Stetson

Cade took a bite of the hot dog their server had delivered moments ago. Pausing to chew and swallow, he fixed her with the blue eyes that helped make him such a cute kid. “I dunno,” he said, the picture of innocence. “Dad says when I’m getting to know someone, it’s nice to ask them questions...but not too personal,” he added hastily, glancing at his father with a guilty expression.

“That’s good advice,” Bailey said. “So, in answer to your question, yes...I’m a pretty good cook. I started learning when I was not much bigger than you.”

Cade nodded solemnly, his milk mustache adding to his charm. “And do you like little kids?”

Suddenly, she understood what was happening. She was being interviewed for a job. As Cade’s mommy. Dear Lord. Fortunately for her peace of mind, the rest of their meal arrived, and in the hubbub of drink refills and the server’s chatter, the moment passed.

Bailey had looked forward to an intimate lunch with the two Addison men, but unfortunately, this was not the venue. Gil could barely eat his meal because of repeated interruptions from club members happy to see him. What Bailey suddenly understood was that Gil had sacrificed an enormous amount in choosing intentionally to be the caregiver for his son.

Over the course of almost five years, Gil was wealthy enough to have hired the best nannies in the world. He could have gone about his business, running the ranch, hanging out at the TCC, meeting women, perhaps marrying again. Instead, he had made his son a priority. Fortunately, his current role as TCC president was more of an honorary position than a demanding job.

The enthusiasm with which club members greeted him during one short lunch indicated both that Gil was extremely popular and well-liked, and that he likely was not able to be present at the club as often as many of his cohorts.

Cade bore the intrusion of one table guest after another with equanimity. Several of the men addressed him personally. For a child not yet old enough for school, his composure and patience were commendable.

Not many boys of Bailey’s acquaintance would be able to tolerate an extended meal in public without raising a ruckus. She sneaked him a couple of extra French fries off her plate while Gil was otherwise occupied. “Is it always like this?” she asked.

Cade nodded. “Yep. Everybody likes my dad.” The words were matter-of-fact, but Bailey heard the pride behind them.

“So,” she whispered conspiratorially, “do you think we get dessert?”

Cade wrinkled his nose. “If I eat most of my salad.” He stared dolefully at the small bowl, clearly not a fan of spinach mix.

“I remember once when I was about your age, my mother made me eat black-eyed peas that I didn’t like. I broke out in a rash all over my whole body, and I never had to eat them again.”

“Can you teach me how to do that?” Cade’s eyes widened with fascination.

“Unfortunately, I think the rash happened because I was so upset. But you could always try using a red marker to put dots all over your skin. I’m kidding,” she said hastily, suddenly visualizing an awful scenario where Gil realized Bailey had been giving his son tips on how to bypass healthy eating.

“I know that.” Cade rolled his eyes. “You’re funny, Miss Bailey.”

Bailey had been called a lot of things in her life...responsible, hardworking, dedicated. But no one had ever called her funny. She kind of liked it. And she very much liked Gil’s precious son.

Gil stood and touched Bailey’s shoulder. “If you two would excuse me for a few moments, I need to speak to a gentleman at that table in the corner. I won’t be long, I promise.”

“Your food will get cold,” Cade said.

“I bet the chef will warm it up for me. Love you, son. Back in a minute.” Gil kissed the top of Cade’s head and strode away.

Four

Bailey looked for signs that Cade was leery of being left with a virtual stranger, but quite the contrary. With his dad out of the picture, Cade was free to resume his interrogation. “What kinds of things do you like to cook?” he asked, returning to the original topic.

“Well, let’s see...” Bailey folded her fancy napkin and laid it beside her plate. The meal had been amazing. Tender beef medallions, fluffy mashed potatoes and sautéed asparagus. A hearty meal that men would enjoy. Not a ladies’ tearoom menu with tiny bowls of soup and miniature sandwiches.

She grinned as Cade poked halfheartedly at his spinach. “I love to bake,” she said. “So I suppose I’m good at bread and pies and cakes.”

Her companion’s eyes rounded. “Birthday cakes, too?”

“I suppose.”

“My birthday is comin’ up real soon, Miss Bailey. Do you think you could make me a birthday cake?”

She hesitated, positive she was negotiating some kind of hidden minefield. “I’ll bet your dad wants to surprise you with a special cake.”

Cade shook his head. “Our housekeeper will make it. But her cakes are awful and Dad says we can’t hurt her feelings.”

Just like that, Bailey fell in love with Cade Addison. How many years had she come home from school on her birthday, hoping against hope that her father had remembered to stop by the corner grocery and pick up a store-bought cake.

But he never did. Not once.

By the time she was nine, Bailey had quit expecting cakes. Two years later, she quit thinking about her birthday at all. It was just another day.

“I tell you what, Cade,” she said, wondering if she were making a huge mistake. “If I’m still here when your birthday rolls around, and if your father doesn’t mind, then yes...I’d be happy to make you a cake.”

Cade whooped out loud and then clapped a hand over his mouth when several people turned around with curious looks. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s okay. This room is noisy anyway. Eat your salad, and when your dad gets back, we’ll order dessert.”

Cade managed four bites with some theatrical gagging, but when Bailey didn’t react, he finished it all. “Done,” he said triumphantly.

She high-fived him. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I guess. But I’d rather have ice cream.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

They laughed together. She marveled at the connection she felt with this small, motherless child. On impulse, she leaned forward, lowering her voice, though it was doubtful she’d be overheard in the midst of the loud conversations all around them. Texas cowboys had a tendency to get heated when they discussed politics and religion and the price of feed. There was a lot of testosterone in this room.

“I want to tell you something, Cade.”

He looked up at her trustingly. “Okay.”

“I know you want a mother, but you are a very lucky little boy, because your dad loves you more than anything in the world. Do you know that?”

He seemed surprised she would ask. “Well, yeah. He tells me all the time.”

“Not all dads are like that.” Her throat closed up as unexpected emotion stung her eyes.

Cade stared at her, mute, as if sensing her struggle. “Are you talking about your daddy, Miss Bailey?”

She nodded, trying to swallow the lump. “My mom ran away and left us when I was about your age. And she never came back. So it was just me and my dad. But he wasn’t like your father. He was...” She trailed off, not sure what adjective to use that an almost-five-year-old would understand.

Elbows on table, chin in hand, Cade surveyed her solemnly. “He was mean?”

Out of the mouths of babes. “Well, he didn’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re thinking. But he didn’t care about me. Not like your dad cares about you. Be patient, Cade. One day your father will find a woman he loves and he’ll marry her and you’ll have that mother you want. But in the meantime, be a kid, okay? And not a matchmaker.”

* * *