Christmas at Blue Moon Ranch (13 page)

When the numbers
didn’t look any better at midnight than they had at 10:00 p.m., she forced
herself to quit calculating and go to bed. On the way to her room, however, the
clatter of pans drew Willa toward the kitchen. From the doorway, she saw
Susannah working busily at the counter, reading a recipe book at the same time
as she stirred something dark and chocolatey in one of Rosa’s big mixing bowls.

“What’s the
occasion?” Willa asked. “Did I miss the announcement of a bake sale?”

Susannah jumped
and dropped her spoon into the bowl. “Mom!” Her voice squeaked in surprise and,
Willa thought, embarrassment. “What are you doing up?”

“What are
you
doing still awake this late on a school night?”

“Um…well, I
forgot to tell anybody about the bake sale.” Her daughter wiped a hand across
her face, leaving smears of chocolate on her smooth skin. “So I figured I’d
better take care of it myself.”

Willa crossed to
the counter. “What are you making?” She turned the recipe book in her
direction. “Chocolate fudge cake with black cherry frosting? Sounds pretty
decadent for a school bake sale.”

Susannah shrugged.
“I wanted something different. Everybody makes brownies.”

“That’s true.” Willa
scooped up a fingerful of batter. “Mmm. Shall I stay and help?”

“No!” Susannah
shook her head firmly. “I’m doing this all by myself. You should go on to bed.”
She gazed at Willa with a softer expression. “You look tired, Mom. You work too
hard.”

“Hard work is
good for you.” She said it automatically, because that’s what mothers were
supposed to tell their children.

“You always say
that.” Susannah butted her hip against Willa’s, pushing her away from the
counter. “Go on. I can do this all by myself.”

Lying in bed, in
the dark, Willa willed herself to sleep, without success. Her body refused to
relax, and her mind wouldn’t slow down. She did work hard, all day, every day.
She hadn’t had a vacation since Jamie was killed, and for several years before.
He’d spent the money on some wild scheme or the other. There’d never been a
good time to get away.

You deserve
more, Willa. I’d like to give you more.

I simply
don’t want to take the risk.

But in her
dreams that night, she wished she could.

W
HEN
D
ANIEL AND
N
ATE PARKED
in the carport Tuesday morning,
they found a small cardboard box on the kitchen doorstep. Feeling every bruise
he’d acquired in yesterday’s fall, Daniel picked up the box and carried it
inside to the table. After a long welcome session with Trouble—who looked none
the worse for having challenged fifty longhorn cows the day before—they
prepared to unveil the latest treat from the Mercado kitchen.

“A cake,” Nate
guessed. “No doubt Miss Rosa and Miss Lili wanted to welcome you home.”

“Cookies would
be good, too.” Daniel removed the box’s lid. “Nope, you win. It’s…” He
hesitated, gazing at the concoction he’d revealed. “I think it’s a cake.”

“It’s round,
anyway. The top’s kinda bumpy.”

“And slanted.
That bulge around the middle indicates two layers, doesn’t it?”

“I hope so. Or
else it’s gonna erupt.”

“What flavor do
you think the pink icing is?”

“Uh…strawberry?”

“Maybe. Get a
knife and we’ll see what the inside looks like.”

The interior of
the cake was a gooey chocolate. “Strawberry and chocolate.” Nate scratched his
head. “I’ll eat a piece if you will.”

Daniel took a
deep breath. “Sure. Why not?”

Armed with
plates and forks, they each took a helping. “Tastes better than it looks,” was
Nate’s conclusion.

“That wouldn’t
be too hard.” Daniel dragged his fork through the half-baked cake. “I have to
say, this isn’t up to the Mercado ladies’ usual standard.”

“No, it ain’t.
Maybe they weren’t feeling too good.”

“I don’t think
I’d be feeling too good if I ate any more of this…cake.” With Trouble hopefully
observing, he scraped his plate into the trash, did the same for Nate’s and
dropped the box with the remainder into the can. “So, are we driving more
cattle this afternoon?”

After Daniel’s
fall, Nate and the hands had needed the rest of the day to round up the
scattered cattle and convey them to their proper place. Today, with Trouble
locked in his crate inside the locked house, they moved another group of cows
to pasture before dark.

“Half-done,”
Daniel commented as they unsaddled back at the barn that afternoon.

“We should get
the rest settled by dark tomorrow.” Nate rubbed a rag over Daze’s chest, back
and belly.

Daniel used a
brush on Calypso’s white-and-black coat. “I wonder how long it’ll take the
rustlers to move in.”

Nate said, “Not
long enough.”

But Daniel hoped
that, for once, his foreman would be wrong.

W
ILLA’S CREW KNEW
BETTER
than to
interrupt when she was breaking in a horse. So when Jorge hailed her to take a
phone call in the middle of a ride on Wednesday morning, she knew immediately
that a problem had come up.

Still, she
wasn’t prepared for the principal’s voice. “Mrs. Mercado, I need you to come to
school right away.”

She gripped the
phone tightly. “Are the kids all right?”

“Everyone is
fine. But I have Robbie in my office, and I must see you as soon as possible.”

Thirty minutes
later, Willa strode into the school building and struggled against a tide of
children to reach the administrative suite.

Her breathing
eased a little when she saw Robbie sitting safe and sound in front of the
principal’s desk. But the sullen look on his face and the rigid set of Mrs.
Abrams’s shoulders signaled trouble.

“What is it?”
she asked, still standing. “What has he done?”

Mrs. Abrams took
a deep breath. “He brought this to school.” With an unsteady hand, she
indicated the big, black weapon lying in the center of her desk.

“A gun?” Willa
swung around to stare at her son. “You brought a gun to school?”

“Is this yours,
Mrs. Mercado?”

“No!” Willa
didn’t take her eyes off Robbie. “Why would you do something so…so stupid?”

Robbie shrugged
one shoulder and lowered his gaze to the floor between his shoes. Taking one
stride, Willa grabbed his shoulder and jerked.

“You will sit up
like a man when you’re in the principal’s office, do you hear me?” Her voice
shook with the effort not to scream. “And I want an answer. Why did you bring a
weapon to school?”

Her son
straightened up in the chair. “I thought it was cool. I thought the guys would
like to see it.”

“Where did the
gun come from?” Mrs. Abrams came around to stand beside Willa. “Did someone
give it to you?”

When Robbie
didn’t answer, Willa tightened her grip and shook his shoulder again. “Answer
the question, Roberto. Who gave you the gun?”

He flinched away
from her. “Nobody!”

“You took it?
Without permission?”

His silence
confirmed her guess. Willa released him and faced the principal. “I know whose
weapon this is. My neighbor is retired Army. He is not a danger to the school
or the community in any way. Roberto must have…” God, it was hard to say!
“…must have stolen the weapon from this man to bring to school.”

The principal
nodded. “I see.” Returning to her chair, she sat down and propped her forearms
on the desk. “Well, Mrs. Mercado, I’m sure you realize what a serious offense
this is. We have zero tolerance for weapons of any kind at this school.”

“I know.” Willa
sank into the chair beside Robbie’s. “My son does, as well.”

“The punishment
for bringing a gun to school is automatic suspension. I’m allowed some latitude
in determining the duration, but the minimum, as directed by the school board,
is four weeks. All academic work during that period will receive a failing
grade.”

With her hands
gripped together, Willa held onto her control. “I understand.”

Mrs. Abrams
smiled slightly. “Robbie’s always been a good student, and we’ve never before
had the slightest trouble with him. I believe this incident is unique and will
not happen again. So I’m going to impose the minimum suspension.”

Aware of the
irony, Willa said, “Thank you.”

“There will, of
course, be a report to the sheriff’s office, and I expect they will want to
interview Robbie. If the local media gets hold of the story…” She shrugged her
shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.”
Willa got to her feet. A single glance at her son brought him out of his chair.
He stood for a moment without speaking but then saw the second, furious look
Willa sent in his direction.

“I’m sorry, too,
Mrs. Abrams.” Hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped, he managed to look the
principal in the eye. “I didn’t plan to hurt anybody. I didn’t bring the
bullets. I just—” He shrugged, then sniffed. When he turned his face away,
Willa knew he was crying.

Well, she would
be, too, when she had the privacy. “Thank you for your tolerance.”

“I’ll be in
touch.” Mrs. Abrams ushered them to the door. “And I will look forward to
having Robbie back in school.”

“He’ll be a
changed boy,” Willa said. “I can promise you that.”

The walk outside
through the lunchtime rush might have been as much punishment as Robbie
needed—silence fell as the crowd of kids parted to let them through, with all
eyes focused on the boy who’d so completely screwed up. Willa didn’t shield him
or say a word, hoping the ostracism would do some good.

Once in the
truck and on the way home, she waited for some kind of voluntary statement from
her son. Finally, though, she gave in and broke the silence herself. “Talk to
me, Roberto.”

For another five
miles, he resisted. “I just wanted to show the guys,” he said, at last.

“Show them Major
Trent’s weapon? Why?”

Robbie shook his
head. “Not him, so much. I figured…figured Dad would have used one like that. But
Trent told me what it was like, being a soldier, fighting the war. I thought
the gun would show how cool it was.”

Now Willa was
the one who let the silence lengthen. “Have you been…hassled…about your dad?”

His
one-shouldered shrug meant yes.

“But, son, you
had to know how much trouble you’d be in if anyone found out about the gun. How
many news reports have we seen about kids who brought weapons to school and
what happens to them?” Then, when he didn’t reply, she supplied the response
herself. “You thought it was worth the risk.”

There didn’t
seem to be much more to say. When they reached the house, Willa unlocked the
doors and looked at Robbie. “Go to your room and stay there until I get back. You’re
grounded from the TV, telephone and video games. Understand?”

He nodded and
left the truck without looking at her. Willa made sure he went inside, then
followed to be sure Lili and Rosa understood the program. “He can eat lunch in
his room,” she told them. “I’ll be back within the hour.”

Lili pursued her
to the front door. “Where are you going?”

Willa climbed
into her truck and slammed the door. “To give someone a piece of my mind.”

She found Nate
Hernandez working in Daniel’s barn and learned that “the boss” was in the
house. Her knock on the front door was answered by Trouble’s frantic bark. In
the moments before the door opened, she noticed the landscaping Daniel had
added to the place—lantana bushes along the front of the house, young pecan
trees planted at intervals and mulched with bark to preserve moisture, plus a
gravel walk curving from the front step to the driveway. The plain concrete
block house was beginning to look like…a home.

The door swung
back and Daniel stood there in jeans, a chambray shirt and bare feet. “Hey,
Willa. Come on in.”

She steeled her
heart against that knee-weakening grin and stepped past him into the living
room. “Do you have a few minutes?”

“Sure.” He
closed the door. “Let me release Trouble—he won’t stop barking until he sees
who’s here.” He went through to the kitchen. “Yes, she came just to see you,”
Willa heard him tell the dog. “Doesn’t say much for her taste in men, I’ll tell
you that.”

Trouble rushed
in, wagging furiously from nose to tail and sniffing at her boots. Willa gave
him a minute of attention, then straightened up to look at Daniel.

“Have a seat.”
He gestured to the big black leather recliner, and prepared to seat himself on
a displaced kitchen chair.

“No, thanks.”

Halfway to
sitting, he struggled back to his full height. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s what I
said, about two hours ago, when the principal of Robbie’s school called.”