“And they instinctively know that and use it to their advantage.”
“How could they know?”
“Children are like a wild animal stalking its prey,” Ellie said with a wry smile. “They instinctively know the weakest link. Even Beth is a master of it. It’s just a part of their makeup. I don’t want to make you angry,” she said, “but—”
“I have to get them under control,” he said.
“Yes.”
They sat in silence for several moments, while Colt digested the situation. It didn’t sit well. “Your sister said she would give up her teaching position before she spent another year with them.”
“She told me,” Ellie said in a gentle voice. “She’s a good teacher, Colt. A good person.”
“If you say so.”
Ellie smiled. “I do, and I think I’m in a position to know. Have you ever tried talking to Brady and Cilla about why they’re so disruptive?”
“I’ve had talks about them not misbehaving, but no, I’ve never tried to get to the root of why they do it.”
“Gracie has a theory,” Ellie told him. “And both Allison and I think she’s onto something. She believes they sabotage your associations because they don’t want to share you. I think she’s right.”
“That’s crazy,” Colt said with a hint of irritation.
“Is it? I started thinking back over the past year, and every time you’ve shown interest in a woman, they’ve done something to ruin things.”
It was true that something had gone wrong with each attempted relationship. Now, looking back, the kids were somehow the culprits in every case. Holly Jefferson. Leticia Farley. Jocelyn Cole. All of them had cried off, citing that they had too little in common and it would be silly to try to take things further. Rachel Stone was the exception. He and the lady doctor had soon realized that while they liked each other a lot, there was no romantic spark between them.
“If you plan to marry at some time in the future—”
“I do,” he said.
“Then you’d better make it clear to the kids that marrying again is your intention no matter what they think, how they feel about the woman or if they approve.”
“Isn’t that being a bit insensitive to their feelings?”
“Do they care about yours?” Ellie retorted. She reached out and gave his hand a friendly pat. “I don’t mean to sound cold, Colt. You should tell them that they must trust that you won’t fall in love with someone who will mistreat them or you.”
“I’d hope I’ll be smarter than that.”
“Allison made a good point, too.”
A muscle in Colt’s jaw knotted at the teacher’s name. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear anything she had to say about children. “And what profound statement did Saint Allison contribute?”
Ellie gave him a strange look. “She pointed out that children don’t always understand that you can love more than one person at a time,” Ellie said, “or that there are different kinds of love.”
Colt conceded that she had a point.
“The main thing to remember is that you’re the adult. You set the rules and the tone from here on out. If they don’t follow them, then there are consequences. And stick with those consequences!” she added, giving his hand a light slap. “Don’t let them butter you up to get on your good side. Believe me, they might not like it now, but they’ll thank you later.”
Boundaries, again. He blew out a deep breath and said the word aloud. It tasted like ashes in his mouth.
“What?”
“Your sister claims that children need boundaries, that they ache for boundaries.”
Ellie smiled. “She’s right. They do.”
“It’s a tall order, Ellie,” he said, rare uncertainty in his eyes.
“Perhaps,” she agreed, nodding, “but there’s far more to being a parent than doing your part in their conception. It means molding and shaping them into good people and productive citizens, and giving them the necessary skills to cope with whatever comes along. With God’s help, you can do this.”
God. Colt’s relationship with the Almighty was a topic he didn’t want to address. He’d once been a devoted Christian, but when God hadn’t answered his prayers to spare Patrice, Colt had turned his back on everything spiritual, though he still tried to live a decent, honest life.
“Who would have believed I’d be raising a couple of kids alone when Patrice and I got married?”
Who would have thought that circumstance would force him to cross the boundary into a woman’s role? But someone had to.
* * *
Colt thought about his conversation with Ellie all the way home. He had to admit that what she said made sense, and so did Gracie’s theory about why the kids were so unkind to the ladies he’d courted. Ellie agreed with her sister’s claim that children needed limitations, and as much as it galled him, and as uncertain as he was that he could set and maintain those restrictions, his gut told him they were right. He wanted to have children people liked, children whose behavior he could be proud of. It was no fun wondering when he would hear about another of their escapades.
He’d also talked with the young women he’d courted, and when pressed, they’d each acknowledged that Cilla and Brady were the real reasons behind their breaking things off.
The onus was definitely on him. It wouldn’t be easy, and it wouldn’t happen overnight, but he was nothing if not determined. Or maybe that was hardheadedness, something he’d passed on to his children.
Colt’s gaze sought the small white house situated at the edge of town. Smoke billowed from the open parlor windows. A giant fist seemed to grab his heart. Fire! Gripped with sudden panic, he broke into a run, sorting impressions as he went. No tongues of flame licked at the curtains, and he didn’t hear the pop and crackle of burning wood. The house didn’t appear to be on fire, so what was going on?
Breathing heavily, he pulled open the screen door, flinging it against the outer wall and rattling the windows in their frames. A thick fog of smoke and the stench of charred bacon assaulted him. Narrowing his burning eyes and waving his hand in front of his face in a futile attempt to dissipate the acrid air, he made his way to the kitchen. A quick look around the room told him he’d been right. There was no fire. Thank heaven.
Cilla stood at the open back door, an old apron of Patrice’s tied around her waist as she fanned the air with it, as if the feeble effort might clear the room faster. Brady stood bent over with his palms on his knees, hacking and coughing. A cast-iron skillet lay in the yard beyond the covered porch, where Cilla must have thrown it, its charred contents scattered about. The neighbor’s mutt approached a piece of the bacon, nudged it with his nose, whimpered and backed away. Colt wondered if it was still hot or if even the dog found it unpalatable.
“What happened?” he asked, nearing the two culprits.
They both looked at him, smoke-induced tears streaming down their cheeks. “I was trying to fix you some supper,” Cilla said, her blue eyes, so much like her mother’s, filled with remorse and trepidation.
Newly aware of how they played on his sympathies, and with the unexpected declaration coming so close on the heels of his talk with Ellie, little warning bells began to sound inside his head. Why was Cilla attempting to cook when she seldom had before? Was this one of those attempts to “butter him up,” as Ellie suggested?
“Why?” he asked, taking them each by the