So Valentine stayed, though she knew Last would never be comfortable around her.
It was Mason who’d had faith in her, and he’d helped her turn her life around. She took a job at the bakery in town soon after Annette’s birth, and what started out as a way to gain monetary independence blossomed into true love. She was an artist of a different kind. Beautiful baked goods, lovingly crafted. Her reputation for beauty spread throughout Union Junction, and when the owner decided to sell out, it was Mason who had gone to the brothers and suggested that they back Valentine as the new owner.
She would never forget the moment the Jefferson brothers had told her of their gift, to her and to Annette. Her self-worth had been validated for the first time in her life, and she knew she would do anything to show them that she was a different woman from the one who had come to them pregnant and bringing a paternity lawsuit aimed at taking money from their family.
Now, her gaze followed Crockett as he strode away. She sighed. The Jeffersons had been far too good to her. It was ridiculous for her to want anything more than friendship from the good-looking, gentle cowboy.
“Unfortunately,” she told Annette, scooping her daughter into her lap, “everything in my life should stay just as it is, the best it’s ever been.”
Annette looked up at her with a smile, her chubby fingers reaching out to her mom. “One day,” Valentine told Annette, “one day I’ll find my real prince. And he won’t bear the last name of Jefferson.”
She lightly bounced Annette some more, but the one thing that no lighthearted playing could cure was the ache she’d felt when Crockett had so suddenly walked away.
Chapter Two
It unnerved Crockett how much he thought about Valentine. He was living in a fool’s world, dreaming the impossible dream.
He could hear the gossip in Union Junction now: “Yes, Crockett Jefferson’s twin, Navarro, married Nina, then Crockett went and married Valentine, Nina’s sister. And she’s the mother of Last Jefferson’s child. That’s one of the many reasons we call that ranch Malfunction Junction!”
Definitely a fool’s world. He wished Valentine’s sweet face and trusting eyes didn’t haunt him.
The only cure for thoughts a man couldn’t control was to busy himself with something that needed to be fixed. In this case, Crockett decided, what most needed fixing was himself.
There had to be room for two artists in the family. So the day after Bandera’s wedding, the day after Mason had sent Hawk and Jellyfish back out to look for Maverick, the day after most of his married brothers had left the ranch, he sat in front of a canvas in a quiet attic hideaway at the main ranch house, staring with determination at the empty white board in front of him. A tube of ochre tempted him to begin something warm and vibrant. But he couldn’t make his fingers pick up the tube.
His soul wanted to create, but his mind wanted to think about Valentine. His creativity was hiding from the chaos.
“Whatcha doing, Uncle Crockett?” a young voice asked as Kenny crawled through the attic hole to stare at him. “Dad wants your help fixing our windmill. It has a squeak in its turn.”
“Dad” was Crockett’s brother Calhoun, the significant drain on Crockett’s creativity.
“Hey, Kenny,” Crockett said, not surprised when Kenny’s big sister Minnie crawled up behind her brother. “And, Miss Minnie.”
“Hi, Uncle Crockett.” She stood beside his chair and squinted at the blank canvas. “Gonna get started soon? Or are you pondering?”
“Pondering.”
He loved Calhoun’s kids, but right now, he wished they hadn’t brought their inquisitiveness into his sanctuary. It was the only place he’d thought of where his nosy brothers might not figure out what he was up to. He needed to create in peace. If he was lucky, it would all come back to him—and then he could keep his wandering mind off Valentine.
Minnie looked at him sympathetically. “Dad’s been painting some portraits of Widow Fancy. She wanted some for her grandkids.”
Crockett nodded. “That’s nice.”
“Maybe you could draw our windmill. Or our horse,” Kenny added. “Gypsy would love to be painted.”
“She is an old show pony,” Crockett agreed. “But you can get Calhoun to do that for you.”
“Nah,” Minnie said. “Mama says you’re the real artist in the family.”
Crockett perked up. “Really? Olivia says that about me?”
“Yeah.” Minnie nodded. “She says you’re all moody and soulful, and surely that equates to great talent just waiting to be sprung.” Minnie sighed dramatically. “Of course, Dad says it’s not your talent that needs to be sprung, it’s your drawers.”
“Yeah,” Kenny said. “We can’t understand what’s wrong with your drawers. Are they stuck? I sure hope it’s not your sock drawer,” he said. “You won’t like wearing boots without socks. One time I did that, and I had blisters—”
“Kenny,” Crockett interrupted kindly. “Minnie, would the two of you run and tell your father that I will be happy to help him fix the windmill?”
They nodded solemnly.
“I’ll be down there sometime this afternoon. But I need the two of you to do me a favor,” he said, making his tone conspiratorial.
“Okay,” Minnie whispered.
“Please don’t tell Calhoun or anybody else that I was up here or that I was painting.”
“Thinking about painting,” Kenny reminded him. “You haven’t painted anything yet.”
Crockett sighed at his childish honesty. “True. Off you go, both of you, and remember, this is our secret. Only the two of you know where to find me.”
“Okay.” Minnie’s eyes shone. “We’re great at keeping secrets!”
He thought about the jibe that Calhoun probably hadn’t meant for his kids to overhear and repeat. “I know you are,” he said. “Thanks.”
They hugged him, then carefully descended the ladder.
“Hey, kids,” Crockett heard someone say. He froze as he recognized Valentine’s voice. “What are you two doing up there?”
His heart seemed to stop beating as he waited for Minnie and Kenny to reply. He did not want Valentine to visit the one place where he could hide out and try to paint her out of his memory.
“We were looking for something,” Minnie said. “It’s kind of dusty up there, though, and there’s not anything interesting.”
He grimaced. More honesty.
“Attics are fun to look through,” Valentine said. “My sister and I used to have an attic. Here, let me help you close it.”
Crockett heard the stairs fold, then boom! The attic door closed, securely locking him away with his floundering creativity.
“Wonderful,” he grumbled, feeling more moody and soulful than ever. Quickly, he strode to the window, looking down into the yard. He was rewarded by the sight of Valentine walking with Kenny and Minnie across the lawn.
He loved looking at Valentine. Okay, so maybe he was spying, but she was so feminine that he even enjoyed watching her walk away.
Just then, Minnie turned around, her little face tipped up in his direction. Very discreetly, she waved.
He