Patti Standard - Family Of The Year

“He was a wonderful father. Kind. Dependable. A good man.”

The gentleness in her voice had Ben shifting uncomfortably on the soft blanket. A wonderful father. No one could accuse him of that these days.

“Stop that, Trisha,” Maria called. “You’re going to put somebody’s eye out.” She jumped to her feet and started down toward the pond.

Ben watched her snap off the sharp, pointed ends of the heavy brown stalks before returning them to the children. Then, without warning, she broke off a stalk for herself and pointed it at David’s stomach. “En garde,” she challenged. The fight was on—shouting, splashing, tumbling children, with Maria right in the middle.

Ben remembered playing the same game with Connor years ago, and the memory brought a curve to his lips. It was good to hear childish laughter on the ranch again. Maria and her family had been there almost a week, and Ben was surprised at how much he was enjoying the children. Noisy meals, full of spilled milk and breathless chatter; tracked mud on the hardwood floors and smudged fingerprints on the refrigerator; shouts and giggles piercing the normally subdued, blue-gray evening sounds. And dark, excited eyes always smiling at him, happy to tell him about their day, eager and pleased to have his attention.

Ben’s smile faded.

Connor had looked at him like that, a long time ago. Then, bit by bewildering bit, Connor’s gray, loving eyes had turned sullen. They’d begun to skitter away when he’d try to hold them, until eventually they wouldn’t raise to meet his at all. And if they ever did, Ben would almost wish they hadn’t, because they would be filled with antagonism, resentment—dark emotions Ben didn’t even want to name. He didn’t think he could bear to watch it happen again with another child.

With determined movements, Ben pulled on socks and his dusty cowboy boots and started back toward the house without a word of farewell. Those long, dark legs that had tempted him all week came with two little girls attached, he reminded himself sternly. It was a package deal and he wasn’t going to touch it with a ten-foot pole.

“So where’s Connor?” Maria asked, picking out a pair of David’s dirt-encrusted jeans from the pile of clothes heaped on the floor and stuffing them into the sink.

“How should I know?” Veronica responded innocently.

“Yeah, right. Like he hasn’t been following you around like a lovesick puppy.” Maria added a splash of detergent to the jeans and turned on the faucet. “How much longer are you going to be able to keep from going to Wyberg with him? He asks every single night.”

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