Montana Love: Multicultural Romance (7 page)

Chapter 16

The three of them took his pickup truck into town. Carson was sitting in the open bed in the back as Dex ambled along in the truck.

“You okay back there, Bud?” he hollered through the little open window of the cab.

“Yeah!” the child hollered in glee, holding onto his Labrador.  The wind was strong against his face, lifting his little ringlets from his shoulders. “We’re good!”

After a short drive along a dirt road that ran parallel the mountains, Dexter turned onto a paved road that split the middle of town.

The little Main Street area stretched no more than the equivalent of a handful of city blocks. Dexter pulled up to an ice cream parlor. Before he could turn off the engine, Carson had hopped out and was running inside. His dog was two steps behind him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Cynthia was on his tail.  “What did Dex tell you about running around in front of a vehicle?”

Carson looked up at her with sad eyes. “He said not to.”

“But you did it anyway,” she said. “You can get hurt Carson. A car could have been coming on the road there,” she pointed into the street as she scolded him.

Dexter pretended not to see as Carson peeked over at him for some help.

“No ice cream for you,” she admonished as sternly as she could.

“But …”

“No buts. You’ve got to learn to listen.”

As Carson sat in the booth next to them pouting as he watched them eat ice cream, Cynthia began to cave.

“I was too hard on him,” she said, getting ready to get up and go to him.

“No, leave him,” Dexter said. “The boy’s going to have harder lessons than this is life. He needs to start learning now.”

Cynthia glanced over at him.

Dexter smiled at her sensitive side. “He’ll be alright.”

She took another bite from her cup of pink frost and sat it down, not able to enjoy it knowing Carson didn’t have any.

After they finished, Dexter went to pay and Carson bolted out of the booth and began sprinting towards the front door. But he seemed to catch himself. He ambled back toward Cynthia and put out his hand.

“I’ll wait on you,” he sighed, glancing over at Dex.

Before they pulled out into the parking lot, Cynthia said she had to go back inside.  Dexter assumed it was to use the ladies room, but Cynthia came back out with a big strawberry cone and handed it to Carson in the back of the truck. She avoided Dexter’s stare.   “I’m proud of you for remembering to wait,” she said. “Very proud.”

He smiled up at her and shared the cone with his puppy.

When she got back in the truck, Dexter peeked over at her and chuckled. “Softy,” he said.

She swatted at him. “Just drive,” she giggled, glancing over her shoulder at Carson and his dog.

After a long drive high up in the mountains, they came to a grassy, cleared lookout spot. They were so high, Cynthia’s ears popped.

“Are your ears okay, Carson?” she asked, tugging at her own.

“Yep, I’m used to it,” he said, getting out with the puppy.

Cynthia leaned back on the pickup truck next to Dex and stared out at God’s beauty.  She felt like she could reach out and touch the sunset.

“This is magical,” she said. “Just beautiful.”

Dexter studied her as she peered into the distance. “Not as beautiful as you are,” he said. Their eyes locked.

Remembering their closeness from the night before, Dexter felt comfortable easing her body over in front of his.  The softness of her sundress against his skin gave him a sensation he never wanted to be without. 

They stayed like that for long while, talking, as Carson tousled with his puppy on the thick, grassy mound nearby.

“So you don’t know your birth parents at all?” Cynthia asked as they began to open up to each other. She’d just learned he had been adopted at birth.

“No, I’m afraid not,” he said. “But I think my mother is African American,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“I don’t; it’s just a feeling,” he said, his eyes searching hers.

Cynthia broke away from his stare, when all she really wanted to do was kiss him again.

“Were your adoptive parents good to you?”

“To be honest, my father ran me like a work horse. I often wondered if that’s why they got me in the first place.  But to be fair, it’s a big ranch, and the old man was always right by my side working, too,” he said. “Yale Callahan was a hard man, but no, I wasn’t mistreated. Dexter wished he could say the same about his sister Apple.

Cynthia noticed how he referred to the man that had raised him using his first name.

“And your mother?”

“The sweetest, kindest soul you’d ever want to meet,” he said, light filtering into his eyes.  “Of course she had to deal with Yale, but she did the best she could, all things considered. I know she did the best she could.”

“Don’t you want to know who your parents are one day?”

Dexter was silent. He’d thought that question through many times.

“Dex?” Cynthia pried.

“Sure, what person wouldn’t want to know? But I won’t go searching for ‘em,” his pride shown through. “They left me, so they ought to know where to find me. “Besides, my mind is on starting my own family now, not chasing one that never was.”

There was silence; she could almost feel the hurt lodged deep inside of him.

Sensing it was best she didn’t say anything more about it, she leaned quietly against his broad frame.

“Why aren’t you married, Cynthia?” he finally asked.

The question caught her off guard, which was pretty hard to do.

“Well … I …” she started.

“Don’t hold back,” he said. “I already have an inkling.”

“I am
married
,” she said. “To my career.”

“But your career can’t cradle you in its arms in the middle of the night,” he said, turning her around to face him.

The sun was fast-dropping in the distance.

Cynthia could tell Carson and his puppy were both tiring from the sugar in the ice cream and the running back and forth. She could see them in the distance. 

“No,” she said, remembering the feel of his mouth on hers the night before.

“And your career can’t kiss your pretty lips,” he said, cradling the small of her back and pulling her deeper into him.

Cynthia couldn’t ignore the bulge between his powerful thighs perfectly positioned on her center.

“No, it can’t,” she breathed.

Dexter pressed his lips against hers as Cynthia opened her mouth to let his tongue dance with hers. Swoons of passion spiraled through her as she felt the throbbing of his loin pressed against her.

She pulled back.

“Wow,” she said, too aware Carson was nearby.

“Yeah,” Dexter breathed. They were losing the light. “We’d better get going.”

After a few more minutes, he called for Carson and the dog.

Shortly after, they were back on the road, heading towards home.

Chapter 17

Another week passed, and they still didn’t have any new information about the crash. Dexter had gotten into the routine of coming over each evening.  The three of them would sit down for dinner. After, either she or he would read Carson a bedtime story and tuck him in, before they’d sit curled up together watching the news.

Something was happening between them; they were getting close. It was an easy, natural fit that neither of them could deny.   

But Cynthia was growing increasingly worried; not only for Carson, but she knew she had to get back to work herself. 

After two more days passed, she called the law firm to notify them that she would have to extend her absence a little longer due to an emergency. 

Another week passed. Still no news.

She finally tells her boss about the crash and her dilemma with the child.

Not only was Carson beginning to question them, he’d begun to have dreams about sharks and ‘big water,’ as he’d say.

They finally let Miss Emma in on what they knew, telling her not to utter a word because they hadn’t told Carson yet.

“The boy is smart. You need to tell him something.”

“We know,” Cynthia sighed, not wanting to break his little heart.

Two more weeks passed.

Late one evening, Dexter eased the door of the child’s room closed after reading to him. “Is he asleep?” Cynthia asked when he came downstairs.

“Yes, finally.”

They’d both noticed it had been taking him longer and longer to fall asleep.

“I’m going to talk to him this weekend,” Dexter said.

“No, we’re going to talk to him, together,” she said, still not sure what they’d say.  Cynthia snuggled next to Dexter as they watched the evening news, believing they would figure it out.

Chapter 18

The next morning when Dexter and Carson went out to the barn to begin work, Cynthia received a call from her boss. She’d been keeping up with things as best she could online and working remotely with her paralegal and Margaret, but she already knew she needed to get back to the firm, get back to San Francisco.

  “Cynthia, this does not affect you vying for partnership, but we’ve had to give some of your cases to Eric Jackson, at least for the time being.”

“No!” Cynthia snapped at the managing partner, but she caught herself immediately.  “I’m sorry, Bernard. I’ve just been under a lot of pressure. Please, give me a little more time. “

But the damage had already been done. He didn’t take kindly to her tone.

“Now just hold on a minute,” her boss said in a gruff voice.  “This is a business, and you know as well as I do that clients can’t hold like leftovers on a warmer, or they will walk.”

Cynthia gained her composure as she watched Carson through the front window climb the porch and began playing with his puppy out of the corner of her eye.

“I know, Bernard,” she said. “But this is only temporary. I’ll be back in no time at all.”

“When?” he pressed. “Because we need you here
now
.”

Cynthia was silent. The truth was, she just didn’t know when she’d be back. They were still searching for the plane.

Her body grew warm as the worst case scenario started to flit into her mind. And it had nothing to do with her job.
Dear God, what if Thelma and Martin were dead? What if they were never coming home? 
Her heart began breaking for Carson.

“Cynthia, are you there?” Bernard asked.

“Yes …” She filtered out onto the porch. Carson was getting too close to the edge, tousling with the dog, who was growing fast.

Just at that moment, Carson slipped from the porch to the bottom step.

Cynthia’s cell phone went flying in one direction, and she went flying in the other trying to shield the child from the fall.  But it was too late. His head hit the bottom of the last stair, and dark red blood began oozing from the wound.

The dog started circling Carson and barking ferociously as he lay still on the ground like he was dead.

“Oh my God, Carson!” she yelled, with motherly instinct. “Wake up!” she cried, cradling him in her arms before lifting his little body from the ground.

On the other end of the phone her boss was listening in. When he finally heard the whimpering of a child and Cynthia’s voice soothing him, he hung up, knowing what he had to do.

Later that day …

After taking Carson to the doctor and finding out it was just a nasty flesh wound, Cynthia remembered she had left the managing partner of Ebert, Smith and Cooper hanging on the phone when Carson hit his head, though it didn’t matter one bit at that moment.

When she arrived back home and put the child down for a nap, she dialed her secretary’s number.

“Hi Margaret. Can you put me through to Mr. Cooper?”

The secretary hesitated.

“Margaret, are you there?” Cynthia asked her secretary. The woman had been her assistant ever since she’d started at the firm.

“Mr. Cooper said when you called back to tell you to put in for … formal, Family Leave.”

“What?” Cynthia exclaimed. “Family Leave? I don’t need Family Leave,” she said in a tense voice.

“I’m just the messenger,” Margaret reminded her. “He said they will approve your full three months, no problem, and they will re-evaluate things when all of this is over.”

Cynthia’s mouth was open.  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “And my full case load?” her heart dropped as she waited for the answer she feared.

“They’ve already reassigned it to Eric Jackson, just temporarily.”

Cynthia knew if they had reassigned her full caseload, she was as good as forgotten for the partnership position.

There was silence.

“The Goldstein case?” Cynthia held her breath.

Margaret sighed.

“Tell me, Margaret,” Cynthia pushed.

“Eric has that one, too. I’m so sorry Cynthia,” Margaret offered. “I know more than anybody how hard you’ve worked on particularly that case.”

“I know you do because you were right there with me,” Cynthia said. A thought she did not want to embrace rushed into her mind. She had to know. “Are they reassigning
you
to Eric?”

Margaret didn’t answer and the silence stretched.

“You can tell me,” Cynthia softened.

“Yes,” Margaret said. “I will now be assisting Eric.”

“I was afraid of that,” Cynthia said.

“And I might as well tell you, he’s taken over your office, too, at least until we get everything moved.  All the files are in there.”

Cynthia remembered the day she’d moved from her stuffy interior office to the light-filled corner space.  She was shocked, saddened … and suddenly very angry.

All she needed was a little time. After all, emergencies happen! After
everything
she had contributed, they couldn’t give her a little more time? It’s not like she wasn’t working; it’s like anything had fallen through the cracks.

“Are you okay?” Margaret asked.

She tried to hold back, but she couldn’t. “No, this is a bunch of crap!” Cynthia shot, picturing her pint-sized co-worker, who’d long since been sniffing around her clients, sitting in her office, grazing over all the work she’d fought tooth and nail to bring into the firm.

“I know,” Margaret said. “But-- may I speak freely?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“It’s probably for the best Cynthia. I mean, you don’t know what’s going on with the plane crash, and it could very well be several more weeks before anything is resolved. Just think about it. It’s best all around.”

Cynthia’s pride took a backseat as she digested what Margaret had said.

She was right.
Cynthia let out a sigh.

“Margaret, if you could start my Family Leave paperwork, it would be a big help.”

“Sure. I’ll get right on it.”