Heartbreak At Roosevelt Ranch Novel – I straightened from putting the last plate into the dishwasher and stretched for a towel to wipe my hands. I was exhausted after twenty-four straight hours with the kids, and Rob still wasn’t home. Not to mention, I needed to make cupcakes for Max’s school and somehow do it without sugar. So the ensuing crash upstairs was not welcome. Dropping the towel, I whisper-sprinted up to the second floor running on tiptoes while hopping, leaping, and skipping over every toy obstacle, creaky floorboard, and rogue crayon along the way. The light was on in Max’s room, and considering that I had made this trek a half dozen times in the last hour, I was out of patience. “You need to go to sleep,” I growled, throwing open the door, my fierce mom glare already in place. Except the devil child was asleep. He’d fallen out of bed, crashed onto an entire village of Legos scattering them to inferno and back and was dead asleep.
My heart gave a little squeeze even as the logical part of me recognized the giant mess I’d be picking up tomorrow. It was just that face. A cupid’s bow of bright pink lips, slightly parted, rosy cheeks, and mussed hair. The boy was cute, and it was hard to believe he was part of me, that he’d come from my body. I clucked my tongue at myself, knowing I was being ridiculous and romantic and Melissa-like because I’d spent the day with Kelly and her toddler, Abby. My baby sister had a baby. And a man. And was all grown up Oh God. There I went with the tears again. Swiping a finger under each eye, I navigated the minefield of toys as I made my way over to Max. I gave an internal grunt as I lifted the little or not so little, anymore monkey and tucked him back into bed. One hastily constructed barrier of pillows and blankets and stuffed Minecraft toys later, and I was heading back out of the room.
I flicked the light off, started to leave “Too dark, Mommy,” he murmured. A sigh. Back on it went. “Good night, sweetheart.” “Night.” This time I made it to the top of the stairs before a sound stopped me. It wasn’t the kids. No. This was more like buzzing? I cocked my head and listened, then made my way to my bedroom, a growing pile of toys in my arms as I went. The door was open, and I walked inside, dumping the pile on the coverlet before stopping to pinpoint the sound. I felt my pockets for my cell. Not even two days before, I’d scoured the house for my phone, it somehow having fallen out of my pocket, ending up under the dresser. It had taken darn near fifty calls and a search of the entire house before I’d found it. Those locating apps were all well and good, but they couldn’t tell a person which room in a house their phone was. Which meant the app, for my day-to-day exploits, was pretty much useless. I hardly left home at all except for the kids’ activities and school pickup or drop off. Or if Rob needed something down at the station. And that was fine. My place was at home.
The kids needed me, Rob needed me. It was just that sometimes. No. Don’t get sidetracked. My phone was in my pocket. The sound wasn’t coming from beneath the dresser. It was coming from the bed. I peered under, saw nothing, and I was reaching for Rob’s flashlight in his nightstand when I realized where exactly the noise was originating from. My hand slid between the mattress and box spring, jumping a little when the object buzzed against my fingers. “What?” I pulled it out, saw it was an older-looking iPhone. Why was there Then I saw the texts. An entire screen worth of them. And my heart froze solid. I’m heading to the hotel. Where are you? Don’t keep me waiting, honey. I need you. The question wasn’t why Rob had hidden a phone under his side of the mattress. It was why someone named Celeste was calling him honey and telling my husband that she needed him.
Downstairs, I heard the garage door rumble open and close, the clink of Rob’s keys on the kitchen counter. “Miss?” he called softly up the stairs. My voice was gone, my throat tight. My eyes burned, and still, I held the phone. It wasn’t until I heard him walking down the hall to the bedroom that I sprang into motion. I shoved the phone back under the mattress and scooped up the toys. Rob stopped short in the doorway. “Oh.” He smiled. “I called you.” “Sorry, I was cleaning.” He touched my cheek, slid past me. “You don’t have to do that.” “It’s my job,” I said brightly, and if it was too bright then what did it matter anyway? My husband was moving toward the bathroom, already unbuttoning his shirt. “Is there a plate for me?” I turned, saw he’d paused, and forced a smile. “Yup. I’ll heat it up for you.” “Thanks, love.” “Of course.” I walked out of the bedroom but didn’t go downstairs. Instead, I hesitated in the hall, silent and waiting. And my gut tied itself into knots when I heard Rob’s footfalls across the carpet, the slide of his hand beneath the mattress as he pulled out the phone.
“MOOOOOOOOOM!” The camera in my hands jumped, and that perfect angle, the perfect highlight of the sun’s rays coming through my kitchen window and traipsing across my gorgeous display of a salad if I did say so myself disappeared in a flash. No pun intended. Footsteps pounded across the floor overhead. Eight feet. From two kids and one dog. The trio was streaking across the hallway, preparing to hurtle themselves down the stairs. Which meant I had approximately twelve seconds to get the shot before chaos descended. Back up on my tiptoes, extending my arm precariously over the plate as I leaned read: contorted myself in such a way as to obtain that perfect angle without marring the photograph with something as egregious as my shadow. Bang. Bang. Bang. “Ow!” Allie. She’d just turned five and was a terror on two legs. “I’m telling Mom!” “Almost there,” I puffed. “It was your fault.” Max. My sweet boy. Now eight and not so little. “Ruff!” The dog. The terror on four legs. Rocco was seven months old and sixty pounds of exuberant energy, potty accidents, and counter surfing.
But Rob loved the fluffball. Rob. My eyes burned. The trio slid around the corner into the kitchen, Rocco colliding with the far wall. His brakes weren’t great yet. With the group’s appearance, the noise level in the room rose to deafening. Click. I checked the shot and breathed out a sigh of relief. Perfect. Stepping down from the stool I’d been perched on, I stashed my camera carefully out of reach of canine and human troublemakers then stowed the plate in the fridge. Another taste test wouldn’t hurt, just to perfect the recipe. And really, I wasn’t going to waste one crumb of that goat cheese. Not when it was so expensive and difficult to find in Nowhere, Utah. Or rather, Darlington, Utah. “Mom.” Max stood with his arms crossed. He was tall for his age with dark hair and eyes and the spitting image of Rob, a fact that made my bruised heart ache all the more. Allie was like me: slender, tall, and blond with pale brown eyes and skin that never failed to burn in the sun. We needed to invest in sunscreen stock.
God knew we bought enough of the stuff. Both kids were talking over each other, furious frowns pulling their brows down as they tried to prove their point or, rather, ruin my eardrums by being the loudest. Even Rocco chimed in with several well-timed barks. I did what I always did in these situations. I stood silently. And waited. It never took long, I’d found. If I tried to raise my voice over theirs, tried to shout my way for quiet, like Rob did, nothing. He used his magical cop skills to reign tough over the kids and dog, I thought, as Rocco eyed the countertop like it held a king’s trove of treasure. My voice didn’t do that. My glare did, however. Rocco paused mid-leap and plunked his front paws back on the tile floor. Max was the first human to stop contributing to the noise. Older and wiser, he was. Allie went on for a few more beats before her eyes widened and her mouth clamped closed.