Page 116 of Holiday Hire

I say to Phoebe, "We need to talk later."

She tilts her head and pins her eyebrows together. "Do we?"

I sternly assert, "Yes, we do."

She chirps, "Sure. Whatever you say, boss. Come on, boys. Let's start our project." She leads them away, and I stomp over to the corral.

Jagger asks, "What's going on there?"

"Nothing."

He tilts his head. "Didn't look like nothing."

"Mind your own business," I fume, and head to the stable. I put a saddle on my riding horse, Trojan. I put my foot in the stirrup and pull myself up. I toss my leg over his back and sit.

I spend the rest of the afternoon riding around the lake. It's the one thing that's always been my saving grace, except for today. I can't shake the hole I've dug myself in.

I tell myself a dozen times I have nothing to apologize for regarding Cheyenne, but it still feels as if I do. And I curse myself for letting myself act so irresponsibly.

Phoebe is my sons' nanny. She's my employee and responsible for the two people I love more than anyone else. My job is to protect them and worry about my own needs last, and I didn't do that last night.

The sunshine fades, and darkness sets in. I should have cooled off but I'm still fuming over too many things, feeling a bit lost, and trying not to go down the rabbit hole I avoid at all costs.

It's the place where I lose all control and wallow in self-pity, and one thing I hate is being a victim. There are only a few times I've allowed myself to go there. Tonight, I'm struggling not to step into the shadows of the "what-ifs," "why me," and "life is unfair" talk.

Part of me wants to stay outside forever, but I know I need to face the music and try to clear the air between Phoebe and me.

I run Trojan hard until I get to the barn. I jump off him, take off his saddle, rub him down, put him in his stall, then head toward the house. The orange lights and the automatic outside lanterns turn on, guiding me to the porch.

When I open the front door, the smell of homemade cookies hits me. Laughter rings in my ears, and I pause, smiling.

Maybe I shouldn't go in there and ruin their fun.

"Dad's going to love this!" Ace exclaims, pulling me out of my debate.

I step into my bedroom, asking, "What do I need to see?" Then I freeze.

The laughter stops. My kids and Phoebe stare at me.

I glance around my bedroom. The walls are a tranquil blue. There's a new, multicolored bedspread on my mattress and a glass vase on the nightstand. Across from my bed, a huge canvas with a turkey and the boys' names painted on it hangs on the wall. A silver hammered-metal horse hangs above my bed. "Stallion" is written under it.

Wilder shouts, "Surprise!"

Ace asks, "Don't you love it, Dad?"

Phoebe takes a deep breath and offers a small smile.

Stunned, I take everything in again, admitting, "It's great."

"We're doing my room next; I drew the longest straw! I chose red paint," Wilder states.

"Then we're painting mine! My walls are going to be green!" Ace chimes in.

I lock eyes with Phoebe. "This is really nice."

"You like it?"

"Yes."

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