Page 2 of A Summer to Claim Her Cowboy

This was the hardest thing.

“I love you, Dad,” said Sky.

That was one thing Walker was grateful for.

His sons said that. With ease. Especially compared to other kids their age. It wasn’t that they werealwaysgrateful for him. But they were old enough to remember clearly that their mom had gone out to dinner with some friends and not made it home. They had been introduced to how fragile life was when they were far too young to ever deal with that.

Theyalwayssaid they loved each other. Theyalwayssaid they loved Walker.

Walker always gave them an extra hug.

If there was one good thing that could be said for a sudden and brutal loss it was that it made you appreciate all the things around you.

“Text me every time you get to a campsite. If you can get away from the guys, give me a FaceTime.”

“If we have service.”

“Hike to a mountain where you have some fuckin’ service, kid.”

All right. Maybe he wasn’t always the most polished or perfect. Losing Anna had unraveled a little bit of civility in him. They were a house full of men.

Except Frankie.

Sweetness. Light.

Mischief.

Frankie.

He cleared his throat. “Hank is going to miss you. If I can’t put you on FaceTime, that dog is going to be a mess.”

“Poor Hank,” said Sky. “I’ll do my best to call, Dad.”

“All right.”

“Is Frankie here? I texted her but she didn’t answer me.”

Well, that was odd, because Frankie was always responsive to her texts.

“No,” he said. “She’s not here today. You’re out of school, Carter’s gone...”

Sky looked a little bit crestfallen. “I was hoping to say goodbye to her. She knew I was leaving today.”

And that made sense. Frankie, godsend that she was, had been... The nanny, he supposed. She had been the frequent babysitter back when the kids had been small, and she’d been in high school, and then when Anna had died, she had taken on a permanent role. She wasn’t even out of high school yet when she’d started that. She drove the kids to school, brought them home when she was out of class, made them snacks, cooked dinner. Frankie had been a constant in their lives, and she knew the boys were attached to her. So it stood to reason why Sky wanted to say goodbye to Frankie before he left.

“I can give her a call.”

Frankie was actually the last number he’d called. And so he pushed her name on his phone scroll, and it started to connect. And he heard a ringing sound coming both through his phone and somewhere else.

Just then, Frankie rounded the corner of the house and held her phone up. “I’m here,” she said.

She was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, and she looked like she’d been crying. Her hair was half-up—not in an intentional way, like it had fallen loose—and her eyes were red-rimmed. The tip of her nose was also red.

Something in him rose up like a beast and growled.

Who the hell had made Frankie cry?

He’d have whoever did it dragged by a team of horses. He’d have them skinned. Gutted.

---