Love Takes Two

By Patrice Moore

Single mom Molly Jenkins relocates to a small mountain town in hopes of removing her young son from bad influences. But Ken is caught in an act of vandalism on their neighbor’s ranch, and the no-nonsense owner informs Molly her son needs a man’s strong hand to keep him in line. Having been raised by a tough-to-the-point-of-cruel father, she doesn’t want her son to be guided by men like that. She believes he needs nothing more than security and lots of mother-love. Nathan Jones knows what it’s like to be raised without a father, and he disagrees with the coddling Molly gives her son. His own upbringing led him to make some poor choices, and he wants to keep Ken from making similar mistakes. It is a complicated tangle of emotions and past hurts that prevent Molly and Nathan from agreeing, but can they come together to keep Ken from going down the wrong path…and maybe find their own path to love on the way?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Apr 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781509206728

Book preview

Inc.

He didn’t care for the doe-eyed type—

women too gentle and sweet for their own good.

Ma’am, is this your son? he asked as they approached the yard.

She straightened, and her eyes widened. Ken! She started toward them, her face a study of concern. What’s wrong? What’s going on?

I’m Nathan Jones. I own the ranch next door. I caught your son throwing rocks at a rescue horse. He drew blood.

Her hands flew up. Oh no! She stopped in front of the child. Ken, explain yourself. Did you do this?

The boy kept his gaze on the ground.

Ken, answer me. Did you do this?

He nodded his head, and with a sharp twist, jerked away from his hold and darted into the house. Nathan heard the sound of feet pounding up the stairs, and then a distant door slammed.

I can’t believe it, she murmured, running a hand over her face.

You’d better believe it, ma’am, because he caused injuries in a young horse that’s already been mistreated. There’s physical damage, yes, but worse than that is the psychological damage he did to the filly.

I’ll—I’ll pay for any vet bills…

He gave a bark of humorless laughter. I’ll do the doctoring myself. But I suggest you get your husband to tan his hide. He watched her face closely.

Sure enough, the woman lifted her chin a fraction in a gesture of pride. I—don’t have a husband.

That’s what I suspected. Nathan crossed his arms on his chest and gave a curt nod. Ma’am, that boy needs some discipline.

Love Takes Two

by

Patrice Moore

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Love Takes Two

COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Patrice Moore

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Yellow Rose Edition, 2016

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0671-1

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0672-8

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To Don, my hero for 25 years

Chapter One

Your son needs a change of scenery.

Molly pushed her bangs off her forehead in a clipped gesture and glared at the psychologist. What do you mean a change in scenery? As in take Ken on a Sunday drive, or paint his bedroom walls a different color?

The doctor leveled her a grave expression. Don’t be defensive, Ms. Jenkins. Your boy is hurting inside. His soft, plush office belied his strong, harsh words.

It was just one little incident…

"This is the third incident, Ms. Jenkins. This is just the first time he was caught. You need to be aware he’s under a lot of negative peer pressure that may compound his stress."

What stress? What kind of stress could a twelve year old possibly be under? Molly had so many problems of her own, she couldn’t imagine how her son’s could be any worse.

Peer pressure, Ms. Jenkins. The stress of adolescence. Growing up. Don’t you remember what it was like becoming a teenager?

She honestly couldn’t. Her childhood had been stressed for a different reason. Not really.

Trust me. The schools refer children to me all the time. I’ve seen many kids come through my office who are heading into trouble. If you don’t make some positive changes in Ken’s life, he may do something unfortunate. Or permanent.

She stiffened. What do you mean…permanent?

I mean, he has signs that point ultimately toward clinical depression.

"But why? she burst out. I’ve done everything possible to be a good mother. I put him in the best daycare and a good school. I’ve given him tons of love and affection. I’ve always been here for him…" She didn’t understand Ken’s behavior or attitude change. He’d been the best boy any mother could ever want—loving, sweet, understanding of the long hours she had to put into her job. Everything she did, she did for him. Why couldn’t he continue to be the nice, affectionate child she’d raised? What happened to him?

Sometimes, began Dr. Tanner, love and affection aren’t enough. Sometimes you need sternness and discipline. I see a lot of boys like your son, Ms. Jenkins. As I said, the middle and high schools refer them to my office all the time. I’ll be frank—boys who are raised without fathers often become what we call hyper-masculine when they hit their teens. It’s a means of rejecting the maternal influence and identifying with men.

Are you saying it’s impossible to raise children without fathers? It happens all the time. She knew a lot of single moms. Most did fine raising sons. But men? She’d seen what some men—like her own father—could do to their children.

Of course I’m not saying that. But it’s more difficult, and a lot depends on how well the mother understands masculinity. Is there anything you think you’re doing that discourages your son from being boyish?

Molly’s thoughts flashed to her own father, making her lips tighten. Her son would not be him. No.

Because, continued Dr. Tanner as if he didn’t believe her, if boys don’t grow up with a father-figure to show them the right way to channel their aggression, they often turn to their peers to provide examples. And if those peers are gang-members…

Stop. She dropped her head into her hands. Don’t tell me my son could become a gang member.

I’m saying it’s a possibility. Sometimes, it takes a man to raise a boy, to give balance to his life.

She raised her chin and glared. Are you saying all the work I’ve put in as his mother is useless?

The psychologist held up a hand. Of course not. It’s critical. But I’m just giving you statistics. Young men don’t want to identify with their mothers. They want to identify with their fathers or a father-figures. Is there no one in your family who can step in…?

She thought about her father, her grandfather. Close-minded, narrow, unbending…

No, she stated. There’s no one. She didn’t want Ken to emulate those kinds of men.

Then give him a change of scenery, advised the doctor. A change of lifestyle. Maybe a dog or some other pet to focus on.

He’s never expressed an interest in one, she muttered.

I’ve seen cases where it takes actually getting an animal before a child becomes interested. But meanwhile, I’m serious. Summer vacation is almost here. It would be a good time to make a break. Get that boy away from those other kids, or this vandalism incident won’t be the last time I’ll see him.

A different school? She’d chosen to live near one of Denver’s best school districts. She did everything with Ken in mind. Didn’t this psychologist realize that?

No, a completely different environment. A new school, a new place to live, a new setting…

She glared. "Quit my job? Move out of our apartment? Leave Denver? Take away all his security? This is supposed to be good for him?"

Yes. Because it’s not offering him the type of security he needs.

She jerked to her feet and began pacing the office. You’re crazy.

With admirable patience, Dr. Tanner folded his hands on his desk. Ms. Jenkins, let me ask you something.

What? She stopped pacing.

What is the most important thing in your life? Is it Denver? Is it your boy or your job? Your son or your apartment? Your only child, or your career?

She thinned her lips in frustration. What did this smug psychologist know about being a single mother? What did he know of the sacrifices she’d made for her son? You make me sound like the world’s most selfish witch.

I’m not trying to do that. I’m just trying to get you to see things from your son’s perspective.

What happened to him? she murmured, dropping back onto the chair and closing her eyes. What happened to the little boy who loved snuggling with me on the couch on Saturday nights, eating popcorn, and watching movies?

He’s growing up.

And growing difficult. Between his moodiness and defiance…

Sometimes, I wonder if I can handle him anymore. A tear leaked from beneath her eyelid.

That’s what I’m afraid of. He’s not a bad kid, Ms. Jenkins. He’s only twelve years old, which is young enough to avert future problems. But here, now, he’s under some bad influences. Without some sort of positive change in his life, you could lose control of him.

She opened her eyes, defeated. I understand. I’ll—I’ll start looking for a new job right away.

****

C’mon, Sugar, just a little farther, murmured Nathan. He eased the mare across the gulch and up the hill toward the stable. At the top, he reined to a halt and let her breathe. Atta girl, he praised, and patted her neck.

He straightened in the saddle and looked down at his small ranch. The hundred acres spread out, dotted by the six horses he was currently training. He also had three rescue horses he was gentling. Two large pastures were almost ready to mow for grass hay he’d dry, bale and store for winter feed.

The ranch was his, all his. Earned by the sweat of his brow. A buffer against unwanted people. A retreat against the world. And sometimes, a sanctuary to those who needed it.

Bethany, Colorado was a beautiful place. Still small and non-touristy—probably one of the few mountain towns in the state which could claim that distinction. Property prices were reasonable enough that he could afford this little slice of paradise.

He paused and glanced to the north, where a moving van pulled out of the driveway of the farmette next door. He knew the property had gone into foreclosure after Charlie lost his job, just didn’t realize it would sell so quickly. Not that he and his neighbor had ever gotten along.

Nathan clucked to the mare, and Sugar started down the hill to his ranch. He liked horses better than people anyway and had no particular interest in meeting his new neighbors.

Turning down the path to the stables, he heard the high-pitched whinny of a horse. It had a peculiar note of pain. Tangled in barbed wire? Horses fighting? He urged his mount into a canter until he emerged from the trees and saw…

A boy. Throwing rocks. At Lightning, the rescue horse he’d brought in six weeks ago.

The kid flung another missile. This one hit the mare on the neck, and she shied and whinnied in terror, ricocheting around the corral adjacent to the barn. A thin trickle of blood oozed down her neck.

Hey! he shouted, urging his horse faster. Hey, stop that!

The young teen snapped around, his arm raised to throw again. Instead, he dropped the rock and took off running.

For Nathan, it was a simple matter to pull the horse up close behind him, jump off, and scoop the child into his grip.

Lemme go! Lemme go! he screamed.

Not until you see what you’ve done to my horse, snapped Nathan. The brat struggled and cursed, but Nathan held him easily until the fighting stopped.

He was a wiry youngster with a shock of brown hair, sullen blue eyes, and the skinny air of someone just hitting a growth spurt. He came nearly to Nathan’s shoulder.

Done? he inquired. The kid nodded sulkily. Then let’s get going.

Grabbing him by the back of the shirt with one hand, he took up the mare’s reins in the other and marched back to the corral.

Look at her, he ordered. Look what you’ve done.

The three-year-old filly was in a corner, trembling, blood on her neck, on her flank, and on her left foreleg. The trusting light he’d just started to coax from her eyes was gone, replaced by fear and panic.

Nathan tightened his grip and shook the youngster’s collar. Would you like to tell me just what the h…just what you were doing throwing rocks?

The kid dropped his head and kicked a tuft of grass. Don’t know, he muttered.

Why would you hurt a defenseless horse?

Silence.

He shook him again. Where do you live?

The boy lifted his head and looked north.

Oh great. Are you the folks who just moved in?

Yeah.

Then come with me.

He turned his mare loose in the same corral as the injured horse, then marched the boy toward the slightly battered farmhouse adjacent to his ranch a hundred yards away.

A woman worked on the front porch, unpacking boxes, moving in and out of the house. He didn’t care for the doe-eyed type—women too gentle and sweet for their own good.

Ma’am, is this your son? he asked as they approached the yard.

She straightened, and her eyes widened. Ken! She started toward them, her face a study of concern. What’s wrong? What’s going on?

I’m Nathan Jones. I own the ranch next door. I caught your son throwing rocks at a rescue horse. He drew blood.

Her hands flew up. Oh no! She stopped in front of the child. Ken, explain yourself. Did you do this?

The boy kept his gaze on the ground.

Ken, answer me. Did you do this?

He nodded his head, and with a sharp twist, jerked away from his hold and darted into the house. Nathan heard the sound of feet pounding up the stairs, and then a distant door slammed.

I can’t believe it. She ran a hand over her face.

You’d better believe it, ma’am, because he caused injuries in a young horse that’s already been mistreated. There’s physical damage, yes, but worse than that is the psychological damage he did to the filly.

I’ll—I’ll pay for any vet bills…

He gave a bark of humorless laughter. I’ll do the doctoring myself. But I suggest you get your husband to tan his hide. He watched her face closely.

Sure enough, the woman lifted her chin a fraction in a gesture of pride. I—don’t have a husband.

That’s what I suspected. Nathan crossed his arms on his chest and gave a curt nod. Ma’am, that boy needs some discipline.

That’s none of your business.

It is if he’s injuring my horses.

I said I’d pay for any damages.

The damages are beside the point. If I may say so, ma’am, it strikes me you don’t have much control over him—

He’s just at a difficult phase right now… She glared.

And he knows it, too. That makes for a wild kid.

Look, his self-esteem is…

Nathan uttered a pithy four-letter word that had her trailing off and blinking those huge brown eyes. Don’t try pulling that self-esteem crap on me, ma’am. I’ve seen too many rebellious kids whose behavior is tolerated because of that excuse.

"And if I may ask, how many kids do you have, Mr. Jones?" she snapped.

None.

Then how dare you—

"I dare because I’ve worked with kids like your son before. And I’m telling you, ma’am…"

The name is Jenkins. Molly Jenkins.

He nodded. And I’m telling you, Ms. Jenkins, your boy is heading for trouble unless you do something about him.

Like what?

Like have him take responsibility for himself. Here are your choices. He started ticking his fingers. I can either turn him over to the sheriff for disciplinary action…

She covered her mouth with one hand. Her doe eyes grew huge.

…or you can get his ornery little fanny over to my ranch every single day. I’ve put six weeks of work into that filly. Your son can work for me for six weeks to make up for the damage he’s done.

Molly lowered her hand. You would do that?

Ma’am, I insist, he said, narrowing his eyes. He’ll help doctor the horse, as well as do any other chores around the ranch I assign.

Without paying him?

That’s right, without paying him. He put a clamp on his temper. He needs a firm hand, and you—he looked her up and down with a contemptuous air—are obviously not the one to do it. Tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock sharp. If you’re not there with your son in tow, I’m calling the sheriff. Ignoring her outraged gasp, he touched the brim of his Stetson. Ma’am. Then he pivoted and marched away.

****

Molly watched the stranger cut across her pasture, climb over the fence, and swagger onto the adjacent property. The shaggy bearded look repelled her. He had too much raw masculinity for her taste, especially when he narrowed those dark eyes into slits.

He walked with an air of authority, of a man who knew he was right.

How dare he? How dare this stranger burst into her yard and start criticizing how she raised her son?

Sure, Ken was caught doing something he shouldn’t have, but that didn’t give this arrogant cowboy the right to censure her. She’d spent her entire career around pre-teen kids and knew how to handle them. Lots of love, lots of acceptance and affection, lots of building of their self-esteem to help them handle the challenges of adolescence…

Lots of what she never got while growing up.

And now comes this jerk, who not only admitted to not having any kids of his own, but thought he had all the answers to boot.

Grrrrrrr.

She ran a hand through her hair. Still, Ken was caught doing something bad—again—so she supposed this Mr. Jones had a right to be angry.

What had happened to Ken? Where did her sweet, compliant boy go? How could someone change so fast, so much? In the space of the last year, the son she’d raised with such love and care had morphed into a completely different human being.

Might as well go talk to him.

She straightened her shoulders and walked into the house, threading her way through stacks of unpacked boxes and discarded packing material. Up the stairs. Down the hall. This was the largest house she had lived in since she left her parent’s house. Since having Ken after that fateful one-night stand at seventeen, she’d lived in a succession of apartments. They had been small and dingy at first, but as her skills and salary increased, she had moved to nicer places.

But this was different. This was a house. A real house. A cheap house, yes, but the costs here were so much less than in Denver. This land had been going into foreclosure, so the price was right. A beautiful location, a proper place to raise a boy…

She hoped.

Pausing outside his bedroom door, she knocked. Come out here, son. We need to talk. A grunt, but no answer.

Molly turned the handle and found the door had been locked from the inside.

Ken Jenkins, open this door.

Silence.

After a few moments, the door handle clicked. Her son swung it open, then walked back to throw himself on the bed and stare at the ceiling.

His room was still in disarray from the move, with boxes and bags everywhere, the bed bare of sheets and blankets.

Molly leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms on her chest. Explain yourself, Ken. Why were you throwing rocks at a horse?

He shrugged.

Answer me. We haven’t been here for more than four hours, and already you’ve earned a bad reputation with our closest neighbor.

Hey, I didn’t ask to move here. He continued to study the ceiling.

We moved here because you were getting into trouble in Denver. She gritted her teeth. You’ve got to start thinking about your actions. If you don’t—

Yeah yeah. Quit lecturing, Mom. I’ve heard it all before.

"Then why don’t you listen, she cried in frustration. If you head down the wrong path now, you could screw up your whole life."

He was silent, absorbed in the ceiling. After a few moments, she gave up, headed downstairs, poured herself a glass of water, and went out on the front porch.

The high peaks of the Rockies towered around the humble valley in which the town of Bethany was located. Even now, in summer, some of the highest peaks still had traces of snow. Dark green pines and lighter green aspens clad the slopes.

The scenery was spectacular. She could be at home here.

But Ken? Could he like it here?

Dropping onto a porch chair, Molly gave in to despair.

Her job started in a week. The school district in this isolated little town needed her administrative and fundraising skills. She had a home now and land. Maybe she could build that little one-room art studio out back, a little dream indulgence she’d always wanted. Twenty acres seemed like such a vast amount of land. It all had such…potential.

And she had hoped somehow, in some way, out here in the boondocks, Ken would return to being the sweet kid he’d always been.

Injuring a horse? Hurting an animal? He’d always been such a gentle boy—why would he have done something like that?

The psychologist had been correct; she was right to get him out of that school in Denver, where gang members were starting to court Ken and distort his way of thinking.

Surely, this latest problem was just—well, residual issues? Once he came to appreciate the countryside, he would stop misbehaving, right?

She refused to think it could be deeper than that and didn’t want to