Free Redheaded Stranger: A Cowboy Love Story (Bluebonnet, Texas) by Amie Stuart

while," Kei said before he could say no.
    "Zander?" his mother asked.
    He shrugged noncommittally, then stood and took his plate to the sink, sliding it into soapy water.
    "Well—" Maggie fished his plate out, "—while you make up your mind, I’m going to get ready. I could use a night out." She quickly finished up and disappeared through the kitchen door, leaving him alone with his wife.
    While Kei quickly ate, he wiped down already clean counters, aware of her eyes on him. He dampened a paper towel and cleaned Darrach’s face against his angry protests. "I’d rather stay here with you."
    No way in hell did he want to go to the dancehall, but there was no way he could get out of it without looking like a total ass, and it was Christmas Eve. He trudged past the Christmas tree surrounded by a growing mountain of presents and headed upstairs to give Darrach a quick bath.
    The sight of his grandfather’s fiddle case on the bed brought him up short. He hadn’t seen it in years. In fact, didn’t even remember leaving it behind. Honestly, hadn’t given it much thought.
    Slowly he crossed the room, tensing slightly at the sound of his mother’s voice behind him. "I thought you might like to have it back, and I couldn’t figure out what to get you for Christmas."
    "You didn’t have to get me anything."
    "You’re my son." She came up beside him and took Darrach, who squealed with joy at his grandmother’s kisses.
    "I think he likes me," she said softly. "Can you still play?"
    "I doubt it." His fingers ran across the old dusty case. "Where’d you find it?"
    "In the window seat. Probably where you left it," she said with a laugh. "Where are his clothes? You practice while I change him."
    "I can’t, Momma. I haven’t played in years." And, oddly enough, he felt bad about that.
    She was challenging him. Not only to play, but to remember. He’d been eight when she’d given it to him the first time. At first he’d been disappointed at getting a fiddle for his birthday—and lessons. He’d been awful...at first. But maternal guilt had made him stick with it and over time he improved. He and Zack used to play for hours—him on the fiddle and Zack at the piano—and eventually they ended up playing together at the dancehall while they were in high school. Aunt Susie had let them sit in with the regulars any time they felt like it. How Ty and Tim had both gotten out of music lessons was the big mystery.
    "He needs a bath," Zander mumbled, his attention on the fiddle.
    She patted him on the shoulder, bustling about. "I don’t think a swipe with a warm washcloth and a promise for more tomorrow will kill him, do you?"
    "No, ma’am." He flipped the latch on the case and opened it up. If he didn’t know better he’d swear the fiddle looked the same as it had when he was eight—as when he was eighteen, too. Someone had obviously been taking care of it.
    "You gonna just stand here, or are you going to play something?"
    He glanced over at Darrach, who lay on the bed in just his diaper, attempting to shove one foot past the grin on his face while his grandmother wiped him down. "Be still, boy."
    Darrach smiled and shouted, kicking his legs while his mother grumbled. "Thanks a lot."
    "Sorry." He smiled, unable to help himself as he watched them together, his mother and his son, then grimaced, glad she couldn’t see his face in that moment. He schooled his features and cleared his throat. "I’m sorry, Mom."
    She stopped and turned to smile up at him, then took a seat with the baby on her lap. "I know, son."
    She knew what he meant and he appreciated the fact that he didn’t have to elaborate about his apology. No long explanations, no discussions. She just got it. She understood he was sorry for staying gone and for hurting her like he had. For depriving her of knowing Darrach. Nodding, he picked up the bow, and with his back to her, rosined it with shaking fingers, afraid he’d forgotten how. He reached for the fiddle and