Читать книгу Cowboy Daddy - Angel Smits - Страница 12
ОглавлениеIF SHE’D HAD the energy, Amanda would have given the two egotistical, bossy males a piece of her mind. But she had nothing left. Leaning back in the uncomfortable wheelchair, she closed her eyes.
They might be obtuse, but neither Wyatt nor Lane was stupid. The testosterone level in the air dropped several degrees. “I can’t think right now,” she whispered. “Just let me rest, and we can discuss it later.”
It was too much to think about. Too many people, too many choices. And Amanda would be damned if she’d let either of these two see the frustrated, overwhelmed tears that clogged her throat.
Wyatt took her back to her room. But she could hear two sets of boot heels on the tile floor, letting her know Lane followed.
This time Wyatt stopped at the nurses’ station and the cheery nurse who’d helped earlier followed to assist her back into the bed.
The two men waited outside, and she hoped they’d stay out. Amanda heard deep voices and prayed they weren’t arguing or worse.
“You up for guests, or should I shoo those two away?” The nurse smiled and waited for her decision.
“I’d love to tell them to go away, but they’ll just hang around regardless.” Amanda snuggled down against the firm, crinkly pillows. “Might as well get it over with,” she whispered and closed her eyes.
“It’s your choice.” The nurse gave her one more escape option, and she almost took it.
“No. They’ll freak. It’s okay, I don’t back down often.”
“Okay.” As the nurse left, she propped the door open. “You have ten minutes, boys, then it’s lights out.” The nurse made the right decision for her, and Amanda smiled.
Amanda didn’t open her eyes, so she didn’t know who came in first. It didn’t matter. She could feel their equally angry stares. Her brother’s glare would condemn her for sleeping with one of his crew. She’d heard plenty from him over the years about staying away from them. And she’d most definitely hear plenty more of it from all her brothers, now.
Lane’s stare was less clear in her mind. Would it be angry, hurt, condemning? She hadn’t told him, or anyone else, that he was Lucas’s father. Now everyone probably knew.
Slowly, she opened her eyes to a feeling of disappointment. Lane was staring out the window at the city beyond. She couldn’t see his face, but his back was ramrod straight with his shoulders thrown back, broad and strong. Wyatt stood at the foot of her bed, looking exactly as she’d expected, and she only briefly met his gaze before glancing at Lane again.
She wanted him to turn and face her. She almost wished he’d lose that famous temper of his and let her have it. Maybe her guilt would ease if he did. “I never meant to lie to you.” She waited a second. “Either of you.”
“And yet you did.” Lane still didn’t turn around.
“Watch it, Lane.” Wyatt’s voice was a low, protective growl. “You are far from innocent in this.”
“Leave him alone, Wyatt,” she whispered. Once again, she looked at her brother. “I need to talk to Lane. Alone.”
Wyatt didn’t want to leave. She saw the stubbornness in the set of his jaw. “I’ll be right outside.”
“Down the hall,” she directed. “No eavesdropping.”
* * *
THE LIGHTS IN Mandy’s hospital room were low, letting the shadows take over. On the long, five-hour drive, Lane hadn’t pictured anything he’d seen when he got here. None of this was part of his normal world, or what he’d expected when he’d woke up in his truck this morning.
Staring out the window, he watched the reflection rather than the city beyond.
The bed, centered in the room, was metal with white sheets that looked stark against the evening light. Mandy, in a soft blue gown, looked tiny in the bed. Her dark hair tumbled across a snow-white pillowcase that echoed the pallor of her skin.
The clear tubing of the IV snaked, from where it was imbedded in her arm, across the blanket and up to the hanging bag. What had Addie said about the transfusion? He envisioned the tubing filled with life-giving blood.
He swallowed hard, easing the fear that still gripped him. He’d never before thought about losing her like that, forever. Never expected—
Wyatt stepped back reluctantly, and Lane knew he was weighing Mandy’s wishes against his own concerns. He knew why Lane was here, and he wanted to know the rest. But Lane wasn’t here to talk to Wyatt.
Wyatt’s receding footsteps were the only indication he’d left.
Finally, with a deep breath, Lane turned to face Mandy. She hadn’t moved, but her eyes were open, looking groggily at him. Even in the dimness, the bright blue of her eyes reflected her thoughts. If anyone wore their emotions on their sleeve, it was Mandy Hawkins. He could read her like a book.
Their gazes met. “How you feeling?” Lane took a couple of slow steps toward the bed. His boots sounded too loud in the quiet room.
“Worn out.” She tried to smile, but didn’t move. “Why are you here?” Her voice shook. Were those tears in her eyes? She knew his answer, but was waiting for him to say it, to ask her...
If Wyatt hadn’t been standing in the hallway, Lane would have walked to the bed and taken her hand, and—what? Cursed at her? Kissed her? He had no clue, and that bothered him. Lane never allowed himself to second-guess anything.
“I can do math, Mandy,” he whispered.
“I never doubted that.” She met his gaze, her chin pale but jutting out stubbornly.
“So, why didn’t you tell me?”
She hesitated, something he seldom saw her do. He waited, knowing she was organizing her thoughts. “I tried. That night. At the Lucky Chance.”
Memories slammed into him. As their gazes remained locked, the blue that never wavered brought back the sound of the pounding rain, and the scent of heat and faded perfume in the closed cab of his truck. It reminded him of the feel of her chilled skin under his hands as it grew warm from his touch. Lips that tasted of something sweet and hot. Her lipstick and deeper still...her.
He closed his eyes, the images nearly overwhelming him. Images of her. Images of what had followed...the reason he’d left her there, left her in the rain, huddled in the cab of his truck as he returned to the bar to pull his father from yet another fight, yet another pummeling.
He’d left her, choosing once again to save his father rather than follow what he wanted. What he longed for. Needed.
Opening his eyes, Lane met that familiar blue stare again, steeled himself against its pull. “Nothing has changed.” He stepped close, forcing her to tilt her head farther back to continue looking at him. “Nothing.”
“I... I hadn’t expected it to,” she whispered, surprising him with the weak tone in her voice. “You’ve made it clear. I don’t expect anything from you, Lane.”
As if it were that simple. Dear God, he never should have come here. Never should have let his emotions override his common sense. She might have convinced herself she didn’t expect anything, but the people in that waiting room? The tiny baby down the hall? Himself? All of them expected something—everyone expected something from him.
He wanted to curse. Wanted to hurl his anger at her. But he held back, just like he always did. Damn. “You don’t know me like you think you do.” The anger came out in his voice. If anyone would notice, she would. He took a deep breath to cool it. He didn’t want to upset her. He shouldn’t have come here.
“Really?” She looked directly at him, her stare strong, showing none of the weakness of her body. “What exactly do you think I don’t know?”
He laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. Oh, no. He wasn’t baring his soul to her, not here, not now, maybe never. “Let’s just say your judgment’s a bit clouded.”
He stepped a tad closer, making sure she held his gaze. “I don’t shirk my responsibilities. But I am not cut out to be anyone’s dad.” Why did those words burn his gut? “He needs someone else.” Anyone else. “Someone better, someone who can give him—and you—a better life than I can.”
Lane took a step back from the bed. “You don’t have to worry, Mandy. I don’t make much, but I’ll send what I can.” He took a few more steps. His gut clenched. This wasn’t what she wanted and it tore him up to walk away from her. Their son’s tiny face floated in his memory, taunting his nobility. But he knew his reality. He couldn’t put either of them through the mess that was his life.
Better to keep his distance now, before the attachment grew, than to hurt them later like he knew he would.
Damn it.
The sound of footsteps broke the quiet again, not boot heels, but crepe soles that swished against the polished tiles. The nurse appeared a second later. “Good evening.” She held a small tray in her hands. “Time for your next dose.”
“It will make me sleep,” Mandy complained.
“Sleep is the best thing for you right now.” The woman stepped to the bedside. “Enjoy it now, dear. You two won’t get much when that little guy goes home with you.”
Lane turned then and headed to the door. In the frame, he stood and swallowed hard. He didn’t even know what to say. Instead of speaking, he settled the black Stetson on his head and stalked down the hall, pausing only for the elevators. Once outside, he climbed into his truck. His mind filled with the images of Mandy’s pain-filled features, and— My God, he had a son!
The kaleidoscope of images chased him across the city and out into the familiar open spaces of the highway and ranchland.
He’d never be a dad, but he was a father.
* * *
BY THE TIME Amanda and Lucas were released a few days later, the decision of where they were going had been made, though Amanda didn’t recall ever really agreeing.
At the ranch she stood in the doorway of the old cook’s room just off the big kitchen. Juanita didn’t use the small room since she was married to Chet, the ranch’s foreman, so it had been used for storage for years. Now it was Amanda’s temporary bedroom.
Per doctor’s orders, she wasn’t supposed to climb stairs for a few more weeks or lift anything, including Lucas. The center of the house being the kitchen, everyone could be nearby to help with the baby.
Her brothers had moved one of the beds from upstairs into this room. She was pleased to see that they’d gone to her house in Dallas and brought the crib she’d bought. Even some of the toys and decorations she’d picked out.
Her rocking chair was in the corner between the bed and crib. While she appreciated everything her siblings had done, this was not how it was supposed to be when she brought Lucas home. She looked for Lane and didn’t see him. Anywhere.
All she wanted to do was crawl into bed, cry until she couldn’t cry anymore and then fall into a deep dreamless sleep.
No one would question her. No one would begrudge her such indulgence. They’d been with her the past few days, seen what she’d faced. But no one would really understand. That was the part that bothered her the most. She felt so alone. Alone in a house full of people.
Voices came from the kitchen, breaking through the black cloud that threatened to engulf her. With a deep breath, she turned to face Tara, who had little Lucas in her arms. Amanda couldn’t even lift her own son. She couldn’t lift anything, and the weakness that had moved in and settled over her scared her to death as she imagined something horrid happening, like dropping her son.
Amanda swayed just as Wyatt came into the room. “Hey, sit down.” She didn’t resist when he guided her to the rocking chair. He reached out with a strong arm and held it still while she sat.
“Here you go, little one.” Tara’s voice was that sing-songy variety that only a baby could appreciate. She leaned in close and settled the little boy in Amanda’s arms, which surprised her.
“Oh.” He was so tiny. The warm bundle squirmed a little until she had him nestled in the crook of her arm, his downy head leaning against her elbow.
“Why don’t you two take a bit to settle in,” Tara stepped back, snagging Wyatt’s arm and dragging him to the door. “We’ll be right out here if you need anything.” Seconds later, they were both gone, though they kept the door open and light fell into the room from the bright kitchen.
“Oh, dear.” Amanda looked down at her son. His eyes were open, staring up at her with a newborn’s fascination. “Don’t do anything, sweetie. Your mom isn’t up to much more than this.”
The baby didn’t move, just kept staring up at her, his wide brown eyes so beautiful. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Lane had been at the hospital the other night. But she hadn’t heard from him or seen him since. Where was he today? She’d thought—hoped—he’d come by. She’d hoped he would change his mind and come and take them home.
Wyatt and Tara were there in his place.
She shouldn’t feel disappointment. She shook it off, hoping her son wasn’t able to pick up on her emotions.
Slowly, she pushed against the old wooden floor with her foot, gently moving the chair, soothing her undisturbed son and herself. She couldn’t take her eyes off his sweet little face, and as she moved, she watched his eyes slowly drift closed. He fell asleep, and she reached up to run a single finger along the soft edge of his jaw. He turned his head toward the touch, his tiny lips moving reflexively.
The light in the room changed then, became shadowed. She looked up and was thankful she was sitting. Lane leaned against the doorframe, his eyes hidden as the bright light from the kitchen backlit him.
“Hello,” she whispered, afraid to get her hopes up.
“Hi.” He didn’t move any closer. “You getting settled in okay?”
She nodded. “I think so. Can you take him and put him in the crib?” She wanted so badly to do it herself, but she couldn’t. She was too sore, too tired and too weak. She couldn’t risk Lucas’s safety. He was too tiny, too fragile, too precious.
“Tara?” Lane called over his shoulder and Amanda’s sister hurried toward them. Lane stepped aside, and Tara came to take Luke.
“Thanks,” Amanda whispered. “I’m afraid I’ll drop him.” She couldn’t control the shiver in her voice.
“That’s okay. That’s what we’re here for.” Carefully, Tara settled the baby in the crib, pulling the soft blue blanket up over him. She turned to face Amanda. “Do you want to join us in the kitchen or lie down?”
Amanda’s eyes met Lane’s for a brief instant. Why was he here? Why now? Why hadn’t he helped with Lucas? Everything was wrong. He was so distant, so far away. Tears threatened and she mentally cursed him the same instant she ached for him to pull her into his arms. “I think I’ll rest.”
Tara came over to the rocker, and put her arm beneath Amanda’s. “Take it slow.” Amanda wobbled to her feet, putting her free hand on the solid arm of the chair.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Lane said impatiently, stalking across the room. Before either of them could say a word, he’d swept Amanda up into his arms.
Her head spun, or at least that was the excuse that she gave herself for laying it against his shoulder.
“Don’t get used to this,” he admonished softly.
She barely had time to wonder what “this” referred to. His surly manner? The comfortable feel of the worn chambray of his shirt against her cheek? The solid warmth of his arms?
For the first time in ages she felt safe. All too quickly, Lane reached the bed and lowered her to the spread. Tara rearranged the pillows and pulled up the crocheted afghan from the foot of the bed. Lane took it from her and shook it out, tucking it around Amanda.
For an instant he paused and their gazes met. Heat washed over her, the same spark of heat she saw reflected in his eyes. If Tara hadn’t been here...
Then he blinked and hastily stepped away. He stood there suddenly looking as lost as she felt. His gaze flicked over to the crib, and she tried to read the emotion on his face, but he covered it too quickly.
The faint beeping of a cellphone had him scrambling through his pockets and quickly moving away. “Beaumont,” he answered.
She watched his brow furrow and heard the soft curse words that came past his lips. “I don’t have time for this,” he told whoever was on the other end of the line. Without another glance at her, he said, “Gotta go.” Then he was gone, out the door, with the sound of the screen slamming behind him in the distance.
“Something’s seriously wrong with that man.” Tara stood with her hand on her hips, a classic pose for Tara-the-curious as they both stared after Lane. “Wyatt says he gets these random calls and just takes off. Whoever is on the other end sure has him at their beck and call.”
“Does anyone know who it is?” Amanda asked.
Tara shook her head. “He won’t say a thing. Wyatt says he gets really ticked off if anyone even asks.”
What—or who—was Lane hiding? It wasn’t an easy task to hide anything on the ranch or in any of the local small communities, especially the nearest one, Haskin’s Corners. She racked her brain but found nothing.
And then a thought crossed her mind. A painful thought. They weren’t really a couple. What if...? No, surely she’d have heard through the grapevine. But what if there really was someone else who’d managed to steal his heart while Amanda had been busy hiding the truth and avoiding him?
Had she imagined the flash of heat she’d seen in his eyes?
Rolling over, she pulled the afghan up tighter around her shoulders. She’d hide under the covers for now—it was safer than facing the reality that she didn’t have the energy to follow him and demand the truth.
But later?
Later, all bets were off.
* * *
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” Lane barked into the phone. “The sun hasn’t even set!”
“Sorry, man,” the bartender at the Lucky Chance said. “He’s getting worse, Lane. You gotta do something.”
“What can I do?” Lane leaned against the far side of his truck, the side away from the house. He closed his eyes and tried not to take his exhaustion and frustration out on Sam. But he was tired and envied Mandy that soft comfy bed.
It had taken every ounce of his strength to put her down on the bed and not crawl in beside her. She’d felt so right in his arms, and the way she’d laid her head on his shoulder had him wishing—
“You coming to get him?” Sam asked.
“Yeah.” With a deep breath, he stalked around the truck and climbed in. “Give me half an hour at most. Can you keep him there that long?”
“You want me to open a tab?”
“No. But if that’s what it takes, yeah.” Lane wanted to chuck the damned phone across the pasture, but he didn’t. He shoved it back into his pocket where he’d answer it again the next time, because there was always a next time. Was he making a mistake? Aiding and abetting his father in getting even drunker? He cursed and tore out of the drive, a plume of dust billowing up from his tires.
The Lucky Chance seemed to be his dad’s favorite hangout lately. How many times in the past two weeks had he been here? Lane had lost count.
The parking lot wasn’t yet full, which gave Lane hope—for about half a minute. Until he climbed out of the truck and heard the sounds of a loud crowd coming from behind the building. With a curse, Lane broke into a run.
Easily a dozen people stood in a circle in the empty lot behind the bar. Lane shoved his way through to find his dad and another man swinging clenched fists at each other. Dust from their stumbling, shuffling feet filled the air.
Hank Beaumont looked like hell—in other words, like normal. His eyes were bloodshot, and his greasy, thinning brown hair was matted to his scalp for any multitude of reasons. His right cheek sported a jagged cut, and blood trickled down to his jaw.
The blood apparently had been oozing for a while as there were stains on the torn white T-shirt Hank wore. Dust covered his jeans and ratty boots, which meant this fight had been going on for some time, and Hank’s backside had hit the ground at least twice.
Lane cursed and strode into the middle of the crowd, hoping like hell he wouldn’t have to take the next punch to end this. “All right. Party’s over, folks.”
“No, it’s not,” Hank slurred. “I was just getting warmed up.” Hank spat and Lane noticed blood smeared on his father’s teeth. Great. He hoped it wouldn’t mean more dental work. Hank didn’t have enough money to cover something like that and now that Lane needed to give Mandy—
“I tried to stop ’em.” A tall, beefy cowboy had hold of Hank’s opponent, a young cowpoke with enough muscle to kill Hank—if he had been even slightly sober, which he thankfully wasn’t.
“That’s okay, Billy,” Lane said to the bouncer, knowing full well he probably had at least five bucks on one of the contenders, and more likely had been cheering on and not trying to stop this mess. “Come on, Dad.”
Hank pulled his arm from Lane’s grasp, stumbling backward. His dusty butt hit the ground and, after an instant, he rolled farther to the ground, laughter coming from his bloody mouth.
Laughter Lane knew would dissolve into alternating fits of rage and tears.
Billy shepherded everyone else back into the bar, promising drinks for them all. Lane expected the tab Sam had asked about to have a few extra drinks on it. Lane sighed.
“Let’s go home, Dad.” He extended a hand to his father, who surprised him by taking it, letting Lane pull him to his feet. Hank stumbled but meekly followed Lane to the parking lot. Lane just hoped his dad would fall asleep in the truck, not yammer or cry as they drove to the house.
“Where the hell you been?” Hank asked, leaning his head back on the seat.
“Work.” Lane had learned eons ago that simple, short answers were best. While Hank hadn’t hit Lane in years, there was always the possibility. And while sober Hank knew that his son had become a man, drunk Hank conveniently forgot.
“You got chores to do at home.”
“Yes, Dad. I’ll get to it.”
“I don’t want to hear none of your excuses, boy.”
“I know.” Lane wove through the hills, hoping they’d reach the house before Hank’s temper grew worse. Sometimes, Lane wondered if it might just be better to leave him to fight it off.
But Hank never won. He just ended up in the emergency room. He was too old and worn out.
“Here we are.” Lane pulled into the dirt-covered yard as close to the front steps as he could get the truck. He glanced over at the older man. Hank was out cold.
Great. Lane climbed out, opening the passenger door carefully so he wouldn’t have to catch Hank, who was leaning against it. “You gonna wake up, old man?”
Hank’s response was a resounding snore. Lane sighed and knelt down. Lifting his father over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, he headed to the front steps. What the hell was Hank going to do when Lane got too old to carry him?
“Hey, did you know you’re a grandfather?” Lane asked the silent house. Hank snored again. “Yeah? Why, thanks, Dad. The congrats are much appreciated.”
Lane had set his father’s room up on the main floor years ago, so the trip to the nearest bed was short. He put the old man down and, except for yanking off his boots, left him.
At the doorway, he stopped and looked back. How many people did he have to put to bed in a day before he earned his own rest?
With Hank asleep like this, minus the injuries and bloodstains, Lane could almost see the man his father used to be. “Damn it, Dad.” He thought of Mandy. Thought of his son. “His name is Lucas,” Lane said softly. “And he’ll never know you. He can’t.” Lane kept walking. “I can’t.”
