Читать книгу Cowboy Daddy - Angel Smits - Страница 13

CHAPTER FIVE

AMAZING WHAT A good night’s sleep could do for a person. Amanda awoke to bright morning sunshine pouring in through the window and energy thrumming through her body.

The height of the sun told her it was late. In the distance the edge of the barn’s roof gleamed bright red against the vivid blue Texas sky. It felt so good to be home. Rolling over, she stretched, making sure not to pull her stitches and minding all the sore places from IVs and other intrusive...things.

She glanced over at the crib—the empty crib. Panic shot through her. She threw back the covers. Her bare feet hit the cool wood floor as her heart pounded against her ribs.

She was the world’s worst mother. How could she forget for even a second that she had Lucas to worry about and care for? How could she have slept so long when he most certainly had not slept through a—she glanced at the alarm clock that had not woken her—ten-hour night? Not at less than two weeks old.

“Ah, you’re awake.” Tara’s voice came from the doorway. Lucas was safely snuggled on her shoulder, his tiny head nestled against her neck.

All the adrenaline rushed out of Amanda’s body and gravity pulled her back down to the edge of the bed. “I am such a horrid mother,” she whispered. “And you’re a terrible sister for scaring me half to death.”

Tara laughed, used to Amanda’s morning persona. “Like I’d wake you up to tell you I was taking Lucas so you can sleep?” She rolled her eyes. “Take a shower and get dressed. Lucas and I are gonna play.”

“Play?” How did you play with an eight-day-old baby? Tara left and after several deep breaths, Amanda grabbed her clothes and headed, slowly, carefully down the narrow hall to the bathroom. She might be rested, but her body was still recovering. She didn’t look in the kitchen, didn’t glance in the living room. She didn’t want to know who saw her in this old, ratty nightgown.

Half an hour later, dressed in her normal clothes—with makeup for the first time in a while—she followed the trail of voices down the hall.

Wyatt’s household revolved around the big, airy country kitchen at the center of the house. Stepping into the familiar room, Amanda let the sense of home enfold her. Juanita stood at the giant gas stove stirring a pot that looked big enough to crawl into. Lovely, tantalizing smells wafted from it, filling the room.

Tara sat on the bench that ran the length of the big, wooden table, a cup of coffee steaming in her hands. “My play buddy conked out.” She smiled and tilted her head toward the baby swing in the corner where Lucas snoozed.

“He does that.” Amanda headed to the coffeepot and fixed her own cup.

“You. Sit down.” Juanita pointed at the bench across from Tara. “I’ll make you a good breakfast.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Don’t argue with her.” Tara laughed. “You know you won’t win.”

“Listen to your sister.” Juanita laughed, too. “She’s right.”

After a good night’s sleep, a warm shower and with one of Juanita’s amazing breakfast burritos under her belt, Amanda almost felt normal. It might have been an illusion, but it wasn’t the first time she’d let herself believe in delusions.

The quiet of the room surprised Amanda. “Where is everyone?”

“Everyone who?” Juanita was back at the stove putting biscuits in the oven. “If you wait another half hour, all the men will be back here for lunch.”

All the men? Amanda’s heart hitched. Lane?

“So, when are you going to share your secrets about you and Lane?” Tara’s eyebrows lifted as she sipped her coffee.

“There’s nothing to share.”

“Really?” She glanced over at Lucas. “He just appeared out of thin air?”

“Yep.” Amanda didn’t want to share anything with anyone. She’d grown up with next to no privacy. Tara might have turned into a beautiful, talented young woman, but she was still Amanda’s pesky little sister.

“Mom did explain the birds and bees to me, you know,” Tara teased.

“Good to know. Bet it was the same lecture I got.” She missed their mother and, looking at Lucas, her grief intensified. Not only had Lucas been conceived when Lane had comforted her as she’d grieved her mother’s death, but Lucas would never know any of his grandparents.

Lane’s mom had died when he was a kid, as had her dad. She’d always speculated that that shared loss was part of what made Lane and DJ such good friends growing up. Now, Mom was gone, too. She didn’t know about Lane’s father, and she wasn’t about to ask anyone and open that door. Admitting she didn’t know his family would not be a smart move.

“Where’s Addie?” she asked, hoping to stop the downward spiral of her thoughts and derail Tara’s curiosity.

Tara looked down with a frown. “She went back to Austin last night, after we got you home.”

That seemed strange. Addie had been with her all the way through this. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Tara stood and put her cup in the dishwasher. “She’s acting strange. Has been since, well, since Lucas came along.”

“That’s odd. She was so thrilled, so looking forward to meeting Lucas before I had him.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not any better at sharing secrets than you are.”

Tara’s glare held a lot of meaning, but she wasn’t talking, no matter how much sisterly guilt Tara tossed her way. “At least she left us a batch of her cookies, so I’ll forgive her. Better get one before the guys find them.”

Tara stared out the window above the sink. “Hey, Juanita. Want some help? I see the dust cloud. Guys are headed back.”

And so they hustled. Amanda managed to carry the basket of biscuits and a gravy bowl to the table. She was disappointed when even that little bit tired her out.

“Thank you, but sit down.” Juanita pushed her to sit on the bench again. “I ain’t catching you if you keel over.”

“And I’m not explaining to Wyatt or Lane. You’d have to live with my version,” Tara said.

Amanda laughed. As a kid Tara’d had a reputation for never quite telling what really had happened. She’d embellished any story, creating magical worlds and fantastic images. Mom had been so surprised by the explanation half the time she’d forgotten what had happened in the first place.

The sound of half a dozen burly, dusty cowboys stomping their feet at the back door startled Lucas awake. He let out a tiny whimper, then, as the first of the men came through the kitchen door, he responded with a resounding wail. Amanda laughed, enjoying the look of total fear that transformed several of the men’s faces. Even though her nephew, Tyler, had been living here, it was clear these men were not used to babies.

“Well, now.” Juanita turned around from the stove where she’d been serving bowls of hearty stew. “That was brilliant. Well done, gentlemen.” She aimed her wooden spoon at them. “You’d all better get used to a baby in the house.” She turned back around as if the proclamation were now law, which it pretty much was.

The men filed in, filling the benches, leaving the captain’s chair at the head of the table that had been Dad’s when Amanda was a kid. “Where’s Wyatt?” Tara asked.

“He said something about going to town on an errand,” Paulo said.

“I’ll bet that errand takes him to the courthouse where there’s a pretty judge.” All the men chuckled.

“All right, boys.” Chet was the last one in. The older cowboy came over to stand beside Amanda as Tara settled Lucas in her arms. Chet made a silly face and the baby’s wail subsided to a whimper as he snuggled against Amanda’s shoulder. “There you go, little guy.” Chet tapped the tiny nose with a rough finger, which completely quieted the baby, then headed over to give his wife a brief kiss before settling in his seat.

The big kitchen table was covered with food, and the men attacked it with the same energy with which they herded steer and broke horses. Amanda leaned back and let Lucas stare wide-eyed at the men. Just as they had to get used to the new baby, Lucas had to get used to them.

The men’s friendship was warm and sweet. Amanda let herself enjoy the camaraderie. It had been years since she’d really spent any extended periods of time at the ranch, and back then her brothers had always hovered, making sure no one got too close. None of her brothers was here today. Besides, it was a bit late for their gate keeping. Unexpected though Lucas was, he was a sweet reminder of that fact.

The sound of another set of boots on the step barely broke the din of the cowboys talking and laughing. Lane stepped into the room, pocketing his phone just as she looked up to see who’d arrived. Their eyes met and his widened in surprise.

Jealousy nipped at her. Who had he been talking to? And what about? It was none of her business, she reminded herself.

Juanita wasn’t having any of the drama. “Take your seat,” she told Lane. “Food ain’t getting any warmer.” She scooped up a bowl of the steaming stew and slapped two biscuits on top.

Lane nodded to Amanda and hastily took the last seat at the table. He didn’t look at anyone else and dug into the meal as if it were the most important thing in the world.

What had she expected? That he’d rush in, as Chet had to Juanita, and give her a resounding kiss? Just the idea sent her heart to her knees.

Did these men know? Had Lane told them? Had Wyatt?

She saw several shared glances fly across the table and the light conversation fell silent. Finally, Chet leaned back. “You outdid yourself, love. Good stuff.”

All the men nodded and thanked Juanita for her work. She smiled as she gathered up dirty dishes. “Mandy and Tara helped.”

“Thanks, ma’am,” Anthony, the youngest cowboy, said. “It was mighty good.” He blushed clear up to his ears. Amanda was pretty sure it was the first time she’d ever heard him speak.

“That little one’ll grow up strong if you feed him like this.” Paulo ran his spoon around the bowl with the intensity of someone who’d rather lick the bowl.

“Would you like some more?” Amanda offered.

“No, ma’am. I’m on a diet.” He actually looked sincere. Yet he’d already had two bowls with four biscuits slathered with butter and jam.

“Uh, okay.”

“You better eat up there, Lane.” Paulo leaned forward. “Gotta keep up your strength.”

“What the hell for?” The glare Lane threw the older man held a threat.

“If that boy’s anything like you—” Paulo tilted his head toward Lucas. “You’re gonna need it.”

All the men laughed, answering Amanda’s earlier question. They knew. She glanced over at her son, nestled once again in the swing. He’d fallen back to sleep, apparently now adjusted to the men and their noise. The warm teasing between the hands was a normal part of the ranch life. She remembered it from all the visits when she was a kid. This time, though, she sensed an edge to the teasing, and couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

“Don’t start,” Lane warned.

“We got work to do, son.” Paulo’s grin widened. “We gotta get you in shape for when that boy starts walking, riding horses and—” He winked at Amanda. “Chasing the ladies.”

Amanda stared over at her son. That all seemed so far away.

“Shut up.” Lane stood and carried his dirty dishes to the sink. “Like I’d let him hang out with a bunch of misfits like you guys.” He grabbed a cup and filled it with coffee before he leaned back against the counter.

“You won’t have much choice.” Paulo was still laughing. “He’s gonna love hanging out with us.” He leaned over to Amanda. “We’ll teach him how to be a real man.”

Amanda watched the flush rush up Lane’s face. Not embarrassment. Anger. Interesting, considering Lane said he wasn’t going to be around for her and Lucas. Still, she couldn’t let this get any more out of hand. “Paulo, cut it out.” She stood and grabbed her own dishes.

She didn’t want to move any closer to Lane, but what else was she supposed to do with the dishes other than take them to the sink? And she couldn’t sit there much longer and let them harass Lane because of her. The weight of half a dozen sets of eyes on her and Lane was too much. She tried to act as normal as possible, but everyone was watching. Her bowls clattered against the porcelain sink.

With a hand on her hip, she faced the room with her best glare. “Don’t you men have better things to do other than tease Lane? Like work?”

“Mandy—” Tara spoke up warningly.

“What?”

“I’m fine,” Lane reassured her.

“But—”

“Okay, ladies, it was a pleasure.” Chet pushed back from the table as if she hadn’t spoken, with a noisy shove of his chair. “We got work waitin’, boys.” His simple words cut through the tension, ending it.

Lane didn’t move. “Give me a minute, boss.”

Amanda turned to stare out the kitchen window, watching him in her peripheral vision. Tara and Juanita were pretending, badly, not to listen, as the men stood and prepared to leave.

“You doin’ okay?” Lane asked softly.

Amanda couldn’t help but glance over at him. Nor could she look away as she caught a glimpse of the gentle man she knew. The man who was Lucas’s father.

“I’m getting better, slowly.”

Dear God, the scintillating conversation was astonishing. Amanda barely resisted the urge to bang her head on the counter in frustration. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with them?

Lane glanced around the room, then back to the door where a couple of the men sat on the porch, having a smoke. He shook his head and she wondered what he was thinking. Before she could ask, his fingers curled around her wrist, not tight, but gentle and warm. “Come on.”

Amid the catcalls and soft whistles, Lane led her through the kitchen, across the living room and hall into the front parlor. Memories and sensations slammed into her.

She’d always loved this room. So many memories here.

Granddad had built this place, and this room had been his pride and joy. Decorated with mahogany and typical cowboy décor, it was the family room, the ranch office, and on Friday and Saturday nights, a gathering place for the hands. The well-stocked, carved mahogany bar at the other end of the room had been well used and cared for. And off-limits to a bunch of nosy kids.

But those memories faded as more recent ones arrived. The last time she’d been in this room she’d been with Lane, too. Alone. At night. In his arms.

“Why are we here?” she asked, pulling her arm from his grasp, a bit disappointed when he let her step away so easily.

“Because this is as close as we’ll get to alone. I’m not interested in an audience.”

“For what?” Butterflies settled in her stomach. She took a tiny step forward.

“Damn it, Mandy.”

She stared at him, shocked. Why was he upset with her? She hadn’t been the one harassing him earlier. She’d stuck up for him when he wasn’t stopping the men.

Hurt rippled through her. “What do you want?” She backed away, not sure where to go. Her room was just off the kitchen, and the last place she wanted to be right now. Juanita and Tara were in the kitchen. The men on the porch. This room was it. She settled on the couch, leaving Lane in the doorway. He stood there a long minute, glaring at her.

“What do we need privacy for?” she finally, angrily, asked him.

“Don’t push me, Mandy. I don’t need you or anyone else taking care of me. Stay out of my business.”

His words were hurtful, and from the anger in his eyes, she realized they were meant to be. She wanted to curse, wanted to yell at him and call him all the names she’d used when they were kids. But that seemed childish with their son asleep in the other room.

“So, I’m supposed to just let it go? I’m supposed to just stand by while they harass you?”

He sighed. “They weren’t harassing me.” He threw up his hands. “That’s the way they are.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I don’t remember asking you if you did or not. It doesn’t matter what you think.” He stalked to where she sat, looming over her. He was doing it on purpose, and she had no idea why he was acting like this. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “I wasn’t kidding at the hospital,” he said.

“Wh-what do you mean?” She was afraid she knew exactly what he was referring to and she swallowed.

“I am not cut out to be anyone’s dad,” he said through gritted teeth. “Find someone else.” He stalked back to the doorway.

“What if I don’t want anyone else?” she whispered.

He froze, briefly closing his eyes. The stare he turned on her was painful to face. “Then you’ll have to do it alone.”

She heard the sound of his receding footsteps and the slamming of the screen door. Closing her eyes, she fought the burn of her unwanted tears. Why was he being like this? What had happened to the kind, caring, sweet man who’d held her when she’d been hurting? The man who’d never turned her away when she’d needed him?

* * *

SOME DAYS, AND more frequently lately, sitting on a horse was the last thing Lane wanted to do. He loved being outdoors and riding Midnight, the big black cowpony, he was on now. But while he was busy all day, every day, he couldn’t help but think there was more to life.

Against his will his gaze wandered to the big ranch house perched up on the ridge. There were few places on the ranch property where you couldn’t see the house. Wyatt’s granddad had purposefully built it that way.

Was the “more to life” he kept thinking about there?

Mandy had looked and smelled amazing earlier today. If there’d been even the hint of privacy, he was fairly sure he’d have taken her through the bedroom door instead of to the study.

He couldn’t help but wonder how she’d have reacted. She always came to him tear-stained and tattered, and he’d never turned her away. She’d never come to him put together and sexy. Hell, it might kill him to deny her.

Lane tore his gaze away and focused on the task at hand. Climbing down, he let Midnight munch on the thick wild grasses as he set to work. He was already behind getting this fence back up, and Wyatt was unhappy with the delay.

The wide-open prairie on both sides of the fence stretched for miles. Pal Haymaker, one of the most influential ranch owners in the state, owned the spread next to Wyatt’s.

Pal was one of the meanest men Lane had ever had the displeasure to meet. Growing up, Lane had imagined Pal was the equivalent of a city kid’s experience with an old man yelling, “Get off my lawn.”

The sandiest stretch of riverfront in these parts was smack in the middle of Pal’s ranch. And he hated finding kids with a bonfire on his property. Lane had lost count of how many times in high school Pal had chased he and his friends off. The only thing that had saved them all from a juvie record was the fact that Pal’s grandson, Trey, had been at every one of those parties.

Lane had met Mandy at one of those bonfires. She’d been seventeen and wearing cutoff jeans and a bikini top. Trina had been there, too, trying to convince Mandy to get on the tire DJ and Trey had rigged to swing out over the water.

She’d been scared to death—Lane had seen it in her eyes. But that hadn’t stopped her. Being the middle of six kids had given her gumption. After soaring out of the swing at its highest arch, she’d climbed out of the water, soaking wet, her clothes, what little there had been of them, had clung too provocatively to her lovely curves.

She’d soon been shivering and Lane had pulled off his over-shirt for her to wear. His plain white T-shirt and the hormones raging through his body had been enough to keep him warm. He wondered what had become of that shirt, as he’d never gotten it back.

That was the first of many times DJ had warned Lane to stay away from his sisters.

Pain cut through Lane’s hand suddenly, bringing him back to the present. A barb had gotten through his thick work glove and he pulled it off to check the damage to his finger. He cursed, sick and tired of the calluses and pain of his beat-up hands. He didn’t mind the pain—he just hated the work that caused it.

His back to the ridge, his injured finger wrapped in the tail of his shirt, Lane stared at the horizon with its late-afternoon shimmer of heat.

How many times had he thought about heading straight to that horizon and never turning back?

Something bumped his shoulder, and he turned to see Midnight standing there, looking at him wide-eyed.

“I know, boy.” Lane patted the wide brow. “It’s useless to dream. You just want to get back to your oats, don’cha? I’ll hustle.” He went back to work and had the fence up before the sun was fully gone. Wyatt’d be happy now.

At least that made one of them.

Swinging up into the saddle, Lane took one last glance at the vanishing horizon before turning Midnight toward the barn.

Lights were coming on all over the ranch house. Glancing back once more, Lane watched the sun dip below the horizon, snuffing out the illusion of his future there.

* * *

AMANDA HELD LUCAS in her arms and stood at the wide picture window in the den. She watched Lane, high in Midnight’s saddle, as he crested the ridge and headed to the barn.

Closing her eyes, she fought the burn of unwanted tears. “See that? That’s your daddy.” She knew Lucas didn’t understand her, but he would.

“Don’t pay attention to him being so distant,” she whispered to Lucas. “Something’s up, but we’ll figure it all out. Daddy really does love...you.” She’d almost said “us” but she wasn’t so sure anymore. As she looked at her son, she hoped and prayed she was telling the truth.