Читать книгу The Come-Back Cowboy - Jodi O'Donnell - Страница 11

D eke stepped into the Bar G Ranch stable. Amazingly, it looked the same as it always had.

Bridles and reins were hung neatly on pegs along one wall. Opposite was a variety of other horse tack and cowboy gear—harnesses, ropes and such. Just beneath, a row of stock saddles, including a hand-tooled one Deke knew to be Jud’s pride and joy, sat on their racks. The pungent scent of leather and horse sweat rose up to meet his nose, making him yearn abruptly for that feeling of a well-trained horse galloping beneath him, a rope in his hand and a runaway steer trained in his sights.

At the thought, his gaze searched the rigging for one item in particular. His spirits lifted when he spotted it: a coiled catch rope, its color a dull brown from thousands of encounters with the dusty necks and dirty hooves of as many beeves.

Deke lifted the lariat off its peg, looping the coil over his right hand while taking the twisted nylon between his left thumb and forefinger. Its surface was taffy smooth, its girth still with just the slightest give, even after all these years.

No, neither had it hardened completely in his absence.

He lifted his head, and his gaze went unerringly to the doorway in the opposite wall leading to the small room off the back. Wondering when he’d developed such a masochistic streak, he drifted closer to push open the heavy door and see inside.

Light from a small, high window cast a beam onto the bunk directly under it. The narrow berth traditionally served as a place where the weary cowboy could take a break from roundup or catch a few winks while a mama cow struggled through a difficult birth. For Deke, however, this was where he’d made fumbling, awkward love to Addie Gentry.

Awkward, yes—but oh, every moment had been pure heaven.

“Checkin’ to make sure you haven’t hooked up with a shoddy outfit, are ya?” The voice echoed in the open space.

With the quick pass of his palm over his face, Deke turned. “Not the Bar G, Jud. Everybody knew you’d send packing the cowboy who let one horse go untended or one cow without care.”

“You got the right of it.”

Leaning heavily on a cane, Jud Gentry shuffled forward to take Deke’s hand and shake it. Deke pretended not to notice how weak the grip had become, how faltering and uneven his step.

Jud Gentry wasn’t an old man, by any means. But it had been clear enough ten years ago that his Parkinson’s disease was progressing quickly. Anticipating the day when he’d need to turn over the bulk of managing the ranch to someone both he and his daughter could trust and depend upon, Jud had picked Deke’s father to groom for that role.

The whole county had thought Jud crazy as a loon.

In true Gentry fashion, he cut to the chase. “Thought I’d come see for myself the cowboy my grandson said showed up and got his mama half riled.”

“That would be me,” Deke admitted.

“Figured.” Jud sighed. “I wasn’t expectin’ you for another couple of weeks, so I guess you can understand why your appearance here was such a surprise—to everyone.”

“Finished the job up north and didn’t see the harm in coming on down early.” Deke decided as long as they were taking their conversation neat, he’d give it a shot. “I’d’ve given you some warning, Jud, if you’d given me some.”

The older man hobbled over to the rigging-filled wall. “T’weren’t my news to tell. I’ll admit I’m to blame, though, for putting off apprisin’ Addie of the arrangement we’d made. I was waitin’ for the right moment. But I guess there really ain’t a good time to break the news to a daughter that the father of her son is returnin’ after seven years away.”

“Nope.” Deke studied the slab floor underfoot, determined not to be put off by the hint of accusation in Jud’s tone. “Nor tellin’ a man he’s been a father for about as long.” He lifted his head. “Why, Jud? Sure, I’m to blame for bein’ scarce, but why’d y’all stop lookin’ for me after nine months?”

Jud’s gaze was direct. “Because of Addie, of course. Oh, she didn’t want me looking for you from the first, but that was because she was sure you’d come back of your own accord.”

“She was?” Another lightning-quick jab hit his vitals.

“Yup. But after the months wore on, with no sign of you and not one clue as to where you’d got to, somethin’ changed in her.” Turning, Jud straightened a halter one inch to the left. “As I said, though, that’s her story to tell. And why, when I got that call from you about the troubleshootin’ job I’d advertised, I didn’t mention Jace to you. I figured, though, that since you’d made contact, you’d a right to know about him. ’Specially now.”

“You mean with Addie marrying Connor Brody.”

Deke’s tone had been even, but Jud must have caught an edge, for he said, “I didn’t expect that’d set well with you. But much as I don’t blame you your reaction, I still won’t have you puttin’ Addie in the middle of settling an old score with the Brodys. I’m not fond of Mick myself, don’t trust the man one lick, but Connor’s a good sort. You hear?”

“I hear,” Deke said. He wasn’t exactly happy himself with his contentious and, yes, even jealous behavior earlier with Addie and Connor. Jud was right. Clearly, Connor Brody wasn’t in the same league as his father, and Deke would be as bad as Mick to hold the guy to account for something he’d had nothing to do with. Moreover, Addie was moving on with her life; he’d no right to get in the way of her happiness.

Of course, this time he didn’t have the choice of trying to prevent such a fate by leaving.

“So why did you bring me on as a consultant?” he asked.

Jud peered at him from under bushy eyebrows the color of steel and rust. “I’ll be straight with you, son. We’ve never fully recovered from losin’ that breeding facility to fire—” he held up a hand to arrest Deke’s apology “—which is neither here nor there. But if we’ve survived at all, it’s Addie’s doing.”

The craggy lines of Jud’s face softened. “She’s one top-notch rancher herself. Strugglin’ to come back after the fire, though, it’s made her pretty cautious. There’s lots she wants to do here, but she’s set on the Bar G not goin’ another penny into debt.”

Deke chewed the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know your thinking on the subject, but ranching is by nature an occupation of risks. Too much caution’ll kill you as much as too little.”

Jud came back dryly. “Try tellin’ Addie that. You know how headstrong she can be when she gets a notion ’bout something.”

Deke nodded tersely. If he hadn’t seen that determination just now with Addie, he’d certainly known it from before. Except then, the momentum had been the opposite way, forging through adversity—not digging her heels in to put on the brakes.

He supposed that was another sign of that legacy he’d left her with.

“That’s why I’m thinking that once she marries the Brody boy,” Jud continued, “it’ll be the natural thing for the two ranches to share resources to complete some of the improvements on the Bar G that Addie’s of a mind to make. Which, I’ll be frank, don’t set too well with me.”

He at least looked apologetic as he slanted an enquiring look at Deke, meant to see if they were on the same page—although Deke sensed there was some information Jud was omitting.

“But you can’t expect her not to take the Brodys’ help without givin’ her some options. Right?” Deke said.

Jud gave a terse nod.

Absently, Deke fingered into place the honda that made the loop of his catch rope. “Mind, I don’t know what her plans are, but there’re a number of ways to up a ranch’s productivity and guard its assets without it costing a bushel, and I’d be happy to help you and Addie evaluate and implement any and all of them.”

He shot Jud a telling glance. “That is, you, Addie—and Connor. I can see you have your doubts about me, but I’m here to tell you I’m a professional. Still…you may as well know, Jud—Addie’s asked me not to tell Jace I’m his daddy, and I felt I owed it to her to give her my word.”

He gave the loop a testing twirl, stirring the thick air in the stable. “But I’m not about to let any man try to be a father to my son without me getting a fair crack at it, too.”

He held Jud’s gaze steadily, and after a few moments came away with the feeling that, even if he might still have his issues with Deke, they understood each other as men who were doing what they had to do—as fathers.

Knowing he had at least that understanding from Jud helped to ease the wound-up tightness in Deke’s chest. But then, Jud didn’t know the whole story, either. Or, rather, not yet.

A trio of steps took Deke to the doorway of the stable. He scrutinized the scenery beyond, including that rise with the crumbling chimney beneath the towering cottonwood.

“Speakin’ of dads…that fire never would’ve happened, y’know, if I’d been keeping an eye on mine,” he said quietly.

“Now, Deke. The fire was purely accidental.”

“But the accident happened on account of Dad’s fallin’ off the wagon.” Doggedly, he made himself go on. “They found the empty whiskey bottles in his pickup.”

“So they did. That don’t mean any of D.K.’s drinkin’ was your fault,” Jud declared from behind him, then said with a sigh, “If only he hadn’t lost your mama…”

Deke’s jaw went rigid as he tried to swallow back the pain that crowded his throat. He’d known his return would call up all manner of feelings. He’d thought himself past this strong a reaction, however. Apparently he wasn’t.

“I know better’n anyone the reason for my dad’s undoing,” he said. “You don’t have to go into it for my edification.”

“Well, now, maybe I do—for myself. ’Cause I understand how a man’s grief can eat at him so much he’d need to numb the pain any way he can. I lost my wife, too, at a young age. And Addie a mother. That’s why I encouraged your friendship with her.”

Jud’s words had Deke again seeking the scene on the slope. There were other words, though, that needed saying.

“And I betrayed your trust by takin’ advantage of your daughter, then leaving her high and dry, didn’t I.”

The older man said nothing, which was answer enough. Then Jud heaved a heavy sigh. “Hell, I knew why you had to go, Deke. T’wouldn’t have been good for you to stay, no matter what, with your daddy’s mistake hangin’ over your head.”

“For what it’s worth, Jud,” Deke said, gaze still trained on the slope, “I always intended to return and make up for my dad’s fatal mistake. And finally I’ve got the training and experience I didn’t have when I left, to make a real difference to the Bar G.”

He turned. “But I’d never’ve gone if I’d known about Jace,” he said with a low fierceness. “No matter what.”

“I know, son,” Jud said, his blue eyes full of understanding.

Which made it more impossible than ever for Deke to reveal his own fatal flaw, discovered that sundering night, when it had occurred to him the reason D.K. had sought the numbing oblivion of liquor on that particular eve: He had needed to wipe from his mind that it was the anniversary of his wife’s death.

When the realization had hit Deke, the terrible fear it had roused in him—and not any yearning to be his own man—was what spurred him away from the Bar G. Because he knew why he’d forgotten that date.

He’d forgotten because there’d simply been no room in his own mind that evening for anyone or anything but Addie Gentry.

And if he still felt so desperately betrayed by his own will, could there be any hope on earth of her ever forgiving him?

With that thought, something made Deke look around.

There at the doorway stood Addie. And the answer to his question. For in her face he glimpsed again that legacy he’d left her—a loss of hope and trust, but most of all, a loss in the belief of the redeeming power of a man’s love for a woman.

Or was that the legacy that had been left to him?

Addie went still as the bottom dropped out of her world.

Oh, what a fool she was! A fool and a fraud, if only in her own heart. For she’d heard Deke’s fervent words, quite obviously spoken from the bottom of his own heart: I’d never’ve left if I’d known about Jace. No matter what.

So he’d never have left—because of Jace. Would never have come back now—except for the debt he owed her father. Not for her. How could she have hoped or wished or believed differently?

Because…once upon a time, he’d made her believe his promise, so much that even when she’d discovered he’d gone, she’d refused to contemplate that she could be wrong about the man she loved. Even when she’d discovered she was pregnant.

And when her father had set out a search for Deke, he’d done so against her wishes as she faithfully clung to the belief that Deke would come back of his own accord—because of his promise to her.

Even when Jud’s efforts had proved fruitless, indicating that Deke clearly hadn’t wanted to be found. Even then, she’d held out hope with every fiber of her being.

It wasn’t until the night she’d first held her son in her arms, and looked into eyes that were so like the father who hadn’t given any of them the chance to prove their love, that she’d faced the truth: Deke Larrabie was not coming back.

She had thought him the kind who stayed, but obviously he wasn’t the man she believed she’d fallen in love with.

Addie looked up to find Deke’s cat-eyed gaze upon her, its intense focus as seductive as ever.

She lifted her chin, defiant.

“I thought you were goin’ to town with Connor, darlin’,” her father said, breaking the silence in the stable room.

“I changed my plans,” she answered, stepping inside. She still wore her yellow suit and those infernal high-heel shoes, which she was of a mind to use as hole spacers in Opal’s garden patch. That was all they were good for. “And I thought I’d better find out what’s goin’ on with the Bar G that I need to know about. Or am I consigned to fence-sitting when it comes to runnin’ this ranch—and seeing to my son’s welfare?”

She arched an eyebrow at her father, who gave back as good as he got. She still didn’t know the whole story behind Deke’s hiring, but trusted her father would never do anything to deliberately hurt either her or his grandson. Jud had stuck by her through the abyss of Deke’s leaving, and it had been her one sustaining anchor. Of course, that didn’t mean there weren’t occasions when she could chew a railroad tie in two for sheer aggravation with him.

He no doubt felt the same way about her, too, sometimes.

“Believe me, darlin’,” Jud said, “I surely intended to fill you in on my hirin’ Deke. He wasn’t supposed to get here for another couple of weeks.” He leaned heavily on his stock saddle where it rested on its rack. “I’m sorry to have given you such a surprise. I never meant to.”

“But why didn’t you consult me before hiring him, Daddy?” Addie asked, crossing her arms. “You owed me that, I think.”

“Now, darlin’, we did talk about hiring a troubleshooter—”

“And I felt then as I do now, that I’ve got the ability to bring the Bar G solidly back into the black.”

She refused to look at Deke as he stood there, once again privy to a private family conversation and keeping her from asking her father the real questions she wanted to. Why? Why, of all people, did you bring back Deke Larrabie, the man who broke your daughter’s heart?

But then, deep down, she already knew the answer to that one.

To his credit, Deke was at least making a pretense of not listening to their discussion as he ambled out the wide doorway of the stable, idly spinning his catch rope.

She couldn’t help but watch as he swung a loop over his head, then to one side, then the other, as always his movements smooth, his technique flawless, his rhythm pure poetry. If truth be told, it had been his magic with a lariat that had won her heart, so much was it like the courtship between two lovers.

“Adeline.”

Tearing her gaze away, Addie met her father’s eyes, as keen as always.

“You’re still the go-to man on all the decisions about the Bar G,” he said. “That hasn’t changed and won’t. You know that, don’t you?”

Exasperatedly—lovingly—she studied him as he stood there, hand upon his saddle, its horn still wrapped in inner tube rubber from his working days…days when he’d been in charge and in command himself, no dispute. She had always seen herself as being cut from the same cloth as Jud Gentry: fearless in carving out new territory in ranching, perhaps not literally but in the spirit of their ancestors who’d set down roots in these parts over a hundred years ago, hoping to build a future.

But she was also a woman who’d had some of the choices for her future taken away from her.

“Daddy,” Addie said as gently as she could while still being completely honest, “I just don’t think the Bar G can handle another Larrabie rainmaker coming in with big promises and taking big risks, then leaving everyone else to pick up the pieces.”

“That won’t happen, Addie.”

This had come not from her father but from Deke, his attitude no longer casual as he stood in the dim light from the doorway. He was back to that intensity, again bent upon her.

“How do I know that, Deke?”

“It won’t,” he vowed. “You’ve got my word.”

“But you made such a promise to me once before,” Addie said, still without accusation, just speaking the truth she knew. “A promise to stay. Then you left.”

“I came back, though,” he responded with that maddening certainty. “Here I am. And this time, nothing’ll make me leave.”

He swung the loop around, the gesture automatic, she was sure, but did he have to do it at that moment? Did he know how mesmerizing, how seductive it was to her?

How it made her want to give in to more than just his will?

“Look at it this way—what could it hurt, Addie?” Deke said. “I’m not charging y’all for my time. And you’d have the final say in anything that gets done.”

What could it hurt? Oh, everything and everyone! Jace, for instance. The boy was searching right now. Searching hard. And who knew what he’d find if she let it happen? Or was she the only one who saw the danger on the horizon, coming at them all with the inevitability of a swarm of locusts?

Or was that still the danger within her? Because she’d seen the spark of challenge leap to Deke’s eyes earlier today with Connor. Had seen the spark of desire there, too.

The mere prospect of it had Addie running scared, for she’d once held nothing back from this man, so much so that when he left, it felt like going from swimming in an ocean of emotion to being stranded on a parched, barren desert, where you’d have sold your soul to taste just one drop of those feelings again.

She simply would not—could not—risk taking one step in that direction again.

Yet once again she was being asked to give her trust. And once again she hadn’t much choice but to give it, whether she wanted to or not.

For at that moment Jace rounded the corner of the doorway and stopped dead at the sight of three adults in the midst of one serious discussion.

“Hi there, hon,” Addie said quickly, holding out her hand to him, needing literally to take him under her wing to try to protect him, one last time.

But it was too late. Something had caught Jace’s attention. Fascinated, he came a few feet closer to where Deke stood on the threshold of the stable, on the threshold of their lives.

“Could you teach me how to rope, mister?” he asked, looking up at Deke.

And it was the way Jace said those words, soft and uncertain and more like the little boy he’d been a few months ago, that made Addie wonder if perhaps she was the one who was being shortsighted here.

Except, at the same time the sight of the two of them yearning toward each other almost without conscious thought drove that sense of danger in her even higher.

She was helpless to halt its progress, though, as Jace continued. “Y’see, mister, no one else around here can, but you could, ’cause…well, ’cause, you know, you’re like me.”

Deke’s fingers clenched reflexively on the lariat in his hand. For a wild moment, he wondered if somehow he’d already unintentionally broken his promise to Addie.

His gaze flew to hers in question, in apology, and he saw fear within her blue eyes, too, but not for the same reason.

“What Jace is saying,” she explained, her voice neutral, “is that Daddy and I, and the rest of the boys, have had the devil of a time tryin’ to teach him to rope.” She hesitated. “He’s a southpaw, you see.”

“Yeah.” The boy nodded, his hat still screwed down on his head, Festus-style. “That’s what I meant. I’m a southpaw.”

“Well, fancy that, Slick. So’m I,” Deke murmured, as first pride then regret filled him at discovering yet another trait his son shared with him. It drove home to him the loss of six vital years with Jace that he could never, ever get back. And brought back old insecurities that seemed to turn upon themselves like a snake swallowing its own tail.

No, he had no intention of betraying Addie’s trust in him. Even so, he couldn’t have made himself leave that stable right then if they’d made it a felony.

Lord, but it was a revelation to him, the look of his son. He saw so much of himself there that he’d never even realized belonged to him. The unbending tilt of his chin. The resolute set of his mouth. The vigilance in his eyes with which he gauged a changeable and uncertain world.

And since Jace had always had the constancy of home and other family, Deke knew there could only be one cause for that sort of measuring watchfulness in a boy.

The second hand governing his heartbeat sped up again.

“First say a proper hello to Mr. Larrabie, Jace,” Jud said. “He’s one of the best ranchin’ troubleshooters around. We’re lucky to have him come to work on the Bar G for a while.”

Deke sent his silent thanks to Jud for his support. It helped, especially when Jace asked, “Is that your name?”

“Yup,” he confirmed, trusting Addie would see no harm in revealing that much. “Deke Larrabie. You can call me Deke.”

“So will ya teach me how to rope, Deke?” Jace asked with that mixture of hope warring with doubt in his eyes—and overriding them both a hunger that Deke was oh so familiar with.

He cut a glance at Addie. She stood with her arms crossed, one of those long legs of hers extended to the side as her weight rested upon the other. She evinced no reaction, and he guessed that was as much of a go-ahead as he could expect from her. Or as much trust as he could expect.

He had to come through for her.

“Got a piggin’ string, Slick?” Deke asked.

The boy practically dove for the short, thin rope neatly coiled and hanging on one of the lowest pegs on the wall. He held it up for Deke’s inspection. “Granddad already taught me how to take care of it proper.”

“Well, that’s the first thing a cowboy’s got to learn—how to keep his gear in top condition. All right.” He took a stance side by side with Jace. “The key to ropin’ is startin’ with a well-built loop, like so.”

One at a time, he methodically measured an arm’s length of rope, then laid it across his right palm, making uniform coils.

Tongue tip tucked over his top lip, Jace copied him. Deke approved with a nod. “Now, once you got a good loop in hand, you can practice your throwin’ technique. You mind givin’ us a target, Jud?”

“Not a’tall.” The older man held his cane up like a sword.

Deke gave a few twirls above his head, then let the rope sail, laying out the loop in a perfect circle that slipped over the cane all the way to Jud’s elbow before touching his arm.

Jace gave his rope a few shaky spins and let it fly, missing Jud’s cane by a mile. His face fell to the cellar.

“Give it another go, Slick. ’Member, it’s all in the wrist.” Deke demonstrated, overdrawing his actions for Jace’s benefit.

The boy’s next try was better, and his next better still, as the loop of his rope caught the cane’s tip.

It was all Deke could do not to give Jace’s shoulder a squeeze of approval. He settled for a praiseful “Now you’re getting it, Slick. I knew it wouldn’t take you long to catch on.”

The boy’s smile at him from under the brim of his ten-gallons-too-big hat was heartrendingly naked in its yearning.

A lump the size of a melon crowded Deke’s throat. He was almost ashamed to enjoy his son’s regard, it had taken so little effort to win it.

“There’s already a Larrabie here, y’know,” Jace said out of the blue. “Out under the cottonwood. You know him?”

The watch spring in Deke’s chest gave a tightening twist. “That was my daddy,” he replied matter-of-factly.

He wondered what had compelled Jace to ask another of those surprising questions, but was fast learning that, much like his own interest, there was nothing aimless in Jace’s, including the boy’s next question, posed as he let sail with another try at heading Jud’s cane.

“So you’ve been here to the Bar G before?”

“Yup.” Deke dared not glance at Addie or Jud, rather than risk seeing their disapproval of this attempt, indirect as it was, to connect with his son. “Before you were born.”

He was halfway to regretting his stab at getting to know Jace, when the boy said, “I know.”

Perspiration broke out across Deke’s forehead. “You do?”

“Yeah.” Jace concentrated on hauling his rope in. “Mama tol’ me about how your daddy got caught in that big ol’ fire here on the Bar G. What’d you call it, Mama? A terrible, um…”

Deke’s gaze connected with Addie’s. She still wore a mask of neutrality, but her voice was soft as she answered, “A terrible tragedy…for everyone.”

Deke supposed he should thank her for that, considering what she’d been going through, both then and now.

“That it was, Slick,” he murmured as softly. “That it was.”

“Why d’you keep callin’ me Slick ’stead of my name?”

Deke tore his eyes from Addie. More than the others, this question seemed completely out of left field. He could only ask Jace in return, “Why, do you mind it?”

“But a slick’s a calf that ain’t got a brand yet. I got a brand.” Deke didn’t miss the challenge in the boy’s voice. “I belong here at the Bar G—”

“Jace,” Addie broke in. “You’ve taken up enough of Mr. Larrabie’s time for today—”

“I’ll never be a Tanglewood man, no matter if Mama marries Connor Brody.” Jace rushed on as if he’d never heard his mother, his attention focused on Deke. “That won’t make him my daddy, y’know!”

Deke set his catch rope carefully aside. “I guess not, if you don’t want it to,” he answered Jace, trying for Addie’s neutrality and obviously coming up short, for in the next instant he heard her warning “Deke, please.”

It was Jace, however, who had no qualms about taking a stand. “So did you know him?” he demanded.

“Know Connor?” Deke stalled.

The boy’s own catch rope got tossed to the wayside. “No—know him, from before.”

Deke shot Addie a glance of pure apology, which she returned, he saw, with one of regret—that she had let it go so far, that she had let him so far in. For at that moment, Jace, no longer either wary or hopeful but something in between, squared off in front of Deke. He had to admire the boy’s gumption, even if he was suddenly disconcerted to find as sharp a scrutiny on him as he’d ever bent upon critter or human.

That’s when something told Deke his son wasn’t talking about either Connor Brody or D.K. Larrabie.

Still, he had to ask, “Did I know who, Jace?”

“My daddy!” Jace said impatiently. “Did you know my daddy?”