Читать книгу The Cowboy's Secret Family - Judy Duarte - Страница 10

Chapter One

The new Dodge Ram pickup bounced along the graveled drive that led to the Double G Ranch, where Matt Grimes intended to hole up until he recovered from his injury and could return to the rodeo circuit.

The afternoon sun’s glare was damn near blinding, so he reached for the visor, only to miss spotting another pothole, this one bigger than the last. Pain shot through his bum knee, and he swore under his breath. He’d have to convince Uncle George that it was finally time to pave the blasted road or they’d need an all-terrain vehicle to get to the house.

Matt hadn’t been home since the Christmas before last, so he probably should have called to let his uncle know he was coming, but he’d decided to surprise him.

He swerved to avoid another hole, a quick move that jarred his knee again, and he gritted his teeth in pain. The last bull he’d ridden, Grave Digger, had thrown him to the ground, stepping on him in the process. He hadn’t suffered a fracture, only tissue damage. But it hurt like hell, and the doctor seemed to think it would take a while for him to heal.

But come hell or high water, Matt was determined to compete in the Rocking Chair Rodeo, which would benefit two of his favorite charities—a local home for retired cowboys, as well as one for abused and neglected kids. On top of that, Esteban Enterprises had used Matt’s name to promote the rodeo, and all the ads and posters sported his photo and practically claimed Local Boy Makes Good. Hopefully, he’d heal quickly so he could live up to the hype.

When he pulled up to the small ranch house and parked, he remained behind the wheel for a while, rubbing the ache in his knee and stunned as he scanned the yard and noticed how different things were. Damn. His uncle had been busy. No wonder he hadn’t gotten around to fixing the road yet.

A lamb stood under a canopy covering part of a small pen near the barn. A new chicken coop had been built, too, with several hens clucking and pecking at the ground. A black-and-white Shetland pony was corralled near the house and an unfamiliar car was parked in the drive.

What in the hell was going on? Had Uncle George hired someone new? He had ranch hands who worked the cattle, but he’d never put a lot of effort into the yard.

Matt climbed out of the truck, wincing when he put weight on his right leg. As he reached for his cane, a mixed-breed dog wearing a red Western kerchief around its neck rushed at him, barking as if it had super-canine strength and planned to take on a pack of wolves.

Before Matt had to fend off the shepherd-mix with his cane, Uncle George stepped out onto the porch from inside the house, squinting at the glare caused by the sunlight hitting a metal wind chime—a fancy addition that hadn’t been there before.

George lifted his hand to shade his eyes and called off the stupid mutt. It obeyed the old man’s gruff tone, but it still eyed Matt as if it wasn’t yet convinced he wasn’t a burglar who’d come to rob the ranch at gunpoint.

“What’s going on?” Matt asked, his voice edged with irritation.

The screen door screeched open again, and out walked a little girl in pigtails wearing a white blouse with a green 4-H kerchief tied around her neck, blue jeans and sneakers. The dog took a look at her, wagged its tail and then began barking at Matt all over again.

The girl hurried to the mutt, dropped to her knees and hugged the dog’s neck. “Shush, Sweetie Pie. It’s okay.”

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Uncle George finally said. “My long-lost nephew. What’d you do? Lose your cell phone?”

“I’ve been busy.” While that was true, Matt still should have called. Maybe then he’d know who that little girl was. Had his uncle taken on a babysitting gig to supplement his Social Security? And what was with the menagerie—ponies, chickens, dogs and who knew what else?

A soft breeze kicked up, causing the wind chime to tinkle, while Matt tried to make sense of it all. Before he could prod his uncle for an explanation, the girl turned to the house and called out, “Mommy! Hurry up. We’re going to be late to the 4-H meeting.”

Matt leaned on his cane, confused. Dazed. He shot a glance at his uncle. The white-haired man still favored jeans and flannel shirts, like the red one he wore today. His clothes fit him much better. The tall, lanky man had filled out since the last time Matt had been home.

Apparently, “Mommy” was a good cook.

As Matt took a step toward his uncle, his bad knee nearly gave out, causing him to wince and wobble. He used his cane for balance and swore under his breath.

“You’d better sit down before you fall down,” George said. “What’d you do to yourself?”

“Crossed paths with the wrong bull.” Matt hobbled up the steps to the wraparound porch, which was adorned with pots of red geraniums and colorful pansies. He had no idea how long “Mommy” had been here, but long enough to make her mark.

“One day a bull is gonna break your neck instead of your leg,” Uncle George said. “I hope you learned your lesson this time and are finally giving up the rodeo. You’re getting too old for that crazy kid stuff.”

“It’s barely a scratch. I’ll be ready to ride again—or even have another run-in with Grave Digger—in a few weeks.” Matt glanced at the colorful heart-shaped welcome mat at the door. “Is my room available?”

His uncle gestured to one of the rockers on the porch. “Your room is always ready for you. I keep thinking you’ll finally come to your senses and move home where you belong.”

Matt limped to a chair. He didn’t really belong anywhere, a lesson he’d learned early on. He took a seat, rested his cane against the small wicker table and set his rocker in motion. His uncle sat in the chair next to his.

For a moment, he savored the familiar earthy scent of the only place that came close to being the home he could actually call his own. But now he wasn’t so sure about that. Apparently, a lot had changed in the past year and a half.

Matt lowered his voice and asked, “So what’s going on?”

His uncle shrugged a single shoulder, then placed an arthritic index finger to his lips and shushed him. “Hold your questions for a while.”

Matt nodded as if that made perfect sense, but nothing about this situation did, and his curiosity grew to the point that it was downright troublesome.

He studied the child. She was a cute little thing. He guessed her to be about six or seven.

She cocked her head to the side, one brown pigtail dangling over her shoulder, and eyed Matt carefully. “Who are you?”

He could ask her the same thing, but he supposed he’d have wait until after she and her mother left to have the bulk of his questions answered.

“I’m Matt,” he said.

“Oh.” She nodded, her pigtails swishing up and down. “You’re the cowboy who used to live here. That’s what I thought. I’m Emily. Me and my mom are staying here. We’ll probably go home someday, but I hope we don’t. I like having a big yard.”

So Emily and “Mommy” lived in a town. Or in a city.

The screen door squeaked open once again and a twenty-something brunette stepped onto the porch. She shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare off the metal chimes with her hand, blocking her face, but recognition slammed into Matt like a bull out of the shoot.

Miranda Contreras.

His old teenage crush. The girl who’d strung him along before breaking his heart beyond repair. And here she was again, all grown up, prettier than ever and rocking Matt’s world again, just as she’d done the day she arrived at Wexler High, a pretty sophomore with a bubbly laugh.

She stepped out of the sunlight’s glare, and when her eyes met his, she flinched. Her lips parted and she placed a hand on her chest as if she hadn’t expected to see him ever again. “Matt?”

“Miranda.” His body tensed, and he kept his tone cool. But inside his gut coiled into a knot.

She swept a glossy strand of dark hair behind her ear. A nervous gesture?

“It’s been a long time,” she said.

“Yep.” Too long, it seemed. But maybe not long enough.

Matt’s gaze swept across the yard, from the pony in the corral, to the chickens in the coop, to the lamb in the pen and then to the little brown-haired girl hugging the dog.

Was Miranda responsible for all of...this?

She had to be.

But why in the hell, after all these years, had she come back to the Double G? And how long did she intend to stay?

Uncle George had made it clear that he ought to hold his questions until after they left, but the curiosity was eating him alive.

“I see a pony in the corral,” Matt said to the child. “Did you bring it with you when you came to the Double G?”

“No, she’s brand-new. I mean, she’s not a baby. She’s just a little horse. And she’s already grown up. Uncle George gave her to me because I’m going to be a cowgirl when I grow up.”

Uncle George? Back in the day, Miranda had claimed his father’s uncle as her own. And now she’d encouraged her daughter do the same thing. It hadn’t bothered Matt a bit when they were younger, because if things had worked out between them, that relationship might have become official. But that’s not the way their teenage romance had played out.

For that reason, having Miranda here knocked his blood pressure out of whack, especially since he had the feeling she’d moved in permanently. Her daughter might think they were going back home one of these days, wherever that home was. But flowers on the porch, a pony in the corral and a dog guarding the yard suggested otherwise.

“Guess what?” Emily asked, as she placed her small hands on her denim-clad hips. “I can saddle my pony all by myself.”

“Good for you.” As angry as Matt might be with her mother, he couldn’t fault the cute little girl with a splash of freckles across her nose. He wondered whether she favored Miranda or maybe her father, whoever he might be. It had been years since he and Miranda had split. When had she had Emily? How old was she?

Before he could ask the little girl her age, Miranda stepped off the porch, her purse slung over her shoulder. “We’ll have to play catch up later, Matt. If Emily and I don’t leave now, we’ll be late.”

Good. Uncle George had some explaining to do.

Miranda turned to the old man and blessed him with a smile. “I have a pot roast in the oven.”

“Is it big enough to feed a drifter?” George asked.

She hesitated, then smiled. “Yes, of course.” She turned her gaze to Matt. “There’s plenty.” Then she held her hand out for Emily. “Come on, honey.”

Matt watched them walk toward her car. Miranda wore a loose-fitting summer dress—a soft yellow with a floral print. She looked as fresh as spring, although she’d obviously grown up—and changed. She had womanly curves now. And, if anything, she was even prettier than before.

Once she started the car and headed down the drive, Matt turned to his uncle. “Okay. What gives?”

“Miranda and Emily needed a place to stay for a while, and I had plenty of room. They’ve been good company.”

The subtext was clear. Matt hadn’t been around much. He shook off a twinge of guilt, promising himself he’d have to do better from now on. Then he leaned back and set his rocker in motion again. “So what’s her story?”

“She needed time to sort through some things, and we both figured this was the perfect place for her to do it.”

“What’d she need to think about?”

“Back in February, she broke her engagement. I ’spect she’s got a few things to sort through.”

Two months ago? Damn. Each answer George provided only stirred up more questions. “What made her back out?”

“You know me. I don’t like to pry.”

Matt blew out a sigh. “Does Miranda’s father know she’s here?”

“Nope. And she doesn’t want him to know.”

Matt stiffened, and the rocker stalled. “Are you kidding? No one’s come looking for her yet?”

“Not here. She told him she was staying with a friend, and her dad must have assumed it was someone she’d met in college. He’s called her cell phone a few times, but he doesn’t have any idea where she is.”

“That’s not good.” Matt blew out a ragged sigh. “You remember what happened the last time he found her here.”

“I sure as hell haven’t forgotten.” George’s rocker picked up speed, creaking against the wooden floor. “He got so angry and red in the face that I damn near thought he was either going to have a stroke or I’d have to shoot him full of buckshot.”

Matt hadn’t forgotten that day, either. Or the words Carlos Contreras had said to Miranda. I can’t believe you’ve been sneaking around with a good-for-nothing-wannabe cowboy who won’t amount to a hill of beans.

Matt had spent the past eight years riding his heart out—what was left of it, anyway. He’d shown the rodeo world that he was more than good enough for anyone, even Carlos Contreras’s daughter. But he doubted his skill and a collection of silver buckles had done a damn thing to change the old man’s opinion of him. Not that it mattered. That teen fling had ended a long time ago, validated by a phone that never rang.

“So what’s the deal with Emily?”

George stopped rocking, leaned to the side and grinned. “She’s a real sweetheart. Spunky, too. And she loves animals. You’ve met Sweetie Pie, the stray she talked me into keeping.”

“Yeah, I met the dog. But that name doesn’t suit a mutt who nearly chewed off my leg when I got out of my truck and started walking toward the door.”

His uncle chuckled and folded his arms across his chest. “Animals love her, too. She really has a way with them, including the chickens. I can’t tell those hens apart, but she can. Heck, she’s named each one.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.” Matt leaned toward his uncle and lowered his tone. “How old is she?”

“Seven or eight, I reckon.”

A feeling of uneasiness began to niggle at Matt. Something about the timeline felt...wrong.

“Who’s her father?” Matt asked, watching for the hint of a smile or a twinkle in his uncle’s tired blue eyes, which seemed to be a lot livelier these days. But George had a talent for donning a good poker face when he wanted to.

“You’ll have to ask Miranda,” George said, the rocking chair creaking against the porch’s wooden flooring.

“Didn’t you ask?”

Uncle George shrugged and said, “You know me...”

“Right. You don’t like to pry.” Normally, Matt didn’t, either, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it as soon as he had the chance to get Miranda alone.

* * *

By the time Miranda drove within a mile of the Wexler Grange Hall, where the 4-H sheep group was gathering this afternoon, her nerves were still on edge and her mind scrambling to control her jumbled emotions.

When she’d come outside to tell Emily it was time to leave, she’d just about dropped to the ground when she’d spotted Matt at the Double G. Sure, she’d known that he could show up any day, but the rodeo circuit was in full swing, and George had told her that he rarely came home these days. So he was the last thing she’d expected to see this afternoon.

Hardly a day went by that she didn’t think of her teenage love. The way she left. The guilt she felt. The secret she kept... She glanced in the rearview mirror at the eight-year-old secret that was sitting in the backseat right now.

But it wasn’t just the negative feelings that struck her. She often thought of the good things, too.

Wherever she went, indoors or out, the memories dogged her. Riding horses out by the swimming hole. Fishing for trout with a makeshift pole. Having a picnic on the trail. Eating a bowl of ice cream with two spoons. And sharing sweet stolen kisses—here, there and everywhere.

So when she first spotted Matt, she’d assumed her mind was playing tricks on her again, just as it always did whenever she saw a shadow in the barn or heard George talking to someone only to find out it was his horse. After staying with George for the past two months, she’d begun to think Matt wouldn’t come home while she and Emily were here. A champion bull rider like him would never do that while the rodeo season was in full swing.

But she’d been wrong. The minute she realized the handsome cowboy wasn’t an illusion—that she was actually looking at Matt in the flesh, that she was gazing into those expressive green eyes—her heart took a flying leap, only to belly flop into her stomach, threatening to stir up the morning sickness that had stopped plaguing her six weeks ago.

Somehow, she’d managed to rally and find her voice. She just hoped it had sounded polite and unaffected.

“Mommmmy!” Emily called from the backseat, her voice raised, her tone irritated. “I called your name three times. Aren’t you listening to me?”

Obviously not. She’d been too busy daydreaming about the past... “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to ignore you. What did you say?”

Emily blew out a dramatic sigh. “Can Janie come over after the meeting with us? And if her mom says it’s okay, can she spend the night?”

Miranda glanced in the rearview mirror. Emily’s eyes—the shape of them, not the color—were so much like Matt’s that her heart squeezed. “No, honey. This isn’t a good time to have a friend over.”

“But it’s Saturday, and we don’t have school tomorrow. Why can’t she?”

“Because we have a full house at the ranch already.” And this evening, things would be awkward at best. But she wasn’t about to reveal the real reason to her daughter. “Besides, Matt hasn’t been home in a long time, and he’s probably just passing through. So until I find out when he’s leaving, I don’t want to schedule a play date.”

Surely, he’d be gone in the morning. Monday at the latest. But he was using a cane, so obviously he’d been injured. Had he come home to recuperate? If so, how long would that take?

Miranda broke eye contact with her daughter and studied the road ahead, watching for the entrance of the Wexler Grange Hall. But she couldn’t keep her mind off Matt. He’d certainly grown up since she’d last seen him. His lanky nineteen-year-old body had filled out. His muscles were bulkier, his shoulders broader. He’d been sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, so it was hard to know for sure, but she suspected he’d grown a bit taller, too.

He wore his sandy-blond hair longer than she remembered—or maybe he just needed a haircut. Either way, she liked it.

An inch-long scar over his brow and a five o’clock shadow gave him a rugged edge, which, for some strange reason, added to the perfection of his face.

If he’d smiled or flashed his dimples, suggesting that he was glad to see her, her heart would have soared. Instead, he hadn’t seemed the least bit happy that they’d crossed paths. Of course, she really couldn’t blame him. She’d left him without saying goodbye, let alone offering an explanation.

She suspected he was long over her by now. She’d followed his rodeo success and heard rumors of the parade of buckle bunnies that followed him from city to city, hoping for a date—or whatever. From what she’d heard, Matt was even more footloose and reckless now than he used to be.

As she turned the car into the parking lot, a thought slammed into her like a deployed airbag, a possibility she hadn’t considered.

What if his injury was permanent? What if he’d made a career change? What if he planned to stay on the Double G indefinitely? There was no way they could all live in the same house. And then there was the baby to think of...

Her first impulse was to go back to the ranch as soon as the 4-H meeting was over, pack their things and leave as quickly as possible. But she couldn’t do that. Dodging uncomfortable situations had become a habit, one she was determined to break. Besides, a move like that was likely to crush her daughter.

Before shutting off the ignition, she took one last look in the rearview mirror and watched Emily wave at her friend Janie. The two girls planned to show their lambs at the county fair in a couple of weeks, and Miranda had never seen her daughter happier.

For Emily’s sake, Miranda would deal with her feelings, as jumbled as they were. Besides, how hard could that be? She could handle the discomfort and awkwardness for a day or two.

But if Matt’s stay stretched much longer, she’d be toast.