Читать книгу The Cowboy's Secret Family - Judy Duarte - Страница 11

Chapter Two

Now that the dinner hour had arrived, and they’d gathered around the kitchen table, Matt and Miranda sat in silence. Once friends and lovers, now strangers at best.

She studied her plate, her glossy brown hair draping both sides of her face and making it difficult to read her expression. Matt bet she felt nearly as uneasy about their unexpected reunion as he did.

The past stretched between them like a frayed rubber band ready to snap. But he’d be damned if he’d be the first to speak.

“Emily,” Uncle George said, “how’d your 4-H meeting go?”

“It was good. Miss Sadie, our leader, gave us the schedule for the county fair.” The girl looked at Uncle George with hopeful eyes. “You’re going to come watch me, too. Right?”

“Honey,” he said, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Matt swept his fork across his empty plate, stirring the leftover gravy. The fair was a couple of weeks away, so Miranda clearly planned to stick around for a while, and that left a bad taste in his mouth in spite of the fact that the damned meal she’d fixed tonight was delicious. He might have asked for seconds, but he wanted an excuse to leave the table.

Hell, as it was, he’d thought about going somewhere else to recover. At least until after the fair ended.

“Miranda,” Uncle George said, patting his belly, “this pot roast is the best I’ve ever had.”

She glanced up from her plate, which had held her interest for the past ten minutes, even though she hadn’t taken more than a couple of bites. “Thank you. I’m glad you liked it.” Then she returned her focus on her food.

Matt had planned to order plenty of meals for him and his uncle at Caroline’s Diner since George’s favorite kitchen appliance was a can opener. Now, he supposed, he wouldn’t have to. That is, if he could deal with having Miranda around, stirring up the memories, both good and bad.

He supposed he ought to compliment her cooking and thank her, too. He might feel like shutting her out of his mind, like she’d done to him, but he hadn’t forgotten his manners.

Before he could open his mouth, his uncle added, “I really lucked out when you came to visit, Miranda. I’m eating better than ever, my check register finally balances and the ranch books are finally in order.”

Matt dropped his fork on the plate. The thought of Miranda looking over the Double G’s finances struck a ragged nerve—and for more reasons than one. George Grimes might be rough around the edges, but he had a soft heart, which sometimes got him into trouble when he put too much trust in the wrong person.

“You’ve got a good eye for detail, Miranda. You spotted things in the books that my accountant missed.” George chuckled and crossed his arms. “I liked being able to point them out to him, too. I told him I had my very own CPA living right down the hall.”

“I’m glad I could help,” Miranda said, her voice almost too soft for Matt to hear.

Apparently, she’d become an accountant. That wasn’t surprising. She’d been a good student when she’d been in high school, which was one reason her father had made such big plans for her.

So why was she here, when she could be helping her wealthy old man run one of the biggest berry farm operations in Texas?

Uncle George mentioned that she’d broken her engagement recently. Why? And who was the guy she’d planned to marry? Did he work for or with her father?

George said he hadn’t quizzed her, which seemed doubtful since he’d always had a soft spot for her. He also had a way of getting people to open up and tell him things without the need to ask.

Either way, something wasn’t right.

Matt glanced across the table at Emily, who was stirring her carrots with a fork, trying to make it look like she’d actually eaten her veggies.

She was a cute kid, petite and dark-haired like her mother. He still wondered about her dad. And Matt was determined to learn more. Uncle George wasn’t the only one in the family who was adept at ferreting out information indirectly.

“Emily,” Matt said, first making eye contact with the girl before shifting his focus to her mother. “I think it’s cool that you’re in the 4-H. When I was in school, I knew a couple of kids who were in the 4-H, but they were older than you. Isn’t there an age requirement?”

Miranda stiffened.

“I’m old enough,” Emily said. “People sometimes think that I’m younger than I am because I’m small for my age, just like my mom. When I joined, the lady who signed me up wanted to put me in Cloverbuds, but that’s for kids who are five to seven.”

“So you just made it, huh?” Matt smiled at the child, then turned to her mother, whose lovely tanned complexion had paled.

“My birthday’s on August third,” Emily said, a grin dimpling her cheeks, her eyes bright. “I’m going to be nine.”

It didn’t take a CPA to do the math. Miranda left town nine years ago last October, which meant she must have been pregnant at the time. And if so, that meant... Matt’s hand fisted and his eyes widened.

Emily was his.

* * *

Matt knew. And he clearly wasn’t happy about the secret Miranda had kept from him.

What little dinner she’d eaten tonight churned in her stomach, swirling and rising as if it had nowhere to go but out. Thankfully, she was able to hold it down. She placed her hand on her stomach, only to feel her growing baby bump. But this was one bout of nausea she couldn’t blame on pregnancy. Her morning sickness had passed more than a month ago.

The frown on Matt’s face and the crease in his brow suggested it was taking every bit of his self-control not to...

Not to what? Throw something across the room like Gavin once did when he’d come across a mess Emily had left in his family room?

This time, it was Miranda who’d made a complete mess of things. But Matt wasn’t like the man she’d nearly married, the marital bullet she’d dodged.

At least he hadn’t been like that in the past.

“Guess what.” Emily speared a potato, but rather than lifting her fork, she smiled and directed her words at Matt. “Uncle George said I could have my birthday party here.”

“He did, huh?” Matt’s demeanor, so stiff and strained moments ago, seemed to soften ever so slightly. His expression did, too, although it was unreadable. “Is your dad coming?”

Miranda’s lips parted. She wanted to respond for the child, but the words wouldn’t form. The time had come to tell Emily about Matt and vice versa, but Miranda wasn’t sure what to say in front of an audience. Especially this one.

“No, he can’t. Because my dad died when I was a baby.”

Matt shot a fiery look at Miranda. He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t have to. She saw the anger, the pain, the accusation in his eyes.

She wanted to defend herself, to tell him that Emily hadn’t gotten that idea from her. She must have come to that conclusion on her own. Instead, she watched as Matt got to his feet, wincing as he reached first for his cane with one hand, then stacked his glass and silverware on his empty plate with the other.

As he started for the sink, Miranda pushed her chair away from the table and stood. “Don’t worry about clearing the table or doing the dishes.”

He glanced over his shoulder, his glare enough to weld her to the floor, the silent accusation enough to suck the air out of the room.

“I’ll explain later,” she said, her voice soft, wounded.

“Don’t bother.” He rinsed his plate and placed it in the sink. Then he left the kitchen, his cane tapping out his anger, disappointment and who knew what else in some kind of weird Morse code.

This was so not the way she’d intended to tell him,

She stole a peek at George, his craggy brow furrowed, his tired blue eyes fixed on Emily. She knew that the sweet but crotchety old man had put two and two together the minute he spotted Miranda and Emily standing on his front porch. He hadn’t asked any questions or judged her. He’d merely stepped aside and welcomed her, his so-called niece, and her daughter into his cluttered but cozy home. Then he’d done his best to make them feel comfortable and told them they could stay as long as they wanted.

God bless that man to the moon and back.

“Emily.” Miranda sucked in a deep fortifying breath, held it for a beat, then slowly and quietly let it out. “What makes you think your daddy died?”

Emily bit down on her bottom lip and scrunched her brow as if struggling with the answer. Finally, she lowered her voice and sheepishly said, “Abuelito told me.”

Miranda winced. Her father had overstepped once again, although he hadn’t done so in years. Not since Emily was a baby and Miranda had finally put him in his place. Or so she’d thought.

“Honey,” Miranda said, “if you had questions about your father, you should have asked me.”

“I would have, but Abuelito said you didn’t like to talk about my father because it made you sad. So it was better if we forgot about him.” Emily glanced down at her half-eaten meal, her long pigtails dangling toward her plate, and bit down on her bottom lip again. After a couple of beats, she looked up, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m sorry for hurting your feelings.”

Miranda’s feelings were a mess, but that wasn’t Emily’s fault. “No, honey. You didn’t hurt me. I’m just sad that you were afraid to talk to me about your father. I’d wondered why you didn’t ask, and now I know. And no matter what anyone might say, you can always come to me with your questions.”

“About my dad?”

“About anyone and anything.” Miranda glanced across the table at Uncle George. “Would you mind if I let you and Emily wash the dishes alone tonight?”

“Of course not.” He blessed her with an affectionate smile, then turned to Emily and winked. “I know where your mama hid the chocolate chip cookies. And there’s a brand new carton of vanilla ice cream in the freezer.”

Miranda didn’t usually let Emily eat sweets this close to bedtime, but she would gladly make an exception tonight. If the two dishwashers wolfed down a dozen cookies and a gallon of ice cream, she wouldn’t complain.

After rinsing her plate in the sink, Miranda left the kitchen and headed down the hall until she reached Matt’s bedroom. She held her breath, then knocked lightly on the door.

As footsteps, punctuated by the heart-wrenching tap of his cane, grew louder, her heart flipped and flopped in her chest like a trout on a hook, frantic to return to a safe, familiar environment. But she remained rooted to the floor, determined to face him, and waited for him to let her in.

When the door swung open, Matt stood before her, broad-shouldered, bare-chested and more muscular than she’d imagined. Her gaze drifted down his taut abs to his jeans, the top button undone. As much as she wanted to continue to take him in, to relish the manly changes that had taken place, she zeroed in on his eyes, once as clear and blue as the Texas sky, now a stormy winter gray.

He’d worn a similar expression the day her father arrived at the Double G, raising hell and setting the breakup of their teenage romance in motion.

“I, uh...” She cleared her throat. “I need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

His only response was to step aside, cane in hand, and limp to his bed, where he took a seat on the edge of the mattress, leaving her to shut the door behind her.

Miranda scanned the room. The same rodeo posters and a schedule, long since outdated, still adorned the off-white walls. The maple chest of drawers and matching nightstand hadn’t been moved. Even the familiar blue-plaid bedspread covered the double bed.

Too bad the angry cowboy glaring at her wasn’t the same guy she used to know.

If only he were. She could have faced the old Matt in all honesty, without choosing her words, without holding back. She would have been able to fall into the comfort of his arms and tell him she was sorry for the delay in contacting him, for the hurt she’d unintentionally caused him—for the hurt she’d caused them both.

She leaned against the closed door. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about Emily sooner.”

He rolled his eyes. “A lot sooner.”

Right. “But I didn’t tell her you’d died. Apparently, that was my father’s doing.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “I’m not surprised. Your dad never thought I was good enough for his little berry princess.”

Talk about direct hits. She remained standing, clasped fists hanging at her side. “Just so you know, I didn’t find out I was pregnant until after we broke up.”

Matt crossed his arms and frowned. “You should have called me as soon as you knew.”

“Yes, you’re right. But if you remember, my dad limited my cell and telephone usage.”

Matt chuffed at what sounded, even to her, like a lame excuse. “Your father didn’t let you date, either. But you found a way around it.”

True. She’d lied to her father, telling him time and again she was going to the library to meet with her study group. Her dishonesty hadn’t sat well with her then—or now. But that was the only time she’d willfully deceived him. She had too much respect for him, for all he’d been through, all he’d accomplished in life. As a young boy, he’d gone to work with his father in the strawberry fields, learning the ins and outs of farming. When he grew up, he and his father purchased their own berry farm, then expanded it into an impressive operation with fields all over the state.

Matt slowly shook his head. “Your old man must have really blown a fuse when he found out you were going to have a baby, especially mine.”

He certainly had. But going into detail about the early days of her pregnancy wasn’t going to do anyone any good right now, so she cut to the chase. “He was smitten with Emily the very first minute he saw her and held her in his arms. And, for what it’s worth, he’s been a good grandfather to her.”

Matt clicked his tongue. “Don’t you think that lying to her about me ought to throw him out of the running for Grandfather of the Year?”

“If she’d asked me, I would have been honest. I had no idea my father would tell her something like that. There was no reason for it. And it was way out of line.”

“Sounds like you finally learned to stand up to him.”

“I guess you could say that. But whenever I roll over, it’s out of respect, not fear.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “My dad was strict and expected a lot out of me, but he’s a loving father and grandfather. I hope, one day, you’ll be able to see that.”

“Not gonna happen.”

She supposed it wouldn’t. Not for a long time, anyway.

“Does your old man know where you are?” Matt’s harsh tone and narrowed gaze shot right to the heart of her. And so did his question.

She sucked in a deep breath, hoping the oxygen would clear her head and cleanse her soul, then slowly let it out. “Not exactly, but he knows we’re safe. And that I’m staying with a friend.”

Matt arched a brow.

“Okay,” she admitted. “That could be considered a lie of omission. But believe it or not, I’ve always meant well and wanted the best for everyone involved.”

So why had she begun to feel like the villainess in this mess?

While tempted to make her way to the edge of Matt’s bed and sit beside him, she realized she’d have to earn the intimacy of his friendship. So she stood her ground and crossed her own arms. “I don’t blame you for being angry at my dad—and not just because he told Emily you were dead. When we were kids, you saw a bad side of him.”

“I don’t care about your old man or the past. What’s done is done.”

“Okay, but I’d like to make things right.”

Matt’s gaze softened slightly, but not enough for her to make any assumptions or to move toward him.

“Is that why you came to the Double G?” he asked.

Not really. And not at first. But the compulsion to finally make things right was why she was standing in his room now. “Yes, that’s pretty much why I’m here.”

He nodded, then glanced at the cane that rested within reach on the edge of the mattress where he sat.

She placed her hand on her womb, caressing the small baby bump that she wouldn’t be able to hide much longer with blousy tops and dresses. In fact, she’d suspected George already knew she was pregnant, since he was pretty observant. Not that he’d say anything.

When Matt looked up, she let her hand drop to her side and offered him a shy smile. “Like I said, I’m sorry. I should have told you that you were a father.”

“You’ve got that right.”

“I’ve made mistakes, but Emily isn’t one of them. She’s a great kid. So for now, let’s focus on her.”

“All right.” Matt uncrossed his arms and raked a hand through his hair. “But just for the record, I would’ve done anything in my power to take care of you and Emily.”

“I know.” And that’s why she’d walked away from him. Matt would have stood up to her father, challenged his threat, only to be knocked to his knees—and worse.

No, leaving town and cutting all ties with Matt was the only thing she could’ve done to protect him.

As she stood in the room where their daughter was conceived, as she studied the only man she’d ever loved, the memories crept up on her, the old feelings, too.

When she’d been sixteen, there’d been something about the fun-loving nineteen-year-old cowboy that had drawn her attention. And whatever it was continued to tug at her now. But she shook it off. Too many years had passed, too many tears had been shed.

Besides, an unwed, single mother who was expecting another man’s baby wouldn’t stand a chance with a champion bull rider who had his choice of pretty cowgirls. And she’d best not forget that.

“Aw, hell,” Matt said, as he ran a hand through his hair again and blew out a weary sigh. “Maybe you did Emily a favor by leaving when you did. Who knows what kind of father I would have made back then. Or even now.”

At that, Miranda longed to cross the room and take his hands in hers. The Matt she used to know would have been a great dad. And something told her the new Matt would be, too.

But he was a rodeo star now, with all the good and bad that came with it. So if he wanted to be a part of Emily’s life, what kind of role model would he be?

But that was beside the point. He deserved a chance to know his daughter.

“Matt,” she said, “I think you’re going to be an awesome father, if you want to be. Either way, I’m going to talk to Emily and tell her that her abuelito was mistaken, that her father is very much alive.”

“So you’re going to tell her that I’m her father?”

“Yes.” She eyed him carefully. “Unless you’d rather I didn’t.”

He didn’t respond right away. Was the decision that hard for him to make?

When he glanced up, his gaze seemed to zero in on hers. But this time, it wasn’t in anger. “I’d like to be there when you tell her. If that’s okay.”

She blew out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Of course. I think that would be best.”

For the first time since Matt arrived home, his expression grew familiar. Not completely, but enough to remind her of the old Matt and to stir up old feelings. But she’d better keep her wits about her—and her emotions in check.

“When should we tell her?” he asked.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

He nodded pensively. “Tomorrow, I guess.”

“Okay then.” She managed a smile. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Then she turned and let herself out of his room. The hard part was over.

Or was it?

It was one thing to think they’d be able to co-parent their daughter. But what about a child that wasn’t his? The future and the possible so-called family dynamics were worrisome at best.

And what about those sexy buckle bunnies who thought Max was God’s gift to womanhood?

No way could Miranda ever compete with them, especially as her pregnancy advanced, as new stretch marks developed...

She swore under her breath. Now that she’d opened up a Pandora’s box of emotion—real or imagined—she had no idea how much her heart or her ego could bear.