Читать книгу The Cowboy's Secret Family - Judy Duarte - Страница 12
ОглавлениеLast night, after talking to Matt, Miranda had turned in early, emotionally exhausted. But she’d barely slept a wink. Memories—both the good and the bad, happy and sad—plagued her, making it impossible for her to unwind.
When she finally dozed off, her dreams refused to let her rest.
Sirens and flashing lights.
The snap of handcuffs.
A gavel banging down. Again and again.
A cell door clanging shut.
Knees hitting the courtroom floor. A sobbing voice screaming, No!
Miranda shot up, her heart racing, her brow damp from perspiration. She’d had that nightmare before, but it hadn’t been so real.
Once her pulse slowed to normal and her eyes adjusted to the predawn darkness, she threw off the covers, got out of bed and padded to the bathroom, where she washed her face, brushed her hair and dressed for the day. She chose the maternity jeans and a blousy pink T-shirt she’d purchased in town last week, after her last obstetrical appointment.
Most pregnant women liked showing off their baby bumps, but Miranda wasn’t one of them. Not now. Not yet.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want the baby—a little boy she planned to name after her father, which might soften the blow when she told him she was expecting. It’s just that she hadn’t wanted the news to leak out. If Gavin learned that she was having his son, he might want shared custody.
As she headed for the kitchen, she relished the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and ham sizzling in a pan.
George stood in front of the stove, while Emily—her hair pulled into an off-centered ponytail and adorned with a red ribbon—sat on the counter next to him and chattered away about what she and Sweetie Pie planned to do today.
“Good morning,” Miranda said. “You two are awake earlier than usual.”
“Emily usually gets up first,” George said, “but I figured I’d better get busy this morning and fix a hearty breakfast. Matt’s looking a little puny.”
He’d looked pretty darn healthy last night when he’d answered the bedroom door bare-chested.
George adjusted the flame under the blackened, cast-iron skillet, then turned to Miranda with a smile. “I found my mother’s old recipe box last night. I won’t have much use for it, but I thought you might like to...look it over. She was one heck of a cook.”
“I’d love to see her recipes. And if there’s a special meal or dish you’d like me to make, I’d be happy to give it a try.”
George laughed. “I’d hoped you’d say that.” Then he nodded toward the teapot. “The whistle isn’t blowing yet, but the water should be ready. How ’bout I pour you a cup?”
“Thanks. That would be nice.” Miranda made her way to the pantry and retrieved a box of herbal tea bags. She’d no more than turned around when Matt entered the kitchen, fresh from the shower and looking more handsome than ever.
He gave her a distracted nod, then using his cane, limped to the coffee maker and filled a cup to the brim.
Miranda placed a hand on her baby bump, which seemed to have doubled in size overnight. She supposed that was to be expected, now that she was approaching her fifth month. She hadn’t given the maternal habit much thought before, but she’d better be careful not to draw any undue attention to her condition. So she quickly removed her hand and stole a glance at Matt, who was watching her over the rim of his coffee mug, his brow furrowed.
Her cheeks warmed, and her heart thumped. Did he suspect...?
Not that it mattered. He’d find out soon enough.
She took the cup of hot water George had poured for her and carried it to the scarred antique table and took a seat.
While her tea steeped, neither she nor Matt said a word. But she imagined him saying, Apparently, you have a habit of running away from your baby daddies.
Just the thought of him having a reaction like that struck a hard blow, a low one. But then again, she couldn’t blame him for being angry, resentful. Judgmental.
And he didn’t even have to say anything to her. As it was, she felt guilty enough, which was why she wasn’t looking forward to facing her father and announcing she was, once again, unmarried and pregnant.
Nor was she ready to admit to Matt that she was having another man’s baby.
* * *
As Matt took his first sip of coffee, he studied Miranda, who looked a little pale, if not green around the gills. But so what? She deserved to feel guilty. She’d kept his daughter away from him for years.
Carlos Contreras, the Texas berry king, had made it perfectly clear that, at least in his opinion, Matt wasn’t good enough for his precious daughter. And apparently, Princess Miranda felt the same way.
Miranda’s deceit and the unfairness of it all rose up like an index finger and poked at his chest, jabbing at an old wound that, apparently, hadn’t healed. It hurt like hell to know he’d been shut out of a family once again.
Last night, after Miranda came to his bedroom and admitted that Emily was his, a secret she’d kept for nine years, Matt hadn’t been able to sleep a wink. He’d even popped a couple of the pain pills the doctor had prescribed and he rarely used. But even that hadn’t helped. Not when the real pain had very little to do with his knee.
He kept rehashing old conversations he’d put to rest years ago, like the last one he and Miranda had had.
Let’s take a break for a little while, Miranda had said. I’ll call you when Daddy’s cooled down and had a chance to think things over.
But that call never came.
Matt leaned his left hip against the cupboard under the kitchen counter, taking the weight off his left knee. He lifted his mug, but didn’t take a drink. Instead, he gazed at Miranda. She’d grown prettier with each passing year. Even in a pair of loose-fitting blue jeans and a baggy T-shirt, she was a knockout.
Her waist, once flat and perfect, had a paunch now. He’d noticed it before and had assumed it was to be expected after having a baby. That is, until she’d caught him watching her a few moments ago. An uneasy expression crossed her face, and the hand that had been resting on her rounded stomach dropped to her side.
Was she pregnant?
She might be, but he’d never ask.
All he knew was what Uncle George had told him yesterday. She’d recently ended a relationship and needed time to think.
She sure looked pensive this morning, as she stirred a teaspoon in her cup long after any sugar had dissolved.
What was she thinking about? Whether she should reconcile with her ex?
Or had she deserted another expectant father, leaving him completely unaware of her pregnancy? That is, if Matt’s suspicion was right.
He glanced at his uncle, who was cracking eggs into the skillet he’d used to fry ham. Did he know more about Miranda’s condition, her situation, than he’d let on?
He had to, since he’d clearly taken her under his wing, going so far as to provide housing and food for her and Emily, not to mention hosting a menagerie.
Then again, his uncle had always liked Miranda. That lil’ gal has a sweet way about her, Matt. She’s smart and funny, too. If I’d had a daughter, I’d want her to be just like her.
And Miranda had felt the same way about Uncle George, too. Or so she’d said.
Matt turned his focus to Emily, who kept glancing out the kitchen window, then at the clock on the microwave.
She was a cute kid. He couldn’t say that she looked like him, other than maybe the shape of her eyes—but not the color. Still, he didn’t doubt that he was her father. The only doubt he actually had was whether he could be the kind of dad she deserved.
The dog padded through the kitchen and into the service porch. It whined a couple of times and scratched at the back door. Since no one else seemed to notice, Matt reached for his cane and headed to the service porch to let it out.
“No!” Emily jumped down from her perch on the counter, where she’d been watching George fry eggs, and ran to the door, grabbing the dog by the collar before it could go outside to pee.
What the hell?
“Sweetie Pie can’t go outside until the sun comes up,” Emily said, her voice coming out in short frantic huffs. “Or else she’ll chase that skunk again. And she always gets sprayed and stinky.”
“Always?” Matt asked. “How many times has she gotten sprayed?”
“Four.” Emily knelt before the dog, cupped her furry face and made kissy sounds. “Wait a little bit longer, Sweetie Pie. I’ll open the door as soon as it gets light and after that ornery ol’ skunk goes to sleep.”
A grin tugged at Matt’s lip, and he slowly shook his head. “You’d think that getting a snout full of Eau de Stink more than twice would have convinced her to try chasing another critter.”
Emily looked up at him, her sweet smile reaching into his chest and touching something soft and tender.
“You got that right,” George called out from the kitchen. “Good ol’ Lulu Belle was a smart dog, but Sweetie Pie is a slow learner.”
Back in the day, Matt had been one, too. You’d think that, after his widowed dad had remarried and chosen his stepbrother over him, Matt would have known better than to harbor thoughts of family, hearth and home. But then he’d met Miranda, and she’d stomped on his wounded heart, leaving him feeling abandoned yet again.
Fortunately, Matt didn’t need to get sprayed a third time before learning his lesson.
While refilling his cup, he studied his daughter. What would she say when she learned that Matt was her father?
And when would they tell her?
He stole a glance at Miranda, who hadn’t said much of anything, even when she wasn’t sipping from her fancy china teacup that used to belong to George’s mother. He had no idea what she planned to do with her life. Her decisions were none of his business.
That is, unless they affected Emily. And if he didn’t agree with the choices Miranda made—or any her father made, Matt wasn’t about to sit on the sidelines and let them dictate his daughter’s life. And if they thought they could shut him out, like they’d done so far, there’d be hell to pay.
* * *
By the time breakfast was on the table, the sun had risen and Sweetie Pie had gone outside to take care of her doggy business and to go in search of her black-and-white-striped nemesis.
None of the adults spoke while they ate their fill of ham and scrambled eggs, but Emily chattered away. And Matt hung on her every word.
As she chomped on a piece of ham, her eyes brightened. “Guess what? You know Suzy Reinquist, the new girl who brought an arrowhead to school for show-and-tell? She has six toes on each foot.”
“Emily,” Matilda said, “please don’t talk with your mouth full.”
The child swallowed, chased it down with a sip of orange juice and continued her story. “I didn’t believe Suzy when she told us, ’cause that would make twelve toes, and everyone knows you only have ten. But then she took off her shoes and socks so we could count them. And sure enough...”
Even if Emily weren’t his daughter, Matt would have enjoyed listening to her. She had a unique way of seeing the world. And he liked hearing about her interests and friends.
Emily took another swig of juice. “I can’t wait for spring break to get over. I love school. I like Mrs. Crowley, too. But she wasn’t at school on Friday. We had a substitute. I forget her name, but she’s kind of old and has a little bald spot on the back of her head. I didn’t notice it until she turned around to write our math assignment on the board.”
Before the girl could share another story, Uncle George pushed his chair away from the table. “You’ll have to excuse me. The ranch hands will be arriving soon, and I need to get to work.”
“Me, too.” Emily downed the rest of her OJ, then got to her feet. “The chickens laid three eggs yesterday. I wonder how many I’ll find today.”
“Honey, wait a minute.” Miranda glanced at Matt, then back at their daughter. “I have something I need to talk to you about.”
“Am I in trouble again?” Emily placed her hands on her hips and frowned.
“No, you’re not in trouble,” Miranda said.
“Then can we wait until I check on Dumpling? The other chickens kept pecking at her yesterday.”
Miranda rested her forearms on the table and leaned forward. “No, honey. I’ve already waited too long to tell you.”
Emily plopped back into her seat. “What is it?”
Miranda glanced at Matt, then focused on their daughter. “Your abuelito was wrong when he told you that your father died.”
Emily cocked her head and furrowed her brow. “You mean my father isn’t dead?”
“No. In fact, he didn’t even know about you until recently.”
Emily crossed her arms, leaned back in her seat and frowned. “Does Abuelito know that?”
Miranda nodded.
Emily’s eyes widened. “You mean he lied to me?”
“Yes.” Miranda drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “I’m afraid he did.”
Emily remained silent for a beat, then she rolled her eyes. “That really makes me mad. He told me to always tell the truth, no matter how hard it is. But then he didn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” Miranda said. “That was wrong of him.”
To say the least. Matt continued to watch the conversation unfold, his interest in his daughter growing. The kid had spunk. He liked that.
“I’m going to let your grandfather know how I feel, how we both feel about him lying to you the next time I see him.”
That didn’t seem to appease the child. But hell, why should it?
“Just so you know,” Miranda added, “I’d planned to tell you about your father when you asked me about him. But I shouldn’t have waited.”
“So where is my dad? And how come he didn’t know about me? If he did, maybe he would have come to see me or called or...something.” Emily shook her head, her ponytail swishing from side to side. “Does he even know when my birthday is?”
“It’s August the third,” Matt said. “And I’m going to try my best to be with you on that day from now on.”
Emily’s lips parted, and when she turned to him, her eyes widened in disbelief. “You? You’re my dad?”
Damn. Did the kid not approve of him, either? Grave Digger had done a real number on Matt’s body when he stomped on him, casting a shadow on all he’d accomplished, all the buckles he’d won. But Miranda’s rejection, her father’s disapproval and now Emily’s reaction crushed him in a way that blasted bull hadn’t.
“Yes,” Matt said. “I’m your dad.”
Emily eyed him carefully, taking in the news that had thrown him for a loop when he’d first heard it last night.
He held his breath as he awaited her response. For some reason, her assessment of him concerned him more than that of any high school principal, police officer or courtroom judge.
The crease in the girl’s brow deepened, then she looked down at her empty plate, studying the smears of ham drippings as if they were tea leaves.
When she finally looked up, her expression eased into one of cautious curiosity. “Why didn’t you know about me? Didn’t you ever want a little girl?”
He could throw her mother and grandfather under the bus, but that might make things even worse. “I’m here now. And I’m glad I finally got to meet my daughter.”
She seemed to chew on that for a beat, then asked, “Does that mean you’re coming to my birthday party?”
“You bet I will. I’ll even bring a present. What would you like?”
She shrugged. “I don’t need anything.”
“Not even a bicycle?”
At that, she smiled. “I have a pony, remember?”
“Right. And you’re going to be a cowgirl when you grow up.”
“Yep. But I might be a veterinarian. That’s a doctor for animals.” She glanced at her mother. “Can I go now?”
That was it? She’d moved on to gathering eggs rather than locking in a birthday present? Hell, he was tempted to bring her nine of them, one for each birthday he’d missed.
When Miranda nodded, Emily turned to Matt and smiled. “You wanna go with me to get the eggs?”
A farm chore had never sounded so appealing. “I’d like that.” In fact, he liked it a lot.
She got up from her chair, then walked out to the service porch. Matt glanced at Miranda, assuming she’d want to join them, but she shook her head and waved him off, allowing him some privacy when meeting his daughter for the first time.
He appreciated that, even though his anger and resentment hadn’t diminished too much. Maybe, in time, he’d find it easier to forgive her than he’d thought.
As he followed Emily outside, she turned and blessed him with a dimpled smile. “Want me to show you my pony and my lamb before we get the eggs?”
“Absolutely.”
As they walked toward the corral, she pointed to his cane. “Why are you limping?”
“I tried to ride an ornery bull, but he didn’t like it. So he threw me off and stepped on me.”
She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. “That wasn’t very smart. You do know that bulls are dangerous, right?”
“Yeah. I know.”
“You’re lucky he didn’t poke you with his horns and stomp you to death. And then I wouldn’t have got to meet you at all.” She lifted her index finger and wagged it at him, a gesture that touched his heart. “So don’t do it again, okay? I just found you and don’t want you to get hurt or die.”
He couldn’t help chuckling at her admonition. As much as he’d have liked to respect her wishes, he couldn’t give up the rodeo. If he wasn’t a champion bull rider, who was he? But she’d given him something to think about.
When they reached the corral, where the black-and-white Shetland pony munched on alfalfa that George must have fed him this morning, Emily pointed to the little gelding. “That’s Oreo. Do you know why we call him that?”
“Let me guess.” A grin stretched across Matt’s face. “Because he eats cookies?”
She laughed. “No, silly. Because he looks like one. An Oreo cookie. Get it?”
“Aw. Yes. That’s very clever. Did you name him?”
“No, the people who owned him before Uncle George bought him for me called him that. But I got to name Bob and the chickens.”
“Is Bob the lamb?”
“Yep.”
“Maybe you should have called him Baaaab?”
“You’re funny!” Her smile darn near turned him inside out.
He’d always liked to make his friends laugh—and he did so often. But the pleasure he’d taken at seeing their happy adult faces paled in comparison to hearing the lilt of Emily’s sweet laugh and seeing the bright-eyed smile that dimpled her cheeks.
“Come on,” she said. “I want you to meet him. And you can watch me feed him.”
“Uncle George doesn’t do that for you?”
“Oh, no! I take care of Bob all by myself. I feed him and give him water and bathe him and everything. I’m going to show him at the fair. He’s very cool, and he likes going for walks. He’s my best friend. But don’t tell Sweetie Pie.”
A grin tugged at Matt’s lips, although he tried to hide it. Implying that Emily might not be pulling her weight when it came to the ranch chores seemed to have horrified her, which filled him with a bit of pride. He would have felt the same way, when he’d first moved onto the Double G as a young teen.
After feeding Bob, Emily reached into her back pocket, whipped out a pink Western bandana and tied it to the lamb’s neck. Then she led Matt to the chicken coop and pointed out each one. “That’s Dumpling. And the brown and black one is Nuggets. Pot Pie is behind the coop and the one drinking water is Casserole.”
“They’re all named after chicken dishes, huh? Does that mean you’re going to eat them?”
“No!” Her once happy expression morphed into one that was just as horrified as the last. “They’re my friends. Besides, they give us eggs.”
The little girl—his little girl—was a hoot. Smart as a whip, spunky and pretty to boot. And in spite of feeling awkward around her earlier, she’d managed to put him at ease.
Not that he expected to take to fatherhood the way he’d taken to riding a horse or roping cattle, but taking on a paternal role didn’t seem nearly as scary as it had when he first learned he had a child.
Emily unlatched the door to the coop and went inside to check for eggs, but came back empty-handed.
“Looks like the girls aren’t doing their jobs.”
Emily shrugged. “Sometimes they don’t lay them until later. That’s why I check for eggs all the time.”
After shutting the wired door and hooking the latch, she brushed her hands on her denim-clad thighs. When she looked up, her eyes sparkled. “You know what? I’m really going to like having a daddy.”
Something deep in his heart warmed at the comment, the acceptance.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “I’m going to like having a daughter.” Surprisingly, those words rang true.
He couldn’t ask for more in a child, other than wishing he’d known about her when she’d been a baby. But there wasn’t anything he could do about that now.
They did have today, and each one after this. Yet while he could envision himself bonding with Emily, he wasn’t so sure how he felt about her mother.
Emily stopped and gazed up at him. “You don’t believe in hitting kids, do you?”
He hadn’t seen that question coming. “No, I don’t.”
“Good. That’s why I don’t like Gavin.”
Matt’s gut twisted into a knot, his senses on high alert, and he braced himself for her answer. “Who’s Gavin?”
“The guy my mom was going to marry. I’m glad she didn’t. Gavin wouldn’t be a good daddy.”
Matt stiffened. “Why do you say that?”
“Because he’s a yeller. And a hitter.”
The knot in his gut was nothing compared to the clench of his fists. “Did he hit you or your mom?”
“Only me. And he made my nose bleed.”
A chill ran through Matt’s veins. How dare that man hit a child. Especially this child.
“I really wanted to be a flower girl,” Emily added. “And I really liked the dress I was going to wear. But not if we married Gavin.”
“Is that why your mom left him?”
Emily nodded. “Yep. Because he hit me for crying when I had an earache.”
Matt’s gut clenched. What kind of monster had Miranda planned to marry?
“Abuelito, my grandfather, was mad, too,” Emily added.
“At Gavin?”
“No. At my mom. Because he had to pay a whole lot of money for the wedding, even though no one went to it.”
That figured. A snide comment formed on the tip of Matt’s tongue, but he clamped his mouth shut until the urge to blurt it out passed.
“So where did your mom meet Gavin?” he asked.
“At Abuelito’s Christmas party.”
Matt glanced over his shoulder at the house, wondering if Miranda had come out to the porch to see how he and Emily were doing. He supposed he should be grateful that she’d allowed them to have this precious time alone. But he no longer wanted time with his daughter. He now wanted to get the straight scoop from Miranda.
No doubt she had made the right decision to leave. Had she pressed charges? She certainly should have. Questions began to pop up in his mind, one after another.
Why had it taken her so long to see through Gavin?
And how had she gotten involved with a guy like that in the first place?
As soon as Emily was out of earshot, Matt intended to learn the answer to all his questions. And in this case, he wouldn’t be the least bit reluctant to pry.
