Читать книгу A Rugged Ranchin' Dad - Kia Cochrane - Страница 11

Chapter Two

The Tyler family and the ranch hands mingled freely at the barbecue later that night. Three picnic tables had been placed end to end on the brick terrace, laden with bowls of barbecued chicken, potato salad, baked beans and barbecued ribs. A separate picnic table held the desserts.

Stone stood to one side, a bottle of beer in his hand that he didn’t really want, and watched the camaraderie of the others. Music played softly in the background, a mix of jazz and classical. Rocky had confiscated some of Dahlia’s favorite CDs from her collection.

Stone had a sudden, intense memory of dancing in the rose garden with Dahlia on summer nights. Dancing in the moonlight, with only the stars for company and a CD player for the soft music she loved.

And when she’d touched him, the world had spun and split and lightning had flashed.

He sighed heavily, his thoughts stumbling reluctantly back to the present. Stone knew Dahlia couldn’t help what she felt—or what she believed. One of the doctors thought it could be a combination of her head injury and the trauma of Brooke’s death. That believing she was an angel was Dahlia’s own way of dealing with her grief.

And it was about time she did deal with it, Stone knew. For the past year, Dahlia had been in a major state of denial, behaving as though nothing had changed. When everything had.

Brooke was gone and there was nothing any of them could do about it.

Stone continued to stand there on the terrace, the relentless music stirring his blood and making him think about days, and nights, that weren’t all that long ago. And he had the urgent need to escape from all this family fun and togetherness.

Before he forgot this wasn’t real life.

Real life was hard work.

And if Stone hung around having fun and feeling relaxed and mellow, he would want more—and he’d want it to last.

And that wasn’t going to happen.

Because what was life without Brooke in it? What did it mean to live a normal life without his daughter here, too?

Stone’s thoughts strayed back to that August summer night, a year ago. They’d had a barbecue that evening, too. A big one, to celebrate Stone and Dahlia finally building a house of their own.

To celebrate...life.

It had felt so damned good to be alive that night, he remembered painfully. He had felt incredibly lucky. And incredibly blessed.

Blessed with good health and work he enjoyed. With men who were more than ranch hands, they were his friends. And with three brothers he wouldn’t trade a ton of gold for, no matter how irritating and meddlesome they could be.

But most of all he’d felt blessed to have Dahlia in his life—and to have fathered the two children he loved more than anything on this earth.

Field had been the only good thing that had come out of his disastrous first marriage. And Brooke had been the icing on the cake when he’d thought life couldn’t get any better after he’d married Dahlia.

He remembered that night a year ago this month, and how he’d been looking forward to having at least one more child. But that was back when he’d believed his kids would live to grow up.

When he’d believed he could keep his children safe and whole to grow up to live a full life.

Stone took a slow, deliberate swallow of the cold beer.

That next morning, Brooke had taken her horse out alone, without permission, the high-spirited, beautiful little mare he’d given her on her birthday just six weeks earlier. Firelight had been spooked by something—and had thrown Brooke headfirst into the river.

So okay, damn it, maybe he hadn’t been the most spontaneous and open-hearted of fathers this past year. That was still no reason for Dahlia to have accused him of neglecting his own child.

He didn’t want his little boy hurt. Did that make him hard? Or controlling?

Not in his mind, it didn’t.

He was a father trying to protect his son the best way he knew how.

Stone took another deep swallow of his beer. He didn’t have it in him to act as though nothing had happened to his little girl. He couldn’t go on living as though Brooke hadn’t died. He couldn’t pretend everything was just like before, that life could, and should, go on without her.

Because it couldn’t.

Because to go on without her was to leave Brooke behind.

“Hey—” his older brother, Blade, slapped a hand on his shoulder “—why so anti-social tonight?”

Stone glanced at him. And he felt raw suddenly, twelve months’ worth of healing ripped away to expose the fragility of what lay within. It was always like this as soon as he started to remember. As if Brooke had been killed only yesterday.

“You okay?” Concern was plainly written on Blade’s thin, angular face.

Stone shrugged, his gaze wandering across the terrace until he located Dahlia. She was wearing a stone-washed denim dress and red sandals, and she looked fantastic. Her blond hair was hanging loose, just brushing her shoulders, the moonlight and lantern light playing with the different shades of gold and wheat and tan.

A sharp blast of old-fashioned desire heated his thoughts. She was gently beautiful, and that beauty captivated him.

“You’d never know she just got out of the hospital this morning,” Blade quietly remarked, following his gaze.

Stone nodded absently, hearing the music of Vivaldi pulsate through the summer night—and him. Stirring memories of making love with Dahlia and holding on and being there for each other, no matter what.

Stirring memories of all the things they’d lost.

They had separate bedrooms now, and they’d had them for quite some time. Because Stone hadn’t known how to go about getting his wife back into their room. He flashed on waking up with her in a tumble of pastel cotton sheets, her silky blond hair and sleep-warm flesh resting gently against his body. Snuggling and talking with her early in the morning, before the ranch was awake and the workday kicked into high gear, had been some of the best times in their marriage.

Because he could always talk to Dahlia. There was nothing he couldn’t say to her without knowing she’d understand.

Until Brooke was killed.

Then, to talk about it made it seem too real to him.

Blade spoke quietly beside him. “Brooke...was like Dahlia in a lot of ways. Impulsive.”

Stone was startled at the way his older brother stumbled over Brooke’s name, as though Blade didn’t know whether or not to say his niece’s name out loud. Is this what grief did to people? Stone wondered. Robbed them of the freedom to speak their minds? Or had he done this to his family by dismissing them whenever they dared to speak his daughter’s name?

But Stone already knew the answer.

Stone and his three brothers had been raised by their father after their mother died. The one thing they all had in common was saying what was on their minds. No matter what.

So Stone found this careful, almost gentle treatment from his older brother to be nearly too much for him to handle.

Impulsive? Stone thought bitterly. Is that what his daughter had been? To get on a horse alone, without permission—something she’d been told a dozen times not to do?

Did that make him any less responsible for her death?

He’d given her the horse.

Blade continued as though Stone was taking part in the conversation. “Dahlia’s also sensitive and emotional,” he said slowly. “And I have to admit I didn’t think she’d make it as a rancher’s wife. But she’s a tough one when the chips are down. That is one determined lady when she thinks she’s right.”

“What are you getting at?” Stone didn’t have a clue. His three brothers had been keeping their collective mouths shut lately, for some unfathomable reason.

Blade’s voice became very quiet. “I think Dahlia’s right about Field staying here on the ranch.”

Ah, Stone was beginning to see the light. He looked curiously at the man who had been left in charge of the family—and the ranch—when their father had died when Stone was twenty.

“Raising a child alone is not easy,” Blade said. “And you know that better than anyone.”

Stone grew still. He’d never forget the shock of his first wife running off in the middle of the night shortly after Field was born. The endless diapers and round-the-clock feeding schedule had kept him hopping those first few months of his son’s life.

Hastily shaking off the memory, he said, “But I’m not raising—”

“Dahlia said she was leaving if you sent Field away to school, didn’t she?” Blade was obviously losing patience with him. “You might just find yourself living without her if you don’t watch your step.”

Stone was surprised into silence. There was little privacy on the ranch, with Blade and Rocky both living in the same house with them. And Stone didn’t like the fact that what went on between him and his wife was being constantly observed by the rest of his family.

Especially since Brooke had died.

“Field is the firstborn male heir to the Tyler ranch,” Blade stated flatly. “You’re taking his birthright away from him.” Then he walked away without another word.

Stone watched him join Rocky and several of the ranch hands, and he suppressed the urge to strangle his brother. Blade, of all people, should understand that he only wanted the best for his son.

He tipped the bottle of beer to his mouth and took another long swallow. It looked as though this day was never going to end.

Dahlia watched Blade walk away from Stone, and she wondered what they had been talking about so intently. Blade was not an easy man to know, but from the beginning he’d always been kind to her and made an effort to make her feel part of the family.

Had they been arguing? About what?

Oh no, over her? Usually when Stone and Blade disagreed, they did so in private. Never within earshot of the men who worked for them. And never at a party.

The two men were close in age, and it was natural for them to be at odds on a regular basis. Stone had dropped out of college after two years because their father had died, and he believed Blade had needed him at home.

Stone handled the business end of the ranch, all the accounting, which included taxes, contracts, loans and payroll, leaving Blade free to run the ranch. But, even though Blade had been appointed Flint and Rocky’s legal guardian after their dad was killed, Stone had always been actively involved in every decision concerning his two younger brothers as well as the ranch.

So conflict had always been part of Stone’s relationship with Blade.

But Dahlia didn’t want them arguing over her.

She stole another look at the man who was her husband, and took a deep, hard breath. Stone hadn’t changed much over the years. His straight, dark hair still brushed the collar of his denim shirt. He still had the same lean face and prominent cheekbones, his gray eyes wary and watchful when he was troubled.

It had been love at first sight—for both of them—and they’d been married three months later. Dahlia had loved being a sheep rancher’s wife, and mother to his fifteen-month-old son. And thirteen months later Brooke had been born, making their lives complete.

Dahlia was quietly happy as she remembered the birth of her first child. If Stone had felt trapped by the idea of becoming a father again, he had certainly never shown it.

He had absolutely adored Brooke from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her. And Dahlia would never forget the joy she’d felt holding Stone’s child in her arms.

Her child.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to find Stone standing next to her chair. “Flint and Shannon are here. Suppose we go and greet them.”

“Of course.”

An assistant professor of English lit at UT in San Antonio, Flint was the only brother who didn’t make his living from ranching. But you’d never know it to look at him, Dahlia thought with a smile as she rushed to hug him. He had the same lean, dark, good looks as his brothers. Dressed in boots and jeans, he could easily pass as a cowboy.

“You didn’t wait dinner on the two of us, did you?” Flint asked, holding her away from him to take a good look. But he seemed satisfied that she was okay.

“We certainly did.” Dahlia smiled back at him, then knelt to say hello to his little girl. “Shannon, how are you?” she asked the tiny six-year-old, with the dark brown ponytail and huge gray-green eyes.

Dahlia felt the pain, swift and sharp, as she gazed upon the little girl who looked so much like Brooke. The same dark hair, heart-shaped face and sweet, crooked little smile.

“I’m fine. How are you?” Shannon asked her shyly.

Dahlia hid a grin. “Did your daddy tell you not to hug me?” When Shannon nodded, she said, “I sure could use a hug.”

Shannon tumbled into her arms almost before the words left Dahlia’s mouth, holding Dahlia tightly around the neck, a short little sob escaping from somewhere deep inside the little girl.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Dahlia whispered, loving the solid feel of her. And she felt a sense of shame, deep within, for neglecting one of her most favorite people in the world.

She hadn’t spent much time with Shannon since Brooke had died. Tightly wrapped up in her own pain and grief, she hadn’t been able to be around the child who reminded her so much of all that she’d lost.

How was Shannon handling life without Brooke to share everything with? Dahlia wondered uncertainly. The two little girls had been very close. More like sisters than cousins.

More to the point—how was Shannon handling Dahlia’s apparent rejection of her all these months? Flint’s wife had died when Shannon was a baby, and Dahlia was the closest thing to a mother the child had ever known.

This was another situation she had to correct as quickly as possible. She’d been told that Flint and Shannon were spending the weekend at the ranch, so she hugged the little girl again and suggested, “What do you say to a picnic tomorrow—just you, me and Field?”

“Really?” The child’s gray-green eyes were shining with happiness. “A real and true picnic with you and Field? Just like we used to?”

Dahlia swallowed slowly and nodded. She managed a smile, but tears filled her eyes as she felt the tug of love coming from her little niece. But she had to stay focused on her mission to restore Stone’s faith—so she could get into heaven.

It was the only way she could ever be with Brooke again.

Even so, she couldn’t help but revel in the fact that she had been the only woman on the ranch for years. Even the cook was a man. And up until a year ago, she’d loved playing mom to her extended family, as well as to her own child.

But without Brooke...

Dahlia felt wrenched in two. She’d forgotten how much she loved everyone here tonight—and how much they loved her.

Except for Stone.

Dahlia couldn’t look up without finding his gaze pinned on her tonight. Sometimes she didn’t even need to look up. She’d always been able to sense his presence. Now, she caught Stone watching her with that cool, expressionless gaze that masked his emotions, and her stomach tightened in anguish.

It tightened even more when he spoke to her.

“Would you like to take a walk in the rose garden?” Stone’s voice was low and for her ears alone. “I know how much you like to look at the roses in the moonlight.”

Surprise couldn’t begin to explain the way she felt inside. How long had it been since he’d asked her to go for a walk with him? And alone in the moonlight?

Not for a year, at least.

Dahlia nodded and they moved around the crowd of family and friends, until they reached the path that led to her garden. The first year she married Stone, Dahlia had planted ten yellow rosebushes. And each year after that she’d planted ten more, until now she had ninety rosebushes of all colors, bordered by neatly trimmed hedgerows—a living testament to the way their marriage had thrived and bloomed over the years.

She stared in silence at the ten rosebushes she’d planted this past spring. The magnificent yellow roses, with their delicate pink shadings at the edge of the petals, reminded her of Brooke.

Stone led her to the bench and she sat down to gaze up at the stars. Music filled the air, and she had a sudden, vivid memory of dancing out here on summer nights. She could almost feel Stone’s arms around her, close and warm, the scent of roses drifting through the air.

The night sky dark and soft.

The million stars slowly appearing one by one.

And the two of them so much in love it hurt even to think of being separated for a night.

They would dance for hours, alone in their own, private little world. A world built on love and trust and sharing more than a bed. They’d shared their lives with each other, both the good and the bad.

Until last year.

Dahlia watched Stone as he seated himself next to her and wondered what he was thinking by dragging her away from the party this way. She didn’t mind, it was something he used to do all the time—but why now? And why tonight?

Her gaze raked curiously over his face, and she found herself thinking his eyes were the soft gray of a well-worn dime as longing ravaged his face.

“The roses are beautiful,” she told him nervously. “Who’s been taking care of them while I was in the hospital?”

“I have.”

Another surprise. Dahlia smiled tentatively at him, and he shrugged. But she noticed a grin was forming.

“I weeded and watered them, sprayed for bugs and deadheaded the blooms that had faded,” he explained.

Dahlia’s smile widened. “You did a great job,” she told him softly. She was so touched by his effort to care for something she loved so much, she could barely speak.

Lately, Stone hadn’t paid much attention to the things she held dear to her heart. And yet, he’d taken care of her rose garden. Why the sudden change? she wondered. And why, oh why, couldn’t he make the same effort with Field?

Stone seemed to hesitate, and then he slid his hand into hers. “I wanted you to come home and find the rose garden had been tended to in your absence.”

“Thank you.” She listened for a moment, listened to the muted laughter of the others, the music in the distance. She tried not to flinch at those long, searching looks of his, which slid along her nerve endings like stroking fingers. But it was so very hard to respond to them, to open her heart to him again.

He’d closed himself off from her after Brooke’s death. Slammed the lid down hard on everything good in their lives. Consumed with guilt, he had trashed their plans for their new house and another baby, and then decided to send his sweet, precious son away from her.

It was as though her wishes were no longer important—or real—to him. As though she no longer mattered.

And sometimes...sometimes when she was able to come out of her own pain and grief, she had to wonder if he even still loved her.

“Let’s dance,” Stone suggested. He got to his feet, leaving Dahlia to gaze blankly up at him.

He wanted to dance? With her? Out here in the moonlight as they used to do?

Stone pulled her gently to her feet and into his arms. His hands slid easily around her waist, leaving her no choice but to place hers on his shoulders. She tensed as he drew her closer, the months of being alone, of sleeping alone, making the physical contact with him awkward, yet sweetly erotic.

It was as though they were strangers, and Dahlia hadn’t felt this aware of him, in quite this way, since the very early days of their relationship. When she was first beginning to know him. When Stone was still raw and hurting from his ex-wife’s desertion and trying desperately not to fall in love again.

When, as an only child of an Air Force pilot, Dahlia hadn’t had much experience with concepts like roots or security or permanence. She’d lived in eighteen places her first twelve years of life. By the time she was in second grade, she’d learned not to make friends because it hurt too much to say goodbye.

It felt almost like the first time Stone had held her, she kept thinking as they moved slowly to the music. When he’d been scared of losing his heart all over again, and she’d never allowed herself to get close enough to put hers at risk. When the sexual attraction, bursting to life between them, had mingled with their mutual fear and distrust.

Dahlia couldn’t suppress the tremor that slid through her, and Stone asked, “Are you cold?”

She shook her head. She was far from feeling cold. Stone’s hands had always had the tendency to stray and tonight was no different. And neither was the path of fire his hands left wherever they touched.

Stroking her back.

Kneading gently under her shoulder blades.

Drifting slightly below her waist to rub the small of her back.

Dahlia took a deep, slow breath and buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the smell of freshly washed denim and warm male flesh. The classical music stopped for an instant, and then the haunting sound of jazz pulsated toward them, the horns slow and seductive and stirring.

Without thinking, just feeling, she moved against him to the beat of the music. Her arms slid down to hang limply at her sides, while she moved the lower half of her body into the lean, hardening strength of him.

And then she gazed up into deepening, darkening gray eyes.

Stone’s arms tightened convulsively around her waist, bringing her up hard and close to him. Dahlia moved back only slightly, still holding his gaze, moving with the soulstirring beat, away from him—and into him. Keeping time to the music and losing herself in the seductive rhythm of the horn solo on the CD.

It had been so long...too long...since she’d felt this good. This alive. This...happy.

And she let the memories and the look and feel of Stone fill her mind and heart. The familiar scent and feel of him overwhelmed her with a wild sense of being thrown back in time.

Before the distance between them had grown into an impasse.

Before the pain...and the guilt.

Before their lives had been blown all to hell on that terrible August morning a year ago.

She could see the same need in Stone’s eyes that was stumbling to life in her. The strength of that need, that raw lightning bolt of desire, was a live thing, flashing, twisting, spinning between them and drawing both of them closer to the edge.

A fresh trembling, terrifying need raced through her.

Hot...

Hungry.

Her movements slowed. Held against the hot steel of Stone’s body, she stared up at him as one song ended and another began. This, too, was slow. Romantic. And time, instead of thrusting her backward through the years to a better, stronger relationship with him, had now stopped completely.

Leaving them frozen.

Somewhere alone. Without fear. Without history—or a future.

All that mattered was this one shining moment, this tiny slice of time that had everything to do with what was happening now, at this very second. And when Stone kissed her, she knew without a doubt he wanted her. Just as fiercely, just as primitively, as she wanted him. He kissed her hungrily, moving against her with coaxing, then demanding, urgent, restless movements.

And she kissed him back, wanting to savor the moment, wanting it to last, wanting to carry the memory of it into another life.

Stone was stunned to feel himself losing it as her hands rushed over him, pulling him closer. His control was unraveling, the need tearing at him until he was ready to ignore the fact that she’d just been released from the hospital. All he could think of was being buried in the heat and softness of her, over and over and over again until morning.

Hot, driving need made his hands impatient, his mouth hungry and demanding as their hands slowly rediscovered and aroused, under cover of darkness. But in full view of the moon and the stars high above them.