The Cowboy's Secret Family
Judy Duarte
Escape or die trying… No. 1 international bestseller Jeffery Deaver returns with a stunning new thriller – the first in an exciting series featuring enigmatic investigator Colter Shaw. ‘Masterful storytelling — The Never Game is Deaver’s most riveting, most twisty, most unputdownable novel yet’ Karin Slaughter A student kidnapped from the park. Nineteen-year-old Sophie disappears one summer afternoon. She wakes up to find herself locked inside a derelict warehouse, surrounded by five objects. If she uses them wisely, she will escape her prison. Otherwise she will die. An investigator running out of time. Sophie’s distraught father calls in the one man who can help find his daughter: unique investigator Colter Shaw. Raised in the wilderness by survivalist parents, he is an expert tracker with a forensic mind trained to solve the most challenging cases. But this will be a test even for him. A killer playing a dangerous game. Soon a blogger called Henry is abducted – left to die in the dark heart of a remote forest – and the whole case gets turned on its head. Because this killer isn’t following the rules; he’s changing them. One murder at a time… ‘No one in the world does this kind of thing better than Deaver’ Lee Child Deaver’s most riveting, most twisty, most unputdownable novel yet’ Karin Slaughter ‘Deaver grips from the very first line and never lets up’ Peter James ‘The very definition of a page-turner’ Ian Rankin ‘Lightning-fast and loaded with twists’ Harlan Coben ‘With The Never Game you know you are in the hands of a master’ Peter Robinson
Star-crossed teenage lovers finally reunite for a second chance
Losing Miranda broke Matt Grimes’s heart—and kept him from knowledge of his impending fatherhood. Now Miranda Contreras has returned to Rocking Chair, Texas—with their eight-year-old daughter. In search of safe haven, this runaway bride needs to regroup. Matt should be angry! What other secrets is Miranda keeping? But all he sees is a chance to be the family they were meant to be.
Since 2002, USA TODAY bestselling author JUDY DUARTE has written over forty books for Mills & Boon, earned two RITA® Award nominations, won two Maggie Awards and received a National Readers’ Choice Award. When she’s not cooped up in her writing cave, she enjoys travelling with her husband and spending quali-ty time with her grandchildren. You can learn more about Judy and her books on her website, judyduarte.com (http://www.judyduarte.com), or at Facebook.com/judyduartenovelist (http://www.Facebook.com/judyduartenovelist)
Also by Judy Duarte (#uebdb2155-79e0-5d8b-95c4-7f6be9b559b7)
Roping in the Cowgirl
The Bronc Rider’s Baby
A Cowboy Family Christmas
The Soldier’s Twin Surprise
The Lawman’s Convenient Family
Wed by Fortune
From Fortune to Family Man
No Ordinary Fortune
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
The Cowboy’s Secret Family
Judy Duarte
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09118-3
THE COWBOY’S SECRET FAMILY
© 2019 Judy Duarte
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To “Honey” Colwell,
my fur grandchild and the inspiration for
Sweetie Pie, the rescued stray dog in
The Cowboy’s Secret Family. No matter how many times Honey gets sprayed by Eau de Stink, she’s determined to catch the rascally skunk that prowls the neighbourhood at night. Maybe next time, Honey.
And to Jeff and Sarah Colwell.
Thank you for the opportunity to spend a
special summer with Emalee and Katie, my
two granddaughters, and a barnyard menagerie
consisting of one overly protective shepherd mix,
six free-range chickens, two 4-H lambs and a
couple of horses. Love you, guys!
Contents
Cover (#uda61b72d-7d24-5d3c-b659-890892521c0f)
Back Cover Text (#ud8907c37-d81f-5937-9bd6-1f8db80fbfb3)
About the Author (#u894d28f4-e2a0-5da2-ac6a-f8237a220be7)
Booklist (#uae03f413-54d6-51dd-812b-5c9caa2783f0)
Title Page (#uf24c8703-b3f5-5919-ad72-f365d444fb9f)
Copyright (#uff88c6e6-ac80-5986-9e9e-a447794b815d)
Dedication (#u706f9990-0703-5e64-82cb-3b99da0959ce)
Chapter One (#uba259806-2848-57d8-8364-06a420433647)
Chapter Two (#u3373c864-b12a-5dba-a1fa-447398ccb307)
Chapter Three (#u0c50a879-b914-50b1-96c6-c62d75e16f2b)
Chapter Four (#ud4210b93-a1dc-5a52-bd3d-9bd124863e49)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#uebdb2155-79e0-5d8b-95c4-7f6be9b559b7)
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.
Chapter Two (#uebdb2155-79e0-5d8b-95c4-7f6be9b559b7)
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.
Chapter Three (#uebdb2155-79e0-5d8b-95c4-7f6be9b559b7)
Last 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.
Chapter Four (#uebdb2155-79e0-5d8b-95c4-7f6be9b559b7)
Miranda wanted nothing more than to go outside with Matt and Emily, to listen to their conversation and to watch their facial expressions, but she’d been reluctant to ask if she could join them. She’d kept Emily to herself for so long that it only seemed fair to let Matt have some time with their daughter without her hovering nearby.
But that didn’t mean she’d go so far as to hole up in the home office, balancing the checkbook and paying the monthly bills. Instead, she brought her work to the kitchen and sat close to the back door, where she expected them to reenter the house after Emily showed Matt around the ranch and introduced him to her barnyard friends
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