A Rugged Ranchin' Dad. Kia Cochrane

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СКАЧАТЬ squeezed back. And then she had a thought.

      “Why don’t you have any pictures of Field during his first year?”

      “What do you mean?” Stone sped up to pass a car.

      “You only have four or five pictures of him—”

      “We’ve got dozens of albums, crammed full of pictures of both kids.” Stone was back in his own lane now and flashed her a puzzled, questioning look.

      “But all those were taken after we met. After we were married,” Dahlia explained. “I meant pictures of Field coming home from the hospital. Do you realize there are no pictures of your son with his mother?”

      He looked at her. “You’re his mother.”

      She smiled gently at him, touched by the statement. For Stone, his first wife and the mother of his child just... no longer existed. Not in his mind. And certainly not in his heart. “But why didn’t you take more?” she asked him. “Field was your firstborn son. I would have thought you’d have taken tons of pictures.”

      Stone shrugged and turned his attention back to the road. But he didn’t evade the question. “I don’t have a reason. I guess I was just too busy taking care of him to bother with taking pictures.”

      And too hurt.

      Dahlia suddenly cringed inside at the thought of what her completing her mission would mean for Stone. He’d already been abandoned by one woman, and he’d never understood her reason.

      And now, if things worked out, Dahlia would also abandon him. Would he understand? Would he understand she just had to be with Brooke? No matter what the cost?

      And Field...oh, that poor, poor child. Dahlia’s heart wrenched with guilt at just the thought of leaving him. He’d already been abandoned by one mother. What would her leaving do to his ability to trust?

      That was why she had to get Stone and Field’s relationship on solid ground. Before it was time for her to leave.

      “I’m sorry now that I didn’t take more pictures of Field his first year,” Stone was saying, and she struggled to pay attention. “Kids grow up so fast and then they’re...gone,” he ended quietly.

      Dahlia watched as he struggled with some painful memory. She said gently, “Field’s growing every day. It’s hard to believe he’s already ten years old.”

      “Yeah.”

      “Soon he’ll be in high school and dating some cute little cheerleader.”

      Stone cleared his throat. “More than likely some little cowgirl in a rodeo.”

      “All he talks about is entering rodeo roughstock events when he’s old enough.” Dahlia saw the life drain from his eyes and added softly, “He wants so very much to be like you when he grows up.”

      “I know.” Profound weariness settled over his lean features.

      “It’s natural for a son to want to be like his dad,” she continued.

      “Then I wish I’d been a lawyer or something like that,” Stone snapped, his pain and frustration close to the surface.

      Dahlia drew in a fast, agonized breath and said nothing. What was the use? Everything she said to him came out wrong. Everything she did only made him feel worse.

      “Dahlia...honey, I’m sorry.” He turned to her and tried to smile. “I didn’t mean to take your head off. I just wish I hadn’t told Field all those wild and wonderful stories about my rodeo days. It put ideas in his head.”

      She laughed soft and low. “It’ll be years before he’s old enough to compete. Field’s exploring his options, that’s all. He’ll go through weeks of wanting to be a rodeo champion and then a concert pianist or a great painter—”

      Stone hooted with laughter. “A concert pianist? Field? A rock musician, maybe, but give me a break. Field’s about as likely to play classical music as I am to sprout wings and fly.”

      Dahlia grinned happily. Somehow she’d gotten him to laugh and that was a good feeling. And a good start.

      She glanced out the window at the passing countryside, with its bluestem and buffalo grass. They were in the hill country now, driving along the Medina River, so they were almost at the ranch.

      Stone turned onto a dirt road, lined with mountain cedar trees, and she breathed in the characteristic fragrance of the hill country. Stone took the bridge across the river and moments later they drove under the large sign, proclaiming: Tyler Ranch. Established 1900.

      Field was the fourth generation of Tylers to live on the 750-acre spread. Dahlia knew it would break his heart not to grow up here like his father and uncles.

      And it would break Stone’s heart, too, even if he was too stubborn to admit it.

      She propped her elbow in the open window, her chin in her hand, and gazed out at the miles of whitewashed fencing crisscrossing the range. She stared longingly out at the herds of sheep grazing in the foothills, the young lambs frolicking after their mothers. She sighed heavily.

      A big, white three-story Victorian house, nestled in a grove of very old oak and pecan trees, came into view. An enormous red barn stood behind it, off to one side. As always, she felt a flash of pride when she saw the place where she had come to live as a bride of twenty-one.

      That had been nine years ago, she thought, as Stone parked in the circular driveway.

      A lifetime ago.

      The car door on her side was yanked open. Stone’s youngest brother, Rocky, escorted her gently across the driveway and up the porch steps. “We’re glad you’re home,” he said with a grin. “Gives us an excuse to throw you a welcome-home barbecue tonight.”

      Dahlia smiled up at him, wondering where Field was hiding. “You Texas boys certainly do love to eat, don’t you?” she teased back.

      “How did you ever guess that?” Rocky’s grin widened as he settled her on the porch swing. Rocky had a huge appetite for barbecued ribs and hot Texas chili, but he was cowboy-lean, and had women chasing him from three counties. “Field made you a pitcher of lemonade, all by himself,” her brother-in-law said, his voice low for her ears alone. “So pretend you like it.”

      Rocky never changed, Dahlia thought gratefully, her gaze following Stone as he came up the front steps, carrying her suitcase. Just then the screen door flew open and Dahlia’s ten-year-old stepson rushed out onto the porch, carrying a glass of lemonade. He headed straight for the porch swing and thrust it toward Dahlia. “I made it myself. All by myself,” he added with a sidelong look at his father.

      Dahlia took a sip, announced it was perfect and drank up as the little boy she’d raised almost from birth watched with anticipation. He was slender and dark like his dad, with Stone’s gunmetal gray eyes.

      “Don’t I get a hug?” she asked the child she loved with all that was left of her heart.

      Field hesitated. “Uncle Rocky said to be careful and let you hug me.”

      Dahlia СКАЧАТЬ