His Little Cowgirl. Brenda Minton

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      “That’s great, Bailey.” He took a step back. “I have a daughter and you were going to let me meet her someday?”

      “What did you expect from me, Cody?”

      “Bailey, I don’t know the right answer to that. I just know that I have a daughter and she’s five years old. Don’t ask me to make sense of this or tell you how I would have reacted a few years ago. I’m a different person today.”

      “Older and wiser?”

      “Something like that.”

      He couldn’t adjust with Bailey staring at him with soft brown eyes and a guilty flush staining her cheeks. He had to get away from her because he didn’t know if he should hug her or throttle her.

      “I need to think.”

      She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. But he could tell that it did. It mattered to him, too.

      And he had honestly thought he’d be able to stop by, say his apologies and leave. He’d been surprised on more counts than one. He’d been surprised with a daughter, and surprised that Bailey Cross still had the ability to undo him.

      “I have to ride in Springfield tonight.” He walked to his truck, followed by the tongue-wagging blue heeler. He turned when he realized that Bailey was right behind him. “I’m leaving my RV here so that you’ll know I’m coming back. I’m not a twenty-five-year-old kid now, Bailey. I don’t run.”

      “I’m sure you don’t.”

      “Maybe I shouldn’t even go to Springfield.”

      “I think you should go, Cody. You can call and we’ll talk this out.” She took a few steps toward him, and he hadn’t counted on the rush of feelings and memories that returned. “I know you can’t miss this ride. I know you’re at the top of the point standings.”

      “Bailey, some things are more important than eight seconds on a bull. Family is more important.”

      “I know that. But I also know what this world title means to you.”

      “I’m coming back,” Cody said. “Tonight.”

      He leaned to unhitch the RV from the back of his truck, aware that she stood next to him, her hands shoved into the front pockets of her jeans.

      “Fine, you can come back and we’ll talk.” Bailey backed up a step, as if wanting that distance between them. “We’ll work something out.”

      “Work something out?” He shoved the tongue of the trailer off the hitch and turned to face her. “You make it sound like we’re disputing over a property line and not a little girl with eyes like mine.”

      “Cody, I am sorry.”

      He shook his head and raised his hand to wave off her words. Instead of staying to argue, he got into his truck and pulled away. When he glanced into his rearview mirror she was walking across the lawn to the farmhouse where she’d grown up.

      And inside that house was a little girl he should have known about, a little girl who needed to know her daddy. He wasn’t going to walk away this time. Bailey Cross would have to find a way to deal with that.

      

      Bailey stopped on the back porch, lingering for a long moment in the breeze created by the overhead ceiling fan. Inside the house her dad and daughter were waiting.

      Driving down the road was the man who had given her that child and broken her heart. Her head was spinning like the blades on the ceiling fan.

      She’d forgiven him. She had really thought she’d forgotten. Instead it all returned in a heady flash of memory, including remnants of the pain she’d felt when he’d left her in Wyoming.

      After Meg’s birth she had done what she’d been taught—she’d pulled herself up by her bootstraps and moved on. As a single mother coping with lonely nights and an uncertain future, she hadn’t had time for wallowing in her mistakes.

      How was she going to deal with Cody Jacobs? Worse, how was she going to deal with the fact that having him back in her life had turned her emotions inside out?

      And then came fear. Would he take Meg away from her? Would his knowing about their daughter mean that holidays and summer vacations would be spent apart? How would she cope with sharing Meg?

      Bailey stopped the downward spiral of thoughts. She wouldn’t be sharing Meg with a stranger. Cody was Meg’s dad. He had rights.

      That assurance didn’t make her feel any better.

      She leaned against the side of the house, waiting for the world to right itself before crossing the threshold to face her dad. The dog lumbered up the steps and belly crawled across the porch. Bailey reached down and Blue nuzzled her hand as if the dog knew she needed to be comforted.

      “Thanks, girl.”

      When she walked into the kitchen, her dad was there, waiting for her. Bailey pulled a pitcher of tea out of the fridge and pretended that nothing had happened. Not that she’d get away with pretending. Her dad had probably heard the entire conversation through the open window.

      “Who were you talking to?” Jerry Cross was leaning on the counter, his afternoon meds in his hand. His skin had lost the healthy farmer’s tan he’d always worn. Now he just looked old and gray. And he wasn’t old.

      Every time Bailey looked at him and saw him wasting away in front of her, she wanted to cry. She wanted to explain to God that it wasn’t fair. She had lost her mom when she was ten. Now she was losing her dad.

      And Cody Jacobs’s RV was parked in her driveway.

      “It was…” She turned to see if her daughter was in the room.

      “She’s watching that goofy cartoon she likes.”

      “That was Cody Jacobs.”

      “Humph.”

      “He came to apologize.”

      “I guess he got more than he bargained for.” He coughed, the moment of breathlessness lasting longer than a week ago and leaving him weak enough that he had to sit at the kitchen table. “His RV is still here.”

      “He says he’s coming back.”

      Her dad looked almost pleased. “Good for him.”

      “Good for him? Dad, this isn’t good for me. It isn’t good for Meg.”

      “Maybe it’s good for me.” He wiped a large, work-worn hand across his face. “Maybe I need this, Bailey. Maybe I need to know that he’s here for you.”

      “He showed up to apologize. That doesn’t put him in my life. I don’t want him in my life. I don’t want to be his girl of the week. Isn’t that what the announcers on the sports channel call the women who hang on to his arm?”

      “We’ve both noticed a change in him since that bull trampled СКАЧАТЬ