Cowboy Daddy. Angel Smits

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СКАЧАТЬ the darkness. “Mandy? Where’d you go?”

      Trina was the last person Amanda wanted to talk to right now. They’d been friends since they were kids, and no matter how long between visits, Trina could pick up on her mood. She wouldn’t give up until she’d wormed every painful detail from deep inside her. But the secret Amanda held now wasn’t for public consumption.

      She loved her friend, but the only reason she’d come out tonight was in hopes of seeing Lane, telling him.

      Breaking into a semi run, Amanda wound her way through the crowded parking lot. Finally, she reached her car on the edge of the dirt. She’d been frustrated having to park so far away because she’d been running late. Now she was thankful for the quick getaway.

      Struggling, she pried her car key out of her sodden jean pocket. Taking a purse into a bar where there was dancing and drinking was pure folly. She’d locked it in her trunk, claiming the key and a few dollars before going inside.

      Now it made escape easy.

      As long as the tires didn’t sink into the mud.

      She stumbled, falling against the hard fender. Her hip hit a sharp edge and she gasped. Oh, God. No. She took several deep breaths, waiting, hoping and praying she hadn’t hurt anything. She pressed a hand to her abdomen, feeling the gentle swell. When she looked in her mirror each morning, she could barely see a difference, but she felt it. Inside and out.

      Finally, convinced all was well, she yanked open the door and crawled inside. The slam of the door was oddly soft compared to the none-too-gentle rat-tat of the rain beating on the car.

      But it did muffle the storm.

      And made her feel even more alone.

      Could it get any worse? Leaning her head back on the seat, she felt her cold, damp hair snake down her back. She shivered. At least she thought it was shivers. From the cold. It couldn’t possibly be her emotions. She refused to break down.

      Refused to let— The first sob was the hardest. “Damn you, Lane Beaumont. Damn you for making me want you,” she yelled at the neon-colored water covering the windshield. “Damn you,” she whispered.

      She cranked the ignition, and the starter ground hard before her shaking fingers let go. She didn’t care. She wanted out of here. Now.

      Mud flew up behind her, splattering the truck in the next row. She didn’t care about that, either. As if that would be a surprise to the cowboy who’d stumble to it half-lit in a few hours?

      Finally, the tires found purchase somewhere beneath the muck. She pulled on to the two-lane highway, the windshield wipers slapping out an even tune. She crept along, barely able to see more than a few feet ahead in the dark, wet night.

      Or through the damp in her eyes. She scrubbed impatiently at the stupid tears. This was so not her. Hormones. It had to be the hormones.

      That was it, she was sure. Miles sped by as she headed back to the ranch house. She had ten miles to pull herself together. She’d told her older brother, Wyatt, that she was going to Trina’s party, despite the painful news about DJ. She gasped as that pain returned. Oh, DJ. Please don’t die.

      Pretending she was okay had been a mistake. She’d been able to fake it until Lane walked in. Something about that man turned her inside out.

      Then the lights of Wyatt’s big ranch house appeared above the horizon. Awash in damp, broken only by the even beat of the wipers, the house had never looked more beautiful. Or more frightening.

      Several long minutes passed after she parked the car. Anyone inside would think she was waiting out the storm. They’d be wrong. She was waiting out herself.

      Lifting her chin, she started the car again, pulled slowly out of the drive. If she went inside, Wyatt would take care of her. She’d let him take care of her.

      And all her hard-won independence would be lost. She shook her head. Nope. Not going to happen. She floored the gas pedal and aimed the car back toward Dallas.

      * * *

      SLEEP. DAWN THREATENED as Lane stretched out on the battered picnic bench on the deck of his dad’s farmhouse. He’d closed his eyes just for a bit. He needed to rest before he hit the road and headed back to the bunkhouse for the day’s work.

      Dad was asleep at last, the alcohol finally claiming him. If Lane listened carefully, he could hear the low snore the old man always made when he was sleeping it off. Lane tuned it out. He didn’t need that reminder of his childhood intruding.

      The picnic bench was hard, but he didn’t care. This was his escape. His place. The backyard was empty and quiet. Peaceful. He focused on the outdoor sounds. The wind in the tall grasses. The creak of the useless windmill that had been there for a hundred years, not connected to anything for fifty.

      Damp heat had shimmered on the dawn horizon from last night’s rain shower as he’d wrestled his father out of the truck and into the house. Thanks to the downpour few critters were out, though a rabbit or two hopped through the brush.

      He listened now, picturing, pretending, just as he had as a kid, that this was how it was supposed to be.

      His body longed to sleep, but his mind was too full. And his heart? He ignored that bit of himself, seeing in his mind’s eye the hurt and anger on Mandy’s face. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just stay away from her? Why did she have this...power over him? One wink, a single touch and he stopped thinking.

      She wasn’t that kind of girl. She was the forever kind. Not the cab of a secondhand pickup truck in the parking lot of a run-down bar kind of girl. But that’s what she’d nearly become last night.

      He mentally cursed, swearing that next time... Who was he kidding? He had no willpower when it came to Mandy. He just had to make sure there was no next time.

      Exhaustion nearly claimed him—until he heard the sound of boot heels on the deck’s wood planking. His eyes shot open and he tried to sit up, only to smack his shoulder on the old table. The long shadow reaching across the wood didn’t tell him who it was. He turned.

      Trina. What the hell was she doing here? He didn’t want to know. “Go away, Trina.”

      He settled back down and pretended he was going back to sleep.

      “Not a chance, cowboy.” She stomped over to him and he felt her shadow block the warmth of the rising sun. “What’d you say to her?”

      “Who?” He could barely pretend he didn’t know who.

      “Don’t try to play stupid. Mandy, that’s who.”

      “Nothing.” There hadn’t been much talking going on in that truck, but he wasn’t sharing those details.

      “You said or did something. She left.”

      That got his attention. He opened his eyes, squinted up at her. “What do you mean, left?”

      “Left. As in went away. Vanished. Gone. Bye-bye.”

      Trina hadn’t been the star of all their high school drama productions for nothing.

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