Home on the Ranch. Allison Leigh

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СКАЧАТЬ movement in the bed that was so old it had been ancient even when he’d used it as a kid.

      He hadn’t noticed the squeaks before. Not with either therapist. Hattie McDonald with her militant aversion to smiles and her equally strong dislike for the remoteness of his ranch, nor Annette Barrone who’d made it clear she’d rather be sleeping in his room, anyway.

      He climbed out of bed—fortunately a newer model than the one next door—and pulled on his jeans. He’d never been prone to sleeplessness until six months ago when he’d gotten the first letter from Lucy’s mother. A helluva way to kick off the New Year. She wanted to see her daughter, she’d claimed. A daughter she’d never even wanted to have in the first place. He’d put her off, not believing her threat that she’d enlist her parents if he didn’t comply. When he’d known Sandi, she’d wanted nothing to do with her parents beyond spending her tidy trust fund in any manner sure to earn their dismay.

      Only she hadn’t been bluffing. And it was a lot harder to ignore the demand for access to Lucy when it came from Sandi’s parents. Particularly when it was backed up by their family attorneys.

      Then came Lucy’s accident several weeks later and his insomnia had only gotten worse. In the past week, with Belle Day’s arrival pending, it was a rare night if he got more than an hour or two of sleep at a stretch. It was pretty damn frustrating.

      He’d given up coffee, counted sheep and even drunk some god-awful tea that Emmy Johannson—one of the few people he tolerated in Weaver—had suggested. Nothing had worked.

      And now he could add Belle Day’s bed-creaking presence to his nightly irritations.

      Barefoot, he left his bedroom. He could no more not glare at her closed door than he could get a full night’s sleep these days.

      He went downstairs, automatically stepping around the treads that had their own squeak, and looked in on Lucy. She’d kicked off her blankets again and he went inside, carefully smoothing them back in place. She sighed and turned on her side, tucking her hands together beneath her cheek in the same way she’d done since she was only months old.

      There were times it seemed like twelve minutes hadn’t passed since then, much less twelve years. Yet here she was, on the eve of becoming a teenager.

      That was the problem with baby girls.

      They grew up and started thinking they weren’t their dad’s baby girl anymore.

      He left her room, leaving the door ajar so he could hear if she cried out in her sleep. Since she’d been thrown off that damn horse he should have sent back to her grandparents the day it arrived, she’d been plagued in her sleep almost as much as Cage.

      He didn’t need any light to guide him as he went through the house. The place was as familiar to him as his own face. Nearly the only thing that had changed since his childhood was the bed he’d just left behind and, if he’d had any foresight of the financial hit he would soon be taking with all manner of legal and medical costs, he wouldn’t have bought the thing last year at all.

      He went out on the front porch where the air still carried the damp from the rain even though it had finally ceased. It was more than a little chilly, but he barely noticed as he sat down on the oversize rocking chair his mother had once loved.

      If the room at the care center would have had space for it, he’d have moved it there for her years ago. There wasn’t much she hadn’t done sitting in the chair here on this very porch. She’d shelled peas, knitted sweaters and argued good-naturedly with Cage’s father when he and Cage came in after a long day.

      But her room, while comfortable enough, wasn’t that spacious.

      And the one time he’d brought her back to the Lazy-B, she hadn’t remembered the chair any more than she remembered him.

      He leaned back, propping his feet on the rail, and stared out into the darkness. Strudel soon appeared beside him, apparently forgiving Cage for his banishment after dining on yet another pair of Cage’s boots. He scratched the dog’s head for a minute, then Strudel heaved a sigh and flopped down on the porch. In seconds, the rambunctious pup was snoring.

      Lucky dog.

      There were a lot of things Cage wished for in his life. But right then, the thing at the top of the list was sleep. He’d nearly achieved it when he heard a short, sharp scream.

      Lucy.

      He bolted out of the chair, leaving it rocking crazily behind him as he went inside. And he slammed right into the slender body hurtling around the staircase.

      He caught Belle’s shoulders, keeping her from flying five feet backward from the impact. “Lucy—” Her voice was breathless. Probably because he’d knocked the wind clean out of her.

      “She sometimes has nightmares since the accident.” He realized his fingers were still pressing into her taut flesh and abruptly let go. His eyes, accustomed to the darkness, picked up the pale oval of her face, the faint sheen of her skin. A lot of skin, it seemed. She was wearing loose shorts and some strappy little top that betrayed the fact she wasn’t skinny everywhere.

      He deliberately stepped around her and went into Lucy’s room. But his daughter was already quiet again. Still sleeping, as if nothing had disturbed her at all.

      He raked his fingers through his hair, pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. God, he was tired. Then he felt a light touch on his back and nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned, pulling Lucy’s door nearly closed again. “What?”

      His harsh whisper sent Belle backward almost as surely as their collision had.

      “Sorry.” Her voice was hushed. “I thought…” He felt her shrug more than saw it. “Nothing.”

      He pinched the bridge of his nose. He could smell her, rainwater fresh. The sooner she went back to bed, the better. He wasn’t interested in what she thought. Or how she smelled. Or why she couldn’t keep still for five minutes straight in that old bed. “You thought what?” he asked wearily. He wished the moon were shining a little less brightly through the picture window in the living room, because with each passing second, he could see her even more clearly. Definitely not all skinny.

      She tugged up the narrow strap of her pajama top and hugged her arms to herself. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

      “Fine. Then go to bed.”

      She laughed—little more than a breath. “You sound like my dad used to.”

      He knew it was an innocent enough comment, aimed at the order he’d automatically given. Knowing it, though, didn’t keep him from reacting. Before he could say something that might send her straight for the decrepit Jeep she’d arrived in—and away from any possibility of helping his daughter—he stepped around her and headed upstairs.

      “Cage—”

      He didn’t want to hear anything she had to say. She’d said the magic word, sure to remind him just who she was, and to what lengths he’d been driven for his daughter’s sake.

      Dad.

      “Just go to bed, Belle,” he said, without looking back.

      Chapter Three

      Belle СКАЧАТЬ