Czytaj książkę: «The Cowboy and His Baby»

Chapter One

Damn, but it was cold, Cody Adams thought as he chased down the last of the herd of cattle he was rounding up. Texas had never been this frigid, not even in the middle of January. He was surprised half the livestock hadn’t flat-out frozen in the harsh Wyoming winter. They’d lost a few head of cattle, but nothing like what he’d anticipated the first time the temperatures had dropped below zero and the snow and ice had swirled around him.

The bitter cold and the frequent blinding snowstorms did serve one useful purpose, though. They kept him so busy—kept his brain cells so frozen, for that matter—that he hardly ever thought about home. He’d freeze his butt off and suffer frostbite on most any part of his anatomy for the blessing of a blank memory. He didn’t want to think about Texas or his family. Most of all, he didn’t want to think about sneaky, conniving Melissa Horton and the way she’d cheated on him.

It had taken him a long time to block out the image of his longtime girlfriend wrapped in his best friend’s arms. Even now, more than a year later, that terrible, gut-wrenching moment sneaked up on him when he least expected it and reminded him that that kind of pain might hide out, but it seldom went away.

With the last of the herd rounded up and dusk falling, Cody gestured to one of the other hands that he was leaving and headed back toward the small but cozy line shack he’d insisted he preferred to the bunkhouse. He’d claimed it kept him closer to the cattle for which he was responsible, but the truth was, he craved the isolation.

For a man who had been a very social creature back in Texas—okay, a notorious flirt—it was quite a change and, for the time being, a welcome one. It was the only surefire way he could think of for staying out of trouble and avoiding the sort of heartache that falling for some woman just about guaranteed.

His boss, impressed by the fact that for years 28-year-old Cody had been running White Pines, his family’s ranch back in Texas, hadn’t argued with his idiosyncratic decision. Lance Treethorn had insisted only that a phone be installed so he could reach Cody on business. He was the only one with the number. He rarely used it. Cody dropped by the ranch house often enough to stay in touch.

On the tiny porch Cody stomped the snow off his boots, gathered up an armload of firewood and went inside. Within minutes he had a fire roaring and had shucked off his skeepskin jacket. He stood in front of the blaze, letting the heat warm his chilled body. Unfortunately, it couldn’t touch the cold place deep inside him.

He’d been standing there for some time, lost in thought, when he noticed the stack of mail sitting on the table in the kitchen area of the one-room cabin. It was sitting atop a foil-covered pan that he suspected from the sinful, chocolaty aroma, contained a batch of freshly baked brownies. He grinned and ripped off the foil. Sure enough, brownies. Apparently, Janey Treethorn had been by again.

The fifteen-year-old daughter of his boss had a giant-size crush on him. Thankfully, though, she was painfully shy. She limited her overtures to dropping off his mail, always with a batch of brownies or his favorite apple pie. In the summer it had been fresh fruit cobblers. She was usually careful to stop by while he wasn’t home. On the one occasion when he’d caught her, she’d blushed furiously, stammered an apology for intruding, and fled on horseback before he could even say thanks.

Unable to resist, he grabbed one of the brownies and ate it as he sorted through the few pieces of mail she’d left, putting the bills aside to be paid later. A small blue envelope caught his attention. Turning it over, he recognized his sister-in-law’s handwriting.

As always, when anything came from a member of his family, his heart skipped a beat. Letters were rare enough to stir a pang of homesickness each time one arrived. Jordan’s wife had been dutifully writing to him once every two weeks or so from the moment she and Jordan had gotten married. For a man who swore he wanted nothing to do with anyone or anything back home, it was downright pitiful how he looked forward to Kelly’s chatty letters and the family gossip she shared with such humor and telling insight. This one was more than a week overdue. Since the others had come like clockwork, he’d been trying not to admit just how worried he really was.

He could tell right off there was something different about this one, too. It was stiffer, more like a card than a letter. He grabbed a second brownie, then carried Kelly’s latest correspondence with him back to his chair in front of the fire.

When he ripped open the envelope, a tiny square dropped out of the card inside. He grabbed for it instinctively and found himself staring at an infant swaddled as tight as a papoose in a blue blanket. He caught himself grinning at the sight of that tiny, red, scrunched-up face.

So, Jordan was a daddy, he thought, amazed by the shaft of pure envy that shot through him. He’d known the baby was due any day now. Kelly had kept him apprised of every detail of her pregnancy, including his older brother’s bemusement at the natural childbirth classes she’d insisted he take with her. He wondered if Jordan had made it through the delivery or if he’d fainted at Kelly’s first big-time contraction.

He closed his eyes against the tide of longing that rolled over him. He was missing so damned much, he thought, once again cursing Melissa for the betrayal that had made staying in Texas where he belonged impossible.

He was missing seeing his other brother Luke and his wife Jessie’s little girl grow. Angela had turned two back in December. Kelly had sent a picture of her with her face streaked with icing and her fist in the middle of the chocolate birthday cake with its two, fat pink candles. He’d tucked it in his wallet, along with the snapshot of Kelly’s daughter from her first marriage, Dani, a little con-artist-in-training who could persuade penguins to buy ice, if she was of a mind to. Now he opened his wallet and inserted the tiny picture of this latest addition to the family.

He stared at the brand new baby one last time and wondered if he’d ever see him. He’d been named Justin James, according to the information on the birth announcement.

“We’re going to call him J.J.,” Kelly wrote in the note accompanying the card. “We can’t wait for you to see him. Jordan swears he hasn’t slept a wink in the past week. I don’t know how that can be, since I’m the one up every time the little monster screams in the middle of the night. I haven’t noticed Jordan pacing the floor alongside me. I think he’s been sleeping with a pillow over his head deliberately, so he can claim he never hears J.J. crying. He swears he only wakes up after I’ve already left the bed. The silver-tongued devil says it’s missing me that wakes him. He thinks a line like that will make me more sympathetic to him. Fat chance.

“No, seriously,” he read on, “your big brother has been a huge help. I think he’s a little awed by fatherhood…or maybe it’s just that mountain of diapers he’s expected to wash every night.”

Cody chuckled at the image of his button-down brother, the big-time oil company executive, changing diapers and warming bottles. Maybe he was taking to it better than any of them had anticipated, including Jordan himself.

“We’re scheduling the baptism for the end of the month and we expect you to be here,” the letter continued. “No excuses, Cody. It’s time to come home.”

It’s time to come home. Kelly’s words echoed in his head, taunting him, reminding him that nothing would ever make this beautiful, sprawling Wyoming ranch into home. Lance Treethorn was a kind, decent man. He’d become a good friend. His daughters were real little angels and they treated Cody like one of the family. Even so, it wasn’t the same. Not that a little thing like being homesick mattered. Even though his heart ached for the life he’d left behind, he knew he could never go back. He’d rather eat dirt than get within a hundred miles of the traitorous Melissa ever again.

It had been over a year since he’d left Texas, eighteen months to be exact, but not even time had cured him of the rage that had sent him away from everyone and everything dear to him.

Mention Texas and he didn’t think of his beloved White Pines, didn’t think of his parents or his brothers, much as he loved them all. The only image that inevitably came to mind was of Melissa Horton. Sometimes not even an entire bottle of the best liquor in the store could blot out the memories of the woman who’d betrayed him with his best friend.

Even now the vision in his head of Melissa was so vivid he could practically feel the silky texture of her skin and the soft flow of dark auburn hair through his fingers. He could practically smell the sweet summer scent of her.

But along with the sensual memories came the blinding rage, as powerful now as it had been on the day he’d left Texas for good. Accompanying that rage was the anger and frustration of realizing that he was, in part, responsible for what had happened. Maybe if he’d told her he loved her, she wouldn’t have turned to Brian Kincaid in the first place. Maybe if he’d had a clue just how much she mattered to him, instead of taking her for granted, he wouldn’t be lying awake nights aching for her. He’d been a fool. She’d been a cheat. Quite a pair, the two of them. Maybe he deserved to be this miserable. She certainly did, though he had no idea if she was. She could be happily married to Brian now, for all he knew.

Before he’d realized what he was doing, he’d ripped the note inviting him to the baptism of Jordan and Kelly’s baby to shreds. He couldn’t allow himself to be tempted back, not even by something as important as this. He would not go back to Texas. Not now. Not ever.

The decision was firm, but it left him feeling heartsick and more lonely than he’d ever felt in his life. He was almost glad when the ring of the phone shattered the silence. He grabbed the receiver gratefully.

“Hey, boss, what’s up?” he said, knowing it would be Lance Treethorn on the other end of the line.

The widowed father of three young girls, Treethorn had his hands full with trying to run the ranch and raise his daughters to be proper young ladies. He’d succeeded with the oldest. Janey was as prim and proper and dutiful as a father could ever want, but the two younger ones, ten and twelve, were terrors. Cody didn’t envy the thirty-five-year-old man trying to get them raised and married without calamity striking.

“We got the herd rounded up today,” he told Lance. “We only lost one more to the cold.”

“Thanks, Cody, but I didn’t call for an update.”

Something in Lance’s voice triggered alarm bells. “What’s wrong?” he asked at once. “Are there problems with the girls?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. We’re all fine, but you had a call here at the house.”

“I did?” He’d given the Treethorn number only to Jordan, with a direct order that it never be used except for a dire emergency. He knew his brother would never break that rule. His heart thudded dully as he waited for whatever bad news Jordan had imparted.

“Call home,” his boss told him. “It sounded pretty urgent. Your brother asked how quickly I could get a message to you. Obviously Jordan still doesn’t know you have a phone in your cabin.”

“No,” Cody admitted, grateful that his boss had never asked why he insisted on having such a buffer between him and his family. Lance was the best kind of boss, the best kind of friend. He was scrupulously fair. He lent support, but never asked questions or made judgments. There had been no hint of criticism in his voice when he’d commented just now on Cody’s decision to keep his private phone number from his family.

“I’m sorry he bothered you,” Cody apologized anyway.

“You know damned well it’s no bother. I just hope everything’s okay at home. Give me a call if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Thanks, Lance.”

Cody hung up slowly, thinking of the tiny picture that he’d placed in his wallet only moments earlier. Had something happened to Justin James? Or to Kelly? Why else would Jordan call? Damn, but he hated being so far away. What if…He allowed the thought to trail off.

“Stop imagining the worst and call,” he muttered out loud, finally forcing himself to dial his brother’s number, knowing that this call, whatever it was about, would shatter whatever distance he’d managed to achieve from his past.

Jordan picked up on the first ring. His voice sounded tired and hoarse.

“Hey, big brother,” Cody said.

“Cody, thank God. I was worried sick you wouldn’t get the message for days.”

Jordan, the most composed man Cody had ever known, sounded shaken. The alarm bells triggered by Lance’s call were clanging even louder now. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s bad news, Cody. Real bad.”

Cody sank onto a chair by the kitchen table and braced himself. The last time Jordan had sounded that somber was when their brother Erik had been killed in an accident on Luke’s ranch.

“Is it Dad?” he asked, hating even to form the words. Harlan Adams was bigger than life. He was immortal—or so Cody had always tried to tell himself. He couldn’t imagine a world in which Harlan wasn’t controlling and manipulating things.

“No, he’s fine,” Jordan reassured him at once, then amended, “Or at least as well as can be expected under the circumstances.”

“Dammit, Jordan, spit it out. What the hell has happened?”

“It’s Mother,” he began, then stopped. He swallowed audibly before adding, “She and Daddy were out riding this morning.”

He paused again and this time Cody could hear his ragged breathing. It almost sounded as if Jordan were crying, but that couldn’t be. Jordan never cried. None of them did. Harlan had very old-fashioned ideas on the subject of men and tears. He had set a tough example for them, too. He hadn’t shed a single tear when Erik died. He’d just retreated into stony, guilt-ridden silence for months after the loss of his son. The rest of them had coped with their grief dry-eyed, as well. If Erik’s death hadn’t caused Jordan’s cool, macho facade to crack, what on earth had?

“Jordan, are you okay?” he asked.

“No. Mother took a bad fall, Cody.”

Cody felt as if the blood had drained out of him. Hands trembling, he grabbed the edge of the table and held on. “How is she? Is she…”

“She’s gone, Cody,” Jordan said with a catch in his voice. “She never woke up. She was dead by the time the paramedics got to the ranch.”

“My God,” he murmured, stunned. Forbidden tears stung his eyes. Ashamed, he wiped at them uselessly. They kept coming, accompanied by a terrible sense of loss. “Are you sure Daddy’s okay? Why aren’t you with him?”

“Luke and Jessie are over at White Pines now. Luke’s got the funeral arrangements under control. Kelly and I will be going over right after I get off the phone. I wanted to stay here until you called back. How soon can you get here?”

Cody noticed his brother asked the question as if there were no doubt at all that he would be coming home. “I don’t know,” he said, struggling between duty and the agony that going home promised.

Disapproving silence greeted the reply. “But you will be here,” Jordan said emphatically. “I’m telling Daddy you’re on your way.”

Cody rubbed his suddenly pounding head. “I don’t know,” he repeated.

“Look, this is no time to be indulging in self-pity, little brother,” Jordan snapped impatiently. “Daddy needs you here, probably more than he needs any of the rest of us. He’ll need you to take up some of the slack at White Pines while he pulls himself together. He’s always depended on you. Don’t let him down now.”

Cody said nothing.

Jordan finally broke the silence with a sigh. “We’re scheduling the funeral for Saturday,” he said. “Be here, Cody.”

He hung up before Cody could reply.

Cody sat in the gathering darkness, silent, unchecked tears streaking down his cheeks. He had no choice and he knew it. Mary Adams might not have been the kind of warm, doting mother a child dreamed of, but Harlan Adams had worshiped her. He could not let his father go through this kind of grief without all of his sons at his side. It was the kind of loyalty that had been ingrained in him since birth. As badly as he wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, he knew better. Nothing mattered more at a time like this.

He took some small comfort in the odds that said he would probably never even see Melissa. He doubted she would have the nerve to show up at the funeral. She certainly wouldn’t have the audacity to show up at White Pines afterward. It would be okay. He could slip in and out of town before temptation overtook him and he sought out so much as a glimpse of her.

At least, that’s what he told himself on the long, sad drive back to Texas after he’d cleared his departure with Lance. He’d chosen to drive to delay his arrival as long as possible. Maybe to come to grips with what had happened in private. He’d spend a few days with his family to grieve. A few days to do whatever he could for his father. A few days to spoil his nieces and hold his brand new nephew. A few days to soak up enough memories to last a lifetime.

With all that going on, Melissa would be the last thing on his mind.

The very last thing, he vowed with grim determination as he finally turned into the lane to White Pines.

He slowed his pickup and looked around at the land that he loved, the land he’d hoped one day would be his since Luke’s mile-wide independent streak had sent him chasing after his own dream and his own ranch and Jordan was only interested in oil.

Even in the dead of winter, it was starkly beautiful, at least to him. He was home and suddenly, despite the sorrow that had drawn him back, he felt at peace for the first time since he’d driven away more than eighteen months before.

* * *

Melissa Horton took a break from her job behind the lunch counter at Dolan’s Drugstore and perched on a stool with the weekly newspaper and a cup of coffee. Her attention was riveted to the story of Mary Adams’s tragic riding accident.

The 55-year-old woman had always been incredibly kind to her. Melissa had figured Mary pitied her because she’d been mooning around Cody for most of her life. Once Mary had even tried to give her some advice. It had turned out to be lousy advice, but Melissa was certain Mary had thought she was doing her a favor.

Mary had sat her down one afternoon over tea and told her that Cody was taking her for granted. Not that that was news. At any rate, Mary had claimed that the only way Melissa would ever win him would be to make him jealous. Tired of being ignored except when it suited Cody, and taking the well-meant advice to heart, Melissa had tried to do just that by going out just once with Cody’s best friend.

What a disaster that had been! Had she chosen anyone else, maybe the plan would have worked, but she’d foolishly selected the one man she’d figured wouldn’t get hurt. Brian had known her heart belonged to Cody. He’d known their date meant nothing, that it was only a ploy to shake up Cody. He’d even tried to argue her out of it, warning her it could backfire, but her mind had been made up. She had risked everything, certain that Mary Adams was right. She’d seen it as the only way to get Cody to finally make a commitment to her.

She should have guessed that Brian understood Cody even better than she did. Every time she thought of the anger and hurt in Cody’s eyes that night, it made her sick to her stomach. He had stared at them for the space of one dull, thudding heartbeat. He’d looked not at her, but through her. His gaze riveted on Brian, he’d said, “A hell of a friend you turned out to be.”

He had spoken with a kind of lethal calm that had been more chilling than shouted accusations. Then he’d turned on his heel and walked away. He had taken off the next morning and never once looked back.

For the past eighteen months she’d had no idea at all where he was. Brian hadn’t heard from him, hadn’t expected to, for that matter. She hadn’t had the courage to ask Cody’s family for information. Her shame ran too deep.

There had been times when she’d considered being in the dark a blessing. It had kept her from chasing after him, from destroying what few shreds of pride and dignity she had left.

Now, though, she had no doubts at all that Cody would be coming home. She might have driven him away with her betrayal, but his mother’s death would surely bring him back.

Had he changed much? she wondered. Had he lost the flirtatious, fun-loving nature that had charmed her and half the women who’d crossed his path? Would she have to live with regrets for the rest of her life for turning him into a bitter, cynical man?

“No good’ll come of what you’re thinking,” Mabel Hastings advised, coming up behind her to peer over her shoulder at the front page of the newspaper.

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” Melissa asked defensively.

Mabel shook her head, her tight gray curls bouncing at the movement. When Mabel had a permanent, she meant it to last. She’d been wearing the exact same hairstyle as far back as Melissa could remember. It did not suit her pinched features.

“I been reading you like a book ever since you set eyes on Cody Adams way back in junior high school,” Mabel informed her huffily. “You seem to forget how many times you sat right here at this very counter making goo-goo eyes at him.”

Melissa chuckled despite her irritation at the unsolicited interference. “‘Goo-goo eyes’? Mabel, exactly how old are you? A hundred, maybe? Not even my mother would use an expression like that.”

The older woman, who was probably no more than sixty, scowled at her. “Don’t matter what you call it, the point is you’ve been crazy about that boy way too long and just look where it got you.”

Melissa sensed the start of a familiar lecture. Listening to it was the price she paid for having a job that paid enough in salary and tips to keep her financially afloat and independent. She didn’t have to take a dime from her parents.

“Okay, I get your point,” she said, trying to avoid the full-scale assault on her sense and her virtue. “Drop it, please. I probably won’t even see Cody.”

She was bright enough to know it would be far better if she didn’t. Her life had taken some unexpected twists and turns since he’d left, but it was settling down now. She was at peace with herself. There were no more complications, no more tears in the middle of the night over a man who didn’t love her—at least, not enough—and no more roller coaster ups and downs.

No way did she want to stir up old memories and old hurts. One look into Cody’s laughing brown eyes and she couldn’t trust herself not to tumble straight back into love with him. She’d clearly never had a lick of sense where he was concerned.

Now, though, the stakes were way too high. Now she had more than her own heart to consider. She had someone else to protect, someone more important to her than life itself—Cody’s daughter, the child he didn’t even know he had.