Cowboy Daddy

He’d never be a dad, but he was a father.

* * *

BY THE TIME Amanda and Lucas were released a few days later, the decision of where they were going had been made, though Amanda didn’t recall ever really agreeing.

At the ranch she stood in the doorway of the old cook’s room just off the big kitchen. Juanita didn’t use the small room since she was married to Chet, the ranch’s foreman, so it had been used for storage for years. Now it was Amanda’s temporary bedroom.

Per doctor’s orders, she wasn’t supposed to climb stairs for a few more weeks or lift anything, including Lucas. The center of the house being the kitchen, everyone could be nearby to help with the baby.

Her brothers had moved one of the beds from upstairs into this room. She was pleased to see that they’d gone to her house in Dallas and brought the crib she’d bought. Even some of the toys and decorations she’d picked out.

Her rocking chair was in the corner between the bed and crib. While she appreciated everything her siblings had done, this was not how it was supposed to be when she brought Lucas home. She looked for Lane and didn’t see him. Anywhere.

All she wanted to do was crawl into bed, cry until she couldn’t cry anymore and then fall into a deep dreamless sleep.

No one would question her. No one would begrudge her such indulgence. They’d been with her the past few days, seen what she’d faced. But no one would really understand. That was the part that bothered her the most. She felt so alone. Alone in a house full of people.

Voices came from the kitchen, breaking through the black cloud that threatened to engulf her. With a deep breath, she turned to face Tara, who had little Lucas in her arms. Amanda couldn’t even lift her own son. She couldn’t lift anything, and the weakness that had moved in and settled over her scared her to death as she imagined something horrid happening, like dropping her son.

Amanda swayed just as Wyatt came into the room. “Hey, sit down.” She didn’t resist when he guided her to the rocking chair. He reached out with a strong arm and held it still while she sat.

“Here you go, little one.” Tara’s voice was that sing-songy variety that only a baby could appreciate. She leaned in close and settled the little boy in Amanda’s arms, which surprised her.

“Oh.” He was so tiny. The warm bundle squirmed a little until she had him nestled in the crook of her arm, his downy head leaning against her elbow.

“Why don’t you two take a bit to settle in,” Tara stepped back, snagging Wyatt’s arm and dragging him to the door. “We’ll be right out here if you need anything.” Seconds later, they were both gone, though they kept the door open and light fell into the room from the bright kitchen.

“Oh, dear.” Amanda looked down at her son. His eyes were open, staring up at her with a newborn’s fascination. “Don’t do anything, sweetie. Your mom isn’t up to much more than this.”

The baby didn’t move, just kept staring up at her, his wide brown eyes so beautiful. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Lane had been at the hospital the other night. But she hadn’t heard from him or seen him since. Where was he today? She’d thought—hoped—he’d come by. She’d hoped he would change his mind and come and take them home.

Wyatt and Tara were there in his place.

She shouldn’t feel disappointment. She shook it off, hoping her son wasn’t able to pick up on her emotions.

Slowly, she pushed against the old wooden floor with her foot, gently moving the chair, soothing her undisturbed son and herself. She couldn’t take her eyes off his sweet little face, and as she moved, she watched his eyes slowly drift closed. He fell asleep, and she reached up to run a single finger along the soft edge of his jaw. He turned his head toward the touch, his tiny lips moving reflexively.

The light in the room changed then, became shadowed. She looked up and was thankful she was sitting. Lane leaned against the doorframe, his eyes hidden as the bright light from the kitchen backlit him.

“Hello,” she whispered, afraid to get her hopes up.

“Hi.” He didn’t move any closer. “You getting settled in okay?”

She nodded. “I think so. Can you take him and put him in the crib?” She wanted so badly to do it herself, but she couldn’t. She was too sore, too tired and too weak. She couldn’t risk Lucas’s safety. He was too tiny, too fragile, too precious.

“Tara?” Lane called over his shoulder and Amanda’s sister hurried toward them. Lane stepped aside, and Tara came to take Luke.

“Thanks,” Amanda whispered. “I’m afraid I’ll drop him.” She couldn’t control the shiver in her voice.

“That’s okay. That’s what we’re here for.” Carefully, Tara settled the baby in the crib, pulling the soft blue blanket up over him. She turned to face Amanda. “Do you want to join us in the kitchen or lie down?”

Amanda’s eyes met Lane’s for a brief instant. Why was he here? Why now? Why hadn’t he helped with Lucas? Everything was wrong. He was so distant, so far away. Tears threatened and she mentally cursed him the same instant she ached for him to pull her into his arms. “I think I’ll rest.”

Tara came over to the rocker, and put her arm beneath Amanda’s. “Take it slow.” Amanda wobbled to her feet, putting her free hand on the solid arm of the chair.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Lane said impatiently, stalking across the room. Before either of them could say a word, he’d swept Amanda up into his arms.

Her head spun, or at least that was the excuse that she gave herself for laying it against his shoulder.

“Don’t get used to this,” he admonished softly.

She barely had time to wonder what “this” referred to. His surly manner? The comfortable feel of the worn chambray of his shirt against her cheek? The solid warmth of his arms?

For the first time in ages she felt safe. All too quickly, Lane reached the bed and lowered her to the spread. Tara rearranged the pillows and pulled up the crocheted afghan from the foot of the bed. Lane took it from her and shook it out, tucking it around Amanda.

For an instant he paused and their gazes met. Heat washed over her, the same spark of heat she saw reflected in his eyes. If Tara hadn’t been here...

Then he blinked and hastily stepped away. He stood there suddenly looking as lost as she felt. His gaze flicked over to the crib, and she tried to read the emotion on his face, but he covered it too quickly.

The faint beeping of a cellphone had him scrambling through his pockets and quickly moving away. “Beaumont,” he answered.

She watched his brow furrow and heard the soft curse words that came past his lips. “I don’t have time for this,” he told whoever was on the other end of the line. Without another glance at her, he said, “Gotta go.” Then he was gone, out the door, with the sound of the screen slamming behind him in the distance.

“Something’s seriously wrong with that man.” Tara stood with her hand on her hips, a classic pose for Tara-the-curious as they both stared after Lane. “Wyatt says he gets these random calls and just takes off. Whoever is on the other end sure has him at their beck and call.”

“Does anyone know who it is?” Amanda asked.

Tara shook her head. “He won’t say a thing. Wyatt says he gets really ticked off if anyone even asks.”

What—or who—was Lane hiding? It wasn’t an easy task to hide anything on the ranch or in any of the local small communities, especially the nearest one, Haskin’s Corners. She racked her brain but found nothing.

And then a thought crossed her mind. A painful thought. They weren’t really a couple. What if...? No, surely she’d have heard through the grapevine. But what if there really was someone else who’d managed to steal his heart while Amanda had been busy hiding the truth and avoiding him?

Had she imagined the flash of heat she’d seen in his eyes?

Rolling over, she pulled the afghan up tighter around her shoulders. She’d hide under the covers for now—it was safer than facing the reality that she didn’t have the energy to follow him and demand the truth.

But later?

Later, all bets were off.

* * *

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” Lane barked into the phone. “The sun hasn’t even set!”

“Sorry, man,” the bartender at the Lucky Chance said. “He’s getting worse, Lane. You gotta do something.”

“What can I do?” Lane leaned against the far side of his truck, the side away from the house. He closed his eyes and tried not to take his exhaustion and frustration out on Sam. But he was tired and envied Mandy that soft comfy bed.