The Rancher's Secret Child

“That would be me.”

“Then we need to talk.” She squatted to look the boy in the eye. “Sit and don’t move.”

“By myself?” For the first time, the little guy looked unsure. And Marcus had to admit to getting his hackles up when a kid looked unhappy.

“By himself?” he echoed. The question earned him an answering look from the female. She straightened and met his gaze head-on, those blue eyes once again penetrating him. He didn’t like feeling as if he was five and about to get in trouble.

He also didn’t like the fact that his gaze landed on cherry-glossed lips that were far from smiling, yet were still cherry. As if that bright gloss was the only frivolous thing she allowed herself.

“He’ll be fine,” she answered. “We’re going to head to the barn and talk for a few minutes. I’ll be able to see him from there. Correct?”

“Sure thing,” Marcus whispered.

“Do you ever talk loud?” the boy asked, looking up at him from the spot where she’d told him to sit. He had a small car, and as he stared at Marcus, he pushed the car through the dirt.

“No, I don’t.” Marcus walked off, leading the horse behind him. He heard the gate creak on its hinges and the footsteps hurrying to catch up.

He entered the side door to the barn and she followed him.

“Say what it is you came here to say.” He ground the words out. He didn’t mean to sound gruff, but it couldn’t be helped. Added to that, something about this woman put him off-kilter. And not in a totally bad way.

He gave her another long look and saw the wary shift of her gaze from his face to the door. She had bad news. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach.

She stood by the door, watching first the boy and then him.

“My name is Lissa Hart. Sammy Lawson was my sister. Well, foster sister.”

Sammy. He unsaddled the horse and led the animal to a stall to be dealt with later. He wouldn’t put a horse out to pasture without giving it a good brushing and grain. Even a horse that had tossed him in the dirt.

It had been about six years since he’d seen Sammy. The mention of her had taken him back to a time and place, a version of himself, he’d rather forget. He needed a minute to collect his thoughts, so he made sure the horse had plenty of hay and fresh water. Finally, he turned to face Lissa Hart.

“Sammy? I haven’t heard from her in a long time.”

Pain sparked in her eyes and she blinked a few times. “Marcus, Sammy passed away. A little over a year ago. I thought you would have heard.”

He walked away from her. Now he needed more than a minute. His heart constricted, reminding him he did indeed have one. Sammy gone. It didn’t make sense. The two of them had dated for a few months until she broke it off with him. He hadn’t loved her, but he had cared for her. They’d been a bad fit, in different places, rubbing each other wrong. She, like so many women in his life, had wanted more than a broken-down, dysfunctional bull rider with an alcohol problem.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Emotions in check, he faced her again. “What happened?”

“She had an accident. Her injuries were serious. I made it to the hospital, but...”

She closed her eyes and he understood.

“I’m sorry,” he said more softly than normal, and his eyes misted with unwelcome dampness. “I tried to call her after she ended it with me. She let me know she didn’t want me around.”

“She had ideas about what she wanted in life.”

“And it wasn’t a rough bull rider from Bluebonnet Springs, Texas.” He couldn’t keep the resentment from his voice.

“She told me she was afraid together you’d be combustible and you’d self-destruct. She needed peace.”

“Yeah, I get that. That brings us to why you’re here, and then you can leave.” He got the sneaking suspicion it wasn’t going to go that way.

She swallowed hard, and he felt a pang of something resembling guilt or regret. She’d lost someone she considered a sister. Sammy had been young and so full of life. She’d had dreams. And now she was gone. He muttered under his breath and wiped his eyes. Contrary to how he was acting, he wasn’t heartless.

“I’m here because she wanted me to find you.”

“Find me why?” He took a step toward her and then changed direction so that he could look out the door, needing to check for himself that the boy was okay.

“He’s your son.” The words sprang from her lips, and for a minute he couldn’t make sense of them.

The boy sat where they’d left him. He was making motor noises for his car and intent on building a ramp. Marcus watched him for a moment and then turned to face the woman who had just upended his entire world.

“No.” He said it again. “No. She would have told me.”

“She knew you weren’t ready to settle down or ready for a family. She wanted to protect him the way she hadn’t been protected as a child.”

“Then why are you here now?”

“Because I promised.” Her words were soft, sad. She shrugged. “She had heard you were changing, getting your act together.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

Her gaze dropped, but not before he saw the sheen of moisture. “I was with her at the hospital, and she told me to find you, and if you had your life together, then I should bring Oliver to meet you.”

“You waited a year.”

“I had to find you. I also had to keep my promise that I would make sure you had changed.”

“You waited a year,” he repeated, more angry than he’d been in a long time.

“I won’t let anyone or anything hurt Oliver,” she informed him. “And you haven’t exactly been a model citizen.”

That wasn’t untrue. He gave her a steady look and wondered if she would back down. She didn’t. He gave her points for that—most people didn’t hold up under the glare he’d perfected since childhood.

“The kid is out there alone. You should go get him. And you should leave.”

“The kid has a name. His name is Oliver and he’s your son.”

His son. He gave his head a quick shake. He had a son. The kid out there who had looked up at him with a mixture of fear, awe and concern was his. And he was the last person that boy needed in his life.

Lissa cleared her throat, gaining his attention.

“We have to finish this. And just because you go all angry cowboy on me doesn’t mean I’m leaving. Sammy had a will. She gave me custody of Oliver. She wanted you in your son’s life. But she had stipulations.”

“I’m not good at ultimatums.”