A Cowboy's Honor

“If I can.” Her face tightened, as if she was bracing for bad news.

“Are we still married?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t wear a ring.” He glanced at his own hand, saw no band on his own ring finger. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are we still married?” Dallas slouched against his seat, hating that he had to ask, but needing the information to build another piece of the puzzle. “You could have divorced me. They told me I was in the coma for over five years. That’s a long time for someone to be gone.”

Especially a husband.

“Believe me, I know exactly how long it’s been.” Bitterness tinged Gracie’s voice in spite of her best efforts to pretend nonchalance.

“So why didn’t you get a divorce?”

“Stop pushing me!” she snapped, then immediately shook her head. “I’m sorry, Dallas.”

“It’s okay.” But it wasn’t. He wanted to figure out why she hadn’t let him go and found someone new.

“I don’t have an answer for you. For a while I thought you’d come back, show up on the doorstep with some long-winded explanation about where you’d been, why you hadn’t called.”

“And when I didn’t?”

“I didn’t have the money to find out about how to get a divorce. I didn’t have the money for anything.” The dam holding back her anger broke. “I wasn’t just sitting in a chair waiting for you to show up, you know. I had to get on with my life. You were gone, my dad was gone. I had to find a way to survive.”

“I’m sorry.” It didn’t help, but at least now he knew. “You wanted to, though, didn’t you?’

He needed her to answer that.

“At one point, early on, I considered divorce.” Gracie steered toward a white house tucked under a weeping willow. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“I don’t know.” Dallas pressed his hands flat against his knees.

“This is my place.” Gracie pulled up to the house, taking great pains to align her vehicle perfectly with the post in front before she shut off the motor. She climbed out of the truck quickly, opened the rear door and lifted out her parcels. She was halfway up the path, her sandals rustling the pea gravel, before she noticed he hadn’t followed.

“Come on, Dallas. Let’s go inside.” Gracie waited until he’d joined her. “This is what I call home now. Elizabeth gave—”

The front door flew open. A miniature blond whirlwind appeared on the step, hopping up and down on one foot. “Did you get it? Did you get it?”

Dallas glanced at Gracie. Love washed over her face.

“Yes, I got it. And I want you to meet someone. But let’s go inside first.” She smiled at the little girl before motioning for him to follow her. “I’ll introduce you to Elizabeth Wisdom.”

“Hi, Gracie. We had a lovely afternoon together.” A tall, gray-haired woman stood by the kitchen counter. She nodded at him. “I see you brought some company along. Welcome to the Bar None.”

“Thanks.” This was the benefactor? To Dallas she looked more like a grandmother.

“Shall I leave you now, Gracie? Or do you need me a bit longer?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much more of an imposition, I’d like you to stay, Elizabeth. This concerns you, indirectly.” Gracie grabbed Dallas’s arm and drew him into the living room.

He glanced around. There was not an item out of place. That deliberate neatness struck him as odd, especially with a child present. But then maybe the little girl didn’t live here.

Elizabeth arched one brow before nodding. She studied Dallas as she took a seat on the white love seat. Foreboding rushed over him, but he pushed it away. The doctor had told him to be prepared for surprises. All he could do was silently pray for courage as he waited for Gracie to make the next move.

“Have a seat,” his wife told him.

Dallas chose the big armchair. Perched on the edge, he felt as if his life teetered on the edge of a precipice.

“Who else is here, Mommy?”

Mommy? He blinked as his wife grasped one tiny hand and led the child to stand in front of him.

“Honey, I want you to meet Dallas.” Gracie’s pretty face went white. The next words threatened to choke her, but she forced them out anyway. “Dallas, this is Misty. My daughter.”

“Dallas?” Misty’s halting voice held uncertainty. Her fingers curled into Gracie’s, seeking reassurance.

“Yes, sweetheart.” Gracie’s tear-filled blue eyes begged him to understand.

“Oh. Dallas was my daddy’s name. Are you my daddy?” The tiny girl wearing a mussed blue dress touched his knee, and in doing so, grabbed hold of Dallas’s heart.

His daughter. Misty.

Her voice was an immature imitation of her mom’s. Feathery golden curls spilled to her shoulders. Also like her mother’s. Perfect features in a sun-kissed face. Pink bow lips that didn’t smile or frown.

But Misty was not all Gracie. The jut of her chin, the dimple that flickered to life at the edge of her mouth—he knew those were his gifts to her. He’d studied his own features in the mirror so often, trying to figure out who he was.

He was a father.

Dallas’s insides melted in wonder and intense love as he gazed into eyes that perfectly blended Misty’s parental heritage, not quite green, not quite blue.

“Mommy?” Misty murmured, her voice uncertain, hesitant.

“Yes, honey. Dallas is your daddy.” Gracie’s voice seemed to come from far away.

Dallas studied his daughter, wondered how Misty could know his name.

“I talked about you,” Gracie murmured.

“My mommy told me a lot about you. Only she thought you were in Heaven.” Misty stared past him, unblinking. “But you’re not in Heaven. You’re right here.”

“Yes, I am.” In that second Dallas understood what Gracie hadn’t been able to say.

Misty was blind.

His heart cracked, but he refused to allow pain to edge its way into his voice. Not now. Not while she waited for his reaction.