The Cowboy's Secret Baby
Autore
Leigh Riker
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CHAPTER ONE
HER CHILDREN WERE GONE.
“Bye, Mom!” nine-year-old Jordan, her oldest, had yelled on his way to his father’s car.
“Bye-bye, Mommy.” A worried look from Stella, almost eight. “Will you be okay?”
“Why aren’t you coming with us, Mama?” This last from six-year-old Seth, her shadow.
For the first time in nearly a decade, she’d be childless for the next few months, and the summer promised—threatened?—to be one lonely day after another, which would only give her space to obsess about the recent changes in her life. “What am I going to do until August?” Elizabeth Barnes asked her empty house. It was only mid-June. Her kids had left less than an hour ago, and already she missed them terribly.
Elizabeth blew her nose. She’d used half a box of tissues and her reddened eyelids must look puffy. She should have been dancing for joy at the very thought of being her own person for a while rather than everyone’s stay-at-home mom 24/7—but her initial euphoria when her ex-husband had offered to spend his summer with their kids had faded. Instead, she felt disconnected and a bit panicky.
A knock at her door predictably set her heart racing. Elizabeth, who’d been brought up on the belief that, above all, appearances mattered—Thanks, Mom—wasn’t ready to see anyone this morning. Maybe she wouldn’t answer. Today, in spite of her normally sunny outlook, she wanted to wallow in heartache—at least until tomorrow—before she finally went on with her life. The one she’d never wanted. The one that didn’t include Harry and their family being together. The divorce had been finalized a month ago, and she’d certainly observed that day with what she could only call mad desperation—she’d done a very foolish thing. But Harry was out of her life, as much as he ever would be as the father of their children, and it was Elizabeth who, from now on, would do most of the heavy lifting while raising them.
The knock sounded again, and her mouth went dry. For months a rap at the door had meant another prying person in the guise of concern, even a nosy reporter from the local paper. Harry had been the town mayor, and his infidelity had put her in the spotlight right along with him. You’d think people would have had enough by now of prying into her life, tearing apart the last shreds of her privacy, but in Barren, Kansas, there were those who still talked. Elizabeth was torn between her desire to hide and a need for human company in this house that now echoed with silence, and solitude nearly won.
Elizabeth hated attention. She knew there were those in town who’d always called her Ms. Perfect and hoped to see her get her comeuppance. Although she’d been Harry’s victim in all this, they blamed her. She couldn’t think how to repair her former standing in the community as Elizabeth Barnes, “first lady”—how to get her legs under her again, so to speak. Goodness, she sounded like Dallas Maguire, the rodeo guy who’d moved in next door last January, renting the former Whittaker house while he recovered from serious injuries.
Fortunately for her, he’d been easy to avoid—especially after her divorce became final. Dallas had spent a lot of his time since then doing rehab, until he’d disappeared a few weeks ago. She’d finally stopped looking out her kitchen window, wondering where he’d gone. All for the best, she’d thought.
Elizabeth heard a third knock at the door, reminding her that—thanks again to her mother—she had manners. “Coming,” she finally said, then opened the door. To her surprise, hands in his back pockets, Dallas stood on the porch assessing a pot of red geraniums, and after a quick glance at the back of his head, his dark hair, she looked away. Even in jeans and a faded T-shirt, he was an amazing sight, but since that day with him in May, she’d tried not to notice. “Dallas, I’m not in good shape today. Maybe you could come back later.” Or not at all.
Dallas turned toward her. His electric-blue gaze drifted over her, probably seeing the remnants of her tears—seeing too much—and Elizabeth fought an urge to swipe them away. He was the gregarious type who’d probably never met a stranger, and the day her divorce was finalized he’d certainly pried Elizabeth out of her shell, the one she wanted to pull around her now like a cloak. An awkwardness nagged at her, an awareness of him that she couldn’t afford to indulge again.
Dallas edged his broad-shouldered way into the house. He took only a few steps, but she could see he’d suffered a setback.
“You’re limping again. What happened?”
The last time she’d seen him, he’d been doing so well with his recovery from that bad spill on the circuit.
He shrugged. “Tried a rodeo in Houston. Just to see if I could ride. The bull disagreed. Hurt myself again—nothing too bad, but my hip’s unhappy this morning. Had to spend more time than I’d planned away from here.”
“In a hospital?” Not long ago, he’d spent considerable time in one.
“Nah, resting a bit.” She doubted that was the full story. “Then I paid my folks a quick visit. Sorry I haven’t been around.” His gaze strayed from hers. “You mad at me? I mean, because—”
The memory of that day in May was suddenly front and center again. “Dallas, I never did anything like that in my life. I never will again.”
“Make love?” His mouth tilted in a smile before he sobered. “I want you to know, I didn’t intend for anything to happen that day.”
“Yes, but we both know how that turned out.”
“I came over to see if you were all right, that’s all.”
“I’m fine.” She could feel her cheeks heat. She couldn’t look at him either. The memory of that afternoon, in broad daylight while her children were in school...the warmth of Dallas’s touch, at first on her shoulder to comfort when he’d come from next door, seemed very real again. But then she’d collapsed in tears—never prone to crying, she’d done more than her share this year—and found herself wrapped in Dallas’s arms. And he’d kissed her...
“Dallas, I barely know you. I’m still mortified that I let things get so out of control. I acted like a...woman hoping to be rescued, but I’m not that person.” She managed a weak laugh. “My mother saw to it that I know how to behave in every situation.” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe I did that—”
“We did that,” he corrected her. “If you want me to be sorry, then I am. But let’s leave that for now. You’re divorced. You can start fresh, go on with your life and make whatever you want of it. Try something just for you.”
“Like what?”
With the beginnings of another smile, he shrugged again. “I don’t know. Take a trip, a cruise. Sign up for some course you’ve always wanted to take. Talk to a friend—meaning me.” But even considering their onetime mistake together, she and Dallas weren’t friends; they were neighbors, that was all, and temporary at that. He didn’t seem to agree. “Let’s have dinner tonight. My way of apologizing. I’ll make reservations at the Bon Appetit. What time?”
“Food doesn’t appeal to me. Go home,” she said with a half smile of her own. “I’m in hiding. I may stay here all summer.”
“Uh-uh.” Dallas leaned in the doorway. “Not buying that, and—wow—” He glanced around the living room. Not a thing out of place. No toys scattered across the carpet, no children’s books or games or art projects on view. Elizabeth’s spirits sank even lower.
“I know,” she said. “It’s never looked this good.” She’d spent the last half hour tidying up. And mopping tears.
“I saw them all leave.” He slanted her a look. “You really okay?”
“No,” she admitted, which seemed obvious. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “And that’s the same question you asked me in May.” Which had started something she’d never be able to forget or overlook. The town gossips would have a field day with that. If they ever knew. “I’m overreacting, aren’t I?”
“Yes, ma’am. Come for dinner with me,” he said. “We’ll have fun.”
Her pulse jumped. “And most of Barren will somehow find out.” As if the cheating mayor’s ex-wife was also having an affair, destroying the rest of her reputation and endangering her children’s welfare.
Dallas tilted his head to study her. “You aren’t really going to stay in this house all summer while your kids are away, are you? You’ll give people what they’re looking for.”
“And what would that be?”
“A chance to gloat.”
“Why shouldn’t they? Everything became so public Harry might as well have put up a billboard.” She bit her lip. “Some would say I deserved that.”
“You didn’t, and you’re well out of that mess.” Dallas sounded as if he knew all about that too. Just as he’d seemed to understand her pain the afternoon they’d...spent together. He’d been so understanding—way too understanding, as it turned out.
“Dallas, do I need to remind you? One of my dearest friends is now raising Harry’s daughter, the one he sired out of wedlock.” She nearly choked on the old-fashioned word, but Elizabeth had been raised in a world with definite social rules to be observed, and those lessons were deeply ingrained. What else could she call it? “In such a short time, tell me, how am I supposed to put that behind me? His child—Emmie—and my Seth see each other at school. They’re practically the same age, which means—” She broke off, not wanting to think of that timing. “As you said, what a mess. Harry may be on his way to Colorado with our children, but I’m still here. Dealing with the fallout. The last thing I need is fresh scandal.”
“And you think you’d create scandal just by having dinner with me?” Dallas glanced away, then turned and retraced his steps to the front door. His tone held an unfamiliar edge. “Your loss.” He obviously had his pride, and Elizabeth had wounded it when he’d only been trying to apologize. He was on the porch and down the stairs before she could take back her hasty words. He wasn’t to blame because, in a moment of weakness, she’d let down her guard or because her life had fallen apart. And she didn’t know how to start over. All she did know for sure was that she had to safeguard her kids. They were her sole priority now.
Alone in the house again, she sank onto the sofa. Pillows plumped. Not a jelly smear in sight on the oatmeal-colored upholstery her mother had picked out. This wasn’t Dallas’s fault.
Neither was the other mess she’d made that did include him.
She was no better than Harry, really.
“WELL. HOW’S IT GOING, DALLAS?” his sports agent asked. There was a hidden message there, which Dallas tried to ignore. Lately, their conversations hadn’t been going so well. Much like the one he’d just had with Lizzie.
It had been a long time since a woman deep-sixed him as she had. And yes, Dallas thought of her as Lizzie. To him, she wasn’t an Elizabeth, and she could use some loosening up.
In his house next door to hers—the rental that had allowed him to stay in Barren while he recuperated, and closer to his brother than he’d been in more than twenty years—Dallas dropped onto the sofa with a stifled grunt. The persistent pain was a temporary inconvenience, a reminder that his right hip now had an artificial joint. He’d neglected—not forgotten—to take his cane across the yard, unwilling to rely on it or show weakness to Lizzie, but he had other things on his mind now.
“How am I doing?” he repeated for Ace. “Even better than expected. I’m almost a hundred percent.” Liar. But he had to get back on the circuit. Better late than never, which had prompted his call to Ace O’Leary. The pressure was on and growing with each passing day. Except for Houston, Dallas had been off the road since before Christmas. He’d made a serious blunder by entering that event—and paid the price in a fresh round of pain—but he’d done it to show he could. He needed to boost Ace’s belief in him, and all he would have to do then was conquer the anxiety he felt every time he entered the ring. Stage fright—he could feel the familiar edge of panic again now, the humiliating nausea before every ride, the certainty that his head was about to explode as the bull shifted under him. The tight grip on his rope that nearly broke the skin.
How many good years did he have left in a sport that made such physical, even emotional, demands? How long before his accumulated injuries would force him to retire? He wanted a world championship first, the perks that would follow and set him up for life. There were a lot of rodeos yet to come, prize money to win and lucrative endorsement contracts to hold on to. In the meantime, he didn’t need Ace quitting on him, which Dallas had begun to suspect might happen. “Can’t wait to get back,” he said.
Ace muttered, “You lost the end of last year. This season’s half-over.” Dallas couldn’t deny that. “Then you make that boneheaded decision to ride in Houston and wind up in rehab again. With every day you spend on the disabled list, Las Vegas—the big prize—gets further away. In fact, it’s out of sight. You have no chance for the Finals, Dallas. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
Dallas flinched a little. The money he might have won there would have helped his adoptive parents, for whom he felt responsible. His mother hadn’t been well lately—he’d recently stopped briefly in Denver to see her, but he had to check on her again soon. He owed the Maguires everything, and during his recovery he’d been sending part of his savings to them each month rather than some of his earnings. His accounts weren’t growing right now, but at the moment his task was to keep Ace’s spirits up. Rah-rah.
Ace wasn’t talking now, a bad sign, and his silence was another harsh reminder that Dallas wasn’t winning any prize money or points. His lack of status worried him. He’d been doing great, managing to conquer his nerves, until that bull tossed him clear across the ring in Lubbock late last year. More recently, he’d fallen off in Houston. Every cowboy in the business suffered injuries—sometimes bad ones—and Dallas had had his share even before this. “You can count on me, Ace.”
“Any chance you can ride in Cody this summer, then? A good venue for your comeback.”
Comeback? He was that far out of the running? The temptation to say yes made Dallas’s blood rush, quick enough to make him light-headed. If he didn’t send Ace some signal that he was almost ready to compete again, he’d find himself without representation.
“Cody,” he repeated like a man stumbling out of a dream. It was the capital of rodeo, and the events there were already in full swing, including some fine bull riding. “I’d say sure, but—” Did he want to kill himself? The doctors had warned him—
“Don’t push it,” Ace said for him, though Dallas didn’t quite believe his show of support, which got thinner every time they talked, the tone of his voice cooler. For a long time, they’d been friends as well as agent and client, almost brothers, but he could tell Ace was about to hang up, move on to another client who was still making real money. “Thanks for checking in.”
What was left of this year’s schedule scrolled through his head. Calgary in July, another classic, beckoned to him like a siren’s call. Not much time before that either, not enough to ease Ace’s mind. But in the weeks ahead, if Dallas spent too much time alone—as Lizzie did—he’d only get down and dark.
Lizzie Barnes...with tears in her green eyes, that neat bob she wore without a dark hair out of place, the defeated slump of her shoulders. He’d hoped to cheer her up, but she’d made herself clear. Not interested. What was her deal? He couldn’t deny his attraction to her or the fact they’d fallen into bed together once—my bad—but having dinner in the best local restaurant sure didn’t mean he wanted anything more.
That wouldn’t be fair to her, even when the particulars of that afternoon in May had lodged in his head. The sweet feel of her in his arms, her tears, their kisses... He’d certainly owed her that apology. Besides, what was he thinking? She had a family, and he was nowhere near ready for that.
When Dallas had first moved in, her son Jordan’s eyes had lit up. He wasn’t a ranch kid, like many of his friends, but having a rodeo cowboy next door gave him bragging rights. Lizzie’s middle child, though—her daughter—had just as quickly distrusted him. She seemed protective of her mom. The littlest guy Dallas didn’t know at all. He wasn’t good with kids. And for the next few years—God willing—he had to keep his focus. He wasn’t about to complicate his life by getting involved with his pretty, vulnerable neighbor. So, what’s your brilliant idea, Maguire?
He still needed to convince Ace he was really on the mend. And that he was using his off time more wisely than he had in Houston. He had to come up with something...
The idea hit him like that sudden swivel of the Brahma’s hips that had ended his previous season. Dallas had a lot in common with the stubborn bulls he rode. “Ace? Listen. Don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. There’s a rodeo coming up right here in Barren.” He took a breath. “I’m not sure of the date but I could get back in the saddle then, so to speak, before I hit the road and we’re both in the money again.”
“I’ve never heard of a rodeo in Barren,” Ace said, clearly doubting him.
“You probably wouldn’t. It’s a small one,” Dallas improvised. “Not sanctioned, but I should stand a good chance. I could ride one of their bulls like I was sitting in a rocking chair.”
“Well, if you say so...”
His mind was spinning. Ace had been right. There was no rodeo in Barren.
Dallas already felt guilty for the small lie he’d told. But at least he wasn’t obsessing over Lizzie Barnes now, and he’d bought himself some time.
