by Judy Duarte
Her father narrowed his eyes, scoffed at her and spat out the most hurtful words she’d ever heard. Apparently, rotten apples don’t fall too far from the tree.
He hadn’t actually called her a tramp, but she’d known what he’d meant. Her mother had left them both for another man, a wealthy and influential oilman. The loss and rejection had hit her dad hard, and he’d never quite recovered from it.
On the other hand, Miranda had only been a baby at the time, so it hadn’t really affected her. At least, not directly.
Still, the hateful accusation had cut her to the quick. She might have turned on him right then and there, raised her own ruckus and stood her ground. But what he’d said next nearly knocked her to her knees.
That damned kid is nineteen, and you’re seventeen—which means you’re underage. Stay away from him, or I’ll call the sheriff.
Miranda sucked in a lungful of the cool night air, then slowly let it out and pressed on. “He threatened to have you charged with statutory rape. And since you were already on probation, I was afraid you’d end up serving time in jail.” She looked at Matt, awaiting his reaction, but he merely sat there, stone-faced. Had he even been listening?
She would have gone on, but when he furrowed his brow, considering what she’d told him and possibly pondering his response, the words stalled in her throat.
Finally, he said, “So that’s why you left without looking back.”
That wasn’t true. She’d looked back nearly every day since. She just hadn’t contacted him.
“I was willing to do anything to protect you,” she added, “so I agreed to never see you again. That’s why I stopped calling.”
Matt’s gaze zeroed in on her. “Okay. I got that. It was over between us. But you should have told me about the baby.”
“Yes, I should have, but I knew what you’d do. If I’d told you I was pregnant, you would have challenged my dad. And then he would have followed through on his threat. So I agreed to live with his aunt in Brownsville and have the baby there.”
His silence chilled the night air, and she gripped the rocker’s armrests until her fingers ached, waiting for his understanding, if not his forgiveness.
“I can understand why you did what you did,” he said. “Back then, anyway. But you’re an adult now, and you’re still afraid to cross him.”
In some ways, she supposed, Matt was right. But these days, when she complied, it was by choice. “I challenge him when I have to.”
“Like when?”
“The first time was when he called me at my aunt’s house and told me that he’d talked to an adoption agency. When I refused to even consider it, he threatened to disown me if I didn’t give up the baby and go to college as planned. But I never would have done that, no matter what the consequences.”
“That was only a threat. He wouldn’t have disowned you. He loves you too much.”
“I know.” At least, she knew it now. But at the time, after he’d compared her to her mother, she hadn’t been so sure.
“So,” Matt said, “your dad apparently softened his stance when it came to adoption. You kept Emily, and you went to college.”
“That’s true, but I threw a fit of my own when he suggested I go to a four-year university and move into a dorm. He actually thought I’d leave Emily with him and let a nanny raise her. But I refused. I went to a local junior college part-time, and eventually, when she was old enough to attend preschool, I transferred to Rice University.”
The stifling silence returned, and Miranda pondered the past and the various choices she’d made—both good and bad. She suspected Matt might be doing the same thing.
“I realize you must resent my father,” she said, “and under the circumstances, I can’t blame you for having hard feelings or even hating him. But he absolutely adores Emily and has apologized a hundred times over for even suggesting I give her up.”
Matt chuffed. “You still should have called me—at least once. It’s been nine freakin’ years, Miranda.”
“After she was born, I did call, and George told me you’d gone out on the rodeo circuit. He and I talked a bit, but I didn’t tell him about Emily.”
“You could have asked him to contact me.”
She’d thought about it. But news like that should be given face-to-face. “He asked if I wanted to leave a message, but I told him I’d call back after the rodeo season ended.”
“But you didn’t.”
No, not after she’d done an internet search and then scanned various social media sites. She’d learned that Matt was whooping it up with the other cowboys and countless rodeo groupies. But even if she hadn’t gotten a glimpse of what his new life was like, she wouldn’t have followed him from arena to arena with a newborn.
“I’m sorry, Matt. I should have contacted you. But with each day that passed, the harder it got. Still, I wasn’t going to keep it a secret. I planned to tell you about her eventually.”
And that time had finally arrived.
She glanced his way, but he continued to look out into the night at the darkened ranch. Had he even begun to understand why she’d stayed away? Would he accept her apology? And more importantly, would he truly forgive her?
“I guess that’s all in the past now,” he said, without looking at her. “So it doesn’t really matter.”
But his feelings did matter. Call it young love or just a teenage crush from which she’d never recovered, she still cared for Matt, a lot more than she cared to admit. And if he still had any feelings left for her, it would help them co-parent their daughter, assuming he wanted to be that involved in her life.
“So now what?” he asked, as if filing away her excuses, along with her apology.
“I’m not sure.” She hadn’t gotten that far yet. But maybe he had an answer, a suggestion.
She turned to him, only to find him looking at her. His gaze was intense, but she couldn’t spot any lingering anger. He continued to study her in silence, setting off a tingle in her chest, jump-starting her heart once again and sparking a dream she’d once had. A hopeless dream she’d been dodging since the day he arrived at the ranch.
But their lives, their careers, had gone in completely different directions. And the last thing Matt would be interested in was a woman who was pregnant with another man’s baby, a single mom who’d be opposed to frequenting cowboy bars and spending nights on the town.
“I hope we can put this behind us and move on,” she said. “For Emily’s sake.”
“It’ll take time, but we probably can.”
She let out the breath she’d been holding. “Thanks, Matt.”
He continued to eye her, assessing her. Judging her?
She might have looked away, if his expression hadn’t softened to the point that it seemed almost...hopeful.
“Matt!” George called from inside the house. “Your cell phone is ringing.”
He didn’t respond right away. Not to his uncle, not to her. After a beat, he nodded toward the front door. “I’d better get that.”
Then he broke eye contact, as well as the frail, tentative connection they’d briefly shared, setting her adrift on uncertainty as she tried to avoid a slew of bobbing memories and emotions.
She watched him rise from the rocker, using the armrests as a brace. He moved with pride and strength, yet at the same time, he seemed vulnerable, and her heart went out to him.
As he took a step, his knee buckled and he listed to the side. She jumped from her seat and reached out to steady him. Her attempt worked, and he straightened.
His gaze met hers again, locking her in place. He didn’t thank her. Nor did he move.
She didn’t move, either. She didn’t even dare to breathe.
Her brain tried to make sense of the silent words he spoke, the memories his touch provoked, only to fail miserably. But for some crazy
reason, her heart didn’t have that same problem.
In spite of herself, she placed her hand on his jaw, felt the light bristles of his cheek. And against all common sense, she drew his mouth to hers.
Chapter Eight
The second Miranda’s hand slipped behind Matt’s neck, her fingers lit his skin on fire. And when her lips met his, he was toast. His knees went weak, and his heart began to pump as if there were no tomorrow. And right now, there didn’t seem to be any yesterdays, either.
The kiss started soft and tentative, but within a beat, it damn near exploded with pent-up desire and pumped up a demanding erection.
Before he knew it, he’d morphed back into that same stupid kid who’d yet to be hurt, disappointed and abandoned. And that kid only knew one thing. He’d missed Miranda something fierce. And he’d missed this.
Her mouth opened, and his tongue slid inside, where it met hers in a heated rush, twisting, tasting. He remembered how good it had been between them, how good it still was.
It was also crazy. What in the hell was he thinking? Kissing Miranda had to be the dumbest thing he’d ever done. Yet, he couldn’t seem to help himself from pulling her close and holding her tight.
Her baby bump pressed into him, but even that didn’t slow him down. Nor did it matter, as the years rolled away, taking the pain and anger with them and leaving him with this one magical moment in time.
Only the screen door creaking open brought him back to his senses, and he would’ve jumped a foot—if he hadn’t had a bum knee—taking a startled Miranda with him.
“Whoopsy-daisy.” George cleared his throat and chuckled. “You missed a call, so I thought I’d bring your phone out to you. But I guess I should’ve let the damn thing ring.”
Matt didn’t have the foggiest clue what to say, let alone how to explain this. Not to his uncle, and certainly not to himself.
He took the phone from George and thanked him, his voice thick with guilt and embarrassment and who knew what else.
George was still chuckling to himself as he returned to the house, allowing the screen door to slam behind him.
Matt wished he could do the same thing—slip away, disappear, forget what had just happened under the amber glow of the porch light. But it wasn’t the light that had cast a spell on him tonight.
“I’m sorry,” he said. But hell, why should he be contrite when she’s the one who’d started it?
“Me, too.” Her words came out soft and tender. Maybe even fragile.
“I...uh...” He lifted his cell phone to show her a plausible excuse for taking off without addressing what they’d just done, which would only open up a slew of emotion and pain he’d rather not wade through. “I’ve got a call to return.”
“And I have a bedtime story to read.” She smiled, then headed indoors, leaving him in one hell of a quandary.
He remained outside for a while, holding his phone, bewildered and kicking himself until his erection subsided.
Finally, he glanced at the lighted screen and saw that his buddy, Clay Masters, had called. If Clay wasn’t married and the daddy to twins, which kept him and his wife both busy in the evenings, Matt might have suggested they meet at the Stagecoach Inn that very night for a beer. He could really use a friend right now. He needed someone to talk to.
Not about Miranda, though. His feelings were too convoluted to even think about putting them into words.
No, he was more concerned about his slow recovery—and what that might mean. And who better to open up to than a man who’d suffered an injury that had ended his military career?
Realizing they didn’t need to go to the local cowboy bar and throw back a couple of beers to have a conversation like that, Matt returned Clay’s call.
“Hey,” his buddy said, “what’d you do, lose your phone?”
“Nope. Just didn’t hear it ring. What’s up?”
“Not much. I hadn’t heard from you in a while and thought I’d touch base. I finally have a little more time on my hands these days. And more energy since the babies are finally sleeping through the night.”
Clay and his wife Erica were the proud parents of twins—a boy and a girl—which kept them busy.
“I’m glad you can finally get some sleep at night,” Matt said. “That’s got to be a relief.”
“Yeah, life is finally settling down, In fact, Drew and Lainie are going to watch the twins for us on Saturday night so I can take Erica to a movie and dinner.”
Drew Madison, the promotional guru Matt worked with at Esteban Enterprises, had married Erica’s twin sister. The couple had recently adopted three little boys—brothers who’d been separated in foster care.
“Since Drew and Lainie have kids now and one on the way,” Clay added, “we’re going to babysit for each other once a week so we can have date nights.”
“That’s a great idea.”
“The reason I called,” Clay said, “is to check in on you. How are you doing?”
“Not as good as I’d hoped. I thought coming home to the Double G would make it easier for me to take it easy and to heal, but that’s not working out as well as I’d hoped it would. To tell the truth, I’m a little worried about the slow recovery.”
“I know what you mean. I eventually healed from my injury, but I had to make a career change. And that actually turned out okay. I’m a lot happier than I thought I’d be.”
“Say,” Matt said, “as a Life Flight pilot, you work with a lot of paramedics and probably run across medical professionals all the time. Can you ask around and get the name of a good orthopedic surgeon? I think I should get a second opinion.”
“I don’t need to. Call Brighton Valley Orthopedics and ask to see Jamal Hillman. One of the guys I work with was involved in a serious car accident and really did a number on his ankle. I thought for sure he’d be permanently disabled, and so did he. But he’s coming along great. He’s still moving slowly and seeing a physical therapist, but he raves about Dr. Hillman.”
“I’ll call and make an appointment tomorrow. Thanks.”
“No problem, buddy. Keep me posted.”
Matt almost mentioned Miranda, but that might lead to questions about how he felt about her, and he really didn’t know. Even if he was foolish enough to think that something might eventually develop between the two of them, he certainly wasn’t going to do a damned thing about it until he was back to fighting weight and on top of his game.
But keeping Miranda a secret meant he couldn’t tell his buddy about Emily, either, which was too bad. The two men had something else in common these days, now that they were both family men.
So, for now, he let it all slide and ended the call on a happier note.
Matt would have plenty of time to tell Clay about all the changes going on in his life, starting with Miranda’s arrival. But he had to make an appointment to see Dr. Hillman first. Then again, something told him he might need a miracle, rather than just a second opinion. If he wasn’t a champion bull rider, then who was he?
He certainly wouldn’t be a man her father would consider good enough for Miranda. And Matt had no intention of facing Carlos Contreras until he was all that and more.
* * *
Matt managed to avoid Miranda for the rest of the evening and the following morning. The last thing he wanted was for her to think that kiss meant anything, especially since he had no idea what to tell her.
So after having only coffee for breakfast, which he took outside to drink, he waited until nine o’clock and called Brighton Valley Orthopedics to make an appointment with Jamal Hillman, the surgeon Clay had recommended.
The sooner Matt saw the doctor and got a better idea of what lay in front of him, of what he could expect in the future, the better off he’d be.
Unfortunately, the first available appointment he could get was on Friday afternoon, and that was on
ly because the receptionist was a big rodeo fan and had squeezed him in.
“Come early,” she said. “And expect to wait.”
That meant avoiding Miranda for another four days, which wouldn’t be easy. So he told George he had an out-of-town meeting with the Rocking Chair Rodeo promoters, then checked into the Night Owl Motel and tried to keep a low profile.
Talk about going to extremes.
By the time Friday rolled around, Matt was more than ready to get his life back on track. At the very least, he’d be happy just to get a good night’s sleep in his own bed.
Now he was seated in the waiting room at Brighton Valley Orthopedics, holding a magazine he was too antsy to read and listening for his name to be called.
Minutes later, a matronly brunette wearing pale blue scrubs called out, “Matt Grimes?”
He set aside the Field and Stream and made his way to the open doorway that led to the back office.
Once he’d been asked to take a seat on an exam table, he waited another fourteen minutes until a tall young doctor wearing neatly styled dreadlocks entered the room introducing himself as Dr. Hillman and offering Matt a friendly smile and a firm professional handshake.
“Tell me about your injury,” the doctor said.
Matt explained how it had happened and what the previous doctor had told him. Then he handed over the digital X-rays he’d been given.
Dr. Hillman studied them, then said, “The bone isn’t fractured, although I see what could be a small crack in one of the inner bones.”
That was news to Matt. Apparently, someone hadn’t noticed that before.
The doctor turned away from the black-and-white image and probed Matt’s knee. “It’s still pretty swollen.”
“The initial pain has eased up some, but at times, it still hurts like hell.”
“I’d like to take another X-ray,” the doctor said.
“To find out if it’s healing?”
