by Judy Duarte
It wasn’t just the possibility of ending his career and the subsequent hit it would take on his livelihood that kept him tossing and turning until dawn. Even before he came home and found Miranda and Emily staying at the Double G, he’d known that it wouldn’t be easy for him to give up the rodeo—should it come to that. And now that he had Miranda and the kids to think about, giving it all up—not just fame, travel and the thrill of competition, but the money—was going to be even harder.
Sure, he could go to work with Drew Madison, his friend and the head promoter at Esteban Enterprises. The job would be a good fit. And he didn’t mind having to hobnob with wealthy Texas businessmen. But no matter how good Matt was at charming folks with his soft southern drawl and his fun-loving style, he didn’t feel comfortable dressed in fancy Western wear, which would be expected of him.
No, he’d rather ride in the rodeo than take on the responsibility of talking people into sponsoring them.
Of course, taking on a family and becoming a good role model for two kids was one hell of a responsibility. And when push came to shove, it was one that he wasn’t quite sure he was qualified to assume.
Either way, he’d made a promise he meant to keep, and he figured it would all work out. Somehow. That is, as long as Miranda’s father didn’t interfere.
Not that Matt was afraid of the man. Hell, that had never been the case. The biggest problem he had with Carlos Contreras was that the guy refused to accept Matt’s value as a human being. And he doubted the man’s opinion would change whether Matt continued to compete, took on the job as a promoter or if, God forbid, he went to work as a ranch hand for his uncle. Actually, if truth be told, even Matt thought Miranda deserved better than that.
For now, he’d have to shake those troubling thoughts and focus on the stuff he’d packed to take with him.
When he was convinced that he had everything he’d need for the next two days, he grabbed the canvas handle of the carry-on bag and headed for the back door.
He paused in the living room, where Emily was sitting on the floor in front of the TV, watching a cartoon. Sweetie Pie lay beside her, taking a nap.
“I’m leaving now,” he said.
The dog momentarily looked up from its snooze, but the little girl was so captivated by the story on the screen that she must not have heard him.
“Emily?”
She turned away from the television. “Huh?”
“I’m going to Houston for a few days. Do you have a hug for me?”
She tore her gaze away from the cartoon long enough to reluctantly get up from the sofa, cross the room and open her arms.
Matt set down his bag, scooped her up and kissed her cheek. “Be good for your mom.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’m going to miss you.”
He was going to miss her, too. After setting her back on the floor, he picked up his bag and limped to the kitchen, where the warm, sweet aroma of something freshly baked filled the air.
Miranda had been busy this morning. Several dozen chocolate chip cookies cooled on the racks she’d spread out on the counter. Her back was to him as she took another batch out of the oven.
It was a homey sight and smell he’d rarely—if ever—experienced. And one he found surprisingly appealing.
“Something sure smells good,” he said.
She set down the potholder she’d been using and turned around with a smile. “Doesn’t it?”
He nodded toward the service porch and the back door. “I’m taking off now.”
“All right, but don’t leave yet. I want to send some cookies with you. I’ll make sure you’ll have some to snack on while you drive and enough to share with everyone at the meeting. It’ll just take me a minute. Then I’ll bring them out to the truck.”
He wasn’t sure what he expected from her. A little more emotion, he supposed. Maybe a hug or a kiss goodbye.
But then again, maybe she planned to do that when she brought the cookies outside. So he shook off the brief sense of disappointment and limped to the door.
He’d no more than taken two steps outside, when a black luxury sedan drove up and screeched to a stop. The driver’s door opened up and Carlos Contreras got out, his face red and fists clenched at his sides.
“Where’s Miranda?” he asked.
Matt blew out a sigh. “In the house. But she’s on her way out.”
Carlos folded his arms across his chest and chuffed. “I couldn’t believe it when Gavin told me she was here.”
Matt cocked his head to the side. “How’d Gavin know where she was?”
“He’s the one who hired a private investigator this time.” Carlos shook his gray head in disgust. “You always were a bad influence on her. And now, thanks to you, she’s been lying to me again.”
Matt’s first impulse was to defend himself. Miranda and Emily had been at the ranch more than two months before he’d gotten there. And if anything, he’d encouraged her to tell her father the truth. But he wasn’t going to throw her under the bus.
Besides, if they wanted the world to think that he was the father of her baby, that they’d reconnected last year, during the holidays, then her father’s assumption would help their story hold up.
Carlos slowly shook his head. “I can’t believe this. She’s been here all along. With a friend, she’d said. But she wouldn’t tell me who. And now I know why.”
Matt wasn’t up for a confrontation. Nor did he feel good about leaving Miranda to deal with it on her own. He dropped his bag on the ground, wishing he could ditch his human burden as easily.
Carlos shook his head in disgust. “I suppose she just made up that story about Gavin hitting Emily as an excuse to cancel the wedding.”
It took all Matt had not to roll his eyes. “There’s no way Miranda would make up something up like that.”
“So where is she?” Carlos asked. “Hiding? Like she’s done for the past three months? Tell her to come outside. Now.”
“I’m not telling her anything. In case you haven’t noticed, she’s an adult now. And she can make her own decisions.”
Before Carlos could respond, Miranda stepped out the back door holding a plastic tub of cookies. When she spotted her father, she froze.
Carlos started toward her, scanning the length of her from the shock splashed across her face to her baby bump. At that point, he stopped mid-step and slapped his hands on his hips. “Dios mio. No wonder you didn’t come home.”
He was right about that. Matt waited for Miranda to respond, but she just stood there. Stunned, it would seem.
Carlos turned his fiery gaze on Matt. “What kind of man are you? Getting her pregnant twice?”
Now it was Matt’s turn to hold his tongue, but only because he wanted to get a grip on his anger before he blew a head gasket.
“I’ve heard all about you.” Carlos scrunched his face and let out a string of words in Spanish, most likely obscenities. “And I’ve read about your sexual exploits.”
Matt had had several lovers over the years, and he’d heard the stories, too. But most of them were exaggerated. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read.”
“Have you no shame?” Carlos asked. “No honor? Where have you been for the past eight years?”
At that, Matt threw up his hands. Miranda’s old man would never approve of him, no matter how many bulls he rode, how many buckles he won. And Matt wasn’t going to stand here and argue with him. Besides, if he didn’t leave now, he’d probably end up throttling the guy.
“I hate to run out on the family reunion,” he said, “but I’ve had enough fun for the day.”
As he turned toward his pickup, Miranda called out, “Matt! Wait up!”
He stopped, but only to say, “Don’t bother, Miranda.”
She set the cookies aside and started down the steps. “Just listen to me. I
don’t care what my father says or what he thinks. We’re a family now.”
“No,” Matt said, “you’re wrong. Your father and I will never be family. So choose me. Or choose him. But you can’t have us both.”
She pondered his ultimatum a beat too long.
“It’s over,” he said. “I’ll never desert my daughter, but there’s no way in hell things will ever work out for you and me.”
As she started to cross the yard, he shook his head, silently telling her to back off. He needed space. And time to think.
What he didn’t need was to hang around and take her dad’s insults and then wait for her to acquiesce to the old man’s demands, no matter how badly the rebel in him wanted to stand his ground. Or how badly his heart ached at her rejection.
As he limped toward his truck, he spotted George standing in the open doorway of the barn. He’d probably heard everything, but what the hell.
George followed him out to his pickup.
“You just gonna run off like a stubborn, brokenhearted fool?” his uncle asked.
Matt rolled his eyes. “Lay off me. I have a meeting in Houston. And my leaving has nothing to do with a broken heart. It just makes good sense. I’m not going to have a relationship with Miranda. Not while Carlos still has a hold on her.”
“Men like him usually back down when challenged.”
Matt would have stood up to him, but Carlos had a rapid-fire temper, and it wouldn’t take much for Matt to double up his fists and let the old man have it. Besides, Emily’s cartoon movie couldn’t last forever. She’d come looking for cookies or something. And if she heard any commotion outside, she’d come out to see what was going on.
What would a confrontation between her father and grandfather do to her? Scar her for life, no doubt.
Matt reached into his pocket and whipped out his keys. “Since you enjoy having Miranda and Emily here, you’re the one who should go back there and give him your two cents. I couldn’t care less.”
“I ain’t the one who’s lying.” George narrowed his eyes as if making a silent accusation.
“Neither am I. Miranda’s the one who hasn’t been honest.”
George folded his arms across his chest. “I beg to differ.”
“When was I ever dishonest with her?” Certainly not nine years ago, when he’d worn his heart on his sleeve. And not this time around, either.
“I never said you lied to Miranda. You’ve been lying to yourself for years about the feelings you’ve always had for her.”
Matt merely shook his head and climbed into his pickup, his knee hurting, his heart heavy and his mind made up.
* * *
Tears stung Miranda’s eyes as she watched Matt drive away. She wanted nothing more than to run to him and beg him to come back. But that wasn’t going to solve anything. Not when what he’d said was true. Not when she already knew what she needed to do.
Choose me. Or choose him. But you can’t have us both.
Only trouble was, she loved and wanted both men in her life. And there didn’t seem to be an easy solution.
Her father shook his head in disgust. “There he goes. Ditching you and his responsibilities.”
“What did you expect?” she launched back at him. “I don’t blame him for leaving. Rather than ever giving him a chance, you’ve been mean and unreasonable.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re just like your mother, ready to run off with the first man who says you’re pretty.”
She knew he’d apologize to her later, but the cruel accusation still lanced deep into her heart.
In typical cowboy fashion, George stepped up to defend her honor. “Listen,” he said. “Miranda might be your daughter, but you’ll speak to her with the utmost respect when I’m around and when you’re on my property.”
“If she’ll get into my car, we’ll take our troubles with us.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Miranda said.
She wasn’t a little girl anymore. Matt had been right about that, too.
“You belong in San Antonio. And so does Emily. She has everything she needs in the city.”
“Emily is happy here,” Miranda said. “I’m going to sell the condo and find a place in this area where she can raise her animals.”
“You want to live on a ranch?” He clicked his tongue, then started toward her as if he could actually force her to do something against her will.
“Step away from her,” George said. “Don’t make me call the sheriff.”
Miranda hoped and prayed that Emily would remain in the house watching TV. Because things were sure to escalate between the two stubborn old men.
But when George paled, clutched his chest and dropped to his knees, she forgot about her concern for her daughter and rushed to his side.
Chapter Twelve
Miranda’s fingers trembled as she dialed 9-1-1.
“This can’t be happening,” she muttered as she waited for someone to answer.
Seconds later, the dispatcher did. “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
“We need an ambulance at the Double G Ranch on Oakdale Road in Brighton Valley. George Grimes collapsed. I think he’s having a heart attack.”
Her father, who’d frozen in stunned silence, eased closer. “What can I...?”
Miranda waved him off, as she provided the information the dispatcher requested. “He’s seventy-two. He’s avoided doctors in the past, but he’s seen one recently. I’m not sure who it was or why he went. He wouldn’t talk to me about it.”
Oh, God. Just send the ambulance. We can talk about this stuff later.
She glanced down at George, who lay on the ground, his eyes closed, his skin ashen and clammy, his chest rising and falling.
But too fast? Too slow?
“Is that ambulance on the way?” she asked.
“Yes,” the dispatcher said. “Is he conscious and breathing?”
“Conscious? I’m not sure. But he’s breathing.”
“Do you know CPR?” the man asked.
“Yes. At least, I’ve had classes. And I know not to do it unless he stops breathing. But please tell the paramedics to hurry.” She looked at George again, but this time his chest wasn’t moving. “Oh, God. I think he stopped breathing.”
“Don’t hang up. I’ll stay on the line while you begin CPR.”
As instructed, Miranda set aside the phone without ending the call and began to pump George’s chest, hoping that she remembered everything she’d learned during her health class in college. She swore she’d take a refresher first aid course as soon as she could find one.
Her father circled George, then dropped to his knees and looked at her with apologetic eyes. “What can I do to help?”
Seriously? He’d been enough help already.
Between the breaths she blew into George’s mouth, and the two-handed pumps she pressed to his chest, she said, “You stay here. And watch Emily. I’m going to follow the paramedics to the hospital.”
“Of course, mija. No problem.”
Miranda returned her full attention to George, praying her efforts weren’t in vain, that the paramedics would arrive in time and that George would be back to his sweet, gruff and rascally self in no time at all.
All the while, she continued to perform CPR until the ambulance arrived, lights flashing, siren blasting. It seemed as if it had taken them forever, but in reality, it was probably only five or ten minutes.
As she moved away from George, allowing the paramedics to take over, her father pulled her aside.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
How typical. Blow up first, then think about the situation, realize he’d overreacted and apologize.
“You should be sorry,” she said. “This didn’t need to happen. Just look at that man. All he wanted to do was defend me.�
��
“Mija.” His brow furrowed. “You’re looking at me like I’m a monster.”
“Sometimes you act like one.” She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “You’ve never been physically abusive, but your anger, harsh words and knee-jerk reactions can be hurtful and, sometimes, that can be far more damaging than a smack in the face.”
He blew out a sigh. “I love you, honey. And all I’ve ever tried to do was look out for you. And for Emily.”
“That may be true, but you aren’t looking out for me and my best interests when you try to control my thoughts, feelings and plans for my life. That’s grossly unfair. You might call it love, but if you truly cared about me, you’d first ask me what I want, what I like, how I feel. But that never seems to matter.”
His shoulders slumped.
Miranda didn’t stand up to her father very often, but doing so today gave her a burst of confidence, a feeling of power.
She shot a glance at George, who still lay on the ground but seemed to be stirring. The CPR had stopped, and one of the paramedics was inserting an IV. Thank God. He was breathing again, but she suspected he wasn’t out of the woods yet.
She left her father and hurried to George. Afraid to get in the way of the paramedics, she still managed to hover over him and say, “You gave us a good scare.”
The old man attempted a half-hearted smile.
When one of the paramedics indicated that she should take a step back, she returned to her father’s side and, with her eyes glued to the medical drama unfolding, spoke to her dad. “You probably don’t know this or even care, but I didn’t want to become a CPA. I would have rather gone into teaching. But I gave in to you out of appreciation for all you did for me when I was growing up. But what’s wrong with me having my own dreams and following my heart? Wouldn’t allowing me to choose my own path be a better way for you to show your love and respect for me?”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“Sometimes being sorry doesn’t help.” She stood tall and held her head high.
