by Jill Gregory
The very idea of that made her heart drop.
She was brimming with a happiness that seemed to shimmer from the deepest core of her soul. She was having a baby. Rafe’s baby. It was all she could do not to sing it out and whirl around like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. And she wanted Rafe to be as overjoyed as she was. But what if he wasn’t?
The pregnancy test she’d driven all the way to Livingston to buy had finally made it feel real. There was no way she could have bought that test at Benson’s Drugstore. If she had, no doubt Lila Benson would’ve kept a straight face all the while she was ringing Sophie up, but before the traffic light on Main Street had changed four times, every shop owner on Main Street, including Martha—and, of course, everyone who worked at the Cuttin’ Loose or who was getting a haircut or a manicure that day—would have known that Sophie McPhee just purchased a pregnancy test.
“Hmmm, where to start?” Lissie mused a short time later as she approached the tables laden with baked goods. Her due date was less than a month away, and she looked beautiful, but uncomfortable, her belly as huge beneath her yellow maternity top as if she’d swallowed a giant balloon.
“Can I have one of each, Soph? I’ll have the pie now and the others to go. Since I’ve already passed the elephant stage, I’m now going straight for hippopotamus.”
Sophie laughed as she handed over a slice of the rhubarb cherry pie, a napkin, and a fork. “Well, no fears, you’d be the prettiest hippo ever, but this baby’s going to pop out of you before you even get close.”
She’d wanted to say, “I’m pregnant too. You’re going to be an aunt again. And I hope I look as great as you when I’m in my third trimester.” But she couldn’t do that yet. Not until she’d told Rafe.
“You know”—Lissie speared a forkful of pie—“I hear you and my brother have been spending a lot of time together. Mmmm.” Lissie closed her eyes appreciatively as she tasted the pie, then opened them to study Sophie’s face. “It’s no use trying to deny it. So what’s up with that? Is this serious?”
“We’re seriously good friends.” Sophie struggled to sound impassive and hoped she wasn’t blushing. But she couldn’t keep from smiling, and Lissie pounced on that like a bird spying a berry.
“What does that smile mean, Sophie McPhee? Do you expect me to believe that you’re only friends with my brother?”
She waggled her plastic fork. “I knew you back in the days when you’d cry if you colored outside the lines, and I know you had a thing for Rafe ever since you were Ivy’s age. Not that you ever told me, but I knew. I thought it was icky at the time, but now I can’t help hoping. . . .”
She deliberately let her voice trail off. Her eyes were sparkling and expectant, but Sophie wasn’t prepared to talk about Rafe, or the baby, or what the future might hold, not with anyone yet, not even Lissie.
“I’m just hoping your brother makes it here today.” Sophie kept her tone light. “He’s waiting for the vet to come check out one of his horses, but he’s one of my best customers for these chocolate chunk cookies. Ivy’s around here somewhere too,” Sophie added, hoping to distract Lissie by mentioning her niece.
“I saw her with Shannon and Val about ten minutes ago. They’re over by the basketball court, where the band is setting up. They looked all googly-eyed over the guy setting up the sound system. But you’re changing the subject.”
“You think?”
Lissie’s rich laugh rang out, and then Gran arrived, and Tommy, who wanted a cinnamon bun. Sophie busied herself setting up a folding chair for her grandmother and selling brownies to some high school boys eager to go buy raffle tickets for the bike.
Karla was cutting a big piece of pie for Denny McDonald, who stepped aside reluctantly when Georgia bustled up to the table and reminded everyone in a voice that no doubt carried to the parking lot that every person working the tables was to remind folks to buy raffle tickets for the mountain bike, the free haircuts and perms and manicures offered by the Cuttin’ Loose, and the free dinners being raffled off by the Double Cross Bar and Grill, insisting they hammer home the point that all profits would go to the library.
Lissie and Tommy wandered away to browse the wind chimes Sophie’s mom was selling at a table near the bike racks. Sophie saw Doug Hartigan standing beside her mom’s table too, talking to her mother, making her laugh whenever she wasn’t busy selling a wind chime or some beaded jewelry.
“Sophie, we’re getting low on brownies and cinnamon buns.” Gran frowned after counting what was left after Dorothy bought a box of each to take as a gift to the women working at the daycare center—who’d volunteered to work for free on a Saturday so that other women with young children could work the fund-raiser.
“There’s a half dozen more boxes in the Blazer, Gran. You and Karla hold the fort. I’ll run out and get them.”
She crossed the grounds quickly, greeting those she knew, pleased by how many people had gathered here today as a community to raise funds for the library. For a moment, she felt almost dizzy with happiness. She was exactly where she wanted to be.
And she wouldn’t choose any other place in the world right now—except perhaps lying in Rafe’s arms. Preferably in his king-sized bed at Sage Ranch, she thought dreamily.
She smiled to herself as she threaded her way through the cars jamming the parking lot, away from the noise and the laughter and the music as the band began to play. Amidst a riff of guitars and drums and banjos, the lead singer was whomping out a rowdy crowd-pleaser loud enough to get everyone stomping and clapping.
Through the clamor, she was trying to remember exactly where she’d parked, and it wasn’t until she cut around a dusty pickup and past a black Explorer that she spotted her Blazer.
And the man bending down beside it.
Sophie’s first thought was that he’d noticed something amiss. Had someone let the air out of her tires again? Her steps quickened, but as she reached the Blazer, the man straightened and spun toward her. And she saw his face.
Buck Crenshaw.
She froze, fear lodging in her throat as she saw the pocketknife clenched in his hand and the three deep scratch lines gouging the Blazer’s driver’s-side door.
“Now that’s what I call real bad timing.” Crenshaw’s raspy voice sounded slurred. He’d been drinking. Dear God.
“Bad timing for you.” On the words, Sophie whipped out her cell phone and hit nine and one.
But before she could complete the call, Crenshaw was on her, wrenching the phone from her hand. He threw it to the ground and stamped on it, his dust-caked cowboy boot grinding the metal into the cement.
Her heart pounding, Sophie whirled and tried to run, but Crenshaw grabbed her arm and yanked her roughly back. Shoving her up against the Blazer, he pinned her there, staring into her face with a smile that reminded her of a reptile’s grin, the pocketknife still clenched in his hand.
“Go ahead and scream. A lotta good it’ll do you.”
Fear spiked through her as Sophie realized he was right. The parking lot was deserted. If she screamed, no one on the school grounds would hear, not with the heartpounding volume of the band cranked up, not until the throbbing blare of music ended.
“Too bad you had to see me.” Crenshaw ran his tongue across his lips. “Should’ve stayed where you were.”
“Why . . . are you doing this?” She tried to keep her voice calm, but it rose in barely contained panic. “I don’t even know you. I’ve never done anything to—”
“Shut the hell up! I’m trying to think!” His grip tightened on her arm until she winced.
“If you let me go right now, I won’t press any charges—”
“I said shut up!”
Now she saw not only anger but hatred flame in his eyes. Desperate, Sophie tried to twist away, but he was too strong and he shoved her back against the car and leaned in closer. The blade of the knife glistened in the sun.
She forced herself to go still, to meet those dark furious eyes. What she
saw there terrified her.
He was a man pushed to the edge. A man capable of anything. The world stilled around her as she thought of the tiny life growing inside her. The life she had to protect.
“I won’t scream . . . or file charges.” Her voice quavered, but it was low and calm. “I promise. If you let me go right now, I promise I won’t tell anyone I saw you. You only scratched my car. It’s no big deal. All you have to do is let me go.”
It was a lie, but she’d say whatever she had to say to protect her baby.
“You think I’m dumb enough to believe you, you little bitch?” Crenshaw’s sneer twisted his face. “You’re as big a liar as your fucking father. I wouldn’t trust either one of you as far as I could throw you.”
Ice-cold shock coursed through her. She felt his fingers biting into her flesh, and her breath came in short gasps, but as she tried to steady it, to take a deep breath, all she could think of was what he’d just said.
“You . . . knew my father?”
A furious smile contorted Crenshaw’s lips. “Yeah, Miss Fancy Pants Spoiled Brat. You bet your ass I did.” The whiskey on his breath made her want to gag. “You think you’re the only one who knew ol’ Hoot? I know a helluva lot more about your old man than you do.”
Chapter Twenty-four
So far it had been a hell of a day, Rafe thought as he vaulted into his truck, gunned the engine, and took off down the long drive, then made the turn on Hickson Road toward the high school.
He’d woken up to the bad news that Shiloh, his new gelding, had colic. Will Brady had become alarmed when he noticed the horse sweating, trying to roll and to nip his own belly. When he’d checked Shiloh’s pulse and found it accelerated, he’d notified Rafe, who immediately called Doc Weatherby and had then gone out to check on the horse himself.
There were all different kinds of equine colic, and some were minor and treatable with medication and exercise. Others could swiftly turn serious—even fatal—if surgery wasn’t performed at the earliest stages. So the vet had come fast. After a series of examinations, he’d reassured Rafe that the gelding wasn’t in any imminent danger.
But Rafe had been distracted with worrying about the horse and had burned Ivy’s eggs this morning, had to start breakfast over.
The only bright spot so far had been when Sophie picked Ivy up on her way to the fund-raiser. They’d only had a moment together, and Ivy had been there all along, so he hadn’t been able to do more than drink in the sight of her while Ivy climbed into the Blazer.
But he couldn’t help smiling now in his truck, thinking about the two of them heading off to the fund-raiser together. The two most beautiful females in Lonesome Way. Hell, in all of Montana. What was he talking about?
In the whole damned country.
Rafe grinned wider. He had the rest of the afternoon to spend with them. But it would go by pretty quickly. He was getting tired, though, of having to say good-bye to Sophie all the time. Leaving her at the Good Luck ranch. Or watching her drive away from Sage Ranch. Even knowing she was only a few miles away didn’t help. That was a few miles too far. Out of reach, out of his home, out of his bed.
Before now, he’d dated sporadically and nonexclusively. He had fun and satisfying sex with several women who enjoyed the freedom of friendship with benefits, but when he didn’t see one of them for a few weeks or months, it was no big deal. But with Sophie . . . it was different. Everything was different.
She plugged up all the holes of loneliness that had taken over his life. She made him feel something deeper than he’d ever imagined before.
He missed her like hell when he wasn’t with her. Missed her smile and the way she melted into his arms. He missed the way he could open up to her about Ivy, about anything. And the way she listened, really listened. Sophie stayed calm and thought things through, she didn’t just toss off superficial advice.
There was a texture, a depth, a realness to her. She cared.
And . . . he cared about her. More than he’d even known—up until this very minute.
We need to be together, he thought, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. Me, Sophie, and Ivy. A family, he realized.
Suddenly he felt as if he’d just climbed out of a mine shaft into sunlight.
The pieces were all there. They’d been there for a while now. The laughter. The closeness. The love.
She’d mentioned moving into that cabin—he knew she was thinking that would give them more privacy, without having to worry about when Diana McPhee and Hartigan might be around, or when Ivy was coming home.
But he hated that idea. He had a much better one. Now he just had to find the right time and place to tell her. He needed to pray real hard that he was right, and she’d want the same thing he did.
It was becoming difficult to remember what he’d done with his life before Sophie came back into it. Now he thought about her every night when he went to sleep—when she was with him, and when he was alone. He thought about her when he opened his eyes in the morning, when he was out in the corral working with his horses or meeting with a potential buyer or broker.
He thought about her scent, softer than flowers on the prairie. And that way she had of tilting her head when she smiled. Even the calm, cool sound of her voice when she was waiting on someone in the bakery turned him on.
Rafe was stunned to realize he’d only been going through the motions of his life all this time—until Sophie came back to town. Had he ever once told her that?
No. Not yet. But it suddenly occurred to him as he took the turn on Lonesome Gulch, and caught sight of the two-story brick high school building ahead in the distance, as he heard the raucous music pounding from the grounds and through the open window of his truck, that he needed to.
He needed to tell her everything and make sure she believed him.
Chapter Twenty-five
“Hoot McPhee was banging my mama. You didn’t know that, did you? There’s a shitload of crap you didn’t know about your old man.”
Sophie felt the blood drain from her face. “He . . . I . . .” She gritted her teeth as Buck Crenshaw laughed, deriving an ugly pleasure from her confusion.
“Who was your mother?” she demanded more strongly.
“She was the one you never met. Probably never even heard of.” His voice was low now, shaking with anger. “She wasn’t from this damned town. We lived outside of Billings and we weren’t rich and we didn’t own any fancy property. But he used to visit us a lot. Well, her, anyway. She used to lock me in my room when he came calling. Said he didn’t want to see me. But I saw him out the window every damn time he showed up—and when he left. I saw how she got herself all gussied up when he was coming. How she always had money to buy steak and whiskey and cigarettes and nice perfume after he’d been there. He was the only thing in this world other than booze that made her happy. Until he didn’t.”
I need to get away from here. Sophie felt sick. Her mind was reeling from the revelation that there had been yet another woman she, her mother, and most likely Wes knew nothing of.
What’s one more? a bitter voice inside her mocked.
But it made her stomach twist like a washing machine, just as finding out about all the other women her father had cheated with had.
And there was something else. She didn’t like that look in Crenshaw’s eyes. The anger dead in the center of them hardened when he talked about Hoot and his mother.
She had to fight him, get away. Hurt him if she could, do whatever she had to.
She stomped down on his instep with all of her strength and broke free for one frantic instant as he grunted in pain. But he recovered too quickly, his hand clamping into her arm, yanking her backward against the Blazer. He used his body to trap her, his fingers tightening cruelly until she cried out.
“I thought you wanted to hear how I know your father? There’s more to the story. A lot more.”
“I . . . get the picture. I do. Let go. You’re . . . hurting me.” The band h
ad finished one song and, over the thunder of applause, had rolled right into another. The grounds of the fund-raiser, the people who cared about her, felt miles away.
“Too bad. You’re going to hear about your precious Hoot. You’re going to hear all about how that bastard killed my mother.”
Killed? Sophie shook her head without even realizing it.
Her father had been a demanding son of a bitch, but he was no killer. He’d been judgmental, set in his ways, and certain he was always right. He’d cheated on her mother with countless women, including the mayor’s wife, but she knew he’d loved his family in his own rigid, hardheaded way. He’d never laid a hand on anyone that she knew of and he’d certainly never killed anyone.
Crenshaw was lying.
And she told him so.
But the anger flashing in his eyes only darkened. Deepened. She felt the rage vibrating off him, like heat off summer pavement. It seemed to pulse, to burn even through the grip of his fingers.
“Hoot killed her all right. Same as if he put a gun to her head. Only he didn’t do it that smooth and clean. Oh, no, he just broke it off with her. Told her he was tired of her. Done with her. Told her he wasn’t ever coming back.” He yanked Sophie closer, right up to his face.
“My mama took it bad. Kept crying, saying she loved him, that he was the only good thing in her life. Guess I didn’t count.” Crenshaw’s voice was like glass shards scraping over her skin.
“A week went by,” he continued, ignoring her gasp of pain. “And she was always late to work. Cried and drank the cheap stuff all night long, so no wonder she couldn’t drag herself outta bed. Then you wanna know what happened next?”
“I want you to let me go. Now!”
“I found her on the floor in the morning.” Crenshaw’s voice trembled with rage. “I thought at first she’d just passed out. But she wasn’t breathing. You hear that? She wasn’t breathing. She’d taken a fistful of sleeping pills, washed ’em down with a pint of whiskey. She went to sleep and she never woke up. All because of Hoot McPhee.”
