Daddy Mine (Sweet Texas Love Book 1)

by Shanna Handel

  Carrie looked at both of them. “Jessica, Garrett, what’s past is past. Let’s move on.”

  Heaving a great sigh of relief, Jessica finally looked up from her empty plate.

  “Oh, Carrie, thank you. I’ve been feeling so bad about all of this.” Jessica brought her hands up to her face in relief. As she did, the soft lighting that hung above their table hit the giant diamond that adorned Jessica’s left ring finger, bounced off and nearly blinded Carrie. The sight of the ring felt like a punch in her gut. Carrie was relieved to no longer be wearing the ring Garrett had given her, she had already processed the fact that the cheaters were engaged, but the sight of the ring hit her all the same. Carrie swallowed hard and firmly pressed her lips together to keep from talking, drawing blood as she did.

  Wes wrapped a heavy arm around her shoulders, steadying her. The weight of his body against hers helped her to produce an almost smile. “Let’s eat.” Wes held a hand out and got the waiter’s attention. “Garrett, what’s good here?”

  The restaurant was an elegant place with white table cloths. Food came out on tiny plates, four portions each time, one plate at a time, so everyone could taste and discuss the different dishes. Carrie knew Garrett had picked this place to ease the tension in the group and give them all something to talk about other than the giant mess they had all helped to create. She was grateful for that.

  The evening became pleasant. The food was delicious and Carrie loved how Wes would feed her little bites of his share of the entrée when he saw it was something she liked. Carrie felt surprisingly happy. The waiter returned with the bottle of wine that Garrett had ordered. He first poured for Carrie, then turned to Jessica. Seeing that he was about to pour the expensive wine in her glass, Jessica quickly placed her left hand over the glass, her ring sparkling again, and said, “None for me, thanks.” Jess’ other hand moved towards her abdomen and fluttered protectively over it for a moment.

  Wes, also noticing Jessica’s movement said, “You know, it’s getting late you guys. This has been great, but we have a long…”

  “Unreal.” Carrie’s angry voice interrupted Wes’ polite one. “She’s pregnant? You have to be kidding me.” She looked at Garrett. “This,” she pointed to Jessica’s middle, “happened two nights before our wedding, didn’t it?” The reality hit her, knocking the wind from her. She looked at Wes accusingly, cringing away from his touch. “Or, is it yours? Wow, Jessica. That baby’s daddy might be his uncle.” Carrie stood from the table, toppling her chair behind her.

  Jess’ face blanched, and her and Wes’ eyes met. “It’s definitely not his,” she said embarrassed. “We always used protection.” Jess’ hands covered her face in her shame, as Wes mumbled, “It’s definitely not mine, Carrie.”

  With wide, wild eyes Carrie looked at Garrett, then at Jess, then at the man beside her. Wes grabbed at her arm, “Please sit down, Carrie.” Carrie slipped away from his grasp, moved around her fallen chair, and with tears burning her eyes ran from the restaurant, pushed her way through the crowded lobby, and burst out into the black city night. Turning down a dark alley, Carrie ran as fast as she could, tears blurring her vision. Carrie ran into the street, stopping a cab just before it hit her. Climbing in quickly, Carrie promised herself she would be gone before anyone could find her.

  Chapter 8

  The heat of the Indian summer made Carrie more irritable than usual. Her face was damp; her sweaty skin itched under her cotton blouse. She longed to untuck her shirt from her hot waistband, but this was a job interview, and that would never do. Carrie pulled the fabric from her sticky chest and tried to fan it back and forth whenever the receptionist wasn’t looking.

  “I’m sorry it’s so hot in here, hon,” the receptionist apologized for the twentieth time, over the whir of her desktop fan. “Mr. Blatney was supposed to get the air fixed, but he was trying to save a dime and this deep into fall he thought we’d be fine till next summer. November is never this hot, even in South Carolina.”

  Finally, the door to the office opened, and a large, unkempt man smiled lewdly at her. “Hello, Carrie, I’m Mr. Blatney.”

  Carrie stood and shook the man’s huge sweating hand. Trying not to wrinkle her nose, she replied, “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Blatney.”

  His eyes roved over her pencil skirt and button-down blouse. “Pleasure’s all mine. Hold my calls, Ms. Wilson.” He held the door open and let Carrie walk in front of him. Her skin crawled as she felt his eyes admiring her equally from the back side. Carrie took a seat in an empty chair in front of the desk, the one furthest from him. She was surprised when he plopped right down in the seat next to her, instead of in the chair behind the desk.

  “So, what brings you,” he pointed a finger at her, eyes on her chest, “back to South Carolina?”

  The question should have elicited tears in Carrie’s eyes, but when she had come back to her parents’ home from New York on the red eye that awful night, Carrie had laid in bed and cried her eyes out for days. Now, she was all cried out. Her belongings had mysteriously arrived on the farm right behind her, but she was living in such a fog that she never even asked how they had gotten there. She spent the first few weeks of ignoring Wes’ calls, riding her horses, and taking care of the farm chores. The calls had gone from ten a day the first couple of days, to five a day for weeks, to one a day for a month; then the phone had stopped ringing altogether.

  Carrie knew she was welcome at home, but it was evident to her that her parents had fallen into a happily retired, empty nesters routine, and Carrie felt like a third wheel around her parents’ rekindled romance. Carrie needed to get her own place and had finally pulled herself out of her stupor and begun to look for jobs.

  And so, she answered the hearty man, “What brings me back to South Carolina? The sweet tea of course,” to which he laughed heartily, bits of spittle flying from his mouth. Carrie figured that any answer was better than the truth that she had let her temper get the best of her and in an incredibly difficult situation, had run home. And that now, months later she knew even more clearly what she had known the moment she had stepped foot on that plane. Carrie regretted the decision that she had made, to leave New York, to leave the ranch, and to leave Wes. But her pride again rose like bile in her throat, and she said, “That and the biscuits and gravy.” She flashed what she hoped to be a winning smile.

  Carrie left the office an hour later, the proud legal assistant of Blatney and Blatney attorneys at law. Though there was only one Blatney to answer to, as his father had passed ten years prior. Carrie had no legal experience whatsoever but had minored in pre-law, a unique choice alongside her teaching degree. Mr. Blatney was lecherous but had quickly become more professional when he and Carrie got into a deep discussion about immigration law, and its effects on peach farming. Mr. Blatney told her that she ‘would do just fine,’ but was surprised that Carrie wasn’t going back into teaching. She couldn’t explain that her broken heart just didn’t have anything to give at the moment, so she told him a different truth, that law had always fascinated her.

  Carrie found a studio apartment within walking distance of the office. Within a few weeks, she was settled with a steady income showing up every Friday in her bank account. She was no longer beholden to her parents for money, or a place to stay. Having left her old jalopy on the city streets to be impounded, her father picked her up every Sunday morning and brought her to the farm for a day of riding, eating good food, and visiting with family. Every Sunday night, he would drive her home and walk her to the steps of her little apartment and ask her if she was sure she didn’t want to come back home, and she would assure him that she was happy.

  Happy wasn’t a lie, but she knew real happiness was no longer obtainable for her. Carrie felt she had made a mess of things and there was just no way to put them back together. It was all just too messy. Carrie knew she needed to move on, but there was always the outline of the handsome face of a rugged cowboy in her thoughts, in her dreams. The word ‘da
ddy,’ rang in her ears and the memory of a husky voice saying, “a strong woman and a good little girl,’ danced at the edges of her shattered heart.

  He had called, yes. But he hadn’t come. And so, Carrie pressed on and tried to mend the pieces of her life, one neat little stitch at a time.

  The Indian summer passed and the nights became cold. It was Thanksgiving morning. Carrie waited by the window, her dish of sweet potato casserole hot in her lap. Her dad was picking her up to bring her to the farm for Thanksgiving Day. Her mom had told her she was welcome to make her dish when she got to the farm, but Carrie wanted to show up, independent and have the casserole prepared. Also, cooking calmed her nerves, and she needed calming. Today was a big day. She had contemplated the idea for one week and had finally decided that today, on Thanksgiving, she would call the ranch.

  Carrie would extend her warmest wishes to Mama, and thank her for her extended hospitality this past summer. Ma would tell her about how the men were busy planting the forage for winter, and Carrie would ask questions about the upcoming calving season. She knew that was Wes’ Ma’s favorite time of the year and was present at every birth possible. Then Carrie would ask for Wes. That was as far as she had gotten in her plans but just the thought of picking up the phone made her stomach roll in nauseous waves.

  Carrie looked at her watch. Her ever punctual father was late. As she stood to call him, she saw his sedan pull up in front of the stairs to her apartment. With a deep breath, Carrie headed to the car that would take her to the farm, where she would make what might be the most important call of her life.

  The whole family was gathering on the porch, spilling into the living room, children chasing each other up and down the wide front porch stairs. Carrie hugged, teased, and chatted with each cousin, aunt, uncle, and grandparent, in turn, all the while reciting the number to the ranch over and over to calm her nervous mind.

  The farm still had a landline phone, attached to the wall, with a cord connecting the handset to the telephone. Something in Carrie felt like she would be better able to make such a call on such a phone. She had told herself that she would pick up and dial as soon as she had gotten to the farm. Carrie hadn’t accounted for the family hellos and how long they took. She busied herself in the kitchen, helping her mother and aunts prepare the dishes and get everything ready for the meal. She promised herself she would call the ranch just after the meal. Or maybe she should call before the meal so she could have it over with and be able to eat. But no, then someone might interrupt her, insisting she not be late for the Thanksgiving feast. The smell of smoke brought Carrie back to reality. She was burning the rolls.

  There was a patter of running feet, then a little voice rang out in the kitchen, “Carrie, company!” Carrie was startled by the little cousin and almost burned herself on the heavy, hot pan that held the blackened bottom bread. She had invited Ms. Wilson, Mr. Blatney’s secretary for Thanksgiving, and in her worry over the impending call had almost forgotten. “Be right there!” she shouted over her shoulder.

  He aunt carefully took the pan from her, assuring her that with a little scraping, the rolls would be good as new. Carrie ran out to the porch to greet Ms. Wilson.

  The screen door slammed behind her and Carrie stood, stock still. There in the driveway, parked in front of the farmhouse, was a red pickup truck. Wes’ red pickup truck. And in front of that truck stood Wes. Tall and rugged, hair waving under the sun, his familiar warm smile shining on his face. He wore a crisply ironed, light blue buttoned-down dress shirt, tucked into faded jeans, his silver buckle shown in his brown leather belt. Next to Wes stood his mama in a sweet floral dress.

  Carrie couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak. Mama smiled her gentle smile and made her way up the porch steps, Wes a few feet behind her. She reached Carrie and embraced her in a hug. “I hope we didn’t surprise you, too much,” she whispered in her ear. Shock started to wear away and wordlessly, Carrie hugged the sweet woman tightly. Over Mama’s shoulder, Carrie’s eyes locked on Wes.

  Within seconds, the family had ushered Mama into the house, and the porch was quiet. Carrie and Wes were left alone, staring at one another. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. He was just as tall and handsome as she remembered, only his face was darker, tanned from long days in the hot sun. His hair had grown back to the curly, wild length it had been the first day she had laid eyes on him.

  “Hello, stranger,” he finally said, his voice husky with emotion.

  Carrie couldn’t think, she couldn’t speak. Finally, she flung herself, hard, right into his arms. His arms wrapped tightly around her body; his face burrowed into her hair. “Carrie, girl,” he whispered, “my sweet, Carrie, girl.” He held her out and looked at her tear stained face, seeming to take in every detail of her being, then pulled her back tight against him. “God, I’ve missed you.”

  Carrie still couldn’t speak, just felt the warmth of his embrace and took in the sweet scent of cedar that was Wes.

  “I’ve got something for you.” Wes pulled away from her, his eyes shining. He ran a hand through his wild locks then grabbed her hand in his. “It’s in the barn.”

  They walked hand in hand to the barn, Carrie still in shock. Her hand squeezing his tightly as if to keep him from ever leaving her side. As they approached the barn, Carrie saw an unfamiliar horse trailer parked off to the side.

  Wes led them through the doors of the barn, past the horses down to one of the usually empty stalls. In the stall, Mabel stood proudly in all her golden glory. A red, green and gold plaid bow hung around her tawny neck.

  “She’s an early Christmas present. I drove her down yesterday in the horse trailer.” Wes patted her mane and the fine horse nuzzled against his hand. “I guess I had a little extra energy and time to put into her these last few months.” He looked at Carrie, and there was a hint of sadness behind the smiling eyes. “She’s finally tamed, but she still shrieked like a banshee the whole way across Texas.”

  Carrie reached out her hand and pet Mabel’s soft coat. Mabel nudged Carrie’s hand gently with her nose as if to say, ‘I remember you.’

  “Do you want to ride her?” Wes asked softly. Speechless, Carrie could only nod in reply.

  Wes took Mabel out of the stable and led her by her bridle out into the field. Knowing she could finally ride the majestic horse, Carrie came to life, grabbing the reins and hoisting her body onto Mabel’s broad back. She shot Wes a naughty look and with a “Hiya!” was off to the meadow.

  At the edge of the meadow, they tied their horses underneath the massive oaks whose tops formed a thick canopy. The horses didn’t care for the rain, but Mabel stayed calm, swishing water from her tail prissily. The trees kept out a good amount of the pouring water.

  Carrie stood, her back against a sturdy tree, and looked up at the gray sky beyond the tree tops. She watched as the sheets of water fell straight down onto the meadow. Suddenly, Wes grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her, laughing, into the torrential downpour. She followed as he tugged her along, stopping only when they were in the very center of the clearing, mud pooling at their feet. Water streamed down her soaked curls, the fabric of her clothing was saturated and clinging to her skin. They held hands and laughed like children.

  The rain poured on, and their laughing died down. Carrie became sober. Being in the meadow again with Wes, it was too much. She wanted him, and he was not hers. Carrie dropped his hand and turned to him, shouting so her voice would be heard over the beating waves.

  She shook her head and her voice quavered. Water was pouring over her eyes, and she wiped helplessly at them. “Why didn’t you come?”

  Wes’ smile dropped, the light went out of his eyes. The sorrow of the past months shone on his face, and Carrie knew in that instant that her leaving had hurt him tremendously.

  He took a step towards her, grabbing both of her hands in his. He locked eyes with her, and she noticed that in the strange light of the storm, his eyes were almost gray, same as the dark sky. He l
ooked down at the hands he held, stroking the backs of them with his thumbs for a moment before he spoke. His voice was steady but strained as he fought to be heard over the downpour. “I wanted to come, but I waited until I was sure I could handle whatever I found here.” He reached up, taking a wet curl and pulling it from her cheek then tucking it behind her ear. “Maybe you had moved on, maybe you didn’t want to be with me anymore. Maybe it was all just too much for you. Every time I thought I’d come, I knew I wasn’t ready.” Wes put his hand into his pocket. “I couldn’t hear you say the word, ‘no.’ I knew it would break me. Though the second I saw you standing on that porch today, I knew anything other than leaving here with you in my arms would break me all the same.” Wes dropped down onto one knee, his jeans splashing in the mud. He looked up at her, and his eyes shone for her and his face beamed. “You see, I came here to ask you something.” His gray eyes flashed. Rain streamed over him and water fell into his smiling eyes. “Carrie, girl, will you marry me?”

  Carrie stood before him, both hands flying to her face. Tears stung her eyes and she couldn’t breathe. She suddenly felt as if she had run a hundred miles and her chest would burst.

  Wes held up his hand to her. In between his forefinger and thumb, he held a silver ring. The prongs of the band held a large, smooth oval shaped, gemstone. It was light green as the sea, streaks of a darker green like the conifers of the West swirled through it, bits of silver mica sparkled on the edges of the swirl.

  Still, on one knee, Wes wiped the water from his eyes. “The stone is an Aventurine. It brings comfort and heals the heart. I figured our story is a unique one, and an ordinary diamond just wouldn’t do.” He grinned at her, expectantly. “So, what do you say, will you marry me?”