The Cowboy's Forever Family

by Deb Kastner

  Unlike her sudden, fiery relationship with Brody, which lit up like a shooting star and then just as quickly fell to earth, her feelings for Slade had grown over the past few weeks, sneaking up on her and surprising her with their intensity. It was hard for her to believe she couldn’t even stand to be near him when they’d first met, but now...

  Now she needed him in her life. In the baby’s life.

  If he got hurt—or worse...

  She simply couldn’t go there, any more than she could let herself consider where her feelings for Slade were leading her.

  “I can’t say I’m sorry to hear it will be your last ride,” she admitted, laying her free hand on his forearm. “But do you mind me asking why?”

  “I’m not getting any younger. A man can’t ride bulls forever. It’s time for me to move on to new challenges.”

  His answer didn’t completely satisfy her, but she wasn’t sure if it was because it didn’t quite ring true, or if it was the pained expression in his gaze that stopped her short.

  He cleared his throat and looked away from her, ostensibly turning his attention toward the bucking gates, where a Serendipity cowboy she didn’t recognize was preparing to ride. Then he covered his hand with hers and she knew he wasn’t really paying attention to the cowboy’s ride.

  “There’s something you need to know.” She heard the intensity of his voice and unconsciously stiffened. He squeezed her hand, acknowledging the unspoken tension between them.

  “It’s about Brody’s last ride.”

  “We don’t have to rehash that. I know all about it,” she assured him around the catch in her voice. “Probably more than I ever wanted to know. Anyway, it doesn’t change anything to talk about it.”

  The baby landed a firm kick on the inside of her ribs and she slid one of her hands from his and rubbed the spot where Baby Beckett’s little heel was lodged.

  “You don’t know everything.”

  She inhaled, trying to steady her nerves, and sat in silence, not knowing why he continued to push the issue. What good would it do?

  When he didn’t look at her or continue his thought, she gently probed him. Her mind rebelled against whatever else Slade was about to say. She was relatively certain she didn’t want to hear what was coming next, but she knew she couldn’t jump off this train now, however fast it was moving.

  “Slade?”

  “Brody wasn’t going to ride that night.”

  “He wasn’t?” That was news to her.

  “He was anxious to get home. All he could think about after his change of heart at the cowboy church was how much he wanted to see you, to ask for your forgiveness and to do everything he could to repair your marriage.”

  “I know he was coming home to me. You told me that weeks ago, and it gives my heart great solace. But you’re going to tell me why he decided to ride that night instead of walking away from it, aren’t you? Whether I want to hear it or not.”

  She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to go where Slade was leading her. Her emotions were all over the place and she didn’t want to keep revisiting the if onlys.

  “Yes, I am going to tell you, because you need to know, and you need to hear it from me.” He paused and coughed to clear his throat, but his voice still came out husky, miserable and self-accusatory. “It was me. I pushed him to ride that night. I kept reminding him of the purse he’d win if he got a good ride. How great it would be for him to be able to take a little money home to you when he went to see you.”

  “I don’t care about money.” She couldn’t believe he’d even thought such a thing.

  “I know that—now,” he said bitterly. “Even then, I don’t think I really believed the prize would make a difference to you when I encouraged him to make that ride. He drew the best bull on the circuit and I wanted to see him get those eight seconds.”

  “Best bull meaning the worst one.”

  He shrugged and stared down at their intertwined hands. “Yeah.”

  “And that’s what you are hoping to do next weekend? Draw the worst-best bull?”

  He winced and still wouldn’t look her in the eyes, but it was the fact that he hesitated a beat too long that closed off her breath.

  “Yes.” He groaned. “Laney, don’t. Don’t push it.”

  “What?” No way was she backing down at this point, not with the sense of dread crawling into her chest and twisting itself into painful knots.

  What was he not saying?

  “Please don’t make me continue. If I keep going with this, we’re both going to regret it. I’m afraid I’m going to upset you or the baby, and that is the last thing I want to do.”

  “You started it.”

  “I had to let you know what kind of man I really am. But please—let’s talk about something else now. You just got out of the woods with those—fake contractions.”

  “No.” She didn’t know whether this kind of stress could spiral her into labor, but at this point not knowing would be as bad as if Slade just spit it out and revealed whatever it was that he was holding back. She was in too deep to back out now.

  “You haven’t told me everything. Come clean to me, Slade. Better I find out now than later.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know about that.”

  What could he possibly say to her that he believed would be worse than what he’d already said? Truth be told, nothing Slade had admitted had really shocked her. And though she knew he blamed himself for Brody’s death, she didn’t share that sentiment. Granted, he might have exerted a little friendly influence on Brody, but ultimately it had been Brody’s decision to ride that bull. Surely Slade knew that.

  He dropped his hand from hers and removed his hat, tunneling his fingers through his thick black hair. He stared down at his Stetson for a moment, curling the brim in his fist.

  “Night Terror will be at the rodeo next week.”

  Night Terror.

  The bull that had smashed Brody into a wall, killing him instantly. Her breath left her in a whoosh and her heart slammed into her throat. She gasped for air and her head swirled. She was afraid for a moment that she might be physically ill.

  Slade didn’t appear to notice, or else he was too far gone to stop his words.

  “I want to be the man to ride him.”

  Laney wanted to shake some sense into the stubborn cowboy. “How could you even consider such a thing?”

  “I—I—” he stammered.

  She jumped in before he could finish his answer. “They didn’t—I mean—how is Night Terror still being used on the circuit? I would think that after—” Her throat closed around the words and she couldn’t continue.

  “He’s a young bull, and a well-bred rodeo bull is worth thousands of dollars. Besides, what happened to Brody wasn’t Night Terror’s fault. It was a freak accident.”

  “Be that as it may—” She wrapped her arms protectively over her midsection, her pulse feeling like lead in her veins, and she wondered if she looked as pale as she felt.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.” His frown turned to a scowl, but she had the feeling he was turning his anger inward.

  Still—she had to know.

  “What if I asked you not to ride?”

  Chapter Ten

  What if I asked you not to ride?

  The question had been haunting Slade ever since Laney had asked him, especially since those were the last words she’d spoken to him in over a week. He knew he should have kept his big mouth shut, and this was proof positive of what a total jerk he was.

  He couldn’t answer her when she’d asked that question because he couldn’t tell her what she wanted to hear. He’d walked away without another word.

  Laney had been avoiding him for the entire week and a half that fol
lowed, and he couldn’t blame her, nor could he say he’d made much of an effort to cross paths with her, either. If he were totally honest with himself, he didn’t want to know what she thought of him. In her present state of mind, knowing what she knew about him now, she’d be more dangerous to confront than a penned-up wildcat.

  Not that he could blame her. If he had that day to do over again he would have kept his trap closed and excused himself to go set up bleachers or check the sound system or something. Anything to get away from the truth.

  At least she hadn’t gone into premature labor because of his serious lapse in judgment. As much as he wanted to see Baby Beckett, he didn’t want the little tyke entering the world too soon.

  Maybe it was better that the scene had played out the way it had. It would be better for both Laney and the baby if he just stayed away from them permanently, no matter how much his heart would ache to be separated from them. How ironic was it that he’d finally matured enough to put other people’s needs ahead of his own, and that meant he had to stay away from them, even when it hurt him to do so? That he was the very worst thing that could happen to the two people who meant the most to him? And yet how could he do less for the woman he’d come to deeply respect and care for?

  She deserved better than that. Better than him.

  Despite the overwhelming compulsion to honor Brody’s life with this ride, in the past week he’d considered scrapping the rodeo completely more times than he could count. But it was too late to back out now, even if he wanted to, with only two hours before the rodeo was set to begin.

  He and a few other bull riders from several nearby towns were waiting to draw their bulls. Slade couldn’t stand still waiting for the news. He paced back and forth, tapping his hat against his thigh. The caged movement brought his thoughts back to the day he’d first brought Laney in to see Dr. D. He’d been so nervous for her—for Baby Beckett—that he’d prowled around like a tiger.

  That was before he’d known what a wonderful lady Laney was. How he could have ever thought anything different about her he’d never know. He must have been blind.

  As far as he knew, Laney hadn’t left the Becketts’ ranch in the past week. Hopefully no news was good news. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was still too early for Baby Beckett to make an entrance into the big, wide world, but surely Grant or Carol would have called him had Brody’s baby already been born.

  He was half hoping Laney would decide not to attend the rodeo at all, but he knew her too well to really believe she’d avoid it. Whatever she thought about him riding, she had her own mountains to climb, and scale them she would, with the same strength she used to face the rest of her adversities. He had no doubt about that. Living in fear wasn’t Laney’s style, and she was the toughest woman he’d ever had the privilege of knowing.

  “McKenna.” Captain Ian James, Serendipity’s police chief and the rodeo announcer, broke into his thoughts. “Where are you, son?”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “You pulled Night Terror.”

  Ice coursed through Slade’s veins. This was exactly what he wanted. It was exactly what he didn’t want.

  Ian grabbed his elbow, pulled him aside and bent his head in close, out of the hearing range of the other riders. “You can back out, Slade. None of the other guys will give you any guff if you want to pull another lot. If they say anything, they’ll answer to me.”

  Maybe they would, and maybe they wouldn’t. Cowboys were a hard lot. Slade knew how he would have reacted when he was younger. He might not have said anything to the guy’s face, but he definitely would have been laughing behind the man’s back for displaying such a lack of courage.

  Then again, most of these cowboys were friends and neighbors and less likely to judge. They’d known Brody, attended his funeral, grieved for him.

  Not that it mattered one way or another. Slade didn’t care about what the other cowboys thought of him, whether or not he lost or gained their respect. He was riding in honor of Brody, and there were only three living people whose opinion he cared about.

  Grant, Carol and Laney.

  “I’m in,” he said, so low that Ian had to lean his ear closer in order to hear his response.

  “What was that?”

  “I’m in.” His voice was stronger now that his decision had been made.

  It was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? What he’d been thinking about all these months? The chance to best Night Terror, have the ride of his life and end his bull riding career the way he’d started it—and in Brody’s name and honor.

  He was experiencing a great deal of pent-up energy now that he knew he was going to ride, but it wasn’t the same as before. He no longer carried the wild, youthful—and often foolish—confidence and drive he’d once had, but he had something infinitely better.

  Maturity. And hope for the future.

  No matter how this played out, whether he rode for one second or eight, he would be there for Laney and the baby. He might only be relegated to an honorary Uncle Slade, but he’d take whatever Laney gave him and be thankful for it.

  And if he had to daily confront his own feelings, never allowing them off the back burner no matter how painful it might be for him, then so be it.

  He took a short walk to calm his nerves and prepare his mind for the ride ahead of him. He knew he needed to be concentrating on the now and not what might or might not be a very bleak future ahead of him, but it was difficult to keep his thoughts on point.

  Very difficult, when Laney’s sweet face kept floating into his thoughts, distracting him.

  When he returned to the arena, spectators were pouring in, not only from Serendipity, but from several neighboring towns. He hoped Laney would find a comfortable place to sit, somewhere out of the sun.

  It would be better for him if she didn’t come at all, because he wasn’t certain he could give Night Terror his full focus knowing Laney was looking on. The last thing she needed was the possibility of watching the same kind of mishap that had killed her husband because Slade wasn’t paying attention to his ride.

  But she’d be there. He knew it with a certainty he’d rather not have had.

  Maybe if he didn’t actually see her, didn’t know for sure she was there, he would fare better. If he discovered afterward that she had seen him ride—well, he would deal with that eventuality when the time came.

  He pulled his hat low over his brow and kept his eyes on the path before him.

  Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t look up.

  He walked quickly and steadily to the rhythm of his silent mantra.

  And then he looked up.

  Right into the eyes of Laney Beckett. Of course he’d had to go and look at her, sitting right in the center of one of the bleachers and well under the awning, thankfully. Grant and Carol sat on one side of her and Jo and Frank Spencer on the other, protectively sandwiching her in their love.

  Maybe if he just kept walking...

  But Laney had seen him. He couldn’t very well not acknowledge her, especially since it appeared she’d been intently watching him, maybe for some time now.

  Of course she had.

  The moment their gazes met, his legs stopped working of their own accord. He might as well have been frozen in ice. He couldn’t move a muscle. His whole body deserted him at the worst possible time.

  He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t blink.

  She waved, but it was a jerky motion. She paled and dropped her arm, then leaned in to whisper in Carol’s ear.

  Carol smiled and nodded as Laney rose to her feet and began tenuously making her way to the edge of the bleachers, where she could ostensibly climb down, were she not ridiculously pregnant. The bleachers made for shaky stadium seating at best and not anywhere near safe enough for Laney to be crawling around up there.

  Heat burned
through him, instantly melting his deep freeze. He didn’t even think about his next move. Instinctively, he tucked his head and ran for all he was worth, reaching the bleachers just as she crossed to the edge.

  Her eyes widened when he put his arms up to catch her. She was only a few feet from the ground, but it was too far for her to jump on her own in her condition. Her only other option was to pick her way step by step through a crowd of people.

  He smiled and nodded his encouragement to her. She shook her head and her full lips curved up at the corners, but it was the glint in her wide eyes that communicated without words how crazy she thought his antics were.

  So she thought it was a terrible idea. What was new? She always thought his ideas were bad. Too bad, because it was happening. He might not be able to do anything about her state of mind during the bull ride, but he could see her safely to the ground right now.

  He would never let this woman down again.

  “Come on, princess,” he said, stretching his arms even higher. She could practically lean down and touch him if she tried.

  But it wasn’t about that. Not for him, and not for her.

  It was about trust.

  It reminded him of a game he’d played in his high school psychology class. Teammates had had to take turns falling backward into the other’s arms. The whole point was knowing their partners would be there to catch them.

  Trust.

  Of course, at the time, he’d dipped his partner—a cute girl—nearly to the floor and then swept her back up again at the very last second, making her scream and squeal when she thought she was going to hit the ground. But he hadn’t let her fall.

  Hadn’t happened then, and most certainly wouldn’t happen now.

  Laney narrowed her gaze on him and planted her fists on her hips. “You’d better catch me, mister.”

  He grinned up at her, and for one second he was completely in the moment, thinking neither of his past or of the ride to come.