by Judy Duarte
By the time their meals were served, Jessica had downed nearly the entire bottle, as small as it was, burped and dozed off again.
After securing the sleeping infant back in her carrier, Anna picked up a fork and speared a piece of grilled chicken out of her salad while Nate took a bite of his juicy burger. They ate in silence for a while, although she stole a glance across the table every now and again. A couple of times she caught Nate looking at her.
Finally, when she’d eaten her fill, she blotted her lips with the napkin. “That was amazingly good. I’d heard a lot of good things about this diner, so it’s been on my list of local restaurants to try.”
“I told you Caroline’s is the best.” Nate tossed her a charming but playful smile. “That is, if you’re into down-home cooking. Some people claim it’s ‘better than mama can make.’”
“It was certainly better than anything my mom has ever cooked or baked.” Anna’s mother had always relied on canned soup and boxed macaroni and cheese—and probably still did. But at least it was filling.
“I don’t remember my mom,” Nate said. “She died of breast cancer before I entered kindergarten.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Anna might not have had the best mother in the world, but at least she’d had one. “It must have been tough on you and your father.”
Nate shrugged. “My dad had a drinking problem to begin with. And rather than working through his grief, he tried to drown it.”
A second round of “I’m sorry” wasn’t going to fly, so Anna just listened, waiting for him to go on. When it seemed as if he might not go into any more detail, she asked, “Does he still drink?”
“I don’t know. He took off when I was thirteen, and I haven’t seen him since.”
Anna’s compassion for the small boy who’d lost his mother and had been left in the care of an alcoholic dad stirred up a slew of emotions, including her worry for little Jessie. Nate clearly hadn’t had a paternal role model. Would he be able to provide Jessie with what she needed?
Sure, Anna hadn’t gotten the best role models herself. Her parents had been young and had fought more than they got along. Actually, when they finally split up, creating peace in the home, Anna had been relieved. But at least she’d had a mother, albeit one that had been far from perfect. She’d also taken a lot of psychology courses in college, which helped her to understand people and various family dynamics.
Now, here she was in Brighton Valley, creating a life for herself. She had a job she loved, although she’d always dreamed of creating the perfect family. She was just waiting for the right man to come along.
She stole a glance at the cowboy seated across from her. In spite of her attraction, he wasn’t her Mr. Right, so she wouldn’t entertain that thought for a moment.
There was also plenty for her to be concerned about in this case, and she planned to give it her top priority, even if that meant checking on the cowboy daddy when she wasn’t on the clock.
“Are you ready to go?” Nate asked.
She nodded and reached for her purse. He grabbed the handle of the baby carrier, then they slid out of the booth and walked to the front of the diner. They stopped by the register to pay the bill.
Margie, who met them there, rang up the charge. “That’ll be twenty-three dollars and sixteen cents.”
Anna reached into her purse, pulled out a twenty and handed it to Nate.
He put up his hand and refused it. “Put your money away. I’ve got this.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” There was no way she’d let him pay for her dinner. “I expected this to be Dutch treat.”
“Actually, the payment logistics were never decided.” Nate handed Margie two twenties. “I asked you to join me, remember? Besides, it’s the cowboy way.”
Anna wasn’t sure what he meant by that. But rather than ask him to explain, she said, “Okay, but I’ll get it...next time.” Darn it. She hadn’t meant to imply that they’d have dinner together again.
As if her comment hadn’t struck him the least bit presumptive, he said, “It’s a deal.”
“And, Nate, don’t worry.” Margie lowered her voice as she counted out the change. “I won’t say a word about you-know-who. Or about you-know-what.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Nate offered the waitress a ten-dollar tip. “That’s for you.”
Margie brightened. “Why, thank you, hon.”
It seemed more like a bribe to Anna than a tip, but maybe Nate was just a generous man.
With the strap of the diaper bag over his shoulder and the baby carrier in one hand, he opened the front door for Anna with the other.
On the way out, Anna again pondered what he’d meant when he’d said paying for her dinner tonight was “the cowboy way.” Common courtesy, she supposed. Good manners and generosity.
Rather than split up and each go their own way, Nate walked her to her car.
“Thanks for dinner,” she said.
“My pleasure.” A glimmer lit his blue eyes, one that almost seemed flirtatious, and she nearly forgot who he was—and why it wasn’t a good idea to let silly, girlish attraction get the better of her.
She continued to stand there, under the streetlight with the handsome bronc rider, caught up in what appeared to be a romantic moment with a man who lived by some kind of cowboy creed.
His ideals intrigued her.
He intrigued her.
In fact, she’d gotten a new perspective about rodeos and ranchers this evening, which was weird. She’d never been attracted to that kind of man before, although she really couldn’t say why. Maybe because she’d grown up in the city. But right this minute, she felt inclined to reconsider her stand on dating cowboys.
And why was that? She didn’t get involved with country boys—or with people she needed to help and support through her job.
“G’ night,” he said, revealing a soft Southern twang she hadn’t noticed before. “Drive carefully.”
She nodded and climbed into her car before she said or did anything to give in to her inappropriate thoughts.
But as she backed out of the parking space, she couldn’t help looking in the rearview mirror and stealing one last peek at Cowboy Daddy—and saw him watching her go.
* * *
Nate stood outside Caroline’s Diner until Anna had backed out of her parking space and was driving down Brighton Valley’s main drag. It had been an interesting night, and for a while he’d nearly forgotten who Anna was and why she’d met him at the pediatrician’s office.
He hadn’t planned to ask her to join him for dinner, but the idea had rolled off his tongue as if it was the most natural thing in the world for them to do. Once the words were out, he’d expected her to gracefully decline, but she hadn’t, which surprised him.
Several times, when they’d been seated in that corner booth, he’d had to remind himself of the trouble she could cause him, especially if she knew that a DNA test might prove he wasn’t Jessie’s father. And what would happen when she realized he didn’t know squat about small children, especially baby girls?
Still, even though he’d been on high alert, she’d managed to draw something out of him, a memory he’d hinted at and nearly revealed. One he kept under wraps because it would be too painful to let it out into the light of day.
Over the years, life had thrown a lot of curves his way, beginning with the death of his mother when he’d barely been five. As if that hadn’t been bad enough, he’d had to deal with an alcoholic father who’d taken to drinking himself to sleep each night. And when a case of beer no longer did the trick, he’d switched to straight Scotch.
When his old man lost his job, he couldn’t pay the rent or the power bill, which had led them to a church-run homeless shelter, where they’d stayed several nights—after a sermon and some prayers. Then
one day, his dad set off to buy a pack of cigarettes and never returned.
When someone from the church realized Nate was alone, they called social services, and he ended up in foster care.
So that’s why he was hell-bent on keeping Jessie from suffering the same type of fate. And that was also why he couldn’t let Kenny’s family take her. So he’d decided to do whatever he could to keep her safe and to provide some kind of home for her, just like his maternal grandpa had eventually done for him.
When his mom’s father, retired rodeo champ Clinton McClain, first learned of Nate’s plight, he’d gone to court and asked for custody. Then he’d brought Nate to live on the Double M Ranch. There, on the outskirts of Brighton Valley, Nate grew to manhood—and that was where he’d learned the cowboy way.
Be a man of integrity, Grandpa Clint had said. Be honest, especially with yourself, and be true to your friends.
Damn. He missed that ranch, too. But Grandpa Clint had sold it while Nate had been on the rodeo circuit without asking Nate if he’d be interested in buying it himself. He would have, but he’d never...well, he’d never thought he needed to. He’d just assumed that his grandfather knew how he felt about the Double M. Or how Nate felt about a lot of things, like the man he’d come to love and respect.
After Grandpa Clint died, Nate inherited the house in town, though. And last year, when the doctors told Nate he’d have to give up riding rodeo ever again, he’d moved in during his recovery period.
It had hurt giving up his rodeo dreams, but he was also grateful to be alive, so he sucked up his disappointment, just as he had his memories of a lousy childhood. Before long he began to put his own mark on the place on Peachtree Lane—like buying a new bedroom set and bedding, as well as new living room furniture.
Nate rubbed his hip, which ached from sitting, then glanced at the sweet baby dozing in the carrier. Before he knew it Jessie would be hungry again, so he’d better get her back to the ranch.
After securing her in the backseat of his pickup, he climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. But instead of heading for the county road that would take him to the Rocking C, he drove through town and turned onto Peachtree Lane.
He hadn’t been home since Jessie was discharged from the hospital, and he missed his house, as well as his privacy.
As he pulled along the curb and parked under the streetlight, he took a good hard look at the white house, its green trim and black front door. Other than the grass, which needed to be mowed, it looked the same as when he’d left it. At least, it did on the outside.
If he didn’t need to get Jessie home, he’d go inside for a while. He’d just begun to put his own mark on the place and was eager to finish what he’d started. But he wasn’t about to move back home before Jessie got a little older and he found a competent, live-in nanny. So until then he was stuck on the Rocking C.
Maybe stuck wasn’t exactly the right word to use. He enjoyed living on a ranch, but it wasn’t the same as being on the Double M. Besides, with all the rodeo talk, it only served to remind him of all he’d lost.
He glanced at the clock on the dash—7:11 p.m. A lot of guys, especially those who frequented Las Vegas, would consider them lucky numbers. At one time Nate might have taken that as a sign that his once charmed life was back on track. Only trouble was, his old life was gone for good.
The accident had shattered his future, but with time and physical therapy, he’d recovered and was making the best of his lot in life. Then Beth had shown up on the Rocking C, claiming her baby was his. That unsettling news, along with his acceptance of it and his commitment to Jessie, had turned his world upside down again.
He just hoped Anna’s offer to help him was sincere. Because if it wasn’t, the complications would sweep over him and all he had left like a Texas twister, destroying everything in its path.
Chapter Four
It had been an exceptionally grueling day at work, and Anna was eager to go home. Soon after she’d started her shift this morning, a three-pound preemie had undergone emergency heart surgery. To make matters worse, the baby’s parents had suffered several miscarriages before finally carrying a little girl for seven months. Needless to say, they were worried sick.
Anna had done her best to reassure the couple that the doctors were competent and that their daughter was in good hands, which was true. But complications could always arise.
Thankfully, all had gone well. The baby was back in the NICU now with her parents at her side.
Since Anna hadn’t been able to take a lunch break, she’d grabbed a protein bar from the break room on her way to an afternoon meeting with the nursing staff and Mary Grangetto, the new hospital administrator. Mary had a world of experience and would probably do a fine job overseeing the hospital, but she wasn’t nearly as warm and understanding as the man she’d replaced.
By four o’clock that afternoon, Anna was ready to call it a day. The minute she arrived home, she planned to kick off her shoes and relax. She didn’t feel up to cooking anything, but that wasn’t a problem. She had fresh bread, deli meat and veggies. So she would make a sandwich for dinner, then she’d pour a glass of wine and escape by watching television.
Unfortunately, those plans were immediately dashed the minute she unlocked her front door and found the living room flooded, the carpet not just soaked, but also several inches under water.
Seriously? After the day I’ve already had, I had to come home to this?
She removed her shoes and left them on the porch. Then she went inside the house to determine the cause of the damage. Had she left a faucet running?
Surely she hadn’t. She placed her purse and briefcase on the small table near the door then sloshed through an inch or two of cold water in her bare feet to check the kitchen and the bathroom.
She didn’t find any of the faucets on, which meant she hadn’t caused the problem, so she should feel relieved. But what was she supposed to do now?
First of all, she’d better alert her landlord, so she returned to the living room, reached into her purse, pulled out her cell and dialed Carla Howard’s number.
As soon as Carla answered, Anna said, “I’m afraid I have some bad news. I think we have a broken pipe. The entire house is flooded.”
“Oh, no. I’ll call a plumber, although...” Carla paused, as if concerned about something. “It’s already after hours.”
Anna glanced at her wristwatch. It was dinnertime on a Friday night. Then she looked down at her wet feet and gauged the water level. “Hopefully you can find someone with emergency hours. There’s no way you can wait until Monday. The walls will be ruined.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll figure out something. I also have a key, so if you have weekend plans, feel free to leave. I can meet the plumber.”
“Actually, I don’t have any plans. But...” Anna let out a little sigh. Turning in early was no longer going to be a possibility. “I’d better pack a bag and go somewhere. I can’t stay here.”
Carla clucked her tongue. “I’m sorry for this inconvenience, Anna. I’d offer to let you stay with me, but my sister and her family just arrived for a week-long visit.”
That was just as well. Carla lived nearly an hour away, and Anna had to work a half day tomorrow.
“Would you mind staying at the Night Owl Motel for a day or two?” Carla asked. “My neighbor’s son owns the place, so I can give him a call. I’ll pay for your room, of course. And I’ll have things all lined up before you arrive.”
Anna thanked her, although she wasn’t especially happy about staying at that particular place. Not that she didn’t appreciate Carla’s offer—or that she was picky and expected deluxe accommodations. It’s just that the Night Owl was actually what she’d call a motor lodge located on a busy highway, right next to a truck stop and across the street from a cowboy bar called the Stagecoa
ch Inn.
Since this was a Friday night, there was no telling how loud and rowdy things would get, and she’d had her heart set on having a quiet, restful evening. Of course, her options were now limited, so after the call ended, she packed her bag with two days’ worth of clothing. Surely she wouldn’t need more than a couple of outfits, a nightgown and undies. Then she gathered her toiletries together, snatched her purse from the living room table, locked up the house and returned to her car.
Ten minutes later she arrived at the Night Owl, tired and hungry. True to her word, Carla had called ahead of time and prepaid for a two-night stay.
“Here you go.” The motel desk clerk handed her an old-fashioned key with a black plastic fob that had a faded gold ten stamped on it.
Anna thanked the balding, sixtysomething man then walked along the front of the white stucco building, searching each blue door for a number ten.
She’d no more than found the right room when her stomach growled, reminding her she’d missed the lunch meal and that it was well past the dinner hour. When she stuck the key into the lock, it opened right up.
The small room had a musty smell, and the furniture was dated. But it appeared to be clean. After unpacking, hanging her clothes in the dinky closet and putting away her toiletries in the bathroom, she went in search of a place to eat before the growls in her stomach became all-out roars.
Night was falling. The cars and big rigs whizzed by on the highway, most of their headlights turned on. So much for the quiet, cozy evening she’d planned.
Unless she wanted to get back in the car and drive across town, her dining choices were either the Stagecoach Inn or Joe’s Café, which had a dangling orange neon sign announcing Good Eats.
She opted to cross the street and eat at the honky-tonk so she could order a glass of wine. Then she would order something to go and take it back to her room. Maybe she could still get that good night’s sleep she’d hoped for—if that could be had in this part of town.
