Secrets and Lace (Lonely Lace #2)

by Bonnie R. Paulson

  Tears welled up in Mac’s eyes. He sniffed and wiped the back of his hand across his nose. “I’ve never had a dad. Want to do something? Together?” He tried to smile but the tears just made the attempt that much more pitiful.

  Like a hot pot of coffee dumped down his shirt, anger and pity splashed over Robbie. He’d just wanted to take Revenge for a ride. Checking out the ranch had always been a favorite of his – especially early mornings. Sometimes, he’d ridden with his dad while everyone else slept.

  The possibility to take his own son on a morning ride over the property held more temptation than he would openly claim. Robbie nodded. “Yeah, we could do something, but we need to leave a note for your mom.” As pissed as he was, he refused to mess with the mom-Amelia. Some things a man didn’t jack with – a mother and her child was one of them.

  Mac disappeared into the room at the end of the hall.

  Robbie slapped his gloves on his upper thigh, back and forth – not hard, but with a definite touch of nerves. Being alone with his boy was daunting. What did he say to the small guy? Did he have him call him dad or Robbie or sir? What if Mac didn’t like him? Why would he? Robbie wasn’t exactly the poster-dad of the year.

  A handful of minutes passed. Robbie found a scrap of paper in the nightstand drawer along with a pen. He scribbled a note and slipped it on the floor outside of Amelia and Mac’s door – not his and Amelia’s door. That’d probably never happen… not after…

  Robbie stood in time to avoid tripping the excited boy.

  Stepping out of the room with a sweatshirt, pants, boots, and a hat, Mac flashed a grin at Robbie which tugged at his conscience. In an overly-exaggerated whisper, Mac asked. “Do we get to have a treat?” A dimple in his right cheek brought out an answering grin in his father.

  “Let’s grab some breakfast, first. Then you’re gonna need a coat, maybe gloves.” Robbie looked pointedly at Mac’s hands. No way was he letting the cold air bite at his boy’s hands.

  “Mom makes me keep all that in the foyer closet. I keep my boots in my room ‘cause they have Spiderman on them, see?” He kicked a foot out to show the comic design and didn’t pause in his chatter. “Can we have hot chocolate? Mom says too much will make me crazy but Uncle Slate says crazy runs in my blood. What does that mean?” He reached up and grabbed Robbie’s free hand, curious eyes up-turned with all the questions in the world shining in them.

  “Um.” What question did he start with?

  Mac didn’t wait for an answer and instead rattled off seven more questions by the time they’d crossed the house to the kitchen.

  “He’s hard to keep up with, isn’t he?” Slate’s chuckle from the kitchen nook surprised Robbie. Mac ran to his uncle and hugged him. “How you doin’, little man? Why’re you up so early?” Slate sipped his coffee, while Mac replied, dancing on his toes and flapping his arms.

  Robbie pointed at the fridge. “Is it okay if I have something? I’ll figure out what I’m going to do and get my own food.” He hated relying on anyone – but he needed more than food. He just didn’t know how to ask.

  Slate tipped his cup back, standing after he lowered it. Walking behind his brother, he slapped Robbie’s shoulder. “My food is yours, bro. No worries.”

  After all the time he’d been gone, Robbie couldn’t help the gaping mouth expression as Slate walked past. “You’ve always forgiven quick and moved on.”

  “You’re my brother. What do you want me to do? Hate you?” Slate rinsed his cup and placed it in the sink. “Bagels are up in the cupboard, if you like those. I’m heading out to the barn to get it ready for the mares. Pig needs to go to the pasture next week. Want your horse to go with Pig?” Mac took the banana Slate peeled for him, and chomped on the fruit like he hadn’t eaten in a month.

  Robbie crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m actually going out on Revenge this morning. I’d like to check out the northwest ridge. It’s been too long, you know?”

  “It has been too long. I’m glad you’re back.” The sudden intensity in Slate’s expression gave Robbie pause.

  Robbie rolled his ever-constant-sore shoulder. He plowed onward. He’d been determined to wait for the right moment, but maybe that was why Slate hadn’t told Robbie yet about Mac – the “right” moment had never come. “Hey, I need to ask you for a favor before something else happens and we go back to fighting.”

  “Hit me.” Slate watched Robbie without rancor. He held up his hand. “Not literally.”

  “I need some money.” Robbie tried not to hold his breath, but more relied on Slate’s cooperation than anyone else could possibly guess.

  “Okay, like how much? Twenty? Eighty? I need a number, Robbie.” Slate reached into his back pocket and pulled out a black square wallet.

  Robbie glanced at Mac who peeled the skin from a long banana. “Look, I can’t say.”

  Slate’s eyebrows stitched together. “What do you mean you can’t say? Just give me a number so I can give it to you.”

  “Two-hundred thousand.” Robbie thrust his jaw to the side and waited for Slate to laugh.

  But his brother didn’t. Instead, true sorrow drew the sides of his mouth down. “I wish I could give it to you, Robbie, but I’m close to losing this place as it is. Ronan only extended payment because Amelia has let him see Mac. But they’re back to fighting and money is due next week.” He patted Robbie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t have that much to give you.”

  “It’s okay. I understand. Thanks.” But it wasn’t okay. They’d put everything into that place, all the life insurance off their parents and their own savings. And the only information Slate had was they could lose the place.

  Robbie motioned toward Mac. “He’s growing fast. I feel like I missed out on a lot, you know? He’s so cute. Talks a L-O-T. ”

  “You just got here. You have no idea.” Slate grinned. “He’s like a parrot, too. Repeats everything, don’t you Mac?”

  Cheeks puffed out with banana, Mac nodded.

  “So make sure you only say things around him that you’re fine with being repeated. Right, Mac?” Slate smiled, his love for the boy evident in the warmth of his gaze and the slight lift to his lips.

  For some reason, Robbie needed to let Slate know what he was doing with the boy so early. “Oh, hey, I’m taking the kid with me on my ride. In case Amelia misses the note I left her, would you let her know?” Robbie dropped his guard. He didn’t want the strange peace with his brother to end for the first time in years.

  Maybe for just a little bit he could pretend he didn’t owe gobs of money for gambling. Maybe he could pretend to be a ranch owner and hide behind the MacAllister name and what it’d always meant.

  The bastards after him couldn’t find him on Lonely River. He had to be safe.

  No, he was safe.

  He’d never gambled with his real name. At least he didn’t think so.

  Chapter 9

  Amelia pulled her clothes on in the bathroom. The bundle of blankets covering Mac in his bed hadn’t moved since she’d slipped into the shower.

  Sex with Robbie had been – to put it delicately – reality shattering. His hands. His mouth.

  She shivered in the steamy bathroom. For being angry, he’d been extremely unselfish as they’d rediscovered each other.

  Applying her eyeliner reminded Amelia of the shadows marking his body. More than once the night before she’d softened herself as she’d touched parts of him. Kissed him. With their bodies so close, touching and melting together, she’d forgotten why she was mad and clung to the moments of being together. He’d completely consumed her mind and body. Just recalling his fingers in her hair sent a shiver down the backs of her calves. He’d had her curling her toes and arching her back most of the night.

  But even after all that, after everything they’d done with each other – her pride hadn’t allowed her to sleep the night with him.

  Ring. Ring.

  Amelia dropped the lipstick tube and ran to the nightstand
. She didn’t need Mac waking up too early. Heaven forbid, the toddler wake up cranky and ruin her semi-amiable mood. Plus, a few more minutes to ruminate on Robbie and his bed wouldn’t hurt either.

  Rin—

  Lifting the handset to her ear, she turned away from Mac’s bed area. “Hello?”

  “Is this the MacAllister place?” A rough voice hissed every S.

  “Yes. Can I help you?” But she spoke over the hum of the dial tone.

  The bulge on Mac’s bed hadn’t budged with the noise. For Mac, staying in one spot on his bed only lasted ten minutes tops. He was so restless Slate had installed bed rails to keep him from rolling off to the floor.

  Buttoning the cuffs of her fitted flannel shirt, Amelia approached his bed. She didn’t want to wake him up, but something in her gut said to check. She softly patted his top comforter, looking for his leg. But the higher she got the more firmly she touched the bed, searching for her child’s body.

  Whipping back the blankets, Amelia muffled a small shriek at finding his bed empty.

  Okay, not a big deal… yet. Her heart pounded and her palms sweated. He could have gone into the kitchen for something to eat – which meant he’d be around knives! And then maybe he’d cut off something and was bleeding to death… No, Amelia don’t be stupid.

  She rushed to reading nook where she stored his toys. Patting the wall when she found it empty, she rubbed behind her ear. Maybe Mac had fallen and torn stitches again… Oh no, the options didn’t matter. Amelia hadn’t seen him leave and she needed to know where he was. Immediately!

  It didn’t matter how dumb she would look, if he was with Slate eating breakfast or something. She didn’t feel right when she didn’t know he was safe.

  She whirled through the suite, searching for him while trying to maintain the chaos mounting inside her.

  Sprinting out the door and down the hall, she ignored Robbie’s door – okay, honestly she ran her fingertips over the panel as she passed wishing she could run inside and ask for his help in finding their son, wishing they were close enough that asking him for anything wasn’t out of line.

  Wishing for a different outcome didn’t create results. She’d learned that lesson – over and over and over. Hopefully as she repeated her mantra – please be okay, please be okay, please be okay – her wish would come true. Knots twisted in her stomach with each passing second of Mac’s absence.

  A quick run-through of the house produced no son and more worry. She pounded out the front door to the barn, finding Slate sweeping stray straw into a pile. “Slate! Have you seen Mac? He’s not inside.” Breathing hard wasn’t from her dash outside, but rather her worry. “I can’t breathe. He’s missing.” She pressed her hand to her forehead and grabbed her side, looking wildly around.

  Bracing his hands on the broom handle, Slate tipped his hat her way. He watched her and spoke slowly to keep her calm. “Mornin’, Ames. Yeah, Robbie took Mac on a ride this morning.”

  She froze. And blinked. Again blinked. “What?”

  “I said —”

  Amelia waved her hands, her fear morphing into frustration. “No. I heard you. I’m sorry. I’m just not sure I’m ready for him to have Mac alone. You know? He doesn’t know about his surgery or what he’s like when he’s tired.” Or anything. What if Robbie didn’t stop and let Mac go to the bathroom when he needed to? What if Mac was scared for his mom and Robbie didn’t help comfort him? Too many scenarios.

  Slate pulled her stiff body in for a brotherly hug. “He’s great with kids. If I had any, Robbie would be my first choice to watch them.” He ducked his head to make eye contact. “We kind of owe him this, don’t you think?”

  “He left me, Slate.” Amelia snapped her head up, anger boiling from a simmer. “We’ve been over this.” She didn’t owe him anything. Nothing. And now even less because he’d technically abducted her son!

  “More times than I can count. But last week, when he got all those injuries, it hurt him. Not just physically, but I could feel…” He shook his head. “Like guilt or regret or something attached to the event.” He shrugged, pushing the broom to arm’s length. “I’m just saying, I think you both have some talking to do.”

  His words didn’t do much to fix the anxious spasm between her shoulders. “Yeah. We do.” But she wouldn’t budge on anything else, wouldn’t release her anger or let him talk her into an amiable mood. She crossed her arms at her waist and stared at the corner of the barn. She didn’t know what to say or what to do.

  “Did you figure anything out last night?” He lowered the broomstick and pushed his pile further down the cement flooring.

  Surprise jerked Amelia’s shoulders back. “Last night?”

  “Yeah, we put Mac down because we didn’t see you after you took dinner to Robbie. Was he pretty pissed?” Slate tapped the broom bristles on the cement before stepping backward for more dirt. He didn’t have a suspicious expression, but the blush coming up Amelia’s face would change that.

  The shop phone rang. The shrill peal echoed off the wood and concrete.

  Slate arched his eyebrow. “Who’s calling so early?”

  Ring.

  “I don’t know. We had another call a bit ago and the guy knew who he was calling, but he hung up before I could ask who it was.” Amelia stomped to the wall phone beside the main door. She jerked the handset to her ear, teeth tight. She bit out. “Lonely River.” She had a son missing, who was calling so early?

  “Amelia, it’s Ronan. Don’t hang up.” Her brother lived on the next ranch over. He knew her all too well when suggesting she would hang up.

  She huffed. “What do you want, Ronan?” And rolled her eyes to Slate who watched her exchange.

  “Be on the lookout. Some out-of-towners just stopped by here looking for Robbie. They aren’t looking for a visit, girl. Get Mac to safety and tell the MacAllisters I’m on my way.” He hung up.

  Urgency in his tone startled her. She slowly hung the phone in its cradle on the wall. “That’s the second time this morning…” Turning to Slate, she pointed toward Lacey Caverns, her brother’s place. “Ronan said some guys are headed this way looking for Robbie. He’s coming over.” She frowned, unsure of the meaning behind the call but certain he wouldn’t have made any effort if it wasn’t serious.

  Slate pushed the broom against the wall and met her eyes. “Ronan’s coming here?”

  She nodded, swallowing, and sensed that things were about to get really complicated.

  Rushing to the front door, Slate grabbed the door handle. “Go inside and lock all the doors. Grab the handgun I got you for Christmas—”

  The thunder of numerous horseshoes pounding on the ground drew their attention. Slate dropped his voice to a low murmur. “I’ll draw their attention. Hide.”

  “Why? Slate, what’s going on?” Amelia stared at him wide-eyed, her voice equally quiet but more frightened. She sent out a silent plea into the universe like a prayer – please keep Mac safe.

  “If Ronan’s coming to help, they’re dangerous.” He pushed her toward the ladder, murmuring as she moved. “Get up in the loft and stay out of sight. Don’t come down ‘til Ronan or I tell you it’s clear.”

  “MacAllister!” A yell from the front yard pushed Amelia up the ladder. Rough and pissed, the owner of the voice wouldn’t brook an argument. “MacAllister! Get your ass out here. Time to settle up!”

  She crawled across the short space to the slated window overlooking the expansive driveway.

  Twelve riders on varying colored horses created a semi-circle encompassing the barn and house entrances. No matter what, they’d see where any other people came from.

  Hats pulled low on foreheads, many riders hid behind bandanas raised over mouths. Jackets and gloves covered more of them. With saddlebags and rolls tied to the horses, the men had a look of chronic time on the road. Many carried guns openly in their hands, aimed at the ground, but obviously prepared to raise them to a more threatening position.

  Like bada
ss bandits from the Wild West. Who the hell did they think they were? Jesse James and his gang? Amelia held her breath, repeating her silent prayer in her heart. Please keep Mac safe. Please keep Mac safe. Wherever he was.

  “You hear me, MacAllister? One more chance and I’m taking what you owe me.” The leader appeared to be the last guy to the left of the house – at least he was the yeller. He didn’t hide behind a bandana. The brim of his had sat parallel to the ground, when he lifted his face to yell, the light threw his stubble into relief, drawing attention to the hawk-like-nose and olive complexion.

  The horses moved, shifting and stamping in place. One swatted his tail. Another shook his head, fighting the reins.

  Amelia didn’t know much about men, but she knew animals. The horses and their antsy behavior suggested high tension among the group.

  The large door of the barn slid open below her, rubbing and scraping across the ground.

  She whispered to the window as she craned her neck to see at a better angle. “What are you doing, Slate? Close the door.” She leaned on the glass, her fingertips inches below her face.

  Slate stepped into view, his broad back straight and his hands empty of any weapons. His voice carried, muffled through the inside of the barn. “What can I do for you, fellas?”

  Amelia unlatched the window as slow as possible, wincing at the slight scrape of metal on metal. She unclenched her teeth when it swung open an inch, then two.

  “You owe us money, MacAllister. And what you did to Johnson… Well, we owe you for that.” The leader climbed from his horse, settling on his feet when he landed heavily.

  “Which one is Johnson?” Slate looked from man to man.

  Stepping forward, the leader barked out a laugh. “Johnson’s dead, you sumbitch. You killed him.”

  Amelia gasped. A breeze grabbed the open window and swung the pane to slam against the side of the barn, taking the slatted shutters with it. The crash seemed to echo through all of Lonely Rivers.

  Exposed, Amelia ducked behind the wall but not before all thirteen sets of eyes had focused her way.