The Texan's Little Secret

by Barbara White Daille

  His voice, deep and intimate, made that lick of heat in her belly flame. But his final word turned the rest of her to ice.

  Years ago, she had told Luke her secrets, her longings, her dreams, her fears. Her worries about her place in her family. Her irritation over her dad. She had loved Luke and shared everything with him. Had given him everything, too, the night she’d slept with him.

  She had trusted him.

  And only days later, he had come to the Roughneck, as eager to apply for a job there as she’d been to sign up for a ride on this fake bull tonight.

  Daddy’s little cowgirl, he’d called her that day.

  The insult and his desire to work for Brock were the worst forms of betrayal.

  Now, she turned and stared at him. He stared back, making her heart skip a beat. She cursed herself for not having better control of her reactions. This man had once done her wrong, no denying it, yet she couldn’t keep from responding to him, his nearness, his smile.

  “I’ll show you a cowgirl, all right,” she promised.

  I’ll show you exactly what Daddy’s little girl can do.

  And she did.

  But the fun she’d once gotten from it had gone.

  The ride was rough. She was tilted and jerked around. She fought to go the distance in front of the crowd—because that’s what Carly Baron did.

  Yet none of it mattered.

  Just the way her passion for barrel racing had vanished, so had her interest in riding Luke’s “hunk of metal.” Was it his scorn over the mechanical substitute that had taken the pleasure from her ride? Would mounting a real bull give that feeling back to her?

  Or was riding, like her relationship with Luke, just going to be a part of her past?

  * * *

  “SO? WHAT DO you think?”

  Luke shrugged. How the hell had he gotten trapped into this situation?

  That brush of Carly’s knees against his midsection earlier had just about brought him to his knees. This time, he’d stayed two feet away, not wanting to get caught in the crush against her again. The distance didn’t help. She had resettled herself on a stool and leaned back to prop her elbows on the bar. The position tugged at the shimmery fabric of her shirt, making it gape just enough to show off a hint of twin curves and the barest edge of lace. Sexy as hell.

  Then again, when he looked up, he found her wide blue eyes and full lips just as much of a turn-on. The sight brought him right back to the day he’d met her and seen the shy, insecure girl hiding behind the wild child she’d pretended to be.

  She stared at him, her brow crinkled, waiting for his answer, which he would happily provide...as soon as he could recall her question.

  After a minute, his brain cells finally kicked in again. She wanted his opinion on her ride. “You cranked the machine up high enough,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll give you that.”

  “What about form? I get points for that, too. And, not to mention, for staying in the saddle twice as long as anyone else.”

  He shrugged. He hadn’t been impressed. At least, not by her ride on the bull. Had to admit, though, he’d liked the way her long blond hair tumbled around her shoulders—just the way it had the night they’d made love in the back of his truck.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  He cleared his throat. “You had some techniques down. I’ll throw in points for that, too. But you put about as much of yourself into the ride as Rosie needs to when I cart her around in her little red wagon. As in, none. Nada.”

  She glared at him. “Who has time for self-expression when they’re in the saddle? Besides, bull riding’s not an art form.”

  “Maybe not. But there’s a lot more to it than just putting your hands in the right places.”

  The dim light from the bar couldn’t hide the flush that tinged her cheeks. She took a long swallow from the beer he’d bought her.

  He wished he’d thought to get another for himself. It had gotten hot in here all of a sudden. With one finger, he loosened his shirt collar. He hadn’t intended a double meaning to his words, but man, had he ever hit the bull’s-eye with that statement.

  Carly had all the right curves and, once upon a time, his hands had found all the right places.

  The thought immediately registered on another of his body parts. As if she’d read his mind—or seen something he sure as hell didn’t want her noticing—she slammed her mug on the bar. “Thanks for the beer.”

  Before he could blink, she slid from the stool.

  Dang.

  He dug into his jeans pocket for a few bucks to toss beside her empty mug. Damned near hobbling, he hurried across the room.

  She’d already exited through the double doors. Outside, he found her standing at the corner of the building, glaring in the direction of the parking lot.

  “Need a ride home?” he asked.

  “Got that covered.” But she wouldn’t look his way.

  A sudden suspicion hit him. “Where’s your ride?”

  She glanced toward a vacant slot close to the edge of the parking area and quickly away again, but he’d already gotten his answer. “You didn’t drive, did you? Kim’s your ride. And she left a while ago.”

  “Yeah,” she mumbled. “You can bet she’s not going to hear the end of that.”

  “Then I’ll take you home. My truck’s right here.” He pointed a few spaces away from the vacant slot, to where he’d parked his silver pickup. The same pickup he’d owned since high school, which meant she more than likely recognized it.

  “No, thanks. I’ll find another ride.”

  “Why bother? It’s not like driving you home takes me out of my way.” He lived on the ranch in the manager’s quarters, within a stone’s throw of the main house. She didn’t respond, and he swallowed a curse. “Carly, for crying out loud. Whatever happened in the past shouldn’t keep us from spending a few minutes in the truck together.”

  Yet, damn, even as she stood there glaring at him, he thought of the many times they had made out in the front seat of that very same truck. Again, he recalled what they’d done in the back of it. Exactly what he wanted to do now.

  He ran his hand inside his shirt collar. Hell, it was hot out here, too.

  Maybe she had the right idea. Maybe he should call a cab to come and get her.

  She hiked the strap of her purse over her shoulder, then winced. Not in dislike or disgust but in pain.

  “You okay?” Genuine concern made him ask. Still, he couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. This would be all he needed, to have Brock Baron’s little girl hurt the minute he was alone with her. Worse, to be the one to have gotten Brock Baron’s little girl hurt. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Dammit, Carly. I saw your face when you dismounted from that bull. Ever since, you’ve favored your right arm. Did you hurt yourself on the ride?”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s nothing. Just an old racing injury. It flares up once in a while.”

  He’d be willing to bet she hadn’t said a word to her family about the spill. If she had, he’d already have heard about it from one of the Baron men—if not from her brother, Jet, then from one of her stepbrothers. For sure, from Jacob, who lived and breathed rodeo the way he himself once had. “What’s the time frame on this ‘old’ injury?”

  She shrugged—using her good shoulder. “About a month.”

  He bit back a curse. “What happened?”

  “Nothing exciting. I was practicing the barrels, coming in close, and dropped my hand too soon. The mare wanted to shoulder, and I wasn’t ready. I just wasn’t with it at all that day. And I paid for it. I went flying and landed on my arm.”

  “Hard, I’d wager.”

  “Yes, but I’m fine. It only gives me trouble onc
e in a while.”

  “Where does it hurt?”

  “Luke. Really. It’s not even my arm, only my shoulder.”

  “Have you had any therapy for it?”

  She shook her head. “Give it up, will you, please? I told you, I’m fine. I won’t feel a thing in the morning.”

  If only he could say the same. Chances were, his meeting with her tonight would have him hungover from a long night of little sleep.

  No point in continuing this argument about her injury. Just like when he worked with a skittish mare, the more he would talk, the more she would balk. With the mare, he’d put in the time and summon the patience to calm her down, to get her comfortable with him. To get the job done.

  With Carly, he’d be a fool to push the issue when he ought to be stepping away as fast as he could. “Come on, then. Let’s get home.”

  * * *

  TO CARLY’S RELIEF, Luke did give his questioning a rest—at least, until they’d reached Roughneck Ranch.

  When he had said he would take her home, she hadn’t known he’d meant his home. To her dismay, he pulled up behind the small single-story ranch house and turned off the truck’s engine.

  Then he started in on her again.

  “Do your folks know about your fall?”

  “No,” she snapped. “There was no need to tell them. There still isn’t.” Before he could say another word, she exited the truck and slammed the door behind her. The fixture over the back porch illuminated a good part of the yard. It certainly gave off enough light for her to see his disgruntled expression through the windshield.

  A second later, he slammed his door closed, too. “You know, Carly, there’s a difference between being independent and being too danged stubborn to listen to reason.”

  “That’s not your worry.”

  He exhaled in disgust. “And you always were the most bullheaded critter I knew.”

  “Takes one to know one, I say.”

  “Luke?”

  She jumped. The voice had come from the direction of the porch. A woman stood framed in the kitchen doorway, looking out at them through the screen door.

  “I thought I heard the truck. And voices.” The woman smiled at them. “Everything all right out here?”

  “Just fine, Mom.”

  Luke’s mother. Of course. She had never met the woman but could easily have guessed her relationship to Luke. He had lighter brown eyes than his mother’s, but they shared the same sandy-blond shade of hair.

  He had once told her he had never felt lost in a crowd at home, the way she had when she was growing up. His mom was his only family—or had been, until he had married...and his wife had had their child.

  With a twinge of guilt, Carly thought of the doors they had closed much too hard and the voices they had raised too high. “Sorry if we disturbed you.”

  “No trouble. I was just coming into the kitchen after getting Rosie tucked up—again. Let’s not stand out here. Come on in.” His mother swung the door wide.

  “Thanks, but—”

  “Yes,” Luke said, “let’s go inside.”

  Before she could continue with her trumped-up excuse, he moved closer and took her elbow. Her good elbow.

  He knew darned well she had been about to turn down his mother’s invitation.

  Before she could pull away, he stepped forward, urging her toward the house. Like a calf snared by a well-aimed lasso, she had no choice but to follow along.

  Chapter Five

  Carly knew Luke’s house almost as well as he did himself.

  For the past couple of years, once she’d heard Luke had moved onto the ranch, she had made sure her brief visits home hadn’t taken her anywhere near the place. But as a child, she’d visited here many times, tagging along like Brock’s shadow when he had needed to stop in to see the previous ranch manager.

  A quick glance around the kitchen told her nothing much had changed since then.

  “Uhh...Mom, this is Carly Baron. Carly, my mom, Tammy.”

  The woman laughed. “No introductions necessary for me, Luke. I’d know this girl anywhere. I’ve seen her picture often enough over at the house. It’s a pleasure meeting you at last, Carly.”

  “Same here, Mrs. Nobel.”

  “Call me Tammy. I’ve heard so much about you from Anna and Julieta and your sisters, I feel as though I know you already. They’re thrilled to have you back here.”

  Luke had said something like that the day they’d met again. And Carly fell back on her automatic response. “Just for a while,” she murmured.

  “I’m sure they’re all hoping for more than that.” Tammy smiled. “There’s nothing like living close to family.”

  “I don’t know, Mom,” Luke said. “Sometimes, I wonder if you regret not moving to San Antonio when you had the chance.”

  “And leave my only granddaughter?” Tammy opened her eyes wide, teasing him. At the moment, she didn’t look much older than Luke.

  “Ah,” he said. “So, Rosie’s the only draw here?”

  “I’d say ‘on some days,’ but you’d know better.” After giving him an affectionate smile, she turned her attention back to Carly. “Can I get you something before I go?”

  And leave me with Luke? “No, I’m fine. In fact, I’ll let you two—”

  “Stay for a minute, Carly,” Luke interrupted. “I’ll just walk Mom out.”

  Both his words and the flash of interest in his mother’s face made her tense up again.

  Tammy only glanced from her to Luke and back. Smiling, she said, “I’ll look forward to seeing you again soon.”

  “I will, too.” Carly forced a smile. So polite. So civilized. So heartbreaking, when at one time she had dreamed of having this woman welcome her into Luke’s family.

  “Go on ahead into the living room.” He gestured toward the kitchen doorway. “The seating’s more comfortable in there.”

  She didn’t want to sit in the living room or anywhere else in this house.

  She also didn’t want to make a scene in front of his mother. Who knew what Tammy already thought about Luke walking in here with his boss’s daughter? Or how quickly she would carry tales over to the main house when she visited?

  “Good night,” Carly said.

  As the woman gathered her bags from the kitchen table, Carly slipped through the doorway. One glance across the room she had entered left her feeling as if a bull had found his comfortable seating on her chest.

  From behind her, she could hear Luke and his mother talking. They hadn’t left the kitchen. For her, there was no safe return.

  She barely noted the sound of the back door closing, cutting off Tammy’s voice.

  She crossed the living room to the couch and sank onto it. When she set her hands flat on either side of her, the nubby fabric tickled her palms. She licked her suddenly dry lips.

  The kitchen might not have changed much, but she had never seen this room the way it looked now.

  “Carly?”

  At the sound of Luke’s voice, she jumped. She hadn’t heard his approach. He stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling most of the frame. Just as she had dreaded, she was alone in this house with Luke....

  Except for the little girl down the hall.

  As if he’d read her mind, he said, “Let me go check on Rosie, make sure she’s still tucked in. Mom said she’s restless and on the cranky side tonight.”

  He went down the short hallway leading to the bedrooms and bathroom.

  She hadn’t wanted to come here with Luke to begin with. Now was her chance to go. Too bad it wasn’t time for her to leave the ranch altogether.

  Sadly, she thought of the first time she had left, to go to school in Houston. After graduation, she had stayed there, thinking it
would help her forget Luke. But that hadn’t worked. Nothing had, especially once she had discovered she was carrying his child.

  She hadn’t done very well, either, with the idea of remaining in Houston to gain independence from her family. Of finding where she belonged. No matter how much distance she put between herself and the Roughneck, she couldn’t stay away. Not forever.

  As the past few years had taught her, nothing could keep her from loving her family. Just as nothing could help her forget what she had once shared with Luke.

  Sitting here in his living room only made her loss more poignant.

  In front of her, children’s picture books covered one long edge of the coffee table, so neatly aligned it was clear someone besides a two-year-old had last touched them. Tammy must have taken the time to arrange the books. Or maybe Luke had straightened them.

  In one corner of the room sat a stack of toys. Some of them triggered faint memories from her own childhood.

  From another corner, a pile of stuffed animals stared at her, their shiny plastic eyes unblinking, their cloth smiles firmly in place. The animals littered the carpet in that area, as if neither Luke nor his mother had the heart to corral them.

  With her first glance from the living room doorway, she had seen a couple of curio cabinets sitting directly opposite the couch. Now she looked more closely at the cabinets and the wall around them. Everywhere, she saw picture frames, an endless series of photos, shots of Luke, his mother, his wife. And his little girl.

  The photos showed every stage of his daughter’s development, beginning with a picture of her as a just-born baby wrapped in a soft pink blanket. In an oversize photo on the center shelf of one of the cabinets, the child stood behind a birthday cake decorated with a candle in the shape of the number two. The photo must have been taken only a month or so earlier. The child could probably come down the hall from her bedroom right this minute and look as if she’d stepped from the frame.

  In every photo, Luke smiled at his little girl, a miniature version of himself who shared his hair color and had the same warm-honey eyes. The look of love and pride on his face made her heart ache.