“Bye,” Becca called cheerily and moved to Hank’s side. She set the book down and took the puppy from him, giving it a quick kiss before noticing the look on Hank’s face. “Oh my god, is everything okay?”
He shook his head. What could he say? That he was freaking out over sending his kid to school? It seemed a silly thing to get upset over. Becca had reassured him a dozen times that Libby would love it, and in his heart, he was sure it was fine.
It was fine. It was all fine.
He still grabbed Becca and dragged her close, holding her against him as he tried to ignore the churning in his gut.
It was fine.
Just fine.
It was just preschool.
* * *
* * *
Despite Becca’s loving attention, Hank was utterly distracted all morning. He lurked around the salon, pretending to fix the hinges on the door since they squeaked every time it was opened. He watched the clock like a hawk, counting down the minutes until he could see Libby’s happy face again. Every dad went through this, right? He reassured himself that this was normal, that he wasn’t being obsessive or overprotective. Libby had to go out in society at some point, and pre-K was a good place to start.
Except . . . she really didn’t have to do any of that shit if they were in Alaska. And wasn’t she happy there? She loved to fish and check traps. She loved to carry small logs of wood to the woodpile. She loved the outdoors. Loved being at his side constantly. It was just the whole ranching thing that made things difficult. A four-year-old couldn’t be at his side constantly when he was moving the cattle into a different pen, or fixing fences, or on horseback. It’d be fine when she was older, but right now she was little and fearless.
When it came time for him to go, he gave Becca a quick kiss and sprinted out the door, practically tearing through Painted Barrel’s quiet streets to return to the school. He could hear a child crying as he entered the school, the sound a loud, shrill wail of utter misery—and he knew it was his daughter.
Hank burst into the pre-K classroom, startling the parents and the teacher, who was kneeling next to his miserable daughter. Libby’s face was bright red from crying, her hair a mess of wild tendrils. She was crying so hard that hiccups shook her, and when she saw him, she reached her arms into the air just like she had when she was a baby.
And his heart hurt even worse than before.
“Mr. Watson, it’s good to see you,” Miss Mckinney began as he shoved past her to scoop up his daughter. “Libby had a challenging first day—”
“No,” he said firmly.
“No?”
“Last day,” he told her. He wasn’t doing this shit to his daughter again. He put a hand to Libby’s head and held her close as he turned to scowl at the teacher. “She doesn’t need this shit. She’s not coming back.”
“Mr. Watson,” the teacher began again, her brows furrowed. The smile remained on her face. “I promise you, it’ll be all right. Lots of children—”
“No,” he said firmly again, and turned his back on her. Protectively hugging his daughter against him, he stormed out to his car. “I’ve got you, Libby. You don’t ever have to go back to that awful place.”
She shuddered and hiccuped, snuggling against him, and he was filled with a protective urge to just get in his damn car and drive her all the way back to Alaska, back to the remote cabin where no visitors ever came by and his kid didn’t have to worry about “socializing” or any of that crap. She didn’t have to change a damn thing about who she was.
She was perfect, and he was going to lose his shit on the first person that suggested otherwise.
Hank paced back and forth in the parking lot, reluctant to let his daughter go. Just seeing the school made him agitated, though, and he decided to walk back to Becca’s salon. He’d let Becca soothe both of them, let her fuss over Libby’s misery and his, too, and when they both felt better, he’d come back and retrieve his truck. With that plan in mind, Hank hugged his daughter against him and stormed down the sidewalks of the small town, glaring at anyone that passed by.
He didn’t want to be Friendly Hank today, or Town Hank. He wanted to be Alaska Hank, because no one fucked with that guy. No one made his daughter cry.
No one.
Becca came rushing out of the salon the moment he turned down the street, her eyes wide. “Hank? What’s going on? Amy told me that you swooped into the class and that you weren’t going to bring Libby back? What happened?” Her face was the picture of worry, her gaze going from Libby, who sniffled against his neck, to Hank. “Libby, are you okay, princess?”
Libby reached her arms out to Becca, and Hank reluctantly let her go. Becca held her close, giving him a concerned look as she rubbed Libby’s head. “Did you have a bad day, sweetheart? What happened?”
“She’s not going back,” Hank said grimly. “She’s not going to school. Ever. In fact, she’s not going to any school, period. She doesn’t need it. My father homeschooled me and my brothers and it was fine for us. I’m gonna do the same for Libby.”
She gave him a strange look. “After just one day? Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”
Overreacting? It hit him like a blow to the gut. Libby was his daughter. Didn’t Becca realize he’d do anything to protect her from harm? Didn’t she know that nothing made him feel weaker than hearing his daughter cry and being unable to do anything about it? “She doesn’t need that shit,” he told her again, trying to be patient. “School is useless back in the wild. There’s no school there.”
Becca froze. She stopped stroking Libby’s back and stared at him for a long, long moment. “So . . . you’re going back?”
He knew what she was asking. Of course he did. Foxtail and Alaska had been on his mind all day. He kept thinking about how much simpler things were there. How much easier. Life here in Wyoming was far more complicated, and the responsibilities were different, and he wasn’t sure he liked that. He wasn’t sure it was right for him and his daughter. So he put his hands on his hips and straightened his shoulders defiantly, almost daring her to argue with him. “Going back just as soon as I can.”
She licked her lips, and he could have sworn he saw her hand tremble on Libby’s hair as his daughter cuddled against her. “What about us, Hank?”
Well, there was an easy answer for that. “You come with us.”
Becca stared up at him. “To Foxtail?”
He nodded.
She looked over at her business, then at him. “Is it a big town?”
“Foxtail is. Couple hundred. But I don’t live directly in there. I’m about an hour away, more or less.”
Her face was pale. “More or less?”
“Everyone’s kinda spread out. There’s a couple houses clustered together along the road, but most of us are off on our land. You’d like it. The mountains are beautiful.”
She didn’t look as if she liked the idea, though. In fact, she looked . . . kinda hurt. “And where would I set up my salon? Are there enough people to warrant a business like mine?”
Hank was silent. Most of the people that lived around Foxtail were trappers or men that enjoyed living off the grid. There were a few women, but none like Becca. They were just as rough-and-tumble as the men there, and there sure wasn’t demand for a business like hers.
“So I’m supposed to give up my business—my life—to follow you to Foxtail,” she said patiently. There was such hurt in her tone that he would have preferred her screaming instead of this cold disappointment. “What am I supposed to do all day?”
“I haven’t figured that part out yet.” She could cook for him and Libby and his brothers, but even just thinking that seemed dismissive. Being up in the north would change her, too. She’d go from soft, gentle Becca to a woman with calloused hands and a roughened attitude to go with the land. She’d have to give up her friends and her business,
her love of frothy coffees and shopping and Netflix and running hot water. Their cabin was pretty rudimentary, powered by a solar grid, and what that bit of energy didn’t provide, manpower did.
She shook her head slowly. Kissed Libby on the forehead, and handed his silent, teary-eyed daughter back to him.
He said nothing. He didn’t like where this was going. There was a resigned look on her face that made his gut go cold.
“I love you,” Becca said softly to him. “I love you, and I love Libby.”
She loved him? Pure joy burst in his chest, and he felt like grabbing her and kissing the hell out of her—except he had his sniffling daughter in his arms. A smile curved his mouth. She loved him. Everything was going to be okay.
Becca’s expression didn’t lighten, though. “I love you, but I can’t go to Alaska with you. I can’t leave behind everything that I am for a life I’m not sure I even want.” She shook her head slowly. “I love you, but just because it’s what you want doesn’t mean that it’s what I want.”
He stiffened. His joy was quickly replaced with irritation. “You make it sound like it’s the end of the world—”
“Maybe it isn’t for you, but it is for me. I’d go from being my own person to someone wholly dependent on you. I’d need you for everything, and I wouldn’t have an income—”
“That doesn’t matter—”
“To you it doesn’t matter,” Becca interjected, cutting him off. “But to me, it does. I know to you I’m just cutting people’s hair and painting nails all day long, but I have an identity here. I’m part of a community. I run a successful business. I bought my own home. I’m happy.” She gave him a sweet, melancholy smile. “And I’d be none of those things if I went to Alaska with you and sat around the house.”
He wanted to point out that it wasn’t a house, it was a cabin, but it seemed like the wrong time. “So what are you telling me?” he asked defensively, hugging his daughter close to his chest like she was a shield, like she could protect him from Becca’s words, which cut deeper than any knife.
Becca just shook her head. “I’m just telling you where I stand. I love you. I love Libby. I love both of you. But Alaska isn’t in my future, and I guess . . . neither are you.” Her eyes sparkled with tears and she swiped at her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
So this was it, then. She was breaking up with him, all because she wanted to stay and play with people’s hair instead of go to Alaska with him. Be at his side through everything. “Don’t be,” he told her harshly, and he walked away, back toward the school, back toward the truck he’d abandoned there.
He was angry. Not hurt, he decided, but pissed.
Becca was breaking up with him? Over a stupid cabin in Alaska? Didn’t she understand that Libby came first? That he’d never do something that made his daughter miserable? She loved him, but he guessed those were just words, easy to say when they’d end up meaning nothing.
Words were cheap. Incredibly cheap.
Maybe she was doing him a favor, turning her back on him when he needed her most. He was seeing who she truly was.
Even though he told himself that, part of him ached with regret and despair.
Actually, not just part of him. All of him. His entire soul felt like ice.
* * *
* * *
As if she hadn’t just rejected the love of her life, Becca calmly went inside her shop, shut the door, and locked it. She had an appointment in about fifteen minutes, but she calmly texted her next appointment and asked to reschedule. Then she scooped up a wiggly, happy Alaska, went upstairs to her bedroom, and collapsed into bed.
She thought she would cry. Burst into tears and sob all day long. There weren’t any tears yet, though. Maybe it hadn’t sunk in that she couldn’t have a life with Hank. Maybe the disappointment was too crushing, too new.
She felt dead inside. She was calm, though. So, so calm, unlike how it had been with Greg. When Greg had broken up with her just two days before the wedding, she’d lost her mind. She’d screamed and raged, thrown things at him, and had the biggest temper tantrum ever. She’d sobbed until her eyes felt permanently swollen, and she’d been so angry. So disappointed, because he’d robbed her of a life that she thought she deserved. Not wanted, deserved. She’d waited him out for all those years and had nothing to show for it.
Looking back? With this new heartbreak slowly tearing her apart inside? She hadn’t ever truly been in love with Greg. Oh, maybe she had when she was a teenager, but over the years it had turned into something that was comfortable and easy, and something she’d expected to go her way. It was safe to be with Greg, even if whatever passion they’d had for each other had long since turned into familiarity and just a hint of contempt.
This was different.
This was soul crushing and deep. This made her feel hollow with the ache inside her, as if she’d never smile again. She loved Hank. Loved Libby. Wanted nothing more than for them to be a family.
But Hank didn’t care enough about what she wanted. He hadn’t confessed his love back. Didn’t care enough to suggest that they work it out and that he stay in town. So it wasn’t meant to be.
It. Wasn’t. Meant. To. Be.
Every word gutted her. Made the pain double in her chest until she was moaning with misery. Alaska licked her face, little tail wriggling, and Becca realized she was crying after all, silent tears sliding down her cheeks only to be licked away by the puppy.
He’d suggested she go to Alaska with him as if that was the answer to everything. It wasn’t, though. It was the wrong answer, and the surest way to kill her spirit. Without a job, without a purpose, Becca would just be a burden. She’d be dependent on Hank to show her how to do the smallest of things, because she wasn’t a camper and didn’t know the first thing about roughing it. Not that it was camping, of course, but it sounded awfully close.
Hank didn’t understand. If she gave up her business, gave up all pretense of working and being independent, she’d end up just like her mother—completely trapped in a miserable marriage. She’d be utterly controlled by Hank’s whims and unable to support herself. Her life would be the children alone and she’d have no identity outside of mother. And while that worked for a lot of people, Becca had seen how miserable it made her own mother and she was terrified of falling down the same path. Of having her husband decide what she should wear or how she should fix her hair, because he was the one paying the bills. She’d be at his mercy.
Hank was a good guy. A wonderful guy. Kind and caring. Loving to his daughter and to Becca. He was everything she’d ever dreamed of in a partner . . . except for this stubborn insistence on going back to Alaska.
Could he be happy here? With her? If not here, then some other city somewhere else? It wasn’t that she wasn’t willing to relocate—she’d go anywhere if they could be equal partners. She could start a new business somewhere else if that was what he wanted to do . . .
But his insistence on moving back to Alaska meant that what Becca wanted didn’t matter. That hurt so badly that she thought she’d die from the pain.
Little Alaska—god, she wished she’d never picked that name—whined and licked her face, squirming until Becca hugged her close and cuddled the puppy to her chest. “We’ll get through this, little baby. I promise. It’ll only hurt for about a year or two.” Her voice choked on the words. She snuggled the puppy for a bit, letting the soft fur and wiggly body distract her. Even if Hank had broken her heart, Alaska really was the best gift. Maybe she needed a new name, though. “How do you feel about Jennifer?” she asked, stroking the soft, floppy ears. “Do you feel like a Jenny?”
The puppy ignored her.
“Alaska?” she said tentatively.
The ears pricked and the tail thumped, her attention focused on Becca.
Well, crap. Alaska it was. Becca sighed and pulled her phone close with one hand, the othe
r tucked around her puppy. Maybe he’d call her and confess that he’d changed his mind. That it had been a mistake. He’d overreacted, upset because his daughter was upset. That was reasonable.
She wanted him to call and say he wasn’t going back to Foxtail after all.
She stared and stared at the phone, but it remained silent.
No texts.
No calls.
No nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Becca stayed in bed for the rest of the night, eating ice cream doused in chocolate syrup to drown her sorrows and watching romantic comedies that made her bawl every time the hero did something sweet for the heroine. She fell asleep with the television on, puppy in her arms, and somehow she got through the first day of her breakup without completely shattering.
Hank didn’t call or text, and she started to realize that this truly was a done thing between them. That there was no more Hank and Becca. It hurt, and she would grieve it and move on as best she could.
So she got dressed, walked the puppy, fixed her hair, and brushed her teeth. She stared down at the birth control she’d forgotten to take last night and then chucked the entire package into the garbage. The next time she had sex with someone, it was going to be her forever partner. No more of this waiting for a family. If her soul mate wasn’t ready, then they weren’t soul mates.
Of course, that just made her hurt worse, because Hank was so good with his daughter. He’d love more kids, she knew, and he’d be just as attentive a dad to them as he was to Libby. He’d been perfect for her.
Except she’d declared her love and declared that she wasn’t moving, and that had killed everything.
Feeling wooden, Becca finished getting ready and opened her salon as if it was any other normal day. Her day was full thanks to the appointments she’d pushed from yesterday to today, and she found herself a bit too busy to focus on her grieving. If someone commented on her red eyes and nose, she blamed allergies. If someone asked about Hank and their dating, she quickly changed the subject, asking about grandchildren or the ranch, or anything else to distract. And she somehow got through the day without crumbling.
The Cowboy Meets His Match Page 20
