by Judy Duarte
“Well, I’ll let you go,” Emily said. “Please give me a call now and then, just to let me know how you’re doing.”
“I will.” Rowan didn’t mean to shut out his siblings entirely, but he wasn’t going to live within Walter’s web of control any longer.
“I’ll keep you posted,” Emily said. “You know. About how things are going around here. And about the paternity issue.”
The line grew silent and heavy. Rowan wanted to tell her not to bother. To just leave him the hell out of any family concerns or issues—good or bad. But Emily didn’t deserve his anger. Nor did she deserve to listen to him vent about things that would never change. “Thanks for the call, Em.”
He meant what he said, but that didn’t allay the pent-up anger. The urge to slam his fist into a wall.
Grief was a process, the TV shrink had said. It passed with time. Did anger and resentment pass as well?
The line had disconnected long before Rowan hung up the telephone.
Louanne cleared her throat, and he spotted her in the doorway. A white cotton nightgown reflected her innocence and made him want to reach for her, to bury himself in her sweet goodness and put the ugly past behind him.
“Who was on the telephone?” she asked.
“My sister, Emily.”
“Is something wrong?”
Wrong? Other than the fact Rowan’s life had never felt right, even as a kid. Or the fact that he might have two illegitimate half brothers who didn’t have any idea what they might be setting themselves up for?
No. There was nothing wrong—other than the fact Rowan felt ready to explode, to burst out in foul language or pain-induced tears.
But that wasn’t Louanne’s fault, so he tried to put it all behind him. “Emily asked how long I planned to stay here. But I think she wanted to know whether I planned to go back home.”
“What did you tell her?” Louanne lifted a hand to the front of her gown, her fingers fiddling with a button and a satin ribbon.
Did she want him to stay? Here on the ranch with her? Or at least nearby in Pebble Creek?
Or did the thought of him setting down roots worry her?
They hadn’t taken time to discuss the future yet. And Louanne certainly didn’t know enough about his past to understand why he would never step foot on the Parks estate again.
So he merely answered her question as simply and truthfully as he could. “I have no intention of ever going home. Not to the family estate.”
Louanne’s heart ached for Rowan and his father, as well as their entire family. As badly as she wanted him to stay and make a life with her on the ranch, to dream and pretend everything was right in her world—in their world—she couldn’t.
There was no way she could stand by as Rowan severed all ties with his father.
There were so many things she wished she would have told her parents, so many things she could have done for them and with them, if she still had a chance to do so.
“Sometimes things are said in the heat of the moment,” she told him, “things that are cruel and hurtful. Maybe you should give your father a call and try to talk to him and set things right.”
“I did set things right when I left. I cut all the skimpy ties we might have had. And I don’t plan to ever speak to that bastard again.” Rowan’s eyes narrowed and his lips tensed.
Louanne hated to prod him, so she let him ponder her words while she locked all the doors in the house, something her parents never had to do at night, but something that had become her habit since moving home.
When she returned to the living room, she found Rowan staring out the window and into the night.
He might want her to believe the serious rift with his father was none of her business. But she wasn’t so sure.
And she could no longer take a passive stance.
She made her way across the floor and slipped her arms around his waist, rested her cheek against his back and savored his musky scent. “I don’t mean to interfere.”
He didn’t turn around, didn’t speak.
“But I’m afraid you’ll be sorry some day, if you don’t try and rectify things now.”
Rowan took a deep breath and turned around. His eyes caught hers, but they weren’t filled with vulnerability. They sparked in anger. “I appreciate you trying to help, to understand. But you can’t. That man is dead to me, as far as I’m concerned.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I wish you’d reconsider. He’s the only father you have.”
The luck of a bad draw, if you asked Rowan. He crossed his arms, unwilling to go into his reasons any further. Why wouldn’t she just let it drop?
“Back off, Louanne. This is none of your business.” His words sounded harsh, even to him. But so were his memories of the painful relationship he’d had with his father.
She stiffened and stood taller.
He ought to backpedal, say something to appease her, but angry and hurt from years of emotional neglect and abuse, he reverted to his natural way of dealing with conflict—clamming up and walking away.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, trying to be more considerate than he would have been to anyone else who’d dared to stir up his pain. “I’m going to bed.”
Then he turned and walked away, his footsteps clicking on the hardwood flooring in the hall.
When he got to his room, or rather the guest room that had once belonged to Louanne’s sister, he closed the door.
But this time the barrier didn’t work.
Instead of steeling himself against the pain, he felt it all the more.
Chapter Twelve
Rowan had slept like hell.
In the past, once he’d shut someone or something out, he hadn’t stewed about the decision. And he’d damn sure never lost any sleep over it.
Heck, turning his back and walking away was what he did best; he closed doors and burned bridges—a defensive response that had always worked.
But not last night.
Shutting out Louanne hadn’t helped at all. And in fact, it had made him feel worse, leaving his emotions ragged and frayed.
But she’d asked too much of him. She wanted him to salvage a bridge he planned to burn. And by refusing, Rowan was burning the bridge he and Louanne were building to connect their own lives. And that wasn’t something he wanted to destroy. Not before he had a chance to see where it led.
So what were his options?
He could give in and beg his father for forgiveness, just as Louanne had prodded him to do, but Rowan didn’t have anything to apologize for. And even if he did, Walter Parks thrived on having the upper hand. For that reason, Rowan would rather jump a barbed wire fence naked than bow down before his old man.
Maybe he should level with Louanne, open up and spill his guts, tell her how damn much it had hurt to grow up under Walter Parks’s roof and completely out of the man’s favor.
And while he was at it, he could bare his heart and soul to her.
Oh, yeah? And tell her what? That he felt something for her? That he might even love her? That he was sorry for turning his back on her and responding in a manner that was natural for him?
Rowan kicked off the covers and climbed out of bed. What he needed was a shower. Maybe the pounding spray of water would free his mind and trigger a few options he hadn’t thought of. He grabbed a clean pair of jeans from the closet and headed for the bathroom.
But a shower hadn’t helped, either.
As he stood before the fogged mirror with a damp towel around his waist and a razor in his hand, he hadn’t come up with anything—other than apologizing to Louanne.
That would certainly be a first. Rowan wasn’t one to offer explanations or say “I’m sorry.” And he wasn’t sure where an admission like that would leave him.
Or them.
After he dressed, he went in search of the woman who’d turned his life on end—even before their disagreement. He found her in the kitchen, standing over a pot of oatmeal on the stove. She
turned when he entered, dark circles under her eyes bearing testimony to the fretful night she’d spent.
A sense of guilt hovered over him. He didn’t like being the cause of her restless sleep. Or the reason for her sadness. “I’m sorry, Louanne.”
There was so much more left to say, to explain. And he wondered if she knew how difficult this sort of thing was for him.
Maybe so, because she turned down the flame, placed the wooden spoon she held on the countertop and joined him in the doorway—meeting him halfway, he supposed. Another first, as far as he was concerned.
Without a conscious thought, his arms opened for her, and she leaned into his embrace. He pulled her close, trying to find comfort and balance, as he inhaled the citrus scent of her shampoo and savored her gentle touch. “I don’t want this thing with my family to come between us.”
She brushed a kiss against his cheek. “I’m sorry, for dredging up those old hurts.”
He took her hand and led her into the living room, then sat beside her on the sofa. “I’ve never been one to talk about stuff that bothers me. Not to anyone.”
“I wish you’d share those feelings with me.”
Yeah. He did, too. But how did he start? At the beginning? Did he dare voice the crux of his pain?
He took a breath, then slowly blew it out. “My father never loved me. Not ever.”
Never? As a parent, Louanne found that hard to believe. Perhaps Rowan and his father had been estranged for so long, that Rowan couldn’t remember the love they’d once shared. Wanting to help without pushing him, like she’d done last night, she kept quiet and let him continue.
Rowan cleared his throat, as though needing to dislodge the words. “I don’t know. Maybe I remind my father of my mother. Or maybe my old man never wanted children.”
It was possible, she supposed. But it was just as likely that things had become so strained between father and son during Rowan’s adolescent years that they’d both forgotten the good times. Surely, there’d been some happy memories.
Rowan fingered the scar over his left brow, as though it still bothered him. “Kids need more than an estate to live in. More than fancy toys and gadgets to keep a rich child entertained.”
True. But life in a run-down ranch house left a bit to be desired, too. Again, she held her tongue.
“I like to think that my mother loved me. But I can’t actually remember her. And Brenda, our nanny, loved me. But it wasn’t enough. My father was too busy building an empire to be bothered with his kids. And on those rare occasions when he came home before bedtime, he used to shove me aside—something he never seemed to do with Cade.”
“I’m sure your teenage rebellion didn’t help the relationship any.”
“Probably not. But at the time, I dealt with it the only way I knew how.” Rowan turned toward her. His knee brushed hers, connecting them, but not nearly enough. “Whenever there was a problem at home, my father always blamed me. And I’m still his scapegoat. The night I left the estate in anger, he’d accused me of revealing family secrets, of being a traitor.”
Louanne reached out and took his hand. “I think you need to settle things with your father, even if that means confronting him and finding some closure. Otherwise, you’ll never truly be happy.”
Was she right? Did he need to make some kind of peace with the past so he could face the future without the burden of an anger and resentment he couldn’t shake?
Sam had once suggested Rowan sit down with his dad and have a man-to-man conversation, telling his father that they should agree to disagree, that they could end their cold war by trying to coexist without making each other’s life miserable.
Rowan hadn’t given that piece of advice any consideration. But the two people he cared about the most in this world had said nearly the same thing.
“I’m not sure whether I can make amends with my father. And I don’t know if I really want to. But you’re right. I need to have some closure.” Rowan stood and shoved his hands in his pockets, afraid to assume his and Louanne’s budding relationship would last while he faced his dad and tried to put the past behind him.
He was even more afraid to ask Louanne whether they had a chance of making some kind of life together. But this seemed to be a good time to face his fears and apprehensions.
“I’m not making any promises,” he said, “but my resentment toward my father has affected my relationship with my brother and sisters. I left that night, not planning to have anything to do with any of them again.”
“The resentment you hold toward your father will probably affect every relationship you ever have.”
He knew what she meant. His relationship with Louanne didn’t stand a chance if he didn’t put his past to rest. “In that case, I’m going to catch a flight to San Francisco today. But when I come back, I want to talk about the future, not the past.”
“Your future?” she asked.
“Our future. If you and Noah would like to build one with me.”
A grin burst forth, lighting her eyes. “We’ll have to talk about that, after you’ve taken care of old business.” Then she stood and offered him a hug.
It didn’t seem like enough fortification for the trip ahead. But he wouldn’t ask her for more. Not yet. But the sooner he left, the sooner he’d get back.
He gave her a long, lingering kiss, one filled with memories of their last joining and hope for the future. A kiss that promised he’d be back.
She took a pad and pen from the drawer in the lamp stand, then wrote down her telephone number.
“I’ll give you a call,” he said. “Later.”
“Thanks. I’ll be here. Waiting.” She slid him a doe-eyed smile that made him wonder if he ought to postpone his trip until after Pete and Aggie returned. But Louanne had made her point.
He nodded, then left the house and headed for the barn, where he found his Harley. As he pushed the bike into the yard, he spotted Pete walking toward the porch with Noah in his arms. The baby boy squealed when he saw Rowan, something that never failed to touch Rowan’s rebel heart.
“Where are you off to?” the old man asked.
“I need to go back to California for a while.”
“How long are you going to be gone?”
“Just a couple of days.” Rowan hoped it wouldn’t be longer than that. “Or do you think I should stay until you get back?”
“Jim Collier, the man who owns the ranch to the east of us, said he’d watch over things. I did the same for him last year.” Pete smiled, then nodded toward the house, toward Louanne. “You two have a nice evening?”
“Yeah.” At least Rowan had thought so. Their lovemaking had been great. And promising—until they’d argued. Until she urged him to confront his father, and Rowan shut her out. But their reconciliation had set his life back on track. And he couldn’t wait to get this trip to San Francisco behind him.
“Good. We were glad to have Noah last night. Aggie and I are leaving around noon.” Pete chuckled and looked at the baby in his arms. “But I’m not sure Aggie will be able to stand being away from Noah very long.”
Rowan could understand that. He was going to miss the little guy, too. Not to mention his pretty mom.
“You’re coming back, aren’t you?” Pete asked.
“Yeah. I have some things to clear up and work out. But I’ll be back. And I plan to stick around for a while.” Rowan slapped a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “You and Aggie have a great time on that road trip. Be safe and take care.”
Pete grinned and shifted Noah in his arms. “We plan to. You take care, too, son.”
Son. It felt kind of nice coming from Pete. It would have been even nicer had his old man ever referred to him as anything other than boy.
“Thanks. I’ll do that.” Rowan climbed on the bike. And after one last glance at the house, he revved the engine and sped off.
It was time to confront his past, he supposed.
Whether he wanted to or not.
&
nbsp; Rowan hadn’t been gone a full day, and already Louanne missed him something fierce. And to make matters worse, she’d had a teary-eyed farewell when Pete and Aggie had climbed into their motor home and driven away.
As the day wore on and nighttime settled on the ranch, Louanne’s loneliness deepened.
Had Rowan arrived in San Francisco safely? Was everything all right? Would things between him and his dad grow worse? Had she been wrong to encourage him to try to make peace?
Several times throughout the evening, she’d reached for the notepad that held contact information for Emily and Brenda. But she fought the urge to call. Besides, if Rowan wanted to talk to her, he had her number. But that didn’t make waiting any easier.
Their future together seemed to hinge on what was happening in San Francisco, but Louanne didn’t want to interfere any more than she had already.
In spite of herself, she’d grown to love the dark-haired rebel. More than she’d imagined possible. And there was still so much they had to talk about, so much to decide. Hope and renewed dreams kept her awake.
She rolled over, taking the sheet and lightweight blanket with her, as she tried to find a comfortable spot. Her bed seemed bigger and emptier than she remembered. Lonelier.
The telephone on the nightstand rang, and her heart leaped. It must be Rowan. She grabbed the receiver quickly, so Noah wouldn’t wake. A catch in her voice betrayed her hope. “Hello?”
Heavy breathing sounded over the line.
Was Rowan finding it difficult to talk? To tell her what had happened? Was he struggling with his feelings? Or had he been hurt in an accident of some kind?
“Rowan? Is that you?”
No response. Just the same eerie, breath-filled silence.
A random, obscene phone call?
Uneasy, she hung up. Surely, the call had been just a prank. A typical case of some sicko getting a thrill from calling a stranger late at night and stirring up fear.
But she couldn’t discount the other possibility.
Had Richard found her? Was this his way of harassing her?
