Cowboy Boone (Cooper's Hawke Landing Book 4)

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  She climbed up on her knees, but he tucked the envelope under his bottom. “No playing. I want it.” She narrowed her gaze on him.

  “Tsk. Tsk. Anxiety isn’t good for the baby—baby as in me,” he said in an accent rich with his Texas ancestry. “Or the expensive jacket that you’re wrinkling.” He smoothed his hands over the sleeves of his tailored sports jacket.

  “Steven, I’m going to wring your neck.”

  “Fine.” He pulled the envelope out from under him and placed it on the coffee table. “I want you to think about this carefully. The information could change everything. Once you have the knowledge you won’t be able to unsee it.”

  “That’s the idea. To see it.”

  “Sure, but I know you. You won’t stop at simply stalking his social media like most normal people. You’ll want to take it a step further and see him. Have you thought about how this could disrupt your life? His life? He’s probably married with a family by now. I just don’t want you to do anything stupid.”

  He made a few valid points. She had a hard time stopping the ball once it started rolling. The fertility clinic made the switch by accident, not this mysterious donor who’d made his deposit and moved on. “Okay. You’re right. I don’t need to know who the donor is.” She inhaled air into her lungs and exhaled slowly to cleanse the idea from her brain.

  “That’s a brave girl.” Steven patted her shoulder. “You don’t need more details other than he had amazing sperm and knocked you up on the first try. He’s practically a superhero.” He ripped the envelope in half.

  “What are you doing?” She watched in horror.

  “I’m getting rid of the evidence. You said I was right, remember? I certainly will remind you later if you forget.”

  “But…but wait.”

  “Have you change your mind?”

  Realizing how ridiculous she was being, she shook her head. “Go ahead and destroy it. I don’t need it. It’s not only unethical, but probably illegal too.”

  Tearing the envelope a few more times, he got up and tossed the paper scraps into the wastebasket next to her desk. “There.” He swiped his hands together as if wiping away the entire event. “All gone. Don’t you feel better now?”

  “Yes, actually I do.” She gave her friend a forced smile. “Thank you for being here for me.” Standing, she kissed his smooth jaw.

  “Now that I’ve solved your problem, I need to call my mother. She’s in knots over what she’s going to make for the festival cook off. Crack potatoes or corn fritters. Chili or lasagna. I think she needs a hobby. Since she retired two years ago, she calls at least a dozen times a day with one issue or another.” He seemed agitated but Melanie knew he loved his mom dearly.

  “Steven, have some patience with her and enjoy that she wants to speak to you.”

  “Let me guess.” He caught her in his perceptive gaze. “You haven’t told yours that you’re prego?”

  “I will. Eventually. I’m just waiting for her to come back from the latest vacation with her new flavor of the month. I didn’t want to take any thunder away from her relationship with Rico Italiano. When she’s settled I’ll tell her.”

  “This baby could be applying for college by that time. Lanie views relationships like new shoes and she has a walk-in closet full of them. Tell her, Melanie. She’ll eventually get over being mad at you for making her a grandma.” He winked. “By the way, are you working on something new for me? The book gods are thirsty.”

  “No, not yet, but I do have a few ideas floating around. Don’t worry. Have I ever let you down before?”

  “No.” He kissed her cheek and opened the door. “Call me if you need me. I’ll be up to my eyeballs in editing Gordy Manahan’s latest.”

  “Gordy has another? Does that man ever sleep?”

  “Sleeping around, yes. Gives him that magical mojo. At least someone is entertained. Ta-ta, darling.” Steven gave her a wave.

  The door closed and Melanie laid her palm over her still flat stomach, thinking over her conversation with Steven. What would she do without him as a sounding board?

  Picking up his empty wine glass, she took it to the sink then decided to sit down to start that new book Steven had been begging her to write for a few weeks now. Turning on her laptop, she hovered her fingers over the keyboard and…nothing.

  Her mind went blank.

  Then she typed, “Jane loves Dick. Dick loves everyone. Dick is good.”

  Deleting it, she wrote another off-the-wall sentence. And nixed it too.

  Laying her hands in her lap she stared at the bright screen.

  She had zilch.

  The pregnancy hormones were wreaking havoc on her creativity.

  Or was it something else?

  “Stop pressuring yourself,” she whispered and left the desk, going into the bathroom and turning on the water to run a bath. Steam rolled up and bathed her face in moisture.

  Maybe a long soak could ease the tension in her muscles.

  Lighting the scented candles, she poured a splash of oil in the water and checked the temperature. Perfect.

  Undressing, she dipped her toe in then eased into the warm cocoon. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and moaned in pleasure.

  Drip. Drip.

  Using her big toe, she turned the knob.

  Then the silence became deafening.

  Why couldn’t she seem to relax?

  Melanie had wanted a child for a long time. After a divorce, she’d pretty much given up on having another relationship, but she hadn’t given up on becoming a parent. Lord knew she wasn’t getting any younger, although thirty-five wasn’t over the hill. Yet, with each year older her eggs dwindled like endangered elephants in the wild.

  She often wondered how it was so easy for her mother to find “the one” every few months and Melanie could barely find a man interesting enough to go on a second date with. Using the fertility clinic services seemed like the best route. It hadn’t been an easy decision, but she’d taken the leap. Her baby wasn’t created with “spoiled sperm”. Becoming a mother could only be described as a gift and she was grateful.

  Upon receiving the letter regarding the “switch”, she’d called the clinic administrator, an overly zealous woman whose voice cracked as she talked, hoping to get more information about the donor, but she’d hit a painful wall. The files had been shredded, a normal process when specimens were being destroyed, but obviously that was a lie since “wolf-eyes” had managed to get the information.

  Squeezing some lavender-scented body soap onto the loofah, she breathed in deeply as she scrubbed, wishing she could rid her body of the tension.

  Although there was always an element of surprise in using any donor’s sperm through a fertility clinic, she’d read her choice’s profile three times before she’d decided on the candidate who had a PhD in physics and graduated top of his class. The picture included in the file had been of a thirty-something male with dark hair, good looks, and an amazing smile that showed off even white teeth.

  But no big deal.

  When it came down to it, she hadn’t cared what he looked like. She’d been drawn to his personal message which read, “I believe in fate and hope. The willingness to be vulnerable is as important as education and prosperity.”

  Apparently, fate decided to go a different route in her case…

  Wasn’t it natural to be curious about the father?

  Despite the warm water, she now felt a throbbing at her temples. She rubbed her forehead and stared up at the ceiling. Incapable of resting, she climbed out of the water, unplugged the stopper and let the water drain. Dragging on a plush robe over her damp skin, she made her way back into the living room, her gaze drawn to the wastebasket.

  No, I don’t need to know who he is.

  Going into the bedroom, a tormenting need fell over her. If she didn’t look, she’d always wonder.

  Heading down the hallway, she lingered underneath the arched threshold until she could no longer contro
l the internal battle.

  Grabbing the wicker wastebasket, she turned it over and dumped the shreds of paper onto the middle of the floor, staring at them like they were an intricate puzzle she needed to solve. She felt a bit queasy as she sunk to her knees, and like a hunter to its knowledge prey, she started pushing around the strips, fitting them together. Steven’s words lingered in the back of her head, but the temptation for answers outweighed his logic. The devil and angel waged a war in her ears.

  She stood and paced the floor, trying to clear the cobwebs from her brain.

  But her attention kept landing on the scraps of paper.

  With an exasperated sigh, she snatched up the wastebasket for a second time and tossed the ripped pieces of paper back inside…then she saw the letter C.

  Then her brain started going haywire.

  Chad. Carson. Cody. Carver.

  Or Chester. Chaney. Maybe Corbin.

  But she’d never know unless she saw the complete name.

  What would it hurt to simply know?

  Sitting on the floor, she dumped the paper out again and spent the next fifteen minutes piecing the envelope together, which felt a lot like gluing her life back together. She was a hot mess…

  The pieces were all attached. She carefully removed the paper from inside.

  Cade Dawson.

  He was the father of her child.

  That was a nice name. A solid, manly name.

  Her question had been answered. She didn’t need the number written in smaller font.

  Scooping up the paper, she paused.

  Knowing the name had opened a doorway into a labyrinth.

  Standing, she dropped the paper on her desk. She could call him. Hear his voice. That would be enough. Yes.

  Tapping the number into her phone, she held her breath as the phone rang once, twice, three times.

  “Hello?” a gruff voice said on the other end.

  “Hi. I’m calling for Cade Dawson.”

  “You’ve got the wrong number, lady.” He clicked off.

  There is my answer.

  Whether it was Cade or not, it didn’t matter. Crumpling the paper she tossed it into the wastebasket, got up and turned out the lights on her way to her bedroom. Steven was wrong. She could let it go.

  CHAPTER TWO

  COOP DAWSON SLID out of the saddle and gave the mare part of an apple he had stashed in his jacket pocket. He smoothed his hand down her strapping back and strolled over to look over the property that had belonged to his family for generations. Dawson Creek Ranch, three hundred acres of prime land located in Dove Grey, Texas. Population one thousand, if you included Penny and Randall’s newborn.

  As the sun set and the shadows of night haunted the horizon, the lights came on in the two-story farmhouse with the bright red tin roof down in the valley. From his spot high on the hill, he could see every outbuilding on the property in the fading light, even the newest barn that had been erected by him and his brothers. The guest cottage also had lights on. His paternal grandmother, Franny Maw, had moved there five years ago from the main house where she and her husband had lived, raised their kids, and grandkids, until he passed away. He’d been the glue of the Dawson clan. A role model. A brave cowboy. A legacy in his own right.

  Coop wanted to be just like his grandfather.

  . Franny Maw had wanted her privacy and probably some peace of mind too. Coop understood because he was tired of living with his brothers also. At thirty-six, it was high time he started getting his life on track, whatever that meant.

  He’d saved up some money and had been tossing around the idea of building a cabin on the south side of the ranch. Maybe the time had come to put his plan into gear.

  The oldest of six, Coop felt like he’d always played the role of a leader, in his grandpa’s steps, constantly looking out for the best interest of the homestead that he loved. What would happen once the brothers started marrying? Would they all want to build houses along the south ridge? Their children would learn the ins and outs of the ranch, as he and his brothers had.

  Whoa. He was getting a little ahead of himself.

  The wind whistled through the trees and he lifted the collar of his sheepskin denim jacket against the chill. The evening was unusually blustery for a Texas summer. Resituating his Stetson low on his forehead and ears, he sauntered over to sit down on the rock close to the two headstones. The first to be buried here on the family plot was his grandfather, Corbin Dawson.

  And then Cade…

  The grass that covered the spot hadn’t even grown back yet.

  “I can’t believe it’s been a year already, bro. Everything, but nothing, has changed.” The wind caught his words and carried them away.

  A familiar twinge crawled up into his chest from his aching gut and the old anger of loss scorched his blood. “It should have been me, you son-of-a-gun. I should have been the one who went first.”

  Rubbing some of the tension from his jaw, Coop laid his palms on his knees and blinked against the pain of losing his twin brother. He’d not only been a brother, but he’d been a best friend. They’d learned the ropes of ranching together from Grandpa Corbin. Coop and Cade had stirred up trouble every chance they got, which was quite often—and spent a few evenings down at the county jail getting a stiff talking to. They’d been okay, just rowdy. Both loved baseball, had even received scholarships to play in college.

  “I’m sorry. What I wouldn’t give to have you back here with us.”

  Cade had never complained a lick, even when he was diagnosed with leukemia at twenty-six. The cancer went into remission until last year and like a forest fire it engulfed everything.

  The family had been knocked off their dusty boots when Cade told them he was sick again. The diagnosis had been like the breaking of a dam. Two weeks later, he’d lost the strength necessary to get out of bed. Another two more weeks, he was hooked to a morphine drip through his IV, but the strong meds had taken more than his pain. His lucidity faded and was the reason why in the end he’d decided to stop all medication.

  His brother had been tough, but the cancer had kicked his ass and eventually won the battle.

  Coop couldn’t understand how this shit could happen. They’d been so much alike from looks to character traits, and the cancer had been where the similarities ended. Coop was as healthy as a horse. Growing up he’d never been sick, even when Cade was. Coop’s heart had ripped out watching his brother’s health decline rapidly, and then picking up the pieces of their mother’s broken heart in the aftermath of burying her child.

  “I miss you, bro. You should be here.”

  Disappointment clawed through Coop. The last words from Cade were “You’re nothing like Pa. Remember that. Be willing to let someone in when the time is right. You’ll know because I’ll send a sign.” A few hours later he’d slipped into a coma and passed with a deep breath of finality.

  “I think you had a lot more confidence in my future than I do.” Coop chuckled.

  Minutes passed and the silence was interrupted by the thudding of a horse’s hooves in the distance. Lifting his phone, he shone the light on the approaching rider.

  “Thought I’d find you out here,” Carter said as he climbed out of the saddle, a six-pack tucked under his arm. He rolled up a log and sat down to stretch his long legs, grabbing one of the bottles of Bud Light and tossing it to Coop. “Thought we deserved this after all the long hours we’ve been putting in for the first annual Cade Dawson Rodeo Event.”

  The brothers decided they needed to do something in honor of Cade, so they came up with the idea of hosting the event at the Dawson Creek Ranch. All money raised would be donated to a charity for kids with leukemia. Cade had loved the rodeo. He’d ridden a good share of rowdy bulls in his time too. This meant something to them. They’d been working every extra moment in building an arena, outbuildings and setting up plans for a hog roast big enough to feed a large crowd.

  Popping the cap off the bottle, he took a long swig
then set the beer between his boots. “It’ll all come together.”

  “I’m sure it will.” A few minutes of silence stretched between them before Carter finally said, “Some days I forget that he’s gone. Like I think I’ll wake up and find him sitting at the table eating those disgusting tomato and peanut butter sandwiches for breakfast. Or see him out in the barn working with the Paints. I miss hearing his cheesy jokes. Remember the one about the bicycle? Why can’t it stand?”

  “Because it’s two tired. None of his jokes were ever funny but he certainly had a way of making people laugh.”

  Carter gave his head a small shake. “I used to get so angry about those damn jokes.”

  “You want more cheesy jokes? Why didn’t you say so? I own the corner lot.” Coop’s chuckle faded. “Heard you sold that colt for three times what you thought you’d get. Damn, Cade would be proud.”

  Carter had stepped up and took over breeding and raising Cade’s horses.

  “He’s being picked up next week,” he said with pride then chugged his beer. He tossed the empty bottle onto the grass. “You going to the wedding tomorrow?”

  “Hell, I don’t want to, but Ma will skin me if I don’t.” Their cousin, Maya, was marrying some dick lawyer who treated her family like they were rednecks. Coop didn’t give a shit. His neck was red, but he had a master’s degree in business to prove he wasn’t stupid. He cared for Maya, so he kept his mouth shut. “I don’t know why in the hell she’s marrying that twerp. She could do much better.”

  “Hell, like any of us have the right to give relationship advice. Cade was the most likely to marry and he’s gone. That doesn’t hold out much hope for carrying on the Dawson bloodline.”

  The wind carried with it a bitterness and Coop stood, emptying the remainder of his beer into the grass. “It’s getting cold out here. Let’s head back to the house.” He climbed into the saddle of the Paint, Lucy, that belonged to Cade. Coop had taken her over and found that she was loyal and intelligent.

  Once Carter was in the saddle of his horse, they followed the worn path down the hill and stopped close to the creek that carved its way through the property. “You go on ahead, Carter. I want a few minutes alone.” He shifted in the soft leather saddle and soaked up the changes that were happening here at the ranch. Pride filled his chest.