by Lori Wilde
“Then go for your dreams and leave Julie to me.” She heard the desperation in her voice. Disappointment and sadness brought heat to her face.
“I’m sorry, Tea. I can’t do that. I wish I could just walk away, but I can’t.” He lifted his baby daughter in his arms and kissed her on the cheek.
Tara blinked and glanced away. Rhett was going to get everything he ever wanted. A shot at the PBR World Championship. Money. Fame. Adulation. A beautiful baby daughter.
While she was left with nothing.
“Tara,” he said. “I have to make a living in order to provide for my daughter. Would you expect a doctor to give up his career for custody of his child?”
“Being a doctor is not one of the most dangerous careers in the world.”
“I’m sorry. I hate that you’re hurting.” He reached over and touched her fingers, and for one insane moment, she could have sworn he was about to kiss her.
But why would he do that?
Instantly, she stilled. Waiting.
His dark eyes turned murky and he covered her entire hand with his.
Every atom in her body quivered. Holy guacamole. Something was melting, and she was almost certain it was she. She felt as if she were caught on camera in a slow-motion sequence, time stretching out like pulled taffy.
She stopped breathing.
So did he. His eyes took a leisurely stroll from her red tank top to her white denim shorts to her tanned feet and toes painted pearlescent white.
His hand lightly squeezed hers.
Too much contact!
She pulled away from him, emotions pressing hot against her eyelids. Her hand tingled from his touch. She closed her eyes, willing back tears. She’d been so stupid. Falling in love with Julie, believing she had a real chance at adopting her. Everyone had tried to warn her that she was going to get her heart broken. She’d been stubborn, certain that Julie was fated to be her daughter, and she hadn’t listened.
“My goal is to provide for my daughter, and if I don’t ride, I can’t do that.”
“Lie to yourself enough and eventually it becomes reality.”
His eyes went soft. Meeting her fierce gaze with a tender one. “I wish things could be different. I—”
“Please,” she said, her heart clogging her throat. “Please, just stop talking.”
They sat there a moment, listening to the wind chimes clinking lightly in a whisper breeze. The tension thick as a cheese wheel.
“Are you absolutely sure you want her?” Tara ventured.
“The thought of being a dad is damn scary,” he admitted. “I’m not going to lie. But yes, yes I want her.”
An idea popped into her head. Grasping at straws, but she’d take what she could get. “All right, then put your money where your mouth is.”
“Huh?”
“Prove you’ve got what it takes to care for a preemie infant.”
“Meaning?”
“Assume care for Julie overnight.” Hope was a skittish little bird flitting around in Tara’s chest. Her plan seemed crazy, but it just might be the thing to convince him this was nuts. It was easy for him to claim he wanted the baby, but the reality of two a.m. feedings, numerous diaper changes, and dealing with Julie’s health issues was another thing entirely. This was Tara’s opportunity to show him the day-to-day rigors of infant care, exaggerate the difficulties to the max, and scare him off parenthood.
He looked utterly panicked. “You . . . you want me to keep her overnight?”
“She is your daughter.”
“Wh-wh-when?” he stammered.
“I’m here, you’re here, Julie’s here. Let’s do it tonight.”
“But . . . but . . . what if I can’t handle it?” His face blanched white.
Feeling triumphant, Tara went in for the kill. “Then before you file those papers, you’ll know that single parenthood isn’t for you.”
Until he’d held Julie again, Rhett had not known for certain that he was going to file for custody. He’d been thinking about it for weeks, mulling over the pros and cons. Then his conversation with his older brother, and the realization that he was hung up about having kids because subconsciously he was afraid he’d be just like Duke, altered his perspective.
He didn’t have to be like his father. He could do better. Ridge had done it, so could he. Awareness was all it took, and a strong intention not to make the same mistakes. He could end the legacy of crappy parenting passed down through his paternal lineage.
When he’d felt the slight weight of his daughter in his arms, smelled her sweet baby fragrance, peered into those darling blue eyes, all doubt fled, and he just knew. He could not turn his back on her. No matter how much he had to change in order to be a good father.
Even if it meant quitting the PBR.
That sent a raft of panic sailing through his bloodstream. His mind was still scrambling for a way to be both father and bull rider. He had no idea how he was going to swing it, but he couldn’t let that stop him from filing for custody. He would figure it out. One second at a time.
“I’ll do it. But you have to spend the night with us. I can’t do it by myself. Not the first time.”
“Oh absolutely,” Tara said. “There was no way I was going to leave her all alone with you for a whole night. Julie is my foster daughter. She’s my legal responsibility.”
That sort of ticked him off, but at the same time, he was grateful for her honesty. He wiped the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead.
She raised a finger. “Under one condition.”
“What is that?”
“You provide one hundred percent of her care throughout the night. I’ll merely be there to supervise.”
This was a big step, taking sole care of his daughter. Could he handle it? “Um . . . um . . .”
“No shame in admitting you are in over your head,” she goaded.
“I’ve got this.” He growled, putting on his best PBR face. “Bring it.”
Tara clamped her jaw shut tight as if biting back a string of words she’d thought better of uttering. Paused. Inhaled. Snorted delicately. “I mean it,” she went on, as if expecting an argument and not happy without one. “You get up for the round-the-clock feedings every hour and a half.”
“Natch.”
“You change every diaper.”
“Aye, aye, Nurse Ratched.”
“You walk the floor with her if she gets colicky.” Tara might seem all thorns and stinging nettles, but that was only because she had a gooey marshmallow center and she was desperate to hide her vulnerability. He found that incredibly endearing.
“Got it,” he said.
She took her phone from her purse, typed in a text message.
“Who are you texting?”
“Mariah Bean. I want to make sure she’s on board with this.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’m her father. I shouldn’t have to ask permission to keep her overnight.” He cradled Julie closer. She’d fallen asleep, and he marveled at how beautiful she was.
“Doesn’t matter. Julie was turned over to CPS.”
“Through no fault of my own.”
The second he said it, Rhett realized how that sounded. As if he was blaming others for the situation he was in. He wasn’t, was he? Uneasiness perched in his stomach. He had been skimming through life on a wide streak of luck and family fortune.
Rhett shoved the thought aside, focused on Tara. She looked quite regal—shoulders straight as a ruler, defiant chin lifted slightly.
Tara laughed, a thick, humorless sound. “Let me get this straight. Rhona getting pregnant was a complete accident? You tripped and fell into her?”
“Ha-ha. Witty.”
“Sarcasm,” she corrected.
“Either way, I like it.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Try to charm me.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t waste your breath. I’m immune to you.”
; That sounded like a challenge, and for a guy who spent his life trying to last eight seconds on the back of a bucking bull, with both precision and finesse, it intrigued him.
“Are you?” Goose bumps popped up on his arms, and he felt a strange tingling sensation deep in the core of his body. “Are you sure?”
Before she could answer, her phone dinged. She glanced down at the screen. “Ms. Bean says it’s okay as long as I stay with you and the baby.”
“Yay,” he said.
“Now you’re getting the hang of sarcasm.” She clicked off her phone.
“I wasn’t being sarcastic.” He noticed she tucked the cell into a side pocket with practiced ease instead of just tossing it willy-nilly into the middle of her purse. She was the kind of woman who neatly hung up her clothes, organized her closets alphabetically, and bought storage containers in bulk.
“No?”
Rhett pulled up his spine, ironing out his casual slouch. “Are you always this suspicious?”
“Cautious is the word you’re looking for.”
“Mistrustful.”
“You haven’t merited my trust,” she said, holding out her arms for Julie. “Why should I give it to you?”
Rhett shifted the baby to the crook of his other arm, farther away from Tara. “It’s Ms. Bean’s trust I need to win, not yours.”
“Can’t win it without me.” She lowered her eyelids, slanted him a sideways glance that was one part anger, one part curiosity, and one part amusement. “I’ve got custody of your daughter. When it comes to Julie, you need my permission for everything.”
That fact seemed to bring her much joy. Smirking, Tara kept her arms extended for the baby.
He ignored her outstretched hands. “Temporary custody,” he corrected.
Tara hardened her jaw, the pulse in her throat jumping like a jackrabbit. She snapped the fingers of both hands. Twice. “Give me the baby.”
Julie woke, snuggled in his arm. He peered down at his daughter and she grinned at him, and his heart chugged sideways.
That soft smile set his goal in concrete. This was his daughter. His girl. Come hell or high water, he would get custody of Julie. Tara Alzate, and anyone else standing in his way, be damned.
“She needs changing,” Tara said.
“I can do it. Where are the diapers?”
Tara glared. In her expression he saw her Mescalero Apache heritage, fierce and proud, and he liked her all the more because of her ferocious sense of honor and righteousness. Too bad she did not really like him.
They sat staring at each other, breathing hard as if they’d just run a tandem sack race and lost.
She slapped her hands against her thighs, the muscles in her arms spring-loaded as if she would jump up without a moment’s notice, jack-in-the-box style.
He could feel the tension radiating off her. Felt corresponding tension coil inside him. “Diapers?”
“Still in the car, I think. Give her to me and go check my backseat.”
Backseat.
Immediately an immature, sexual comeback popped into his head, but he resisted making the joke. “I don’t believe that,” he said. “You’re just trying to get me to surrender Julie to you. You know exactly where the diapers are, and I bet you a hundred dollars they are not in the back of your car.”
Her cheeks colored. “How do you know that?”
“You were in the Girl Scouts until you were eighteen. You are always prepared.”
“I was seventeen. By eighteen I’d already graduated high school.”
“You have an annoying habit of correcting people,” he said.
“Only when they’re wrong.”
“I can see why you’ve never been married.”
“Don’t even . . .” Her tone turned tart. “You have no place to talk about the way others lead their lives.”
Touché. “You—”
“Are you trying to piss me off?” she asked before he had time to apologize. “Dumb move from a man who needs my help.”
“I was trying to compliment you. If you’d listen instead of biting my head off. You’re always prepared. That’s a good thing.”
“No one is always anything,” she said, purposely being contrary.
He stared into her eyes and saw fear lurking beneath her disagreeability. If things went well during the overnight stay, he’d get more visits, and, eventually, the courts would grant him custody of his daughter.
And Tara would lose her.
For the first time it fully dawned on him that Tara loved Julie as much as he did, maybe even more so, and a big old pile of regret stacked up inside him. He fumbled in his pocket for the pack of Juicy Fruit and presented it to her.
An involuntary smile fluttered across her lips. “What’s this?”
“Peace offering.”
“It’s my favorite gum.” She wrapped her hand around the end of the pack.
He held on to the other end. “I know.”
“You bought it for me?”
He shrugged as if it didn’t mean anything. “I was standing in line at the grocery store, saw the gum, thought of you, bought it . . .”
“That was thoughtful.” She palmed the gum, stuck it in her pocket, and ducked her head, but before she hid her face, he swore he saw the ghost of a grin.
Aha! He’d gotten to her.
Rhett softened his voice. “Remember that time you were babysitting Remington and me, and I cut my leg on barbed wire?”
“What a crazy daredevil stunt. Making a catapult to shoot yourselves over the pasture fence.”
“What can I say? I was ten and restless.”
“You were supposed to be doing homework and you two sneaked out while I was in the bathroom. You were always trying to sneak out.”
“No one is always anything,” he tossed her quote back at her.
She rolled her eyes. But smiled. A tight little I-don’t-want-to-but-I-can’t-help-it sort of smile.
“You had Band-Aids in your pocket,” he said. “Who goes around carrying Band-Aids in their pockets?”
She sniffed, but it was a humorous sound. She was entertained, not offended. “Conscientious babysitters, and nurses-to-be?”
“You were both.”
“Are you trying to flatter me?”
He lifted an eyebrow and gave a chuckle. “Is it working?”
“No.”
“Rats.”
Tara held out her arms again. “May I please have the baby, please?”
Her hair was pinned up in a prim bun and anchored with a tortoiseshell barrette. He wanted to unsnap that clip and watch her hair fall to her shoulders like a sable curtain. She looked so sexy sitting there that he felt an instant response in his body. A startling response he had not anticipated.
The stirrings of an erection.
He was spending the night with Tara Alzate, and suddenly the last thing on his mind was child care.
At that inopportune moment, Aria popped her head out of the back door. “Get in here, you two. It’s time to eat.”
Chapter 11
Arena: The area in which the bull-riding action takes place.
After the meal was over and the dishes washed and put away, the guests gathered outside for a pool party. The kids splashed in the shallow end. Aria, Vivi, Casey, and Archer went in swimming with them. Kaia and Ridge slipped off to the barn near their father’s mansion, under the guise of checking on the horses she’d rescued. Tara sat in the shade with Julie, holding a conversation with her parents and Granny Blue.
Leaving Rhett the odd man out with his father. They sat away from the main group under a striped umbrella eating cold watermelon.
“Your kid’s pretty cute,” the old man said. “For a baby.”
“Thanks.”
“You gonna do the right thing by her?”
“I texted my lawyer an hour ago and asked him to file the papers on Tuesday.”
“Tell me you’re yanking my chain.” Duke spit watermelon seeds into the grass.
/> “What?”
“Getting custody of that baby ain’t the right thing for you.”
Rhett bristled. “What do you mean? I thought you expected me to cowboy up and take responsibility for my actions.”
“Yeah, well, not this time. This time you need to do what’s right for the kid. Cancel those custody papers and sign your rights over to Tara.”
Rhett felt like he was getting whiplash. Ridge had led him to believe the old man wanted him to file for custody. What kind of manipulative game was the old coot playing?
“You’ve got no business being a father.” Duke used a pocketknife to cut a slice out of the heart of the melon on the table between them.
“Neither did you,” Rhett said.
“I’m trying to do better by those two.” Duke nodded at Reed and Rory, his eighteen-month-old twin sons, who were splashing in the pool with their cousins.
“I hope for their sakes you are. Thank God for Vivi. A good mom can make up for a lot,” Rhett sassed. “I should know.”
“Here we go again. When are you gonna stop whining? I was a shit dad for you and your older brothers. Yeah, I got it. But that’s the reason I can say that you shouldn’t be one. We’re too much alike, you and me.”
Rhett clenched his jaw, knotted his fists, felt as if he’d been gut-kicked. “We’re nothing alike.”
“Keep telling yourself that. We’re both selfish as the day is long. Two peas in a pod.”
Rhett bit down on his tongue. Sprawled back in the chair, showing he wasn’t getting perturbed. Acting like he didn’t care.
“You’ve got more finesse than I do.” Duke shrugged. “I’ll grant you that, and you’re a damn fine bull rider. Better stick with the rodeo.”
“Hey, if you can change and become a halfway decent father to Reed and Rory, then anyone can.”
Duke snorted. “I’m trying to help you out here, kid.”
“Sounds to me like you’re just trying to control me. Like always.”
“If I hadn’t been a controlling sonofabitch, you wouldn’t be where you are today. Who pushed you into bull riding?”
“You did.” And not just because Duke first sat him on the back of a steer when he was three and laughed when he got dumped off. Bull riding had been Rhett’s escape from his domineering father, especially after his mother died.