by Lori Wilde
“In the case of the minor child, Julie Elizabeth Lockhart, the child’s biological mother, Rhona White Limon, has asked to turn custodial rights over to the child’s father while maintaining visitation rights. In light of her request, permanent custody is awarded to Rhett Lockhart and his wife, Tara Alzate Lockhart.”
A cheer went up from the crowd.
“I’m heartened to see so many loving family and friends,” Judge Brando went on. “Because it does indeed take a village to raise a child. Julie is a very lucky little girl.”
“And I’m a very lucky dad,” Rhett whispered to Tara. “And it’s all due to you. If you hadn’t loved her with all your heart and soul from the very beginning, we wouldn’t be here today.”
Tara kissed her husband and hugged her baby, and everyone went back to the Silver Feather Ranch and threw a big party officially welcoming Julie into the loving arms of her clan.
Epilogue
“Cowboy, there’s someone knocking on our door.”
Rhett opened one eye and studied his dear wife propped up on the pillows beside him.
Sweet pink lips that last night had tasted of the chocolate layer cake she’d made for his birthday. Bright, happy brown eyes that danced with mischief. Full perky breasts and a belly rounded from the baby growing inside her.
His baby.
Their baby.
A son. Due in a few months.
Rhett grinned, and his heart throbbed like a sonofagun. The culprit was this beautiful, sexy woman, who’d changed everything. Joy pushed through him. Overflowed. What a lucky man he was. Oh, so lucky.
He knew exactly where he was. Rooted deep in the soil of the Silver Feather Ranch, and damn grateful for it.
And he had Tara to thank. She had changed him in so many wonderful ways. He’d gone from a lost, good-time Charlie rodeo cowboy to a settled, solid father and husband. He didn’t miss his rowdy youth one bit.
With Tara, he had everything he’d never known he wanted. Now, she and Julie and the new baby were his life. He couldn’t imagine a world without them in it.
A soft knock sounded on the door again.
“Come in,” he called.
The door bumped open and Julie toddled into the room clutching her blanket in one hand, her teddy bear in the other.
“Morning, pudding pop.” He smiled at his daughter, felt his heart fill with more love than he ever thought possible. He leaned over the side of the bed, held out his arms to her, and she ran to him, grinning.
“Dada,” she said, and snuggled against him. Julie still had developmental delays from being a preemie, but she was quickly catching up to other children her age. The little Houdini had already figured out how to escape from her crib, so for safety’s sake, they’d put her in a youth bed last week. Not a dull moment with this little one.
“Are we really ready for another one?” Tara rested her hand on her expanding belly as a tiny frown pinched between her eyebrows. “I know I always dreamed of a house full of children, but are we going to be able to give them both the attention they need?”
“Listen to your mama.” Rhett kissed the top of Julie’s head. “She’s such a worrywart. Tell her there’s always enough love to go around.” He met Tara’s gaze, and instantly her face softened. He loved the way her eyes turned dreamy whenever she looked at him. “Everything is going to be just fine, sweetheart. I’ve got your back. Always.”
He wasn’t making false promises. With all his heart and soul, Rhett was fully committed to Tara and their growing family. Nothing could ever tear them apart.
Acknowledgments
Major thanks to attorney-at-law Marcy Mailman Freeman, who specializes in family law and child custody cases. Your help was invaluable. Namaste, my yoga sister.
Note: Any mistakes in the research are totally my own. Because this book is a work of fiction, where story trumps the nitty-gritty details of real life, I claim literary license. No one should infer any sort of legal advice from the details of this fictional plot.
An Excerpt from The Christmas Dare
Keep reading for a sneak peek at
The Christmas Dare
the next book in Lori Wilde’s Twilight, Texas series
Coming October 2019!
Chapter 1
On a cinnamon-scented Saturday morning in early December, Dallas’s newly elected mayor, Filomena James, walked her only surviving daughter, Kelsey, down the pew-packed aisle of the lavishly decorated Highland Park United Methodist Church.
She slipped her arm through her daughter’s, and off they went to the instrumental score of “Let Me Tell You About My Boat.” Filomena had insisted on music hipper than “The Wedding March” for her child’s big day.
Bucking the old guard.
That was how she won her mayoral seat. Never mind that Kelsey was a traditionalist. After all, Filomena was the one shelling out major bucks for this shindig, and she was the rebel with a cause.
To quote her campaign buttons.
So as not to conflict with her bid for mayor, she’d insisted on the December wedding date. In mild protest, Kelsey put up a feeble fuss. Her daughter was not a fan of December in general or Christmas in particular. But, as always, Filomena had prevailed. Luckily for Kelsey. Mama knew best.
Everything was going as Filomena had planned. That is, until the groom hightailed it for the exit, elbows locked with his best man.
Fifteen minutes later, back in the bridal room of the church, Kelsey sat as calm as a statue, demure ankles crossed, feet tucked underneath the bench. Her waist-length hair twisted high in an elegant braided chignon. A bouquet of white roses and a crumpled, handwritten Dear Jane letter lay limp in her lap.
Sounds of car doors slamming and hushed voices stirring gossip drifted in through the partially opened window.
The poor thing.
Did you think she suspected Clive was gay?
How does she recover from this?
Breathing deep, Kelsey hid her smile as relief poured through her. Okay, sprinkle in a dab of sadness, a jigger of regret, and a dollop of I-do-not-want-to-face-my-mother, but other than that, Clive’s abrupt adios hadn’t peeled her back too far.
Hey, it was the most embarrassing thing that happened to her by far. She’d get through this.
As if being struck by a hundred flyswatters all slapping at once, Filomena’s cheeks flushed scarlet. Her thick, black, Joan Crawford eyebrows pulled into a hard V as she scowled. Howled. “Do you have any idea how humiliated I am?”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Kelsey said by rote.
“It is your fault. If you’d slept with Clive, as I told you to, instead of sticking to that wait-until-the-wedding nonsense, I would not be on the hook for this nightmare.”
Kelsey’s best friend, Tasha Williams, who’d been standing by the door, lifted the hem of the emerald-green charmeuse maid-of-honor dress and strode across the small room to toe off with Filomena.
“Are you frigging kidding me?” Tasha’s deep brown eyes narrowed, and she planted her hands onto her hips, head bobbing as she spoke. “Kels got stood up, not you.”
Yay, you. Grateful, Kelsey sent her a “thank you” glance.
“The media will eat me for dinner over this.” Through nasty eyes, Filomena glowered.
Uh-oh. Kelsey knew the look far too well. A clear signal to give her mother a berth as wide as the Grand Canyon.
“Have an inch of compassion, you witch.” Tasha glared lasers at Filomena.
Proud that her bestie had not called her mother a bitch when she knew the word was searing the end of Tasha’s tongue, Kelsey cleared her throat. Long ago, she’d learned not to throw emotional gasoline onto her mother’s fits of pique. Courting head-to-toe third-degree burns was not her favorite pastime.
“Yes?” A sharp, cutting tone invaded her mother’s voice.
Gulping, Tasha couldn’t quite meet Filomena’s eyes. The woman’s icy stare could quell Katniss Everdeen. “Just . . . just . . . have a heart. Dammit. She’s y
our daughter.”
“Don’t you dare lecture me, you little upstart.” Filomena shoved her face in front of Tasha’s nose.
In a soothing, even tone, Kelsey pressed her palms downward. “Mom, I’m fine here. Please, go do damage control.”
“Excellent idea.” With stiff-legged movements, Filomena shifted her attention off Tasha and finger-pinching the ruching at the waist of her snug-fitting, mother-of-the-bride dress. She straightened herself, dusted off her shoulders, and stalked toward the door. “Clive’s father owes me big time for this.”
Filomena’s exit left Kelsey and Tasha exhaling simultaneously.
“Ah,” Tasha said.
“Gotta love how she turns every disaster into a political stepping stone,” Tasha muttered.
Busy reading Clive’s scrawled letter again, Kelsey didn’t answer. Before he and Kevin had fled, Clive had pressed the note into the minister’s hand.
Dear Kelsey,
Shabby of me to ditch you this way, but please believe me when I say I wanted to marry you. You are the kindest, most loving person I’ve ever met and my deep affection for you has gotten me this far. But no more cowering in the closet, praying to turn into something I’m not. You deserve better. I deserve better. I’ve been a coward, and you were safe. Time to stop running. Kevin and I love each other. We have for a long time. Last night after the bachelor party . . . well . . . let’s just say everything changed forever. Out there somewhere is the real love of your life. Please, cash in the honeymoon tickets and spoil yourself with a trip of your own.
Best wishes,
Your friend—Clive
You were safe.
Floating off the page, those three words stood tall above the others, accusing her of her most glaring shortcoming. Yes, she played it safe.
Without question.
While Clive’s betrayal did sting, the loss and embarrassment didn’t equal the pain of the truth. If she hadn’t been playing it safe, going for the most accommodating, least challenging man around, she wouldn’t have ended up here.
Once again, her mother was right, and this was her fault.
Filomena pushed the union because Clive’s father was Texas Supreme Court Justice Owen Patterson. But Kelsey had gone for it. Intelligent, witty, urbane, Clive was entertaining and erudite, and he always smelled fantastic.
How easy it had been to slip into a tranquil relationship with him. When he’d told her that he was old-fashioned and wanted to wait until the wedding night before they had sex, his sweetness had charmed her.
A major red flag she’d blown right past.
“‘Sweet’ is code for boring,” Tasha warned when Kelsey broke the news that she and Clive weren’t having sex. “Who buys a car without test driving it first?”
Now it made sense why Clive hadn’t wanted to have sex with her. Not because she was special as he’d claimed. Nope, she was safe and gullible, and she’d taken him at his word.
What a dumbass she was. Wadding the letter in her fist, Kelsey tossed it into the wicker wastebasket.
“Good start.” Rubbing her palms, Tasha gave a gleeful grin. “Let’s cash in those tickets and get this party started. You need a wild night with a hot guy. How long has it been since you’ve had sex?”
Over eighteen months. Since before the last year and a half, when she’d been with Clive. “Don’t know if I’m ready for that.
“Will you stop? Because you must get back out there. Time’s a-wasting.” Tasha reached for her clutch purse, popped it open, and took out a fifth of Fireball whiskey. “I brought this for the wedding reception, but we need it now.”
“Believe me.” Kelsey held up a palm. “I’m mad at myself for letting things get this far. I should have stopped the wedding, but my mother started the steamroller and I just climbed aboard. The way I always do.”
“Reason enough to take a shot.” After she twisted the top of the bottle, Tasha chugged a mouthful of hooch, let loose with a satisfied burp, and pressed the whiskey into Kelsey’s hand.
“I don’t—”
“Drink,” Tasha commanded.
“Good gravy, I’m not wrecked. Promise.”
“But you should get wrecked. Get mad. Howl at the moon. Let loose.” Tasha stuck her arms out at her sides as if she was an airplane. “Wing woman at your service. Never fear, Tasha is here.”
Sighing, Kelsey wondered if her friend had a point. Who would judge her for getting drunk after being jilted at the altar?
With a toss of her head, she took a short swallow as the cinnamon-flavored whiskey burned and lit a warm liquid fire in the pit of her stomach.
“Take another,” Tasha coached.
Opening her mouth to say no, three words flashed vivid neon in Kelsey’s mind. You were safe.
Clive nailed it. Since her twin sister, Chelsea, drowned on Possum Kingdom Lake when they were ten, she’d been playing it safe. Honestly, even before then. “Safe” was her factory default setting.
With a snort, Kelsey took another drink. Longer this time, and she felt her insides start to unspool.
“Good girl.” A pat on Kelsey’s shoulder and Tasha offered her an understanding smile.
After the third shot, Kelsey felt warm and woozy and ten times better than she had half an hour ago.
“Okay, okay.” With a worried expression, Tasha took the bottle away from her. “All things in moderation. Don’t want to hold your hair while you puke before we even get out of the church.”
Snapping her fingers, Kelsey reached for the bottle. “Gimme. I’m done playing by the rules.”
Quick as a ninja, Tasha hid the whiskey behind her. “I’ve created a monster. You’ll get it back when we’re in the limo.”
“Bye, bye limo. Clive and Kevin took it.”
“How do you know?”
“Peep at the curb.”
Poking her head out the window, Tasha said, “Oh well. Uber, here we come.”
“Where to?”
“Wherever you want to go. In place of a honeymoon, we’ll spend the next three weeks doing something wild and crazy. Impulse, rashness, and spontaneity are our buzzwords.” In that loveable, dramatic way of hers, Tasha tossed her chin.
“Don’t you have a job?”
Spinning her finger in the air helicopter-blade style, Tasha said, “I quit last week.”
“Wait. What? Why?”
“Had a set to with my boss. Because he pinched my ass, and I slapped his face, yada, yada, he wins.”
“Oh Tash, I’m so sorry. Did you consult a lawyer?”
“No need. Handled it on social media.” Buffing her knuckles against her shirt, Tasha grinned.
“Why didn’t I know this?” Kelsey asked. You are a shitty friend. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Wedding prep and getting your mother elected mayor of Dallas kept you snowed. Whenever did you have time for my drama?”
“What are friends for? Amends are in order.”
“Then kick up those heels.”
“Shouldn’t you be scouting another job instead of holding my hand?”
“No worries. Got a new one.”
“When? Where?”
“Take a gander at the new executive chef at La Fonda’s, and I start after the New Year. Tony should have pinched my ass a long time ago. I’d gotten too comfy where I was.”
“That’s awesome! I mean about the executive chef job, not getting your ass pinched. Congrats.”
“Let’s do this thing.” With one palm raised in the air as if she was a waiter balancing a tray, Tasha pumped her hand. “Celebrate my new job and your freedom at the same time. Epic adventure.”
“No doubt.” She mulled over Tasha’s proposition. Why not? Time to break out of her safe little bubble.
“Where should we go? New Orleans? Eat gumbo, drink hurricanes, and get inked?” Tasha wriggled her eyebrows. “What do you think about me getting a spider tattoo on my neck?”
Wincing, Kelsey sucked in her breath through clenched teeth. “Hm
m, Cajun food upsets my stomach.”
“Vegas? Blow through our mad money, pick up male strippers?”
“Um, I want something more—”
“Kelsey-ish?”
Sedate was the word that had popped into her head. Sedate. Sedative. Comatose long enough. “Where would you prefer to go, Tasha? Whatever you decide, I’m good with it.”
An exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Girl, you got dumped on your wedding day, and I can find a party wherever I go, even in your safe, white bread world.”
She adored Tasha’s spunkiness. Spunk was also the reason why Filomena wasn’t a big Tasha fan. Five years ago, they met when Kelsey was organizing a fundraiser during her mother’s bid for a city council seat. In charge of hiring the caterers for the event at the Dallas Museum of Art, Kelsey had gone to interview Tasha’s boss.
When Tasha popped a mini quiche into Kelsey’s mouth and it was the best damn thing she’d ever eaten, she’d hired the caterer on the spot, based on Tasha’s cooking skills alone. After hitting it off, Kelsey stuck around to help Tasha clean up, and the rest belonged in the annals of BFF history.
“Wherever we go, there must be scads of hot straight guys,” Tasha said. “How does a dude ranch sound?”
“Good heavens, I have no idea how to ride a horse.”
“Yeah, me neither.”
“Wherever you want, I’ll go.”
“Don’t make me pick. I always pick, this is for you. My mind is lassoed onto hot cowboys. Yum. Ropes, spurs, yeehaw.”
“Let the sex stuff go, will you? I don’t need to have sex.”
“Oh, but you do. Sex is exactly what you need.”
“If my libido was a car on the freeway, it would take the slow lane.”
“Because you’ve never had great sex.” Tasha chuckled. “For eighteen months, you’ve been in a deep freeze. Tick tock, time to wake up Sleeping Beauty and reclaim your sexuality.”
“I dunno . . .” Kelsey fiddled with the hem on the wedding gown that had cost as much as a new compact car.