Hard-Riding Cowboy (Kinky Spurs #3)

by Stacey Kennedy

  It was always about them.

  Dad inhaled sharply, spittle forming in the sides of his mouth. “What are you going to do, boy?” he growled at Nash. “From what I hear, your ranch has taken some hits. How will you provide for her?” Dad turned back to Megan; that vein in the middle of his forehead looked to be pulsing now. “A goddamn Blackshaw. What is wrong with you? Have I taught you nothing?”

  Nash took a step forward and warned him, “That’s the last time you’ll ever talk to her like that.” The threat was harsh and cold. Nash was dead serious. “You got a problem. Aim it at me.”

  Most fathers would probably have respected Nash’s strength and protection over their daughter. Not Clint Harrison. His glare was deadly, and the hatred in his eyes was raw and oh-so-real.

  Tears rose in Megan’s eyes. Yes, she’d expected this, but somehow she had hoped that how far she’d come with Nash would lessen this blow. It was like all the steps forward were gone . . . just like that.

  All she wanted was for them to see her. For the hatred to stop. A tear escaped, and she quickly wiped it away.

  Something her mother noticed since she slid her comforting touch over Megan’s hand. “Ladies do not need to hear this conversation,” she snapped at the men. “Take it outside and sort this out.”

  Dad turned and glared.

  Mom glared right back and pointed to the living room door. “Go.”

  Megan stared at Nash. Look at me. I’m here. Look at me.

  He didn’t look. He followed her dad outside.

  Megan’s heart sank.

  “So.” Jenny finally broke the silence. “A baby?” She smiled from ear to ear, and with all the anger gone from the room, the only thing left was love. So much warmth. “I admit I wasn’t expecting that. I thought a wedding was in our future.”

  Megan returned the smile, though it felt forced. “We seem to have skipped that part.”

  Jenny’s mouth twitched. “Sometimes things are best done out of order.” She rose then wrapped her arms around Megan tight. Megan sank into the hold, feeling like she needed the hug more than ever. When Jenny leaned away, she kissed one of Megan’s cheeks, then the other. “A baby. I’m finally going to be a grandmother. You’ve made me very, very happy today, Megan. I’m so excited for you and Nash.”

  Megan’s smile felt a little more honest now. “Thanks.” She placed her hand on her belly. “I’m really happy.” She turned to her mother, finding her expression soft. “Are you?”

  “Of course, I’m thrilled.” Her mom grabbed her hand again with both of hers. “I’m also happy you finally told us.”

  Megan took in her mom’s smug look. “You knew I was pregnant?”

  “I’m your mother, Megan,” her mom chided. “You have become very emotional, in a way you weren’t before. Then you stopped drinking beer when you came over.” She smiled softly and patted Megan’s hand. “You always drink beer with your father, honey.”

  Before Megan could respond, an earsplitting crash came from outside.

  Megan frowned. “That can’t be good.”

  “No, it can’t,” Jenny said, then rushed outside.

  By the time Megan reached Jenny on the porch, she realized her father had picked up his favorite porch chair and tossed it at Nash, who stood next to the rubble, his hands in his pocket, the smuggest look on his face.

  She turned to her dad, aghast. “You threw a chair at him?”

  They both ignored her, and her dad growled at Nash, “You irresponsible prick. How could you do this to her?”

  Nash arched the most arrogant eyebrow. “I didn’t do anything she didn’t want.”

  Oh, the egotism that dripped off his tone. They were going to kill each other. “Would you two stop it?” Megan said.

  “You did this on purpose?” Dad growled, pointing at Nash. “All to get to me.”

  “This has nothing to do with you.” Nash snorted. “Get over yourself.”

  Dad trotted down the stairs and got into Nash’s face. “This will only happen over my dead body.”

  Nash grinned. All teeth. “As long as I can do the killing part.”

  Megan glanced right, realizing they weren’t alone anymore. The Irish Creek cowboys and farmhands were all watching the show now. News of this would spread through River Rock. Megan looked back at Nash’s red face, the veins bulging on the sides of his neck. She studied her dad’s furious eyes. She sighed and glanced down next to her on the porch, picturing her little girl or boy here watching this.

  “Megan, dear,” Jenny said tenderly, placing her hand on Megan’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “I hate this,” she admitted, placing a hand on her belly, feeling more protective of the innocence inside her than ever. All anyone in town would hear was that Nash and her dad were fighting. They wouldn’t know how happy Megan was that she was pregnant and how excited she was about the baby. Hell, how happy she was with Nash. When he wasn’t fighting with her dad, of course.

  On the other side of her, her mom took Megan’s hand. “Let them get out what they need to get out.” She hesitated, watched the testosterone fly around, then addressed Megan again. “But I never raised you to put up with it either.”

  Jenny gave a firm nod and took Megan’s other hand. “We’ve lived with this feud for a very long time. The only way to survive it is to stand above it. Nash will either follow you or he won’t.”

  “And so will your father,” Mom agreed.

  Megan stared at her mom and Jenny. For years, they had endured this fight, when they actually really liked each other. They played bridge together. They were friends. She didn’t know how they’d endured this hell for so long. But Megan didn’t want to live with this anymore. She wanted away from it all.

  She turned back to Nash and her dad, their mouths moving now, but all she heard was a loud hum. Her dad’s face was so red as he shoved a finger in Nash’s face. Hatred burned in Nash’s eyes. A haughtiness there that he had gotten under Clint’s skin. That he had won.

  Tears slid down her face, and she could do nothing to stop them. They hated each other. She hated that this stupid fight had quite possibly been the reason Nash had originally been interested in her. She hated that because of the animosity, she couldn’t trust that Nash’s motivations were real. She hated the anger. She hated it all. She turned to Jenny, wiping away her tears. “Do you mind driving me home?”

  “Not at all, honey,” Jenny said softly, her eyes sad and tender. “They’ll sort this out soon enough.”

  Mom wrapped Megan in a warm hug. “It’s going to be all right, sweetheart.”

  Megan sank into her mother’s hug, needing the warmth more than ever. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

  Chapter 12

  A good half an hour later, Megan’s cell phone rang for the fifth time, followed up by the eighth text from Nash: Don’t shut me out. Answer your phone. Again, like she’d done dozens of times so far, she stuck her cell back into her purse. She didn’t want to shut him out, but right now, she wasn’t thinking about anyone else but herself and the baby. She didn’t want to hear Nash’s promises and his reasons for fighting with her father or his apologies. She also didn’t want to hear her father’s views on the Blackshaw family.

  The fighting, the anger, the rage . . . she wanted it all to stop.

  At least she had learned one thing from this morning’s incident. While she had her mom’s and Jenny’s support, the only person she could count on in all this was herself. Her mother was right—she needed to let Nash and her father figure this out and where they fit into her life. But she also realized her mother was wrong. She didn’t need to wait for them to do that.

  Which brought her back to the house she’d looked at with Harper and Emma. A house that was perfect in which to raise her child. One that was safe and happy. After Jenny dropped Megan off at home, she’d contacted Jannie who said the house was still up for sale and had even been reduced in price by ten thousand dollars.

  Knowi
ng that she needed to get roots into the ground for this new chapter in her life, Megan contacted her longtime banker, Scott, at River Rock Bank. He was an older gentleman who had a knack for getting better mortgage rates than any of the other bankers in town. When she’d bought Kinky Spurs, he’d gotten her an incredibly low interest rate considering the market.

  Though before she left her apartment for the bank, she had called in reinforcements. While she’d gone in alone to talk with Scott, bringing him a coffee in the hope that it would sweeten him up some, Harper and Emma waited in the bank for her. Megan sat in the client chair across from Scott in the small office with only two thin windows. His white eyebrows were drawn tight, creasing the wrinkles even more around his sharp blue eyes. She got the feeling from the tightness on his expression that he wasn’t going to give her good news.

  And he didn’t.

  In fact, he took the last few strands of her happiness and pulverized them.

  “I’m sorry, Megan,” he began, sitting behind his large oak desk with a monitor set in the corner with a phone next to it. “The mortgage companies think you’re too much of risk to give you another mortgage on top of the one you already have.”

  She sagged in her hard plastic chair. “Even with the income that I’ll receive from renting out my apartment?”

  “Of course, that’s taken into consideration, but rental income is not stable income. They’ll look at your income from the bar alone. And that, I’m afraid, is not enough to carry the two mortgages.”

  “To a bank, you mean,” she grumbled.

  “Precisely, and trust me, I know that’s frustrating.” Scott leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his red tie. “What I’m seeing here is that you’d be fine.” He looked at his computer monitor before addressing her again. “More than fine, actually. With the low mortgage rates right now, the income you’ll receive from the apartment would cover most of your mortgage on the house. But I’m afraid those factors are not what the mortgage company looks at.”

  Megan hesitated, hanging onto hope. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Scott’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully while he tapped a finger against his desk. “There are higher-risk lending companies and private mortgages that you could go to, but it’s not something I suggest you falling into. The lending rate is high. In the end, it’s not worth it.” He paused then gave her a level look. One she had seen from people her whole life. “Could your father lend you a larger down payment?” he asked gently.

  She hated that everyone went there, even if she understood why they did. Her parents were loaded. A long time ago, she had stopped defending her reasons for not wanting to take her father’s money. Not only was it exhausting to explain why she wanted to stand on her own two feet, but money with her dad created ties—business ties—that she never wanted to be a part of. Megan liked being his little girl, not his business partner. “Would a larger down payment make things look different for me?” she asked to understand her situation.

  Scott nodded. “When you put, let’s say, twenty percent down, that changes your risk in the eyes of a financial institution.”

  She could never come up with that. Of course, she could sell Kinky Spurs, but the bar was hers. All hers. She knew having a baby meant she would have to give up things, but she didn’t think it was good for either her or the baby for her to give up something that brought her joy and future income.

  She pondered and felt the tightness of her grandmother’s ring. The ring was extravagant and worth upwards of thirty thousand dollars. If she sold the vintage ring to a pawn shop, she surely would get enough for a down payment for the house.

  Her heart twisted, the gold squeezing tighter than before. The ring stood for so much. Meant so much. If it was either selling her ring, or going to her father, the latter looked like the better choice. But she really didn’t want to do that either. “Is a larger down payment my only option?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Scott said gently, placing his hands flat on his desk. “If I could do more for you, I would, Megan.”

  “That’s okay.” Megan rose, sensing the deep disappointment darkening the world around her. “Let me see what I can do about that down payment.” She would find a way to make that house happen. Everything about the home felt right. And not much felt right lately. “Thanks for squeezing me in today.” She offered her hand.

  Scott returned the handshake and gave a firm nod. “Once you get that down payment, come back, and we’ll get this deal done.”

  With a few more pleasantries and a goodbye, Megan left the office, moving back into the main part of the bank. Harper and Emma rose from their seats in the waiting room.

  “Oh, no,” Harper said with a frown. “It didn’t go well?”

  Megan sighed. “It went fine, if ‘fine’ is coming up with a larger down payment that I don’t have.” As Harper’s mouth parted, Megan said firmly, “Yes, I could ask my dad for the money. No, I don’t want to.”

  Emma looped her arm in Megan’s as they began walking out of the small bank with only one teller currently working. “Is there no way to come up with the money?” she asked. “Like, refinance the bar or something?”

  When they made it outside, the warm sun shone against Megan’s face. She tipped her head back, taking in the fresh air. “Scott said it’s a bigger down payment or nothing.” They passed the vet clinic, which had a full waiting room. “Ugh. I really needed this to go smoothly. Everything has been so hard lately.”

  Harper’s eyes softened, and she squeezed Megan’s arm tight. “It won’t always be this crazy.”

  Emma nodded. “Harper’s right. Everything will fall into place. Nash and your dad need to stop being”—she smiled—“well, themselves. Once that figures itself out, this will all work out. I just know it.”

  Megan had doubts about that. She wasn’t sure if they would ever figure themselves out. This morning when she saw Nash and her father’s rage, she knew her baby would not be around that, not if she could help it. She couldn’t delay this anymore. Her baby was coming in less than thirty weeks. He or she would be there before she knew it, and she only had herself to count on to make sure the baby had a soft bed in a happy house.

  That’s what a mother did, and that’s what Megan wanted to do.

  They passed a children’s store that Megan figured she’d be going to soon for all her baby supplies, while she considered her next steps. “I think, maybe, it’s better I rethink my plan,” she eventually said. “I could always rent a different house for a while.”

  “Hell no,” Harper said adamantly, looking the fierce fighter that she could be. “That house belongs to you. I could feel it when we were there. So, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to go to my restaurant and have a huge-ass chocolate brownie sundae.”

  Megan frowned, not following. “A, it’s noon. Isn’t that a bit early for a sundae? And B, how will that help my luck with getting a down payment?”

  “A, there is no such thing as too early for chocolate. And B, do you know nothing?” Harper rolled her eyes. “Chocolate can help us form a new plan to make this work.”

  “Because . . . ?” Megan drawled.

  “Dude,” Harper said, and stopped on the sidewalk, eyes wide. “Because my chocolate brownie sundae fixes everything and works miracles. How do you not know this?”

  Emma nodded happily. “It really does. I’ve seen it.”

  Megan didn’t overthink it. She hurried forward. “Okay, then let’s go, because I could use a miracle right now.”

  * * *

  After spending hours driving the streets and searching for Megan in all the usual places, Nash had come up empty. Back at her parents’ house this morning, once he’d realized she’d left, so did he. Clint had still been yelling, but Nash flipped him off then drove away. He’d heard from his brothers that Megan had spent some time with Harper and Emma at Harper’s restaurant, but neither Harper nor Emma would tell him shit as to where she was now. Instead, they both gla
red at him and went inside Emma’s farmhouse to tend to the kittens that Harper and Chase were watching today since Nash had expected trouble on the horizon when telling Megan’s family about the baby. It occurred to him then, staring at Emma’s closed front door that had been slammed in his face, that he’d forgotten about his mother’s call reminding him that he’d made her a promise today. He glared back at Emma’s front door before he hit the road again making his way to the ranch.

  A couple hours later, with his mind focused on the horse beneath him, sand was kicked up as the horse he rode in small circles trotted around the ring. The hot sun beat down on him, sweat slicking his spine. The barn lay in burnt rubble with the cleanup and rebuild happening sometime over the next couple weeks, since the fire marshal had finished his investigation but hadn’t reported back on his findings yet. The guests were out on the river fishing and rafting, enjoying the perfect summer afternoon.

  The horse Nash rode belonged to Dahlia, the twelve-year-old blond girl standing next to her parents on the bottom railing watching him over the fence. Nash’s mother stood beside them. He was only there for his mother, doing this favor for her because Dahlia was the granddaughter of one of her bridge friends. Somehow, over her game, she had offered Nash’s services to help the gray, fifteen-hand horse that had been giving Dahlia grief, landing her in the hospital from a concussion. Today, they had trailered the horse to the ranch to get Nash’s opinion on whether they should sell the horse.

  The tears in Dahlia’s eyes told Nash it was the last thing she wanted.

  For the last hour, the horse had done its utmost to buck Nash off, even reared a couple times. But this horse wasn’t like Bentley. His will was weak. Nash would bet money the stubborn horse had been spoiled by an owner who was far too nice to him.

  From the trot, Nash squeezed his thighs and the horse broke into an easy canter. The wind breezed by, bringing the sweet scents of the hay fields. Nash continued with quick commands, moving the horse into a small circle then back to a trot and finally to walking again. A quick look down and Nash noticed the sweat glistening off the horse’s neck while he stretched out, his mouth soft on the bit.