by Judy Duarte
“About my dad?”
“About anyone and anything.” Miranda glanced across the table at Uncle George. “Would you mind if I let you and Emily wash the dishes alone tonight?”
“Of course not.” He blessed her with an affectionate smile, then turned to Emily and winked. “I know where your mama hid the chocolate chip cookies. And there’s a brand new carton of vanilla ice cream in the freezer.”
Miranda didn’t usually let Emily eat sweets this close to bedtime, but she would gladly make an exception tonight. If the two dishwashers wolfed down a dozen cookies and a gallon of ice cream, she wouldn’t complain.
After rinsing her plate in the sink, Miranda left the kitchen and headed down the hall until she reached Matt’s bedroom. She held her breath, then knocked lightly on the door.
As footsteps, punctuated by the heart-wrenching tap of his cane, grew louder, her heart flipped and flopped in her chest like a trout on a hook, frantic to return to a safe, familiar environment. But she remained rooted to the floor, determined to face him, and waited for him to let her in.
When the door swung open, Matt stood before her, broad-shouldered, bare-chested and more muscular than she’d imagined. Her gaze drifted down his taut abs to his jeans, the top button undone. As much as she wanted to continue to take him in, to relish the manly changes that had taken place, she zeroed in on his eyes, once as clear and blue as the Texas sky, now a stormy winter gray.
He’d worn a similar expression the day her father arrived at the Double G, raising hell and setting the breakup of their teenage romance in motion.
“I, uh...” She cleared her throat. “I need to talk to you. Can I come in?”
His only response was to step aside, cane in hand, and limp to his bed, where he took a seat on the edge of the mattress, leaving her to shut the door behind her.
Miranda scanned the room. The same rodeo posters and a schedule, long since outdated, still adorned the off-white walls. The maple chest of drawers and matching nightstand hadn’t been moved. Even the familiar blue-plaid bedspread covered the double bed.
Too bad the angry cowboy glaring at her wasn’t the same guy she used to know.
If only he were. She could have faced the old Matt in all honesty, without choosing her words, without holding back. She would have been able to fall into the comfort of his arms and tell him she was sorry for the delay in contacting him, for the hurt she’d unintentionally caused him—for the hurt she’d caused them both.
She leaned against the closed door. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about Emily sooner.”
He rolled his eyes. “A lot sooner.”
Right. “But I didn’t tell her you’d died. Apparently, that was my father’s doing.”
Matt rolled his eyes. “I’m not surprised. Your dad never thought I was good enough for his little berry princess.”
Talk about direct hits. She remained standing, clasped fists hanging at her side. “Just so you know, I didn’t find out I was pregnant until after we broke up.”
Matt crossed his arms and frowned. “You should have called me as soon as you knew.”
“Yes, you’re right. But if you remember, my dad limited my cell and telephone usage.”
Matt chuffed at what sounded, even to her, like a lame excuse. “Your father didn’t let you date, either. But you found a way around it.”
True. She’d lied to her father, telling him time and again she was going to the library to meet with her study group. Her dishonesty hadn’t sat well with her then—or now. But that was the only time she’d willfully deceived him. She had too much respect for him, for all he’d been through, all he’d accomplished in life. As a young boy, he’d gone to work with his father in the strawberry fields, learning the ins and outs of farming. When he grew up, he and his father purchased their own berry farm, then expanded it into an impressive operation with fields all over the state.
Matt slowly shook his head. “Your old man must have really blown a fuse when he found out you were going to have a baby, especially mine.”
He certainly had. But going into detail about the early days of her pregnancy wasn’t going to do anyone any good right now, so she cut to the chase. “He was smitten with Emily the very first minute he saw her and held her in his arms. And, for what it’s worth, he’s been a good grandfather to her.”
Matt clicked his tongue. “Don’t you think that lying to her about me ought to throw him out of the running for Grandfather of the Year?”
“If she’d asked me, I would have been honest. I had no idea my father would tell her something like that. There was no reason for it. And it was way out of line.”
“Sounds like you finally learned to stand up to him.”
“I guess you could say that. But whenever I roll over, it’s out of respect, not fear.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “My dad was strict and expected a lot out of me, but he’s a loving father and grandfather. I hope, one day, you’ll be able to see that.”
“Not gonna happen.”
She supposed it wouldn’t. Not for a long time, anyway.
“Does your old man know where you are?” Matt’s harsh tone and narrowed gaze shot right to the heart of her. And so did his question.
She sucked in a deep breath, hoping the oxygen would clear her head and cleanse her soul, then slowly let it out. “Not exactly, but he knows we’re safe. And that I’m staying with a friend.”
Matt arched a brow.
“Okay,” she admitted. “That could be considered a lie of omission. But believe it or not, I’ve always meant well and wanted the best for everyone involved.”
So why had she begun to feel like the villainess in this mess?
While tempted to make her way to the edge of Matt’s bed and sit beside him, she realized she’d have to earn the intimacy of his friendship. So she stood her ground and crossed her own arms. “I don’t blame you for being angry at my dad—and not just because he told Emily you were dead. When we were kids, you saw a bad side of him.”
“I don’t care about your old man or the past. What’s done is done.”
“Okay, but I’d like to make things right.”
Matt’s gaze softened slightly, but not enough for her to make any assumptions or to move toward him.
“Is that why you came to the Double G?” he asked.
Not really. And not at first. But the compulsion to finally make things right was why she was standing in his room now. “Yes, that’s pretty much why I’m here.”
He nodded, then glanced at the cane that rested within reach on the edge of the mattress where he sat.
She placed her hand on her womb, caressing the small baby bump that she wouldn’t be able to hide much longer with blousy tops and dresses. In fact, she’d suspected George already knew she was pregnant, since he was pretty observant. Not that he’d say anything.
When Matt looked up, she let her hand drop to her side and offered him a shy smile. “Like I said, I’m sorry. I should have told you that you were a father.”
“You’ve got that right.”
“I’ve made mistakes, but Emily isn’t one of them. She’s a great kid. So for now, let’s focus on her.”
“All right.” Matt uncrossed his arms and raked a hand through his hair. “But just for the record, I would’ve done anything in my power to take care of you and Emily.”
“I know.” And that’s why she’d walked away from him. Matt would have stood up to her father, challenged his threat, only to be knocked to his knees—and worse.
No, leaving town and cutting all ties with Matt was the only thing she could’ve done to protect him.
As she stood in the room where their daughter was conceived, as she studied the only man she’d ever loved, the memories crept up on her, the old feelings, too.
When she’d been sixteen, there’d been som
ething about the fun-loving nineteen-year-old cowboy that had drawn her attention. And whatever it was continued to tug at her now. But she shook it off. Too many years had passed, too many tears had been shed.
Besides, an unwed, single mother who was expecting another man’s baby wouldn’t stand a chance with a champion bull rider who had his choice of pretty cowgirls. And she’d best not forget that.
“Aw, hell,” Matt said, as he ran a hand through his hair again and blew out a weary sigh. “Maybe you did Emily a favor by leaving when you did. Who knows what kind of father I would have made back then. Or even now.”
At that, Miranda longed to cross the room and take his hands in hers. The Matt she used to know would have been a great dad. And something told her the new Matt would be, too.
But he was a rodeo star now, with all the good and bad that came with it. So if he wanted to be a part of Emily’s life, what kind of role model would he be?
But that was beside the point. He deserved a chance to know his daughter.
“Matt,” she said, “I think you’re going to be an awesome father, if you want to be. Either way, I’m going to talk to Emily and tell her that her abuelito was mistaken, that her father is very much alive.”
“So you’re going to tell her that I’m her father?”
“Yes.” She eyed him carefully. “Unless you’d rather I didn’t.”
He didn’t respond right away. Was the decision that hard for him to make?
When he glanced up, his gaze seemed to zero in on hers. But this time, it wasn’t in anger. “I’d like to be there when you tell her. If that’s okay.”
She blew out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Of course. I think that would be best.”
For the first time since Matt arrived home, his expression grew familiar. Not completely, but enough to remind her of the old Matt and to stir up old feelings. But she’d better keep her wits about her—and her emotions in check.
“When should we tell her?” he asked.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
He nodded pensively. “Tomorrow, I guess.”
“Okay then.” She managed a smile. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”
Then she turned and let herself out of his room. The hard part was over.
Or was it?
It was one thing to think they’d be able to co-parent their daughter. But what about a child that wasn’t his? The future and the possible so-called family dynamics were worrisome at best.
And what about those sexy buckle bunnies who thought Max was God’s gift to womanhood?
No way could Miranda ever compete with them, especially as her pregnancy advanced, as new stretch marks developed...
She swore under her breath. Now that she’d opened up a Pandora’s box of emotion—real or imagined—she had no idea how much her heart or her ego could bear.
Chapter Three
Last night, after talking to Matt, Miranda had turned in early, emotionally exhausted. But she’d barely slept a wink. Memories—both the good and the bad, happy and sad—plagued her, making it impossible for her to unwind.
When she finally dozed off, her dreams refused to let her rest.
Sirens and flashing lights.
The snap of handcuffs.
A gavel banging down. Again and again.
A cell door clanging shut.
Knees hitting the courtroom floor. A sobbing voice screaming, No!
Miranda shot up, her heart racing, her brow damp from perspiration. She’d had that nightmare before, but it hadn’t been so real.
Once her pulse slowed to normal and her eyes adjusted to the predawn darkness, she threw off the covers, got out of bed and padded to the bathroom, where she washed her face, brushed her hair and dressed for the day. She chose the maternity jeans and a blousy pink T-shirt she’d purchased in town last week, after her last obstetrical appointment.
Most pregnant women liked showing off their baby bumps, but Miranda wasn’t one of them. Not now. Not yet.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want the baby—a little boy she planned to name after her father, which might soften the blow when she told him she was expecting. It’s just that she hadn’t wanted the news to leak out. If Gavin learned that she was having his son, he might want shared custody.
As she headed for the kitchen, she relished the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and ham sizzling in a pan.
George stood in front of the stove, while Emily—her hair pulled into an off-centered ponytail and adorned with a red ribbon—sat on the counter next to him and chattered away about what she and Sweetie Pie planned to do today.
“Good morning,” Miranda said. “You two are awake earlier than usual.”
“Emily usually gets up first,” George said, “but I figured I’d better get busy this morning and fix a hearty breakfast. Matt’s looking a little puny.”
He’d looked pretty darn healthy last night when he’d answered the bedroom door bare-chested.
George adjusted the flame under the blackened, cast-iron skillet, then turned to Miranda with a smile. “I found my mother’s old recipe box last night. I won’t have much use for it, but I thought you might like to...look it over. She was one heck of a cook.”
“I’d love to see her recipes. And if there’s a special meal or dish you’d like me to make, I’d be happy to give it a try.”
George laughed. “I’d hoped you’d say that.” Then he nodded toward the teapot. “The whistle isn’t blowing yet, but the water should be ready. How ’bout I pour you a cup?”
“Thanks. That would be nice.” Miranda made her way to the pantry and retrieved a box of herbal tea bags. She’d no more than turned around when Matt entered the kitchen, fresh from the shower and looking more handsome than ever.
He gave her a distracted nod, then using his cane, limped to the coffee maker and filled a cup to the brim.
Miranda placed a hand on her baby bump, which seemed to have doubled in size overnight. She supposed that was to be expected, now that she was approaching her fifth month. She hadn’t given the maternal habit much thought before, but she’d better be careful not to draw any undue attention to her condition. So she quickly removed her hand and stole a glance at Matt, who was watching her over the rim of his coffee mug, his brow furrowed.
Her cheeks warmed, and her heart thumped. Did he suspect...?
Not that it mattered. He’d find out soon enough.
She took the cup of hot water George had poured for her and carried it to the scarred antique table and took a seat.
While her tea steeped, neither she nor Matt said a word. But she imagined him saying, Apparently, you have a habit of running away from your baby daddies.
Just the thought of him having a reaction like that struck a hard blow, a low one. But then again, she couldn’t blame him for being angry, resentful. Judgmental.
And he didn’t even have to say anything to her. As it was, she felt guilty enough, which was why she wasn’t looking forward to facing her father and announcing she was, once again, unmarried and pregnant.
Nor was she ready to admit to Matt that she was having another man’s baby.
* * *
As Matt took his first sip of coffee, he studied Miranda, who looked a little pale, if not green around the gills. But so what? She deserved to feel guilty. She’d kept his daughter away from him for years.
Carlos Contreras, the Texas berry king, had made it perfectly clear that, at least in his opinion, Matt wasn’t good enough for his precious daughter. And apparently, Princess Miranda felt the same way.
Miranda’s deceit and the unfairness of it all rose up like an index finger and poked at his chest, jabbing at an old wound that, apparently, hadn’t healed. It hurt like hell to know he’d been shut out of a family once again.
Last night, after Miranda came to hi
s bedroom and admitted that Emily was his, a secret she’d kept for nine years, Matt hadn’t been able to sleep a wink. He’d even popped a couple of the pain pills the doctor had prescribed and he rarely used. But even that hadn’t helped. Not when the real pain had very little to do with his knee.
He kept rehashing old conversations he’d put to rest years ago, like the last one he and Miranda had had.
Let’s take a break for a little while, Miranda had said. I’ll call you when Daddy’s cooled down and had a chance to think things over.
But that call never came.
Matt leaned his left hip against the cupboard under the kitchen counter, taking the weight off his left knee. He lifted his mug, but didn’t take a drink. Instead, he gazed at Miranda. She’d grown prettier with each passing year. Even in a pair of loose-fitting blue jeans and a baggy T-shirt, she was a knockout.
Her waist, once flat and perfect, had a paunch now. He’d noticed it before and had assumed it was to be expected after having a baby. That is, until she’d caught him watching her a few moments ago. An uneasy expression crossed her face, and the hand that had been resting on her rounded stomach dropped to her side.
Was she pregnant?
She might be, but he’d never ask.
All he knew was what Uncle George had told him yesterday. She’d recently ended a relationship and needed time to think.
She sure looked pensive this morning, as she stirred a teaspoon in her cup long after any sugar had dissolved.
What was she thinking about? Whether she should reconcile with her ex?
Or had she deserted another expectant father, leaving him completely unaware of her pregnancy? That is, if Matt’s suspicion was right.
He glanced at his uncle, who was cracking eggs into the skillet he’d used to fry ham. Did he know more about Miranda’s condition, her situation, than he’d let on?
He had to, since he’d clearly taken her under his wing, going so far as to provide housing and food for her and Emily, not to mention hosting a menagerie.