by Tawny Taylor
I reached for me but jerked his hand back before touching me. “I didn’t lie, Morgan. I meant every word I said last night.”
Wow, he was so fucking convincing. Maybe I wasn’t such an idiot for falling for his bullshit? He looked so sincere. He sounded sincere too. But I knew better. I knew he was lying. “How about that sad story about wanting to be an astronaut and not being able to leave? Tell me that wasn’t a story to make me feel sorry for you, to soften me up.”
“Hell no. It was true. I told you because I wanted to share a part of me, of my life, with you.”
I had to give it to him, he was very good actor. But I knew the truth. And I was going to make him admit it to me. “What about telling me you can’t get a girl pregnant! That has to be a lie.”
“No, that’s not a lie,” he insisted. “It’s true.”
Ha! I had him now. “Then why are you paying child support to some bitch with fake tits?”
His eyes widened, and a tiny crack appeared in his calm, cool I’ve-got-everything-under-control expression. Yeah, I had him backed into a corner. “You talked to Lacy?”
I poked his deflating chest with my index finger. “You can’t lie your way out of this one.”
“I didn’t lie. I can’t get a woman pregnant. I can show you the proof.”
Proof? What kind of proof did he have that countered the obvious—a kid? “I’d say Lacy showed me proof that says you can.”
“Unless the child isn’t mine,” he countered.
Shit. I hadn’t considered that option. I’d assumed the kid was his, that he had to be the father if he was paying support. Wasn’t that how it worked? “But you’re paying child support. Can you be forced to pay for a child that isn’t yours?”
“No, you can’t,” he said, a cocky I’ve-got-you smile spreading wide. “But I’m not paying court-ordered support.”
“What? Wait. Are you saying you’re voluntarily paying support for a child that isn’t yours? Why would you do that?”
He nodded. “A lot of people have asked me that.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. Did I believe this explanation? No, not really. But it was possible, I supposed. Totally unlikely, but possible. “No man would volunteer to pay child support for a kid who wasn’t his. Not to mention, I got the distinct impression that the mother of said child believes very strongly that you are the father.”
“She’s convinced herself I am. And that’s fine.” He shrugged. “The blood tests say otherwise. But I’m not going to bother with setting her straight. Because that kid is the closest I’ll ever have to a child of my own.”
That explanation shook me. Because it made sense (in a strange but somewhat logical way). Clay wanted children. He wanted them badly. But he couldn’t father them. So why not claim one that was unwanted by some other asshole? But just because his explanation was plausible, did that make it true? I was so confused. Could I trust him? Or couldn’t I? Who was the liar, Lacy or Clay? “She said you are late paying child support,” I mentioned as I tried to mentally sort through the twisty-turny lies and half-truths.
“That’s a lie. I’m not late. I just gave her a check last week.” He sighed and shoved his fingers through his hair. “Obviously Lacy came here to stir up trouble. And she succeeded. This isn’t the first time she’s pulled something like this. When did you talk to her? Was it this morning?”
“Yes. Not long ago. You just missed her.”
He rolled his eyes. “Convenient. She just happened to leave before I got here so I couldn’t defend myself.”
“That’s because I told her to leave.”
Looking annoyed but not guilty, he searched my eyes, as if he was looking for a sign from me that I believed him. I did. At least, I believed some of his explanations. But there was still that nagging doubt, making me uneasy. I was a fool last night, letting down my guard so easily and blindly believing everything he’d said. “Of course you told her to leave. She knew you would.”
So far he’d explained a lot of what she’d said. His explanations were reasonable, though a little bizarre. However, I could not assume everything Lacy said was a lie. There could have been some grain of truth in there somewhere. “But how did she know about… about what happened between us last night? She knew everything. Where we went. The dinner. The truck… everything. She said you’d done those same things with her and every other girl in this town.”
He nodded and shouldered the post again. “She wasn’t lying about that. I have done those same things with her. And with a few other girls. Not all. I’m not that good.” He flashed that smile, the one that no doubt melted all those girls’ hearts and looked me straight in the eye. “But that doesn’t mean what I said wasn’t true. I have been thinking about you for a long time. And I never expected to… I never thought last night would happen.”
I could tell he was being honest now. And vulnerable. And I appreciated it. But I was still leery. Sure, I could believe that a man who couldn’t father a child might claim a kid who wasn’t his. But… but…
The bottom line: I just didn’t trust him.
I gently pushed on his chest, forcing him back. “We need to get to work.”
“Sure. Now’s not the time to talk about this.”
“Right.” Turning back to Rocket, I let my head fall forward. The horse nuzzled me with his velvety nose, the first time he’d ever shown me any kind of affection. I stroked the soft fur and blinked hard. “Thanks, boy. I needed that.”
8
Thankfully, the rest of the day was much less dramatic than the morning. Sure, everything didn’t go perfectly. We were dealing with animals, after all. There was always some kind of chaos going on. Though Rocket was on his best behavior for once. It was as if he sensed I was upset and didn’t want to make things worse.
Aunt Sandee had always told me horses were tuned into people’s feelings. I never believed her. To me they were big, stubborn, and a little scary. Today, Rocket helped me see another side of his personality. This side I actually liked. Unlike Elvis, the ever-crowing rooster. He was up to no good all day long. And by the time the sun was hanging low over the western horizon, I was ready to throw him on a pot and cook him for dinner.
The hard work helped distract me. That was the best part of it all. I didn’t sit around thinking about Clay, about the child that might be his, or might not. The fact that he was so predictable when it came to women. And that he hadn’t even tried to deny that he’d treated me pretty much the same way he’d treated every other girl he’d slept with in his truck.
Since the summer he’d broken my heart, I’d believed he was a total tool. An asshole that broke women’s hearts for kicks and felt absolutely no remorse. I’d spent a little time with him since then, and now I wanted to believe he wasn’t all bad. I wanted to believe he possessed some redeeming qualities. But maybe that was just hopeful thinking. And maybe I was an absolute fool for believing a word he said.
I knew, as the day wound down and the workers left, that he would come looking for me, wanting to talk.
I wasn’t ready.
I needed time to think.
Outside the barn, I glanced around, looking for him. I didn’t find him, which was a good thing. Maybe he wanted to give me time to digest everything I’d learned this morning. Then again, maybe he was repairing the broken fence in the far pasture. Whatever. Didn’t matter. I was going inside, having some dinner alone, and losing myself in a book.
I waved a goodbye to one of the boys and stomped up to the porch, yanking off my nasty boots before going inside in my stockinged feet. My stomach rumbled but I headed to the bathroom first. Shower. Then food. I smelled like shit. Literally.
Roughly twenty minutes later, I exited the bathroom smelling a lot better and wearing nothing but a bath towel. Water dripped from my wet hair as I hurried to my bedroom to get dressed.
I’d just stepped into my panties when I heard the first round of knocks on the front door.
I’d gotten them t
o my hips when the second series thumped through the house.
I sighed then yanked on a sweatshirt and jumped into a pair of jeans.
The third series of knocks started just as I was making my way through the living room, toward the front door. I opened it.
It was Clay.
Holding a bunch of wildflowers (weeds).
A round of nonstop sneezes kicked in, and I blurted, “Allergic,” while stabbing my index finger at the cause.
Reacting quickly, Clay turned around and tossed them out the open door. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”
Standing in the door, I blinked watery eyes and tried to smile. “It’s okay. How would you, right? I’ve been downing antihistamines all week. It’s the thought that counts.”
“So does that mean you’ll let me in? I’d like to talk.” He gave me one of his trademark smiles.
I hesitated, waffling back and forth between letting him in and not. If I let him in, I couldn’t trust myself to just talk. The chemistry between us was way too strong. One thing would probably lead to another. And I didn’t need to have sex with him again. That would only make this whole situation that much more confusing. If I didn’t let him in, things would be awkward between us for a while. But it would give me time to figure out whether Clay Walker was the fucking jerk I’d thought or not. “No, I don’t think you should come inside tonight.”
His expression soured, the smile wilting. “Oh.” He looked like a kid who’d lost his puppy.
“I need some space. To think about things. I mean…” I stared into his eyes and forgot what I was going to say. “I mean…” A million thoughts raced through my head.
Clay lifted his hands. “I get it. I’ll back off.” He took a step back as if to illustrate, backing out the door. “No need to explain. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned. His boots thumped down the wood steps.
I took one last look at him and closed the door.
Wow, did I feel shitty.
Why was that? I shouldn’t feel guilty. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I just needed some time to figure things out. It would help if I had someone to talk to, someone I could trust. Someone who knew Clay and was objective.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t going to find either around here. No friends of his could be trusted to tell me the truth. And the women…? Not going to be objective, that was for sure. Not if he’d slept with them.
There was one exception. One girl even Clay wouldn’t fuck.
His sister.
She wouldn’t be objective. But she still might be able to give me some insight.
Was she still living in Dawson? Clay hadn’t mentioned her at all since I’d come back.
My stomach reminded me, with a loud growl, that I hadn’t eaten in hours. I threw together a salad and stuffed some into my mouth as I searched Aunt Sandee’s kitchen, looking for the phone directory.
Dawson was one of those towns that was stuck in the nineteenth century. They still printed a phone and address directory, listing every single household by name. But the problem was, I didn’t know if Clay’s sister, Carrie had married. She might have a different last name. Or she might have left the state. It was a total long shot. But I wouldn’t lose anything by trying.
I scored the latest directory in a drawer. Past editions were stacked in the living room on the bottom bookshelf next to the fireplace. Aunt Sandee was like that, never threw away stuff. Especially anything to do with her hometown.
A few turns of the page, and I found an entry for Carrie Walker. It was a freaking miracle. She was still single, living in an apartment in town.
I checked the clock. It was still early. I could take a little drive into town and check in with her. Although we hadn’t been super-close when I was in high school, we did hang out together a few times.
I grabbed my bag and jumped into my car, and within minutes I was bumping and rattling down the road toward downtown Dawson. I passed corn fields and pastures and hay fields, the smell of cow manure and fresh cut hay blasting through the open windows.
Downtown Dawson looked a lot like most Wyoming small towns. Tired and dusty, both sides of Main Street lined by typical western-looking buildings with tall front facades and long porch roofs held up with hand-carved timber posts. I parked in front of the pizza restaurant located in the only two-story building on Main Street and looked up. The apartments were above. The entries probably in the back.
I circled around the building and climbed the staircase, pausing at the top to question whether I was being an idiot or not.
I knocked before I could answer my own question because if I waited, I would probably chicken out and run.
No answer.
I didn’t bother knocking again. Either Carrie wasn’t home or she didn’t want visitors. I’d have to try another time.
Disappointed, I stomped down the stairs and wandered around to the front of the pizzeria. I flopped into my driver’s seat and stared out the windshield, trying to decide if I wanted to head to the nearby pub for a drink or just call it a night and go home.
While I was sitting there, trying to convince myself I wouldn’t look like a loser going into the pub alone, I caught sight of a couple out of the corner of my eye. They were strolling down the sidewalk, his arm flopped over her shoulder.
I took a closer look at them. They were coming this way, but with the setting sun behind them I couldn’t make out more than silhouettes. They looked so sweet and in love. Their steps in perfect time with each other. The bodies linked, moving as one. The sound of the woman’s laughter echoed through the quiet.
They strolled past the pizzeria's window, the light illuminating their faces.
Ohmygod!
My heart stopped.
It wasn’t.
It couldn’t be…
Clay.
That bastard!
I looked at the woman. Was it Carrie?
No, that wasn’t his sister. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen her, but I was sure that wasn’t her. This girl is pretty, in a very trying-too-hard kind of way, with her heavy makeup and fuck-me clothes. No, this girl was after one thing—Clay’s dick. And, gauging from the look on his face, she was going to have it.
What a fool I’d been! How did that saying go? A tiger never changed its stripes? Yes, pretty sure that was it. And once a jerk, always a jerk.
Clay’s companion leaned in and kissed his cheek, whispering something in his ear.
He nodded and, absolutely clueless that I was sitting right in front of them, he walked by, headed who-knew-where. Maybe the freaking pasture to have dinner and a fuck under the stars.
In no mood to be in public now (though a lot of alcohol would be good), I started my car and steered out of the parking spot. And, somehow, even though I was determined to drive home and put an end to this fucked up day, I ended up stopping in front of the pub. I blamed my bruised ego. It needed some soothing male recognition. I might be a fool, but I was a hot fool. Surely there’d be plenty of men in the pub willing to help me feel less… forgettable.
One drink. After the day I’d had, I deserved one drink.
I grabbed my bag and went inside.
The place was a pit. Narrow. Dark. Packed with people. One quick look around and I noticed the clientele was older than I expected. The men all dressed in cowboy hats, faded jeans, gray stubble and lots of tattoos. The women didn’t look a whole lot different than the men—minus the stubble…for some of them. The place stank of stale beer and sweat. Hank Williams wailed on hidden speakers. A few heads turned my way as I stepped inside, shoes scuffing across the rough plank floors. I wiggled and bumped my way between tables to the long bar lining the wall to the left. A busty girl with her tits practically falling out of her top asked for my order. Second-guessing my decision, I ordered a beer and turned to see if I’d made as big a mistake as I’d originally thought.
“Well, hello there, darlin’,” a man at least thirty years older than me said as he eyed me up and down. This creepy leer was not
what I’d been hoping for when I’d come in here. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
Feeling totally out-of-place, I gave my elderly admirer a little smile then turned back to the bar. This was definitely not my crowd.
“’S’cuse me, but since when did a nice compliment like that deserve such a chilly reception?” the man said, his scowl turning his wrinkles into deep lines. He leaned closer, the stench of his breath making my eyes water. “Think you’re too good for me, bitch?”
Aw crap. Nothing was going right for me today. I was done. Out of there.
The bartender set my beer on a little paper napkin and proclaimed, “That’ll be five dollars.”
I fished a five and a one out of my purse, handed it to her, and then walked away, leaving the full beer on the bar. I side-stepped around groups of middle-aged people, jabbering and flirting and drinking way too much and finally plunged outside, into the fresh air. I sucked in a deep breath, let it out slowly.
I stomped back to my car and flopped into the driver’s seat. So much for consoling myself with some alcohol and a little male attention. I shoved the key in the ignition and gave it a crank. The engine turned over, and over… and over. It didn’t start.
Shit. I didn’t need this now.
I twisted the key again, and once more the engine sputtered but didn’t start.
This day was royally fucked.
First, I’d been screwed by Clay. And now I was screwed, thanks to my piece of crap car. How was I going to get back to the ranch?
I was done. Done! If that fucking lawyer came up to me right now and told me I could leave tonight, go back to Michigan, and still inherit my aunt’s money, I would scream for joy… and immediately get my ass back to civilization.
But that wasn’t going to happen.
I let my head fall forward, forehead resting on the steering wheel. What was I going to do?
Someone knocked on the passenger side window.