Expecting His Brother's Baby (Baby Bonds #3)

by Karen Rose Smith

  Her answer was quick coming. “Do you really think he’d tell you? He’d never want you to know that he’d failed to succeed in managing what Jack had left him.”

  “What if I’d come back and seen it?”

  “But you didn’t. The decline of Saddle Ridge didn’t happen overnight. It’s been slow. There were times when I thought that with or without Alex’s help I could turn it around—”

  She stopped.

  “What do you mean with or without Alex’s help?”

  The guarded expression was back on her face, the shadows in her eyes.

  “Why wouldn’t Alex want to keep Saddle Ridge going?” he pressed.

  “Oh, he wanted to keep it going. Rather, he wanted me to keep it going.”

  “And what was he doing?” Brock asked cautiously.

  “You know what he was doing. He was riding the rodeo circuit, chasing the wildest bull.”

  That’s what Dix had said. Brock thought about the times Alex had called him. Often he’d been away from Saddle Ridge. And whenever Brock had called Alex—those times had been too few—at Alex’s direction, he’d gotten hold of him on his cell phone.

  So Kylie wouldn’t answer?

  The same tension that had looped around them ever since he’d stepped into Kylie’s hospital room surrounded them now. It was broken when the door opened and Dix came in.

  The foreman took off his Stetson and when he entered the kitchen, he looked like a man who was facing his executioner. “Are you still talking to me?” he asked Kylie.

  “Do I have any choice?” she returned with a half smile that told Brock she couldn’t stay mad at Dix for long.

  “You do,” the older man answered, “but the horses don’t like a woman in a snit any more than I do.”

  She laughed. The sound was so genuine, so free, that Brock remembered the girl she’d been.

  “Well then, that decides it,” she said, getting to her feet and wincing because she’d moved too fast.

  Every protective instinct in Brock urged him to push back his chair, put his arm around her shoulders and make sure she got to the sofa safely. Yet he stayed put because he knew she wouldn’t tolerate it.

  Kylie was lifting her plate to take it to the sink when Brock said, “I’ll get the dishes.”

  Dix’s gaze cut from one of them to the other. “Looks like everything’s under control in here,” he muttered.

  “In a week I’ll be back in the barn,” Kylie told him.

  “Only to visit.” Brock’s voice was steel.

  “You don’t have anything to worry about,” Dix assured her. “Feather’s doing fine. She even let me put a blanket on her rump this afternoon. Of course she does miss you, but I’ll tend to her real good.”

  “Feather?” Brock asked.

  “I adopted a mustang from the B.L.M.”

  The Bureau of Land Management thinned the wild mustang herds that roamed the western rangelands, then they put the horses up for adoption. The mustangs were descendants of the Spanish horses and, when trained, made great riding mounts with stout constitutions. But not just anyone had the patience to gentle a wild mustang. Kylie obviously did.

  Reflexively, his gaze went to her rounding tummy. She’d make a wonderful mother. He’d seen her patience and kindness as she’d interacted with horses. She’d be the same with children.

  “Thanks, Dix. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” The sincerity in her voice said she meant every word.

  Flushing, her foreman dropped his hat back on his head. “I’ll be in my quarters if you need me.”

  This afternoon Brock had learned Dix resided in the old apartment over the barn where Kylie had stayed when she’d moved to the ranch. The bunkhouse, which once housed four to six hands, no longer had running water or electricity. Brock still didn’t understand what had happened here, and he intended to find out.

  Every step Kylie took to the sofa seemed to be an effort, and Brock knew she was hurting. She was so petite, her pregnancy mainly showed at her tummy. Her cheeks might be a tiny bit fuller, her breasts might be a little bigger—

  He stopped that thought before it could form. He stopped that thought before a picture went with it. She was a pregnant woman, for God’s sake! He couldn’t be attracted to her.

  Could he? Hadn’t he always noticed Kylie, but—being five years older—kept away from her? After Alex had declared his intentions to marry her and kept declaring them until he did it, Brock had stepped away for good. She was still his brother’s wife. She was still carrying his brother’s baby. And she loved Saddle Ridge.

  He’d almost hated it. He’d hated what Jack Warner had felt about it. He’d hated the fact that his father had left it to his brother. He’d hated all the memories that had made him feel like a second-class citizen and his mother an outcast. Everyone had known Jack hadn’t loved Conchita Vasco. He’d done his duty by her. When he’d met someone else who was his kind, who would produce the blond son he’d craved, he’d divorced Brock’s mother and never cared about seeing her again. He’d been a cold man. When his new wife had been diagnosed with breast cancer and died a few years later, he’d turned even colder.

  Coming back here had rubbed every one of Brock’s nerves raw. Being around Kylie wasn’t helping. The best solution for both of them was to sell Saddle Ridge and move on. But he had the feeling that wasn’t anywhere in her plans.

  Brock was dropping plates into the dishwasher when the phone rang. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kylie reach for the cordless on the end table by the sofa. She obviously knew the person on the other end because she propped a pillow at the sofa’s arm and curled into it, trying to make herself comfortable.

  In spite of himself, Brock wondered about her life now. What had she done in her free time before she’d become pregnant? Did she still ride into the Painted Peaks, hoping to glimpse the bands of mustangs that hadn’t inhabited the mountains for years? Did she ever return to Devil’s Canyon in the Bighorns and feel as if she were standing on top of the world? He’d taken her there once…the day before her graduation.

  Why was he remembering that now? Why was he remembering the peace and awe on her face as she’d studied the striated cliffs, the gorge, the river below? Why could he still remember her absolute delight when she’d spotted a band of mustangs?

  He’d learned “why” wasn’t a good question to ask. What should he do? was more easily answered. Action won over philosophizing any day.

  Fifteen minutes later, the kitchen cleaned up, a pot of coffee brewed and a mug in his hand, he no longer heard Kylie’s voice on the phone.

  Going to the living room he sat in the armchair across from her. “A friend calling to see if you got home safe and sound?”

  The smile left her face, and at first he thought she was going to put those guards up again. Instead, she asked, “Do you remember Shaye Bartholomew?”

  He remembered both girls Kylie had run with. Shaye was a brunette and Gwen Langworthy had auburn curls that had bobbed everywhere. “I remember Shaye. Her father was a doctor—a cardiologist.”

  “Yes. He still is. At least until the New Year. Then, from what Shaye says, he’s going to retire.”

  “I’m surprised Shaye stayed in Wild Horse Junction. She was a smart girl.”

  “Smart girls leave?” Kylie asked with a hint of amusement.

  “If I remember correctly, Shaye was headed off to college.” Kylie had been smart, too, so smart she’d skipped a grade and was a year younger than her friends. But she’d never had aspirations to go to college or to leave Wild Horse Junction. Not as far as Brock knew.

  “Right now she’s a social worker part-time. Last February, Dylan Malloy’s sister died. He was probably a year or two ahead of you in school. Anyway, his sister had a baby right before she passed on, and her will made Shaye legal guardian.”

  “Not her brother?”

  “After Dylan’s and Julia’s parents died, he’d given up his own dreams to get his sister out of foster
care. She lived with him. I guess as an adult, she hadn’t wanted to burden him again with a baby. But along the way of figuring out whether Shaye or Dylan would be the best parent for Julia’s son, they fell in love. They just married in July.”

  “What about Gwen? Are you still in touch with her?”

  “Sure am. She’s an obstetrical nurse practitioner. She’s getting married after Christmas and I’m her matron of honor.”

  Bypassing details of the wedding, he remarked, “You said you’re due the end of January. When’s your exact due date?” He was surprised she was going to be in a wedding that late in her pregnancy.

  “January twenty-ninth. I’ll be as big as a house, but Gwen didn’t seem to care. Both Shaye and I are standing up for her.”

  “I’m surprised the three of you are still close. That doesn’t often happen—childhood friends holding on until adulthood.”

  “No, I guess it doesn’t. But we were always more like sisters than friends. Shaye asked me to come for Thanksgiving dinner, but her place will be bedlam with all her family. I’m not sure I’ll be ready for that by Thursday.”

  “Wise choice.”

  “I’m glad you approve,” she responded somewhat acerbically.

  “Kylie, I didn’t mean to make it sound—”

  “As if you know best?” she interrupted. “That’s exactly how you’ve made it sound ever since you arrived.” Shifting to the edge of the sofa, she used her good arm to push herself up. “I think I’m going to turn in. It’s early, but the doctor said to rest, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

  She knew he wasn’t about to refute the doctor’s orders. She could make her escape and he’d be left with his thoughts, as well as the mess Saddle Ridge was in.

  “Where’s your computer?” he asked.

  “In the spare room upstairs. Why?”

  “Because I want to start going over the books.”

  “Tonight? I really should show you the program I use.”

  “I’m computer savvy. I have to be with the work I do. I can figure out almost any program. Do you have a problem with me looking at the records?”

  “Would it matter if I did?” she asked with a sigh.

  “No, not if you want me to help you.”

  “That’s the problem, Brock. I don’t know if I want your help, not only for my sake, but for yours. You don’t want to be here. You don’t want to be involved with Saddle Ridge.”

  “You’re my sister-in-law. Family helps family.”

  “Like Jack and Alex helped you?”

  “I didn’t need Alex’s help. And Jack? Well, he put me through college. That’s one of the reasons my mother left me here with him. He gave me my future, so I really can’t complain.”

  “He never gave you the love and care you needed. You have every right to complain,” she said softly…compassionately.

  “Let’s not get into that, Kylie. The past is what it was. Now Jack and Alex are gone, and you have decisions to make.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as whether or not you’re going to sell Saddle Ridge and start a really good life with the proceeds.”

  She frowned. “Which you’ll get half of.”

  He studied her for a few seconds. “You think that’s why I came?”

  “I’m still not sure why you came.”

  Since he wasn’t, either, he was going to let that subject drop. But then he said, “I didn’t come here to hurt you. I know you’re grieving. I know you miss Alex and the life you had. I also know it’s better not to make major decisions right after a loved one dies. But you really have no choice.”

  “I’m managing,” she protested.

  “That’s why I want to look at the books. To see if you are.”

  She put a weary hand to her forehead.

  He thought it trembled a little. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. In the meantime, don’t you think you should be sleeping downstairs?”

  “Why?”

  “It would be safer. If you need things from up there, I can bring them down.”

  The expression on her face brought him to his feet because he knew she was going to fight him on this and probably everything else.

  “You were Alex’s older brother, Brock, not mine. You say you want to help. Fine. There’s not much I can do about that. But helping doesn’t mean changing the way I live my life. Helping means taking some of the burden off of Dix. Helping means getting to know Feather until I can get back out into the barn. Helping means looking at my agenda, not setting one of your own. If you can help in those ways, I’d be more than grateful if you’d stay. But if you came here with the idea that I’m going to put Saddle Ridge up for sale and sell it to a developer so you can wipe away the memories and pretend you weren’t raised here, it’s not going to happen.”

  Her blue eyes were shiny with emotion now. “I love this ranch. Every hill and valley, every fence post, every floor-board that creaks. It’s my son or daughter’s future. A way of life that’s vanishing. I won’t let it vanish for him or her.” She went to the stairway and took hold of the banister. “I’ll be careful, Brock. Believe me, I will.” She started up the steps.

  Her shoulders held a courageous line, and in spite of the friction between them, he wanted to take her into his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right. But that was the last thing he intended to do. Truthfully, he didn’t know if everything would be all right. How could it be, when her husband was dead and she was in debt up to her pretty little ears? He had to find out how much. He had to find out what it would take to dig her out.

  “As soon as I warm up my coffee, I’ll work up in the spare room.”

  She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Do whatever you need to do. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He watched her until she reached the top of the stairs. Then she disappeared into the hall shadows. Moments later, he heard her bedroom door close.

  Those had been tears in her eyes as she’d defended her dreams, and he felt like a heel for causing them. Snatching up his mug, he took it to the kitchen, hearing his father’s voice echo sarcastically in his head. Welcome home, Brock.

  He refilled his mug, determined to block out his father’s indifference, along with the turmoil returning here had caused.

  Chapter Two

  When Kylie awakened, her room was pitch-black. No moon gave even an inkling of light. It was this time of night when she missed Alex most, and she wasn’t even sure why. What she missed was the way they’d been together after they first married. What she missed was the friendship and true caring they’d once shared. Over the past year, Alex had been away more than he’d been home. In the middle of the night, she’d often awakened, wishing he were there holding her, smiling at her in that crooked, boyish way he had. The daytime hours were so busy and passed so fast, she didn’t have time to think. At night she did. She had time to think, feel and miss what might have been.

  She had turned in early because she’d been hurting and because she’d had to escape Brock’s questions as well as the look of censure in his eyes. The corner of her heart that at seventeen had thought he could do no wrong begged to be unlocked. But if she unlocked it, all of her fears and worries and regrets would come pouring out. She didn’t know if it was safe to give any of those to Brock. Her encounter with Trish Hammond was a sore that wouldn’t heal. She badly needed salve for it. When she had some time alone with Gwen and Shaye, she’d probably tell them about it. But it wasn’t something she could discuss easily. It wasn’t anything she could discuss when other people were around. It was embarrassing and humiliating and so deep-down painful, sometimes it took her breath away.

  Alex had been unfaithful.

  For how long? With more women than Trish? At the moment, she felt like Brock, wanting to evade or dismiss the past. She knew, in the long run, whatever happened to her would make her stronger. Still…right now she just plain hurt, emotionally and physically. Tears welled up in her eyes and she let them dribb
le down her cheeks. But then she stopped the self-pity, and as she had so often over the past months, she thought about her child.

  Reaching to the nightstand, her fingers wrapped around her solution to insomnia—her tape player. There was a stack of cassettes there, too. She’d collected them over the years, and now switched on R. Carlos Nakai’s Christmas music.

  The haunting notes of flutes and bells had her rubbing her tummy tenderly. “What do you think, baby? I know this is one of your favorites. You always settle down when I play this one.”

  Her baby was a kicker, especially—it seemed—in the middle of the night. But this music always seemed to calm her little one, as well as her. Even if she didn’t sleep while it played, she rested. Sweet visions of the mountains and the mustangs and the water rippling calm and serene filled the darkest time of night.

  Using a technique she’d learned from a yoga class she’d taken with Gwen and Shaye many years before, she consciously relaxed her muscles, breathing out stress, breathing in peace.

  Two soft raps on the door broke her focused concentration. “Kylie? Are you okay?”

  “If I say I’m fine, will you throw a fit?”

  She didn’t hear his sigh or see the roll of his eyes, but she knew he probably did both.

  He answered gruffly, “You have a concussion.”

  Yes, she did. The doctor had told her it would be better if she weren’t alone for the next few days. He’d probably told Dix the same thing. That’s why Brock was here. Some misguided sense of duty. He’d gotten the full gift of responsibility that Alex had lacked.

  She switched off the tape player. “If you want to come in and see for yourself I’m not in a coma, feel free.” Propping herself a little higher on the pillows, she turned on the bedside lamp.

  The doorknob turned, the door opened and then Brock was standing there in her bedroom, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else on earth.