Can he cowboy up for fatherhood?
He had no room for love...until now.
After meeting the son he never knew he had, Marcus Palermo’s simple life turns upside down. Complicating things further is Lissa Hart, the boy’s lovely guardian. She’ll help him become a parent—but falling for a gruff cowboy is not in her plans. Will she realize her future lies in Bluebonnet Springs with the rugged rancher?
“Let’s try to be friends.”
“I’m trying,” Marcus told her in his low, gruff voice. “You have to give a guy a few days to figure things out and get over feeling like he’s had his legs kicked out from under him.”
“I know.” She pulled her seat belt around and he reached over to click it into place for her. “Thank you.”
“I’m not going to take him from you,” he said as they headed down the long driveway back to the main road.
The sting of tears took her by surprise. She wiped at them and when he handed her a handkerchief, she shook her head.
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, of course you are.” He shoved the handkerchief into her hand. “I know he needs you. I know he doesn’t need a scarred-up, dysfunctional cowboy for a dad.”
“I think you’re wrong,” she told him.
And the words took her by surprise.
She hadn’t expected to like Marcus Palermo...
BRENDA MINTON lives in the Ozarks with her husband, children, cats, dogs and strays. She is a pastor’s wife, Sunday-school teacher, coffee addict and sleep deprived. Not in that order. Her dream to be an author for Harlequin started somewhere in the pages of a romance novel about a young American woman stranded in a Spanish castle. Her dreams came true, and twenty-plus books later, she is an author hoping to inspire young girls to dream.
THE RANCHER’S SECRET CHILD
Brenda Minton
www.millsandboon.com.au
It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.
—Lamentations 3:22–23
This book is dedicated to my Aunt Joyce, Aunt Alice and Aunt Betty. And in memory of my Aunt Shirley Clark. They have taught us to have fun, to be classy when it matters, to live life to the fullest and to love family.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Excerpt from Her Texas Cowboy by Jill Lynn
Chapter One
A car door slammed and a child’s laughter rang out, followed by a woman’s voice. The horse beneath Marcus Palermo skittered across the arena, forcing him to hold tight. He managed a quick look in the direction of the visitors. A woman, tall with dark hair. A little boy with chocolate-brown hair who seemed all excited as he headed for the arena as Marcus made a last-ditch attempt at controlling the horse.
He had a few seconds to wonder where this woman and boy had come from and how they’d found the place, an old farm situated down a long dirt drive and hidden from view of the road by a copse of trees. He’d only recently purchased the old Brown farm and few people knew he lived here.
The boy shouted something as he ran toward the makeshift arena that Marcus had built with cattle panels. The horse jerked his head forward and took a few running bucks across the dirt-packed pen. Marcus’s hat flew off. He’d just bought that hat and he liked it. He tightened his legs, but the horse had the upper hand. The black-and-white paint gelding twisted and, with a final hard buck, sent Marcus flying. As he hit the ground, he remembered that he really didn’t like ranching all that much.
After a minute he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck where it hurt the most. Slowly he became aware of a couple of things. First, the horse he’d been attempting to ride had moseyed on over to the fence. The traitor had his head down like a big old puppy dog so the kid could pet him. The woman’s gaze left the boy and the horse and shifted his way, nervous and a bit guilty.
Considering she was partially to blame for his bad exit off the horse’s back, she could have at least asked if he was okay. But, no, she only managed to look sheepish as she ran her hand down the horse’s neck. The little boy seemed more curious than anything.
“No, don’t worry, I’m fine,” he muttered as he came to his feet.
He limped across the arena and grabbed the horse’s reins because he was a little jealous of the attention the animal was getting. He moved the gelding away from the fence and away from the hands of the visitors. The woman moved her sunglasses to the top of her head and narrowed her blue eyes at him. He must be getting better at offending the fairer sex. It had taken only two minutes for him to earn her displeasure. “Did he break your leg?” the little boy asked.
Marcus glanced at the kid. He was maybe five, with big eyes. Those eyes widened a bit, the normal reaction to Marcus’s face. Because it was a kid, not an adult staring at him, Marcus had sympathy. He half turned, giving the little boy his good side.
“No,” he answered roughly. “It would take more than that to break me.”
“I bet it would,” the boy said in awe.
Marcus hoped the woman and kid weren’t fans with the misplaced idea that he welcomed uninvited guests to the ranch for sightseeing. But the woman didn’t appear to be an admiring fan. She didn’t look like the type of woman who had ever witnessed a professional bull ride, let alone knew who the champions might be.
“Is there something I can help you with?” He looked down at the little boy and back at the woman, because there was something familiar about her.
She was taller than average, with long, dark hair, and had high cheekbones that made him think she had Native American ancestry. But she had startling blue eyes. The blue of a winter sky. Those eyes were boring into him like he was a bug and she couldn’t figure out what kind. So obviously not a fan.
Fine with him. He didn’t need fans. In fact, he didn’t need much of anything or anyone. Which was exactly why he’d picked this property, several miles off the beaten path and far enough away from his siblings that they wouldn’t always be in his business.
“Are you Marcus Palermo?” she asked, her hand protective on the boy’s shoulder.
“That would be me.”
“Then we need to talk.” She squatted to look the boy in the eye. “Sit and don’t move.”
“By myself?” For the first time, the little guy looked unsure. And Marcus had to admit to getting his hackles up when a kid looked unhappy.
“By himself?” he echoed. The question earned him an answering look from the female. She straightened and met his gaze head-on, those blue eyes once again penetrating him. He didn’t like feeling as if he was five and about to get in trouble.
He also didn’t like the fact that his gaze landed on cherry-glossed lips that were far from smiling, yet were still cherry. As if that bright gloss was the only frivolous thing she allowed herself.
“He’ll be fine,” she answered. “We’re going to head to the barn and talk for a few minutes. I’ll be able to see him from there. Correct?”
“Sure thing,” Marcus whispered.
“Do you e
ver talk loud?” the boy asked, looking up at him from the spot where she’d told him to sit. He had a small car, and as he stared at Marcus, he pushed the car through the dirt.
“No, I don’t.” Marcus walked off, leading the horse behind him. He heard the gate creak on its hinges and the footsteps hurrying to catch up.
He entered the side door to the barn and she followed him.
“Say what it is you came here to say.” He ground the words out. He didn’t mean to sound gruff, but it couldn’t be helped. Added to that, something about this woman put him off-kilter. And not in a totally bad way.
He gave her another long look and saw the wary shift of her gaze from his face to the door. She had bad news. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach.
She stood by the door, watching first the boy and then him.
“My name is Lissa Hart. Sammy Lawson was my sister. Well, foster sister.”
Sammy. He unsaddled the horse and led the animal to a stall to be dealt with later. He wouldn’t put a horse out to pasture without giving it a good brushing and grain. Even a horse that had tossed him in the dirt.
It had been about six years since he’d seen Sammy. The mention of her had taken him back to a time and place, a version of himself, he’d rather forget. He needed a minute to collect his thoughts, so he made sure the horse had plenty of hay and fresh water. Finally, he turned to face Lissa Hart.
“Sammy? I haven’t heard from her in a long time.”
Pain sparked in her eyes and she blinked a few times. “Marcus, Sammy passed away. A little over a year ago. I thought you would have heard.”
He walked away from her. Now he needed more than a minute. His heart constricted, reminding him he did indeed have one. Sammy gone. It didn’t make sense. The two of them had dated for a few months until she broke it off with him. He hadn’t loved her, but he had cared for her. They’d been a bad fit, in different places, rubbing each other wrong. She, like so many women in his life, had wanted more than a broken-down, dysfunctional bull rider with an alcohol problem.
It seemed like a lifetime ago.
Emotions in check, he faced her again. “What happened?”
“She had an accident. Her injuries were serious. I made it to the hospital, but...”
She closed her eyes and he understood.
“I’m sorry,” he said more softly than normal, and his eyes misted with unwelcome dampness. “I tried to call her after she ended it with me. She let me know she didn’t want me around.”
“She had ideas about what she wanted in life.”
“And it wasn’t a rough bull rider from Bluebonnet Springs, Texas.” He couldn’t keep the resentment from his voice.
“She told me she was afraid together you’d be combustible and you’d self-destruct. She needed peace.”
“Yeah, I get that. That brings us to why you’re here, and then you can leave.” He got the sneaking suspicion it wasn’t going to go that way.
She swallowed hard, and he felt a pang of something resembling guilt or regret. She’d lost someone she considered a sister. Sammy had been young and so full of life. She’d had dreams. And now she was gone. He muttered under his breath and wiped his eyes. Contrary to how he was acting, he wasn’t heartless.
“I’m here because she wanted me to find you.”
“Find me why?” He took a step toward her and then changed direction so that he could look out the door, needing to check for himself that the boy was okay.
“He’s your son.” The words sprang from her lips, and for a minute he couldn’t make sense of them.
The boy sat where they’d left him. He was making motor noises for his car and intent on building a ramp. Marcus watched him for a moment and then turned to face the woman who had just upended his entire world.
“No.” He said it again. “No. She would have told me.”
“She knew you weren’t ready to settle down or ready for a family. She wanted to protect him the way she hadn’t been protected as a child.”
“Then why are you here now?”
“Because I promised.” Her words were soft, sad. She shrugged. “She had heard you were changing, getting your act together.”
“That doesn’t explain anything.”
Her gaze dropped, but not before he saw the sheen of moisture. “I was with her at the hospital, and she told me to find you, and if you had your life together, then I should bring Oliver to meet you.”
“You waited a year.”
“I had to find you. I also had to keep my promise that I would make sure you had changed.”
“You waited a year,” he repeated, more angry than he’d been in a long time.
“I won’t let anyone or anything hurt Oliver,” she informed him. “And you haven’t exactly been a model citizen.”
That wasn’t untrue. He gave her a steady look and wondered if she would back down. She didn’t. He gave her points for that—most people didn’t hold up under the glare he’d perfected since childhood.
“The kid is out there alone. You should go get him. And you should leave.”
“The kid has a name. His name is Oliver and he’s your son.”
His son. He gave his head a quick shake. He had a son. The kid out there who had looked up at him with a mixture of fear, awe and concern was his. And he was the last person that boy needed in his life.
Lissa cleared her throat, gaining his attention.
“We have to finish this. And just because you go all angry cowboy on me doesn’t mean I’m leaving. Sammy had a will. She gave me custody of Oliver. She wanted you in your son’s life. But she had stipulations.”
“I’m not good at ultimatums.”
One shoulder lifted in a casual shrug. “I told her you wouldn’t be happy about this.”
She walked back to the door of the barn and peeked out.
“I think saying I’m not happy is an understatement. She kept my son from me. I’ll admit I’m not looking to have a family, but I think a man should know when he has a child. At the very least I should have been helping out, supporting him.” A light came on as those words left his mouth. “Oh. Is that why you’re here?”
“For money?” In her defense, she looked pretty insulted. “I don’t need your money. I brought Oliver to meet you because Sammy had some misguided notion that you would maybe grow up. I guess you told her often enough while you were dating that you didn’t plan on being a husband or a father, but she thought you might change your mind.”
He grabbed the brush out of a bucket and opened the stall door. The horse moved to his side, and he snapped a lead rope on the halter and led the animal to the cross ties in the center of the barn. He needed something to focus on, something other than the obvious. He was a father. The role he least wanted in life was now his.
He pretended it was anger he felt, but a good dose of fear got mixed up in the emotion. Fear of failing a child. Fear of being like his own father.
“I’m not responsible. I doubt I ever will be. So I guess you ought to take the kid and go.” If he acted as if he didn’t care, maybe she would believe him and leave. Maybe she would take the boy and give him a chance at a happier, healthier life than either Sammy or Marcus had known growing up.
“Go where?” the boy asked from the open door of the barn.
Marcus stroked the brush down the gelding’s neck. Once. Twice. Three times. With each stroke of the brush, he took a deep breath. And then he eased around to face the little boy. Oliver. His son.
Because of his own father, he recognized himself in that little boy. He saw a kid who was unsure. He saw fear. He saw uncertainty. He had been that kid. And now he was the dad. He hadn’t planned on being a parent because he’d never wanted to see that look in a kid’s eyes.
His attention shifted from the boy to the aunt. She didn’t believe in him. The fact that he care
d what she thought was his third surprise of the day and none of those surprises had really been pleasant.
* * *
Lissa Hart held out her hand and Oliver hurried to her side. His small hand tucked into hers and she gave it a gentle squeeze. She didn’t know what else to say to Marcus Palermo. While she certainly hadn’t expected this to be easy, she found it even harder than she’d imagined.
Something about this man made her uneasy. Not afraid. She didn’t think he would hurt Oliver. He seemed rough and unfeeling, but she’d seen something in his expression, in the depths of his dark eyes, that told her he felt plenty.
Sammy had fancied herself in love with Marcus, but she’d ended the relationship because he was too broken, too angry to be the kind of person she could count on. Still, her sister had wanted him to heal, and she’d wanted him to have a chance with his son.
He’d stopped brushing the horse and he focused on Oliver, his dark gaze studying the little boy, a miniature version of himself. His mouth twitched, as if he might have found humor in something. The movement drew her attention to the jagged scar across his left cheek. That scar did nothing to detract from his looks. His too-long hair curling at his collar gave him a youthful appearance. But the firm jawline, the not-quite smile on his lips—those belonged to a man. A man who had lived a hard life and seen a lot of pain.
He shifted his focus from Oliver to her, and one brow arched in what could only be a challenge. She didn’t flinch or look away. Neither did he, but then he dismissed her and returned his attention to Oliver. He squatted, holding out the brush.
“Do you want to brush him before you leave?” he asked quietly.
Oliver nodded because he was a little boy and of course he wanted to stand by this cowboy and brush the horse. He looked up at Lissa, seeking permission. He didn’t know yet that this man was his father. She hadn’t known how to tell him, and she hadn’t wanted him to be disappointed. The odds had been good that Marcus would reject his child or not be able to be a parent to him, and her main goal was to protect Oliver. Sammy had entrusted her with his care.
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