by Deb Kastner
Maybe he shouldn’t visit the Becketts tonight. It would probably be better for all concerned if he just turned around and walked away. If it wasn’t enough that he might cause Grant and Carol any means of distress, he and Laney had knocked heads enough times already for one day.
Then again, why should he let Laney dictate anything he did with his life? If he wanted to visit with the Becketts, he’d do it, Laney or no. Grant and Carol hadn’t given him any reason to believe his presence caused them any grief, although now that he thought about it, he would try to be more aware of their feelings.
His decision made, he hastened to the house. He didn’t go to the front door as a guest might do, but rather entered through the mudroom like one of the family, where he removed his boots and hung his hat on a peg on the wall and then washed up in the sink, using extra soap and scrubbing thoroughly to make sure his hands were clean, then wiping his face clean with a nearby towel. Carol Beckett would have his hide if he got dirt on her good rugs or touched her furnishings with grubby hands.
“Slade.” Grant Beckett emerged from the kitchen and extended his hand for a firm shake. “Good to see you, son. Join us in the kitchen. Carol’s making cookies, and you know how she gets when she starts baking. She’s already made enough baked goods to feed a small army.”
“Be happy to take a few off your hands, sir.”
“Thought you would.” Grant slapped Slade’s back affectionately.
Slade entered the kitchen and immediately tensed when he saw Laney propped on a stool next to the counter, laughing at something Carol had said. They looked like a couple of giggly schoolgirls with their heads close together, sharing secrets.
His gut churned and he frowned, remembering the promise he’d made to Laney. Once again he wished he wouldn’t have made it, if only for the fact that he could use some advice right now—like what part he might be able to play in giving Brody’s baby everything he or she deserved. What he could do for the child.
Brody’s baby.
There it was again, glaring before him, as clear and bright as looking straight at the midday sun. The inherent happiness in Laney’s brown eyes and the way she shared that pleasure with Carol—the knowing. The anticipation. The joy.
Brody’s baby.
A link to his friend that went far beyond words or memories. Slade swallowed hard against the emotions pummeling him.
Laney’s presence wasn’t doing the Becketts any harm, he realized. Not now. Not until she up and left town, which Slade was fairly certain she would do. The real danger wasn’t that she’d upset them now, but that she’d abandon them later. How would Carol and Grant feel when their status as grandparents—their only living link with their beloved son—was relegated to some back burner so Laney could move on to the next thing in her life? She’d split with Brody fast enough when he didn’t fall into line with her silly expectations even though she’d claimed to love him. How much easier would it be for her to walk away from his parents?
The mixture of grief and excitement he’d experienced only moments earlier was quickly replaced by a panic that made his pulse roar in his ears. As bad as he felt for Grant and Carol at the thought of them losing access to their grandchild, there was yet another reason for him to worry.
What if he had no part in the baby’s life?
Personally, he thought she was a pain in the neck, but when other people looked at her, they probably saw Laney as a young, attractive woman. She’d won Brody’s heart, after all. She was bound to meet a man, get married again and settle down far away from Serendipity. Brody would be nothing more to her than a sad, distant memory, one she’d likely tuck into the back of her mind as she moved on with her life. It hurt his heart just to think about it.
“There’s the man of the hour.” Carol beamed at him as she passed him a plate piled with warm oatmeal cookies. “I understand we owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“I’m sorry?” he asked with a confused glance toward Carol and then to Grant. Man of the hour? Gratitude? What were they talking about?
“Heard tell you rescued our princess from danger today.” Grant grinned at him and wagged his eyebrows.
Still unable to decipher what they were talking about, Slade’s gaze flashed to Laney, but she only rolled her eyes and shrugged.
They were talking about Laney?
Princess?
Yeah, right. Laney was a regular damsel in distress. And that would make him—what? Prince Charming? A knight in shining armor? The Becketts were barking up the wrong tree with that one. He scoffed at the nonsensical notion.
“There he goes,” Carol said, nodding her head as if she’d disclosed some major secret. “I told you he was going to make light of his actions. He never admits the good he does. Has to maintain that tough cowboy image, you know. Never lets on that there’s a kind heart underneath that gruff exterior.”
Slade barked out a laugh and everyone joined him. Whatever else he could be accused of, and there was plenty, making himself into something he wasn’t was not even on the list. And kindness wasn’t something he was often accused of, either.
“Laney would have been fine,” he assured the Becketts. Maybe that wasn’t entirely accurate, but he didn’t want them making too much of his actions, which hadn’t been entirely altruistic. “She just got a little turned around. I’m sure she would have found the fence and made it back to the house with no problem. Please. It’s no big deal.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” Carol said, shaking her head. “But I’m grateful all the same, and so is Laney.”
He very much doubted gratitude was what Laney was feeling for him. Not from the frown she flashed at him when she thought the Becketts weren’t looking.
Slade bit into a cookie and groaned with pleasure. His own mother didn’t cook a lick, and since there was no other woman with a constant presence in his life, the only fresh baked goods he ever got besides Carol’s occasional but heartfelt forays into baking were Phoebe Hawkins’s fare from Cup O’ Jo’s Café in town. Phoebe was a professional chef and her baked goods were delicious, but they lacked the significance of being baked just for him, with love.
He poured himself a tall glass of ice-cold milk and took a long drink, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand to prevent a milk mustache. He caught Laney’s gaze and she lifted a brow.
What? Was she laughing at him?
“You’ve never heard of milk and cookies?”
She smirked. “You’ve utterly ruined your tough-guy cowboy image for me, you know.”
He shrugged, trying to make light of her comment, even if it was a direct strike to his ego. “Don’t knock it until you try it.” He met her gaze, speaking without words. Or knock me when you don’t even know me.
She glared right back at him, and her gaze was no less telling. It stated clearly that she knew him well enough to judge him and find him wanting.
“Consider the cookies and milk the least we can do as your reward for a job well done,” Carol said, grinning mischievously and seeming completely oblivious to the silent war brewing between her two guests.
“If I’m going to get cookies and milk every time I’m good, you can count on me to rescue fair damsels every day of the week.”
He was joking, of course, and the Becketts chuckled along with him, but instead of joining in the laughter, Laney frowned.
“I am neither fair nor a damsel in distress,” Laney remarked. Slade wondered if Carol and Grant could hear the ice in her tone or if she only sounded cold to him.
Apparently he was the only one who’d interpreted her frostiness because if anything, Carol’s eyes sparkled not with surprise, but with concern for the woman. “We’re just grateful you’re here with us, Laney. We only wish the circumstances were better.”
Laney’s expression fell and for a moment even Slade felt sorry for her. She
looked thoroughly devastated at the reminder of Brody’s death. He’d known his fair share of female deceit in his life, but could a woman fake that kind of pain?
“Speaking of,” Slade inserted, seeing an opening to ask what was really on his mind. Maybe it was wrong of him to take advantage of the moment, given Laney’s current vulnerability, but he wasn’t sure how else to bring up the subject. It was now or never. “How long are you staying, Laney?”
Hmmph. So much for casual. He couldn’t have sounded worse if he’d tried. Every eye in the room turned on him in surprise. He wished he had figured out a more tactful way to ask the question, but he was as good at being tactful as the proverbial bull in a china shop, bumping around and smashing things—feelings—with his words.
“Didn’t she tell you?” Grant asked, scratching his red-blond beard. “She’s staying in Serendipity for good. This is Laney’s permanent home now.”
As a matter of fact, she hadn’t mentioned anything about her future plans, not that he had asked. He was relieved to hear it all the same. How else would he be able to be a part of Baby Beckett’s life?
Of course, that meant he’d have to deal with Laney on a regular basis. But he’d do what he had to do. The baby was that important to him.
“Nice of you to give her somewhere to stay for now,” he acknowledged. She’d probably be looking for a place of her own soon. Maybe he could help her find something, extend the olive branch, so to speak.
“Oh, no.” Carol shook her head, her white curls bobbing. “You misunderstand. It’s the other way around. It’s nice of her to give us a place to stay.”
“What?” Slade’s pulse roared in his ears and his voice rose. His gut turned wildly and lurched in nauseating waves. “What are you talking about?”
“Brody never told you?” The depth and restraint in Carol’s tone suggested Slade had better calm down before speaking again. He recognized the mother tone of her voice when he heard it and took it as the warning it was. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm the whirlwind in his mind.
“Sorry,” he muttered, though he wasn’t really feeling it. He stared at the ground as if a hole would open and swallow him, which might be the better way to get out of this sticky situation. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice. You just caught me off guard.”
Which was the understatement of the century.
Carol rolled cookie dough balls in her palms as if it was every day that she said things to him that turned his whole world upside down and backward. “It’s in the will. Black and white, just as we expected it to be. There are no surprises here, Slade. Brody left everything to Laney.” She smiled at him without an ounce of anxiety or regret showing in her features, and then her warm, compassionate gaze shifted to Laney. “She owns this ranch, part and parcel.”
* * *
If glowering were an art form, Slade McKenna would have made a million dollars out of it. At the moment, his face was an alarming shade of red, almost as if he were being choked with the effort of holding his temper in check. He clenched his fists into tight knots and Laney could see his pulse hammering in the tense lines of his neck. She didn’t even want to know what was running through his mind right now, but she suspected she was about to find out.
“Brody. Left. Her. Everything?” He separated each word into its own unique sentence, each one with more emphasis, more power, than the last.
Laney felt the unfathomable urge to duck beneath the counter to avoid the coming explosion. Clearly Slade was doing everything in his power to contain his words, but she had little faith in his self-control. He was too much like Brody, only more volatile in temper. Just as recklessly, foolishly impulsive, with no restraint. If he was this angry, then sooner or later—likely sooner—he’d snap.
The prospect was distinctly unsettling. The man was downright scary in his current state. He looked completely mad, poised to snort and kick in every direction.
But no matter how she was quaking on the inside, she didn’t allow herself to do so much as flinch. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of knowing he had affected her in any way, much less that he had intimidated her. She straightened her spine and squarely met his gaze, ready for whatever fireworks were about to explode.
Except they didn’t.
He was clearly affected by the news that she was the new owner of the ranch. He glared at her. He swept in a long, ragged breath and tunneled his fingers through his dark hair.
But he didn’t yell. Didn’t fume.
In fact, he didn’t say a word.
His reaction—or lack thereof—was far more frightening to Laney than if he’d ranted and raved. The fact that he could contain his emotions suggested an entirely unexpected strength of character. The thought would be more comforting if that strength didn’t seem so focused on hating her.
His eyes were spitting fire, his gaze accusing her of a myriad of offenses.
She tipped her chin, unwilling to give him an inch in this silent war of wills. She had no reason to back down. He was the one making all of the incorrect assumptions here, not that she needed to explain herself to him. She’d done nothing wrong.
Anyway, it was none of his business.
“I don’t understand. How was the ranch Brody’s to give?” Slade’s gaze shifted to Carol, and Laney observed the immediate change in his demeanor. Tempered. Respectful. Deferential. Everything he wasn’t whenever he spoke to her. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but doesn’t the ranch belong to the two of you? I guess I just assumed—”
Grant held up a hand to staunch Slade’s flow of words. Slade actually looked relieved that he hadn’t had to finish his sentence. As well he should be.
“We aren’t getting any younger,” Grant explained in a no-nonsense tone. “We spoke to Brody about the ownership of the ranch right after we found out he’d married Laney. He told us he was planning on raising a family here. It seemed only right to pass the reins along while we were still alive to see it.”
Slade winced visibly and Laney wondered what he was thinking.
Carol moved to Laney’s side and placed one arm around her shoulders and her opposite hand on Laney’s belly. It would have bothered Laney had a stranger been so intimate, but she already considered Carol a mother to her. “And now you can see just how right we were to make that call when we did. We couldn’t possibly have known about the baby at the time, but the good Lord had it safe in His hands. Now Brody’s family will be able to live and thrive on this ranch. It isn’t quite the way we envisioned it, but—” Carol’s voice cut out with emotion “—at least Laney and the baby will have the ranch to help get them by.”
“What about y’all?” His question was directed to Carol and Grant but his eyes were on Laney.
She hated how Slade was able to make her feel as if she’d done something wrong when she hadn’t. He had no right to even think such negative things about her, never mind hint his suspicions aloud. She had left a perfectly good career in business management at a large marketing firm in order to honor Brody’s memory and raise his son or daughter the way Brody would have wanted. In the country. On the land. Did Slade imagine she would heartlessly throw Brody’s parents to the curb after all that?
The Becketts were already family to her, and as dear to her heart as her own mother and father. They had welcomed her and embraced both her and her unborn child. They had never once questioned her relationship with their son, as complicated as that had been. She was perfectly aware she owed them more than she could ever repay.
But she would, of course, give them every courtesy she could to make their lives easier in any way she was able. So why did she feel the need to justify herself to Slade?
“Laney has been nothing but kind,” Carol assured Slade, her tone brooking no argument from him.
“I’m sure she has been,” he responded, sounding as if he believed exactly the
opposite. “But still—you have to understand why I’d be worried about your future.”
Only the fact that Slade sounded genuinely concerned about the Becketts kept Laney from pelting something at him. He seemed to be missing the point—or rather, all of the points. It was high time to set him straight.
“There’s nothing to worry about. Grant and Carol are staying right here. I may technically own the ranch, but in a very real way they have taken me in when I needed them most. I can never begin to repay their generosity, but I’m certainly going to try.”
Slade brushed his palm across the stubble on his jaw and gave Laney’s belly a pointed look. He appeared to be debating something in his mind.
She tensed, ready for the worst he could give.
His gaze shifted to Carol. Without warning, he strode forward and enveloped the older woman in a big, affectionate bear hug, dwarfing Carol and causing her to giggle like a young girl. “You know I love you both.”
Laney nearly fell off her stool. Of everything Slade could have said or done, verbally and physically expressing his love for this family was the last possible guess she would have made. Who would have imagined that the harsh, judgmental cowboy Laney was familiar with had a soft side? Clearly he held great affection for the Becketts, and to her very great surprise, he wasn’t afraid to express it.
“If y’all are set on accepting Laney into your lives, then I will, too. I’ll show her around the ranch and give her some pointers on country living. She’s got a huge learning curve here, and I’m sure she can use all the help she can get.”
Laney sniffed indignantly. That was all well and good for Mr. Arrogant, assuming she would be doing back flips because he’d conceded to allow her to live in her own home, and had, in fact, offered to help her, whatever that meant.
As if she needed his assistance—with anything. He made it sound as if he was doing her a favor. It obviously never even occurred to the big lug that she might not want anything to do with him. As if it was his decision to make whether or not she was part of his life. No need to ask her what she thought about it.