by Erin Wright
Chloe’s heart twisted at Tommy’s question. He hadn’t called her ‘Mommy’ for a couple of years, so it showed just how frightened he was to have reverted to the more childish name. Licking her lips, she hesitated, searching for an answer she could give him. No way was she going to blurt out that Dawson was his father.
As far as Tommy knew, she had parted ways with his father before his birth, and before the other man had known about him. That was the truth, but she’d made it sound a lot more romantic — and a lot longer — than the one-night…whatever that was that she’d shared with Dawson.
Chloe snorted softly. Shared. Yeah, good one.
“Mommy?”
With a sigh, she said, “He’s someone I used to know, honey. I just…uh…didn’t want to talk to him again.”
Tommy’s eyes narrowed, and he appeared deep in thought. She continued driving, mentally crossing her fingers and hoping that would be the end of his questions. It took all her control to focus on the road in front of her while watching the rearview mirror for signs of an unfamiliar vehicle. Each time one appeared behind her, she tensed until it passed or she recognized the driver.
They were about a mile from the turnoff for home when Tommy asked in a tone just above a whisper, “Is that man my father?”
Chloe pretended not to hear him, keeping her attention on the road. How could she answer? Lying to him was unacceptable. She refused to do that. Yet, how could she give him an adequate answer that didn’t involve confirming his startling perception? Running a hand through her short strands, she flicked on the turn signal and turned down the dirt road to the ranch house.
To her surprise, he didn’t repeat the question even after she’d parked in front of the small house and shut off the engine. Maybe he sensed her reluctance to answer? Could it be that a part of Tommy didn’t want to know? He was sensitive and intelligent enough to figure out that Dawson might not want to be part of his life even after learning he had a son.
And she couldn’t imagine Dawson wanting any sort of role. Shock had propelled him to chase her, but she was pretty damn sure that he’d shun the idea once he’d calmed down. Besides, he probably already had a wife and family. They surely wouldn’t want Dawson to bring home a bastard son.
Argh! Why did it make her chest ache to think about Dawson being married to someone else? It wasn’t like she was still carrying a torch for him, obviously. After he’d laughed at her The Night on the Pool Table, as she called it in her mind, she’d grown up in a hurry.
She’d long ago realized that she hadn’t loved Dawson — she’d lusted after him, but that was a typical kid thing to do. She hadn’t known him well enough to love him, and what he’d done to her That Night killed whatever feelings she did have.
Despite her reassurances to herself about what her feelings did and did not include, her heart — traitor that it was — still thumped irregularly as she led Tommy through the warm, summertime air and into the house. Only mid-afternoon, they had lots of time to hang out and talk and read together like they usually did. The diner didn’t bring in much of a paycheck but it sure was nice to work at a place that wasn’t open past two o’clock. Normally, she helped with the clean-up duties for the day; she’d have to apologize to Betty for literally running out on her today.
So, I…uh…ran into a man today who I haven’t seen in nine years, and last time I saw him, he took my virginity and threw it away like a used paper towel and then laughed in my face for giving it to him. Oh, and he knocked me up, too. Can’t forget that part.
Yeah, that’d go over well. This was a story she was keeping to herself. She could come up with some other excuse to give to Betty tomorrow.
“Did Adam feed you lunch?” she asked, heading into the kitchen to find something to cook for dinner. Hopefully, the fridge had sprouted food that she hadn’t noticed the last time she’d opened its door.
A girl could always hope, right?
Tommy rolled his eyes. “Of course, Mom. He made goulash.” He grimaced. “Even his mother said it wasn’t very good, but I ate it, ‘cause I didn’t want to be rude.”
Chloe ruffled his hair with a smile. She sure was proud of her boy. “Good man. Now, run upstairs and grab a book you want to read together. I think we should start into Where the Red Fern Grows — do you think you can find that one on the shelf?”
Surprisingly, he complied without a peep of protest. He usually tried to negotiate for a few minutes of video game time before giving up and looking for a book to read. Maybe he was taking it easy on her today, recognizing her stress. She may have had to grow up in a hurry, but so did Tommy. It wasn’t easy being the only child of a single mother who was never quite sure where their next meal was going to come from.
She was staring into the fridge — no food having magically made its appearance, she was stuck debating between two meals, neither of which appealed to her — when she heard a vehicle coming down the dirt road.
It was almost anti-climatic, really.
Hoping for Adam Whitaker, or any of her close neighbors, she wasn’t surprised to see an unfamiliar rig, with a horse trailer behind it, stop near her decrepit junker. Squaring her shoulders, she marched from the kitchen, letting the screen door slam behind her.
She made it almost to the porch steps by the time he slid from his truck. Chloe froze, the breath sticking in her lungs at his pure masculine beauty. There was nothing feminine about him, but beautiful was the perfect adjective. He’d grown into a solid frame. His hair was still glossy black, and she briefly imagined losing herself in the silky strands. How would it feel now?
Chloe blinked, trying to dismiss the carnal thoughts as she marched down the porch stairs, meeting him halfway. “Go away.”
Dawson crossed his arms. “Not a chance in hell, Chloe. That’s my son, isn’t it?”
She nibbled on her lower lip, torn about how to answer. She had little compunction about deceiving the man who had so coldly rejected her, but it was useless to deny Tommy’s parentage. He was a mini-me version of his father. “Yeah,” she said with a sigh, shoulders slumping slightly.
“What the hell?” he shouted, sweeping the Stetson off his head. “You didn’t think to tell me?”
“Lower your voice,” she hissed. “Tommy’s finding a book to read right now. I need to go upstairs to read to him. If you can be patient for a few minutes, we’ll talk before you leave.” She glanced pointedly at the truck.
He seemed on the verge of arguing, but the sound of Tommy calling her made him freeze. Dawson waved his hand, and she spun away from him to hurry back into the house.
Her mind was too busy to really focus on the first chapter of Where the Red Fern Grows, but Tommy didn’t seem to notice. After finishing it, she kissed his forehead, and then said something she never said. “You want to play a video game?”
“Really?” he asked, bolting straight up, excitement shooting out of him like sparklers.
“Yeah. Just for a little while.”
He bounced off his bed and shot straight for the guest bedroom that also had an old Playstation console in it that a friend had given them a couple of years ago. “Thanks Mom, you’re the best!” he said as he disappeared from sight.
She smiled for a moment at the empty doorway and then stood up slowly. It was time to face the music. Descending the stairs, she drew in a few deep breaths, seeking to calm herself before facing him.
Chloe stumbled off the last step when she saw him sitting on her secondhand couch, a cup of coffee in hand. “Make yourself at home,” she said sarcastically.
He lifted the cup. “Already did. I thought I’d make you some too, since you so graciously invited me into your domicile.”
His mocking tone set her teeth on edge. How does a cowboy even know the word ‘domicile’? “You’ll notice there was no invitation to enter my house. We can talk outside.”
Eyeing her, he shook his head. “Nope, I don’t think so. I wanted to see where the boy lives, and I’m comfortable here.”
>
She wasn’t. Having him inside the confines of the living room made the already small room shrink to tiny proportions. He seemed to suck all the oxygen from the air, making it hard to breathe. His invasion of her personal space was unsettling, but she decided not to argue, saving the energy for the rest of the conversation. Chloe took a seat in the threadbare wingchair farthest from him.
Silence lengthened between them. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked after a long pause.
Chloe couldn’t hold in a snort. “How was I supposed to do that? You disappeared. I didn’t know where to even begin looking.” She frowned. “I knew nothing about you. At the time, I didn’t realize how little I knew, but it hit me afterward. I didn’t even know your parents’ names.”
“Did you even try to find me?”
She glared at him. “Yes, you son-of-a-bitch, I tried to find you. You’re a coldhearted, unfeeling man, but I thought you had a right to know.” With a shrug, Chloe leaned forward to lift the other mug of coffee sitting on the scarred coffee table.
Dawson observed her through narrowed eyes. “I don’t buy it.”
The coffee scalded her tongue as she choked. “Excuse me?”
He smirked. “I don’t believe you, Chloe. Your father could’ve hired someone to track me down if you’d really wanted to find me.” His mouth twisted. “I’m guessing you’d hoped to keep it a secret. Maybe you tried to pass him off as King’s. It must’ve been a hell of a shock when he was born looking so damned Native,” he said with bitterness. “Did it ruin all your plans?”
Chloe’s mouth gaped open, and it took her a moment to remember how to speak, she was so angry. “Get out!”
“No,” he replied blandly.
“I have had enough! I’m calling the police if you don’t leave right now.”
He set down the cup and crossed his arms. “Go ahead.”
She glared at him, torn between the desire to get rid of him and the need to keep her private business private. Gossip was a town pastime in Sawyer, and she didn’t want to add any more fuel to the fire. As it was, many of the older folks regarded her as a scandalous single mother.
“Why won’t you just leave?” she finally asked, hating the catch in her voice when she said it.
“Because we have a lot to talk about, starting with why you didn’t tell me. Your father—”
Chloe interrupted him with a cold laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure he could’ve found you, but I didn’t ask him. I couldn’t. He wasn’t eager to help me after learning about my terrible crime.” She waved a hand wildly around the dilapidated living room. “My father has nothing to do with the grand life I’m accustomed to living these days. I haven’t seen him in almost nine years.”
He frowned. “What happened to the joining of dynasties and your marriage to King?”
She leaned forward to put the mug back on the table. She didn’t dare keep it in her hands — she was so pissed, she was liable to slosh it everywhere. “Nothing. No one bothered to ask me if I wanted to marry him. My father arranged it all.”
Dawson went pale. “You…you didn’t know?”
“Of course I didn’t know.” She glared at him. “I know you have a low opinion of me, but I guarantee you, I wouldn’t have been chasing after you like such a pathetic little puppy if I were engaged to King.” With a twist of her lips, she added, “Not that you’ll believe me, but quite frankly, I’m beyond caring what the hell you think of me.”
To her surprise, he didn’t respond. Instead, Dawson stared down at his worn cowboy boots, looking lost in thought. When he finally looked up, the regret visible in his expression made her heart hurt a little.
Just a little.
“I’m sorry,” and dammit all if he didn’t actually sound sincere. Her heart hurt just a little more, a fact she was hell bent on ignoring. He sighed. “Your father said the only thing left to do was the wedding. It seemed like you’d known all along. I was angry at what he’d done, and at what I thought you’d done. I shouldn’t have—”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” she cut him off angrily. “But, whatever. I don’t know what happened between you and my father and honestly, I don’t care. I have more important things to worry about these days.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Now, if you’re finished with this trip down memory lane, you need to leave. I have to tend to the animals before it gets dark, figure out what to make for dinner, and decide what the hell I’m going to tell my son about the crazy man at the diner today.
“It’s been a hell of a long day, and quite frankly, I just want to crawl into bed.” Lest he think she was issuing one of her gauche teenage invitations she’d so blatantly dispensed years ago, she added, “Alone,” in a steely tone.
He seemed on the brink of arguing, but finally nodded. “This isn’t over.”
“Yes, it is.” Exhaustion and emotional turmoil were creeping up on her, making it difficult to stand, let alone continue the verbal sparring. “There’s nothing left to discuss.”
Stetson in hand, Dawson headed for the exit through the kitchen. She followed, making sure he actually left the house. When he paused in the doorway, she gulped, not liking the expression of determination he wore.
“There’s plenty to talk about, starting with me becoming part of my son’s life.”
“My son,” she said in a fierce whisper. “You have nothing to do with it.”
He pushed the hat firmly on his head. “I have everything to do with it. You don’t have to bear it all alone anymore.”
“I don’t want your help.” She turned her head away when he brushed his fingers down her cheek.
“What we want doesn’t really matter anymore. All that matters is our son. Tommy?” He sighed when she wouldn’t look at him. “We’ll talk again soon.”
Chloe took great pleasure in slamming the door behind him and locking both locks. If only it were as easy to keep him out of her life as it was to keep him out of her house.
Chapter 4
The alarm woke her much too early. She had lain awake most of the night, her mind a jumble of fearful and confusing thoughts. Sometime near dawn, she had come to the decision that she and Tommy would have to leave Sawyer and start over somewhere else, where Dawson couldn’t find them. It would be painful to leave their friends, but not as painful as it would be to have him interfering with her life, trying to take over.
She hit snooze on the alarm, deciding the animals could wait a few more minutes. She would skip on makeup to indulge in a couple of snooze sessions. Her eyes closed almost immediately, and she slipped into a deep sleep.
A couple of hours later, Chloe bolted straight up, knowing the position of the light streaming through her window was all wrong. It must be late. She looked at the clock and groaned. With luck, Betty would be in a forgiving mood, because she was going to be late. There was no way to take care of the animals, shower, and drop off Tommy at the Community Center Day Camp and make it to work in fifteen minutes, when her shift should begin.
She dragged herself from bed, cursing at oversleeping and at Dawson for wearing her out so much with worry that she had slept through the snooze alarm. Slipping into jeans and a flannel shirt, she shoved her feet into rubber boots and trudged down the stairs. On her way past Tommy’s door, knowing he must still be asleep since he hadn’t woken her up, she shouted, “Wake up, sleepyhead. We need to leave in thirty minutes.” They’d only be able to leave then if she could just milk and feed the cow and goat, plus gather the eggs and feed the chickens, plus squeeze in a shower, all in a half-hour. Okay, fine, unrealistic at best, but she really didn’t have a choice.
Chloe stumbled to a stop when she saw the buckets of milk on the kitchen table. Wearing a frown, she rushed outside, wondering if Tommy was up and had slipped out to milk the animals. She’d already told him countless times that he was too young. Skunk — named by Tommy when he was so young, everything black and white was a skunk — was a placid enough cow, unless one yanked her udders the wrong way. The old gir
l wasn’t above kicking.
Her heart stuttered in her chest as she pictured Skunk kicking Tommy, knocking him unconscious. He could’ve died.
Well, obviously, he didn’t since he’d gotten the pail of milk onto the table, but that didn’t keep her from imagining it all in great detail in her mind. And Ivy! There were two buckets on the table. He’d milked the goat? She was ornery as could be and was just as liable to stand still as she was to head butt and kick.
Now in a high state of panic, she rushed outside, running down the porch steps and across the yard before freezing at the sight of Dawson’s truck parked in her driveway. She looked at the corral, surprised to see a chestnut horse sharing space with Skunk the cow and Ivy the goat. Her eyes narrowed with anger as she searched for her uninvited guest.
Her heart skipped a beat when she heard Tommy’s high-pitched voice coming from inside the chicken coop. She hurried to find her son, her mouth dry when she saw him standing so close to Dawson, a look of admiration on his all-too-grown-up face. He held a basket while Dawson gathered the morning eggs from the indignant chickens.
When Tommy saw her, he beamed, waving his arm frantically. “Mom, look, Mom.” He held up the basket. “Me and Dawson collected the eggs and milked Skunk. Ivy tried to get away, but we caught her and milked her too.” He grinned up at her as she approached. “Dawson let me carry the buckets into the house.”
“That’s nice.” She glared at Dawson over her son’s head. “You should call him Mr. Blackhorse though.”
Tommy stuck out his lower lip and crossed his arms over his chest, the basket dangling from his hand. He looked so much like his father, her heart twisted in her chest. It was the same look Dawson had given her just last night.
“Dawson said I could call him Dawson, Mom. It’d be rude not to call him Dawson when he said to call him Dawson.”
She sighed, letting it go. “Okay, little man.” With a hug around his shoulders, she said, “Could you take the eggs up to the house and put them in the egg keeper? I need to talk to Dawson.”