by Deb Kastner
Oh, no, it wasn’t.
“You can’t do that.”
Panic shuddered through him. His stomach lurched, and bile burned in his throat. She’d called their daughter the baby. Not her, but it. She wasn’t even affording their child the dignity of humanity.
“You can’t tell me what to do,” Sharee snapped, sounding irritated.
He had to grit his teeth to keep from telling her just exactly what she should do. He wanted to scream at her and let her know she had no right to take his baby away from him and he would never stand for it.
But yelling would only make things worse, so he forced himself to take a deep breath and slowly release it before he spoke. He needed to think logically.
Did she have the right to make the decision on her own?
What say did he have, as the baby’s father? Surely, she couldn’t give their daughter up for adoption without his consent.
Especially if he was ready to step up and take full custody of her.
In a momentary flash, his life had gone from trying to figure out how he was going to be a part of his baby’s life to becoming the only parent who wanted his child.
Could he even be a single father?
Did he have it in him?
He wasn’t even close to qualified. Cash hadn’t had a great role model in his own father, who had been gone more than he’d been at home and wasn’t devoted and loving to his family when he was.
But what other choice did he have?
There was no question that he would be there for his baby, whatever it took to fight for her custody. Cash’s own flesh and blood would not go to an adoptive home when she had a biological father who already loved her.
He might not have the slightest idea what he was doing, but he would learn.
“Sharee,” he said, his voice quivering despite his effort to remain calm and keep his tone neutral. “You never even gave me the courtesy of calling to ask me what I wanted to do regarding our child’s custody.”
He hoped his bitterness didn’t creep through in his tone, because that would make his statement sound like an accusation, which, of course, it was.
“What difference does it make what you want?” she spat. “This isn’t about you. Don’t make it into something it isn’t and complicate my life. The decision has been made. So drop it.”
“I’m the baby’s father.”
This time there was no doubt that his frustration was roaring through his voice.
How could it not?
He clamped his jaw as tight as he could and squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to control the emotions hurtling through him.
“Is that what’s got your goat?” She scoffed, and he could hear the derision dripping from her tone. “Then let me put you out of your misery. I’m not going to write your name on the birth certificate or on the adoption records. As far as every official document is concerned, you will not be listed as the baby’s father. If someone asks, I’ll say I don’t know who the father is. The whole thing will all happen without you.”
An ironic statement to make after she’d gone through all the trouble of announcing Cash as the baby’s father on television and in magazines and ruined his career in the process.
“Sharee, I—”
The phone went dead in his hand. He dropped his cell to his lap and fisted his hands on the wheel, groaning in agony as he slumped over them, his forehead touching the backs of his hands and his knuckles burrowing into his eyes.
It was over for him.
All over.
He hadn’t realized how important his baby was to him until just this moment.
When it was too late.
When he’d lost everything.
He wanted a drink so badly he was shaking. It occurred to him to call Frank, but what was he going to say? That his life was royally messed up and all he wanted to do was hide in some dark corner and nurse his wounds with a bottle of whiskey?
No. He was humiliated enough without admitting his faults to another person.
Somehow, some way, this was one fight he was going to have to win alone.
* * *
Emerson’s was unusually slow, so Alyssa puttered around the shop, fronting shelves and restocking. With as small a town as Serendipity, the hardware store was a catchall for local residents, offering everything from large animal feed and farm tools to Western clothing and outerwear, including hats and boots. The Kickfire brand would be a huge new draw, which Alyssa hoped would solve the store’s cash flow problems.
With such a variety of stock, keeping the store looking good took up the majority of Alyssa’s time—any time that wasn’t spent serving customers.
Which was just as well. At least she was never bored. And with Cash’s help, they were keeping on top of the workload most of the time.
Thinking of Cash drew her mind into pondering what had been troubling him recently.
She knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that something was eating away at him. She’d always been unusually perceptive of the feelings of others, and she could sense Cash’s agitation with every fiber of her being. It had been building for months, and she knew instinctively it was coming to a head.
She wished he would trust her enough to really let her in. How else would she be able to help and support him?
From what she’d seen the past few months Cash was putting all his effort into cleaning up his act. He might not realize it yet, but he was going to be a wonderful dad.
Fatherhood was a role he’d have to grow into, but wasn’t that the case with all first-time parents? No one really knew what to expect out of parenthood until they held their own baby in their arms.
It was no different with Cash. As astonishing as it was, the formerly unreliable, selfish love-’em-and-leave-’em Cash Coble hadn’t walked away from his responsibilities. Rather, he had not only acknowledged them, but was preparing for the ride of his life.
Fatherhood.
His biggest problem was that he didn’t give himself enough credit because he no longer believed in himself. He didn’t know this about himself, and if he did, he would never admit it, but he had the heart for it.
For love.
And that was all that really mattered. But there were many roadblocks ahead.
Alyssa was appalled by Sharee’s hard-hearted cruelty in using her baby for her own gain.
Yet watching the way Cash’s face had lit up when he spoke of his soon-to-be-born son or daughter was nothing short of wondrous, and Alyssa’s heart had warmed like hot cocoa by the fireplace on a snowy winter’s day.
He had not only taken full responsibility for his actions, but he recognized that despite everything, something good had come from it.
A new life.
A precious baby.
Cash was going to be a father, and that was a blessing from God.
Full stop.
She finished straightening a rack of ladies cowboy boots and glanced at her watch. Cash had been away for some time now, much longer than she’d anticipated. Over forty minutes had passed since he’d asked if he could take a break and had told her that he had a quick errand to run.
She had expected him back twenty minutes ago. Not that it was a huge issue for him to take a longer break if he wanted. Cash could use all the time he needed. She’d spent months running Emerson’s by herself before Cash had come along at the auction, and a few more minutes of alone time wouldn’t hurt her. In any case, not a single customer had come in while Cash was gone.
But when another fifteen minutes had passed, and Cash still hadn’t returned, she started to get worried.
What kind of errand was so important that he’d had to rush out in the middle of a workday? And more to the point, why hadn’t he come back to the store—or at least called to say he wouldn’t be back in?
It was nearly
quitting time anyway, so Alyssa turned the sign to Closed and quickly counted out the till and swept the floor, deciding she’d stop by the rented cabin on the Howells’ land where Cash was staying and make sure he was all right.
To her surprise, when she exited the building and locked up, she turned to find Cash’s pickup parked across the street and down a couple of spaces, just where it had been earlier in the morning.
He’d probably walked wherever he had planned to go. There weren’t many places in Serendipity that a healthy person couldn’t comfortably reach by foot, and Cash was definitely in good shape.
She covered a yawn with the back of her hand. Wherever Cash had gone, she could ask him about it in the morning. She was thoroughly exhausted, and she needed to check up on her father before heading back to her own apartment. She and Eddie had hired an in-home nurse to watch over Daddy, and Alyssa wanted to make sure he hadn’t scared the poor woman off. He could be persnickety, especially if he felt like he was being ordered around.
In the best of all worlds, she would stop by the house and find her father complaining that he didn’t need a nurse hovering over him. Maybe his fall and consequent recovery would help him snap out of the depression and grief that had been hanging over his head. He was making progress, but Alyssa couldn’t help but want to rush it along.
She headed toward her own vehicle, anxious to get off her feet. A bowl of cold cereal and a brainless reality show on television sounded just about perfect right now.
As she turned to walk down the opposite side of the street from Cash’s truck, a movement in the cab caught her eye.
At first, she thought it might only be the sunlight glinting off the windshield, but when she cupped her palm across her forehead to shade her eyes, she realized Cash was sitting behind the wheel.
She must have missed seeing him return. He’d probably noticed that she’d turned the sign to Closed and decided he’d come back to work in the morning.
Although Serendipity traffic was always light to nonexistent, she looked both ways before crossing to Cash’s truck, thinking she would let him know for certain that he wouldn’t be needed until the following day.
When she was close enough to see Cash, her adrenaline spiked, and her heart leaped into her throat. She fished for her cell phone even as she rushed to the driver’s side door and yanked at the handle.
It was locked.
Cash was slumped over the steering wheel, unmoving. A thousand different scenarios charged like a herd of wild horses through Alyssa’s mind.
Was it a heart attack?
Unlikely. He was in the prime of his life and an athlete in excellent shape.
Had he somehow gotten into a fight and barely made it back to his truck?
Again, extremely unlikely. The crime rate in Serendipity was small, and a tussle that would leave Cash in this kind of condition was nearly unheard of.
Was it a brain aneurism?
Now she was scaring herself.
But what else could leave him passed out in his vehicle, unresponsive?
As she desperately pulled at the handle a second time, Cash stirred, slowly lifting his head and turning his unfocused gaze toward her. He stared right into her eyes but didn’t appear to recognize her.
His eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot.
Had he been drinking?
Anger gripped her throat as any concern she’d been feeling for him rapidly faded. Her gaze swept the truck for any signs of alcohol. A bottle of whiskey or a six-pack of empty beer cans.
She didn’t see any lingering evidence, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.
He’d promised.
And he’d been doing so well.
Then he’d walked off the job in the middle of the day and had not returned? That was almost a cliché.
Had he gone to a neighboring town and visited a bar or a liquor store?
How had she not suspected this? Or at least considered it as a possibility.
And just when she’d started to trust him.
How could he do this to her? She knew Cash’s addiction wasn’t about her, but she felt betrayed in the worst way. Her heart ached.
She pounded on the window and gestured for him to unlock the door.
He pressed his palms against his eyes, cringing as if he were staving off a raging headache, and then combed both hands back through his hair.
Finally, he reached for the handle and opened the door, but only a couple of inches.
Alyssa yanked it wide.
“Cash?”
He wavered, clenched one fist on the steering wheel and dropped his gaze to his lap, refusing to meet hers.
“Where have you been?” she demanded.
“I—” He shook his head. “Nowhere. Here.” His voice was raw and gravelly.
“Are you trying to tell me you never left?”
“No, I—”
“Tell me the truth, Cash. Have you been drinking?”
“What? No. I—”
He sounded shocked that she would even ask, and yet how could she believe him when she’d found him looking this way? Her eyes weren’t lying to her.
“Have. You. Been. Drinking?” Speaking through gritted teeth, she made every word its own sentence.
Finally, he lifted his head and caught her gaze, holding it for a long time before he spoke.
“No.”
“Then how do you explain—” She swished her hand back and forth, encompassing his entire frame, particularly his expression. “This.”
He reached for her hand, but she jerked away from him. She knew if he touched her, sympathy for him would override her good sense. And right now, both of them needed her to be entirely rational.
“I want to drink,” he admitted raggedly. “Every bone in my body is screaming for alcohol. I can’t— I just can’t deal right now.”
“Deal with what?”
“I was just about ready to drive away when you walked up. Go to a neighboring town and visit a bar.”
“You don’t look like you’re in any condition to drive,” she said frankly, still not entirely convinced that he was telling her the truth.
“I’ve just been fooling myself,” he said bitterly. “My career is trashed, and so is the rest of my life. I’ll feel better after I’ve downed a whiskey or two.”
“No. You won’t.” She wasn’t sure whether she was telling him he wouldn’t feel better after having a couple of drinks, or whether she was assuring him he wouldn’t be visiting a bar anytime soon.
Not if she could help it.
Maybe it was both.
“Just leave me alone.”
“Like this?” She shook her head emphatically. “I don’t think so. Unlock the passenger door. I’m coming in.”
She rounded the front of his truck to keep him from gunning the engine and driving away without her and slid onto the seat beside him, tucking one leg beneath her and turning to face him.
“Did you call your sponsor?” The only facts Alyssa knew about an alcoholic’s twelve-step program were what she’d seen on television, but it was enough to know all alcoholics had someone they could call, any time of the day or night, if they found themselves fighting the urge to drink, as Cash clearly was.
“I don’t have one. I don’t do Alcoholics Anonymous.”
“Why not?”
He snorted. “Are you kidding me? If I went to an AA meeting, word would get out and my already tattered career would be obliterated. Martin is trying to keep this on the down low. And that means I’m dealing with this myself—which is what I would do, anyway. Group meetings aren’t my thing.”
“Has Martin seen you in the state you are in right now?”
Cash shook his head. “No. And he wouldn’t care if he did. Not about me, anyway. The only thing that matters to him is my image and
getting me back under rodeo sponsorship so he can take his cut of the money I make.”
That didn’t ring true to Alyssa. Surely the relationship between an agent and a cowboy ought to be one of mutual respect, at least. Although after seeing Martin with Cash, she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised.
The next time she saw Martin she was going to have a word with him—probably many words. Martin ought to count his blessings that she wasn’t the type of woman who would physically throttle him, because the urge to do so surged through her veins.
She’d had no idea just how hard Cash had been wrestling with his addiction to alcohol. It ran much deeper than she could ever have imagined.
And to expect him to face that battle alone? That was cruel and unusual punishment.
Clearly, Cash needed help, whether he was willing to admit it or not. Forget what Martin thought, or even Cash, in his willful stubbornness, believing he could face this all on his own.
He couldn’t. Whether he was ready to admit it or not, he needed other people.
She would gladly step up to support Cash, but even if she made a special effort to learn about alcoholism—which she intended to do—Alyssa wasn’t sure she would be able to be the right person to give him the kind of support he needed.
“I don’t think your image is what you should be concerned about right now,” Alyssa stated frankly.
“What about spending some time in a rehab center?” she asked. “That seems to be a big thing with the actors in Hollywood, and their careers don’t appear to be affected by it. If anything, it’s publicity. All publicity is good publicity, right?”
He snorted. “Not for me, it isn’t.” He locked his gaze with hers. “No rehab facility for me. That’s not how I’m going to do this thing.”
“O-kay.” She drew the word out in frustration. Why wouldn’t the man admit when he needed help, as he so clearly did now? Couldn’t he see that he couldn’t walk alone?
“But,” he continued, reaching out a hand and stroking the back of one finger across her jaw, “I am glad you found me when you did. Otherwise, I might have—would have—gone to the nearest town and spent the evening on a bar stool in front of a tumbler of whiskey.”