A Chance to Love Again

by Hutton, Callie

  “It’s almost time for your ma to ring the supper bell. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty hungry.” Rusty patted his stomach.

  “Yeah, I’m hungry, too,” Will said, rubbing his stomach in turn.

  They moved their horses toward the cookhouse just as Rachel began clanging the bell. “It looks like we’ll have just enough time to wash up before supper.”

  Rachel walked up to them as they rode into the yard. It was apparent something had set her off. The cool demeanor that had started their acquaintance was back. “You have visitors, Mr. McIntyre.”

  “Visitors?”

  “Yes. In the ranch parlor. Big Bob put them there so you can have privacy.” She reached for Will’s hand. “Come on, we have to get you washed up for supper.”

  “Can’t I go with Mr. McIntyre to wash up?”

  “No. He has visitors.” She tugged Will away, almost as if he would catch something nasty by standing next to him. What the devil was this all about? While he wouldn’t say he and Rachel were friends, they certainly had moved past the coolness she’d shown him when he’d first arrived. He couldn’t help but think this change in her attitude had something to do with his ‘visitors.’

  Since almost no one knew he was at the Lazy Sunset, he couldn’t imagine who would be visiting him. He took a quick wash and entered the ranch house. Not very familiar with the layout of the house, he glanced into two different rooms before he reached what had to be the parlor.

  An older man sat on the settee, looking decidedly uncomfortable. He was dressed in a suit, but kept pulling on his string tie. Next to him was a young girl. Blond, curly hair, slender, and about fourteen years old. She slumped in the seat, an adolescent scowl on her lovely face. A face that looked vaguely familiar.

  Rusty stepped into the room, an uncomfortable feeling clenching his innards. The man rose, and grasped the girl under her arm to raise her up. She stood and yanked her arm away from the man, glowering in his direction.

  “You behave yourself, girl,” the man hissed.

  She crossed her arms and stared at a spot on the wall in front of her, her lips pursed.

  “Mrs. Stevens said you wish to speak with me?” Rusty asked.

  “Yes.” The man tugged on his tie again.

  Rusty glanced from him to the girl. “I’m sorry, but do I know you?”

  “Not exactly.”

  When the man said nothing else, Rusty removed his hat and placed it on a low table, then sat and crossed his arms. “Well that clears everything up.”

  The man took his seat and tugged the girl down. She turned her back on him and continued to admire the wallpaper.

  “I’m tired, it’s been a long day, and my supper is waiting. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. So why are we here?”

  “Mr. McIntyre, I am Beatrice Foster’s father.”

  “Beatrice?” He uncrossed his arms and sat forward. “You’re Beatrice’s father?”

  The man nodded.

  Rusty released a huge breath and leaned back. Beatrice Foster. The woman he tried to forget for almost fifteen years. They were young and had been in love, or at least he had thought they were. He had proposed, and the wedding was only weeks away when he found her in bed with one of the ranch hands.

  In a fit of rage, Rusty had dragged the man out of the bed, beat the living hell out of him, and walked out with Beatrice crying his name, asking for forgiveness. He kept walking and never looked back. Strange how he hadn’t recognized her father. Foster, apparently, had been easy to forget.

  “Why are you here?”

  Foster fidgeted some more, and seemed to finally make a decision. “I’ve come to bring Amelia to you.”

  “Who?”

  The older man jerked his thumb in the direction of the girl, who still sat with her back to the two of them.

  “What are you talking about? Why bring the girl here?”

  “Because she belongs with you, and I can’t take care of her no more. Her mother died of the flu, left her with the wife and me, but we’ve had enough.”

  Rusty shook his head in confusion. “I’m afraid I’m not following this conversation very well. Why bring her here?”

  “Because Amelia here is your daughter.”

  Rusty jumped from his seat. “What?”

  The girl finally turned toward him, her eyes hard, her expression mulish. “Yeah, Papa. I’m your daughter.”

  Chapter Three

  “How is it possible you have a fourteen year old daughter and didn’t know that?” Rachel stood in the doorway to her house, barring the way.

  With nowhere else to turn, Rusty had brought the girl to Rachel’s house. She now sat on her suitcase in the front yard, looking bored with the entire conversation.

  “Rachel, can we please go somewhere private to talk?” He looked back at Amelia, who immediately turned her head, unwilling to acknowledge them.

  “‘Mrs. Stevens to you. And I don’t see why you’re involving me in your private affairs.”

  “Please?”

  Rachel opened the door wider, but pushed him aside. She walked to Amelia and squatted in front of the girl. He couldn’t hear what she said, but Amelia shrugged, then stood and picked up her suitcase. She followed Rachel into the house. “The kitchen is straight ahead. My son, Will, is having a bedtime snack. I’ll be right with you.”

  She crooked her finger at Rusty and he followed her into the room on her right, which was a parlor of sorts. Crossing her arms and tapping her foot as if addressing a disobedient child, she said, “All right, now tell me.”

  Rusty rested his hands on his hips. “It turns out the visitors I had earlier today was Amelia and her grandfather.”

  “Your father?”

  “No. Both my parents are deceased. He was Beatrice’s father.”

  “Beatrice?”

  “Look, can we sit down? This is a long story, and frankly, I don’t even know where to begin.”

  Rachel sat on the edge of a worn char and waved to the one across from her. “I think a good place to start is with Amelia’s mother.”

  “Yeah. Well, Beatrice—Amelia’s mother—and I were engaged to be married. We were young. I was eighteen, and she was seventeen.”

  “Go on.”

  “A couple of weeks before the wedding, I returned to the bunkhouse in the middle of the day to get another pair of gloves. I had brought my older, worn ones with me, and they weren’t working well enough. Anyway, I found Beatrice and another one of the cowhands in his cot.” He looked up at her. “They weren’t taking a nap.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Actually, I was more angry than sorry. I whipped that boy’s ass—pardon—and left the ranch. Never looked back. Haven’t seen her since then.”

  “And Amelia?”

  “If she is mine—and based on what I had witnessed, there is some doubt about that—I never knew about her. I moved a few times over the years, but she never wrote.”

  “What about her mother?”

  “According to Beatrice’s father, she claimed the kid was mine. But when the girl was only about four, Beatrice died from influenza.” He leaned forward, his forearms on his knees. “That was about ten years ago. It seems they’d been looking for me all this time. Just now caught up with me.”

  “That poor girl. Abandoned by her mother, unknown to her father—”

  “If I am her father.”

  “—and now dumped by her grandparents.”

  Rusty stood and paced. “What am I going to do? I can’t keep a young girl in my house. I have no idea what to say to her, let alone finish raising her.”

  “You are the adult and you need to put aside your problems with it, Mr. McIntryre.”

  “Can we please do away with the ‘Mr.’ and ‘Mrs.?’”

  Ignoring his request, she continued. “You need to concern yourself with the little girl in there who nobody seems to want.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want her. I just—damnation, Rachel, can y
ou understand how I feel? You’ve had Will in your life even before he was born. I just found out a couple of hours ago that I may or may not have a daughter.”

  Rachel jumped up from her seat. “Stop right there.”

  “What?”

  “I will not listen to any more of this talk about how she may or may not be your daughter. She is alone. Probably scared and miserable. She doesn’t know you any more than you know her. As I already said, you are the adult, and the responsible one. You need to put your feelings aside and take care of her.”

  He stopped his pacing and stared at her, dumbfounded. “You’re right, and I needed to hear that.”

  “Yes, well. I feel for the girl. I was once her age and lost my mother to influenza, and then only a couple of years later my father was killed in a bank robbery. My Aunt Tori arrived, who I’d only seen a few times in my life, and dragged us all to Oklahoma to start a new life. I can tell you about young girl misery. I even ran away from home and caused my Aunt Tori and Uncle Jesse to chase me down.”

  “See. There you have it. You’re the perfect person to deal with Amelia.”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help with her. But you are still her father,” she raised her hand as he opened his mouth to speak, “and as her father, you need to take care of her. Make her feel wanted, and loved.”

  “Wanted and loved. I just met the girl an hour ago.”

  “Rusty . . .”

  “I don’t care for the look in your eye, but at least I got you to use my first name.” He offered one of his most charming smiles. She wasn’t falling for it. “All right. I’ll be serious. I know I have to do right by the girl, but I need help. A lot of help.”

  “Very well. Just as long as you know I’m not doing this for you.”

  He nodded, hope springing up where only terror at the prospect of being a father had been.

  “You may leave Amelia with me. But only if she agrees.”

  “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

  “You’re not getting off the hook so easily. You are her father, and you must form some type of an attachment to her. I’m only offering her a place to stay until you can get this all worked out. In fact, I think she will most likely be more comfortable staying with me anyway, since there are no ties between us.”

  Never before in his life had he wanted to kiss a woman more than this one standing in front of him. She was flushed from their discussion, her chest heaving. Her eyes snapped with emotion, and when she licked her lips he almost groaned. Somehow he knew if he made any type of an advance to her right now she would most likely slap his face, and refuse to help with Amelia.

  Forget it, buddy. This is not the time or place.

  “Why don’t we join Will and Amelia in the kitchen? Sometimes problems are much better solved over a glass of milk and a few cookies.”

  Rusty swept his arm out. “Lead the way.”

  ***

  Will was chattering away when they entered the kitchen. Leave it to her son to break the ice in an awkward situation. Amelia appeared to be listening to him until she and Rusty entered the kitchen. She sat back, the bored expression once more on her face.

  This poor girl is terrified. At least when Aunt Tori came for us we knew she wanted us.

  “Amelia, I see you’ve met Will. I’m Will’s mother, Mrs. Stevens.”

  The girl ignored her, and turned her back.

  “You acknowledge Mrs. Stevens,” Rusty said.

  Rachel shook her head furiously at him. Men had absolutely no sense when it came to female emotions. The last thing Amelia needed was for this man she just met for the first time, who everyone claimed to be her father, to chastise her in front of others.

  “That’s all right.” Rachel moved to the small ice box. “I was planning on having some milk and cookies.” She turned to Will. “Didn’t you offer some of your snack to Amelia?”

  “Oh, sorry, Ma.” Red-faced, he mumbled, “Sorry, Amelia.”

  Amelia shrugged. Most likely the girl was used to being ignored.

  Rachel took down three glasses and set them on the table. “Won’t you join us, Mr. McIntyre?”

  The expression on his face told her all she needed to know about his feelings toward milk and cookies. Hiding her grin, she poured the milk, added more cookies to the plate in the center of the table, then set the glasses out. “Have a seat,” she said to Rusty.

  He pulled out the chair next to Amelia and sat. He slanted a sideways glance at the girl. She watched him the same way.

  “Amelia, how far along are you in school?”

  “Ma, do we have to talk about school?” Will asked as he reached for another cookie.

  “Hush, Will. I was talking to Amelia.”

  At first she thought the girl would ignore her question, but eventually she mumbled, “I finished school.”

  “I wish I was finished with school,” Will said.

  At her frown, Will put his head down and munched on his cookie.

  “You seem young to be finished with school. Mr. McIntyre—er, your father—said you are fourteen?”

  “He ain’t my father.”

  Rusty rotated his neck as if to relieve tension. “That’s what your grandpa said.”

  “He’s an ass.”

  “Young lady, I will not allow that kind of language—”

  Amelia jumped up, knocking over her chair. “I don’t care what you will allow. I don’t want to be here, and I know you don’t want me here, so just let me leave. I can go to Oklahoma City and find me a job.”

  Rachel stood and placed her arm on Amelia’s shoulder. “You’re wrong, Amelia. We do want you here. In fact, I asked your fa—that is, Mr. McIntyre, if you can stay with us for a while. Would you like that?”

  Amelia shrugged, the pain in her eyes tearing Rachel apart. But the last thing this girl needed was to see people feeling sorry for her. Her youthful pride would never allow that.

  “Will, I think we should move you to the loft.”

  “Yippee!”

  She loved this child who was so easygoing. “Why don’t you pack up your things while I put fresh sheets on your bed and the mattress in the loft?”

  As Will ran for his room, Rachel offered a smile to the sullen young girl. “If you’re hungry, Amelia, I can fix you a sandwich instead of just the cookies.” Since the girl just shrugged again, she must have been starving.

  Rachel took out some cheese and bread and made a sandwich. Rusty watched as she worked, still casting sly furtive glances at his daughter. Once the food was in front of her, Amelia tried to pretend she didn’t want it, until her young appetite took over and she devoured the sandwich with large gulps of milk. How long had it been since the poor child had eaten?

  “Mr. McIntyre, may I have a word with you before you leave?”

  ***

  Surprised at being summarily dismissed, he followed her to the parlor again, taking one last look at the girl.

  Rachel closed the door and leaned against it. “Amelia is in dire need of love and affection. I know this is difficult for you, but you must spend some time with her. Maybe tomorrow you can just go for a walk, or something easy.”

  “What do I say to her?”

  “Sometimes nothing needs to be said. Just ask her to take a walk. Don’t pump her for information, just wait to see if she wants to talk. I don’t know what her life has been like up until now, but I suspect it hasn’t been all that wonderful.”

  What Rachel said was important and serious. However, all he could think about was those lips as they moved, and her breasts as they rose and fell as she took in deep breaths. Her cheeks were flushed, and parts of her hair hung in disarray around her shoulders. Despite his vow to avoid ‘forever’ women, at this moment he could not remember why. Rachel was all soft curves, with the mature body a young miss had yet to gain. She’d taken a husband to her bed, birthed him a child, and saw him leave this earth. Yet her face was free of pain, sorrow, or loneliness. She had her child, and seemed to think t
hat was all she needed.

  Rusty knew better. He knew what she needed, even if she didn’t. A slight smile rose to his lips as he pretended to listen to her, and moved closer. Apparently unaware of his advance, she continued to offer advice until they stood inches apart. He raised his arms and rested his palms on the wall behind her, closing her in.

  She stopped speaking and her eyes grew wide as they met his stare. “Wh-wh-what are you doing?”

  Though every morsel of survival screamed at him to turn around and leave before he made an irrevocable mistake, he drew her closer to his body and lowered his head.

  When she licked her lips, it was all he needed.

  Chapter Four

  Surprise rendered Rachel immobile. She should push Rusty away, slap his face, demand he leave immediately. And she certainly would do all those things as soon as she recovered her senses. Because right now all she could think about was the softness of his lips, the way he moved them over hers. He nudged her with his tongue and she opened to allow him access.

  She’d made a huge mistake. Any inkling of pushing him away fled as he devoured her, swept his tongue in, touching all the sensitive parts of her mouth. He pulled her closer and she slid her palms up to encircle his neck. The hair at the back of his head was soft, the curls at his nape springy.

  All of her insides turned to liquid heat. Her breasts felt as heavy as when she nursed Will. She grew damp between her legs, which were barely holding her up.

  “Ma, can I go up to the loft now?” Will’s question cooled her ardor better than a bucket of ice water could.

  She pushed Rusty away, her face heated as she turned to her son. “I’m about to put sheets on the bed, sweetie.”

  “Why were you kissing Mr. McIntyre?”

  Oh, Lord. How to explain this one? From the child’s earliest memories, he’d never seen her with a man. What must he think of her? “I was, um . . .”

  “I was thanking your ma for helping me take care of Amelia.” Apparently used to being caught in awkward situations, Rusty answered Will, as cool as rain water. “How about I go with you upstairs and help get you settled in your new quarters?”