Lissa's heart softened, and she looked up at Travis. "Thank you for saying that."
He glanced down at her at that, and she saw so much emotion churning in his blue eyes. Pain, fear, and compassion. "I meant it," he said.
"I know." She touched his jaw. "Thank you."
"Hey." Rand interrupted, and they both looked over at him. "I want to see my daughter."
Her heart seemed to freeze in her chest, and her fingers tightened in a death grip on Travis's hand. She fought to keep a neutral expression on her face, when all she wanted to do was panic. "I think we need to consider what's best for Bridgette," she said, fighting to keep her voice calm. "She is very happy and secure in her life, and meeting a stranger who claims to be her dad for a week until the tour moves on might not be in her best interest—"
"I'm not moving on." Rand moved closer, and she lifted her chin, refusing to back down. "I'm going to get you back, Lissa. You and Bridgette." He shot a look of disdain at Travis. "No piece of shit Stockton is going to keep me from getting my family back."
"We're not your family—"
"Bridgette's my daughter, and you're the woman I've always loved. That's family to me." Rand's expression softened as he looked at her. "I'll be back later, Lis. I walked away once, and it was the biggest mistake of my life. I'm not walking away again, no matter what." He tipped his hat to Travis. "You can't win over a heart that's already promised to someone else, Stockton. Give up now. You're not going to win this one."
Without waiting for an answer, he walked out, his cowboy boots clicking on the wood floor. He looked back once, just before the door shut, looking right at her, his gaze piercing through her shields and right to her heart.
Then the door shut, and he was gone.
Chapter 16
After Rand left, Travis forced himself to count to ten before he spoke. There were so many emotions racing through him he could barely think. He'd nearly lost his mind when he'd walked in the door and seen Lissa and Rand sitting so intimately at the table with that ring box between them.
A ring box that was still sitting there. Waiting for her. "Did he ask you to marry him?"
Lissa glanced at the table. "Not in so many words, no."
"Is it an engagement ring?"
"I don't know."
He had to know. He had to fucking know. Grimly, Travis released her, walked over to the table, and picked up the box. He flipped it open. A diamond ring stared back at him, glittering in the afternoon sun. There was only one possible interpretation of that ring. He turned the box toward her so she could see it, watching her face.
She paled, and sucked in her breath, her lips parting in shock.
"What are you going to say?" He couldn't believe he was asking that. He'd made love to her ten hours ago, with such amazing, incredible intimacy. How was it possible that he was standing here, asking her if she was going to marry someone else? His chest was tight. His muscles were so tense they were starting to cramp. He'd been here before, in this exact situation, with a woman he'd started to let himself care about, who loved—or whatever you wanted to call it—another man.
"What am I going to say?" she echoed, dragging her gaze off the ring to look at him. "Are you serious? He left me when I was pregnant, and never appeared again until last night. You actually think there's any chance I would go back to him?"
He steeled himself against the surge of hope that wanted to flood him. He'd bought into the lies before. He wasn't going to be stupid again. "He's your daughter's biological father. He was your first love." His voice was sharp as flint, so taut he could barely articulate the words. His pulse was thundering through him, pounding so loudly his head was throbbing. "He clearly loves you."
Jesus. He couldn't believe he'd just said that.
"Travis—"
He tossed the ring on the table and walked over to her. Her eyes widened as he neared, and he could only imagine the expression on his face. "Don't lie to me, Lissa. Just don't lie to me."
She lifted her chin, her eyes blazing. "You know damn well I would never lie to you. It's not my fault he showed up here. Don't treat me like all the people in your life who betrayed you. I've had enough of people treating me poorly because of their own biases about what I might be like. I thought you made love to me last night because you saw who I was. Was I that wrong?"
He opened his mouth to argue with her, but then he saw the flash of pain in her eyes. The vulnerability. The fear. Suddenly, all his tension vanished. This was Lissa, the one person in the entire world that he believed in. Swearing, he held out his arms. "I'm sorry."
Her eyes glistened with sudden tears, and she came willingly to him, burying herself against his chest. He held her tight, needing to feel her body against his, needing to lose himself in the warmth of her embrace. He kissed the top of her head, pulling her even more securely against him. He still had her. For a moment, he'd thought he'd lost her, but he hadn't. She was still his, maybe it was only for a week, but it felt like forever.
He heard the door close, and he looked up in time to see the couple that had been eating there walk out. He knew they'd probably bailed out of discomfort, but he didn't waste time caring. He tunneled his hands through Lissa's hair and bent down to kiss her, needing to stake his claim on her.
She kissed him back immediately, almost desperately, as if she, too, needed to reconnect with him. White-hot fire erupted through him, and he scooped her up in his arms, cradling her against him as he strode back toward the kitchen, not breaking the kiss.
He shoved open the door, intending to take her upstairs, but the moment they walked into the kitchen, the back door opened, and a little girl bounded in.
Travis swore under his breath, and immediately set Lissa down.
"Mommy!"
Mommy. Travis stepped back as Lissa bent down, sweeping her daughter into a massive, jubilant hug. Both mother and daughter were laughing and giggling, with Bridgette chattering wildly about a coyote she'd apparently seen earlier in the morning. Both of them were completely oblivious to his presence, but he didn't care. He was too stunned by the electricity humming between them, by the depth of their connection. He'd never seen anything like that. Ever. Was that how it was supposed to be between a parent and a kid? If so, it was a damned good thing that he hadn't ended up being a dad. There was no way he was capable of connecting like that with anyone, especially a child.
"Good afternoon, Lissa!" An older woman with flaming red hair walked in, wearing jeans, a red-plaid shirt, and a white cowboy hat. "Bridgette's been so excited for this afternoon—" She saw Travis and stopped, her eyes widening. "What in hell's name is Travis Turner doing in your kitchen?"
Travis grimaced and stood taller, regret pouring through him as Bridgette and Lissa swung around to look at him. The intimate moment was over, ruined by the appearance of the celebrity.
"Travis Turner?" Bridgette's eyes were wide. "No way."
He cleared his throat. "Travis Stockton, actually—"
"Travis Stockton?" The red-haired woman looked at him more closely. "Well, I'll be damned. Of course you're Travis Stockton." She marched right over to him and dragged him into a hug. "It's been a long, damned time, kiddo."
Travis frowned, uncertain what to do with his arms. He hugged her awkwardly. "Pardon?"
She pulled back, eyeing him. "You don't remember me? How on earth do you not remember me? What about Gary? You remember Gary?"
"Gary?" Travis frowned, recalling a man named Gary who had been the foreman at Old Skip Johnson's ranch, where he and his brothers had spent most of their days when they'd been growing up. Old Skip was the only reason any of them were still alive, and dinner at his ranch was often the only decent meal they'd gotten. It was Skip who'd handed Travis his first guitar and told him he had talent, but Gary had been the one to keep them in line when Skip wasn't around. As the youngest, Travis had been the last Stockton on the ranch after the others had left, and he'd slept there a lot. It was Gary who'd found him in the barn one nig
ht and made him move to the bunkhouse when he was crashing there. Gary and Skip hadn't treated him like shit, and they were the reasons he'd decided maybe he could make something of himself. "Of course I remember Gary."
She raised her brows. "Typical male. You remember the men, but not the women who made things work." She poked Travis in the chest. "My name is Martha Keller, Gary's wife. I cooked for you. Chili was your favorite, if I recall. I put ice on that head of yours after your daddy beat you, and I called the cops on him near a dozen times."
Travis blinked in surprise. "That was you?" He remembered a woman, but barely. He'd been young, and he'd hated the world. She'd been kind. Nice. Present.
"Damn straight." Martha raised her eyebrows. "Of course, I was a brunette back then, but once the gray hair set in, I decided to fight off the crap of old age, and went red." She cocked her head. "You're in town and you didn't come to my house for Sunday dinner last night? Every one of the Stocktons comes, including wives and kids."
Travis shifted uncomfortably, uncertain how to respond. He wasn't used to anyone demanding his presence at a Sunday family dinner, especially as a representative of the Stockton clan. "I didn't know."
"Well, now you know." Martha poked him in the chest again. "The fair is over Sunday night, and I expect you to be there before you leave town. Got it?"
He grimaced. "I'll have to check my schedule."
"Your schedule, my ass." Martha rolled her eyes. "Family is more important than a schedule. For hell's sake, half your brothers are going to be there. They're coming to town for the fair."
Travis blinked. "They are?" He knew Steen, Chase, and Zane lived in town, but the rest were spread around. He hadn't come prepared to bond with any of them.
"Yeah." Martha cocked her head, studying him thoughtfully. "You're the reason why they're coming, aren't you? Because you're the headliner Saturday night. Travis Turner. Chase never told us that you were him." Her face softened into a smile that suddenly felt so familiar. "The Stockton boys always stick together, don't they? So good to see you, Travis. I always knew you'd turn out okay. You used to spin magic with that voice of yours. I swear you could tame a rabid wolverine just by reciting some of that poetry you used to write."
Travis felt his cheeks heat up. "I don't write poetry."
"Poetry to music. That's what you do." Martha beamed at him, wrinkles crinkling around her eyes. "I'll be at that concert, my boy. Wouldn't miss it for the world." She patted his cheek. "So proud of you, kiddo. You done good."
Something tightened in Travis's chest. He didn't know what to say, or what to do. Martha was probably close to the same age his own grandmother would have been, if he had one. He didn't even know. And he didn't care. He'd learned long ago that his mother and her relatives weren't worth his time. But Martha... He remembered her now. He remembered walking into Old Skip's kitchen after freezing his ass off on the ranch all day, and having her there, cooking up chili that warmed him up something fierce.
He'd forgotten about it. He'd forgotten about the poems. He'd forgotten about all that time on that ranch, the one that Chase had bought and now called home. "It's been a long time," he said softly.
"Not so long," she said with a wink. "Less than a decade."
Less than a decade. Had it really been less than ten years since he'd left Rogue Valley? It felt like a hundred years ago that he'd lived here. A thousand years ago that he'd barricaded the door to his bedroom in hopes that it would keep his drunken father out. A million years since he'd sat around eating chili and reciting poetry.
Martha raised her brows at him. "So, of course, you'll be joining us for the picnic, then right?"
He blinked. "What picnic?"
"Oh, yes, the picnic!" Bridgette raced over to him, and grabbed his hand, her brown eyes practically glowing with excitement. "Even Mom closes the café this afternoon. Everyone goes to the picnic and listens to the afternoon concert. The entire town stops for it! Oh! Are you singing? I bet you're singing." Brigitte's eyes widened. "I know all your songs. The new ones suck, right?"
He blinked at her blunt assessment of the truth. "What?"
She rolled her eyes. "But the old ones, those were good. Like the one about sitting on the fence watching the horses?" She immediately started singing his first hit, the first single he ever released. Her voice was surprisingly on-pitch, and vibrant with life and energy. She flung her arm around Lissa, who was still kneeling on the floor. "Sing with me, Mom!"
Lissa's cheeks turned red, but she hugged her daughter and began to sing with her. Travis went still, shocked by the sound of Lissa's voice. It was mesmerizing. Rich with depth, hauntingly beautiful, weaving truth and emotion into the words that had been torn from his heart so long ago.
Instinctively, he knelt in front of them and began to sing with them, remembering the day he'd written it. It had been the night after his father had died, killed by Chase as he tried to beat Travis to death. It had been his first night of freedom, the first night when he'd sat there without fear of the monster that had hunted him his entire life. He'd sat on that white fence on the ranch and written about freedom, about survival, about redemption. It was that night, with that song, that he'd made the decision to use his music to get the hell out of Rogue Valley.
That was the last night he'd sung from the heart. After that, it had been about money, success, escape, and other shit that just didn't matter.
But as he knelt on the floor with Lissa and Bridgette, he suddenly remembered what it had once been like.
The song ended, and the room fell silent. He didn't know what to say. Then Lissa smiled at him, a beautiful, magic smile that made him want to hold onto that moment forever.
"Wow," Bridgette said, staring up at him. "You're way better in person."
He grinned down at her, feeling like smiling for the first time in a long time. "So, you're saying I sound bad on my recordings?"
"Kinda, yeah. They sound sort of fake and boring. Not like that. That was cool."
Fake and boring. That was exactly how he felt every time he sang. Except for now. Except for this moment. "Yeah, it was cool," he agreed. "I forget sometimes how to sing like that."
"Well, try to remember." Bridgette cocked her head, studying him. "I write poetry, you know. Maybe you could put some of my words to music and write a song from it."
Lissa grimaced. "Sweetie, Travis is super busy with work this week. He doesn't have time to do that—"
"I'd like that." He answered instinctively, before he had time to think about it, but when Bridgette's face lit up, he grinned back at her. "Why don't you show me what you've got?"
"Awesome! It's upstairs. I'll be right back." She dashed across the kitchen and flung open the door to upstairs, the whole kitchen shaking as she pounded up the steps.
Travis grinned at Lissa. "I like her."
She rolled her eyes as she stood up. "Be careful what you offer her. She's a tenacious little manipulator sometimes."
"Tenacious is good." He caught her hand. "You have an incredible voice."
Her cheeks turned pink. "No need to lie, Travis. I'm a sure thing for you. You don't need to sweet-talk me."
"I mean it." He paused, not sure how to put it into words how deeply it had affected him. "I—"
Martha cleared her throat. "I hate to interrupt this little love moment, but Bridgette is going to be back in about thirty seconds, which means you have about thirty seconds to adjust your schedule so you can come to the picnic with us, Travis."
The picnic. He remembered hearing about the town picnic growing up, but he'd never gone. "It's not my thing. And I have to sing at it."
"Not the whole time. Each artist sings only a couple songs." Martha put her hands on her hips. "Travis, you look like hell. You have circles under your eyes, and you look worn out. You need this today."
A part of him wanted to say yes. There was something appealing about the thought of sitting out on a blanket, eating a picnic lunch, with Lissa and Bridgette. He'd never done an
ything like that. Ever. But it wasn't his world. It wasn't his thing. He wouldn't even know how to act. And it would be a lie. He was temporary here. He didn't fit. Never did, and never would. "I can't. I have things I need to do..." His voice faded when he saw the flash of disappointment across Lissa's face. He paused, surprised. "You want me to come?"
Her gaze darted to his. "If you want to."
He did. He really kinda did. But at the same time, he had no idea how to do it. So, he just sort of shrugged. "I'm not a picnic kind of guy."
She shrugged. "That's fine. I mean—"
"I can stay here and prep for dinner." That sounded lame. Yeah, he didn't mind chopping vegetables, but it didn't sound like so much fun if Lissa wasn't going to be there.
She frowned at his suggestion. "Oh, no, you can't stay here and work while I'm off playing. That's not fair—"
"Oh, for heaven's sake." Martha shoved a basket into Travis's arms. "Start making sandwiches. If the two of you spend all afternoon making googly eyes at each other instead of actually admitting you both want to go to this shindig together, you'll miss the entire event."
Travis gripped the basket, still staring at Lissa. He didn't know what to say.
She looked at him, searching his face.
He knew this went against the unspoken rules of their week together. A week's dalliance didn't include things like family picnics at the town's fair. It was supposed to include chopping tomatoes, cooking burgers, and late nights upstairs where he tried to create memories that would sustain him once he left town. Nothing more personal than that. Nothing public. Nothing that made promises neither of them could keep.
But neither of them turned away. He realized he was holding his breath, waiting for one word from her, any word that would invite him to cross that invisible line they'd never discussed, but that they both knew existed. He'd never cross it himself. He wouldn't do that to her, or himself. But as he stood there, he realized he wanted more than anything for her to invite him to go with them, to give him one day, one afternoon, one hour of the life he'd never had, and never would have. One hour of what normal people did with people they cared about.
A Real Cowboy Never Walks Away (Wyoming Rebels Book 4) Page 14