His Daughter's Laughter (Silhouette Special Edition)

by Hudson, Janis Reams

  “I know that now. I just wish I’d known it before I let him worm my computer password out of me.”

  Tyler slowly straightened in the chair. “He did the em- bezzling?”

  Carly’s mouth quirked. “I don’t see how it could have been anyone else.”

  “Did you tell your boss this?”

  “With no proof? When the audit uncovered the problem the same day James and Becky—the boss’s daughter, mind you—announced their engagement? Who would have be- lieved me?”

  “Their engagement? I thought he was dating you.”

  “This is embarrassing. I think I’ve said enough.”

  “Oh, no you don’t. You can’t leave me hanging. We’re friends, remember? Tell me.”

  She sighed. “All right, yes, James and I were dating. For about a year. But nobody at work knew. I was his super- visor, and he was up for a promotion at the end of the year. He said he didn’t want…oh, God, this is ironic. He didn’t want anyone to think he was using me.”

  Tyler could see her struggling not to cry—or scream, he couldn’t tell which—and it twisted something inside him. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, promise her no one would ever hurt her again. At the same time, he wanted to get his hands around Mr. Junior Executive’s neck and squeeze. Hard.

  The sheer force of his reaction startled him. Yeah, he was attracted to Carly. Yeah, he liked her. But in reality, he barely knew her. He’d always believed in minding his own business and letting other people mind theirs. With Carly, he didn’t seem to be able to maintain that distance and objectivity. Didn’t seem to want to.

  The picture in his mind made him ache for her. Carly, so young and full of life, ready to fall in love. What’s-His- Name, James, slick and cunning and greedy, preying on her. Probably swearing his undying devotion while telling her their secrecy was for her own good, the bastard.

  To have him end up engaged to her best friend would have been devastating on its own, without having all signs point to her regarding the embezzlement.

  “So, what are you going to do?” he asked quietly.

  “I’m going to forget about it for now and go to bed.” She rose from the chair and reached for the doorknob. “Good night, Tyler. Thanks for listening.”

  He managed a slight smile. “That’s what friends are for.”

  Chapter Six

  Because they had agreed to be friends, Carly let Tyler talk her into going to church with him, his dad and Amanda that Sunday.

  “We start haying next week, so this will be the last chance I’ll have to get to town for a while. I want to show you around so you’ll know where things are in case you need something. Besides, the rest of the family will be there, and they’re anxious to meet you.”

  He could have talked all day and not said that. She would have felt better. The idea of meeting the rest of his family had her gnawing the inside of her jaw.

  “Just do me a favor, will you?” he’d asked Saturday night, a laughing twinkle in his eyes. “Please don’t wear that red miniskirt to church, or they’ll kick me out for drooling all over you.”

  He said it in such a friendly, teasing manner that it was impossible for her to take offense. Besides, he seemed to have taken this friendship thing to heart. He was just trying to make her feel good by boosting her spirits, make her feel attractive. And dammit, it had worked. She had smiled all the way up the stairs on her way to bed.

  But going to church with the Barnetts turned out to be something else Carly could have done without. They ar- rived after everyone else was already seated. The small white frame building sat on a corner across from a gas station. Cars overflowed the tiny gravel parking lot and lined the uncurbed street.

  Inside, sunlight streamed through the stained-glass win- dow behind the pulpit and cast patterns of colored light across the hardwood floor.

  Despite the crush of people filling the pews, every sound seemed to bounce and echo from wall to wall. Whispers hung suspended in the sun-streaked air between the floor and ceiling, paper crackled, people shuffled and rearranged themselves in their seats and cleared their throats. Even above the powerful strains from the organ, where a blue- haired lady played a mournful rendition of “Bringing in the Sheaves,” the sounds carried. Tyler’s and Arthur’s boots thudded. Amanda’s Mary Janes tapped. And careful though she tried to be with each step, Carly’s high heels struck the old oak floor like rifle shots.

  Heads turned, eyes stared and questioned. Hands covered mouths as people leaned toward one another to whisper, to wonder about the stranger in their midst.

  When Carly would have slipped quietly into an empty spot in the back pew, Tyler, following his father, led her and Amanda to the second row from the front. As half of it had been left conspicuously empty while the other pews were full, she assumed these were Tyler and Arthur’s usual seats.

  That meant several of the people surrounding them were probably Barnetts, too, but Carly didn’t dare turn her head to look. She could feel the sharp speculation in the air, the eyes on the back of her head.

  Were they thinking, like Arthur, that she was some little gold digger out to take Tyler for his money? No, they prob- ably didn’t even know who she was. In which case, they were undoubtedly wondering about that, about why she was with Tyler.

  She remembered the censuring, hostile looks Arthur had given her lately. They were the same as those she’d re- ceived in the offices at Blalock’s after the money had turned up missing. Hard. Cold. Speculative.

  Carly stared straight ahead and tried to ignore the feeling of paranoia growing in her chest.

  Amanda smiled up at her, and Carly forced herself to smile back, all the while counting the seconds until she could get away from this place, these people.

  After the services, it took ages to get back down the aisle and out the door. Tyler and Arthur stopped to greet nearly everyone. Carly tried to hang back, but Tyler wouldn’t have it. Amid the crush of people pouring from the pews, he took her by the arm and pulled her up beside him, while Amanda held his other hand.

  He introduced her without explanation, merely saying, “This is Carly Baker.” She couldn’t guess which among the people she met were the ones she’d felt staring at her. Simply knowing what some of them probably thought made her want to cringe.

  Men, women and children alike greeted Tyler with warm friendliness. But when they turned their gazes on Carly, she could see the speculation in their eyes. Who was she? What was she doing here? What was she to Tyler?

  All in all, the trip down that aisle toward the door and freedom was one of the longest in Carry’s life.

  Outside, in the blinding sunlight and stifling heat of noon, it got worse. Tyler introduced her to his family. She met Robert and his wife Karen, Joe and his wife Barb, and the baby of the family, Sandy, and her husband, Greg. There were four children ranging in age from two to six among the couples, but Carly couldn’t tell which child be- longed to whom.

  Then there was a Barnet cousin, Frank, who lived in Big Piney with his wife Bev and their daughters. Emily was seven; Laurie, six.

  They were all polite enough, but again Carly could see the speculation, the censorship in their eyes.

  Before heading for home, Tyler drove Carly past the gro- cery store, the cafe, feed store and bank, so she would know where they were should she need them. She was so intent on keeping tears of mortification at bay, she didn’t even bother to ask him what the devil he thought she might need at the feed store.

  That evening when Amanda was getting ready for bed, Carly started what she referred to as her “jeans” campaign. She sat behind Amanda on the edge of the canopied bed and brushed out the child’s long, dark hair. “Is there any- thing in particular you’d like to do tomorrow?”

  Amanda shook her head.

  “All the men will be out working in the hay fields. Your daddy told me. I’ll have to take lunch out to them. Will you help me? It’ll be like having a picnic.”

  Amanda turned her hea
d just enough to give Carly a shy smile and nod.

  “Good. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to need all the help I can get. You’ll probably need to wear jeans. I wouldn’t want you to ruin—”

  Before she could finish, Amanda was shaking her head.

  “You don’t want to wear jeans?”

  Amanda shook her head again.

  Carly continued pulling the brush through the girl’s hair. “I suppose I can understand that. Your dresses are so pretty. I guess that’s why you don’t play outside, huh? Be- cause you don’t want to ruin your dresses?”

  Pulling her hair free of the brush, Amanda turned on the bed to face her. The troubled look on the girl’s face made an ache bloom in Carly’s chest, but she did her best to ignore the pain. It was time to do a little gentle probing and pushing. “Did your mommy buy you all those pretty dresses?”

  With an anxious look that spoke volumes, Amanda nod- ded.

  “She liked you to be all dressed up and pretty, didn’t she?”

  Another nod. Big blue-green eyes, so like Tyler’s, filled with emotion.

  Carly wanted so badly to pull Amanda into her arms, to cradle her against her chest and soothe away the hurt. In- stead she probed deeper. “You miss your mommy, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  Her lower lip trembling, Amanda nodded again.

  “I’ll bet if you could talk, you’d tell me you like to wear the dresses’ because they make you feel closer to her, now that she’s gone, and that you know she’d like to see you dressed up. Would I be right?”

  Amanda nodded.

  “I wonder…” Carly used her fingers to fluff Amanda’s bangs. “Do you remember when you and your mommy lived here on the ranch, before you moved to Chicago?”

  This time the nod came with a slight smile.

  “Did you wear dresses all the time back then, or did you wear jeans to play in?”

  Amanda cocked her head to think.

  Carly knew she would have to phrase her questions more carefully so the girl could answer yes or no. As she started to do just that, Amanda reached out and poked a finger against Carly’s thigh. Her jean-clad thigh.

  “You wore jeans?”

  A vigorous nod this time.

  “And you played outside?”

  Yes.

  “I’ll bet your mommy didn’t mind you wearing jeans to play in, did she?”

  The brightness in Amanda’s eyes dimmed. She studied the knee of her flowered pajamas and gave a small shrug.

  Carly took another shot. “I’ll bet if your mommy was here now, she wouldn’t mind if you wore jeans to play outside. I think she’d understand, don’t you?”

  No response.

  “You want to give it a try tomorrow and wear your jeans? You could run and play and do all sorts of things, and you wouldn’t have to worry about getting one of your pretty dresses dirty or torn.”

  The child looked up with pleading, tear-filled eyes and shook her head.

  Carly stroked a hand down Amanda’s head. “Ah, honey. It’s hard, isn’t it? I know just how you feel. In fact, I shouldn’t have even asked you to give up your dresses for jeans. Not when I still can’t eat ice cream.”

  With a curious frown, Amanda cocked her head.

  Carly took a deep breath. She didn’t particularly enjoy opening a vein and bleeding in front of someone, but this time it was important. It would, she believed, help Amanda. Stilt, it took a long moment for the words to come.

  “I was nine when my daddy died,” she said softly. “I remember that day so well.”

  Amanda stared at her, wide-eyed.

  “I had thrown a fit after dinner because there wasn’t any ice cream for dessert. Daddy decided to get me some.” She pressed her lips together and waited for composure. Even without closing her eyes, she could see her father’s irritated grin, see him toss his car keys in the air and catch them, see him head out the front door that last fateful time. “He had a heart attack while he was at the store. He never came home again. I haven’t been able to eat ice cream since.”

  By the time Carly finished the story, both she and Amanda had tears trickling down their cheeks.

  “Look at us,” Carly managed to say with a choked laugh. “Here we are, crying again, this time over blue jeans and ice cream.”

  Amanda gave a tremulous smile and wiped her cheeks with the flat of her palm.

  “There you two are.”

  Tyler’s voice from the doorway made them both jerk.

  “Ah, jeez, you guys.” He wore a pained look. “Not again. You trying to flood the place? What’s wrong?”

  “Flood the place,” Carly said to Amanda with disgust. “What does he know? We’re just letting go of a little sad- ness, that’s all,” she told Tyler. “We’ve got to let it out now and then, so it won’t choke us. Right, Amanda?”

  Amanda gave Tyler a shy smile and nodded.

  “And it feels good to get rid of all that sad ol’ stuff, doesn’t it?” Carly asked.

  Again, Amanda nodded.

  Tyler shook his head and gave them a wink. “Well, if it feels good, you two go right ahead and cry all you want. Cry buckets and buckets if you want.”

  Amanda gave a breathy giggle.

  “Nah.” Carly grinned. “We feel about as good as can be right now. We probably won’t need to cry again for, oh, maybe a whole day or two, right, Amanda?”

  Amanda giggled again and nodded.

  Carly smiled and kissed the girl’s nose. “You have sweet dreams, honey. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Amanda gave her a smile in return, and Carly left to give the girl and her father time for their private good-night. Feeling a little shaky after her confession about the ice cream, she headed for the coffeepot in the kitchen. A few minutes later, Tyler joined her there and poured himself a cup.

  “Did you make that up?” he asked.

  “Make what up?”

  “That business with the ice cream.”

  Carly raised her brows. “Eavesdropping, were you?”

  “Shamelessly. Do you or don’t you eat ice cream?”

  She gave him a sad smile. “Afraid not. That’s the one thing I haven’t been able to conquer.”

  He gave her a crooked smile. “I didn’t know ice cream was something to be conquered.”

  “Not the ice cream itself. The guilt. If I hadn’t demanded my ice cream, my daddy would still be alive.”

  Tyler eyed her while taking a sip of coffee. “That’s ri- diculous, you know.”

  “Of course I know, in my head. But somewhere down inside, the little girl in me still thinks I don’t deserve to eat ice cream anymore.”

  “Like Amanda doesn’t deserve to wear jeans and play outside?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Great. How are you supposed to help Amanda, when you haven’t been able to help yourself?”

  Carly didn’t care for his sarcastic tone, but she really couldn’t blame him for it. “Maybe,” she told him softly, “Amanda and I can help each other.”

  “Is she going to give the jeans a try?” he asked softly.

  “Not yet,” Carly said. “I didn’t really expect her to give up her dresses so easily. To her, that’s the same as giving up her mother. It’s going to take her some time to realize the one has nothing to do with the other. But at least now, maybe she’ll think about it.”

  Tyler grinned. “Maybe you should make another bet with her. If she’ll wear jeans, you’ll eat ice cream.”

  “Cute, Barnett. I don’t think you want to witness a re- play of what happened the last time I tried to make myself eat plain vanilla.”

  “What happened?”

  “I tossed my cookies—or in this case, my ice cream— all over the kid who dared me to eat it.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re right. I’ll pass on that.”

  Tyler hated haying. Not because it was so damned ex- hausting—everything on the ranch was hard work. Cutting, raking, baling and stacking ton after ton of hay used a d
if- ferent set of muscles than most of the work he normally did, and he came home sore every night, but it was the soreness of honest labor. Haying wasn’t harder than every- thing else, only a different kind of hard.

  It wasn’t the rush to get the hay baled and stacked before the rain came that he hated. A rancher was always at odds with nature, racing it, fighting it, praying for it to help him out for once instead of work against him. The race against the rain was just part of the challenge.

  It wasn’t sitting hour after hour on a damned tractor when he much preferred to be on the back of a horse that made him hate haying, either, although it came close.

  No, it wasn’t any of those things that made Tyler detest haying season. It was the damned chaff. God, but he hated getting those tiny, prickly, itchy bits of hay inside every single inch of his clothes. Most particularly he hated getting the damned stuff down the back of his shirt. It made him itch and squirm, turned his mood black and his language foul. Every year it took him a good week and a half to settle down and live with it. Even then, he spent each day grinding his teeth until he could shower off.

  But this year, as if the chaff wasn’t enough, Tyler had a whole new reason to hate haying. It kept him away from Carly. He didn’t realize at first why his mood was more foul than usual. After all, it wasn’t as though he spent much time with her during the day. But he was used to working in the barn and corrals with the horses, the house always within sight, used to knowing Carly was only a few yards away. Knowing that if he could think up a good enough excuse, he could walk to the house and see her any time he wanted.

  And it wasn’t as though haying kept him away from the house all day. It could have, probably should have, but he couldn’t afford to let his prime cutting horses, nor the horses he was training for others, go an entire month with- out working. So he spent the mornings haying and the af- ternoons working and training the horses.

  As compromises went, it wasn’t ideal—not for getting the hay in on time, not for getting the best results from the horses—but it was necessary. A ranch was only worth as much as its hay, and at a need of one and half tons per cow, it took a hell of a lot of hay to see the fifteen hundred or so head of cattle remaining after the fall sale through a Wyoming winter.