“Then...” She paused.
He knew what was coming. “Then how do I have Sean?” He shrugged. But he had to blink a time or two before he could continue, and he couldn’t keep his fingers from curling into fists. “She didn’t want my baby. I did. I made arrangements to take care of her medical expenses until Sean was born. I didn’t force her into it. I made the offer. I told her it was her body, her choice. She made that decision, too.”
For a moment, he struggled to fight all the pain he’d felt at the time, suddenly coming at him again now in spades. “Yeah,” he admitted. “You were right. Those are sure some memories I don’t want to keep.”
He went to take the annual from her. “I’ll put this up in the room.” Her eyes were still teary, but she gave him a shaky smile. He tried not to wince. She thought he had agreed about saving the book. Saving the good memories, at least.
Now he was the one clutching the annual, using his grip on it to keep from reaching for her.
He moved past her and up the stairs, knowing what she couldn’t know—he’d been avoiding other memories for a longer time, since his senior year in high school. He was still trying to run from them, the way he had just run from her.
She would be harder to escape.
Whichever Ally she decided to be at any moment didn’t matter to him. Either one...both... He wanted her. And he knew she wanted him.
It all came down to sex.
The changes that had happened in his life because of his ex.
The reason he couldn’t keep from wanting Ally. But even if she came to him with another offer, he now had another reason for turning her down.
He didn’t think he could sleep with her once and walk away.
Chapter Thirteen
As it turned out, Ally didn’t stay much later at Reagan’s.
Instead, she had spent a very long night awake and alone, replaying everything he had told her.
After hearing his voice crack more than once, after seeing him blink to ward off what had to be tears, after seeing his shoulders hunch and jaw tighten and his fists clench as he’d shared that story, she hadn’t been able to close her eyes all night.
She would be the first to admit she hadn’t thought she wanted children. But Reagan’s baby? How could that woman not have wanted Reagan’s child? How could she just have thrown Reagan and Sean away?
On her long drive out to the ranch in midmorning, those questions kept ringing in her head.
Those questions, and something else Reagan had shared.
She said she loved me, I told her the same thing.
And still he and Sean had been deserted.
No wonder he refused to believe her when she told him she had loved him for so long.
She closed her car door and took a deep breath, then started toward the house. She had arrived around the time she had last Saturday, and again she had brought a sack of sweet rolls from SugarPie’s. Doing something twice didn’t make it a routine, but the repetition of her actions this morning, the normalcy of them, helped right her world, a world that had gotten shifted off course last night by hearing Reagan tell his story.
She could only imagine what living it had done to him.
She set the sack of sweet rolls on the counter. From it came the scent of yeasty, cinnamony goodness, and that helped to right her world a little, too.
Everyone needed a little sweetness in life.
She left the sack on the kitchen counter, checked that her braid was tied with its ribbon and her plain blouse tucked in and neat.
Face it, she was using these delaying tactics because she was nervous about seeing Reagan this morning. Nervous about how he would feel after having said so much about himself when that wasn’t his way. Nervous about how he would feel now that she knew.
After taking a deep breath and forcing a smiling, she went into the living room. From the bottom of the stairs, she called his name.
“We’re up in my room,” he called back.
She found him changing Sean. “Good morning,” she said. “How’s...” ...my little boy today? she had begun to ask the baby. She caught herself just in time and focused on Reagan. “How’s everything going?”
“Fine so far. We’ve just finished breakfast.” He looked from her to Sean. “Haven’t we, little man?”
Hearing the love in his voice made her heart melt. He was such a good daddy. Sean was such a good baby.
She wanted them both to be hers.
As if reacting to his daddy’s voice, Sean flailed his arms.
She and Reagan laughed. It was all so normal.
Except that, to her ears, her laugh sounded shaky. Not surprising, since it matched the rest of her right now. A good kind of shakiness that came from feeling happy. Excited. Hopeful.
Reagan had shared something of himself with her, and he wasn’t backing away.
She took a seat on the edge of the bed. To her surprise, the quilt she had last seen on the dresser was now spread neatly across the mattress. She ran her hand along the surface.
Reagan must have noticed her movement. He said, “Sean likes it.”
“I’m sure he does. I told him someday you’d be teaching him about all these sports.”
“I sure will.”
His smile made her as happy as the sound of his voice had made Sean. She felt a sudden urge to wave her arms a bit, too. Resisting the impulse, she looked down at the quilt again. She recalled asking Reagan about it once before and how abruptly he had answered the question. Yes, his mama had made it. Change of subject.
Now the silence that had fallen between them felt relaxed. Comfortable. That, and the fact that he’d talked so naturally to her this morning, prodded her to bring up the subject again. “My mama makes quilts like this. With her crafts club. Your mama hand made this one for you, didn’t she?”
He nodded. “Yeah. As I’d said, she was in that club, too.”
“I know. And it looks like your father was pretty handy, himself.” She touched the headboard of the bed. Carved across the surface of the wood was a single row of alternating Stetsons and horseshoes. The carving matched those on the top drawers of the nightstand and dresser. “I’ll bet he made this entire set.”
A new silence hung on, not quite as comfortable.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “My dad was always good at working with wood.”
She gestured across the room. “The shelves in here. The bookcases and cupboards downstairs in the living room. He built those, too.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah. A long time ago.”
“You can take the bedroom set with you, but what about the rest? If it were mine, it would break my heart to walk away.”
He shrugged. His eyes looked bleak. “Sometimes that’s the best thing to do with memories.”
“You said that last night about your yearbooks and school keepsakes. And now, you want to walk off from all these things your parents made, just for you? Why, Reagan?” she asked softly.
The flirty side of her might not have asked. But every part of her wanted to know his reasons.
He had been a happy kid in grade school and junior high, a good student, eventually a town hero after he’d excelled on the high school teams. She had never heard of him getting into any trouble, drinking and driving, pulling stupid pranks or hanging out with the wrong crowd.
The quiet side of her said to let this go. But again, every part of her had its own ideas.
She would bet Reagan had never allowed himself to tell anyone what he had told her—and she was certain there was something else bothering him. His story last night was heart-wrenching, yet he had shared it. How bad could his other memories be that he refused even to mention them?
She wanted to do more for him than sorting boxes and even minding his so
n. She wanted to help him with everything that was haunting him, even if all he would let her do was to listen as he talked.
“There are more memories, aren’t there?” she asked. “More that you want to walk away from?”
For a long moment, he looked across the room at the shelves and the trophies and the bulletin board with the picture of himself and his parents on vacation. She could almost see the thoughts whirling in his head.
Should I tell her? Should I trust her? Should I keep it to myself the way I’ve always done?
She pressed her hands together in her lap and waited.
Sean squirmed on the bed, turning his head as if trying to find her. She leaned forward to touch his hand.
On the dresser, Reagan’s cell phone rang. He hesitated, and she told herself he wouldn’t answer it. He didn’t want the interruption. He planned to talk to her, to answer her question.
After another ring, he turned and went to the dresser. “Hey, Jed,” he said. “Nothing much at all.”
And she could almost swear to knowing what Jed Garland had said.
What’s going on?
And what was going on? A conversation she had hoped would bring Reagan a few steps closer. A conversation that might have just ended for now.
Swallowing a sigh, she lifted Sean from the bed.
* * *
REAGAN PARKED THE pickup truck under the same shade tree he’d found last Sunday. Today, he and his son had company. Ally had come along with them to the Hitching Post—at Jed Garland’s invitation.
This trip, it was Ally who took care of transferring Sean to his infant seat. He watched her movements, quick and steady, and thought about what Cole had told him about her not wanting anything to do with kids. Sure couldn’t prove it by looking at her.
How many sides of her were there, anyway?
He wouldn’t be around long enough to find out.
That was partly why he’d been relieved to get the saved-by-the-bell call from Jed. There were many things he could have told Ally in answer to her questions, but what was the point when he was leaving soon?
“I’ll take that little boy from you,” he said, reaching for the carrier. For a moment, they both gripped the seat’s handle. His fingers brushed Ally’s, and he had a picture of them walking across the yard, hand in hand, linked by the baby. Looking like a family.
She let go of the carrier and walked beside him and Sean.
He wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to come here for the barbecue with her.
He wasn’t sure why he’d done anything lately. At first, he had told himself he was spending more time with her because he’d wanted to put some space between her and Sean. Then he told himself he had to be with her to see how she was taking care of his son. And now, he’d fallen back on the excuse of needing help clearing out the house.
He was almost as good at telling himself stories as she was at spinning them for herself.
“There’s Jed,” she said, pointing to one side of the yard. “They’ve probably already got the fire going. It was nice of him to invite us to the barbecue.”
“It was,” he agreed. “Though maybe my time would be better spent working at the house.”
“Everybody needs a little relaxation sometime. We can get back to sorting things out tomorrow.”
She said it so readily, so easily, as if they were a family. Or at least, a couple.
The longer he let her stay around, the more people saw them together, the more she would hang tight to her fantasy that she was in love with him.
As tightly as she had gripped his son’s carrier, keeping him safe.
As tightly as she had wrapped her arms around the school annual, holding his memories.
He needed to wrap up his business here and get back to San Antonio. Back to work. The phone call with his boss the other day had included a few complaints about being shorthanded. Besides, his stockpile of vacation hours was running low, and he’d never know when he might need that time for Sean.
Jed saw them coming and loped across the yard to greet them. He clapped a hand on Reagan’s shoulder. “Glad you could all make it.”
The older man turned to Ally. “You can head on inside if you like, take the baby out of this sun for now. The women can use a hand in the kitchen.”
She laughed. “Paz must have left town, then. She knows better than to let me anywhere near her domain. I’m a disaster in the kitchen, remember?”
“You made a good meal yesterday,” Reagan said, then clamped his jaw tight. He had enjoyed the supper, but he didn’t need to encourage Ally. Or to broadcast the fact that they were spending time together that didn’t involve her babysitting for Sean.
“Thanks. I’ll take the baby,” she said, reaching for the carrier again.
And again, he held on long enough to make sure she had a good grip. Then he watched her walk away with his son.
“Come sit for a while,” Jed said. “We’re only just building the fire, so it won’t be too hot over there yet.”
Standing right here, watching Ally walk away had gotten him hot enough. Jeez. He was salivating over the woman right in front of Jed, who, to hear Cole tell it, was New Mexico’s biggest matchmaker. That’s all he would need, to give the man an idea he was ready and willing to get hitched.
It would be a cold July in Cowboy Creek before he’d try that again.
He fell into step beside Jed.
“So Ally’s doing some cooking out at the ranch, huh?” Jed asked.
He should’ve known the old man would pick up on his slip. “Sausage and eggs. Standard breakfast. For supper,” he clarified hastily. “She made it at suppertime.”
“I see.” Jed smiled.
He’d bet Jed had seen and imagined and already turned the event into much more than it was. Just as Ally had probably done.
He glanced across the yard. Halfway to the back porch of the Hitching Post, she had stopped to talk to one of Jed’s cowhands. Or the hand had stopped to talk with her.
He frowned. Not that he cared how Ally passed her time. But couldn’t the guy see she was carrying Sean? What man would hit up a woman holding another man’s baby?
“That’s a girl with a good heart,” Jed said. “Loyal, too. They don’t make them much better than Ally Martinez.”
Which Ally? he wanted to ask. Did everyone out here at the Hitching Post know both sides?
Again, he wondered how many other sides there were to her, how many facets he hadn’t yet seen. How much he had missed by turning down her invitation.
How many reasons she’d come up with to convince herself she loved him.
The thought brought him to a halt. Jed, oblivious to the fact that he had lost his companion, continued walking and joined a group of what looked like hotel guests.
From across the yard, Cole Slater raised a hand, hailing him. The other man held up a beer bottle and pointed to the cooler at his feet.
Reagan nodded and headed in that direction. His gaze strayed toward the hotel. Ally and the cowhand seemed to have plenty to talk about. He said something, and she laughed and swept her braid back over her shoulder.
Reagan envisioned her reaching out her hand to him.
He ground his teeth together, shifted his Stetson and wiped his brow. With a nod of thanks, he took the bottle Cole handled to him. “Just one,” he said. “I’m driving. But a cold one will go down good right now. The temperature must have jumped a few degrees in the past few minutes.”
“Could be,” Cole agreed. “The sun’s been strong, and we haven’t had a cloud in the sky this afternoon.”
“Yeah,” he agreed—though he knew darned well it wasn’t the summer heat that had made him break out in a sweat.
His reaction had come from the memory of Ally’s declaration of love. A decla
ration he hadn’t believed, as he had made very clear to her. He’d laid out a valid argument then. He stood by his reasoning now.
They’d barely been around each other growing up. He’d seen her at school dances, home games, a few county fairs, with her always amid a group of girls and him hanging out with his teammates. He’d never been near enough to give her anything she could consider encouragement.
And a schoolgirl crush wasn’t love.
She had convinced herself it was...
Or maybe she just wanted to convince him.
That come-on the other day, her hand outstretched in invitation, her shy admission she had “waited” for him...
All right, yeah, she might have waited. But once she’d satisfied her schoolgirl fantasy of him being her first, would she stay?
Neither his luck nor his prior experience gave him an answer he liked.
He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and took a long swallow of his beer. Across the yard, the wrangler tipped his hat to Ally, and she laughed and made a little curtsy in farewell. That was his flirty Ally...
Damn.
She wasn’t his Ally.
He needed to stop thinking like that, to stop thinking of all he saw in her. She was bold and flirty and quiet and sweet and made him laugh and turned him on.
But as he’d already proved, when it came to reading women, he had lousy eyesight.
Chapter Fourteen
Ally took a seat on one of the many wooden picnic benches scattered on this side of the Hitching Post’s backyard.
Once Jed had announced the barbecue was done to perfection, he called the crowd to order. The hotel guests, the ranch’s wranglers and the Garland family all lined up, plates in hand and—as their host said—appetites at the ready.
They had their choice of beef or ribs, or both, served right from a carving board set beside the barbecue. Slow-cooked beans came straight from the pot that had been suspended over the fire. Corn and biscuits and salads and big bowls of chile relleno, one of Paz’s specialties, were all brought out from the hotel.
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