It took her a moment to realize he was inviting her back into his home, despite what had just happened between them.
He hesitated before adding, “You might as well come for breakfast. I told Amy Beth she owes you an apology. You should be there to hear it before she leaves.”
When Vick heard the kitchen door snap closed, she sank back onto her bed, pulled the covers up to her neck, and whispered the questions she should have asked Rye before he left: “What do you expect from me? What happens between us now?”
RYE HAD THOUGHT long and hard for the past week about Lexie’s claim that he didn’t really know her. He was missing a lot of meaningless information, like her favorite color and her favorite food. But he was also missing information about important stuff, like whether she wanted more kids and whether more kids—which he wanted—would fit with her career. If their relationship was to move forward, he had to ask her about those things.
Rye’s stomach was churning, and he realized he was afraid of the answers he might get. What if they had differing views that couldn’t be compromised? What if they were sexually compatible but their lives didn’t fit in any other way? What would he do then?
Stop it, Rye. Don’t borrow trouble. Ask your questions and listen to her answers. If you want Lexie Grayhawk in your life, you’ll figure out a way to make it work.
At least, that was what he hoped. The memory of their night together—how it had begun and how it had ended—had also been on his mind. He took it as a good sign that Lexie had given Pete his marching orders. On the other hand, while he hadn’t begun to slake his thirst for her, she’d made it clear sex was on hold until they knew each other better.
Which was why he’d suggested a family picnic today along the banks of the Stillwater River, which bordered his property.
Rye had figured he and Lexie would have a chance to talk while Cody played with Rusty. And since Cody was along, Rye wouldn’t be tempted to try and seduce Lexie.
As the three of them stood on the edge of the swollen river, engorged by the melted snow from the mountains that crowded its banks, Rye made a point of telling Cody, “Be sure you and Rusty don’t play too close to the edge.”
“Okay, Daddy.” Cody bounded away with Rusty on his heels.
He watched Lexie catch her lower lip in her teeth and asked, “Did you want to say something to him?”
She shook her head. “Cody needs to play without me hovering over him every minute. The only danger I see here is the river, and you’ve warned him about that.”
“You’re not worried about a grizzly leaping out at us from the forest?” he said with a wry smile.
“We’re picnicking in a meadow, where a bear can see us in plenty of time to avoid us.”
Rye spread a blanket on the grass, and once the food was set out, he called Cody to come eat his lunch. After they’d all consumed their ham sandwiches and potato chips and sodas, Cody took off to play with Rusty again, while Rye and Lexie relaxed on the blanket in the warm spring sunshine.
Rye never really took his eyes off his son, but his gaze kept sliding back to Lexie, who focused her attention on him as he peppered her with questions.
“Favorite color,” he said.
“Blue. Yours?”
“Green. Favorite food?”
“Pizza.”
“Mine’s Black Angus steak. Rare,” Rye volunteered.
“Of course it is. Music?”
“Anything country. You?”
“Me, too.” She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Does this stuff really matter to you?”
He shrugged. “You said I didn’t know you. I’m trying to find out…things…about you. What should I be asking?”
“Are you okay with me being rich?”
He’d been lying on his side and was startled into sitting up. “You’ve never acted like you had money. Are you rich?”
“I have a trust fund. It’s how I bought the cabin.”
“I thought you had a mortgage.”
“Nope. I don’t have as much cash as I would have had if my father hadn’t gotten into financial trouble recently. But together with what I’ve earned at my job, I have a nice nest egg.”
The Rafter S Ranch had been in Rye’s family for so many generations there was no longer a mortgage on the house. But they’d borrowed money from time to time for improvements using the ranch as collateral. He was making payments on a loan right now to finance the construction that would double the size of the calving barn.
“I don’t mind that you have money,” he said, “if you don’t mind that I don’t.”
She laughed. “Touché. What about kids?”
“I want more, if that’s what you’re asking. How about you?”
“I’d like at least one more,” she admitted.
“How about three more?”
“Whoa! That’s a lot of kids.”
“Too many?” he asked.
“I’d have to think about it,” she said. “My work is important to me. I wouldn’t want to completely abandon it.”
He realized this was the sort of revelation Lexie had been talking about, where they had differences in their hopes and dreams for the future that would have to be worked out.
The discussion felt too serious, too perilous, and he opted for asking another trivial question. “Cats or dogs?”
“Dogs,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes that set frogs jumping in his stomach.
“Whew!” he said, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow. “Rusty will be glad to hear that.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I let Cody talk me into adopting that mutt. He sleeps the day away on the back porch, and if I don’t keep an eagle eye on him, sneaks into the house to sleep the night away in Cody’s bed.”
She laughed and glanced toward the Stillwater, where Rusty was racing after a stick Cody had thrown.
He followed her gaze to the rough-haired terrier. The stick had landed in the rushing water. The dog leapt in after it and was quickly swept downriver by the current.
Cody ran hell-for-leather along the bank after the dog, yelling “Rusty! Come back! Rusty!”
“Cody! Watch out!” Rye yelled as he jumped to his feet and raced toward the river.
Cody turned toward him, but as he did, the bank crumbled under his boots. He shrieked, his arms pinwheeling as he tumbled backward into the water.
“He can’t swim!” Lexie cried as she leapt up and sprinted after Rye.
“Cody’s a strong swimmer,” Rye shouted back.
At her shocked look he said, “He learned last summer. But the water’s freezing, and his wet clothes will be heavy.” Which just meant she was right to be scared shitless. Rye was running full tilt, and Lexie was keeping up with him, but Cody seemed to be moving farther away from them.
Lexie had obviously noticed the same thing. She whimpered and said, “Please, God. Please, God.”
Rye saw a sopping-wet Rusty running along the bank. He’d obviously escaped the roaring water. To his amazement, the dog suddenly jumped back in. It took Rye a second to realize what he was seeing. Apparently, Cody had called Rusty to him, and when the dog swam close enough, his son grabbed Rusty’s collar. A moment later, the big dog began swimming toward a tree trunk that had fallen partway into the water, hauling Cody along with him. Cody snagged a limb and hung on, while Rusty climbed his way up onto the rotted log.
“We’re coming, Cody!” Rye shouted.
“Don’t let go,” Lexie called out.
It took a lifetime to reach his son, and his heart was in his throat the whole way.
“Be careful,” Lexie warned, as Rye scooched his way out to the end of the rotten log on his belly. It seemed to take forever to get close enough to grab Cody’s sleeve. But once he had a good hold, he quickly hauled his bedraggled, shivering son in
to his arms and hugged him tight.
“You’re squishing me, Daddy,” Cody protested.
Water rushed across Rye’s feet, threatening to throw him off the log, and he realized his position was still precarious. He saw Lexie’s outstretched hand and realized she’d crawled out along the fallen tree far enough to reach for Cody. He handed his son off to her and the two of them inched their way back along the log until they reached dry land.
Rye joined them just in time to be splattered with water as Rusty shook himself. Rye felt an ache in his throat as he sank to his knees and hugged the dog. “Thank you, Rusty,” he muttered. The mutt that had been nothing but a nuisance, the mutt he’d resented having in the house, had just saved his son’s life.
The picnic could have ended in disaster. It actually ended in a stony silence from Lexie that felt every bit as catastrophic. She was avoiding his eyes, avoiding his touch, avoiding him. He had no idea what he’d done wrong.
Or maybe he did. How could he not have told her about Cody’s swim lessons? What was the big deal? He couldn’t remember what he’d been thinking at the time. It was merely part and parcel of his efforts to punish Lexie for the mistake she’d made, a mistake she’d apologized for again and again.
He really was a bastard.
After Cody was buckled into his car seat, but before they stepped into the pickup to go home, Lexie pulled Rye aside so they were out of Cody’s hearing.
“You should have told me,” she said, her voice sharp as a razor.
“Told you what?”
“That Cody could swim. I was terrified he was going to drown. What else don’t I know, Rye? What other knowledge about my son have you been keeping from me?”
“Nothing. I swear,” he said, holding up one hand like a Boy Scout taking an oath. “I figured Cody would have mentioned the swim lessons. I won’t let it happen again.”
“You better not.”
“That sounds like a threat,” he said, his heart pounding. How had things gone so far sideways? He’d never seen Lexie so angry. His friendly family picnic was turning into something dark and dangerous.
“Which reminds me,” she continued, “our custody agreement has to change. Whether we end up together or not, I need more time with my son.”
“Wait a minute,” Rye said, feeling his universe spinning out of control. “Where is this coming from?”
“From years of being deprived of my son’s company, that’s where,” she snarled. “I guess it’s a good thing I’ve got money and you don’t, because however much it costs, I’m going to take you back to court and get my visitation rights revised.”
“Take it easy,” he said, reaching out to lay a hand on her shoulder. “We can do this without going to court.”
“We can?” She jerked her shoulder so his hand dropped away. “How much more time are you willing to give me, Rye? How much time with Cody are you willing to give up?”
None. That was the word that came to mind. Obviously, that wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear. Rye suddenly had some inkling of how horrible it must be for Lexie to have so little time with Cody. The thought of seeing his son even a minute less in a single day left him gutted. And Lexie had been living with that reality for four and a half long years.
“You’re right,” he said, his throat aching and his stomach in knots. “I’ve been unfair. Things have to change. But please, Lexie, give us a little time to work things out ourselves before you involve the courts.”
She looked him in the eye and demanded, “How much time?”
“Until Mike comes home from the hospital. Okay?” Rye didn’t know whether that was going to be two days, two weeks, or two months. He wanted his brother to get better, but he dreaded the confrontation he was sure to have with Lexie when Mike finally came home.
RYE UNCLENCHED HIS fists and shook them out as he headed down the sunlit hallway toward the hospital room where Mike was fighting for his life. Rye’s breathing was erratic and his heart was racketing in his chest. He wasn’t a man who feared much of anything, but he dreaded confronting his mother about the secret he’d learned about his birth.
He just couldn’t put it off any longer.
After the calamitous picnic yesterday, Rye was being forced to reevaluate his behavior toward Lexie Grayhawk. He would never have made the choice to give up his own flesh and blood for adoption, but he understood now why Lexie might have thought it was the best solution, and it was past time he stopped punishing her for it. If his biological parents could give him away, was what she’d done so awful? In the end, Lexie had realized the enormity of what she’d given up and taken steps to recover what she’d lost.
Not only that, but she’d continued being the best parent she could be, in spite of the obstacles he’d put in her path. Because of his behavior, not only was Rye farther than ever from any possibility of a relationship with her, but his rights to sole custody of Cody might be in jeopardy as well.
Until Mike returned home, they were going back to being cordial co-parents. Between now and then he had a lot of fast talking to do.
Shit.
Rye would have groaned, except he’d reached the door to his brother’s room, which was open, and he didn’t want his mother to hear him and ask what was wrong. He’d persistently ignored her not-too-subtle hints that Lexie was not only a good mother but would make a good wife. He didn’t need or want his mom’s advice on his love life.
Rye was shocked when he entered his brother’s room to see that Mike was awake. His bed was cranked up so he was nearly sitting upright. Rye felt a flush of euphoria along with a ration of disbelief. “Mike?”
“Rye.” The whispered word was raspy, and a pained expression flashed on his younger brother’s face. Mike reached up to touch his throat with a hand covered in white tape, which was being used to connect a needle to a tube running to a clear bag of liquid. “Hurts to talk,” he said in a strained voice.
Because it would be hard for Mike to answer, Rye asked his mom, “When was the breathing tube removed?”
“Early this morning.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I did call. Amy Beth answered. She said you told her to go back to school.”
He saw the questioning look in his mother’s eyes but didn’t explain, because he couldn’t without telling her that he’d taken Lexie’s side over his sister’s.
“You just missed Amy Beth,” his mother continued. “She came by to check on Mike on her way back to Missoula.”
“And got good news, I see,” he said, smiling at Mike. “I’d ask how you feel, but you might kick my butt.”
“Would if I could,” Mike said slowly and with difficulty. He tried to smile but winced when stitches in his face that made him look like Frankenstein’s monster resisted the movement. “Mom said…I got shot…before I got mauled.”
“You don’t remember?”
Very carefully, Mike shook his head. “Just the bear…coming at me…and his godawful bad breath.”
Rye chuckled. His brother was definitely on the mend if he could joke about the attack. He wondered if the shooter had been trying to kill the bear to protect Mike and missed. But if that was the case, why not call 911? Something was off about the whole thing. “Has anyone from the sheriff’s office been by to talk to you?”
Mike started to shake his head again but moaned instead.
Rye turned to his mother for an answer.
“I haven’t called to tell Pete that Mike’s awake,” she said. “I wanted to give your brother some space before he has to answer a lot of questions.”
When Rye turned back to Mike, his brother’s eyes were closed, but his chest rose and fell reassuringly. Rye took a step closer and lowered the bed so Mike could rest more easily. He smoothed a hand over Mike’s mussed hair, then found a tiny spot without stitches, and kissed his brot
her’s forehead.
When he rose, he turned to his mother and said, “I think it’s time to talk.”
He saw a myriad of emotions in her hazel eyes. Fear. Regret. Love. Compassion. None of which did anything to relieve his anxiety. “Maybe we should go get a cup of coffee.”
When she rose from the chair she’d occupied beside Mike’s bed, she did so sluggishly, as though she were an old, old woman with creaky bones and achy muscles. Her shoulders sagged and her chin had dropped nearly onto her chest. She obviously didn’t want to have this talk any more than he did.
He waited for her to leave the room first and followed her down the hall to the hospital cafeteria. She walked like a prisoner on the way to the guillotine, which didn’t bode well for the coming conversation. He worked to control his breathing, which had become patchy.
Once they reached the cafeteria, he didn’t speak except to ask if she wanted coffee. She nodded, and he got a cup for each of them, black for him and sugar and cream for her. He carried the ceramic mugs to a table in a private corner and set them down. He pulled out a chair for her and waited until she sat before taking the seat across from her, so he could see her face while they were talking.
He took a sip of coffee and hissed when it burned his tongue. Her coffee sat before her untouched. He waited for her to speak, until it became plain she was waiting for him to say something first.
“Who are my parents?”
She looked shocked. “How can you ask me that? Your father and I are your parents. We raised you. We loved you. We—”
He interrupted her. “My biological parents.”
For a moment, he saw defiance, but it didn’t last. Like a balloon pricked with a very sharp needle, her body shriveled in on itself. Her hands slid from the top of the table to her lap, and her eyes focused downward as though she couldn’t bear to face him.
Acid rose in his throat, and for a moment he thought he might vomit. His stomach churned, but it didn’t erupt. “Mom?” He realized what he’d called her at the same moment she did.
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