Authors: Janette Kenny
Cowboy Come Home (24 page)
“That all you’re going on then? My birth date and age?”
Charlton shook his head. “There is more to it. Phoebe swears she’ll know her son on sight, and then there’s the birthmark that he had inherited from his father, passed down generation to generation. It’s never failed to show up, so, naturally, I place more stock in that.”
Trey relaxed at that. “Afraid I’m not the man she’s looking for then. Got plenty of scars, but I don’t have any birthmarks.”
“Yes, you do,” Daisy said from the doorway. “There’s one on the back of your neck.”
Silence boomed in the room while tension sparked the air.
If that was so, then why hadn’t he known about it before now? “That can’t be,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Charlton asked at the same time.
She nodded, looking from the older man to Trey and jiggling the tray of cups and coffee pot she clutched. He got out of his chair and took the tray from her, his legs feeling stiff and his mind a jumble of questions.
“I’m positive,” she said in answer to Charlton’s question, then she looked at Trey and added. “Just the edge of it shows on your nape.”
He set the tray on the table with hands that shook, afraid to believe it could be true. That he did have a mother who’d wanted him. And a grandfather who despised him so much that he had him taken away.
Before he stepped back, Daisy quickly filled cups with coffee. She pressed one in his hand before turning to Charlton, a surprise for she was a stickler for serving guests first.
“Cream or sugar?” she asked Charlton.
If Charlton noticed the slight, he didn’t mention it. “Black is fine.”
Trey took a sip of his coffee and welcomed the strong jolt from the brew. He found it hard to believe nobody had ever remarked about the birthmark before. But then again, he’d always worn his hair long.
He set his empty cup down and caught the older man staring at him, his expression pensive. “So what happens next?”
“My wife will query me on your birthmark. May I see it?”
“Sure, why not.” He couldn’t very well refuse, not when this could just as easily disprove that he was this lost son.
He dragged his hat off and gave his back to the man. He felt the slight tug on his hair as Charlton pulled the strands apart, barely drawing a breath as time crawled by.
Finally Charlton grunted and let go of Trey’s hair. He faced the man again, impatiently waiting while he drank his coffee, noting Charlton looked more unsettled than pleased by his discovery.
“Well?” Trey asked when Charlton just stared at him.
“It looks the same as my cousin’s, though his was more visible. Phoebe will know for sure.”
“This is a lot to swallow,” Trey said.
“Very much so,” Charlton said, staring hard at Trey and likely still searching for more family traits.
By his guarded expression, Trey guessed that he didn’t favor Charlton’s cousin Jeremy at all.
“We’ll return by the end of the week. I trust that is agreeable to you both?”
Hell, what could he say? That he was tickled to have found kin? That he could hardly wait to see the woman who’d given birth to him?
The bottom line remained that he wasn’t about to open his arms to a stranger, whether they were kin or not. In that regard, he and Daisy agreed, for she wasn’t about to bow down to a brother she didn’t remember.
Trust had come hard for him all his life. He wasn’t about to change now.
“Makes no never mind to me,” Trey said.
That sparked a deeper scowl from Charlton. “Young man, I can understand that this is a shock. I certainly don’t expect you to fawn over Phoebe either. But she has searched for you for nearly thirty years and finding you will be extremely emotional for her. I ask that you afford her the utmost courtesy and hear her out.”
Trey nodded, holding his deepest fears close to his vest as well. He hadn’t a clue how a man acted around a mother. Couldn’t imagine what kind of woman she’d be. Didn’t see any way that he could have anything more than a polite relationship with her at this stage of his life.
“I’ll polish up my manners,” he said. He was surprised when Charlton nodded.
“Very well. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.” Charlton stopped before Daisy and gave a brief bow. “Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Logan.”
“Please, stay the night,” she said, her smile tight.
“I don’t wish to inconvenience you,” Charlton said, glancing from Trey to her.
“You won’t be,” she said. “There’s a small bedroom right at the top of the stairs.”
Between their rooms, Trey thought with a wry grin. Having a guest would keep Trey in his room this night.
“Very well,” Charlton said. “I promise to leave before daybreak.”
“Hollis will have breakfast on in the cookshack by then. Help yourself,” she said.
Charlton dipped his chin. “Thank you, Miss Logan.”
She watched Charlton leave for his room, then turned to Trey. Her mouth was pinched in a tight knot, but it was the disappointment in her eyes that made him edgy.
“Why do you push people away?” she asked.
He rubbed his nape, but touching his neck only reminded him of the damned birthmark that would tie him to Mrs. Charlton. Phoebe, he’d called her.
A stranger to him.
“I don’t push them away,” he said. “I’m just careful who I let get close to me.”
“Don’t delude yourself,” she said. “You’ve put up a wall around your feelings, and nobody can touch you.”
He strode to her and slid his hands around her narrow waist. “I let you touch me all you want.”
She shook her head and gave him a pitying look. “No, you don’t. Not emotionally at least. That makes me wonder if you feel anything at all when we make love, or if it’s just a physical release for you.”
“I feel plenty when we’re together.”
“Like what?”
He scrambled for words to describe the riot of emotions that erupted in him when he kissed her, held her, drove into her and absorbed her tremors and little cries into his soul. “It just feels good. Right.”
“My God.” She pushed his hands from her and stepped back, eyeing him as if he were a stranger to her. “You’ve closed yourself off from everyone and everything for so long you’re incapable of normal emotions anymore.”
He swore loud and long, not liking the picture of a cold, unfeeling bastard that she painted of him one damned bit. But it was so close to the truth that he couldn’t voice a denial.
“I don’t know any better because I wasn’t offered much kindness when I was a child,” he said.
“Why?”
“There were a lot of kids in need of comfort. Reckon I’d gotten what little there was to give when I was a baby, but once I got age on me, I became just another mouth to feed.”
“What age would that have been?”
He shrugged. “Four or five.”
“You were still just a child,” she said.
“Like I said, I was one of many, Daisy. The lucky ones got chosen by families when they were babies. Next to them were those who were just walking. Once we got past four or five, folks looked past us and we learned to exist.”
She dropped onto the sofa, seeming deflated by that unvarnished fact. “That’s horrible. Don’t you remember any times when you were shown affection?”
He shrugged and forced himself to sift through those early memories of growing up in the Guardian Angel’s Orphan Asylum. “I have a fleeting image of an older woman rocking and singing to me. Mrs. Peach. I can’t recall her face clearly, but I always feel warm inside when I hear that lullaby.”
“What else?” she asked, watching him closely, like she expected him to recite a list of similar instances.
He frowned, thinking hard now. “I took sick once. They put me in the infirmary for a week. Mrs. Peach sat by my bed, talking softly to me and keeping my head cool with damp cloths.”
“She sounds like she was a very good woman,” she said.
“She was. But one day she wasn’t around anymore,” he said. “I remember asking about her and being told she’d died.”
“You must have grieved for her,” she said.
He shrugged. “Guess so.”
He’d cried in silence that night in bed, but he didn’t tell Daisy. He’d never told anyone, though Reid had heard.
She crossed to him and cupped his face with her small hands. Warmth flowed into him, as if he were sitting beside a fire on a cold night, thawing the ice from his feet and his heart.
“See, you’re not incapable of feeling,” she said. “You just don’t know how to express it. Why, I bet there were other instances of someone comforting you. Befriending you.”
Damned few, but he nodded just the same. “Hank caught me outside once bringing in wood. Shoved me down. That’s where I got this scar on my forehead.”
She glided a gentle finger over the old wound and damned if he didn’t feel healed. Feel whole. But what the hell did a man call that sensation?
“I hope he was reprimanded,” she said.
“Nobody saw but Reid, and we all knew telling on Hank did no good,” he said. “Reid grabbed Hank by the collar and slammed him up against the shed until Hank begged him to stop. He did, and warned him if he ever laid a hand on me again or did me harm, he’d have Reid to answer to.”
“Was that the first time he stood up for you?”
“Yep, and I knew then that I finally had a friend.” For the first time in his life he hadn’t felt alone. He had been part of something he didn’t understand, but that made him feel good. Feel wanted.
She smiled at him, and he found his lips twitching in kind. “Will you promise me one thing?”
His smile faded. “Depends on what that is.”
“Stop closing yourself off to everything that tugs at your heart,” she said. “Let yourself feel. Let yourself live. Let yourself go like you do in bed.”
Damned if his ears didn’t burn like fire at the thought. “Can’t see a reason why I’d do that.”
She dropped a soft kiss on the old scar on his forehead. “I’m going to say this once more, then no more. I love you. I loved you from the first moment I saw you. But unless you return it and mean it, there’s no future for us.”
“If you’re with child—”
She covered his mouth with her hand, her eyes bright with moisture. “As of an hour ago, I’m sure I’m not. What happens to us is up to you now, cowboy.”
Chapter 21
The next morning, Daisy woke in an irritable mood. She’d heard Trey leave his bedroom before dawn. Charlton had done the same a bit later.
When the house was quiet, she’d gotten out of bed, dressed and ventured downstairs. Though a pot of coffee had been set on the stove for her, her mood remained on the prickly.
That wasn’t like her, but then she’d become a different woman since her daddy died. Since Trey returned to her life.
For one, she disliked sleeping alone. Even having him in the house was a comfort. But since this last ordeal with Ned Durant, she wanted Trey March in her bed every night.
She could have that wish come true if she’d toss out the ultimatum she’d given Trey as they traveled home from that mountain village. But she couldn’t do that.
She deserved more, and so did Trey.
Yet the thing that had robbed her of sleep last night was the fact she wasn’t with child. How sad was that?
She surely didn’t want to be forced to marry a man who didn’t love her, yet down deep she’d hoped that choice would be taken from her. But the start of her cycle just as they’d arrived yesterday had ended that hope.
Now she was right back to sticking to her demand and taking the risk that she’d forever lose the man she loved. Yet she couldn’t endure a loveless marriage either.
As if to add insult to injury, she’d learned from Hollis that Trey and several of the cowboys had set out at dawn to tend to the calves that were birthing. With the drought and the stocks’ condition in moving them here, he’d feared the cows could have trouble.
She couldn’t fault him for his diligence, but she could complain that she’d been the last to know.
So with a cup of coffee in hand, she walked to the front door intending to sit on the porch and ruminate on what to do. The last person she expected to come calling was Kurt Leonard.
Just like before, she was gripped with the unsettling urge to run. But before panic engulfed her, Kurt sent her a boyish smile, and her odd unease around him evaporated like morning mist.
“Morning, Daisy.” He held a wilted bouquet of wildflowers, but his grip on the poor stems was so tight his knuckles had turned white. Finally, he thrust the flowers at her. “These are for you.”
She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Good grief, was he trying to court her?
With effort, she found her voice. “Thank you.”
She almost had to pry the flowers from his fingers. He’d never been this nervous around her before. What put him on tenterhooks now?
“Nothing has changed, Kurt,” she said.
She didn’t love him, and she never would. So she certainly wouldn’t encourage him, give him the least bit of hope that they could be anything now but neighboring ranchers.
He scuffed a boot on the porch much like a petulant little boy would do. “Can’t you just give us another chance? I can bail you out. Save both the ranches.”
But at what price?
She heaved a frustrated sigh. He was clearly a man used to having his way. A man who’d grown up knowing he could have everything he wanted. Anything he could buy.
Well, she was one thing he couldn’t have. The sooner he realized it, the better off they’d both be.
“There’s no point in trying,” she said. “I meant it when I said it was over between us.”
“I suppose I knew it that day I saw you with March at the JDB. But I just had to try once more.” He stared at her with sad puppy-dog eyes. “Can I at least come in and talk to you one last time?”
“If this is about us courting ...”
“No. It’s not that at all.” He scrubbed a hand over his nape. “There’s something I need to tell you. Please.”
She dreaded listening to his appeals again, but the fact that she’d humiliated him by breaking their engagement was all the reason she needed to hear him out once more. It was what she’d afford any man she might have to do business with in the future.
“Very well,” she said and stepped back. “Come on in the parlor.”
Kurt squeezed past her and strode inside, then stood in the middle of the room looking like he was lost. Such a nervous man, she thought as she closed the front door.
Of course, her turning him down before could be cause for him to feel awkward around her now. She certainly was ill at ease with him, which was something she’d never felt before. But then what had she felt for him?
He’d been kind. The gentleman who’d called on her and seemed content to sit on the porch sipping lemonade. The only man she’d ever been courted by. The only man who’d ever asked for her hand.
She’d accepted because her daddy had all but insisted on it after he caught her kissing Kurt. Just that one kiss made on a dare. But she hadn’t wanted to disappoint her daddy more, so she’d agreed to marry Kurt.
That had been wrong. She’d realized it soon afterward. But she hadn’t known how to end it without hurting Kurt and her daddy.
Then Trey had stormed into her life like a West Texas twister and swept her up in his passion. And in the end she hurt three good men.
She stared at the bouquet. Trey had never brought her flowers. She doubted he ever would. Yet Kurt had made the effort, even after she’d hurt him so badly.
“Have a seat while I fetch a vase for the flowers,” she told him.
Not that a bit of water would help the poor things. He’d crushed the stems, and the blooms were already wilting from the heat that had begun to build with the rising sun.
Still, she went through the motions for his sake and to bide time. When she returned to the parlor, he was standing in the middle of the room right where she’d left him.
That bizarre unease pulsed around her, and she was beset by the irrational urge to run again. Sweat dotted his upper lip, and his Adam’s apple was bobbing like a cork on water, signs that he was equally nervous or coming down with something.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I heard about Ned Durant kidnapping you.” He looked at her, his gaze wary. “I suppose March was the one who rescued you.”
“Yes. We didn’t get back home until late yesterday.” And that was all she intended to tell him about her misadventure.
He stared at his feet, a frown pulling at his brow. “Did you know Durant told me you’d been seeing March?”
I’m not the only one who knows,
Ned had told her. “When was this?”
Ned had told her. “When was this?”
“The day your daddy summoned me over for that last talk. I didn’t want to believe it. Even when you broke our engagement, I still wanted to believe I had a chance with you, that what you had with March was just a passing thing that you’d get out of your system.”
As if love was something she could get over.
She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose and suffered another pang of guilt for hurting this man. She’d wronged him when she accepted his suit because she hadn’t loved him then. When she did come to her senses, it only hurt him more.
“I’m sorry it turned out the way it did,” she said, and for lack of a better explanation, she repeated what she’d told him that day. “I shouldn’t have waited so long to break our engagement. In fact, I am sorry I led you on to start with.”
That unnerving silence hummed around them again. This time the hairs on her nape lifted. It was the strangest sensation, for this only happened to her when she felt threatened, and Kurt certainly hadn’t done anything the least bit hostile.
“The day you fell from the loft,” he said. “Do you remember what happened?”
Why in the world would he bring that up now? “Vaguely.”
“I tried to forget it too, but I can’t,” he said. “You’ve got to know I never meant to hurt you.”
She set the vase down near the window and stared at him, nearly overcome by a sudden, deadly chill. “What are you talking about?”
He grabbed her upper arm, his hold firm yet unyielding. Just that strong hold sent memories tumbling like weeds in her head, too fast for her to focus on anything. But every nerve in her body screamed at her to run.
“I thought if you had to marry me, you’d come to love me in time,” Kurt said. “That we’d have a family. You never would’ve wanted for anything.”
If she had to marry him?
Oh, God, oh, God ...
Oh, God, oh, God ...
Heat built in the room, and she felt woozy. Sick at heart as those snippets of memory that haunted her deep in the night blazed anew.
Strong arms tightened around her. Tried to pull her down in the hay.
She’d clawed and twisted until she broke his hold. Until she faced her attacker. And just like fog lifting over the creek, their eyes clashed for a heartbeat.
Not Ned, as she’d thought, but this quiet rancher.
Kurt had been waiting for her in the loft! Waiting to force himself on her in the hope he could plant his seed in her.
He hadn’t known she was carrying Trey’s child.
Hadn’t known, or likely cared, that she couldn’t bear to suffer Kurt’s touch.
So she broke free and ran. Filled her lungs to scream for help, not seeing the trapdoor was open until she was falling through it.
“Damn you,” she said. “Daddy never would have forced me to marry you.”
He shook his head in denial. “He would have. You’d have been mine then. But you fought me. And then you fell.” He swiped a hand over his mouth. “I thought you were dead and it was my fault. I knew your daddy would skin me alive. So I ran.”
She clutched her middle, feeling sick inside as she realized why he’d done what he had. He hadn’t meant to kill her, just trap her in marriage. But his selfishness had taken her baby from her.
“Get off my ranch, Kurt,” she said, unable to hate him but unwilling to tolerate his presence in her life.
“It was an accident,” he said.
She surely wouldn’t reveal her secret to this man. “What we had is over and can’t be brought back.”
And even if it could, she still didn’t want him. Wanted him less now that she knew he’d do anything to get his way.
Kurt nodded and backed to the door. “I’m sorry, Daisy.”
So was she, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of forgiveness, not after what he’d taken from her, not after he had the gall to come here and think that he stood a chance with her again.
So she simply stood there and stared at him until he finally turned and walked out the door. She moved fast then and turned the lock, heart pounding and heavy with grief.
She stood at the window and watched as he mounted his horse and trotted down the lane. Stood there until she couldn’t see him any longer, until she couldn’t hear the drum of hooves fading into silence.
Only then did her emotions get the better of her. She pushed away from the window and moved through the parlor into the kitchen with an awful emptiness ballooning inside her.
So much loss. So much heartache.
She collapsed on a chair when her legs refused to carry her any farther. There were no tears. She’d spent them all long ago when she thought Trey was lost to her forever. When she lost the precious life they’d created.
The sadness had stayed with her, aching like a muscle worked too hard. She’d never thought she’d have to deal with such matters and run the ranch, but she had.
After her daddy died, she’d been tempted to give in. But she’d fought back. Fought off Ned’s attentions. Fought off Kurt’s, not once but twice now. And she’d been prepared to fight Egan Jarvis with her last breath.
Now she was emotionally spent. Alone.
She had to busy herself. She couldn’t just sit here and wait for Trey to return. She wouldn’t crawl into a shell and cry over what had been.
So she pushed from the chair and set to work. There was laundry to do. She’d helped Ramona a time or two. She could surely manage alone.
But she ended up needing Hollis’s help to fill the washtubs with water. She’d insisted she could manage from there, heating the water and doing her laundry.
“Let me know when you’re done,” he said. “Can’t waste water.”
“I will.”
Three hours later, she hung the last of her clean clothes as well as Trey’s on the line in back of the house. Just tending to his things made her feel better. Made her feel like a wife instead of his lover.
But mercy, her back did ache, and she was soaked to the skin. She’d never felt this tired in her life.
Hollis ambled toward her. “Looks like you’re done in.”
“I won’t lie,” she said. “I’m bushed. In this heat the clothes ought to dry fast.”
“Yep, getting too hot out now for man or beast,” he said. “You best go on in the house and rest. I’ll tend to my duds and dump the water in the garden patch.”
“Thank you.” Still she hesitated over leaving just yet, as Hollis set to dumping his clothes in the washtub. “When do you think Trey will be back?”
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