He loves them too much to stay

Lane Beaumont has always loved Amanda Hawkins. If his life weren’t such a mess he’d want much more than their current on-again, off-again relationship. But Amanda deserves a better life than he can offer. So when she gives birth to their son, Lane does the right thing and walks away.

Amanda should be devastated. Except his reaction doesn’t make sense. The Lane she knows would never turn his back on her or his responsibilities. Plus, she saw that cowboy’s heart melt when he held their son. Something else is standing in the way of their happiness and she won’t stop until she finds out what.

“I am not cut out to be anyone’s dad.”

Those words burned Lane’s gut, but he kept going.

“He needs someone else.” Anyone else. “Someone better, someone who can give him—and you—a better life than I can.”

Lane took a step back from the bed. “You don’t have to worry, Mandy. I don’t make much, but I’ll send what I can.” He took a few more steps. He knew this wasn’t what Mandy wanted and it tore him up to walk away from her. Their son’s tiny face floated in his memory, taunting his so-called noble gesture. But he knew the reality. He couldn’t put either of them through the mess that was his life.

Better to keep his distance now, before the attachment grew, than to hurt them later, like he knew he would.

Damn it.

Dear Reader,

Sometimes when writers get together, we get a little crazy. Most of the writers I know are longtime friends, which only makes matters worse. One night, several of us were talking about our stories, brainstorming and having fun. Somehow the idea of a “cowboy who wants to be a fireman” was mentioned. (It fit into the conversation, really it did.) In that instant, Lane burst into my thoughts, as alive as if I’d known him all my life.

I knew without a doubt that he was the perfect match for Amanda Hawkins, the next sibling in the A Chair at the Hawkins Table series. She’s as lost in life as he is and together, maybe, they can find their way. I certainly hope so since the story opens with their child coming into the world!

Those of you who’ve asked will be pleased to know life has continued on for Mandy’s siblings and you’ll get to catch up with them—and her nephew, Tyler—as well.

I love to hear from readers. You can always reach me through email at angel@angelsmits.com or Facebook and Twitter (@Angelwrite), as well as other social media. Also, for those of you who still indulge in the art of letter writing, please feel free to write me at 5740 N. Carefree Circle, Suite 120-4, Colorado Springs, CO 80917.

I hope you fall in love with these two as much as I have. They were such fun to write, and I still miss them now that I’ve finished my part. Now it’s your turn to enjoy.

Happy Reading!

Angel Smits

Cowboy Daddy

Angel Smits

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANGEL SMITS lives in Colorado with her husband, daughter and puppy. Winning the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award was the highlight of her writing career, until her first Harlequin book hit the shelves. Her social work background inspires her characters while improv writing allows her to torture them. It’s a rough job, but someone’s got to do it.

MILLS & BOON

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Sisters. Who needs sisters? The men in my books certainly do, and I’m lucky enough to have one of my own to use as a great example. April Wilkerson is one of my best friends. I don’t know what I’d do without her shoulder to cry on and her silly stories to laugh at. This one’s for you, April.

And as always, for Ron, for the good parts!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

HE LOVED HER. He’d always loved her. He couldn’t imagine not loving her. But she wasn’t for him. Leaning back on the bar stool, Lane Beaumont stared into the mirror behind the well-stocked bar. Between the whiskey and vodka bottles, he could see the entirety of the Lucky Chance Bar, all three thousand square feet of wood and country décor. Still, his vision narrowed to her.

Just her.

Amanda Hawkins sat with three of her friends in a booth toward the back. The live music hadn’t started yet, so he caught snatches of their conversation and every once in a while, a snippet of her laughter.

That laughter—sweet and warm—first had hit him way back during that summer between his junior and senior years of high school, the summer she’d spent working at her grandfather’s ranch. Right away, that sweet, husky sound had grabbed him and pulled him to her.

Their eyes met just then in the mirror, and Lane forced himself to be the first to turn away. Going for the casual, “I don’t give a damn” look, he took a deep swallow of his beer. He’d allowed himself only one drink, and this was it, so he intended to make the most of it.

“Hello, Lane.”

Her voice washed over him, and he mentally cursed. He didn’t need the temptation tonight.

“Hey, Mandy.” He didn’t look at her. He didn’t have to. He could see her—every beautiful inch—inside his head, in his memories. And felt her gaze roam over him. “Slumming again?”

“Don’t be a jerk.” She leaned against the bar. “Hey, Sam. Can we get one more round?” She gave the bartender—another member of their old summer crowd—a grin and a wink as she handed him an empty serving tray.

“Must be some celebration,” Lane said before the next swallow. “That’s your third trip up here.”

“You counting my drinks, cowboy?” She glared at Lane, then turned back to Sam and the four glasses of assorted drinks settled on the serving tray. Mandy had worked here one summer a while back—she knew how to carry a tray like a pro.

Mandy curled her long, slender fingers around the edge of the tray, her knuckles flashing white for an instant. Turning to lift it off the bar, she brushed against Lane’s shoulder, sending a shaft of something he refused to identify zinging through him. “Maybe you should ask why we’re here instead.”

Lane knew better than to ask anything that specific of Mandy Hawkins. He’d been down that rabbit hole before, and they didn’t serve tea at that Mad Hatter’s party. He shook his head and she carried the tray back to the table, a sweet little sway in her hips and long chestnut hair. He watched. Every. Single. Step.

“She’s not stupid, Lane,” Sam said as he filled more glasses on the other side of the bar.

“I never said she was.”

Sam’s right eyebrow shot up. “Then why do you ignore everything she throws at you?”

Lane wasn’t going to answer that. Sam needed to keep his nose in his own business, but Lane wouldn’t voice that thought, either. Something about protesting too loudly flitted through his mind. “So, what’s the occasion?”

“Trina’s moving to Chicago. Some new job. Some new guy, too.”

Lane picked Trina out of the group. He’d never liked her. Not when she’d been the head of cheer squad in high school, and even less when she’d dragged Matt Halloran down the aisle the summer after graduation.

Two years later, his friend Matt had found himself working double shifts at some big box store in Dallas in order to make the child support and alimony payments. So Trina could live in LA in the style Matt had never been able to provide.

Why Mandy had ever become friends with her, he had no idea.

Yet another reason to keep his distance.

Yeah, if he kept telling himself that he might start to believe he actually could. Sam walked away shaking his head, and Lane returned his gaze to the mirror.

Mandy looked good tonight. Pretty as always. But there was something off that he couldn’t peg. He frowned. Her smile seemed slightly dimmed. Her eyes—he looked harder—were distant.

Those eyes turned to him, caught him watching her in the mirror. And held. Why was she here?

Lane tilted his glass and finished his beer. He tossed a couple of bills on the bar to pay the tab. Time to go. He had a half dozen other places to hit tonight. Hank hadn’t shown up here, and his phone was oddly silent.

But it was early still. Maybe the old man hadn’t hit that mean drunk stage yet, wherever he was. Lane headed to the door, listening as the band warmed up on the miniscule stage. Some pseudo-country band that thought adding a fiddle and harmonica meant they could call what they played country music.

“Where you headed?” Mandy’s voice found him at the door.

He wasn’t interested in sharing his schedule with her tonight. He took a few more steps, her perfume following him.

“Go back to your friends, Mandy.” He hit the metal crash bar and stepped out into the night. Drizzle fell from the sky, making a mud puddle out of the parking lot. Great. Just great. He didn’t need this. He had too much to do.

He’d just reached his old truck when a soft hand touched his arm. What the—? “Mandy? What are you doing?”

“Something I should have done months ago.”

She must be drunk, he reasoned as she stepped in close. At the thought, his stomach churned. God, no. But when her lips found his, she didn’t taste like alcohol.

She tasted like the spring breeze wafting over the prairie, fresh and sweet. Welcoming. His arms instinctively went around her, holding tight, letting himself go—for just a minute—to the one place in the world he wanted to be. Lord, he’d missed her. Missed this.

His senses quickly returned, and he reluctantly removed her arms from around his neck and stepped away. “You want to explain what the hell this is about? I thought you’d decided we were finished.”

He looked closer. Her eyes glittered with damp. Tears? Mandy Hawkins was the only girl he’d ever known who didn’t know how to cry. “What’s wrong?” Deja vu slithered over him as rain fell in earnest.

“No...nothing.”

“Like hell.” He yanked open the door of his truck and lifted her in. The battered bench seat could take the damp. He climbed in after her. “Explain.” He pinned her with a stare and a stiff arm, keeping her from leaning against him. He couldn’t refuse her more than once a night. He wasn’t that good a man.

“DJ...” She hiccupped.

Her brother? The marine? “What happened?” He didn’t really want to know. He’d always respected DJ Hawkins. They’d even become friends over time. Even after he and Wyatt, her oldest brother, had beat the crap out of him that summer for, as they’d put it, “thinking about doing the deed with their little sister.” He hadn’t had the ability to tell them, “Too late.” His lip had been too swollen from meeting DJ’s fist. At least they hadn’t looked much better when all had been said and done.

“He...” She moved toward Lane, resting her head on his shoulder.

Lane leaned back against the side window, trying to keep his distance, praying the cool glass would jolt his system into a lower gear. Instead, the glass steamed over. “Tell me.” He needed to keep her talking. Take his mind off the close confines of the cab....

“He’s been in Afghanistan... There was an explosion.” She hiccupped again. “He’s in a hospital in Germany. In a coma.”

“Ah, hon.” How could he push her away? How could he refuse to pull her into his arms? She snuggled into him, bringing his body and his brain to life.

“Help me forget, Lane. Just tonight. Help me forget,” she whispered before reaching for him again. He cursed. He’d be there for her...again...and after he helped her forget, helped her get back on an even keel, she’d leave him with another haunting memory to torment him—until the next time she needed something.

Last time she’d shown up in his neck of the woods had been a couple months ago, the day after her mother died. She’d looked shattered and beautiful, just like now. Just like that summer night back in high school.

Lane groaned. The memories assaulted him. Reality drowned in the storm and her. His lips found hers, drinking her in, grinding against her, tasting the salty sweet of her tears. Wanting to erase anything, everything that had ever hurt her.

* * *

THIS WAS NOT why Amanda had come here. But, oh, she wanted it. Wanted it bad. Her world was falling apart and she needed Lane to fix it.

Would he even notice? Would he feel the difference in her? The smidge of extra weight, the new curves? Or could she count on the cloud of lust he felt for her to blind him?

“Lane?”

“Mmm?”

Her next words disappeared between his lips, and her thoughts evaporated as his hands slid up to cup her full breasts. She ached, everywhere, but more so where his hands touched her.

She had so much to tell him, but not yet. Later. After. After he’d eased all the aches and hurts. Heat permeated her palms where her hands met the solid contours of his chest. Too much shirt. She wanted it off. Now. The neat little pearl buttons slid easily through the worn buttonholes. Feeling hot skin under her fingertips tore a groan from somewhere deep in her chest.

“Easy, honey.” Lane pulled back, dragging in ragged breaths. “This old truck isn’t the best place—”

His words splashed over her as effectively as if the rain had slipped inside, abruptly waking her out from her reverie. Mandy quickly scooted away as if the cowboy stretched out in front of her was afire. The denim work shirt lay open, the neon lights of the bar glinting off the light sheen of sweat trailing down...

His Wrangler jeans, worn too thin in places, hid nothing. He wanted her. Her mouth went dry and she swallowed. The only thing about him that looked undisturbed was the black Stetson still snugged down over his brow.

“And that old hay loft in high school was a better choice?” she asked.

He winced and moved farther away from her.

“We need to talk—” She settled on the seat, her hands clasped tight, just in case she couldn’t resist touching him again.

“I’m not rehashing the past—”

“Lane!” Someone with a meaty fist pounded on the window behind him. He jumped and cursed.

“What?” he yelled.

“Hurry! Hank’s here. He’s lit.” The disembodied voice cut through the rain as well as the cloud of want within the cab. The cool night air erased the rest when Lane shoved the door open with a curse.

He didn’t bother closing it as he jumped out, as if he expected her to follow. A glance back was all she got—she couldn’t read his expression through the shadows. His boots slapped in the mud as he took off at a run.

Amanda stared after him. No. Not yet. He couldn’t leave now. She hadn’t told him. It had taken her weeks to get up the nerve to come here. And nearly as many hours figuring out what she was going to say. Her fear and hurt for DJ had been the last straw to push her here. To Lane.

The rain pounded down in earnest now, beating on the roof and hood of the metal truck. As she sat there, the roar only grew. A flash of white light came from behind her, and as she huddled in the cab, she counted. Only a few seconds passed before thunder rumbled and shook the world. She closed her eyes, convincing herself it was the childhood fear of storms she was shutting out.

Not the hurt that came with the realization that Lane had left her like this. In his beat-up, secondhand truck. In the mud-filled parking lot of a hick bar. In the pouring rain. Alone.

For what? She had no idea. What had that guy said to him? She couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter.

Damn it. Slowly, she shoved open the passenger door and climbed out. Open-toed shoes had been a stupid choice for a country bar, and even stupider for walking through mud. But what choice did she have? She tromped through the thick gooey slop. At least they weren’t expensive shoes.

“Amanda?” A woman’s voice came through the darkness. “Mandy? Where’d you go?”

Trina was the last person Amanda wanted to talk to right now. They’d been friends since they were kids, and no matter how long between visits, Trina could pick up on her mood. She wouldn’t give up until she’d wormed every painful detail from deep inside her. But the secret Amanda held now wasn’t for public consumption.

She loved her friend, but the only reason she’d come out tonight was in hopes of seeing Lane, telling him.

Breaking into a semi run, Amanda wound her way through the crowded parking lot. Finally, she reached her car on the edge of the dirt. She’d been frustrated having to park so far away because she’d been running late. Now she was thankful for the quick getaway.

Struggling, she pried her car key out of her sodden jean pocket. Taking a purse into a bar where there was dancing and drinking was pure folly. She’d locked it in her trunk, claiming the key and a few dollars before going inside.

Now it made escape easy.

As long as the tires didn’t sink into the mud.

She stumbled, falling against the hard fender. Her hip hit a sharp edge and she gasped. Oh, God. No. She took several deep breaths, waiting, hoping and praying she hadn’t hurt anything. She pressed a hand to her abdomen, feeling the gentle swell. When she looked in her mirror each morning, she could barely see a difference, but she felt it. Inside and out.

Finally, convinced all was well, she yanked open the door and crawled inside. The slam of the door was oddly soft compared to the none-too-gentle rat-tat of the rain beating on the car.

But it did muffle the storm.

And made her feel even more alone.

Could it get any worse? Leaning her head back on the seat, she felt her cold, damp hair snake down her back. She shivered. At least she thought it was shivers. From the cold. It couldn’t possibly be her emotions. She refused to break down.

Refused to let— The first sob was the hardest. “Damn you, Lane Beaumont. Damn you for making me want you,” she yelled at the neon-colored water covering the windshield. “Damn you,” she whispered.

She cranked the ignition, and the starter ground hard before her shaking fingers let go. She didn’t care. She wanted out of here. Now.

Mud flew up behind her, splattering the truck in the next row. She didn’t care about that, either. As if that would be a surprise to the cowboy who’d stumble to it half-lit in a few hours?

Finally, the tires found purchase somewhere beneath the muck. She pulled on to the two-lane highway, the windshield wipers slapping out an even tune. She crept along, barely able to see more than a few feet ahead in the dark, wet night.

Or through the damp in her eyes. She scrubbed impatiently at the stupid tears. This was so not her. Hormones. It had to be the hormones.

That was it, she was sure. Miles sped by as she headed back to the ranch house. She had ten miles to pull herself together. She’d told her older brother, Wyatt, that she was going to Trina’s party, despite the painful news about DJ. She gasped as that pain returned. Oh, DJ. Please don’t die.

Pretending she was okay had been a mistake. She’d been able to fake it until Lane walked in. Something about that man turned her inside out.

Then the lights of Wyatt’s big ranch house appeared above the horizon. Awash in damp, broken only by the even beat of the wipers, the house had never looked more beautiful. Or more frightening.

Several long minutes passed after she parked the car. Anyone inside would think she was waiting out the storm. They’d be wrong. She was waiting out herself.

Lifting her chin, she started the car again, pulled slowly out of the drive. If she went inside, Wyatt would take care of her. She’d let him take care of her.

And all her hard-won independence would be lost. She shook her head. Nope. Not going to happen. She floored the gas pedal and aimed the car back toward Dallas.

* * *

SLEEP. DAWN THREATENED as Lane stretched out on the battered picnic bench on the deck of his dad’s farmhouse. He’d closed his eyes just for a bit. He needed to rest before he hit the road and headed back to the bunkhouse for the day’s work.

Dad was asleep at last, the alcohol finally claiming him. If Lane listened carefully, he could hear the low snore the old man always made when he was sleeping it off. Lane tuned it out. He didn’t need that reminder of his childhood intruding.

The picnic bench was hard, but he didn’t care. This was his escape. His place. The backyard was empty and quiet. Peaceful. He focused on the outdoor sounds. The wind in the tall grasses. The creak of the useless windmill that had been there for a hundred years, not connected to anything for fifty.

Damp heat had shimmered on the dawn horizon from last night’s rain shower as he’d wrestled his father out of the truck and into the house. Thanks to the downpour few critters were out, though a rabbit or two hopped through the brush.

He listened now, picturing, pretending, just as he had as a kid, that this was how it was supposed to be.

His body longed to sleep, but his mind was too full. And his heart? He ignored that bit of himself, seeing in his mind’s eye the hurt and anger on Mandy’s face. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just stay away from her? Why did she have this...power over him? One wink, a single touch and he stopped thinking.

She wasn’t that kind of girl. She was the forever kind. Not the cab of a secondhand pickup truck in the parking lot of a run-down bar kind of girl. But that’s what she’d nearly become last night.

He mentally cursed, swearing that next time... Who was he kidding? He had no willpower when it came to Mandy. He just had to make sure there was no next time.

Exhaustion nearly claimed him—until he heard the sound of boot heels on the deck’s wood planking. His eyes shot open and he tried to sit up, only to smack his shoulder on the old table. The long shadow reaching across the wood didn’t tell him who it was. He turned.

Trina. What the hell was she doing here? He didn’t want to know. “Go away, Trina.”

He settled back down and pretended he was going back to sleep.

“Not a chance, cowboy.” She stomped over to him and he felt her shadow block the warmth of the rising sun. “What’d you say to her?”

“Who?” He could barely pretend he didn’t know who.

“Don’t try to play stupid. Mandy, that’s who.”

“Nothing.” There hadn’t been much talking going on in that truck, but he wasn’t sharing those details.

“You said or did something. She left.”

That got his attention. He opened his eyes, squinted up at her. “What do you mean, left?”

“Left. As in went away. Vanished. Gone. Bye-bye.”

Trina hadn’t been the star of all their high school drama productions for nothing.

“I’m not her keeper.”

“No, you’re certainly not,” she snapped. “You’re her loser.” She turned and stomped back to the edge of the deck. Her footsteps stopped, and he knew better than to open his eyes and look—no one had definitively proven that one of Trina’s glares couldn’t kill.

“So, you have no idea why she was here, do you?” she said softly. “No clue at all? Well, neither do I. But something was on her mind. That’s for sure.”

Back at the bar Mandy had hinted that she had her reasons for coming back here. And Sam had filled in the necessary details about Trina’s new job in Chicago. “I thought she was here to see you off. You dragging another sap down the aisle, right? Matt’ll be pleased. No more alimony.”

“You are such a jerk.” Her steps had the volume of a Mac truck hitting a VW bug. “What she sees in you is beyond me.”

He heard a car door slam and the roar of an engine broke the morning’s semblance of quiet. “Me, either,” he whispered, glad she couldn’t hear him. Maybe she’d go find Mandy and bad mouth him enough that Mandy would finally give up on him. She needed to find someone else, needed to get on with her life, needed better than he could ever give her.

“Damn.” He shot to his feet. He wasn’t getting any sleep. Might as well go to work where his pain came from physical labor.

Maybe there Mandy would stop haunting him.

CHAPTER TWO

Five months later

THE WAIL OF SIRENS in the distance barely broke through the cloud of pain engulfing Amanda. Her eyes closed. All she could see was the darkness that occasionally sparked with color as she clenched her eyelids tight with each contraction.

“You’re doing great.” Her sister Addie’s voice came out of the darkness, bringing comfort with it. Safe, warm memories of home. Addie was as much a mother to Amanda as Mom had been. After Dad’s death, she’d helped raise all the younger ones in the family.

As the contraction eased, Amanda opened her eyes a sliver. “Thanks for coming with me,” she whispered, managing to squeeze Addie’s hand that was curled in hers.

“Of course.” Addie’s voice shook, and Amanda barely had time to wonder why before the muscles of her lower body went back into action.

This time she couldn’t hold back the scream that ripped from her. Dear God, how did anyone survive this? She thought of her mother doing this six times. Had Mom been crazy? Amanda hadn’t thought so before but now...

Again the pain eased, and her mind drifted to her nephew, her brother DJ’s son, who was turning nine today. “I ruined his birthday.” She didn’t have to explain who she meant to Addie. Poor Tyler. She thought she heard Addie laugh.

“Oh, I don’t think so. Besides, the birthday was a mess long before you went into labor.”

Addie might be right. With all the drama of the Texas Rangers and their brother DJ now recovered and showing up with Tyler’s missing mother—yeah, her going into labor was just a drop in the proverbial bucket of fun.

Addie’s hand was still tight in hers. Slowly her sister wiped the perspiration off her brow. “Something’s wrong,” Amanda finally admitted.

“Everything’s going to be fine.” Addie’s voice was stronger now.

“No. It’s too soon.” Even she heard the panic in her voice. “Too early.”

“We’re almost there, ladies.” A man’s voice broke through the cloud of agony. Amanda struggled to figure out who it was. It wasn’t any of her brothers. It wasn’t— No, she refused to think about him. If she thought about him, she’d lose control completely.

Amanda latched on to the stranger’s voice, puzzling through her memory to survive the next contraction. The EMT. Relief flooded her. He was the nice EMT who’d shown up at the house after Addie called 9-1-1.

The ambulance pulled to a sudden stop just then and Addie yelped as she caught herself from pitching sideways. The wailing sound cut off abruptly and the back doors flew open. Warm Texas air washed over her. Until that very minute, she hadn’t realized how closed in the ambulance had felt.

Addie moved away as the EMT leaned over Amanda. The snap of metal buckles opening broke through the quiet. Another contraction hit just then. “We’ll wait.” The EMT’s soothing voice barely registered. “Hold my hand. There you go.”

“Please, just make it stop,” she demanded.

“I’ll do my best.” He seemed so nice. Why couldn’t Lane— The EMTs pushing the gurney out of the ambulance stopped her thoughts. The fast movement nearly convinced her she’d been foolish to have eaten that last piece of birthday cake.

The automatic doors’ swoosh sound washed over her and fluorescent lights flashed overhead. The dizziness returned. “Addie. Where’s Addie?” she cried.

“I’m here, hon.”

Addie’s voice was so far away. Amanda flailed out her arm, trying to find her sister’s hand. Strong fingers took her hand, not Addie’s. Not Lane’s, either, but solid. Warm. Just what she needed.

They pushed the gurney through a set of swinging doors, the smack of the metal frame loud against the wood. Bright lights glared at her. The image of a clock wavered in the distance, white with black numbers, utilitarian. Seven-thirty. Why did that have to stick in her brain? She focused on it, needing something solid and real.

She squeezed her eyes tighter still as a contraction blinded her again. Words flew around her. Her brain hid in the shadows, frightened she was sure. She couldn’t understand what they were saying. What they meant. “Breech.”

“BP’s dropping.”

“You’ll need to leave.”

“Addie!” she screamed.

Through her slitted eyelids, Amanda saw Addie moving reluctantly out the swinging doors. A sharp blade of pain ripped through her. Her voice tore from her throat. “Lane!” Where was he? Why wasn’t he here? Why—?

A strong hand took hers. The soothing deep voice washed over her. “We’ll take care of you.”

Not “I’ll take care of you.” Not “I’m here.” Tears burned behind her closed eyelids, but no matter how tightly she squeezed them shut, she couldn’t hold in the tears. Water trickled from the corners of her eyes, dampening her temples, her hair and then the pillow beneath her.

“We’re going to have to do a cesarean section.” A new voice cut through the clouds. “To save the baby.”

“Please.” Her heart shattered. “Save him. Please. He’s everything.”

There was no pause in the room’s activity. If anything, it increased. Footsteps hustled. Bodies shuffled around her. The prick of a needle in her arm seemed nothing in comparison to her body’s agony, little more than a mosquito bite, as an IV was put in her arm.

“I’m going to put a mask over your face.” Another strange voice slipped in between the pain. The feel of plastic momentarily registered as claustrophobic...and then there was nothing but solid darkness...and the echoing scream of Lane’s name over and over again inside her head.

* * *

TO AMANDA THE fluorescent lights of the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, or NICU, nursery seemed so harsh. So bright. Too bright. She thought of the tiny bedroom in her house where she’d put all the nursery furniture. The crib. The changing table. The rocker. The L for Lucas alphabet lamp she’d bought right after she’d found out she was having a boy. Even the chair from Mom’s house that she’d put in the corner to give the room a feeling of home. No glaring lights, no monitors or flashing lights there. That’s where he should be. Not here. She wanted to cry.

Slowly, with the nurse’s help, Amanda moved the wheelchair closer to the Plexiglas enclosure where her son curled up against a soft white blanket. Her arms ached to hold him, to touch him, but he needed to sleep, to grow, and she needed to recover. The IV in her arm was a glaring reminder of the long road ahead for them both.

He wasn’t big enough. Not nearly big enough. Not quite five pounds. Bigger than they’d expected, the doctor had said, sounding entirely too pleased for something he’d had no involvement in.

“Wow. You’re really here,” she whispered to the tiny stranger stretched out before her. She marveled at him. He might be small, but everything was there. Teeny tiny fingers. Itty bitty toes. Rounded little ears. Eyes that were closed right now, but she remembered the deep chocolate brown of them...a color he shared with his father. “I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job keeping you safe,” she whispered, afraid to startle him.

She couldn’t look away, staring at the tiny life she and Lane had created. For some reason, it didn’t hurt so much to think of Lane now. Maybe the pain meds had dulled her senses, too. Maybe her strength was coming back. Maybe.

She felt someone’s presence beside her. She looked up, surprised and pleased to see her brother Wyatt there. A hospital gown covered his T-shirt and jeans. They must have made him take off his Stetson, though she could see the ridge where it had recently sat on his dark hair.

“How you doin’?” He leaned in close, looking at her as well as her son. The kindness was thick in his eyes. Even though he was her brother, she could understand why Emily was so head over heels in love with him. She was a lucky woman. Amanda’s heart hitched, wishing someone would love her like that. The memory of another tall, dark-haired cowboy flitted through her mind before she forced herself to change the subject.

“I’m okay.” She looked back at her son. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

“You did a good job.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders and gently squeezed. “Everyone’s here—”

That got her attention. “What do you mean everyone?” Surely not the whole birthday party.

“The whole family.” He grinned at her. “Even Tyler wants to see his new cousin. He says he’s never met one of those before.” Wyatt laughed.

That boy was something else. She looked at her son. How much like Tyler would he be? How much like Lane? Her heart ached. And in that moment she realized all of her pain. Mentally cursing, she leaned back in the wheelchair. She didn’t want to leave, but she didn’t want to keel over, either. The staff probably already thought she was a terrible mother. It had taken her nearly half a day to wake up to see him. Surely they wondered what she’d done wrong to cause all this.

“Let’s get you back to your room.” Wyatt stood behind her and gripped the chair’s handles. It felt strange to let someone else make decisions for her, but if anyone was capable of doing that, it was Wyatt.

“Where’s Addie? I need to thank her.”

“Oh, you’ll have to wait. She’s standing in line outside, hoping to see the little guy.” He laughed again.

“In line?”

“Yeah, I pulled rank and came in first. The rest want a peek, but they only let a couple of us in at a time.”

She glanced over her shoulder up at him. “Even Jason?” Her brother, the attorney, was about as disconnected from humanity as anyone she knew. He couldn’t possibly be interested in a baby.

“Yeah, even Jason.”

Wyatt pushed her wheelchair out into the hall, and sure enough, everyone was there, lined up. Even Tyler. She had to laugh. The hospital gown was way too big for him, dragging over his shoes, but he was grinning from ear to ear. Wyatt rolled her over to see him.

“This is so cool.” He leaned against the arm of the wheelchair. “The baby and I have the same birthday! Thanks, Aunt Mandy. This gift’s almost as good as my new bike.”

Everyone laughed while Mandy gave him a hug, then winced as he leaned against her.

“Let’s get you back to bed—you did just have major surgery, you know.” Wyatt headed down the hall. “The nurses only let you up for a short while.”

She wanted to argue, because that was what she always did. But she knew he and the nurses were right.

Though she was in the maternity portion of the hospital, it felt more like the surgical unit. Her room definitely wasn’t the nice comfy suite she remembered being shown all those months ago.

Her disappointment in the accomodations was, of course, balanced by the fact the doctors had saved her life and her son’s. She tried to make her tired brain focus on being thankful.

As Wyatt passed the nurse’s station, he waved down a nurse, who followed them to the room. The sun had moved higher, leaving shadows in its wake. Wyatt flipped on a soft light and she wondered why the babies didn’t get that same consideration. Once the nurse had her settled in the bed, the blankets pulled up and tucked in, she struggled to stay awake.

Wyatt didn’t leave. He simply settled in the wooden chair next to the bed. Oh, God. He wasn’t leaving until he asked the question in his eyes. “It’s not fair to take advantage of me in my weakened state,” she whispered, leaning deep into the pillow, letting her eyelids droop.

“Weak is not a word I’d ever associate with you.” He smiled. Having discarded the hospital gown, he looked more like Wyatt now. He didn’t speak, simply sat there, looking at her with that intense stare she’d hated as a kid.

“Fine. Go ahead. Get it over with.” She closed her eyes again, dread a palpable being standing right there beside her.

“I won’t force you to tell me.” He paused and took a deep breath. “But—”

She’d never known Wyatt to be hesitant. She waited until she couldn’t stand it anymore. “But?”

“But if that were my son—I’d want to know.”

“How...how do you know I haven’t told him?”

Wyatt laughed. “Because I know you, Mandy.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The man who is that boy’s father is someone you care about, probably even love. No man would ever touch you unless you wanted him to. Unless he was worthy of you. And if you’d told him, he’d be here.”

The air grew thick. She knew Wyatt hadn’t guessed who the father was. Nor had he pressured her to tell him. Looking at Wyatt now, she realized that reprieve was coming to an end.

Their gazes clashed, and she knew the instant he decided to back off. Temporarily. He stood and stepped right up to the edge of the bed, looking down at her.

“If that were my child—” he repeated and stepped back “—I’m not sure I could forgive you for not telling me. Ask DJ about that.”

Turning on his heel, Wyatt left her without another word. Her heart sank. She knew DJ had struggled to deal with his anger toward Tammie for not telling him about Tyler. But this was different—she had tried to tell Lane. She had. Really.

Weariness wrapped around her. Who was she trying to convince? Damn. She really hated it when Wyatt was right.

* * *

LANE DROVE INTO the yard at his work, the Hawkins Ranch, pulling into his usual parking spot. He climbed out, looked around. He’d expected a half-dozen cowboys to be in the barn, but the place was surprisingly empty for the middle of the afternoon. Even the horses were out and about. He could see Dancer and Prism in the near pasture, bouncing in the grasses, playing and showing off for the fillies. Lady was pointedly ignoring the male posturing.

Wyatt Hawkins’s big ranch house looked just as quiet. Lane headed up the walk, noting again the lack of noise. What the hell was going on? Where was everyone? Had something happened? He’d left Wyatt a message earlier to tell him that he’d be late for work today. Dad had been worse than usual this morning, so there’d been no leaving him.

Finally, Lane saw movement on the horizon. A dust cloud rose as someone headed this way. He turned back, greeting the truck as it turned into the drive. The ranch foreman, Chet, with his wife Juanita in the passenger seat. Where had they gone to in the middle of the day?

“Where is everyone?” Lane asked as the older man climbed out, walking around the battered Chevy to help his diminutive wife hop down from the high seat.

Lane saw a look pass between them—not a good sign. “What happened?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing bad.” Juanita took several long seconds smoothing her faded jeans. Lifting her head, she looked at her husband, then back at Lane. “We go to Dallas for that boy’s birthday party, and end up at the hospital. Thank God, it was for a good reason this time.”

Ah, yes. Tyler Easton’s birthday party. Lane vaguely recalled declining the invitation. “How is a hospital a good reason?” Something about all this felt weird. Very weird.

Juanita laughed. “A baby, silly man.”

“Baby? Whose baby?”

Chet chuckled. “Not ours,” he teased his wife, shaking his head as he closed the truck door and reached in the bed of the truck for the bags of groceries. He handed two to Lane. The heaviest ones, Lane noticed.

“Oh, hush, old man,” Juanita said. “Let’s get these inside before everything defrosts.”

Carrying the groceries behind the older couple, Lane patiently waited. Neither one of them spoke, acting as if he’d never asked a question. What was the big mystery? He recalled Juanita’s earlier words.

“So, who had a baby?” Curious, Lane finally asked again. He could tell Juanita was bursting with the news.

She and her husband looked at each other again. Juanita grinned. “Amanda had her baby today. She’s a bit early, but not too much.” Juanita’s excitement overwhelmed her concerns. “We’re gonna have another little one to spoil around here.” She started unpacking bags. “You pay attention, young man. Start thinking about your own family. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

Juanita never ceased to give advice to the hands around the ranch, playing matchmaker and pseudo-mother on a regular basis. Normally, Lane could ignore her. Today, not so much.

“Amanda Hawkins? Mandy?” he asked.

“You know any other Amandas around here?” Juanita opened the refrigerator to put the milk away.

Amanda? His Amanda? Mandy and baby—they’d used those two words in the same sentence. His brain couldn’t wrap around that concept. Last time he’d seen her...she’d been far from pregnant...in the pickup cab...in the pouring rain.

Without much prompting, his brain did some quick, very disturbing math. She’d come back to town that night, for some mysterious reason, according to Trina. She’d never said what. A bit more simple division and multiplication had his heart racing. That night after her mother died. When they’d found themselves alone...here...

Two grocery bags hit the tile floor. He cursed and stalked to the door. He was halfway to his truck before he turned to yell back at the house, “Which hospital?” Dallas had a few.

Chet appeared in the doorway, frowning. “Dallas General. Why?”

CHAPTER THREE

FIVE LONG HOURS on the road nearly derailed Lane’s sanity. He called everyone he had a number for but had only managed to reach voice mail. He left a dozen messages. By the time he hit the outskirts of Dallas, his phone was dead. Which meant that instead of knowing what was happening, his imagination was running wild.

Twice, he’d nearly turned around. This wasn’t his problem. If Amanda had wanted him there she’d have told him, right? But the weight of responsibility kept him driving. Finally, Dallas General loomed on the horizon like a huge bird of prey. He swallowed his apprehension as he parked his truck in visitor parking.

His anger had dissipated, only to be replaced by disappointment and fear. Why hadn’t she told him?

All those what-ifs followed him through the sliding glass doors and halfway down the hall. What if she wouldn’t see him? What if it really wasn’t his kid? What if...?

Stepping off the elevator moments later, Lane came face to face with a giant grinning rabbit plastered to the wall. One huge ear pointed to his left and had the word nursery printed on the pink interior of the floppy ear. The other ear, bent just a bit, pointed the other direction, with room numbers on it. He stood there for a long moment, not sure which ear to follow. Not sure who he wanted to see first.

Who he should see first?

Mandy’s face popped into his mind, and while he wasn’t sure of the reception he’d receive, he headed toward the patient rooms. Surely he could find her.

He’d gone up and down the hallway twice before a nurse stopped him. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah. Uh—” He wasn’t a relative or Mandy’s husband—that notion gave him pause. From all the times he’d taken his dad to the hospital, he knew he wouldn’t get details if he wasn’t. But he didn’t want details, not from the nurse anyway. “Amanda Hawkins?”

“Oh...” The fact that the nurse briefly looked away sent Lane’s stomach shooting to his knees. She recovered quickly, though. “She’s been moved upstairs. Her family is in the waiting room, just down the hall, if you’d like to join them.”

Upstairs? What was upstairs? Without another word, his heart slamming in his chest, Lane stalked toward the doorway the nurse had indicated.

He didn’t see anyone at first, then a movement in the corner caught his eye and he realized the room went around a bend. He recognized Mandy’s sister, Addie, standing at a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.

Wyatt, his boss, was sprawled on a dark faux-leather couch, one big hand rubbing his eyes. Neither of them had seen him, and Lane held back.

More movement, more people. DJ was in another chair, staring out the window, as well. Silent. Pensive. Tara sat beside him, her head on his shoulder. The final brother, Jason, sat farther down, his head bowed, staring at the soft gray carpet.

The pain-filled, worry-soaked silence slammed into Lane. He mentally cursed. How bad was it? All the brothers and sisters were here. He did not want to step into that lion’s den. As an only child, he had no clue how to deal with siblings and he was pretty sure they wouldn’t understand why he was here.

If Wyatt had any idea, Lane was pretty sure he’d have heard about it by now.

“She can’t go home alone, you know that, right?” Addie blurted out, causing everyone to turn and look at her, including Lane.

“You going to tell her that?” Jason asked.

Addie sighed. “The doctor said it could be weeks before she’s back to full strength. She can’t take care of the baby alone. We have to come up with a plan.”

Tara actually laughed. “And that worked so well when we tried to stop DJ from going to find Tammie.” Everyone laughed, including DJ.

“That was different.” Addie turned back to the windows, her back straight and angry.

“How?” DJ stood, pacing slowly, rubbing his stiffened, injured legs, a habit Lane was sure he didn’t even realize he had. “This is still you trying to run the show, Ad.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.” Wyatt stood and put his hands on Addie’s shoulders. “But this time, I agree.” Wyatt glanced back at the others, and in the process, his gaze found Lane. Their eyes met. No longer able to hold back, Lane stepped into the room.

“Lane?” DJ looked up, his surprise clear on his face. “What are you doing here?” It didn’t take long for DJ to put two and two together. Lane watched realization dawn in his friend’s eyes.

Silence hung thick in the room as all the brothers and sisters looked around at each other, then at him. He wasn’t a stranger to any one of them. And he tracked the progress of realization move through the group as they figured out that he’d just joined the family—whether they liked it or not.

DJ moved first, his hulking frame more than capable of knocking the taller, much thinner, Lane flat. Except Lane had adrenaline, and his father’s influence and fighting skills, on his side.

Lane was at the end of his rope. When DJ’s muscled body slammed into his, he almost welcomed the punishment. The thought that this must be what his dad felt, filled his mind but quickly vanished as DJ’s fist made contact with his jaw. He cursed with the pain, intent on giving back equal measure.

When strong arms grabbed his and pulled him back, Lane struggled. DJ was moving away as well, and it finally registered that Wyatt had hold of DJ.

After a minute, Lane shrugged off the hold and bent to retrieve his Stetson from the floor. He found Jason standing behind him, still poised to grab him if he made a wrong move.

“Damn, DJ.” Lane rubbed his sore jaw. “What the hell?”

DJ’s answer was a growl that made Wyatt’s grip tighten. The other brothers weren’t any more thrilled to see Lane here than DJ was, but they had the advantage of level heads...something neither DJ nor Lane had even in good times.

“Cut it out,” Wyatt barked, still holding DJ’s arms tight behind his back.

“What is wrong with you?” Addie was in DJ’s face. “Fighting won’t solve anything.”

“Yeah, well, I’d feel a hell of a lot better.” DJ glared at his older sister.

“You might, but this isn’t about you. This is about Mandy.” She spun around and glared at Lane. “And you. You’ve got some serious questions to answer.”

“Not to you, I don’t.”

Addie came at him. “Are you the one responsible?” She poked his chest with her finger. “How dare you leave her alone. We almost lost her—and the baby—today.” Tears flooded her eyes. “If it hadn’t been for DJ being here for the transfusion, I don’t know—”

“They’d have found someone else to match.” Wyatt spoke over DJ’s still strained shoulders. “Tara?” He looked meaningfully over at his younger sister, jerking his head toward Addie.

“Wait? Transfusion? What are you talking about?” Lane asked. He should tell them he hadn’t left her alone. That he hadn’t even known. His pride begged him to clear things up, but worry trumped everything.

“Okay. Wait. Stop.” Tara stepped forward, putting an arm around Addie’s shoulder and guiding her away. She looked at him, her anger banked with confusion. “She didn’t tell you either, did she?”

Lane waited, not sure how to answer. The truth was safest and the silence heavy. “No.” He twisted the brim of his hat around for a long minute. “I figured it out this morning.” His voice came out soft, but the impact rippled through the room.

“You sure you’re the father?” Jason asked. It hadn’t surprised Lane, or anyone really, that Jason had become a lawyer. The stare he leveled on Lane now would have put any witness on edge.

“She hasn’t told me. But unless you’re hinting that your sister sleeps around—”

“Damn you, Lane,” DJ started anew. “I warned you years ago to stay away from my sisters.”

“Did you ever bother telling your sister to stay away from me?” Lane stepped away from the group. Instead of going back to return DJ’s punch, like he wanted, Lane walked to the door. His patience was gone. “Someone better tell me. What transfusion?”

It was no surprise Wyatt spoke up. “She hemorrhaged.” Lane knew his boss well, so while Wyatt appeared calm, he recognized the worry in his voice. “The doctor called it a postpartum hemorrhage. She lost a lot of blood. Too much.”

Lane cursed again. “Is she going to be okay?”

“We hope so. It’ll take time to recover. The doctor said a month. Or more.”

“The baby?”

This time Wyatt let himself smile. “He’s fine. They have him in the neonatal nursery as a precaution since he’s a couple weeks early.”

He. It hit Lane then. A son. He had a son. Voices rang around him, but none of the words registered. A son. His boot heels seemed loud as he walked away.

They let him go, and Lane heard Wyatt curse. “Damn it, DJ. Don’t go after him.”

“I’m not. He’s not headed toward Mandy.”

The silence was thick. “I thought he was your friend?” Tara sounded confused.

“He was. Until he touched my sister. I warned him—”

“Oh, give me a break. I think Mandy had plenty of say in the matter. You are not in charge of who we see—or sleep with.”

“Where’s he going?” Addie asked.

“Probably the nursery,” Tara said. “My guess is he’s headed to see his son.”

Her words were like rocks thrown on the surface of a peaceful pond. They rippled after Lane, pushing him closer to his destination, showing him how quickly reality could be altered.

DJ cursed, his voice like a shot in the quiet hall. “This isn’t really happening, is it?” he asked.

No one answered him. They didn’t have to. It would have been a waste of breath.

* * *

A GOOD NIGHT’S sleep gave Amanda rest, but her dreams brought back all her worry. Early. The baby was early. Too early? Amanda tried to keep her thoughts ordered, tried to focus as she awoke.

The medications and leftover exhaustion didn’t help. All she could do was run through her own mind again and again. What had she done wrong? What should she have done differently? Would the baby have long-term problems? Would he be okay? She glanced down at the IV still in her arm. Would she?

Panic tried to take over, but she fought it. Barely succeeding, barely able to think.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the tile floor. Boot heels. Her hopes irrationally rose before she could tamp them down. Even if it was him, what should she say?

Was that relief or disappointment she felt when Wyatt appeared in the doorway instead? “How you doing?”

“I don’t know.” Wyatt was one of the few people Amanda couldn’t lie to. It had been the hardest thing she’d ever done over the past months, not to confide in him. But if he’d known the truth, he’d probably kill Lane. And she needed her son’s father to be in one piece, at least for a while.

Instead of talking, she looked down, focusing on the blanket’s pattern as if it were the most important thing in the world.

“Hey.” He stopped beside the bed. “You up for another little trip?”

Her head shot up. “Is it okay?” She’d been confined to bed except for the one short visit to meet her son. And that seemed a lifetime ago, almost like a dream.

Wyatt nodded. “I checked with the nurses. You’ve rested enough. Time to take you to see the little guy again.”

But she didn’t want to move. It hurt to move. Hurt to think about seeing him again. Seeing her son, the little one with all the tubes and wires attached to him. “I’m scared.”

“I know.” Wyatt rolled the over-bed table away and walked to the corner where the wheelchair sat. He smiled. “Your chariot awaits.”

A nurse arrived just then and smiled her own encouragement as she gave Wyatt a hand.

Slowly, carefully, Amanda shoved the blankets and sheet back. Wyatt helped her lift her legs over the edge of the mattress and to the cool floor. How could such a big man be so gentle? He’d always been that way, though. She’d been four when their dad had died, and at fifteen, Wyatt had become the closest thing to a father she’d ever known.

It seemed to take forever for him and the nurse to help her stand and take just a couple of steps to the vinyl seat. Between the three of them, they got her up, with the IV bag hung on the pole attached to the back of the chair. She was exhausted before she was settled.

How was she ever going to take care of a baby, much less herself, when she couldn’t even get out of bed alone? Her panic returned.

“Just relax. You’ll be fine.” Wyatt slowly turned the wheelchair toward the door and they headed to the elevators.

The NICU nursery was down a floor and at the end of what felt like an eternal hallway. It seemed so far away. She couldn’t even get there on her own if she wanted. Her eyes burned as her limitations sunk in.

Wyatt took her through myriad different doors. He seemed to know his way, for which she was thankful, since none of it looked how she remembered it from her last trip to see her son. Had she dreamed it all?

Finally, he stopped next to a tiny glass cube that did look familiar. “Oh!” she cried. “There he is.” She couldn’t see him well from where she sat. “Can I stand up? Or get closer?”

A nurse stepped around the tiny bed and smiled at her. “I have a better idea. Do you want to hold him?”

The woman’s face blurred and all Amanda could manage was a vigorous nod. She felt Wyatt’s presence behind her, but he stepped away to give them room to move her around and get them settled.

She hadn’t been able to sit up more than a few minutes before, so holding him hadn’t been an option. Now, as the tiny bundle of blanket and baby nestled in the crook of her arm, she realized that while she was weak, she was stronger than she’d been that first day. And then she stopped thinking about anything except the sweet, warm bundle sleeping in her arms.

So tiny. He looked so small. So helpless. And yet so beautiful and perfect.

Fewer “things” were attached to him today, though a couple of wires and cords had to be arranged around her. Finally, no one was there. No one hovered, as if not trusting her. It was only her and... Lucas? Max? Dear God, she couldn’t have forgotten to name him. Panic set in again. No. Lucas. Lucas Maxwell. Relief eased the panic some.

Suddenly, the nurse was back and Wyatt crouched beside the chair, a proud smile on his face. She looked up at the clock. Where had the fifteen minutes gone?

That was it? She wanted to hold him forever.

“Time to get you back.” Wyatt put a comforting hand on Amanda’s knee, reassuring her.

Amanda was tired. And by the time Lucas and all his paraphernalia were settled back in the bed, Amanda struggled to stay awake. While returning to her room was a disappointing prospect, she knew it was for the best.

She expected Wyatt to push the wheelchair back to her room. She was surprised when he turned it into the small lounge just off the nursery. The Family Room, they called it. It was filled with homey furniture, a large rocking chair and soft piped-in background music.

She knew what this room was usually used for. For the families who had to say goodbye. Her heart hitched in panic.

“Don’t go thinking too hard, Mandy,” Wyatt whispered as he settled in the huge rocking chair and pulled the wheelchair close. Trapping her. He waited patiently for her to finally look up. She was nearly as stubborn as he was. Nearly. But Wyatt had more patience than any person she’d ever met...damn it.

“Tell me,” she finally spat out, expecting him to tell her something awful that the doctors had shared with him that they wouldn’t tell the mother who was exhausted and too sick to even take care of her own child.

Wyatt carefully took her hands in his. His big strong fingers were rough from the hard hours of work he put in at the ranch every day. That roughness had always been comforting when she was a kid, and that comfort came back now.

“Everything’s fine. Your little guy is doing great. Better than you, I think. I just wanted to talk.”

“About?” She let the silence stretch out as she let her relief soak in.

“So.” He paused. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

“No. Not that I can think of.” She knew he was hoping she’d changed her mind about telling him who Lucas’s father was. She hadn’t, so she figured she’d wait him out.

Wyatt sighed. “Fine. I’m not going to beat you up about this, but I won’t avoid it, either. Anyway, we all met and discussed this. You need help, Amanda. You can’t do this alone.”

That was not what she’d expected him to say. She lifted her head and stared at him. “I don’t understand.”

“Come home. Emily and I’ve talked about it. DJ and Tammie agree. Addie suggested it, actually. Until you’re stronger, and until you can do it on your own, come to the ranch.”

She stared at him. Stared and let her brain click past all the reasons why she shouldn’t. Why she should fight to stay here in Dallas where—

Where she lived alone, where she’d have to face putting Lucas in day care in order to do it all on her own.

“Addie could come stay.” But for how long? She was grasping at straws. Addie would have to return to work in a few weeks. Would Amanda be ready to go it alone by then?

She was weak. The doctor had explained her situation. Why she’d hemorrhaged, why she had to take it easy until she healed.

But would going to the ranch be foolish? If she went back to the ranch, she’d be returning to more than just the ranch and her family who still treated her like a child. She’d be putting herself right smack in the middle of the mess that had put her here in the first place.

She’d be right there where Lane was. Right—

“No,” she whispered and broke the stare first. “I can’t.”

“Damn it, Mandy.” Wyatt’s frustration was palpable. He stood and moved away, pacing the tiny room. “That little boy needs more than a stubborn mother right now. Don’t argue with me.” He pulled out his best Dad imitation. “And you need help, too. We’re here for you.”

“It just—” She couldn’t tell him. She—

“She’ll be there.”

The deep voice shimmied over her nerves, and with the last of her energy, she spun around. There, in the doorway, black Stetson in hand, Lane stood, dark and menacing.

“I—”

“As will my son.”

Amanda tried to glare at him, her resentment giving her strength. Lane didn’t even look perturbed. She glanced back at Wyatt. He wasn’t surprised, either. He knew.

Crap.

CHAPTER FOUR

IF SHE’D HAD the energy, Amanda would have given the two egotistical, bossy males a piece of her mind. But she had nothing left. Leaning back in the uncomfortable wheelchair, she closed her eyes.

They might be obtuse, but neither Wyatt nor Lane was stupid. The testosterone level in the air dropped several degrees. “I can’t think right now,” she whispered. “Just let me rest, and we can discuss it later.”

It was too much to think about. Too many people, too many choices. And Amanda would be damned if she’d let either of these two see the frustrated, overwhelmed tears that clogged her throat.

Wyatt took her back to her room. But she could hear two sets of boot heels on the tile floor, letting her know Lane followed.

This time Wyatt stopped at the nurses’ station and the cheery nurse who’d helped earlier followed to assist her back into the bed.

The two men waited outside, and she hoped they’d stay out. Amanda heard deep voices and prayed they weren’t arguing or worse.

“You up for guests, or should I shoo those two away?” The nurse smiled and waited for her decision.

“I’d love to tell them to go away, but they’ll just hang around regardless.” Amanda snuggled down against the firm, crinkly pillows. “Might as well get it over with,” she whispered and closed her eyes.

“It’s your choice.” The nurse gave her one more escape option, and she almost took it.

“No. They’ll freak. It’s okay, I don’t back down often.”

“Okay.” As the nurse left, she propped the door open. “You have ten minutes, boys, then it’s lights out.” The nurse made the right decision for her, and Amanda smiled.

Amanda didn’t open her eyes, so she didn’t know who came in first. It didn’t matter. She could feel their equally angry stares. Her brother’s glare would condemn her for sleeping with one of his crew. She’d heard plenty from him over the years about staying away from them. And she’d most definitely hear plenty more of it from all her brothers, now.

Lane’s stare was less clear in her mind. Would it be angry, hurt, condemning? She hadn’t told him, or anyone else, that he was Lucas’s father. Now everyone probably knew.

Slowly, she opened her eyes to a feeling of disappointment. Lane was staring out the window at the city beyond. She couldn’t see his face, but his back was ramrod straight with his shoulders thrown back, broad and strong. Wyatt stood at the foot of her bed, looking exactly as she’d expected, and she only briefly met his gaze before glancing at Lane again.

She wanted him to turn and face her. She almost wished he’d lose that famous temper of his and let her have it. Maybe her guilt would ease if he did. “I never meant to lie to you.” She waited a second. “Either of you.”

“And yet you did.” Lane still didn’t turn around.

“Watch it, Lane.” Wyatt’s voice was a low, protective growl. “You are far from innocent in this.”

“Leave him alone, Wyatt,” she whispered. Once again, she looked at her brother. “I need to talk to Lane. Alone.”

Wyatt didn’t want to leave. She saw the stubbornness in the set of his jaw. “I’ll be right outside.”

“Down the hall,” she directed. “No eavesdropping.”

* * *

THE LIGHTS IN Mandy’s hospital room were low, letting the shadows take over. On the long, five-hour drive, Lane hadn’t pictured anything he’d seen when he got here. None of this was part of his normal world, or what he’d expected when he’d woke up in his truck this morning.

Staring out the window, he watched the reflection rather than the city beyond.

The bed, centered in the room, was metal with white sheets that looked stark against the evening light. Mandy, in a soft blue gown, looked tiny in the bed. Her dark hair tumbled across a snow-white pillowcase that echoed the pallor of her skin.

The clear tubing of the IV snaked, from where it was imbedded in her arm, across the blanket and up to the hanging bag. What had Addie said about the transfusion? He envisioned the tubing filled with life-giving blood.

He swallowed hard, easing the fear that still gripped him. He’d never before thought about losing her like that, forever. Never expected—

Wyatt stepped back reluctantly, and Lane knew he was weighing Mandy’s wishes against his own concerns. He knew why Lane was here, and he wanted to know the rest. But Lane wasn’t here to talk to Wyatt.

Wyatt’s receding footsteps were the only indication he’d left.

Finally, with a deep breath, Lane turned to face Mandy. She hadn’t moved, but her eyes were open, looking groggily at him. Even in the dimness, the bright blue of her eyes reflected her thoughts. If anyone wore their emotions on their sleeve, it was Mandy Hawkins. He could read her like a book.

Their gazes met. “How you feeling?” Lane took a couple of slow steps toward the bed. His boots sounded too loud in the quiet room.

“Worn out.” She tried to smile, but didn’t move. “Why are you here?” Her voice shook. Were those tears in her eyes? She knew his answer, but was waiting for him to say it, to ask her...

If Wyatt hadn’t been standing in the hallway, Lane would have walked to the bed and taken her hand, and—what? Cursed at her? Kissed her? He had no clue, and that bothered him. Lane never allowed himself to second-guess anything.

“I can do math, Mandy,” he whispered.

“I never doubted that.” She met his gaze, her chin pale but jutting out stubbornly.

“So, why didn’t you tell me?”

She hesitated, something he seldom saw her do. He waited, knowing she was organizing her thoughts. “I tried. That night. At the Lucky Chance.”

Memories slammed into him. As their gazes remained locked, the blue that never wavered brought back the sound of the pounding rain, and the scent of heat and faded perfume in the closed cab of his truck. It reminded him of the feel of her chilled skin under his hands as it grew warm from his touch. Lips that tasted of something sweet and hot. Her lipstick and deeper still...her.

He closed his eyes, the images nearly overwhelming him. Images of her. Images of what had followed...the reason he’d left her there, left her in the rain, huddled in the cab of his truck as he returned to the bar to pull his father from yet another fight, yet another pummeling.

He’d left her, choosing once again to save his father rather than follow what he wanted. What he longed for. Needed.

Opening his eyes, Lane met that familiar blue stare again, steeled himself against its pull. “Nothing has changed.” He stepped close, forcing her to tilt her head farther back to continue looking at him. “Nothing.”

“I... I hadn’t expected it to,” she whispered, surprising him with the weak tone in her voice. “You’ve made it clear. I don’t expect anything from you, Lane.”

As if it were that simple. Dear God, he never should have come here. Never should have let his emotions override his common sense. She might have convinced herself she didn’t expect anything, but the people in that waiting room? The tiny baby down the hall? Himself? All of them expected something—everyone expected something from him.

He wanted to curse. Wanted to hurl his anger at her. But he held back, just like he always did. Damn. “You don’t know me like you think you do.” The anger came out in his voice. If anyone would notice, she would. He took a deep breath to cool it. He didn’t want to upset her. He shouldn’t have come here.

“Really?” She looked directly at him, her stare strong, showing none of the weakness of her body. “What exactly do you think I don’t know?”

He laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. Oh, no. He wasn’t baring his soul to her, not here, not now, maybe never. “Let’s just say your judgment’s a bit clouded.”

He stepped a tad closer, making sure she held his gaze. “I don’t shirk my responsibilities. But I am not cut out to be anyone’s dad.” Why did those words burn his gut? “He needs someone else.” Anyone else. “Someone better, someone who can give him—and you—a better life than I can.”

Lane took a step back from the bed. “You don’t have to worry, Mandy. I don’t make much, but I’ll send what I can.” He took a few more steps. His gut clenched. This wasn’t what she wanted and it tore him up to walk away from her. Their son’s tiny face floated in his memory, taunting his nobility. But he knew his reality. He couldn’t put either of them through the mess that was his life.

Better to keep his distance now, before the attachment grew, than to hurt them later like he knew he would.

Damn it.

The sound of footsteps broke the quiet again, not boot heels, but crepe soles that swished against the polished tiles. The nurse appeared a second later. “Good evening.” She held a small tray in her hands. “Time for your next dose.”

“It will make me sleep,” Mandy complained.

“Sleep is the best thing for you right now.” The woman stepped to the bedside. “Enjoy it now, dear. You two won’t get much when that little guy goes home with you.”

Lane turned then and headed to the door. In the frame, he stood and swallowed hard. He didn’t even know what to say. Instead of speaking, he settled the black Stetson on his head and stalked down the hall, pausing only for the elevators. Once outside, he climbed into his truck. His mind filled with the images of Mandy’s pain-filled features, and— My God, he had a son!

The kaleidoscope of images chased him across the city and out into the familiar open spaces of the highway and ranchland.

He’d never be a dad, but he was a father.

* * *

BY THE TIME Amanda and Lucas were released a few days later, the decision of where they were going had been made, though Amanda didn’t recall ever really agreeing.

At the ranch she stood in the doorway of the old cook’s room just off the big kitchen. Juanita didn’t use the small room since she was married to Chet, the ranch’s foreman, so it had been used for storage for years. Now it was Amanda’s temporary bedroom.

Per doctor’s orders, she wasn’t supposed to climb stairs for a few more weeks or lift anything, including Lucas. The center of the house being the kitchen, everyone could be nearby to help with the baby.

Her brothers had moved one of the beds from upstairs into this room. She was pleased to see that they’d gone to her house in Dallas and brought the crib she’d bought. Even some of the toys and decorations she’d picked out.

Her rocking chair was in the corner between the bed and crib. While she appreciated everything her siblings had done, this was not how it was supposed to be when she brought Lucas home. She looked for Lane and didn’t see him. Anywhere.

All she wanted to do was crawl into bed, cry until she couldn’t cry anymore and then fall into a deep dreamless sleep.

No one would question her. No one would begrudge her such indulgence. They’d been with her the past few days, seen what she’d faced. But no one would really understand. That was the part that bothered her the most. She felt so alone. Alone in a house full of people.

Voices came from the kitchen, breaking through the black cloud that threatened to engulf her. With a deep breath, she turned to face Tara, who had little Lucas in her arms. Amanda couldn’t even lift her own son. She couldn’t lift anything, and the weakness that had moved in and settled over her scared her to death as she imagined something horrid happening, like dropping her son.

Amanda swayed just as Wyatt came into the room. “Hey, sit down.” She didn’t resist when he guided her to the rocking chair. He reached out with a strong arm and held it still while she sat.

“Here you go, little one.” Tara’s voice was that sing-songy variety that only a baby could appreciate. She leaned in close and settled the little boy in Amanda’s arms, which surprised her.

“Oh.” He was so tiny. The warm bundle squirmed a little until she had him nestled in the crook of her arm, his downy head leaning against her elbow.

“Why don’t you two take a bit to settle in,” Tara stepped back, snagging Wyatt’s arm and dragging him to the door. “We’ll be right out here if you need anything.” Seconds later, they were both gone, though they kept the door open and light fell into the room from the bright kitchen.

“Oh, dear.” Amanda looked down at her son. His eyes were open, staring up at her with a newborn’s fascination. “Don’t do anything, sweetie. Your mom isn’t up to much more than this.”

The baby didn’t move, just kept staring up at her, his wide brown eyes so beautiful. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Lane had been at the hospital the other night. But she hadn’t heard from him or seen him since. Where was he today? She’d thought—hoped—he’d come by. She’d hoped he would change his mind and come and take them home.

Wyatt and Tara were there in his place.

She shouldn’t feel disappointment. She shook it off, hoping her son wasn’t able to pick up on her emotions.

Slowly, she pushed against the old wooden floor with her foot, gently moving the chair, soothing her undisturbed son and herself. She couldn’t take her eyes off his sweet little face, and as she moved, she watched his eyes slowly drift closed. He fell asleep, and she reached up to run a single finger along the soft edge of his jaw. He turned his head toward the touch, his tiny lips moving reflexively.

The light in the room changed then, became shadowed. She looked up and was thankful she was sitting. Lane leaned against the doorframe, his eyes hidden as the bright light from the kitchen backlit him.

“Hello,” she whispered, afraid to get her hopes up.

“Hi.” He didn’t move any closer. “You getting settled in okay?”

She nodded. “I think so. Can you take him and put him in the crib?” She wanted so badly to do it herself, but she couldn’t. She was too sore, too tired and too weak. She couldn’t risk Lucas’s safety. He was too tiny, too fragile, too precious.

“Tara?” Lane called over his shoulder and Amanda’s sister hurried toward them. Lane stepped aside, and Tara came to take Luke.

“Thanks,” Amanda whispered. “I’m afraid I’ll drop him.” She couldn’t control the shiver in her voice.

“That’s okay. That’s what we’re here for.” Carefully, Tara settled the baby in the crib, pulling the soft blue blanket up over him. She turned to face Amanda. “Do you want to join us in the kitchen or lie down?”

Amanda’s eyes met Lane’s for a brief instant. Why was he here? Why now? Why hadn’t he helped with Lucas? Everything was wrong. He was so distant, so far away. Tears threatened and she mentally cursed him the same instant she ached for him to pull her into his arms. “I think I’ll rest.”

Tara came over to the rocker, and put her arm beneath Amanda’s. “Take it slow.” Amanda wobbled to her feet, putting her free hand on the solid arm of the chair.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Lane said impatiently, stalking across the room. Before either of them could say a word, he’d swept Amanda up into his arms.

Her head spun, or at least that was the excuse that she gave herself for laying it against his shoulder.

“Don’t get used to this,” he admonished softly.

She barely had time to wonder what “this” referred to. His surly manner? The comfortable feel of the worn chambray of his shirt against her cheek? The solid warmth of his arms?

For the first time in ages she felt safe. All too quickly, Lane reached the bed and lowered her to the spread. Tara rearranged the pillows and pulled up the crocheted afghan from the foot of the bed. Lane took it from her and shook it out, tucking it around Amanda.

For an instant he paused and their gazes met. Heat washed over her, the same spark of heat she saw reflected in his eyes. If Tara hadn’t been here...

Then he blinked and hastily stepped away. He stood there suddenly looking as lost as she felt. His gaze flicked over to the crib, and she tried to read the emotion on his face, but he covered it too quickly.

The faint beeping of a cellphone had him scrambling through his pockets and quickly moving away. “Beaumont,” he answered.

She watched his brow furrow and heard the soft curse words that came past his lips. “I don’t have time for this,” he told whoever was on the other end of the line. Without another glance at her, he said, “Gotta go.” Then he was gone, out the door, with the sound of the screen slamming behind him in the distance.

“Something’s seriously wrong with that man.” Tara stood with her hand on her hips, a classic pose for Tara-the-curious as they both stared after Lane. “Wyatt says he gets these random calls and just takes off. Whoever is on the other end sure has him at their beck and call.”

“Does anyone know who it is?” Amanda asked.

Tara shook her head. “He won’t say a thing. Wyatt says he gets really ticked off if anyone even asks.”

What—or who—was Lane hiding? It wasn’t an easy task to hide anything on the ranch or in any of the local small communities, especially the nearest one, Haskin’s Corners. She racked her brain but found nothing.

And then a thought crossed her mind. A painful thought. They weren’t really a couple. What if...? No, surely she’d have heard through the grapevine. But what if there really was someone else who’d managed to steal his heart while Amanda had been busy hiding the truth and avoiding him?

Had she imagined the flash of heat she’d seen in his eyes?

Rolling over, she pulled the afghan up tighter around her shoulders. She’d hide under the covers for now—it was safer than facing the reality that she didn’t have the energy to follow him and demand the truth.

But later?

Later, all bets were off.

* * *

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” Lane barked into the phone. “The sun hasn’t even set!”

“Sorry, man,” the bartender at the Lucky Chance said. “He’s getting worse, Lane. You gotta do something.”

“What can I do?” Lane leaned against the far side of his truck, the side away from the house. He closed his eyes and tried not to take his exhaustion and frustration out on Sam. But he was tired and envied Mandy that soft comfy bed.

It had taken every ounce of his strength to put her down on the bed and not crawl in beside her. She’d felt so right in his arms, and the way she’d laid her head on his shoulder had him wishing—

“You coming to get him?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.” With a deep breath, he stalked around the truck and climbed in. “Give me half an hour at most. Can you keep him there that long?”

“You want me to open a tab?”

“No. But if that’s what it takes, yeah.” Lane wanted to chuck the damned phone across the pasture, but he didn’t. He shoved it back into his pocket where he’d answer it again the next time, because there was always a next time. Was he making a mistake? Aiding and abetting his father in getting even drunker? He cursed and tore out of the drive, a plume of dust billowing up from his tires.

The Lucky Chance seemed to be his dad’s favorite hangout lately. How many times in the past two weeks had he been here? Lane had lost count.

The parking lot wasn’t yet full, which gave Lane hope—for about half a minute. Until he climbed out of the truck and heard the sounds of a loud crowd coming from behind the building. With a curse, Lane broke into a run.

Easily a dozen people stood in a circle in the empty lot behind the bar. Lane shoved his way through to find his dad and another man swinging clenched fists at each other. Dust from their stumbling, shuffling feet filled the air.

Hank Beaumont looked like hell—in other words, like normal. His eyes were bloodshot, and his greasy, thinning brown hair was matted to his scalp for any multitude of reasons. His right cheek sported a jagged cut, and blood trickled down to his jaw.

The blood apparently had been oozing for a while as there were stains on the torn white T-shirt Hank wore. Dust covered his jeans and ratty boots, which meant this fight had been going on for some time, and Hank’s backside had hit the ground at least twice.

Lane cursed and strode into the middle of the crowd, hoping like hell he wouldn’t have to take the next punch to end this. “All right. Party’s over, folks.”

“No, it’s not,” Hank slurred. “I was just getting warmed up.” Hank spat and Lane noticed blood smeared on his father’s teeth. Great. He hoped it wouldn’t mean more dental work. Hank didn’t have enough money to cover something like that and now that Lane needed to give Mandy—

“I tried to stop ’em.” A tall, beefy cowboy had hold of Hank’s opponent, a young cowpoke with enough muscle to kill Hank—if he had been even slightly sober, which he thankfully wasn’t.

“That’s okay, Billy,” Lane said to the bouncer, knowing full well he probably had at least five bucks on one of the contenders, and more likely had been cheering on and not trying to stop this mess. “Come on, Dad.”

Hank pulled his arm from Lane’s grasp, stumbling backward. His dusty butt hit the ground and, after an instant, he rolled farther to the ground, laughter coming from his bloody mouth.

Laughter Lane knew would dissolve into alternating fits of rage and tears.

Billy shepherded everyone else back into the bar, promising drinks for them all. Lane expected the tab Sam had asked about to have a few extra drinks on it. Lane sighed.

“Let’s go home, Dad.” He extended a hand to his father, who surprised him by taking it, letting Lane pull him to his feet. Hank stumbled but meekly followed Lane to the parking lot. Lane just hoped his dad would fall asleep in the truck, not yammer or cry as they drove to the house.

“Where the hell you been?” Hank asked, leaning his head back on the seat.

“Work.” Lane had learned eons ago that simple, short answers were best. While Hank hadn’t hit Lane in years, there was always the possibility. And while sober Hank knew that his son had become a man, drunk Hank conveniently forgot.

“You got chores to do at home.”

“Yes, Dad. I’ll get to it.”

“I don’t want to hear none of your excuses, boy.”

“I know.” Lane wove through the hills, hoping they’d reach the house before Hank’s temper grew worse. Sometimes, Lane wondered if it might just be better to leave him to fight it off.

But Hank never won. He just ended up in the emergency room. He was too old and worn out.

“Here we are.” Lane pulled into the dirt-covered yard as close to the front steps as he could get the truck. He glanced over at the older man. Hank was out cold.

Great. Lane climbed out, opening the passenger door carefully so he wouldn’t have to catch Hank, who was leaning against it. “You gonna wake up, old man?”

Hank’s response was a resounding snore. Lane sighed and knelt down. Lifting his father over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, he headed to the front steps. What the hell was Hank going to do when Lane got too old to carry him?

“Hey, did you know you’re a grandfather?” Lane asked the silent house. Hank snored again. “Yeah? Why, thanks, Dad. The congrats are much appreciated.”

Lane had set his father’s room up on the main floor years ago, so the trip to the nearest bed was short. He put the old man down and, except for yanking off his boots, left him.

At the doorway, he stopped and looked back. How many people did he have to put to bed in a day before he earned his own rest?

With Hank asleep like this, minus the injuries and bloodstains, Lane could almost see the man his father used to be. “Damn it, Dad.” He thought of Mandy. Thought of his son. “His name is Lucas,” Lane said softly. “And he’ll never know you. He can’t.” Lane kept walking. “I can’t.”

CHAPTER FIVE

AMAZING WHAT A good night’s sleep could do for a person. Amanda awoke to bright morning sunshine pouring in through the window and energy thrumming through her body.

The height of the sun told her it was late. In the distance the edge of the barn’s roof gleamed bright red against the vivid blue Texas sky. It felt so good to be home. Rolling over, she stretched, making sure not to pull her stitches and minding all the sore places from IVs and other intrusive...things.

She glanced over at the crib—the empty crib. Panic shot through her. She threw back the covers. Her bare feet hit the cool wood floor as her heart pounded against her ribs.

She was the world’s worst mother. How could she forget for even a second that she had Lucas to worry about and care for? How could she have slept so long when he most certainly had not slept through a—she glanced at the alarm clock that had not woken her—ten-hour night? Not at less than two weeks old.

“Ah, you’re awake.” Tara’s voice came from the doorway. Lucas was safely snuggled on her shoulder, his tiny head nestled against her neck.

All the adrenaline rushed out of Amanda’s body and gravity pulled her back down to the edge of the bed. “I am such a horrid mother,” she whispered. “And you’re a terrible sister for scaring me half to death.”

Tara laughed, used to Amanda’s morning persona. “Like I’d wake you up to tell you I was taking Lucas so you can sleep?” She rolled her eyes. “Take a shower and get dressed. Lucas and I are gonna play.”

“Play?” How did you play with an eight-day-old baby? Tara left and after several deep breaths, Amanda grabbed her clothes and headed, slowly, carefully down the narrow hall to the bathroom. She might be rested, but her body was still recovering. She didn’t look in the kitchen, didn’t glance in the living room. She didn’t want to know who saw her in this old, ratty nightgown.

Half an hour later, dressed in her normal clothes—with makeup for the first time in a while—she followed the trail of voices down the hall.

Wyatt’s household revolved around the big, airy country kitchen at the center of the house. Stepping into the familiar room, Amanda let the sense of home enfold her. Juanita stood at the giant gas stove stirring a pot that looked big enough to crawl into. Lovely, tantalizing smells wafted from it, filling the room.

Tara sat on the bench that ran the length of the big, wooden table, a cup of coffee steaming in her hands. “My play buddy conked out.” She smiled and tilted her head toward the baby swing in the corner where Lucas snoozed.

“He does that.” Amanda headed to the coffeepot and fixed her own cup.

“You. Sit down.” Juanita pointed at the bench across from Tara. “I’ll make you a good breakfast.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Don’t argue with her.” Tara laughed. “You know you won’t win.”

“Listen to your sister.” Juanita laughed, too. “She’s right.”

After a good night’s sleep, a warm shower and with one of Juanita’s amazing breakfast burritos under her belt, Amanda almost felt normal. It might have been an illusion, but it wasn’t the first time she’d let herself believe in delusions.

The quiet of the room surprised Amanda. “Where is everyone?”

“Everyone who?” Juanita was back at the stove putting biscuits in the oven. “If you wait another half hour, all the men will be back here for lunch.”

All the men? Amanda’s heart hitched. Lane?

“So, when are you going to share your secrets about you and Lane?” Tara’s eyebrows lifted as she sipped her coffee.

“There’s nothing to share.”

“Really?” She glanced over at Lucas. “He just appeared out of thin air?”

“Yep.” Amanda didn’t want to share anything with anyone. She’d grown up with next to no privacy. Tara might have turned into a beautiful, talented young woman, but she was still Amanda’s pesky little sister.

“Mom did explain the birds and bees to me, you know,” Tara teased.

“Good to know. Bet it was the same lecture I got.” She missed their mother and, looking at Lucas, her grief intensified. Not only had Lucas been conceived when Lane had comforted her as she’d grieved her mother’s death, but Lucas would never know any of his grandparents.

Lane’s mom had died when he was a kid, as had her dad. She’d always speculated that that shared loss was part of what made Lane and DJ such good friends growing up. Now, Mom was gone, too. She didn’t know about Lane’s father, and she wasn’t about to ask anyone and open that door. Admitting she didn’t know his family would not be a smart move.

“Where’s Addie?” she asked, hoping to stop the downward spiral of her thoughts and derail Tara’s curiosity.

Tara looked down with a frown. “She went back to Austin last night, after we got you home.”

That seemed strange. Addie had been with her all the way through this. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Tara stood and put her cup in the dishwasher. “She’s acting strange. Has been since, well, since Lucas came along.”

“That’s odd. She was so thrilled, so looking forward to meeting Lucas before I had him.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not any better at sharing secrets than you are.”

Tara’s glare held a lot of meaning, but she wasn’t talking, no matter how much sisterly guilt Tara tossed her way. “At least she left us a batch of her cookies, so I’ll forgive her. Better get one before the guys find them.”

Tara stared out the window above the sink. “Hey, Juanita. Want some help? I see the dust cloud. Guys are headed back.”

And so they hustled. Amanda managed to carry the basket of biscuits and a gravy bowl to the table. She was disappointed when even that little bit tired her out.

“Thank you, but sit down.” Juanita pushed her to sit on the bench again. “I ain’t catching you if you keel over.”

“And I’m not explaining to Wyatt or Lane. You’d have to live with my version,” Tara said.

Amanda laughed. As a kid Tara’d had a reputation for never quite telling what really had happened. She’d embellished any story, creating magical worlds and fantastic images. Mom had been so surprised by the explanation half the time she’d forgotten what had happened in the first place.

The sound of half a dozen burly, dusty cowboys stomping their feet at the back door startled Lucas awake. He let out a tiny whimper, then, as the first of the men came through the kitchen door, he responded with a resounding wail. Amanda laughed, enjoying the look of total fear that transformed several of the men’s faces. Even though her nephew, Tyler, had been living here, it was clear these men were not used to babies.

“Well, now.” Juanita turned around from the stove where she’d been serving bowls of hearty stew. “That was brilliant. Well done, gentlemen.” She aimed her wooden spoon at them. “You’d all better get used to a baby in the house.” She turned back around as if the proclamation were now law, which it pretty much was.

The men filed in, filling the benches, leaving the captain’s chair at the head of the table that had been Dad’s when Amanda was a kid. “Where’s Wyatt?” Tara asked.

“He said something about going to town on an errand,” Paulo said.

“I’ll bet that errand takes him to the courthouse where there’s a pretty judge.” All the men chuckled.

“All right, boys.” Chet was the last one in. The older cowboy came over to stand beside Amanda as Tara settled Lucas in her arms. Chet made a silly face and the baby’s wail subsided to a whimper as he snuggled against Amanda’s shoulder. “There you go, little guy.” Chet tapped the tiny nose with a rough finger, which completely quieted the baby, then headed over to give his wife a brief kiss before settling in his seat.

The big kitchen table was covered with food, and the men attacked it with the same energy with which they herded steer and broke horses. Amanda leaned back and let Lucas stare wide-eyed at the men. Just as they had to get used to the new baby, Lucas had to get used to them.

The men’s friendship was warm and sweet. Amanda let herself enjoy the camaraderie. It had been years since she’d really spent any extended periods of time at the ranch, and back then her brothers had always hovered, making sure no one got too close. None of her brothers was here today. Besides, it was a bit late for their gate keeping. Unexpected though Lucas was, he was a sweet reminder of that fact.

The sound of another set of boots on the step barely broke the din of the cowboys talking and laughing. Lane stepped into the room, pocketing his phone just as she looked up to see who’d arrived. Their eyes met and his widened in surprise.

Jealousy nipped at her. Who had he been talking to? And what about? It was none of her business, she reminded herself.

Juanita wasn’t having any of the drama. “Take your seat,” she told Lane. “Food ain’t getting any warmer.” She scooped up a bowl of the steaming stew and slapped two biscuits on top.

Lane nodded to Amanda and hastily took the last seat at the table. He didn’t look at anyone else and dug into the meal as if it were the most important thing in the world.

What had she expected? That he’d rush in, as Chet had to Juanita, and give her a resounding kiss? Just the idea sent her heart to her knees.

Did these men know? Had Lane told them? Had Wyatt?

She saw several shared glances fly across the table and the light conversation fell silent. Finally, Chet leaned back. “You outdid yourself, love. Good stuff.”

All the men nodded and thanked Juanita for her work. She smiled as she gathered up dirty dishes. “Mandy and Tara helped.”

“Thanks, ma’am,” Anthony, the youngest cowboy, said. “It was mighty good.” He blushed clear up to his ears. Amanda was pretty sure it was the first time she’d ever heard him speak.

“That little one’ll grow up strong if you feed him like this.” Paulo ran his spoon around the bowl with the intensity of someone who’d rather lick the bowl.

“Would you like some more?” Amanda offered.

“No, ma’am. I’m on a diet.” He actually looked sincere. Yet he’d already had two bowls with four biscuits slathered with butter and jam.

“Uh, okay.”

“You better eat up there, Lane.” Paulo leaned forward. “Gotta keep up your strength.”

“What the hell for?” The glare Lane threw the older man held a threat.

“If that boy’s anything like you—” Paulo tilted his head toward Lucas. “You’re gonna need it.”

All the men laughed, answering Amanda’s earlier question. They knew. She glanced over at her son, nestled once again in the swing. He’d fallen back to sleep, apparently now adjusted to the men and their noise. The warm teasing between the hands was a normal part of the ranch life. She remembered it from all the visits when she was a kid. This time, though, she sensed an edge to the teasing, and couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

“Don’t start,” Lane warned.

“We got work to do, son.” Paulo’s grin widened. “We gotta get you in shape for when that boy starts walking, riding horses and—” He winked at Amanda. “Chasing the ladies.”

Amanda stared over at her son. That all seemed so far away.

“Shut up.” Lane stood and carried his dirty dishes to the sink. “Like I’d let him hang out with a bunch of misfits like you guys.” He grabbed a cup and filled it with coffee before he leaned back against the counter.

“You won’t have much choice.” Paulo was still laughing. “He’s gonna love hanging out with us.” He leaned over to Amanda. “We’ll teach him how to be a real man.”

Amanda watched the flush rush up Lane’s face. Not embarrassment. Anger. Interesting, considering Lane said he wasn’t going to be around for her and Lucas. Still, she couldn’t let this get any more out of hand. “Paulo, cut it out.” She stood and grabbed her own dishes.

She didn’t want to move any closer to Lane, but what else was she supposed to do with the dishes other than take them to the sink? And she couldn’t sit there much longer and let them harass Lane because of her. The weight of half a dozen sets of eyes on her and Lane was too much. She tried to act as normal as possible, but everyone was watching. Her bowls clattered against the porcelain sink.

With a hand on her hip, she faced the room with her best glare. “Don’t you men have better things to do other than tease Lane? Like work?”

“Mandy—” Tara spoke up warningly.

“What?”

“I’m fine,” Lane reassured her.

“But—”

“Okay, ladies, it was a pleasure.” Chet pushed back from the table as if she hadn’t spoken, with a noisy shove of his chair. “We got work waitin’, boys.” His simple words cut through the tension, ending it.

Lane didn’t move. “Give me a minute, boss.”

Amanda turned to stare out the kitchen window, watching him in her peripheral vision. Tara and Juanita were pretending, badly, not to listen, as the men stood and prepared to leave.

“You doin’ okay?” Lane asked softly.

Amanda couldn’t help but glance over at him. Nor could she look away as she caught a glimpse of the gentle man she knew. The man who was Lucas’s father.

“I’m getting better, slowly.”

Dear God, the scintillating conversation was astonishing. Amanda barely resisted the urge to bang her head on the counter in frustration. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with them?

Lane glanced around the room, then back to the door where a couple of the men sat on the porch, having a smoke. He shook his head and she wondered what he was thinking. Before she could ask, his fingers curled around her wrist, not tight, but gentle and warm. “Come on.”

Amid the catcalls and soft whistles, Lane led her through the kitchen, across the living room and hall into the front parlor. Memories and sensations slammed into her.

She’d always loved this room. So many memories here.

Granddad had built this place, and this room had been his pride and joy. Decorated with mahogany and typical cowboy décor, it was the family room, the ranch office, and on Friday and Saturday nights, a gathering place for the hands. The well-stocked, carved mahogany bar at the other end of the room had been well used and cared for. And off-limits to a bunch of nosy kids.

But those memories faded as more recent ones arrived. The last time she’d been in this room she’d been with Lane, too. Alone. At night. In his arms.

“Why are we here?” she asked, pulling her arm from his grasp, a bit disappointed when he let her step away so easily.

“Because this is as close as we’ll get to alone. I’m not interested in an audience.”

“For what?” Butterflies settled in her stomach. She took a tiny step forward.

“Damn it, Mandy.”

She stared at him, shocked. Why was he upset with her? She hadn’t been the one harassing him earlier. She’d stuck up for him when he wasn’t stopping the men.

Hurt rippled through her. “What do you want?” She backed away, not sure where to go. Her room was just off the kitchen, and the last place she wanted to be right now. Juanita and Tara were in the kitchen. The men on the porch. This room was it. She settled on the couch, leaving Lane in the doorway. He stood there a long minute, glaring at her.

“What do we need privacy for?” she finally, angrily, asked him.

“Don’t push me, Mandy. I don’t need you or anyone else taking care of me. Stay out of my business.”

His words were hurtful, and from the anger in his eyes, she realized they were meant to be. She wanted to curse, wanted to yell at him and call him all the names she’d used when they were kids. But that seemed childish with their son asleep in the other room.

“So, I’m supposed to just let it go? I’m supposed to just stand by while they harass you?”

He sighed. “They weren’t harassing me.” He threw up his hands. “That’s the way they are.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I don’t remember asking you if you did or not. It doesn’t matter what you think.” He stalked to where she sat, looming over her. He was doing it on purpose, and she had no idea why he was acting like this. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “I wasn’t kidding at the hospital,” he said.

“Wh-what do you mean?” She was afraid she knew exactly what he was referring to and she swallowed.

“I am not cut out to be anyone’s dad,” he said through gritted teeth. “Find someone else.” He stalked back to the doorway.

“What if I don’t want anyone else?” she whispered.

He froze, briefly closing his eyes. The stare he turned on her was painful to face. “Then you’ll have to do it alone.”

She heard the sound of his receding footsteps and the slamming of the screen door. Closing her eyes, she fought the burn of her unwanted tears. Why was he being like this? What had happened to the kind, caring, sweet man who’d held her when she’d been hurting? The man who’d never turned her away when she’d needed him?

* * *

SOME DAYS, AND more frequently lately, sitting on a horse was the last thing Lane wanted to do. He loved being outdoors and riding Midnight, the big black cowpony, he was on now. But while he was busy all day, every day, he couldn’t help but think there was more to life.

Against his will his gaze wandered to the big ranch house perched up on the ridge. There were few places on the ranch property where you couldn’t see the house. Wyatt’s granddad had purposefully built it that way.

Was the “more to life” he kept thinking about there?

Mandy had looked and smelled amazing earlier today. If there’d been even the hint of privacy, he was fairly sure he’d have taken her through the bedroom door instead of to the study.

He couldn’t help but wonder how she’d have reacted. She always came to him tear-stained and tattered, and he’d never turned her away. She’d never come to him put together and sexy. Hell, it might kill him to deny her.

Lane tore his gaze away and focused on the task at hand. Climbing down, he let Midnight munch on the thick wild grasses as he set to work. He was already behind getting this fence back up, and Wyatt was unhappy with the delay.

The wide-open prairie on both sides of the fence stretched for miles. Pal Haymaker, one of the most influential ranch owners in the state, owned the spread next to Wyatt’s.

Pal was one of the meanest men Lane had ever had the displeasure to meet. Growing up, Lane had imagined Pal was the equivalent of a city kid’s experience with an old man yelling, “Get off my lawn.”

The sandiest stretch of riverfront in these parts was smack in the middle of Pal’s ranch. And he hated finding kids with a bonfire on his property. Lane had lost count of how many times in high school Pal had chased he and his friends off. The only thing that had saved them all from a juvie record was the fact that Pal’s grandson, Trey, had been at every one of those parties.

Lane had met Mandy at one of those bonfires. She’d been seventeen and wearing cutoff jeans and a bikini top. Trina had been there, too, trying to convince Mandy to get on the tire DJ and Trey had rigged to swing out over the water.

She’d been scared to death—Lane had seen it in her eyes. But that hadn’t stopped her. Being the middle of six kids had given her gumption. After soaring out of the swing at its highest arch, she’d climbed out of the water, soaking wet, her clothes, what little there had been of them, had clung too provocatively to her lovely curves.

She’d soon been shivering and Lane had pulled off his over-shirt for her to wear. His plain white T-shirt and the hormones raging through his body had been enough to keep him warm. He wondered what had become of that shirt, as he’d never gotten it back.

That was the first of many times DJ had warned Lane to stay away from his sisters.

Pain cut through Lane’s hand suddenly, bringing him back to the present. A barb had gotten through his thick work glove and he pulled it off to check the damage to his finger. He cursed, sick and tired of the calluses and pain of his beat-up hands. He didn’t mind the pain—he just hated the work that caused it.

His back to the ridge, his injured finger wrapped in the tail of his shirt, Lane stared at the horizon with its late-afternoon shimmer of heat.

How many times had he thought about heading straight to that horizon and never turning back?

Something bumped his shoulder, and he turned to see Midnight standing there, looking at him wide-eyed.

“I know, boy.” Lane patted the wide brow. “It’s useless to dream. You just want to get back to your oats, don’cha? I’ll hustle.” He went back to work and had the fence up before the sun was fully gone. Wyatt’d be happy now.

At least that made one of them.

Swinging up into the saddle, Lane took one last glance at the vanishing horizon before turning Midnight toward the barn.

Lights were coming on all over the ranch house. Glancing back once more, Lane watched the sun dip below the horizon, snuffing out the illusion of his future there.

* * *

AMANDA HELD LUCAS in her arms and stood at the wide picture window in the den. She watched Lane, high in Midnight’s saddle, as he crested the ridge and headed to the barn.

Closing her eyes, she fought the burn of unwanted tears. “See that? That’s your daddy.” She knew Lucas didn’t understand her, but he would.

“Don’t pay attention to him being so distant,” she whispered to Lucas. “Something’s up, but we’ll figure it all out. Daddy really does love...you.” She’d almost said “us” but she wasn’t so sure anymore. As she looked at her son, she hoped and prayed she was telling the truth.

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