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“Whenever you’re ready.”
He nodded pensively. “Tomorrow, I guess.”
“Okay then.” She managed a smile. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”
Then she turned and let herself out of his room. The hard part was over.
Or was it?
It was one thing to think they’d be able to co-parent their daughter. But what about a child that wasn’t his? The future and the possible so-called family dynamics were worrisome at best.
And what about those sexy buckle bunnies who thought Max was God’s gift to womanhood?
No way could Miranda ever compete with them, especially as her pregnancy advanced, as new stretch marks developed...
She swore under her breath. Now that she’d opened up a Pandora’s box of emotion—real or imagined—she had no idea how much her heart or her ego could bear.
Chapter Three (#uebdb2155-79e0-5d8b-95c4-7f6be9b559b7)
Last night, after talking to Matt, Miranda had turned in early, emotionally exhausted. But she’d barely slept a wink. Memories—both the good and the bad, happy and sad—plagued her, making it impossible for her to unwind.
When she finally dozed off, her dreams refused to let her rest.
Sirens and flashing lights.
The snap of handcuffs.
A gavel banging down. Again and again.
A cell door clanging shut.
Knees hitting the courtroom floor. A sobbing voice screaming, No!
Miranda shot up, her heart racing, her brow damp from perspiration. She’d had that nightmare before, but it hadn’t been so real.
Once her pulse slowed to normal and her eyes adjusted to the predawn darkness, she threw off the covers, got out of bed and padded to the bathroom, where she washed her face, brushed her hair and dressed for the day. She chose the maternity jeans and a blousy pink T-shirt she’d purchased in town last week, after her last obstetrical appointment.
Most pregnant women liked showing off their baby bumps, but Miranda wasn’t one of them. Not now. Not yet.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want the baby—a little boy she planned to name after her father, which might soften the blow when she told him she was expecting. It’s just that she hadn’t wanted the news to leak out. If Gavin learned that she was having his son, he might want shared custody.
As she headed for the kitchen, she relished the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and ham sizzling in a pan.
George stood in front of the stove, while Emily—her hair pulled into an off-centered ponytail and adorned with a red ribbon—sat on the counter next to him and chattered away about what she and Sweetie Pie planned to do today.
“Good morning,” Miranda said. “You two are awake earlier than usual.”
“Emily usually gets up first,” George said, “but I figured I’d better get busy this morning and fix a hearty breakfast. Matt’s looking a little puny.”
He’d looked pretty darn healthy last night when he’d answered the bedroom door bare-chested.
George adjusted the flame under the blackened, cast-iron skillet, then turned to Miranda with a smile. “I found my mother’s old recipe box last night. I won’t have much use for it, but I thought you might like to...look it over. She was one heck of a cook.”
“I’d love to see her recipes. And if there’s a special meal or dish you’d like me to make, I’d be happy to give it a try.”
George laughed. “I’d hoped you’d say that.” Then he nodded toward the teapot. “The whistle isn’t blowing yet, but the water should be ready. How ’bout I pour you a cup?”
“Thanks. That would be nice.” Miranda made her way to the pantry and retrieved a box of herbal tea bags. She’d no more than turned around when Matt entered the kitchen, fresh from the shower and looking more handsome than ever.
He gave her a distracted nod, then using his cane, limped to the coffee maker and filled a cup to the brim.
Miranda placed a hand on her baby bump, which seemed to have doubled in size overnight. She supposed that was to be expected, now that she was approaching her fifth month. She hadn’t given the maternal habit much thought before, but she’d better be careful not to draw any undue attention to her condition. So she quickly removed her hand and stole a glance at Matt, who was watching her over the rim of his coffee mug, his brow furrowed.
Her cheeks warmed, and her heart thumped. Did he suspect...?
Not that it mattered. He’d find out soon enough.
She took the cup of hot water George had poured for her and carried it to the scarred antique table and took a seat.
While her tea steeped, neither she nor Matt said a word. But she imagined him saying, Apparently, you have a habit of running away from your baby daddies.
Just the thought of him having a reaction like that struck a hard blow, a low one. But then again, she couldn’t blame him for being angry, resentful. Judgmental.
And he didn’t even have to say anything to her. As it was, she felt guilty enough, which was why she wasn’t looking forward to facing her father and announcing she was, once again, unmarried and pregnant.
Nor was she ready to admit to Matt that she was having another man’s baby.
* * *
As Matt took his first sip of coffee, he studied Miranda, who looked a little pale, if not green around the gills. But so what? She deserved to feel guilty. She’d kept his daughter away from him for years.
Carlos Contreras, the Texas berry king, had made it perfectly clear that, at least in his opinion, Matt wasn’t good enough for his precious daughter. And apparently, Princess Miranda felt the same way.
Miranda’s deceit and the unfairness of it all rose up like an index finger and poked at his chest, jabbing at an old wound that, apparently, hadn’t healed. It hurt like hell to know he’d been shut out of a family once again.
Last night, after Miranda came to his bedroom and admitted that Emily was his, a secret she’d kept for nine years, Matt hadn’t been able to sleep a wink. He’d even popped a couple of the pain pills the doctor had prescribed and he rarely used. But even that hadn’t helped. Not when the real pain had very little to do with his knee.
He kept rehashing old conversations he’d put to rest years ago, like the last one he and Miranda had had.
Let’s take a break for a little while, Miranda had said. I’ll call you when Daddy’s cooled down and had a chance to think things over.
But that call never came.
Matt leaned his left hip against the cupboard under the kitchen counter, taking the weight off his left knee. He lifted his mug, but didn’t take a drink. Instead, he gazed at Miranda. She’d grown prettier with each passing year. Even in a pair of loose-fitting blue jeans and a baggy T-shirt, she was a knockout.
Her waist, once flat and perfect, had a paunch now. He’d noticed it before and had assumed it was to be expected after having a baby. That is, until she’d caught him watching her a few moments ago. An uneasy expression crossed her face, and the hand that had been resting on her rounded stomach dropped to her side.
Was she pregnant?
She might be, but he’d never ask.
All he knew was what Uncle George had told him yesterday. She’d recently ended a relationship and needed time to think.
She sure looked pensive this morning, as she stirred a teaspoon in her cup long after any sugar had dissolved.
What was she thinking about? Whether she should reconcile with her ex?
Or had she deserted another expectant father, leaving him completely unaware of her pregnancy? That is, if Matt’s suspicion was right.
He glanced at his uncle, who was cracking eggs into the skillet he’d used to fry ham. Did he know more about Miranda’s condition, her situation, than he’d let on?
He had to, since he’d clearly taken her under his wing, going so far as to provide housing and food for her and Emily, not to mention hosting a menagerie.
Then again, his uncle had always liked Miranda. That lil’ gal has a sweet way about her, Matt. She’s smart and funny, too. If I’d had a daughter, I’d want her to be just like her.
And Miranda had felt the same way about Uncle George, too. Or so she’d said.
Matt turned his focus to Emily, who kept glancing out the kitchen window, then at the clock on the microwave.
She was a cute kid. He couldn’t say that she looked like him, other than maybe the shape of her eyes—but not the color. Still, he didn’t doubt that he was her father. The only doubt he actually had was whether he could be the kind of dad she deserved.
The dog padded through the kitchen and into the service porch. It whined a couple of times and scratched at the back door. Since no one else seemed to notice, Matt reached for his cane and headed to the service porch to let it out.
“No!” Emily jumped down from her perch on the counter, where she’d been watching George fry eggs, and ran to the door, grabbing the dog by the collar before it could go outside to pee.
What the hell?
“Sweetie Pie can’t go outside until the sun comes up,” Emily said, her voice coming out in short frantic huffs. “Or else she’ll chase that skunk again. And she always gets sprayed and stinky.”
“Always?” Matt asked. “How many times has she gotten sprayed?”
“Four.” Emily knelt before the dog, cupped her furry face and made kissy sounds. “Wait a little bit longer, Sweetie Pie. I’ll open the door as soon as it gets light and after that ornery ol’ skunk goes to sleep.”
A grin tugged at Matt’s lip, and he slowly shook his head. “You’d think that getting a snout full of Eau de Stink more than twice would have convinced her to try chasing another critter.”
Emily looked up at him, her sweet smile reaching into his chest and touching something soft and tender.
“You got that right,” George called out from the kitchen. “Good ol’ Lulu Belle was a smart dog, but Sweetie Pie is a slow learner.”
Back in the day, Matt had been one, too. You’d think that, after his widowed dad had remarried and chosen his stepbrother over him, Matt would have known better than to harbor thoughts of family, hearth and home. But then he’d met Miranda, and she’d stomped on his wounded heart, leaving him feeling abandoned yet again.
Fortunately, Matt didn’t need to get sprayed a third time before learning his lesson.
While refilling his cup, he studied his daughter. What would she say when she learned that Matt was her father?
And when would they tell her?
He stole a glance at Miranda, who hadn’t said much of anything, even when she wasn’t sipping from her fancy china teacup that used to belong to George’s mother. He had no idea what she planned to do with her life. Her decisions were none of his business.
That is, unless they affected Emily. And if he didn’t agree with the choices Miranda made—or any her father made, Matt wasn’t about to sit on the sidelines and let them dictate his daughter’s life. And if they thought they could shut him out, like they’d done so far, there’d be hell to pay.
* * *
By the time breakfast was on the table, the sun had risen and Sweetie Pie had gone outside to take care of her doggy business and to go in search of her black-and-white-striped nemesis.
None of the adults spoke while they ate their fill of ham and scrambled eggs, but Emily chattered away. And Matt hung on her every word.
As she chomped on a piece of ham, her eyes brightened. “Guess what? You know Suzy Reinquist, the new girl who brought an arrowhead to school for show-and-tell? She has six toes on each foot.”
“Emily,” Matilda said, “please don’t talk with your mouth full.”
The child swallowed, chased it down with a sip of orange juice and continued her story. “I didn’t believe Suzy when she told us, ’cause that would make twelve toes, and everyone knows you only have ten. But then she took off her shoes and socks so we could count them. And sure enough...”
Even if Emily weren’t his daughter, Matt would have enjoyed listening to her. She had a unique way of seeing the world. And he liked hearing about her interests and friends.
Emily took another swig of juice. “I can’t wait for spring break to get over. I love school. I like Mrs. Crowley, too. But she wasn’t at school on Friday. We had a substitute. I forget her name, but she’s kind of old and has a little bald spot on the back of her head. I didn’t notice it until she turned around to write our math assignment on the board.”
Before the girl could share another story, Uncle George pushed his chair away from the table. “You’ll have to excuse me. The ranch hands will be arriving soon, and I need to get to work.”
“Me, too.” Emily downed the rest of her OJ, then got to her feet. “The chickens laid three eggs yesterday. I wonder how many I’ll find today.”
“Honey, wait a minute.” Miranda glanced at Matt, then back at their daughter. “I have something I need to talk to you about.”
“Am I in trouble again?” Emily placed her hands on her hips and frowned.
“No, you’re not in trouble,” Miranda said.
“Then can we wait until I check on Dumpling? The other chickens kept pecking at her yesterday.”
Miranda rested her forearms on the table and leaned forward. “No, honey. I’ve already waited too long to tell you.”
Emily plopped back into her seat. “What is it?”
Miranda glanced at Matt, then focused on their daughter. “Your abuelito was wrong when he told you that your father died.”
Emily cocked her head and furrowed her brow. “You mean my father isn’t dead?”
“No. In fact, he didn’t even know about you until recently.”
Emily crossed her arms, leaned back in her seat and frowned. “Does Abuelito know that?”
Miranda nodded.
Emily’s eyes widened. “You mean he lied to me?”
“Yes.” Miranda drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “I’m afraid he did.”
Emily remained silent for a beat, then she rolled her eyes. “That really makes me mad. He told me to always tell the truth, no matter how hard it is. But then he didn’t.”
