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Cowboy Daddy
Angel Smits
He loves them too much to stayLane 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.
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 (#ulink_a8d3d2f2-29df-58d7-beff-d57329f8c5d8),
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 (https://twitter.com/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 (http://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.
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 (#u129e64ec-c213-59e2-96cb-927bd71ab8bd)
Back Cover Text (#u806c54c0-4cdb-5f1d-aecc-14cc56a8a6fe)
Introduction (#u00fc37df-8536-5fe7-b580-aa89b25f6264)
Dear Reader (#uc2c4fb35-d0b9-5f93-b80a-2d8af0a22a63)
Title Page (#ue09c7fac-0fc0-5163-b232-5e126b57c1f9)
About the Author (#u49996a82-c9bb-5816-aee3-4a29af7305bc)
Dedication (#u44349130-37e6-560f-8c15-14459f5f909a)
CHAPTER ONE (#u21352d46-7d97-526f-993b-e9505528468e)
CHAPTER TWO (#u19e6f03f-4f7a-5722-8990-a6cbdbc434b9)
CHAPTER THREE (#u71edf61a-b949-5bf5-a80c-4d2106aedc79)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u53b3fad4-d4c2-5d37-9c41-86f97ce2a74d)
CHAPTER FIVE (#uafa27a07-1beb-542b-91b4-b454d5054527)
CHAPTER SIX (#ub7fb9880-d037-5753-ad26-d4fb9e362d35)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_01221051-2e71-5678-8d8a-69233b8c7b3a)
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.”
