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“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 (#ulink_7f35c142-ab9a-52d5-9103-cc521b0c0718)
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.
