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“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.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_2eea774b-bda5-5805-a63d-ff85adb5430e)
AMANDA COULD TELL she was getting better. Today she was bored and itched for something to do. Thanks to Tara and Juanita and half a dozen helpful cowboys, she’d gotten plenty of rest.
Fortunately, the maternity leave from her job as office manager for one of Dallas’s largest Realtor offices gave her plenty of time to recuperate and be with Lucas. She missed the pace, the purpose and structure of the office, but she wasn’t ready to face the prospect of putting Lucas in day care. The very idea gave her hives.
Still, she was going stir-crazy sitting around waiting for—for what? For nothing. That was the problem.
No one would let her help in case it tired her out. Juanita didn’t need or really want her help in the kitchen. Besides, if she ever required help cooking, Tara the “cook du jour” was around, except for the three days a week when she worked at a small diner in town.
And Amanda didn’t know much about horses, except how to enjoy riding them. And cattle? They scared her half to death. She didn’t want to go near them, much less work with them.
Since Lucas was asleep after a fitful night, Amanda knew she should get more rest, but pent-up energy kept her roaming the house. Sleep wouldn’t come anyway.
She ended up in the front room where she and Lane had talked the other night. Lane’s words came back to her and she nearly left—until she saw Wyatt sitting at the massive desk, his back to her.
The huge picture window on the far wall provided a lovely view of the ranch and, while it looked as if he were enjoying that view, she knew better. He was too busy mumbling curses.
“Problems, brother dear?”
“Yes. No. I hate technology.” He hit a key on the computer’s keyboard with just a bit too much force, filling the room with a loud click.
She moved closer and peered over the piles of papers lined up on the desktop. “You still use the hunt and peck method?”
“Hey, it works fine,” he said defensively and punched out another word.
“Uh-huh.” She picked up a few sheets of paper and automatically straightened them. “I thought you were going to town today.”
“I was.” He didn’t elaborate.
Amanda might not be the closest in age to Wyatt, but she’d learned long ago to read all of her siblings. Serious frustration blanketed his face.
“And?” she prompted, perching a hip on the only clear spot on the desk.
He leaned back, and this time he at least looked up at the beautiful view stretched out in front of him. “I love running this business, but this—” He waved at the desk and piles of paperwork. “Not so much.” He sighed.
Amanda bit her lip as an idea occurred to her. Should she? This was Wyatt, her big brother. The one always in charge. She took a deep breath. “You know, I run a large office for Mark and Tim. I could easily help you around here.”
Even before she finished, he was shaking his head. “You’re here to recuperate, not work.”
She laughed. “This is nothing compared to the amount of work I do there. And I’m about ready to go crazy, Wyatt. I need something to do.”
“What about Lucas?”
“What about him? I can run—well, not run so much—but go down the hall if there’s a problem. His swing will fit right...” She turned. “There.” She pointed to the open spot by the fireplace. “It’s not like you would make me punch a time clock.”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, come on.” She stood and walked to stand beside the big leather desk chair. “Wouldn’t you rather be out there helping the men? Communing with nature?”
“Laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think? Communing with nature?” He looked up at her with an arched brow.
“Okay, okay. I work with salesmen. What can I say?” When he remained quiet, she pushed on. “Come on. Let me help.”
“It’s tempting.” He leaned back in his chair. “You won’t like my filing system.”
“What filing system?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, I can create one for you. I know the business and how you think.”
Wyatt rose to his feet, towering over her. “You actually like doing this kind of stuff?” He glared at the disastrous desk.
“I don’t hate it.” She shrugged. “And I’m good at it.”
“I dunno.” He crossed his arms, one hand rubbing his chin.
“Oh, for God’s sake, I’m offering. I won’t beg.”
