Texas Rebels: Phoenix. Linda Warren

wanted to ask questions, but she felt it was time to put an end to this unexpected interlude. She didn’t want to get involved in his life, and she didn’t want to know any more about him and his son.

      “I have to go. I wish you the very best with your little boy.”

      He looked into her eyes, and once again she felt the warmth all the way to her heart. “Thanks. May I call you Rosie?”

      She shook her head. “You and I will never be on a first-name basis. Tonight was just a time out of time that neither one of us expected and will never be repeated. You know the reasons why.”

      “Come on. That’s not fair. You’re not even a McCray anymore.”

      “I was born a McCray and I will always be a McCray.”

      “I might need more help...”

      She wasn’t falling for that again. “Goodbye. I’ll see you around the rodeos.” Walking away, she felt something she couldn’t quite describe. Being lonely was just a part of her, but tonight, for a brief moment, she’d felt something special with a man she didn’t even like. She’d felt like a woman again. It was hard to describe since all they’d done was talk. Phoenix Rebel probably didn’t even want the child, but she had to admire that he was making the best of it. She would never be lucky enough to get a chance at having another child. The rest of her days, she would spend alone. But tonight she felt the wonder of it all because she couldn’t resist his dark, warm eyes.

      * * *

      IT WAS ALMOST 3:00 a.m. when Phoenix drove into the yard at the bunkhouse. He left everything in the truck and went inside. The door was never locked and he didn’t think anyone had a key. He was dog-tired and needed sleep. After removing his boots and belt, he fell across the bed and welcomed the blackness of his mind. But a face was there that he couldn’t shake.

      Rosemary McCray’s.

      He was just so shocked to see her, and when she actually melted a little and helped him, he got lost in her feminine presence. She had to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. For those cowboys who called her Frosty, all he could say was, tough luck. They never saw her with her blue eyes sparkling and her hair all around her. Tonight it was loose, not a band, ribbon or anything in it. In his mind, he could see her that way when she went to bed. In nothing but her hair. Oh yeah, he could get lost in that dream. Or maybe a fantasy, because that was all Rosemary McCray could ever be to him.

      She’d told him so.

      * * *

      PHOENIX WOKE UP at 5:30 a.m., showered and changed clothes. Today he put on a white shirt because it was a special occasion. He was going to meet his son.

      Jericho, a ranch hand who lived with Phoenix and Paxton in the bunkhouse, was in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. “Just in time,” he said.

      Phoenix grabbed a glass of orange juice. He had OJ first thing every morning. It was a ritual for him, and he always carried a large carton on the road. Stuffing bacon into a biscuit, he said, “This is all I have time for. I have to go over to the house to see Mom.”

      He thought about the supplies in his truck and he quickly unloaded everything into his room. Rico helped him with the bed. Rico never asked any questions, and Phoenix loved that about the man. He never interfered with other people’s business, and he didn’t judge anyone.

      “I’ll have to put it together when I get back.”

      “It will be done when you bring the boy home,” Rico said.

      Evidently Paxton had told Rico about Jake. And now he had to tell his mother.

      “Thanks, Rico. I appreciate that, but you don’t have to.”

      “No problem.” The older man shook his head. If Phoenix had to guess the man’s age, he would have said somewhere in his late thirties. A scary figure to some, with his long, dark hair tied into a ponytail at his neck and a scar slashed across his face from gang fighting in Houston, he was the best friend the Rebel family ever had. He would do anything for them and they would do anything for him, too.

      * * *

      QUINCY’S TRUCK WAS at their mother’s. That surprised Phoenix because his brother usually spent his Sunday mornings with his wife, Jenny. As he opened the back door, he heard voices. Quincy and Grandpa were drinking coffee and eating breakfast. Jude and his new wife, Paige, and their son Zane lived in the house. But no one else was up yet.

      Every time he stepped into this warm kitchen, he thought of his dad and felt at home. At peace. And then the sadness would creep in like a thief in the night, threatening to steal away those emotions. But all he had to do was look at the kitchen his dad had painstakingly built for his mother, from the large tiles on the floor to the knotty pine cabinets to the dark granite with a touch of red. His dad had given special attention to detail here, just as he had with the raising of his sons. He’d taught them so much, and yet there was still so much to learn. But he wasn’t here anymore, and Phoenix never felt that more deeply than today. He would take full responsibility for his child not only because he wanted to but also because his dad would have expected it of him.

      He cleared his throat. “Morning, everyone.”

      His mother turned from the stove. “Phoenix, I didn’t expect you this early. You and Paxton don’t usually come in until late Sunday. Sit down. I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”

      “No, thanks. I’ve already had breakfast.” He glanced at his brother and Grandpa. “Why are y’all up so early?”

      “I got up early to fix Grandpa’s breakfast and then decided to come over and eat with Mom,” Quincy explained. Elias, another brother, lived with Grandpa and usually spent Saturday nights down at Rowdy’s beer joint. Grandpa was getting a little senile, and they refused to let him use the stove anymore since he almost burned the house down twice. Elias usually looked after Grandpa unless he went out for the evening. Then Quincy took up the slack because he was a big mother hen to everyone.

      Quincy eyed Phoenix’s starched shirt. “Where are you going all dressed up at this hour?”

      Phoenix looked down at the hat in his hand and saw no reason not to tell the truth. “Ms. Henshaw called and had the DNA results. I’m the father and I’m going to Denver to pick up my son.”

      “What? When did you get this news?” his mother asked with a lifted eyebrow.

      “Last night.”

      “And you’re just now telling me?”

      “I didn’t want to do it over the phone. Besides, I had a lot of things to do like buying stuff that Jake will need. I left it all in my room, but I’ll sort through it when I come back.”

      His mother removed her apron. “I’m going with you. You’ll need a woman to help you.”

      “No.” Phoenix held up his hand. “I’m going alone. This is my child and I will handle it. I don’t need help.”

      “Now that’s just silly, Phoenix.”

      Quincy stood. “I’ll go. Someone needs to be with you. I’ll run home and tell Jenny.”

      “I’m only going to say this one more time. I’m going alone. I do not need anyone to hold my hand. I’ve accepted that Jake is my son, and we need time to bond.”

      They stared at him with shocked eyes, and he supposed he did sound grown up. He’d finally made that transformation, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. He’d rather have been joking and teasing everyone. But those days were in his past now.

      “Proud of you, boy. You’ve become a man.” Grandpa took a sip of his coffee. “Do you remember when your dad had the girls and sex talk with you boys?”

      “Of course.”

      “Well, then, I would just like to know where you, Jude and Falcon were during his delivery because, obviously, you didn’t hear a word.