Home on the Ranch. Allison Leigh

free to walk another aisle.”

      “I caused a scandal there.”

      “Scott created the scandal,” Nikki countered rapidly, “and it was half a year ago, yet you’re still punishing yourself.”

      Belle wanted to deny it, but couldn’t. Her relationship with Scott Langtree had caused a scandal. One large enough to create the urgent need for Belle to take a leave of absence until the furor died down. But it wasn’t even the scandal that weighed on Belle so much as the things Scott had told her in the end.

      Things she didn’t want to dwell on. Things like being a failure on every front. Personal. Professional. Things that a secret part of her feared could be true.

      “So,” she sat up a little straighter, determined. “Other than…that…how are things going at work? Did you get that raise you wanted?”

      “Um. No. Not yet.”

      “Did you ask for it?”

      “No. But—”

      “But nothing. Nik, you stand up for me all the time. You’ve got to stand up for yourself, too. Alex would be lost without you, and it’s high time he started realizing it. I swear, it would serve the man right if you quit.” But she knew Nikki wasn’t likely to do that. Alexander Reed ran the Huffington Sports Clinic, including its various locations around the country. He had degrees up the whazoo, and was a business marvel, according to Nikki.

      Belle just found the man intimidating as all get-out, but had still worked her tail off to get a position there.

      A position she was going back to, she assured herself inwardly.

      “So, what’s he like? Cage, I mean. As ornery as everyone says?”

      Belle accepted Nikki’s abrupt change of topic. Alex was too sensitive a subject for her sister to discuss for long. “He is not an ogre,” she recited softly.

      Nikki laughed a little. “Keep telling yourself that, Annabelle.”

      Belle smiled. “It’s late. Get some sleep. I’ll talk to you later.”

      “Watch your back,” Nikki said, and hung up.

      Belle thumbed off her phone and set it on the nightstand. She didn’t need to watch her back where Cage Buchanan was concerned. But that didn’t mean she would be foolish enough to let down her guard, either.

      The bed squeaked again when she lay down and yanked the quilt up over her. Even though the day hadn’t been filled with much physical activity, she was exhausted. But as soon as her head hit the pillow, her eyes simply refused to shut, and she lay there long into the night, puzzling over the man who slept on the other side of the bedroom wall.

      When he heard the soft creak of bedsprings for the hundredth time, Cage tossed aside the book he was reading and glared at the wall between the two bedrooms. Even sleeping, the woman was an irritant, and as soon as she was busy for the day, he was going to oil her bedsprings.

      The last thing he needed night after night was to hear the sound of that woman’s slightest movement in the bed that was so old it had been ancient even when he’d used it as a kid.

      He hadn’t noticed the squeaks before. Not with either therapist. Hattie McDonald with her militant aversion to smiles and her equally strong dislike for the remoteness of his ranch, nor Annette Barrone who’d made it clear she’d rather be sleeping in his room, anyway.

      He climbed out of bed—fortunately a newer model than the one next door—and pulled on his jeans. He’d never been prone to sleeplessness until six months ago when he’d gotten the first letter from Lucy’s mother. A helluva way to kick off the New Year. She wanted to see her daughter, she’d claimed. A daughter she’d never even wanted to have in the first place. He’d put her off, not believing her threat that she’d enlist her parents if he didn’t comply. When he’d known Sandi, she’d wanted nothing to do with her parents beyond spending her tidy trust fund in any manner sure to earn their dismay.

      Only she hadn’t been bluffing. And it was a lot harder to ignore the demand for access to Lucy when it came from Sandi’s parents. Particularly when it was backed up by their family attorneys.

      Then came Lucy’s accident several weeks later and his insomnia had only gotten worse. In the past week, with Belle Day’s arrival pending, it was a rare night if he got more than an hour or two of sleep at a stretch. It was pretty damn frustrating.

      He’d given up coffee, counted sheep and even drunk some god-awful tea that Emmy Johannson—one of the few people he tolerated in Weaver—had suggested. Nothing had worked.

      And now he could add Belle Day’s bed-creaking presence to his nightly irritations.

      Barefoot, he left his bedroom. He could no more not glare at her closed door than he could get a full night’s sleep these days.

      He went downstairs, automatically stepping around the treads that had their own squeak, and looked in on Lucy. She’d kicked off her blankets again and he went inside, carefully smoothing them back in place. She sighed and turned on her side, tucking her hands together beneath her cheek in the same way she’d done since she was only months old.

      There were times it seemed like twelve minutes hadn’t passed since then, much less twelve years. Yet here she was, on the eve of becoming a teenager.

      That was the problem with baby girls.

      They grew up and started thinking they weren’t their dad’s baby girl anymore.

      He left her room, leaving the door ajar so he could hear if she cried out in her sleep. Since she’d been thrown off that damn horse he should have sent back to her grandparents the day it arrived, she’d been plagued in her sleep almost as much as Cage.

      He didn’t need any light to guide him as he went through the house. The place was as familiar to him as his own face. Nearly the only thing that had changed since his childhood was the bed he’d just left behind and, if he’d had any foresight of the financial hit he would soon be taking with all manner of legal and medical costs, he wouldn’t have bought the thing last year at all.

      He went out on the front porch where the air still carried the damp from the rain even though it had finally ceased. It was more than a little chilly, but he barely noticed as he sat down on the oversize rocking chair his mother had once loved.

      If the room at the care center would have had space for it, he’d have moved it there for her years ago. There wasn’t much she hadn’t done sitting in the chair here on this very porch. She’d shelled peas, knitted sweaters and argued good-naturedly with Cage’s father when he and Cage came in after a long day.

      But her room, while comfortable enough, wasn’t that spacious.

      And the one time he’d brought her back to the Lazy-B, she hadn’t remembered the chair any more than she remembered him.

      He leaned back, propping his feet on the rail, and stared out into the darkness. Strudel soon appeared beside him, apparently forgiving Cage for his banishment after dining on yet another pair of Cage’s boots. He scratched the dog’s head for a minute, then Strudel heaved a sigh and flopped down on the porch. In seconds, the rambunctious pup was snoring.

      Lucky dog.

      There were a lot of things Cage wished for in his life. But right then, the thing at the top of the list was sleep. He’d nearly achieved it when he heard a short, sharp scream.

      Lucy.

      He bolted out of the chair, leaving it rocking crazily behind him as he went inside. And he slammed right into the slender body hurtling around the staircase.

      He caught Belle’s shoulders, keeping her from flying five feet backward from the impact. “Lucy—” Her voice was breathless. Probably because he’d knocked the wind clean out of her.

      “She sometimes has nightmares since the accident.” He realized his fingers were still pressing into