Cowboy Daddy. Angel Smits

why didn’t you tell me?”

      She hesitated, something he seldom saw her do. He waited, knowing she was organizing her thoughts. “I tried. That night. At the Lucky Chance.”

      Memories slammed into him. As their gazes remained locked, the blue that never wavered brought back the sound of the pounding rain, and the scent of heat and faded perfume in the closed cab of his truck. It reminded him of the feel of her chilled skin under his hands as it grew warm from his touch. Lips that tasted of something sweet and hot. Her lipstick and deeper still...her.

      He closed his eyes, the images nearly overwhelming him. Images of her. Images of what had followed...the reason he’d left her there, left her in the rain, huddled in the cab of his truck as he returned to the bar to pull his father from yet another fight, yet another pummeling.

      He’d left her, choosing once again to save his father rather than follow what he wanted. What he longed for. Needed.

      Opening his eyes, Lane met that familiar blue stare again, steeled himself against its pull. “Nothing has changed.” He stepped close, forcing her to tilt her head farther back to continue looking at him. “Nothing.”

      “I... I hadn’t expected it to,” she whispered, surprising him with the weak tone in her voice. “You’ve made it clear. I don’t expect anything from you, Lane.”

      As if it were that simple. Dear God, he never should have come here. Never should have let his emotions override his common sense. She might have convinced herself she didn’t expect anything, but the people in that waiting room? The tiny baby down the hall? Himself? All of them expected something—everyone expected something from him.

      He wanted to curse. Wanted to hurl his anger at her. But he held back, just like he always did. Damn. “You don’t know me like you think you do.” The anger came out in his voice. If anyone would notice, she would. He took a deep breath to cool it. He didn’t want to upset her. He shouldn’t have come here.

      “Really?” She looked directly at him, her stare strong, showing none of the weakness of her body. “What exactly do you think I don’t know?”

      He laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. Oh, no. He wasn’t baring his soul to her, not here, not now, maybe never. “Let’s just say your judgment’s a bit clouded.”

      He stepped a tad closer, making sure she held his gaze. “I don’t shirk my responsibilities. But I am not cut out to be anyone’s dad.” Why did those words burn his gut? “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. His gut clenched. This wasn’t what she wanted and it tore him up to walk away from her. Their son’s tiny face floated in his memory, taunting his nobility. But he knew his 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.

      The sound of footsteps broke the quiet again, not boot heels, but crepe soles that swished against the polished tiles. The nurse appeared a second later. “Good evening.” She held a small tray in her hands. “Time for your next dose.”

      “It will make me sleep,” Mandy complained.

      “Sleep is the best thing for you right now.” The woman stepped to the bedside. “Enjoy it now, dear. You two won’t get much when that little guy goes home with you.”

      Lane turned then and headed to the door. In the frame, he stood and swallowed hard. He didn’t even know what to say. Instead of speaking, he settled the black Stetson on his head and stalked down the hall, pausing only for the elevators. Once outside, he climbed into his truck. His mind filled with the images of Mandy’s pain-filled features, and— My God, he had a son!

      The kaleidoscope of images chased him across the city and out into the familiar open spaces of the highway and ranchland.

      He’d never be a dad, but he was a father.

      * * *

      BY THE TIME Amanda and Lucas were released a few days later, the decision of where they were going had been made, though Amanda didn’t recall ever really agreeing.

      At the ranch she stood in the doorway of the old cook’s room just off the big kitchen. Juanita didn’t use the small room since she was married to Chet, the ranch’s foreman, so it had been used for storage for years. Now it was Amanda’s temporary bedroom.

      Per doctor’s orders, she wasn’t supposed to climb stairs for a few more weeks or lift anything, including Lucas. The center of the house being the kitchen, everyone could be nearby to help with the baby.

      Her brothers had moved one of the beds from upstairs into this room. She was pleased to see that they’d gone to her house in Dallas and brought the crib she’d bought. Even some of the toys and decorations she’d picked out.

      Her rocking chair was in the corner between the bed and crib. While she appreciated everything her siblings had done, this was not how it was supposed to be when she brought Lucas home. She looked for Lane and didn’t see him. Anywhere.

      All she wanted to do was crawl into bed, cry until she couldn’t cry anymore and then fall into a deep dreamless sleep.

      No one would question her. No one would begrudge her such indulgence. They’d been with her the past few days, seen what she’d faced. But no one would really understand. That was the part that bothered her the most. She felt so alone. Alone in a house full of people.

      Voices came from the kitchen, breaking through the black cloud that threatened to engulf her. With a deep breath, she turned to face Tara, who had little Lucas in her arms. Amanda couldn’t even lift her own son. She couldn’t lift anything, and the weakness that had moved in and settled over her scared her to death as she imagined something horrid happening, like dropping her son.

      Amanda swayed just as Wyatt came into the room. “Hey, sit down.” She didn’t resist when he guided her to the rocking chair. He reached out with a strong arm and held it still while she sat.

      “Here you go, little one.” Tara’s voice was that sing-songy variety that only a baby could appreciate. She leaned in close and settled the little boy in Amanda’s arms, which surprised her.

      “Oh.” He was so tiny. The warm bundle squirmed a little until she had him nestled in the crook of her arm, his downy head leaning against her elbow.

      “Why don’t you two take a bit to settle in,” Tara stepped back, snagging Wyatt’s arm and dragging him to the door. “We’ll be right out here if you need anything.” Seconds later, they were both gone, though they kept the door open and light fell into the room from the bright kitchen.

      “Oh, dear.” Amanda looked down at her son. His eyes were open, staring up at her with a newborn’s fascination. “Don’t do anything, sweetie. Your mom isn’t up to much more than this.”

      The baby didn’t move, just kept staring up at her, his wide brown eyes so beautiful. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Lane had been at the hospital the other night. But she hadn’t heard from him or seen him since. Where was he today? She’d thought—hoped—he’d come by. She’d hoped he would change his mind and come and take them home.

      Wyatt and Tara were there in his place.

      She shouldn’t feel disappointment. She shook it off, hoping her son wasn’t able to pick up on her emotions.

      Slowly, she pushed against the old wooden floor with her foot, gently moving the chair, soothing her undisturbed son and herself. She couldn’t take her eyes off his sweet little face, and as she moved, she watched his eyes slowly drift closed. He fell asleep, and she reached up to run a single finger along