The Come-Back Cowboy. Jodi O'Donnell

course, this time he didn’t have the choice of trying to prevent such a fate by leaving.

      “So why did you bring me on as a consultant?” he asked.

      Jud peered at him from under bushy eyebrows the color of steel and rust. “I’ll be straight with you, son. We’ve never fully recovered from losin’ that breeding facility to fire—” he held up a hand to arrest Deke’s apology “—which is neither here nor there. But if we’ve survived at all, it’s Addie’s doing.”

      The craggy lines of Jud’s face softened. “She’s one top-notch rancher herself. Strugglin’ to come back after the fire, though, it’s made her pretty cautious. There’s lots she wants to do here, but she’s set on the Bar G not goin’ another penny into debt.”

      Deke chewed the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know your thinking on the subject, but ranching is by nature an occupation of risks. Too much caution’ll kill you as much as too little.”

      Jud came back dryly. “Try tellin’ Addie that. You know how headstrong she can be when she gets a notion ’bout something.”

      Deke nodded tersely. If he hadn’t seen that determination just now with Addie, he’d certainly known it from before. Except then, the momentum had been the opposite way, forging through adversity—not digging her heels in to put on the brakes.

      He supposed that was another sign of that legacy he’d left her with.

      “That’s why I’m thinking that once she marries the Brody boy,” Jud continued, “it’ll be the natural thing for the two ranches to share resources to complete some of the improvements on the Bar G that Addie’s of a mind to make. Which, I’ll be frank, don’t set too well with me.”

      He at least looked apologetic as he slanted an enquiring look at Deke, meant to see if they were on the same page—although Deke sensed there was some information Jud was omitting.

      “But you can’t expect her not to take the Brodys’ help without givin’ her some options. Right?” Deke said.

      Jud gave a terse nod.

      Absently, Deke fingered into place the honda that made the loop of his catch rope. “Mind, I don’t know what her plans are, but there’re a number of ways to up a ranch’s productivity and guard its assets without it costing a bushel, and I’d be happy to help you and Addie evaluate and implement any and all of them.”

      He shot Jud a telling glance. “That is, you, Addie—and Connor. I can see you have your doubts about me, but I’m here to tell you I’m a professional. Still…you may as well know, Jud—Addie’s asked me not to tell Jace I’m his daddy, and I felt I owed it to her to give her my word.”

      He gave the loop a testing twirl, stirring the thick air in the stable. “But I’m not about to let any man try to be a father to my son without me getting a fair crack at it, too.”

      He held Jud’s gaze steadily, and after a few moments came away with the feeling that, even if he might still have his issues with Deke, they understood each other as men who were doing what they had to do—as fathers.

      Knowing he had at least that understanding from Jud helped to ease the wound-up tightness in Deke’s chest. But then, Jud didn’t know the whole story, either. Or, rather, not yet.

      A trio of steps took Deke to the doorway of the stable. He scrutinized the scenery beyond, including that rise with the crumbling chimney beneath the towering cottonwood.

      “Speakin’ of dads…that fire never would’ve happened, y’know, if I’d been keeping an eye on mine,” he said quietly.

      “Now, Deke. The fire was purely accidental.”

      “But the accident happened on account of Dad’s fallin’ off the wagon.” Doggedly, he made himself go on. “They found the empty whiskey bottles in his pickup.”

      “So they did. That don’t mean any of D.K.’s drinkin’ was your fault,” Jud declared from behind him, then said with a sigh, “If only he hadn’t lost your mama…”

      Deke’s jaw went rigid as he tried to swallow back the pain that crowded his throat. He’d known his return would call up all manner of feelings. He’d thought himself past this strong a reaction, however. Apparently he wasn’t.

      “I know better’n anyone the reason for my dad’s undoing,” he said. “You don’t have to go into it for my edification.”

      “Well, now, maybe I do—for myself. ’Cause I understand how a man’s grief can eat at him so much he’d need to numb the pain any way he can. I lost my wife, too, at a young age. And Addie a mother. That’s why I encouraged your friendship with her.”

      Jud’s words had Deke again seeking the scene on the slope. There were other words, though, that needed saying.

      “And I betrayed your trust by takin’ advantage of your daughter, then leaving her high and dry, didn’t I.”

      The older man said nothing, which was answer enough. Then Jud heaved a heavy sigh. “Hell, I knew why you had to go, Deke. T’wouldn’t have been good for you to stay, no matter what, with your daddy’s mistake hangin’ over your head.”

      “For what it’s worth, Jud,” Deke said, gaze still trained on the slope, “I always intended to return and make up for my dad’s fatal mistake. And finally I’ve got the training and experience I didn’t have when I left, to make a real difference to the Bar G.”

      He turned. “But I’d never’ve gone if I’d known about Jace,” he said with a low fierceness. “No matter what.”

      “I know, son,” Jud said, his blue eyes full of understanding.

      Which made it more impossible than ever for Deke to reveal his own fatal flaw, discovered that sundering night, when it had occurred to him the reason D.K. had sought the numbing oblivion of liquor on that particular eve: He had needed to wipe from his mind that it was the anniversary of his wife’s death.

      When the realization had hit Deke, the terrible fear it had roused in him—and not any yearning to be his own man—was what spurred him away from the Bar G. Because he knew why he’d forgotten that date.

      He’d forgotten because there’d simply been no room in his own mind that evening for anyone or anything but Addie Gentry.

      And if he still felt so desperately betrayed by his own will, could there be any hope on earth of her ever forgiving him?

      With that thought, something made Deke look around.

      There at the doorway stood Addie. And the answer to his question. For in her face he glimpsed again that legacy he’d left her—a loss of hope and trust, but most of all, a loss in the belief of the redeeming power of a man’s love for a woman.

      Or was that the legacy that had been left to him?

      Addie went still as the bottom dropped out of her world.

      Oh, what a fool she was! A fool and a fraud, if only in her own heart. For she’d heard Deke’s fervent words, quite obviously spoken from the bottom of his own heart: I’d never’ve left if I’d known about Jace. No matter what.

      So he’d never have left—because of Jace. Would never have come back now—except for the debt he owed her father. Not for her. How could she have hoped or wished or believed differently?

      Because…once upon a time, he’d made her believe his promise, so much that even when she’d discovered he’d gone, she’d refused to contemplate that she could be wrong about the man she loved. Even when she’d discovered she was pregnant.

      And when her father had set out a search for Deke, he’d done so against her wishes as she faithfully clung to the belief that Deke would come back of his own accord—because of his promise to her.

      Even when Jud’s efforts had proved fruitless, indicating that Deke clearly hadn’t