Ann Roth - The Rancher She Loved

For the rest of the day and the night, she’d avoided being alone with him. The following morning, a full day before she was supposed to leave, she’d taken off without even thanking him for his time. She’d ignored his calls, emails and texts. Then she’d slammed him in print, calling him shallow, a player with a big ego that needed constant feeding. As if he were responsible for the women who threw themselves at him.

His buddies had laughed and said they wouldn’t mind a similar article written about them, but that article had caused him no small amount of pain and trouble.

“I’m not here to do an interview, Clay.”

Yeah, right. She was probably here to write a scathing piece about the life of a has-been. No, thanks.

Those big eyes widened, once more tempting him to fall under her spell and stay awhile. Not about to get suckered in again, he tore his gaze away. “How’d you find me?”

Not that his living here was a secret. He’d put out the press release himself, mostly to announce his new business venture. Since the accident and his forced retirement, interest from reporters had been all but nonexistent. Which suited him fine.

“Believe me, you’re the last person I expected to run into,” Sarah said. “I have no interest in you at all. None.”

Why that bothered him was anyone’s guess. She wasn’t the first to feel that way. The angry bull that had crushed his knee had ruined more than his career. The buckle bunnies he’d once taken for granted had quickly turned their attention to other bull riders. Never mind that he’d driven them away. He didn’t need their pity.

“Then why are you here?” he asked, not hiding his displeasure.

“I was hoping I could see the house.”

Right, and he was a ballet dancer. “You’re telling me Phillips wants to sell this place? Too bad—a couple of months ago, I signed a nine-month lease. I’m not leaving until the contractor finishes my house, and he just broke ground.”

His bad leg was beginning to ache. He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms.

“You’re building a place in Saddlers Prairie.” She frowned. “I thought you lived in Billings.”

“I relocated.”

“You’re not riding anymore?”

She hadn’t followed the stories, then. Just went to show how far he’d slipped from the radar. “Nope,” he said. “I retired a year and a half ago.”

The ache in his leg advanced to low-level pain, a sure sign that hell was on its way. He shouldn’t have pushed himself so hard this morning.

“Thanks for stopping by.” He backed inside and started to close the door.

“Wait—please!”

Her voice had a desperate ring to it he couldn’t ignore. He hesitated.

“If I could just peek at the house,” she said. “I won’t stay long, I promise.”

Vulnerability he hadn’t noticed the last time they’d met made her look softer and even more attractive. Leaning heavily against the jamb, he eyed her. “Give me one good reason why I should believe you.”

“How about the truth? I’m researching my family roots, and I found out that my mother and her parents once lived in this house.”

He barely hid his surprise. “Can’t you just ask them what you want to know?”

“I would, but both my parents are gone now—my adoptive parents, that is—and there are no other relatives to ask. This was my biological mother’s house.” Shadows filled her eyes. “Until recently, I didn’t even know about her.”

Interesting. “Closed adoption, huh?” he guessed.

“Something like that.” She ducked her head, as if wanting to hide from him.

Curious, he cautiously flexed his bad leg. “When did she live here?”

“Twenty-nine years ago—when she was pregnant with me.”

“And you’re looking to learn something about her in this house, after all that time.” Clay didn’t buy it.

“I know it’s a long shot, but it’s all I have. Tyler Phillips bought this place from Bob and Judy Becker—my biological grandparents. The private investigator I hired said that Mr. Phillips still lived here. His phone number is unlisted, so I wrote to him for information, but he never replied. I thought that if I came in person, if he talked to me and showed me around, I might...never mind. Thanks for your time.”

She turned away, but not before Clay saw her crestfallen expression.

Hell. He wasn’t doing anything right now, anyway, so what could it hurt to let her in? “I’ll give you ten minutes. Then you have to leave.”

She brightened right up. “Thank you.”

Chapter Two

Not knowing what to expect, Sarah followed Clay through the door. She couldn’t help admiring his broad, straight back and wide shoulders, the way his jeans hung lovingly on his narrow hips and the powerful legs that were slightly bowed. Once, just once, she’d run her palms up his back and over his shoulders, while enjoying the kiss of her life. A huge mistake, she’d quickly learned.

He walked with a slight limp she didn’t remember, probably from a bull-riding injury. She had no idea when that had happened, hadn’t even realized he’d retired. But then, over the past year she’d barely had time to eat and write the articles that paid the bills, let alone keep up with what was new on the rodeo circuit. “You’ve seen the living room,” he said, his deadpan face more expressive than any dirty look. “Kitchen’s this way.”

With its worn yellow linoleum and blue-and-white tiled counters, the small kitchen looked original. Sarah’s excitement mounted. A built-in table and two benches filled a windowed nook that faced the big backyard.

She tried to picture Tammy and her parents eating there. Having no idea what they looked like made imagining them difficult.

“You’re staring at the table like you expect it to talk,” Clay said.

“It looks like it’s been there a long time, and I was thinking about Tammy—my biological mother—sitting there.”

His hands on the counter behind him, Clay regarded her solemnly. “What do you know about the Becker family?”

“Not much, except that at some point after Tammy got pregnant, her parents sold the house to Mr. Phillips. She was sixteen.”

“My mom was eighteen when she got pregnant with me.”

Sarah nodded. “Your parents got married the day after they graduated from high school, about five months before you were born. And they’re still married.”

“You remember that, huh?”

The corner of his mouth lifted, making him oh, so appealing, and she had to glance away. “You’re lucky they didn’t give you up, and that they didn’t hide their past from you. I only learned the truth six months ago.”

She wasn’t sure why she told him. Probably because despite his initial hostility, he listened as if what she said mattered. It was one of the qualities that had first attracted her to him. He’d no doubt discovered that women were drawn to a man who paid attention.

“I guess I was lucky,” he said. “If my folks had given me up and separated, I wouldn’t have a sister and brother-in-law or two nieces.”

“You have a second niece now?”

“Fiona. She’s almost two, and a real pistol. And my parents did hide the truth from me. They never told me squat about their shotgun wedding. My aunt is the one who spilled the beans, to get back at my mom for something or other. After that, they didn’t speak for years.”

She hadn’t known that. Clay rubbed his leg above the knee and winced.

“Your leg hurts,” she observed.

“It’s fine.” He straightened and gingerly flexed his knee. “You don’t know where the Beckers went?”

He seemed genuinely interested, and Sarah wanted to talk about it. She’d told her friends back home everything she knew, mulling over what-ifs and possibilities ad nauseum, and they’d quickly grown tired of the subject. They didn’t even think she should be here, thought she should forget all about Tammy Becker and get on with her life.