Mary Sullivan - Rodeo Father

“Ghost turned feral after her death.” Rachel drew a breath to steady her quavering voice. This man’s decisions were no concern of hers. Who was she to judge what he did with his life? She modulated her tone. “She won’t come near anyone. I’m worried about her.”

“She’s gonna get herself killed.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

He strode to his bike and lifted it onto its tires, the machine as light as a bicycle in his capable hands. He was strong, but then again, she already knew that.

Where Davey had been tall and lean, Travis was maybe five-eleven and heavily muscled.

He turned the bike toward the house.

Those memories of Davey still haunting her, she couldn’t help but ask again, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

His soft smile eased her anger, a bit. “Yeah, I’m good. Honest. How about you? You good?”

“I’m fine.”

He touched a couple of fingers to his forehead in a casual salute—no wedding band, not that she was looking—and then limped up the driveway toward the Victorian.

“Wait!”

He turned back.

“Why were you riding a bike? Where’s your truck?”

“Left it in the garage for a checkup. It’s been running rough, and I want it ready for winter.”

“Where’s your horse and trailer?”

“Udall’s letting me leave them on his ranch till I’m set up here.”

Here? At Abigail’s?

“Why are you going to Abigail’s house? Won’t you be bunking in the worker’s quarters on the Double U?”

“Nope. I’ll be living here.” He parked his bike at the side of the driveway. She followed him.

Living here. In Abigail’s house, which she hadn’t even heard had been rented. Travis would be living across the road from her, where she would have to see him every day and remind herself that no amount of makeup or dresses could change what she was...an ungainly woman who was a month and a half away from giving birth. No amount of dolling up would make her as attractive to him as he was to her.

But he’d kissed her.

He’d been stunned, dazed, that was all. She would probably never know who he’d really been kissing while he’d put his lips to hers so sweetly.

“No one told me the house had been rented.”

“Rented? No, ma’am. I bought the place.” He mounted the stairs to the veranda.

Bought—? Her house had been sold? When had it been listed, and why hadn’t she heard about it? This was a small town. Everybody’s business was an open book, for God’s sake, and not one person had thought to tell her the house she craved had been sold?

What do you expect, Rach? You kept that dream close to your chest, didn’t you?

True, she had. She hadn’t wanted people, not even Davey, to think poor Rachel McGuire was crazy enough to believe she could actually find a way to buy a house.

Maybe she hadn’t heard him properly.

She chased after him, stood at the bottom of the stairs and stared up at him.

“You’re joking, right?”

He frowned down at her from the top of the steps. “Why would I joke?”

“You’re not supposed to be living here. No one’s supposed to buy this house.” She sounded like a lunatic. She didn’t care.

Her house, the only thing she wanted more in life than her children’s health and happiness, had been sold.

The air became thin.

She panted. Stars danced in front of her eyes. Her vision narrowed. A moment later, she found herself sitting on the bottom step with a hand on her back urging her head between her knees. Hard to do with a nearly full-grown baby in the way. The cowboy squatted in front of her and chafed the backs of her hands.

“Are you all right?”

She straightened, still struggling for air, but not so dizzy.

“Are you hungry or something? You fainted. Good thing I caught you.”

She’d fainted and he’d caught her? The man moved fast.

“Wait a minute. Back up.”

When Travis started to pull away from her, she grasped his hands, craving his solid comfort as her daydreams slid into nightmare. He squatted on his haunches and watched her with a steady regard.

“I didn’t mean get away from me,” she said. “I meant, back up in the conversation. Please tell me I misunderstood. You did not buy this house.”

“I bought the house.”

“No.” It came out a croak, with tears clogging her throat. This house was supposed to be hers.

He watched her with pity. Great.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that she was Cindy Hardy’s daughter and a widowed, single mother with a bun in her oversize oven and a three-year-old daughter with no father, and that they lived in Cindy’s tin can, but now she had also lost the chance to own the only house in the county she could have ever hoped to afford...and the only one she’d ever dreamed of owning.

Sure, her itty-bitty down payment would buy a small trailer, but after the childhood she’d had, the thought made her sick. She wanted more for her children. She wanted a real home.

The man who had bought her house watched her as if he was afraid she would faint again.

A terrible rage arose in her.

She didn’t want pity. She wanted a knock-down, drag-out fight, to pound something hard and not stop for a good month.

Bursting with the unfairness, she pushed against the cowboy squatting in front of her. Travis fell onto his butt in the dirt.

“Hey!”

Rachel had never touched another person with violence in her life.

She stood. Her belly might make a swift exit impossible, but she couldn’t stay here.

He jumped to his feet and grasped her upper arms to stop her. “Why’d you do that? I’ve done nothing to you.”

She kept her mouth shut because, if she didn’t, she would start to scream and never stop.

His big hands still gripped her arms. She hated him. She didn’t want him to stop touching her.

She put her hands against his chest to push him away, but her outrage deflated. If she could fall into the earth and disappear, she would. He was right. He had done nothing to her. Life had. As hard as she fought, she couldn’t get ahead.

Stuff happened.

She was tired of stuff happening.

She would just have to work harder. And harder. And harder. God, she was tired.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her palms soothed by the solid beat of his heart beneath his worn denim shirt.

Despite his confusion, despite how she had just treated him, he watched her with concern. Travis was kind and good, and she was behaving like a child.

“I truly am sorry.”

“It’s okay. I can see you’re upset.”

She started down the driveway to go home, or what passed for a home.

“You’re shaky,” he called. “You need some help getting across the road?”

Cripes. The day had started so well. For a short while, he’d found her super-duper attractive. Now, he was treating her like an invalid.

“I can manage by myself,” she answered with a touch of irritation.

She managed to make it inside the front door before the first tears fell.

After five minutes of the worst pity party she’d thrown for herself since Davey’s death, she rinsed her face and called her friend Nadine.

Rachel brought her up to speed on everything that had just happened.

“I’m angry, Nadine. Mad to the soles of my shoes. Life has to start turning around for me sometime soon.”

Nadine said, “I hear you, sweetie. You’ve had a rough go of it. How can I help?”

Nadine wrote for the local newspaper. She was handy with research and a computer.

A need for...something...burned inside Rachel. Vengeance, maybe? Or perhaps just to learn that Travis was not the perfect man he appeared to be? That he was flawed and unworthy of her attraction? That he didn’t deserve her house? It would be so much easier to think of him as her enemy if she didn’t like him so much.