Karen Smith - Expecting His Brother's Baby

When a volunteer came into the room with a wheelchair, Kylie pulled away from Brock’s clasp. “I can walk. I don’t need—”

“Hospital policy,” the nurse announced cheerily.

Brock hefted up the worn, leather duffel bag that had been her pop’s. “I’ll take this to the car and meet you at the front entrance.”

As Brock left the hospital room, Kylie almost felt dizzy with relief. Then she reminded herself the woozy feeling probably had come from the concussion. Concussion or not, she was clearheaded about one important fact—she would never depend on Brock Warner. He was not going to look after her…or interfere in her life.

A short time later, Brock picked her up at the hospital’s entrance in a white SUV. They’d driven in silence for about five minutes when Kylie cut the awkward tension. “Did you rent this?”

“Yes. For now. But after what happened to your truck, I’ll be going to look for something to replace it.”

“Dix said it could be repaired.”

“It had a broken ball joint and it’s fifteen years old. With over one hundred and fifty thousand miles, it’s time to let go of it, Kylie.”

Holding on to the first vehicle she’d ever owned hadn’t been strictly sentimentality. She simply couldn’t afford to replace it. “I’ll check the paper for used trucks.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it. The ranch could use a new one. What happened to the crew-cab Alex won?”

So Brock had known about that, Kylie realized. Two years ago, a prize at one of the rodeo competitions had been a brand-spanking-new silver truck but it had been a gas guzzler. “I sold it.”

“Why didn’t you keep it and get rid of yours?”

Because she couldn’t have gotten anything for hers. “I did what I thought was best.”

The message she sent was clear—the truck she drove was none of his business.

Brock’s jaw tightened and deep furrows dented his forehead.

Turning away from him, she stared out the side window. If he thought he could come in here and just ride rough-shod over her, he was sadly mistaken.

“Why didn’t you call me and tell me Saddle Ridge was going to hell?” Brock demanded of Dix an hour later.

The pre-Thanksgiving wind held an icy bite as Brock turned from the foreman to scrutinize the outside of the barn, with its peeling paint, the few horses loose in the corral and the acres of land that used to be peppered with at least five hundred head of Angus, but now only boasted about fifty.

Brock shook his head with disbelief.

“Maybe instead of waiting for a call from me, you should have come home to see what was going on.”

Brock stared out over the sections of Warner land. “There was no place for me here. There never was, and you know that.”

“What I know is that you can be as stubborn as your father was.”

His father.

Jack Warner hadn’t been a real parent to him, though he’d fathered him and given him his name. He’d married Brock’s mother to save face. The smart, handsome, rich Jack Warner couldn’t handle the reputation of being a scoundrel, of sleeping with a woman and then turning his back on her when she got pregnant…even if she were Apache. He’d married her and Brock had been born here, but had never felt as if Jack Warner had cared one bit for him. And he’d always known why. His skin was the wrong color. His hair was coal-black, like his mother’s, not blond like his father’s. The bottom line was Jack had never loved Brock’s mother. He hadn’t really wanted her as a wife. He’d never wanted Brock.

Brock glanced over at the house where he’d grown up but never really belonged. The roof was missing a few shingles and the porch steps looked as if they should be replaced. “When did this start happening?”

“After your daddy passed.”

That brought Brock’s gaze to Dix’s again. “Alex let it go like this?”

“You think this happened in the four months since he died? Look again, son. This neglect has taken years. Kylie’s worked harder than any man I know. The two of us have tried to keep up, but we couldn’t. With Alex gone so much—”

“Bull riding?”

“Bull riding. Chasing the next belt buckle or purse. Always expecting to win the Grand Championship and never doin’ it. I do understand why you didn’t come back here since your daddy died. His will was a slap in the face, leaving the place to Alex, and only giving you half of it if he sold it. But why didn’t you come back here after Alex died?”

“I was in a jungle. I never got the message about Alex until after the funeral. I called Kylie then. Didn’t she tell you?”

“No, she didn’t. What did she tell you?”

“She mentioned she was pregnant, but she said everything was fine.”

“And just what else was she supposed to say with you in another country and her here?”

“She could have told me the truth.”

“In Kylie’s mind, she probably was fine,” Dix admitted, blowing out a huge breath. “She has plans to turn this place around after the baby’s born.”

“What kind of plans?”

“Teaching more classes. Boarding more horses. Training more two-year-olds.”

“She’s dreaming.”

“Yes, she is. About her baby’s future. She didn’t tell you what was going on because she didn’t want you to know, is my guess. You proved you didn’t care about Saddle Ridge by staying away. I wouldn’t have called you, except the doc says she’s supposed to take it easy for the next couple of weeks. I knew I couldn’t handle this myself. I hate admitting it, but it’s true.” Dix’s red beard was laced with some gray now. The lines on his weathered face were deep and counted every one of his sixty-two years.

“No hands at all? Not even part-time?”

“We couldn’t afford them! I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this. Kylie should. But she’s still shaken up and I don’t want her worrying so much. It’s not good for her or the baby.”

Brock had been back home in Texas when Dix had called him yesterday to tell him about Kylie’s accident. He didn’t know what to make of any of this.

After his dad had divorced his mom, she’d gone back to live with her family on a reservation in Arizona. He’d been four years old, and he could still remember the tears in her eyes when she’d claimed Saddle Ridge was where his future lay. As he’d grown older, he’d understood what she’d meant. If he stayed at the ranch, he could eventually go to college and become anything he wanted to be. If he went to Arizona and lived on the reservation with her, he wouldn’t be happy. He wouldn’t get the same kind of education. He wouldn’t grow up to be everything a man could be.

He’d visited his mother, mostly in the summers, but his life had been empty without her. Jack Warner had never been warm to Brock. He’d hired a housekeeper, and Brock had had all his needs met. But after Jack remarried and Alex was born, with his blond hair and his blue eyes just like his mom and dad, Brock often thought about leaving and going to live with his mother in Arizona. Yet as each year passed and his mother encouraged him to stay, he’d bonded with his half brother, found satisfaction in school work and tending to the horses, and he’d always felt a kinship with the land.

“With the holidays comin’,” Dix continued, “Kylie’s driving herself harder. She’s on a committee for the First Night celebration in town. She has presents to make, as well as things to ready for the baby.”

“The last thing she needs to be worried about is Christmas presents, decorations and a New Year’s Eve party.”

“Don’t go tellin’ her that, or you’ll get your head handed to you on a platter. You might anyway,” he muttered. “She likes to do everything on her own.”