Kia Cochrane - A Rugged Ranchin' Dad

Memories tapped at her heart.

The gentleness that had an unexpected way of peeking through Stone’s oh-so-tough outdoorsy personality. The startling chemistry that had sprung to life upon meeting face-to-face the first time. And the way the sexual attraction had grown and deepened through the years.

Stone was more than her husband. He was her best friend.

Which made his...his almost studied emotional distance doubly hard to take. Stone had preferred to live in an emotional vacuum since Brooke’s death, to become isolated from pain—but he was forcing the rest of them to live that way, as well.

Dahlia’s gaze repeatedly strayed toward Stone’s side of the car. It was hard to believe that the man who had once made her nerve endings sing with joy could cause her heart to ache so much. But when Brooke died, he’d closed off the part of his life that had to do with being happy. He’d also, by all appearances, closed and locked the part of his heart that had to do with love. And he had no desire to open either one.

Her sigh was soft, and with an effort she pulled herself out of her thoughts. She had work to do, and she was going to do it. But where was she to start?

“I remember the morning we brought Brooke home from the hospital,” she said brightly. She desperately wanted to gain back some of the closeness that had vanished when Stone had retreated behind one of his moods. “She was wearing that little denim dress embroidered with little red hearts on the collar...”

“And you tied a red ribbon around her little bald head.”

Dahlia was surprised at the way he joined in. She wasn’t used to talking about Brooke and having him respond. Usually he tried to change the subject.

“She wasn’t bald,” Dahlia protested, laughing. “She had hair in the back almost long enough to put into a ponytail.”

Stone hesitated and then his words came out sort of gruff and tender. “She was the prettiest little thing I’d ever seen in my life.”

Tears backed up in her throat. Especially when Stone reached out and took her hand in his again. “Was she as pretty as Field?”

“Guys aren’t pretty.” But he sent her a fleeting grin. “Field was a rugged little guy even on his first day of life.” Then his grin broadened. “All six pounds of him.”

Dahlia saw the light in his gray eyes just seconds before he turned his attention back to the road ahead. But he squeezed her hand in his, and she squeezed back. And then she had a thought.

“Why don’t you have any pictures of Field during his first year?”

“What do you mean?” Stone sped up to pass a car.

“You only have four or five pictures of him—”

“We’ve got dozens of albums, crammed full of pictures of both kids.” Stone was back in his own lane now and flashed her a puzzled, questioning look.

“But all those were taken after we met. After we were married,” Dahlia explained. “I meant pictures of Field coming home from the hospital. Do you realize there are no pictures of your son with his mother?”

He looked at her. “You’re his mother.”

She smiled gently at him, touched by the statement. For Stone, his first wife and the mother of his child just... no longer existed. Not in his mind. And certainly not in his heart. “But why didn’t you take more?” she asked him. “Field was your firstborn son. I would have thought you’d have taken tons of pictures.”

Stone shrugged and turned his attention back to the road. But he didn’t evade the question. “I don’t have a reason. I guess I was just too busy taking care of him to bother with taking pictures.”

And too hurt.

Dahlia suddenly cringed inside at the thought of what her completing her mission would mean for Stone. He’d already been abandoned by one woman, and he’d never understood her reason.

And now, if things worked out, Dahlia would also abandon him. Would he understand? Would he understand she just had to be with Brooke? No matter what the cost?

And Field...oh, that poor, poor child. Dahlia’s heart wrenched with guilt at just the thought of leaving him. He’d already been abandoned by one mother. What would her leaving do to his ability to trust?

That was why she had to get Stone and Field’s relationship on solid ground. Before it was time for her to leave.

“I’m sorry now that I didn’t take more pictures of Field his first year,” Stone was saying, and she struggled to pay attention. “Kids grow up so fast and then they’re...gone,” he ended quietly.

Dahlia watched as he struggled with some painful memory. She said gently, “Field’s growing every day. It’s hard to believe he’s already ten years old.”

“Yeah.”

“Soon he’ll be in high school and dating some cute little cheerleader.”

Stone cleared his throat. “More than likely some little cowgirl in a rodeo.”

“All he talks about is entering rodeo roughstock events when he’s old enough.” Dahlia saw the life drain from his eyes and added softly, “He wants so very much to be like you when he grows up.”

“I know.” Profound weariness settled over his lean features.

“It’s natural for a son to want to be like his dad,” she continued.

“Then I wish I’d been a lawyer or something like that,” Stone snapped, his pain and frustration close to the surface.

Dahlia drew in a fast, agonized breath and said nothing. What was the use? Everything she said to him came out wrong. Everything she did only made him feel worse.

“Dahlia...honey, I’m sorry.” He turned to her and tried to smile. “I didn’t mean to take your head off. I just wish I hadn’t told Field all those wild and wonderful stories about my rodeo days. It put ideas in his head.”

She laughed soft and low. “It’ll be years before he’s old enough to compete. Field’s exploring his options, that’s all. He’ll go through weeks of wanting to be a rodeo champion and then a concert pianist or a great painter—”

Stone hooted with laughter. “A concert pianist? Field? A rock musician, maybe, but give me a break. Field’s about as likely to play classical music as I am to sprout wings and fly.”

Dahlia grinned happily. Somehow she’d gotten him to laugh and that was a good feeling. And a good start.

She glanced out the window at the passing countryside, with its bluestem and buffalo grass. They were in the hill country now, driving along the Medina River, so they were almost at the ranch.

Stone turned onto a dirt road, lined with mountain cedar trees, and she breathed in the characteristic fragrance of the hill country. Stone took the bridge across the river and moments later they drove under the large sign, proclaiming: Tyler Ranch. Established 1900.

Field was the fourth generation of Tylers to live on the 750-acre spread. Dahlia knew it would break his heart not to grow up here like his father and uncles.

And it would break Stone’s heart, too, even if he was too stubborn to admit it.

She propped her elbow in the open window, her chin in her hand, and gazed out at the miles of whitewashed fencing crisscrossing the range. She stared longingly out at the herds of sheep grazing in the foothills, the young lambs frolicking after their mothers. She sighed heavily.

A big, white three-story Victorian house, nestled in a grove of very old oak and pecan trees, came into view. An enormous red barn stood behind it, off to one side. As always, she felt a flash of pride when she saw the place where she had come to live as a bride of twenty-one.

That had been nine years ago, she thought, as Stone parked in the circular driveway.

A lifetime ago.

The car door on her side was yanked open. Stone’s youngest brother, Rocky, escorted her gently across the driveway and up the porch steps. “We’re glad you’re home,” he said with a grin. “Gives us an excuse to throw you a welcome-home barbecue tonight.”