The Cowboy's Secret Family. Judy Duarte
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to rest years ago, like the last one he and Miranda had had.
Let’s take a break for a little while, Miranda had said. I’ll call you when Daddy’s cooled down and had a chance to think things over.
But that call never came.
Matt leaned his left hip against the cupboard under the kitchen counter, taking the weight off his left knee. He lifted his mug, but didn’t take a drink. Instead, he gazed at Miranda. She’d grown prettier with each passing year. Even in a pair of loose-fitting blue jeans and a baggy T-shirt, she was a knockout.
Her waist, once flat and perfect, had a paunch now. He’d noticed it before and had assumed it was to be expected after having a baby. That is, until she’d caught him watching her a few moments ago. An uneasy expression crossed her face, and the hand that had been resting on her rounded stomach dropped to her side.
Was she pregnant?
She might be, but he’d never ask.
All he knew was what Uncle George had told him yesterday. She’d recently ended a relationship and needed time to think.
She sure looked pensive this morning, as she stirred a teaspoon in her cup long after any sugar had dissolved.
What was she thinking about? Whether she should reconcile with her ex?
Or had she deserted another expectant father, leaving him completely unaware of her pregnancy? That is, if Matt’s suspicion was right.
He glanced at his uncle, who was cracking eggs into the skillet he’d used to fry ham. Did he know more about Miranda’s condition, her situation, than he’d let on?
He had to, since he’d clearly taken her under his wing, going so far as to provide housing and food for her and Emily, not to mention hosting a menagerie.
Then again, his uncle had always liked Miranda. That lil’ gal has a sweet way about her, Matt. She’s smart and funny, too. If I’d had a daughter, I’d want her to be just like her.
And Miranda had felt the same way about Uncle George, too. Or so she’d said.
Matt turned his focus to Emily, who kept glancing out the kitchen window, then at the clock on the microwave.
She was a cute kid. He couldn’t say that she looked like him, other than maybe the shape of her eyes—but not the color. Still, he didn’t doubt that he was her father. The only doubt he actually had was whether he could be the kind of dad she deserved.
The dog padded through the kitchen and into the service porch. It whined a couple of times and scratched at the back door. Since no one else seemed to notice, Matt reached for his cane and headed to the service porch to let it out.
“No!” Emily jumped down from her perch on the counter, where she’d been watching George fry eggs, and ran to the door, grabbing the dog by the collar before it could go outside to pee.
What the hell?
“Sweetie Pie can’t go outside until the sun comes up,” Emily said, her voice coming out in short frantic huffs. “Or else she’ll chase that skunk again. And she always gets sprayed and stinky.”
“Always?” Matt asked. “How many times has she gotten sprayed?”
“Four.” Emily knelt before the dog, cupped her furry face and made kissy sounds. “Wait a little bit longer, Sweetie Pie. I’ll open the door as soon as it gets light and after that ornery ol’ skunk goes to sleep.”
A grin tugged at Matt’s lip, and he slowly shook his head. “You’d think that getting a snout full of Eau de Stink more than twice would have convinced her to try chasing another critter.”
Emily looked up at him, her sweet smile reaching into his chest and touching something soft and tender.
“You got that right,” George called out from the kitchen. “Good ol’ Lulu Belle was a smart dog, but Sweetie Pie is a slow learner.”
Back in the day, Matt had been one, too. You’d think that, after his widowed dad had remarried and chosen his stepbrother over him, Matt would have known better than to harbor thoughts of family, hearth and home. But then he’d met Miranda, and she’d stomped on his wounded heart, leaving him feeling abandoned yet again.
Fortunately, Matt didn’t need to get sprayed a third time before learning his lesson.
While refilling his cup, he studied his daughter. What would she say when she learned that Matt was her father?
And when would they tell her?
He stole a glance at Miranda, who hadn’t said much of anything, even when she wasn’t sipping from her fancy china teacup that used to belong to George’s mother. He had no idea what she planned to do with her life. Her decisions were none of his business.
That is, unless they affected Emily. And if he didn’t agree with the choices Miranda made—or any her father made, Matt wasn’t about to sit on the sidelines and let them dictate his daughter’s life. And if they thought they could shut him out, like they’d done so far, there’d be hell to pay.
* * *
By the time breakfast was on the table, the sun had risen and Sweetie Pie had gone outside to take care of her doggy business and to go in search of her black-and-white-striped nemesis.
None of the adults spoke while they ate their fill of ham and scrambled eggs, but Emily chattered away. And Matt hung on her every word.
As she chomped on a piece of ham, her eyes brightened. “Guess what? You know Suzy Reinquist, the new girl who brought an arrowhead to school for show-and-tell? She has six toes on each foot.”
“Emily,” Matilda said, “please don’t talk with your mouth full.”
The child swallowed, chased it down with a sip of orange juice and continued her story. “I didn’t believe Suzy when she told us, ’cause that would make twelve toes, and everyone knows you only have ten. But then she took off her shoes and socks so we could count them. And sure enough...”
Even if Emily weren’t his daughter, Matt would have enjoyed listening to her. She had a unique way of seeing the world. And he liked hearing about her interests and friends.
Emily took another swig of juice. “I can’t wait for spring break to get over. I love school. I like Mrs. Crowley, too. But she wasn’t at school on Friday. We had a substitute. I forget her name, but she’s kind of old and has a little bald spot on the back of her head. I didn’t notice it until she turned around to write our math assignment on the board.”
Before the girl could share another story, Uncle George pushed his chair away from the table. “You’ll have to excuse me. The ranch hands will be arriving soon, and I need to get to work.”
“Me, too.” Emily downed the rest of her OJ, then got to her feet. “The chickens laid three eggs yesterday. I wonder how many I’ll find today.”
“Honey, wait a minute.” Miranda glanced at Matt, then back at their daughter. “I have something I need to talk to you about.”
“Am I in trouble again?” Emily placed her hands on her hips and frowned.
“No, you’re not in trouble,” Miranda said.
“Then can we wait until I check on Dumpling? The other chickens kept pecking at her yesterday.”
Miranda rested her forearms on the table and leaned forward. “No, honey. I’ve already waited too long to tell you.”
Emily plopped back into her seat. “What is it?”
Miranda glanced at Matt, then focused on their daughter. “Your abuelito was wrong when he told you that your father died.”
Emily cocked her head and furrowed her brow. “You mean my father isn’t dead?”
“No.