The Cowboy's Secret Family. Judy Duarte
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lied to me?”
“Yes.” Miranda drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “I’m afraid he did.”
Emily remained silent for a beat, then she rolled her eyes. “That really makes me mad. He told me to always tell the truth, no matter how hard it is. But then he didn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” Miranda said. “That was wrong of him.”
To say the least. Matt continued to watch the conversation unfold, his interest in his daughter growing. The kid had spunk. He liked that.
“I’m going to let your grandfather know how I feel, how we both feel about him lying to you the next time I see him.”
That didn’t seem to appease the child. But hell, why should it?
“Just so you know,” Miranda added, “I’d planned to tell you about your father when you asked me about him. But I shouldn’t have waited.”
“So where is my dad? And how come he didn’t know about me? If he did, maybe he would have come to see me or called or...something.” Emily shook her head, her ponytail swishing from side to side. “Does he even know when my birthday is?”
“It’s August the third,” Matt said. “And I’m going to try my best to be with you on that day from now on.”
Emily’s lips parted, and when she turned to him, her eyes widened in disbelief. “You? You’re my dad?”
Damn. Did the kid not approve of him, either? Grave Digger had done a real number on Matt’s body when he stomped on him, casting a shadow on all he’d accomplished, all the buckles he’d won. But Miranda’s rejection, her father’s disapproval and now Emily’s reaction crushed him in a way that blasted bull hadn’t.
“Yes,” Matt said. “I’m your dad.”
Emily eyed him carefully, taking in the news that had thrown him for a loop when he’d first heard it last night.
He held his breath as he awaited her response. For some reason, her assessment of him concerned him more than that of any high school principal, police officer or courtroom judge.
The crease in the girl’s brow deepened, then she looked down at her empty plate, studying the smears of ham drippings as if they were tea leaves.
When she finally looked up, her expression eased into one of cautious curiosity. “Why didn’t you know about me? Didn’t you ever want a little girl?”
He could throw her mother and grandfather under the bus, but that might make things even worse. “I’m here now. And I’m glad I finally got to meet my daughter.”
She seemed to chew on that for a beat, then asked, “Does that mean you’re coming to my birthday party?”
“You bet I will. I’ll even bring a present. What would you like?”
She shrugged. “I don’t need anything.”
“Not even a bicycle?”
At that, she smiled. “I have a pony, remember?”
“Right. And you’re going to be a cowgirl when you grow up.”
“Yep. But I might be a veterinarian. That’s a doctor for animals.” She glanced at her mother. “Can I go now?”
That was it? She’d moved on to gathering eggs rather than locking in a birthday present? Hell, he was tempted to bring her nine of them, one for each birthday he’d missed.
When Miranda nodded, Emily turned to Matt and smiled. “You wanna go with me to get the eggs?”
A farm chore had never sounded so appealing. “I’d like that.” In fact, he liked it a lot.
She got up from her chair, then walked out to the service porch. Matt glanced at Miranda, assuming she’d want to join them, but she shook her head and waved him off, allowing him some privacy when meeting his daughter for the first time.
He appreciated that, even though his anger and resentment hadn’t diminished too much. Maybe, in time, he’d find it easier to forgive her than he’d thought.
As he followed Emily outside, she turned and blessed him with a dimpled smile. “Want me to show you my pony and my lamb before we get the eggs?”
“Absolutely.”
As they walked toward the corral, she pointed to his cane. “Why are you limping?”
“I tried to ride an ornery bull, but he didn’t like it. So he threw me off and stepped on me.”
She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. “That wasn’t very smart. You do know that bulls are dangerous, right?”
“Yeah. I know.”
“You’re lucky he didn’t poke you with his horns and stomp you to death. And then I wouldn’t have got to meet you at all.” She lifted her index finger and wagged it at him, a gesture that touched his heart. “So don’t do it again, okay? I just found you and don’t want you to get hurt or die.”
He couldn’t help chuckling at her admonition. As much as he’d have liked to respect her wishes, he couldn’t give up the rodeo. If he wasn’t a champion bull rider, who was he? But she’d given him something to think about.
When they reached the corral, where the black-and-white Shetland pony munched on alfalfa that George must have fed him this morning, Emily pointed to the little gelding. “That’s Oreo. Do you know why we call him that?”
“Let me guess.” A grin stretched across Matt’s face. “Because he eats cookies?”
She laughed. “No, silly. Because he looks like one. An Oreo cookie. Get it?”
“Aw. Yes. That’s very clever. Did you name him?”
“No, the people who owned him before Uncle George bought him for me called him that. But I got to name Bob and the chickens.”
“Is Bob the lamb?”
“Yep.”
“Maybe you should have called him Baaaab?”
“You’re funny!” Her smile darn near turned him inside out.
He’d always liked to make his friends laugh—and he did so often. But the pleasure he’d taken at seeing their happy adult faces paled in comparison to hearing the lilt of Emily’s sweet laugh and seeing the bright-eyed smile that dimpled her cheeks.
“Come on,” she said. “I want you to meet him. And you can watch me feed him.”
“Uncle George doesn’t do that for you?”
“Oh, no! I take care of Bob all by myself. I feed him and give him water and bathe him and everything. I’m going to show him at the fair. He’s very cool, and he likes going for walks. He’s my best friend. But don’t tell Sweetie Pie.”
A grin tugged at Matt’s lips, although he tried to hide it. Implying that Emily might not be pulling her weight when it came to the ranch chores seemed to have horrified her, which filled him with a bit of pride. He would have felt the same way, when he’d first moved onto the Double G as a young teen.
After feeding Bob, Emily reached into her back pocket, whipped out a pink Western bandana and tied it to the lamb’s neck. Then she led Matt to the chicken coop and pointed out each one. “That’s Dumpling. And the brown and black one is Nuggets. Pot Pie is behind the coop and the one drinking water is Casserole.”
“They’re all named after chicken dishes, huh? Does that mean you’re going to eat them?”
“No!” Her once happy expression morphed into one that was just as horrified as the last. “They’re my friends. Besides, they give us eggs.”
The little girl—his little