Rodeo Father. Mary Sullivan
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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.
“Find out about him,” she ordered Nadine. “You’re a great reporter. You do research for your articles. Find out who Travis Read really is and then let me know.”
“Will do, honey. I’ll get back to you soon.”
Rachel wished Tori were home right now. She would give her daughter the biggest hug, but every Friday morning, Cindy and Tori had a standing date for a few hours of shopping and then lunch at the mall.
Cindy worked at the hair salon in town and had disposable income. Cindy cared more for clothes and perfect nails than she did about improving her living situation.
Every week, she gave Tori the treats that Rachel could not afford and, every week, Rachel rose above her own regret and envy to be happy for Tori.
The new mall out on the highway twenty miles away was a monstrosity into which Rachel refused to set one foot. She liked the shops on Main Street, thank you very much.
Her mom loved the mall, but then, she had no sense of loyalty to her town at all.
Rachel missed Victoria. They’d only been gone a few hours, but Rachel needed her daughter something fierce.
Tori was goodness and light and the antidote to every disappointment life had visited upon Rachel.
She took her straw cowboy hat from the hook beside the door. She’d embroidered the bitterroot flowers on the band herself, as well as the ones on the secondhand shirt she wore. She set it on her head defiantly, then sat on the porch step to wait for her daughter to come home. She shouldn’t be wearing straw at this time of year, at the end of October for Pete’s sake, but Davey had given it to her after their first date. ’Nuff said.
What the hell had that kiss been about? Travis took himself to task about as hard as he ever had in his life.
What had he been thinking? He knew only that Rachel had run across the road and had touched him with hands more caring than any he’d ever known. Her concern for him, a man about whom no one cared or gave a second thought, was a powerful attraction.
Women usually wanted stuff from him, as opposed to worrying about him.
After a childhood as bereft of affection as a snowball in hell, tenderness took him by surprise.
He’d been winded and shocked at losing control of his bike, flat on his back cursing himself for a fool, and then there she was like an angel, leaning over him with thoughtful concern and fear for his well-being.
His parents hadn’t cared. His sister would have, but he’d spent too many years taking care of her and their pattern was set in stone. He was the caretaker, not she.
Travis watched the woman waddle back to the sad-looking trailer across the road, stubborn defiance stiffening her spine.
She asked for nothing and offered so much. Too much.
Have a care, Travis. You don’t even know the woman and already you’re kissing her?
He’d never done anything like it in his life. He’d had plenty of one-night stands, but not with women with pregnant bellies and a whole barn load of responsibility.
Lying in the road with his protective shields down, this morning’s attraction had flared.
Her hair turned out to be every bit as soft as a calf’s ear. And she’d tasted as sweet as he’d imagined.
But what good was attraction when he could do nothing with it? She was pregnant. He had a glut of duties to fill in the coming months. He didn’t need more.
He had his own life to live.
Case closed, Travis. End of story, got it?
He needed to back away from Rachel and stay away.
He unhooked his saddlebags from his bike and carried them into his house. His house.
Travis Read. Homeowner. He couldn’t wrap his head around it.
Home. Lord, how did a man learn how to make a home when he’d never known a single good one in his whole life?
The challenge scared the hell out of him.
The empty rooms waited like hungry sponges to soak up