The Rancher's Secret Son. Betsy St. Amant
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she really just think of Broken Bend as home?
She didn’t want to go there.
Emma tilted her face to the sunlight streaming across her lap and released a deep breath, trying to erase the tension of the past forty-eight-plus hours. The verdict at court. Seeing Max, leaving Cody. The secrets, the burden. She still had to figure out what to tell Max, and when.
Later looked pretty appealing.
She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the October afternoon sink into her skin. This entire situation left a bad taste in her mouth, and it had nothing to do with the fact her mom had used a little too much mayo in the salad. Her past had caught up to her—and not only caught up, but taken over. She had to deal with it. But what was best for Cody right now?
Tires crunched gravel and she opened her eyes to see a red, extended cab truck pulling into the drive. She squinted at the driver, drenched in shadows as he exited the vehicle. Surely her mother didn’t have male visitors... No.
It was Max.
They really had to stop meeting like this.
“What’d he do?” The question sprang from her lips and carried across the yard before she realized how heavy it sounded. Heavy with fear, with accusation. With expectation of failure. How ugly of her. She swallowed the rest of it, clamping her teeth on her lower lip. Max being here didn’t automatically mean bad news.
But it probably didn’t mean good.
“Hey.” Max took the steps in a single hop and came to face her, pausing to remove his hat. His brown hair wilted across his forehead and he shoved it back before replacing what she always thought of as his natural appendage. Max always had two arms, two legs and a hat. Some things never changed.
And some things did.
“Did something happen?” She crossed her arms over her chest, willing away the heartbroken girl from thirteen years ago that rose inside, urging her to run to the safety of her room and lock the door. Shut him out. Convince herself she hadn’t made a mistake and wasn’t making another one by trusting her son to Max’s supposed expertise.
But the professional adult stood her ground and forced what she hoped was a natural-looking smile. At least forming her fears as a generic question made them sound more approachable. Less assuming.
“Happen to who? Cody?” Surprise lifted Max’s brows. He shook his head, and relief melted her from the inside out. If Cody got kicked out of the program...
“Sorry. I didn’t think how my showing up would seem.” He did look sorry as he adjusted his hat for the second time. Worry wrinkled the skin above his nose, and his smile faded to a half quirk. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay, I wasn’t scared.” Terrified was more like it. The adrenaline abandoned her limbs, and she sank back on the porch swing. “Just concerned.”
“Cody’s fine. Doing great.” Max edged closer to the swing, though he chose to lean against the porch rail instead of join her. Which was as he should. She wouldn’t remember the times they’d sat on that same swing well after midnight, while her parents were asleep, and laughed. Whispered. Kissed.
Wouldn’t remember that at all.
“We took a trail ride this morning, and now the campers are having a rest time in their room before we introduce them to barn chores.” Max shook his head, as if he realized he’d been stalling. “That’s not why I came, though, obviously. I had a question, and it wasn’t one to ask on the phone.”
Nerves twisted her stomach, and she gripped the rusty chain of the swing. Surely he hadn’t come for her. To talk about the past. What if he’d somehow noticed how similar he and Cody—
“I need help.”
The blatant admission took her off guard, and she snapped her gaze to meet his. “With what?” Max Ringgold never needed anyone. Except maybe his dealer, back in the day. He’d made that clear more than once. He didn’t need family. God. Her.
Maybe some things had changed since then, but how much could a person really transform?
He tucked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans, another signature Max move that threatened to sweep her back in time. She kept her gaze riveted to his, determined to ignore the memories desperate for review. She was here for Cody. Her son. Not for some traumatic, tormenting stroll down best-left-forgotten lane.
She straightened slightly, steeling herself for his request. Whatever it was, she had no obligation to answer. He would treat Cody—and her—like any other camper or parent on the ranch. Just because they had a past didn’t mean she owed him a thing.
“My lead female counselor went into early labor.”
Well that wasn’t what she expected. She frowned.
“Nicole will obviously be gone the rest of the camp, whether she has the baby early or not. And that leaves me shorthanded with the men, but completely—well, unhanded I guess you’d say—for the girls.” Max let out a slow breath. “So, I was thinking...with your degree, and all, with counseling, you said...that...”
Oh, no. No. She knew what he wanted now, despite the fact he didn’t seem able to get the words out. And with good reason. Of course she’d say no.
“No.”
He didn’t seem to hear, just took the spot next to her on the swing. She shifted automatically, hating the alertness that rushed her senses at his proximity. If she’d heeded those warning signs thirteen years ago...but no. Cody wasn’t a burden. He was a gift. Even now, through this struggle. He was the best part of her life.
And the most painful.
“Emma, there’s no one else.”
“In this entire world?” She was exaggerating, a telltale sign of panic and loss of control, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t do this. Not for myriad reasons, namely her secret. Even now she felt it bubbling within, churning her insides like a cauldron of lies. But it wasn’t her fault. She’d done what was best for her son. Mothers protected their children.
Even from cowboys.
“Well, sure, there’s probably someone even right here in Broken Bend, but not right now. Not qualified. Not sitting on their mother’s porch with nothing to do for a month.” He gestured to the house, and suddenly she was embarrassed over its chipped, faded condition. What was wrong with her, still caring what Max Ringgold thought all this time later? “The girls at the camp need someone they can talk to. I don’t just need a chaperone in the dorms at night or another body on the trail rides. I need someone I can trust with them.”
“Trust me? I’m the mother of one of your campers.” And you’re the father. The words practically burned her lips. “No. You don’t want me.”
Not the words she meant to use. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, across the yard, staring at his red truck until her vision blurred. “I mean, I’m clearly not much help.”
“You’re still a professional.” Max pushed the swing off with his boots, and the gentle breeze stirred by the sudden motion cooled her heated face. “I’m sure it’s different when it’s your own child acting out, anyway. Hasn’t someone told you that?”
Of course they had—everyone in her clinic had for that matter—but that didn’t mean she believed them. Or that they were right. She shook her head. “What about Cody? I don’t need to be there, cramping his style or getting in his way. He has to come first.”
“The boys and girls typically keep separate schedules, besides mealtimes. I’ll make sure he doesn’t see you more than necessary.” Max’s eyes tried to draw her in, and she pointedly looked away, though there was no avoiding the familiar scent of his cologne. “He’ll know you’re there, of course—I won’t lie to him. But it won’t be a problem.”
It