The Cowboy's Secret Family. Judy Duarte
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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 girl—was a hoot. Smart as a whip, spunky and pretty to boot. And in spite of feeling awkward around her earlier, she’d managed to put him at ease.
Not that he expected to take to fatherhood the way he’d taken to riding a horse or roping cattle, but taking on a paternal role didn’t seem nearly as scary as it had when he first learned he had a child.
Emily unlatched the door to the coop and went inside to check for eggs, but came back empty-handed.
“Looks like the girls aren’t doing their jobs.”
Emily shrugged. “Sometimes they don’t lay them until later. That’s why I check for eggs all the time.”
After shutting the wired door and hooking the latch, she brushed her hands on her denim-clad thighs. When she looked up, her eyes sparkled. “You know what? I’m really going to like having a daddy.”
Something deep in his heart warmed at the comment, the acceptance.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “I’m going to like having a daughter.” Surprisingly, those words rang true.
He couldn’t ask for more in a child, other than wishing he’d known about her when she’d been a baby. But there wasn’t anything he could do about that now.
They did have today, and each one after this. Yet while he could envision himself bonding with Emily, he wasn’t so sure how he felt about her mother.
Emily stopped and gazed up at him. “You don’t believe in hitting kids, do you?”
He hadn’t seen that question coming. “No, I don’t.”
“Good. That’s why I don’t like Gavin.”
Matt’s gut twisted into a knot, his senses on high alert, and he braced himself for her answer. “Who’s Gavin?”
“The guy my mom was going to marry. I’m glad she didn’t. Gavin wouldn’t be a good daddy.”
Matt stiffened. “Why do you say that?”
“Because he’s a yeller. And a hitter.”
The knot in his gut was nothing compared to the clench of his fists. “Did he hit you or your mom?”
“Only me. And he made my nose bleed.”
A chill ran through Matt’s veins. How dare that man hit a child. Especially this child.
“I really wanted to be a flower girl,” Emily added. “And I really liked the dress I was going to wear. But not if we married Gavin.”
“Is that why your mom left him?”
Emily nodded. “Yep. Because he hit me for crying when I had an earache.”
Matt’s gut clenched. What kind of monster had Miranda planned to marry?
“Abuelito, my grandfather, was mad, too,” Emily added.
“At Gavin?”
“No. At my mom. Because he had to pay a whole lot of money for the wedding, even though no one went to it.”
That figured. A snide comment formed on the tip of Matt’s tongue, but he clamped his mouth shut until the urge to blurt it out passed.
“So where did your mom meet Gavin?” he asked.
“At Abuelito’s Christmas party.”
Matt glanced over his shoulder at the house, wondering if Miranda had come out to the porch to see how he and Emily were doing. He supposed he should be grateful that she’d allowed them to have this precious time alone. But he no longer wanted time with his daughter. He now wanted to get the straight scoop from Miranda.
No doubt she had made the right decision to leave. Had she pressed charges? She certainly should have. Questions began to pop up in his mind, one after another.
Why had it taken her so long to see through Gavin?
And how had she gotten involved with a guy like that in the first place?
As soon as Emily was out of earshot, Matt intended to learn the answer to all his questions. And in this case, he wouldn’t be the least bit reluctant to pry.
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