Her Forgotten Cowboy. Deb Kastner
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nodded gratefully toward Bob and Janice Jones, an elderly couple near the back of the crowd who were currently the high bidders. Janice was a spunky ol’ gal and blew him a kiss, which he captured with his hand and pressed to his cheek. He grinned, his first genuine smile of the day.
Sweet old lady.
Nearby, a young woman flicked her auburn hair off her forehead with her thumb and forefinger, and then shook it out again, causing her hair to drop right back into place over her copper-penny eyes, basically undoing what she’d just accomplished.
The air around him froze, lodging firmly in Tanner’s throat. He tried to take a breath but choked on it. Coughing didn’t help. His blood turned to lead in his veins and an iron fist gripped his heart, squeezing painfully.
Rebecca.
There was no question about it.
Her hair was longer now, closer to shoulder length than chin length, as it had been the last time he’d seen her, but he knew that nervous gesture as well as he knew the beat of his own heart. He’d seen it a million times before. Whenever something was bothering her or she was deep in thought, her hand went straight to her hair.
He’d once thought it was cute the way her bangs always swept right back down to brush her high cheekbones just after she’d pushed them aside. Now the gesture only made his gut churn until he thought he might be physically sick.
Janice Jones was still waving cash in the air and staying ahead of the other bidders, but Tanner couldn’t wait for his lot to be finished. He didn’t have a moment to spare if he was going to catch up to his wife.
Even now, Rebecca had picked up her backpack and was turning away, then walking toward the far edge of the park where a few townsfolk were already picnicking. He immediately noticed her limp. One of her legs was encased in a walking boot.
When had she been hurt? How?
If he didn’t catch her now...
He shrugged an apology to Bob and Janice and bolted off the front of the platform, not even bothering to use the stairs. It was a six-foot drop to the ground and he landed hard, hitting it at a dead run.
“Pardon me. Excuse me. I’m sorry,” he muttered as he threaded his way through the gathering, ignoring the buzz of surprise he’d created by his unexpected exit. He didn’t care if he was creating drama the folks in town would gossip about for weeks.
The only thing on his mind was catching his wife.
“Rebecca,” he called as he narrowed the distance between them. “Rebecca. Please. Wait!”
She neither turned nor paused. It was almost as if she didn’t hear him.
Or else she was ignoring him, which was probably the more likely explanation. She was walking away from him again, just like the first time. But if that was the case, then...
Why was she here?
“Rebecca,” he called again, just before he reached her side. His lungs burned from the effort of running. Working on a ranch, he was in good shape, but a runner he was not.
“Rebecca,” he pleaded. “Hold up a minute.”
He grabbed hold of her elbow and turned her around, only then realizing that in addition to her leg, her wrist was in a splint. Something bad had definitely happened. Was that what she’d called him about that day? That she’d been hurt and needed his help?
And where had he been? Out on the range, nursing his own internal wounds.
Shame mixed with anger and warred deep within his chest.
But then again, he reminded himself, pressing his emotions back, none of this would have happened had she not left him in the first place.
“What’s the deal?” he demanded, his raspy voice coming in short, unsteady breaths, half because of the dash he’d made to catch up with her and half because of nerves. It had never occurred to him that she might return today of all days.
Her eyes went wide with surprise, shock and concern. She glanced down at his hold on her elbow and took a physical step backward.
“Rebecca?” Frustration pulsed through him as she jerked out of his reach and tucked her good hand underneath the one in the splint. Why was she acting as if he were about to accost her?
“I—I’m sorry, I—” Rebecca stammered. She sounded lost. Confused. Maybe even a little frightened.
Of him?
Their marriage had not ended well, but he had never, ever given her a reason to fear him. He’d barely even raised his voice when they had arguments, which were few and far between, anyway.
Sure, they sniped at each other when they were tired, just like every other married couple in the world, but they hadn’t fought much. That wasn’t their way. Instead, resentment burned under the surface of their relationship but never emerged, so they’d drifted apart. Their rainbows-and-unicorns promise to each other that they would never let the sun go down on their anger just sort of slipped away into the twilight.
Yet despite everything that had happened, and even with what felt like an uncrossable rift between them, he had still loved her with his whole heart—
Until she’d betrayed him.
She had left him, not the other way around. She was the one who needed to make the first move. To reach out. To apologize.
Their eyes met and locked and he narrowed his gaze on her. There was something peculiar in the way she was looking at him, all glassy-eyed, her pupils dilated. It was almost as if she were looking through him rather than at him, as if she didn’t recognize him.
“I am R-Rebecca.” She sounded as if she wasn’t entirely certain that was true. As if she didn’t know her own name. Her dark red eyebrows lowered, shading her gaze. “But who are you?”
“What?” he asked, his voice rising in tone and pitch. He was thoroughly flummoxed by her question. She may as well just have physically pushed him. Her words had the same effect.
She took yet another step back and raised a protective hand, laying it across her burgeoning midsection.
For the first time since she’d turned around to face him, Tanner’s gaze dropped to her stomach. His breath left his lungs as if he’d been sucker punched.
For a moment, his sight clouded, darkness tunneling his vision as the reality of his world tilted on its axis.
Rebecca was pregnant.
* * *
She knew her first name was Rebecca.
Rebecca Foster was the name she’d been born with and the one she remembered—even if her driver’s license said something else.
She opened her hand and read the words written in black ink on her palm.
Check notes—cell phone.
Filled with both curiosity and anxiety, she glanced at her phone.
Hamilton.
Her name was Rebecca Hamilton.
She closed her eyes for a moment and repeated the name in her mind.
Hamilton. Hamilton.
Rebecca Hamilton.
There was something vaguely familiar about the sound of the name, and the butterflies currently flittering about in her tummy had nothing to do with her growing baby, but that was as far as it went.
She couldn’t claim that name as hers. Nothing in her Swiss-cheese memory gave her that assurance.
According to the notes her best childhood friend, Dawn, had written to help her navigate her way in Serendipity, Rebecca was separated from her husband, Tanner.