Loving A Cowboy Page 14

  He rubbed his face with his hands and wondered what he was going to do. How could he still feel so much for Libby? A woman who had once betrayed him and was capable of doing it again, if the situation with Ben was any indication.

  Clasping his hands in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees, he tried to reason through something that wasn’t forming into a logical pattern. What was it about Libby that kept him coming back?

  Sex? It was good, great actually, but for five years he’d managed without her.

  Love? Maybe.

  But did he love her, or was it her love he wanted?

  He loved her, God help him, but it was her love he wanted. More than anything.

  He glanced at the timer. A few more minutes for the pizza to heat. A few more minutes to wait.

  Because if Libby loved him, knowing what she knew about him, knowing the good, the bad, and the ugly of where he’d come from, what he was, then the bad and the ugly must not be so bad or so ugly. Maybe if she could love him, he wasn’t unlovable. Maybe he could be that good person he tried so hard to be. And sometimes failed. Maybe he could be someone’s husband. Someone’s father, despite the fact that he hadn’t come from good people. Hadn’t known a good home.

  His father certainly hadn’t been a good father or a good husband. There were beatings, of course. Those scars had healed on the outside, but they’d never go away on the inside. And memories of nights when Chance would listen in bed to his parents’ drunken brawls. His earliest memories were of hiding under the kitchen table while they fought. He could still hear the screaming and shouting, wailing and whipping sounds in his mind. He’d been too young and too afraid to do anything. And by the time he turned ten and felt ready to stand up to his father, his mother left.

  One day, when he was at school, she just packed up her things and walked out, closing the door behind her. She’d left him to face his father’s rage when he’d returned home from one of the odd jobs the man picked up when he was sober, which hadn’t been all that often.

  There had been rage. And Chance had paid the price. So bad that finally one of the neighbors, he never learned who, called the police, and after a trip to the hospital, he’d been placed with a foster family. It wasn’t until a few years ago when he learned his father had died in some back alley in Texas that the nightmares had stopped.

  The Larsons, his foster family, weren’t bad people in the sense that they didn’t beat him, which at the time was all he asked. But they took him in because they needed the money, and they used very little of the state’s check for his care. He learned the lessons of hard work for little pay early.

  And then he’d met Libby. A girl whose experience had been so different from his it was as if they lived in different countries and spoke different languages. She had been raised in a loving home, and as domineering as Sam Brennan could be, Chance never disputed the fact Sam cared about his kids—maybe too much. But Chance had one thing in common with Libby—they’d both been abandoned by their mothers. Libby through her mother’s death, Chance when his mother left.

  Circumstances had made him stronger, if cynical. Libby, on the other hand, seemed more vulnerable and yet hopeful. It was that hope that someday things would be better that had pulled Chance. He thought when he married Libby and she’d pledged to love him no matter what, his someday had come. He’d been wrong.

  The timer was buzzing. Pizza was ready. But was he.

  Chapter 14

  “I’m famished,” Libby said as she took another bite of the thin-crusted, cheesy pizza. It wasn’t surprising that their bedroom activities had escalated her appetite, and for more than food. But given the emotional turmoil that had preceded it, it was a wonder her stomach wasn’t still in knots.

  The summer sun was setting in the sky, casting a purple glow on the fields and mountains outside the kitchen windows as they sat across from one another at the table.

  Chance’s ranch was set in a beautiful space—serene, majestic, God’s country. And yet, she felt anything but peaceful. Every time she looked at Chance, sitting across from her, a rare smile gracing his face as he watched her eat, her heart raced. As if it was trying to get to some finish line to celebrate.

  Only there really wasn’t anything beyond the moment to celebrate. No strings, remember, she chided herself. But her feelings for Chance weren’t strings—they were ropes. And after making love, those ropes had become thicker. What had she been thinking? Clearly, “thought” hadn’t entered into it.

  “Pretty out there, isn’t it?” he asked, gesturing toward the view. He’d donned a pair of jeans, but his chest was bare. There was something about his naked, muscled chest that created pressure inside her. The pressure of need.

  “It’s a wonderful spot, Chance. Just like we used to imagine.”

  They’d talked about having a ranch, raising some horses. At the time it had seemed such an unrealistic dream. But Chance had made his dreams come true. Libby hadn’t.

  “Are you planning on raising horses?”

  “I’ve got one brood mare I’m hoping to breed. She’s got good quarter horse bloodlines. I’m lucky to have neighbors who are willing to board my horses. I don’t get to ride much when I’m out on the road, but as soon as I get home, I’m usually on one of my horses.”

  “It sounds promising.” And safer than rodeo.

  “I don’t have time to devote to breeding right now. But I’m thinking ahead to when I can’t rodeo anymore.”

  “Can’t?” She tried to keep the concern out of her voice. Was he waiting for some calamity to befall him before he stopped?

  “I’m guessing that someday the choice to stay and work the ranch will be made for me. Like most sports, bronc riding is a young guy’s game—at least for making big money. I doubt I’ll ever give it up completely, but competing at the circuit level isn’t the same. At least I’m planning ahead. What about you, Libby? What are you planning for?”

  Home. Family. You.

  “Right now, finding a job.”

  Chance winced. “Hell, I never even asked you. How did the interviews go?”

  The interviews. It seemed like they’d taken place in another time, given how much things had changed in just a few hours.

  “Good. At least I think they did. I’ve been asked back for a final round.” She forced a smile. Not that she wasn’t happy about it. She most definitely was. But her world had gotten way more complicated.

  “That’s great, Lib.”

  A warm, cozy feeling filled her. He hadn’t called her Lib since…five years ago. “Yeah. I was pretty happy.”

  And despite the interlude with Ben, she couldn’t deny she was pretty happy now as well. The sex had been incredible, even if the circumstances had been less than ideal. But she’d known what she was getting into and what she wasn’t. If this was the only way to be part of his life, for now, she’d just have to accept it. No strings. No regrets. If she said it enough, maybe she’d believe it.

  “If you get that job, any chance you can put in a word and get me a good draw at their next rodeo? Nothing like starting a new season with a good ride on a rank horse.” He winked at her as a slow smile teased his lips.

  Her insides went mushy.

  She shook her head. “I’ll just be a lowly promotions person. Besides, I’m sure it doesn’t work that way. I’m afraid you’ll just have to take the luck of the draw.”

  He slid his hand across the table and covered hers, warm and protective. “I’m willing to take my chances, as always.”

  So was she.

  * * *

  The ring of the doorbell woke him. He glanced at the clock. Nine thirty blinked back at him. Who could be at the door? Everyone he knew would have come around the back. He struggled to clear his head.

  Next to him, snuggled against his side, Libby stirred as the doorbell chimed again.

  Hell, he’d probably worn her out last night. They’d gone at it right after pizza and once again earlier this morning. He couldn’t get e
nough of her. He’d never been able to get enough of her. That was the problem. But damn if he didn’t feel good, even if his ribs ached.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Who is it?” Libby mumbled, only opening one gorgeous blue eye.

  “Don’t know. But you go back to sleep. I’ll see to it.”

  He flung the blankets back and sat up, grabbing his jeans from the heap beside the bed.

  The bell rang two more times before Chance, limping, reached the door. Whoever it was, they weren’t particularly patient, since he’d called out he was coming.

  He flung the door open. And went from feeling good to feeling lousy.

  “Where is she?” Sam Brennan stood there in all his huffing and puffing glory, looking like a bull ready to charge. The man was dressed in short sleeves and dress pants, somewhere between work and casual.

  “Libby’s sleeping.”

  Sam gave Chance a once-over glance. “In your bed, no doubt.”

  “Good morning to you too, Sam.”

  “Nothing good about this morning, Cochran.”

  Chance shook his head. Same old Sam Brennan. Ornery as ever. It had been five long years since Sam last showed up at his door. He wondered if this time the outcome would be different. Only Libby would know. “Come in. I’ll get her.”

  Sam crossed the threshold, looking around as he did so. Despite the circumstances, Chance felt a little pride infuse him. No doubt Sam had expected Chance to hole up in a one-room shack or something equally as sorry. Nothing sorry about his ranch.

  “This yours?”

  “Bought and paid for.”

  Chance closed the door behind him. “I’ll get her.”

  But as he turned around, Libby appeared in the hallway.

  “Daddy? What are you doing here?”

  At least she was dressed in jeans and a shirt, though her feet were bare. She’d brushed her hair so she didn’t have that tousled look about her. He kind of missed that tousled look.

  “That’s my question for you, young lady. What the hell are you doing here? And why aren’t you with Ben instead of this here interloper?” He jerked a thumb in Chance’s direction.

  Interloper? Well, the man could have said a lot worse, he guessed.

  “If anyone’s an interloper, Sam, it would be you, since this is my house and you weren’t invited.” Chance kept his voice even as he crossed his arms over his chest. A lot had changed in five years, and it would behoove Sam to realize that. But he wasn’t about to lose his temper either.

  “Daddy! You best be civil. Come in the kitchen and I’ll put some coffee on.” Libby sounded more resigned than anxious. She turned on her heel, not waiting to see if Sam would follow. He did.

  Last time her father had come knocking, Libby had trembled and shook before Chance had even opened the door. Then when he had flung it open, she’d rushed into her father’s arms, saying she was sorry.

  Sorry? The memory still stung.

  “Seems at this hour you’d have coffee brewing already,” Sam grumbled as he pulled out a chair and settled his large frame onto it.

  Chance ran his hand through his hair, finger combing it. This was surely a sight he never thought he’d see—Libby fussing around his kitchen while Sam Brennan looked on.

  “Sit, Chance,” Libby commanded.

  Nope, Libby didn’t seem at all fazed by her father’s presence.

  “I’ll fix you some eggs while we wait for the coffee. You have anything to eat this morning, Daddy?”

  “Course I did. But I’ve been driving since before seven. I’ll take some of those eggs,” Sam said, drumming his fingers on the wood table. “Throw in some bacon, too, if you’ve got it.”

  Libby proceeded to fill the coffeemaker with water and ground beans as Chance had shown her, and then she flitted around getting the fixings for breakfast like it was the most normal thing in the world for her father to be sitting in Chance’s house. Nothing to do but help her, Chance figured as he opened the dishwasher and snatched out three clean plates.

  After he’d hobbled around setting out the plates, cups, and silverware, Chance slid into a seat across the table from Sam and stretched out his foot, which had begun to throb. Things sure were swinging between real good and real bad these days.

  Sam drummed faster on the table. “I spoke to Ben, Libby.”

  “I know you did, Daddy. My tongue’s bloody from biting it to keep from jumping on you about it.” Libby cracked the egg on the rim and let the fluid drip in the bowl. That’s about how she felt, cracked and dripping.

  “Someone had to tell the poor guy what was going on. He was all broke up.”

  Was he trying to make her madder? She whirled around to face her father, bowl and beater in hand, and began to whip the eggs into a scrambled froth, hoping the action would release some of the tension pulling her nerves into a tightrope. Staring into Sam’s defiant eyes, it was clear the man had no regrets about orchestrating the showdown—only about how it turned out.

  “And that someone was going to be me, when he got back. But no, you had to jump the gun and take it on yourself to talk to Ben, making a difficult situation nigh impossible.” She beat the eggs faster. “How do you think he felt coming here?”

  She whirled back around and dumped the foamy mixture into the fry pan, sending up a satisfying sizzle.

  “Not good, but that wasn’t my doing. You’re the one who flew up here and parked yourself in this one’s bed.”

  She clamped down on her teeth. Patience. Was. A. Virtue. Too bad she wasn’t feeling virtuous. She stole a glance at Chance. His brows were knit, but more in concentration than in anger, as if he didn’t want to miss a single word.

  A day earlier she could have denied her father’s charge, but not after last night. Not after a night of body-thrilling sex. Not after a night of being in the arms of the man she loved.

  The eggs were firming up. She swirled the spatula in the mixture, fluffing it.

  “That was between Ben and me.”

  The microwave beeped, signaling the bacon was done, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chance rise.

  “Sit. I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

  She shut off the stove’s flame and divided the scrambled eggs between the three plates, then retrieved the bacon, which she’d have preferred to fry in a pan, but time hadn’t allowed for it.

  One minute her life had been all planned out and moving forward, and the next she wasn’t sure of anything, including what moving forward would even look like. Throw in a father who insisted on inserting himself in the middle of it all, as he’d always done, and her world had gone from straightforward to way too complicated.

  “Daddy, we’ll discuss this more after you and Chance have eaten something.”

  Sam shot Chance a wide-eyed look.

  “I’ve learned one thing recently, Sam. When your daughter is determined, best to do as she says.”

  Her father nodded, never one to need much encouragement where eating was concerned, and the two men tucked into their breakfasts. Before Libby sat down, she fed Cowboy in the mudroom, as he’d come in only after the voices had quieted. Smart cat, she thought as she scooped up a handful of nuggets. After giving the cat a pat as he gobbled up his meal, she returned to the kitchen and sat down between the two men.

  It didn’t take long for breakfast to disappear and coffee cups to drain. Surprisingly, her father kept the conversation light, asking Chance about the ranch, its size, how many horses he could run on it, how bad the winters were, and if the land flooded.

  Chance answered him as if Sam were a neighbor who had just dropped in for a chat and not the man who had so dramatically changed both of their lives. She could have kissed him for that alone.

  But it was just a lull in the inevitable storm that had been brewing for five years, or maybe a lifetime. Not between Chance and Sam, but between her and her father.

  She’d hoped Chance would excuse himself after he finished off his plate, but h
e’d stretched out his legs, crossed his arms, and settled back in the kitchen chair, waiting, as she was, for Sam to scrape his plate clean.

  Once he had, Libby lost no time.

  “Why did you come here, Daddy, if you knew Ben and I had broken up?”

  Her father’s eyebrows arched in unison. “To change your mind, talk some sense into you.” He speared Chance with a narrow-eyed glance. “The question is, baby girl, why did you come here?”

  She took a deep breath. Chance shifted in his seat. “I thought I was coming here because I owed Chance something, and he needed help—”

  “You don’t owe this fellow—”

  Chance bent forward as if to comment, but Libby held up her hand. Chance would not fight this battle. This was hers to win or lose.

  “Stop right there, Daddy. You’ll listen to my answer when you ask a question, and you’ll answer my questions when I ask them. That’s the deal, or there is no discussion.”

  Chance let go of a chuckle. She shot him a look she hoped would cure him of that tendency. She was serious, and both men had better treat her as such.

  Her father gnawed on his lip before answering. “Fair enough,” he finally said.

  “As I said, I thought I came because I owed Chance something. But the truth…one I only realized once I got here, was that I came because I wanted something from Chance.”

  Sam rested his elbows on the table. Chance ran his hand through his hair as if uncomfortable with what she was going to say. Too bad. She was done with running. Of just letting things happen. She was taking things into her own hands. Maybe too late, but—

  “Exactly what was that? He signed the damn affidavit.”

  Could she say it out loud? For a split second, her nerve shriveled like a plant denied water, but when she looked at Chance and saw the questions in his eyes, she knew he deserved the truth. Even if it was said in front of Sam. “I wanted Chance’s forgiveness. And his love.”