Caught Up in a Cowboy, page 11
Even though she tried to keep her lips set in a tight line, she could feel the corners threatening to tip up as he jostled her against him.
“We can’t do anything to change the past, Q. All we can do is try to change the present to make a better future. We can’t go back, but we can go forward. I may not have been there for everything that’s happened in the last nine years of your life, but you can fill me in. You can still tell me about it. And I’d like to hear. All of it.”
She doubted he really wanted to hear all of the gory details of being a single mother, especially since so much of it involved poop, vomit, crying (on both her and Max’s parts), and bargaining with a small human to please, please, please, for the love of all that is holy, please just try some broccoli.
But he did seem sincere, so she nodded, her head moving slowly up and down in hesitant agreement. “Okay. We can try.” She did want to try—wanted to be his friend—wanted to have Rock back in her life.
She just wasn’t sure what having him back would end up costing her.
He let her go, slowly dropping his arms with what felt like reluctance, but was maybe only wishful thinking on her part. “How about we just walk? And you can tell me all about Max.”
“Okay,” she said again, already missing the warmth and strength of his embrace.
She took a few steps down the path, testing her ankle. It seemed to be okay, and she put more pressure on it as she walked.
Rock fell in step next to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him reach out his hand as if to take hers, but he must have changed his mind, because instead of taking her hand, he stuffed both of his into his front pockets.
They walked along the stream, and he listened to her talk, asking questions and laughing at her silly stories about Max. He seemed to be really interested, not like some of the guys she’d tried to date, whose eyes glazed over as soon as she mentioned anything to do with her son.
Not that this is a date, she reminded herself as they reached the end of the path. A bench had been set up among the trees, and a sign showed a small trail that led from the creek into town.
Without saying anything, they turned and followed the trail, coming out of the trees onto a sidewalk. They turned left and kept talking as they wandered back up the sidewalk to where they’d left Rock’s car in the restaurant’s parking lot.
“You want to drive back?” he asked as he held the driver’s door open for her.
“Do you even have to ask?”
They’d put the top up and left the bag with the desserts on the seat before they went for a walk, and the sweet scent of cinnamon and peaches filled the interior of the car.
It was close to nine, and the night had turned cool, but Quinn put the top down again anyway. There was something freeing about driving the convertible with the light of the moon shining down on you.
But they were still in the mountains in Colorado. She turned the heat on, directing it at their feet, and pulled out of the parking lot. Within a few minutes, they left the town behind, driving through the country as they passed the town cemetery and the grain elevators.
Rock stretched out his arm, casually hanging his hand over the headrest behind her. “This car looks good on you,” he said, the flirty tone back in his voice.
Must be the moonlight.
It was affecting her too. It was romantic, cruising down the highway with the top down, country music playing low on the radio, and Rock’s hand resting so close to her neck she could almost feel the heat of it.
She was tempted to lean her head back, to press against his fingers, knowing he’d turn his hand over and run his fingers through her hair. Knowing, because that’s what he’d done a hundred times before when they’d driven down this same stretch of road on their way home from school, from town, from a dance.
Memories of the two of them in high school flooded her mind, and she blinked at the tears that suddenly clouded her eyes.
What the heck was that about?
She cleared her throat, pushing back the emotion and the memories as they drove past the drive-in theater, the screen currently dark.
“Do they still show movies out here?” Rock said, craning his neck to read the faded marquee.
“Every weekend in the summer,” she told him. “I keep thinking I’m going to take Max to a show, and every year we get too busy to go.”
“Man, I loved going to the drive-in. Remember how we used to fill the back of my pickup with blankets and pillows?”
“And eat popcorn and licorice until we were sick to our stomachs?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, but that greasy butter was so good. I still remember the night we saw Up. You loved that movie. You bawled your eyes out.”
“So did you.”
“That was just my allergies acting up.”
“Allergies, my ass.” She laughed, but heat bloomed in her belly as she saw the way his eyes shifted to look at her rear.
Keep your eyes on the road. Never mind the fact that he’d just checked out her butt.
“Hey, why don’t we go tomorrow night?” he suggested. “We can bring Max.”
Another date? Tomorrow night? Her shoulders tensed. “Um, maybe.”
He must have picked up on her hesitation. “We can all go. We’ll make it a party. I’ll get my mom and my brothers to come, and you can invite Ham and Logan.”
She let out a laugh. “That’ll be the day that Hamilton Rivers shows up at a drive-in movie.”
“Okay, maybe not Ham. But I’ll bet my mom will come along.”
Hmm. It certainly didn’t sound like a date. Especially if he was suggesting that his mom and her brother come with them.
The tension in her shoulders eased. “Yeah, okay. It does sound fun. And Max will love it. We’d better check out what’s showing first though and make sure it’s suitable for him.” Although she already knew from looking into it the previous summer that they usually played a family-friendly movie as their first showing.
It meant a lot to her that Rock had thought to include Max.
The tension that had just eased out of her returned with a vengeance as she turned into the driveway leading up to her house.
What would happen when they went to say good night?
Would Rock try to kiss her? Hug her? Shake her hand?
What if he did try to kiss her?
Would she let him, or should she try to deftly turn her head? And what if he didn’t try to kiss her? Would that be better or worse?
Just the thought of Rock pressing his lips to hers, of him taking her mouth in another kiss like the one he’d given her at the ranch a few days before, had her stomach swirling with a mixture of anticipation and dread.
She slowed the car to a crawl, delaying the arrival at her front porch by another few moments. Eventually, she had to stop. Either that or she’d have to drive Rock’s beautiful convertible up the porch steps and into her living room.
Pulling up in front of the porch, she put the car in park and turned off the engine.
The night was still, incredibly quiet, especially after the chaos of the wind and noise of the convertible.
An owl hooted, and she heard the faraway whinny of a horse. The click of her seat belt was almost deafening as she released the buckle and got out of the car.
Rock was already out too, coming around to her side of the car to walk her to the door. He had the bag with their desserts in one hand. “I had fun tonight. Thanks for coming with me.”
She sucked in a breath and felt the heat of his hand against the middle of her back as he guided her up the steps. “Me too. Thanks for dinner.”
He handed her the bag. “Here’s the dessert.”
“Thanks.” She took the bag, thankful to have something to hold on to. Twisting the plastic handle between her fingers, she hesitated, not sure if she should offer him a hug or just open the door, run inside, and pray he took off quickly.
Maybe she should invite him in. They could have the peach cobbler. But what if her dad, or worse, her brother, were still up. That’s all she needed right now, to have one of them give Rock the third degree over their dinner out.
The plastic bag rustled with her nervous fidgeting, and he reached out and rested his hand on top of hers.
Could he feel the tremble in her fingers?
“Good night, Quinn.” He leaned in, his hand still on her back, pulling her up against him as he brushed a quick kiss against her cheek, his mouth barely touching the corner of her lip.
She caught her breath, too late to turn her cheek—in either direction.
The warmth of his body sent licks of heat surging through her veins, and her stomach dropped, filled with looping, weaving swirls.
She reached for him, taking one hand away from the death grip she’d had on the to-go bag, but he’d already backed away, turning his back as he jogged down the steps of the porch.
“See you tomorrow night,” he said. “I’ll text you tomorrow to work out the details.”
“Sounds good.” She pressed open the front door and slipped inside, praying that both her father and her brother had already gone to bed.
She was in luck.
Not bothering to turn on the lights, she stuffed the desserts in the fridge, then slipped down the hallway to check on Max.
Flickering lights shone from under her father’s door as she passed, and she assumed he had the nightly news on as he got ready for bed.
Poking her head into Max’s room, she saw his small form curled in his bed, the covers twisted around his legs.
She carefully pulled the blankets free and covered him up, tucking his stuffed dog in next to him. He was probably getting too old for the stuffed animal, but he’d had it since he was born and there didn’t seem to be any harm in him still sleeping with it once in a while.
He was growing up too fast for her. How could he already be eight? She ran her fingers tenderly through his hair and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. He’d always been a sound sleeper, and the good-night kiss didn’t even faze him.
But it hit her hard, how quickly the years had already passed, how much she’d wanted to teach him, to show him already, how many things she’d messed up, and how many things she’d accidentally gotten right.
Her chest hurt, as if it wasn’t big enough to hold the enormous amount of love that she had for this boy, her precious son. Sometimes she thought the magnitude of it would break her, that her heart, her body couldn’t conceivably hold the unmeasurable volume of love that she felt. Was it like this for every mother? Every parent?
She couldn’t imagine that anyone else could possibly love their child as much as she loved Max. She would do anything for him, anything to protect him, anything to keep him from harm.
Without a second thought, she would die for him.
And she would also kill for him.
That thought startled her. Where the heck had that come from?
Too many memories and emotions had been swirling around her the past few days. She tried not to think about Max’s dad, tried to pretend that he didn’t even exist.
But all this talk of the past, combined with seeing Megan, and all of Max’s questions, had her thinking about Monty.
He’d made the decision to walk away and to deny that he was even Max’s father. The bastard. He had no idea what he was missing in not knowing his beautiful son.
But what was Max missing by not having a father?
* * *
Max was hopping up and down with excitement on the porch as Rock’s pickup pulled into the driveway the next night.
A funny hitch skipped in Quinn’s heart as she realized that he was driving the same truck that he’d had in high school.
Except now it had a flashy new paint job and the engine sounded as if it were running smoother. He must have had it restored.
Rock’s grin was as wide as Max’s as he got out of the truck and headed for the porch. “You guys ready to go see a movie?”
“Yes!” Max yelled and launched himself off the porch and into Rock’s arms.
Rock faltered for only a second, then he swung the little boy around in a circle and carried him over to the pickup. “What do you think of my truck?”
“I think it’s so cool.” Max crawled across the bench seat and settled himself in the middle as Quinn grabbed their stuff. She’d packed a tote with extra drinks and snacks, figuring that the concession prices would be outrageous. And she’d tucked in jackets, knowing it could get cool once the sun went down.
Rock clamored back around the truck and held out his arms. He planted his feet and gave her an impish grin. “You wanna jump too?”
“No. Not even a little bit.” She shook her head, trying to hold back a grin. “You’re a goofball.”
“Yes,” he said, taking the tote bag from her and carrying it to the truck. He held open the door. “But I’m a goofball with blankets and pillows and even a heater.”
She peered into the bed of the truck, and it was indeed stocked with comforters, pillows, and a portable heater. A couple of lawn chairs and a cooler were also stacked next to the blankets. “It looks like you’re prepared for the zombie apocalypse.”
“Hey, I like to be prepared.” He shut the door after she’d climbed in and circled the front of the pickup. Squeezing in next to Max, he put the truck in gear and tapped on the dashboard. “You all ready to have some fun?”
“Yes.” Max giggled and squirmed with pent-up energy. He hadn’t had anything to eat since supper, but he was acting like he was hopped up on sugar and caffeine. He was really excited for this movie idea.
Evidently, Rock was too. His grin matched Max’s as they talked easily about which superhero was their favorite.
Rock had texted her earlier that day to say he had checked out the movie playing that night, and it was the latest superhero action flick. He’d invited Vivi and his brothers to come along, and they’d all agreed.
Quinn brought the subject up over lunch with her dad and brother, telling them the whole James family would be there and that they were invited to come as well. She could not have been more surprised when her dad nodded and said it sounded like fun. She’d bet Ham Rivers hadn’t been to a movie in over a decade.
Logan said he would try to show up as well. So, apparently, it was going to be a party at the drive-in. She’d texted Rock back that her whole family was in, and he’d offered to pick her and Max up a little early so they could get a good spot.
She’d tried to get Max to take a nap this afternoon, but he’d been too excited. She could feel the ripples of excitement coming off of him now as he riddled Rock with questions.
“How high do you think the screen is? How do they get the picture on the screen? Can we get popcorn? With butter? Did you know we made butter in our class, in a jar?”
Rock took his questions in stride, answering each one in the order he’d been asked. “Pretty dang high. Some kind of projection magic. Of course we’re getting popcorn with lots of butter. And Milk Duds. And that sounds cool, about the butter in the jar.” He glanced over Max’s head and offered Quinn a smile. He seemed to be having as much fun as her son. And didn’t seem fazed at all by his constant barrage of questions.
She’d never met such an inquisitive kid as her son. He had a question for everything. His desire for knowledge and for understanding how things worked sometimes wore her out.
But Rock was keeping up, even throwing in silly responses or made-up answers if he didn’t know the real ones.
Quinn listened with half an ear, lost in her own thoughts and memories of being back in this truck with Rock.
“Why do they call it a Milk Dud?” Max asked.
“’Cause they’re made out of milk chocolate and they stick to your teeth, so when you eat them, it looks like a cow chewing her cud, which rhymes with ‘dud.’”
Quinn raised an eyebrow at that one.
Rock shrugged, his grin contagious, as he obviously enjoyed this game.
“How many cows do you have?”
“Hundreds.”
“Have you ever ridden a cow?”
“Yes, when I was a kid. But not with a saddle, because we didn’t have one that big.”
“Have you ever ridden a horse?”
“Yes, lots of times.”
“What’s a bastard?”
Chapter 10
Rock’s smile fell, and he felt like he’d been slammed in the chest with a brick.
He blinked as he looked to Quinn for help.
She looked about as stunned as he felt.
Max must have heard the word somewhere. Probably on television. At least that’s what he hoped. He figured the truth was the best way to go. Especially with this kid. “Um, so a bastard is someone whose parents aren’t married to each other.”
He could tell Quinn was holding her breath as Max processed this information.
“So then are you a bastard?” he asked.
Sometimes, yes.
But somehow, he didn’t think that was the best answer to give to an eight-year-old kid. “No, my parents were married. My dad just died. And it’s really not a very nice word to call someone.”
“Oh.” He wrinkled his small forehead in concentration.
“Max, where did you hear that word?” Quinn asked gently.
“I heard Grandpa and Uncle Logan talking about my dad, and they said he was a bastard for not ever wanting to come and see me. But that doesn’t make sense. Because if you’re not married to my dad, then that means I’m a bastard too. And they didn’t make it sound like a good thing.”
“No, they shouldn’t have said that at all,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Are my dad’s parents not married either?”
“I’m not really sure, honey.”
“Then maybe he is a bastard too.”
“Okay, can you please stop saying that word? Like Rock said, it’s not very nice. It’s the kind of word that can mean more than one thing. You know, like…” She paused, as if trying to come up with an example.
