Caught Up in a Cowboy, page 17
He loved that she could hold her own in a fight. He had at times riled her up just so he could see the spark in her eyes, and right now, looking at her pouty red lips, all he could think about was capturing her feisty mouth in a hard kiss.
She jutted her chin out. “But I need you to believe that I would never purposely tell someone about your personal business.”
Or our personal business. If things kept going with Quinn the way they had been, she may get more than she bargained for in the way of the nosy public.
“I do believe you. And you’re the first person I’d pick to be in my corner during a fight.” He leaned across the seat to set a tender kiss on her lips—not the kind of kiss he wanted to give her, but the best choice for in the cab of his truck, in broad daylight, in her family’s driveway.
A grin curved the corners of her lips as he pulled back and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.
“You taste like sweet talk and blueberries,” she said.
“You taste like heaven.”
Butterflies swirled in his stomach as her face broke into a smile.
Damn, but he did love her smile.
She shook her head and reached for the door handle.
He jumped out, ruminating on how many things he’d just pitched around in his mind that he loved about her. And he didn’t usually toss around the word love lightly.
It wasn’t really a big shocker. Heck, he’d been in love with Quinn since before he even understood what being in love meant.
But he didn’t remember it being like this. Teenage love was all-consuming, the only thing he could think about, dream about. It took over his mind and his heart and every moment of his day. She was all he could think about, wondering what she was doing, what she was eating, and when they were together, his limbs ached to constantly be touching her.
Ah, dang. Considering how he’d been mooning around over Quinn the last few days, maybe it was just like that. Maybe he was just like that lovestruck teenager who would have done anything for the girl he loved.
Well, anything but take her with him when he left for the greatest adventure of his life.
He let out a sigh.
It was no use going back. They couldn’t change the past.
But maybe, for the first time in years, he let himself believe that they just might have a future.
She was out of the truck before he could get around to help her out, but she paused on the porch steps, shading her eyes with her hand as she peered back at the faded blue sedan that sat in the driveway. “I wonder whose car that is.”
It had a crack just starting on one side of the windshield and was covered in dust.
Another roar of anger rumbled through his chest. “It better not be that reporter. I’ll throw that guy out on his ass.”
“I’ll help,” Quinn said as she opened the door and marched into the living room.
He followed in her steps, then almost ran into her as she stopped in the middle of the room.
He heard her quick gasp of breath, saw the color drain from her face, and his gaze darted around the room, trying to assess what was happening.
Dark tension filled the room, and he knew something was wrong.
Logan stood by the stone fireplace, his arms crossed, his legs slightly apart as if in a fighter’s stance. His eyes were cold and hard as he stared at the man sitting in the chair in front of him.
The man’s back was to him and Quinn, and he didn’t recognize him. All he could see of him was his pressed western shirt and a dark head of hair.
But Quinn recognized him.
He could tell by the way she stood frozen in place, her posture rigid and her eyes giving off that deer-in-the-headlights look.
Her arm was pressed against his, and he could feel her trembling. What the hell was going on? His protective instincts kicked in, and he took a step forward.
But she held her arm out, stopping him. Not saying anything, just stopping him with the pressure of her hand.
A child’s laugh filled the air, and he realized Max was sitting on the floor in front of the man, his face tipped up, his expression rapt.
The boy must have seen his mom though, because his eyes lit, and he scrambled up off the floor and ran toward her. “Mom, look! Look who’s here! It’s my dad! He came to see me!”
Ho-ly shit.
Chapter 15
It was Rock’s turn to stand frozen in place as the dark-haired man stood and turned around.
Monty fucking Hill.
He couldn’t believe it. What the ever-loving hell was he doing here?
It was clear from Quinn’s expression that she didn’t have a clue either.
His gaze snapped to Logan. Had he had something to do with this? Had he brought this guy here to keep Quinn from being with him?
Quinn’s brother glared at Monty’s back. No, he obviously hadn’t had anything to do with it either.
Had Max somehow contacted him? Or had his questions about his father somehow conjured him out of thin air?
Monty ducked his head. “Hey there, Quinn. Long time, no see.”
Rock watched the muscles tighten in her jaw as she looked from Hill to Max, obviously fighting to hold back what she really wanted to say.
And he was sure she had a lot to say.
“What are you doing here?” she finally choked out.
“I was passing through and thought I’d drop in to see my boy.” He wrapped an arm around Max’s shoulder, and Rock wanted to knock it away. In fact, he wanted to punch the deadbeat in the throat. Then kick him in the nuts, then punch him in the face. And he would just be getting started.
My boy?
Shee-it. Why was he here all of a sudden, claiming Max was his?
Rock ignored the clawing in his gut that reminded him that Max really was his boy.
“You look good, Quinn. You haven’t aged a bit.” Hill offered her a smile that was a cross between friendly and flirty.
Rock’s hands curled into fists. After he punched him, he was considering running him over with his truck.
She didn’t return the smile. Her lips pressed into a flat line, and a vein pulsed in her neck.
Monty held out a hand to Rock. “Monty Hill. You’re Rock James, right? I think we played football against each other in high school.”
Hill knew damn well who he was.
For the second time that day, Rock ignored a snake’s outstretched hand.
But this was a different kind of snake than the reporter. The press guy was an annoying garter snake that wound its way through the grass and caused a fright when it slithered next to his foot. Hill was more like a rattler—a coiled-up predator full of venom that no one knew when it would strike. Or who it would hurt.
Well, screw that. He knew how to take care of a rattler. He stamped on its mouth with his boot heel or chopped its head off with a shovel. That was the only way to keep it from hurting someone, and Rock wasn’t going to let that snake hurt Quinn or Max. Not his family.
He took a step forward, then stopped in his tracks, his knees threatening to buckle underneath him.
Quinn and Max weren’t his family.
He didn’t have any claim to them at all.
In fact, Max was Monty’s son, so they were Hill’s family.
That thought sobered him quickly, especially when he looked down and saw Max’s sweet face as he looked up to him with adoration.
Shit. Max also looked at Monty that way. Like that asswipe hung the freaking moon. Quinn had told him that she had been careful never to talk poorly of Monty around Max, because she didn’t want to give him any more issues—it was enough that he had been abandoned by his father; she didn’t want to add in that Monty had rejected him as well.
So instead, Max was acting like Hill was some kind of hero who had just swooped in to save the day.
And how could he wreck that impression? How could he take that away from Max—one of the sweetest kids he’d ever met. A kid he had already fallen in love with.
His head pounded, the headache back with a vengeance as indecision tore through him.
What the hell was he supposed to say? To do?
Should he stay here and support Quinn or back away and let them have time to figure out what was going on? He wanted to be here for Quinn, but he wasn’t sure he had that right.
He tried to gauge what she was feeling, what she wanted, but for once was at a loss.
Her face was pale, a blank mask void of emotion. Her shoulders were tight, and she stood with her legs planted in a stance of fight or flight.
Although he knew she’d never pick flight, she’d never abandon Max or walk away from him. No. Leaving was Rock’s department. And, apparently, Monty’s.
Bile filled the back of his throat at his comparison to this slimeball guy who had abandoned his family, who had walked away from the people who needed him the most.
Pain seared through his head, and he gave it the smallest shake, as if to clear the idea that he had done the same thing.
He couldn’t feel Quinn trembling anymore, and he realized she’d taken just the barest step away from him instead of toward him.
Maybe that was the answer he was looking for. Maybe she didn’t need him at all.
She could fight her own battles—had been fighting them on her own for years, without his help or concern.
But he hadn’t been back in her life like he was now. Maybe she needed him now. Maybe this time he could do something.
A hard notion hit him. Maybe she wanted Monty to be back in Max’s life. Maybe she wanted Max to have his dad around. She’d told him that Monty had walked away, but she’d never really said if she’d wanted him to stay.
He needed to talk to her, to get her away from this situation so he could find out what was going on in her head, what she needed from him, what she needed him to do or not do.
Somehow, he didn’t think she’d approve of his idea to punch the guy in the throat and kick him out on his ass, at least not in front of Max.
The front door banged open, and Hamilton stormed in, his face a mix of fury and concern as he headed straight for Monty. He towered over Hill and glared down at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came to visit my son,” Monty said, his voice hard as he stared back at Ham, as if daring him to throw a fist.
That was not a dare that any sane man would make. Ham might be in his fifties, but the guy was hard as steel, his body lean and muscled, and Rock had seen him wrestle a steer twice the size of Monty to the ground just last week when they were branding.
Hamilton Rivers defined the word tough in tough as nails.
He held his ground, staring Monty down with eyes that were glinty and hard. His jaw was set, and a vein pulsed next to his eye. The cords in his throat strained against the skin of his neck, and his hands clenched in tight fists at his sides.
The air crackled with tension as the group held their collective breaths, waiting to see what Ham would do.
“Grandpa?” Max’s small voice broke through the silence.
This was it. This moment would tell Rock what Quinn was feeling. If she would let her dad do the thing that Rock, and most likely Logan, wanted to do. Would she let her dad sock this guy in the face? Would she let him kick him out?
Quinn stood next to her dad, her gaze darting between Ham, Monty, and Max. Without saying a word, she held out her hand and placed in on Ham’s arm, a silent message that shouted “stand down, soldier.”
And that was all it took.
All that Rock needed to know. She didn’t want them to throw Monty out.
At least not in front of Max.
He should go. This was obviously a family thing, and he was obviously the outsider. Everyone else in the room was related to one another in some regard.
Except for him.
He opened his mouth to tell Quinn that he was going to go, but before he could speak, she took a step forward, a step closer to Monty.
“Could I speak to you a minute? Alone?” Her voice was a tight blend of anger and control.
And broke Rock’s heart.
Monty tore his gaze from Ham’s and took a step back, surrendering his stance of power. “Sure. No problem.”
She gestured toward the den off to the side of the kitchen, and Monty turned and headed in that direction.
Rock didn’t know their whole history, but the guy must have been around enough to be familiar with the house. He obviously knew the layout as he opened the french doors and stepped through.
Quinn followed behind him, her steps heavy, her shoulders slumped, as if she were headed to the gallows instead of into the study.
She turned, and Rock waited to see where her gaze would fall. Who would she look to for support? He held his breath as he prayed for her gaze to turn toward him, to glance his way, to seek his encouragement.
But she didn’t.
Avoiding anyone’s eyes in the room, she kept her head down and pulled the doors shut behind her with a resounding click.
* * *
Quinn swallowed, her throat dry as she tried to think of something to say.
She had plenty to say, but somehow didn’t think covering him with a river of violent swear words would be the best way to get the conversation off on the right foot.
Leaning her hip against the side of the desk, she took a deep breath and unclenched her hands. “Okay, Monty, it’s just us. Now you can tell me what the hell you’re really doing here.”
Okay, maybe not a river of swear words, but she couldn’t hold back at least a small trickle of a stream.
“I told you. I’m here to see Max.” His shoulders slumped forward. “And to apologize to you. I probably could have handled the way I took off a little better.”
“Oh, you mean when you used me at that party and then acted like nothing ever happened between us? Or do you mean when I told you I was pregnant and you denied that Max could be yours? Or do you mean when I sucked up my pride and offered to let you be part of Max’s life after he was born, and instead, you took off, and I had to hear from Melinda down at the Burger Barn that you’d left town and never even told me, or your son, goodbye?”
“Yeah, that would pretty much be what I meant.” He offered her a shrug and a coy smile that she assumed he meant to be charming.
It wasn’t.
That charismatic bad-boy charm wasn’t going to work on her. She’d fallen for it before. She wasn’t about to fall victim to it again.
She narrowed her eyes as she studied him. He looked different, not unrecognizable, but older, and not exactly the cool teenage bad boy she’d first met. He was still good-looking, but he’d cleaned up; his jeans were neat and minus the trademark holes and tears that used to be a constant part of his wardrobe.
The night she’d met him, he’d been wearing a faded T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, his significant adolescent muscles on full display. His hair had been just a little too long, as if he hadn’t had time to get it cut versus he wore it that way on purpose. The real truth had been that he couldn’t afford to get his hair cut, couldn’t afford new jeans that didn’t have rips and faded fabric thin from wear.
He’d had a green John Deere hat, the kind with the mesh in the back, which he’d always worn back then, giving him that cute plowboy look.
Today, he had on a pressed, button-up western shirt, although the visible creases made it clear it had just come out of the package. His jeans also looked new, along with the fresh haircut. But his boots were scuffed and worn, and his hands seemed calloused and dry. A thin line of dirt or grease ran under the length of his thumbnail.
He’d obviously worked hard to give the impression that he was doing fine for himself, but his watch—a cheap knockoff with a faded band—gave him away.
“Why now? Why after all of these years of not even recognizing that he was your son are you suddenly here wanting to see him?”
“I get why you’d be confused. I’ve been a jerk. I know that. But I’ve made some significant changes in my life, and I swear, I’m here to make amends.”
“What kind of changes?”
“It all started when I got into some trouble down in Texas.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of a change.”
He shrugged. “I deserve that. But I’m telling you, I have changed. I’m not like that anymore. As part of my sentence, I had to join this men’s group and attend it and counseling once a week. It changed my life. These guys are the real deal, and they’ve shown me the error of my ways and the real path to the truth and the light.”
Quinn almost choked. She was a firm believer in the power of prayer and had seen the hand of God work in mysterious ways, but she’d been fooled by Monty before and had a hard time believing his arrogance would yield to a complete one-eighty of his earlier beliefs. Plus, his words held the slightest tone of drama, like he’d memorized the lines and was putting on a performance.
She narrowed her eyes, studying him as she tried to discern if he was truly being sincere and really had been touched by faith. “Are you serious right now? You’re telling me you are back, that you traveled all the way here from Texas and are now ready to recognize Max as your son because you suddenly found Jesus?”
He cringed, and she almost believed her words had hurt him. “It’s not a joke. I know I used to give you a hard time for going to church and believing in all of that stuff.”
Gave her a hard time? Was that what he called it? She remembered when she’d called him to tell him she was getting the baby baptized at the same church where she’d grown up, where she and her brother had been baptized.
Monty had chastised her and informed her in no uncertain terms that he would not be taking part in some foolish tradition with a bunch of judgmental hypocrites who thought handing out casseroles and sprinkling some water on a baby’s head would grant them access to heaven. Which was another thing he’d expressed disbelief in.
