lap. Duke was answering a question about the horses he owned. Lilly had always been horse crazy. And dog crazy. They already had a dog at home. Joe had been taking care of it for them.
Oregon walked through the front door of the house, and her heart ached to claim this place as her own. It had windows that let in the breeze, freshly polished hardwood floors, a kitchen with white-painted cabinets and out the back door, a stone patio with a pretty teakwood table and a gas grill.
She strode out the back door. Alone, she stood on the stone patio and stared out at the grasslands of Texas. In the distance there were the hills that made Hill Country a destination for many travelers. It was late May, and the grass was green; wildflowers bloomed.
Footsteps told her she was no longer alone. Duke touched her back, his hand resting lightly. She had a sudden, overwhelming urge to lean into his embrace, to welcome the comfort he was offering. She wanted to soak up his scent, his strength. She turned to tell him this was too much, that she couldn’t accept it, but when she turned, his arms went around her, and he pulled her close, bending to drop a kiss on the top of her head. It was what she’d dreamed of, and the last thing she wanted.
No, she didn’t want to need him. But she couldn’t make herself pull free from the embrace and all it offered.
“It’s just a house, Oregon. It isn’t a commitment. It isn’t a ridiculous proposal offered on the spur of the moment. It’s a place to live.”
“It’s too much,” she tried to insist.
“You’ve raised my daughter alone for twelve years. I think I owe you a home to live in and more. Let me do this.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
“Thank you. For bringing her here...and for telling me.”
Behind them they heard the sound of crutches on the tile floor of the kitchen, then the squeak of the screen door. Oregon wiped her eyes and moved away from him to face her daughter. Lilly looked from Duke to Oregon, her eyes wide, suspicious.
“What’s going on?” Lilly asked.
“Let’s sit down out here and we’ll talk,” Oregon said with a lightness she was far from feeling.
“I’ll get us a glass of tea,” Duke offered.
Oregon nodded, accepting the offer as she held out a chair for Lilly. Her daughter sat and was immediately joined by the dog.
“What’s your dog’s name, Duke?” Lilly asked.
“Daisy.”
“Very manly,” Lilly teased. Her smile was back, but she wouldn’t offer it to Oregon.
Duke returned with three glasses of tea on a tray. “I stocked the fridge and cabinets.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” Oregon didn’t want him taking over, feeling as if he suddenly had to provide for them. Her shop, selling handmade creations of her own design, was doing quite well. She hadn’t come here for support, for money. She just wanted her daughter to have what she’d never had. A real dad. A place to call home.
“I know I don’t have to, Oregon. I wanted to make things easier for you.”
“What if I’d said no?” she countered as she lifted the glass, condensation making the outside damp and cold.
“Okay, could we not start some kind of family disagreement,” Lilly said. And then she looked at the two of them. “We’re not a family.”
Oregon bit down on her bottom lip and let her gaze slide to Duke. He was looking at her daughter, at their daughter. Oregon nodded when he looked to her for direction.
She had to do this.
* * *
“Lilly, we need to talk.” Oregon began with those words, and Duke couldn’t disagree. He didn’t know any better way to start. But now that the words were said, he wondered if they should have given it more time. Maybe they should have prepared Lilly in some way. This was big news for a kid.
It had been pretty big news for him.
“Okay.” Lilly sank her fingers into Daisy’s black-and-white coat, and she looked at Duke as if he could make this any easier. He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging, hang-in-there smile.
“Duke and I knew each other a long time ago. We met at a rodeo when I was eighteen.”
The words hung between them, and he felt like an acrobat on a tightrope, hanging precariously above this situation. Lilly continued to pet Daisy. She dropped her gaze to the dog with its tongue hanging out, a dog smile on her face. Daisy whined and moved in closer to Lilly, as if sensing that this wasn’t good.
“How many years ago?” Lilly raised those blue eyes and looked from her mom to him.
“Almost thirteen years.” Oregon spoke in a quiet voice, her gaze shifting from her daughter to him.
“Thirteen,” Lilly whispered, her face pale, her hands clasping the dog, pulling her close. She buried her face against Daisy, and he had the sneaking suspicion she was hiding tears. His kid would do that. She’d hide it when she cried, and she’d fight anyone who said those were tears on her cheeks.
Duke sat there watching the girl who was his daughter. He didn’t know what to say. He definitely didn’t know what a dad would do in this situation.
He did know he’d knock down mountains for her. “Lilly, I’m sorry. If I’d known...”
She glared, eyes narrowed. “Sorry?” She shook her head, one tear sliding down her cheek. She brushed it away. “For what? For not telling me? For acting like my friend?”
Oregon opened her mouth; he was sure she meant to reprimand Lilly. He put a hand up, stopping the words. “She has a right to be angry.”
He didn’t have a manual on parenting, but he knew all about being an angry kid.
“Yeah, angry.” Lilly said it like she was trying to find the emotion that fit. He guessed there was a lot of hurt. How much did they tell her? How much did they keep from her?
He looked to Oregon because she had the experience he was lacking. She moved her chair closer to her daughter. No, retract that, his daughter. Their daughter. He studied her face.
“Lilly, Duke didn’t know. I waited too long and by the time I had found him, he’d joined the army and was on his way to Afghanistan.”
“But you came here to tell him, and you didn’t. Right?” Lilly swiped at angry tears chasing a trail down her cheeks. Duke brushed dampness from his own cheeks.
He hated that she was crying and that he didn’t know how to fix this for her. He loved this kid and had from the first moment she bounded up the steps of the diner, asking for odd jobs to raise money for a horse. He’d given her a bridle for Christmas. She’d made him a card with a horse she drew. She’d signed it “with love, Lilly.”
They’d had an immediate connection, he guessed. And he hadn’t been smart enough to figure
