And she doesn’t want him to know.”
Matt stiffened, and the rocker stalled. “Are you kidding? No one’s come looking for her yet?”
“Not here. She told him she was staying with a friend, and her dad must have assumed it was someone she’d met in college. He’s called her cell phone a few times, but he doesn’t have any idea where she is.”
“That’s not good.” Matt blew out a ragged sigh. “You remember what happened the last time he found her here.”
“I sure as hell haven’t forgotten.” George’s rocker picked up speed, creaking against the wooden floor. “He got so angry and red in the face that I damn near thought he was either going to have a stroke or I’d have to shoot him full of buckshot.”
Matt hadn’t forgotten that day, either. Or the words Carlos Contreras had said to Miranda. I can’t believe you’ve been sneaking around with a good-for-nothing-wannabe cowboy who won’t amount to a hill of beans.
Matt had spent the past eight years riding his heart out—what was left of it, anyway. He’d shown the rodeo world that he was more than good enough for anyone, even Carlos Contreras’s daughter. But he doubted his skill and a collection of silver buckles had done a damn thing to change the old man’s opinion of him. Not that it mattered. That teen fling had ended a long time ago, validated by a phone that never rang.
“So what’s the deal with Emily?”
George stopped rocking, leaned to the side and grinned. “She’s a real sweetheart. Spunky, too. And she loves animals. You’ve met Sweetie Pie, the stray she talked me into keeping.”
“Yeah, I met the dog. But that name doesn’t suit a mutt who nearly chewed off my leg when I got out of my truck and started walking toward the door.”
His uncle chuckled and folded his arms across his chest. “Animals love her, too. She really has a way with them, including the chickens. I can’t tell those hens apart, but she can. Heck, she’s named each one.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.” Matt leaned toward his uncle and lowered his tone. “How old is she?”
“Seven or eight, I reckon.”
A feeling of uneasiness began to niggle at Matt. Something about the timeline felt...wrong.
“Who’s her father?” Matt asked, watching for the hint of a smile or a twinkle in his uncle’s tired blue eyes, which seemed to be a lot livelier these days. But George had a talent for donning a good poker face when he wanted to.
“You’ll have to ask Miranda,” George said, the rocking chair creaking against the porch’s wooden flooring.
“Didn’t you ask?”
Uncle George shrugged and said, “You know me...”
“Right. You don’t like to pry.” Normally, Matt didn’t, either, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it as soon as he had the chance to get Miranda alone.
* * *
By the time Miranda drove within a mile of the Wexler Grange Hall, where the 4-H sheep group was gathering this afternoon, her nerves were still on edge and her mind scrambling to control her jumbled emotions.
When she’d come outside to tell Emily it was time to leave, she’d just about dropped to the ground when she’d spotted Matt at the Double G. Sure, she’d known that he could show up any day, but the rodeo circuit was in full swing, and George had told her that he rarely came home these days. So he was the last thing she’d expected to see this afternoon.
Hardly a day went by that she didn’t think of her teenage love. The way she left. The guilt she felt. The secret she kept... She glanced in the rearview mirror at the eight-year-old secret that was sitting in the backseat right now.
But it wasn’t just the negative feelings that struck her. She often thought of the good things, too.
Wherever she went, indoors or out, the memories dogged her. Riding horses out by the swimming hole. Fishing for trout with a makeshift pole. Having a picnic on the trail. Eating a bowl of ice cream with two spoons. And sharing sweet stolen kisses—here, there and everywhere.
So when she first spotted Matt, she’d assumed her mind was playing tricks on her again, just as it always did whenever she saw a shadow in the barn or heard George talking to someone only to find out it was his horse. After staying with George for the past two months, she’d begun to think Matt wouldn’t come home while she and Emily were here. A champion bull rider like him would never do that while the rodeo season was in full swing.
But she’d been wrong. The minute she realized the handsome cowboy wasn’t an illusion—that she was actually looking at Matt in the flesh, that she was gazing into those expressive green eyes—her heart took a flying leap, only to belly flop into her stomach, threatening to stir up the morning sickness that had stopped plaguing her six weeks ago.
Somehow, she’d managed to rally and find her voice. She just hoped it had sounded polite and unaffected.
“Mommmmy!” Emily called from the backseat, her voice raised, her tone irritated. “I called your name three times. Aren’t you listening to me?”
Obviously not. She’d been too busy daydreaming about the past... “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to ignore you. What did you say?”
Emily blew out a dramatic sigh. “Can Janie come over after the meeting with us? And if her mom says it’s okay, can she spend the night?”
Miranda glanced in the rearview mirror. Emily’s eyes—the shape of them, not the color—were so much like Matt’s that her heart squeezed. “No, honey. This isn’t a good time to have a friend over.”
“But it’s Saturday, and we don’t have school tomorrow. Why can’t she?”
“Because we have a full house at the ranch already.” And this evening, things would be awkward at best. But she wasn’t about to reveal the real reason to her daughter. “Besides, Matt hasn’t been home in a long time, and he’s probably just passing through. So until I find out when he’s leaving, I don’t want to schedule a play date.”
Surely, he’d be gone in the morning. Monday at the latest. But he was using a cane, so obviously he’d been injured. Had he come home to recuperate? If so, how long would that take?
Miranda broke eye contact with her daughter and studied the road ahead, watching for the entrance of the Wexler Grange Hall. But she couldn’t keep her mind off Matt. He’d certainly grown up since she’d last seen him. His lanky nineteen-year-old body had filled out. His muscles were bulkier, his shoulders broader. He’d been sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, so it was hard to know for sure, but she suspected he’d grown a bit taller, too.
He wore his sandy-blond hair longer than she remembered—or maybe he just needed a haircut. Either way, she liked it.
An inch-long scar over his brow and a five o’clock shadow gave him a rugged edge, which, for some strange reason, added to the perfection of his face.
If he’d smiled
