back once more to settle on that cover. For the first time in nearly a decade of teaching that book to her students, she’d gained a fresh connection of her own.
Only unlike Hester Prynne’s literary child—a figment of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s imagination and talent—Reese Grantham’s was 100 percent real.
* * *
Hoyt dragged off his heavy work gloves and reached for the towel he’d stuffed in his back pocket earlier, running the thick terry cloth over his face and neck. He hated branding day—knew there was nothing to be done about that, though—and considered what was still left to do.
They’d branded about half the new calves and would need at least another hour to work through the rest. The work was strenuous and tiring and made for a general sense of unease on the ranch the day they did it. The new calves hated it—and who could blame them?—and their protective mothers fussed over their young’s distress.
“Earning our keep today.” Tate’s voice was husky from shouting orders over the loud sounds from anxious calves, and Hoyt didn’t miss his brother’s stiff shoulders and general unease as he took his place beside him at the corral fence.
“That we are,” Hoyt agreed.
He, Tate, their brother Ace and their sister, Arden, were the fourth generation of ranchers and the current owners of Reynolds Station, a large and once-again prosperous Texas cattle ranch. Mismanagement and poor acts by their father had seen to the sell-off of some property and a decade-long process toward getting back on their feet.
And back they were.
Hoyt knew he should take pride in branding day and all it stood for—his father sure as hell had—but he could never muster up the stomach for it.
“Everything okay?” Tate’s question was casual and his brother was wise enough to ask the question with no one in earshot, but Hoyt bristled all the same.
“I’m fine.”
“You sure about that?”
Hoyt shoved the towel back into his pocket, pushing himself off the thick steel bars of the corral fence. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know.” Tate shrugged, his casual motions at odds with the sharp focus that filled his green eyes. “Seems like you’ve been as skittish as those calves and as upset as their mamas for the past few months now.”
Tate had never been the sibling to poke an emotional hornet’s nest—Arden and Ace were far more adept at the chore—which made the fact his brother was standing there attempting to make inroads that much more of a surprise. “You’re seriously comparing me to a cow?”
“Consider it illustrative.”
“Or annoying.”
“The fact you’re evading the question only adds to my curiosity.”
Hoyt ignored the unsettled feeling that scored his skin like barbed wire. His family usually gave him a wide berth emotionally and accepted his surly personality at face value, but even he knew he’d been worse than usual lately. Not that he was even remotely interested in mentioning that. Or the pretty, sweet woman who’d put him in that unbearably surly mood, with lingering memories of the softest skin and the sexiest kisses that refused to leave his thoughts for more than thirty seconds at a stretch.
He’d wanted to call her, and nearly had numerous times. But then he’d consider it and all he could conclude was that things would eventually grow messy. Something about Reese Grantham made him think about a commitment and a future and that scared the hell out of him.
So what else was a man supposed to do when his brother dug into choppy emotional waters?
Fight back for all he was worth.
“I know Belle Granger and I find it hard to believe she’s down with all these feelings. What happened? She get sick of you so you’re trying them out on me?” Hoyt said.
Tate’s voice stayed level but the easy-going smile he’d worn faded. “Belle’s got nothing to do with this.”
“You sure? Because four months dating the woman and you’re so wrapped around her little finger I’m surprised she even lets you out of the house. What’s the matter? Leash getting tight?”
The remark was nasty—even for him—but Hoyt saw it the moment he met his mark. Tate was a big man, his large frame made even larger by ranch work, and all that muscle bunched up as he stepped back from the fence. Hoyt and his brothers had stopped pummeling each other into oblivion around the age of fourteen, but he had the immediate thought that perhaps old habits died hard.
“Belle has nothing to do with this. But I’m not sure you can say the same.”
“Oh?” Hoyt asked, deliberate and slow. “Why’s that?”
“I think you’re the one walking a short leash. One held firmly in hand by Reese Grantham.”
Whatever casual calm Hoyt had attempted as he stepped back from the fence faded as Tate’s words hit a mark of their own.
* * *
Reese had imagined quite a lot as she drove over to Reynolds Station after leaving the high school. The secret that had gnawed steadily at her for over a month—the one that grew harder and harder to ignore as she spent a solid hour each morning desperately trying to keep down her bland breakfasts—needed air. It needed room to breathe.
And it needed its father to know of its existence.
After the initial shock had worn off, she’d been unable to suppress the sheer joy and happiness that filled her. She was pregnant.
Oh, the timing was off and the situation was far from ideal. The grief over her father was still fresh and the unsettling nature of his crimes had given her a few sleepless nights about what might be lurking in the DNA she was passing on to her child. She’d given the thoughts room to breathe, aware that addressing them was better than burying them, but in the end recognized the gift of life was just that. A gift. She’d be doing herself and her child a disservice if she let fear choke away her happiness.
Add on that she had no relationship to speak of with her child’s father and the Midnight Pass PTA would go ballistic at the news, and she really shouldn’t be this happy. Yet, even with that steady reality, she couldn’t hide her contentment or the overwhelming sense of gratitude that had filled her the moment her gynecologist had confirmed the news. She hadn’t once wavered since.
It was that surety—that absolute rightness—that had kept her focus steady and sure on the fact that she needed to tell Hoyt. She wouldn’t hide this from him or try to keep him from knowing his child. If he chose not to embrace fatherhood that would be his call, but it wouldn’t be from her lack of honesty.
She knew this. Felt it to her very core.
Yet, for the past month, the reality of getting in her car and driving to Reynolds Station had seemed like a chore she could put off another day. Oh, she’d plotted and planned what she’d say, worked through the words and how she was going to say them. But she hadn’t done it.
Jake’s news about the PTA had only solidified the
