there.
When the car passed over the rushing waters of the blue creek the town landmark was named after, she realized the turnoff to Liam’s family ranch and business headquarters was just ahead.
She tensed, expecting a large crowd. Liam was one of six boys, most of whom worked for the log-home business as well, so there must be wives and other children in the family by now. Would they be here? What about his parents? Were they still alive and living here, too?
When the car bypassed the oversize parking lot and slowed to a stop in the half circle drive in front of the massive two-story log home, only one figure waited on the front porch that ran the length of the building.
Liam.
From her own memories and the candid photographs on the company’s website showing the Murphy family at work and at play, the brothers were all good-looking men with similar features, but she knew it was him.
Missy couldn’t take her eyes off the man as she exited the car and pushed her tote bag to one shoulder, her fingers clenching her phone as the memories she’d tried so hard to keep at bay washed over her.
Memories of falling in love for the first time, and all the joy and wonder that came with that experience. But then the pain—a truly aching, physical pain—when he had broken her heart.
How, after all this time, could those feelings still be powerful enough to bring a piercing sting to the back of her eyes?
Blinking hard, she wished she’d thought to grab her sunglasses from her bag. Regardless, she started forward, suddenly needing to see Casey. She made her way up the elaborate brick pathway, bordered with a colorful array of flowers that also ran along the front of the house.
“Where’s my daughter?” she asked when she reached the stairs, hating the huskiness of her voice.
Liam moved to the edge of the porch and she couldn’t help but note that the picture online must’ve been taken recently. Despite the passage of time, he did look the same, just an older version of the boy she’d known. Impossibly handsome in jeans, a long-sleeved dress shirt with the cuffs folded back to his elbows and cowboy boots.
Always cowboy boots.
His gaze lit on her, but the setting sun and deep shadows of the porch made it impossible to see his expression as he thanked the driver, who’d placed her suitcases on the porch. She tore her gaze from him and thanked the man as well when he walked past her.
When it was just the two of them again, she returned her focus to Liam, who hadn’t moved other than to cross his arms over his chest.
The defensive pose spoke volumes about his state of mind. Fine, but right now she wanted to see for herself that Casey was okay.
“I asked you—”
“Is it true?” The words were out of his mouth as she reached for the stair railing, freezing her on the first step. “Is Casey my daughter?” he demanded.
Liam hadn’t meant to sound so rude. He’d figured once Missy arrived at the house they’d sit down like adults, catch up on the last sixteen years and talk about the craziness that had descended on his life today.
Craziness in the form of his supposed daughter. But first, he had to know.
“Is she mine?” he asked again, his voice softer now.
He waited for her to answer, not having felt this rush of fear, excitement and adrenaline since his bronc-riding days. No, that was a lie. The moment Casey had shocked him with her announcement, he’d felt something far beyond anything he’d ever experienced on the back of a horse.
The sensation now returned in full force. The feeling that he was about to take the ride of his life.
“Yes,” Missy finally said, “she is.”
He dropped his arms. The almost desperate need to believe her was so foreign he brushed it away. Could he accept what she was saying as the truth? He’d admit the numbers made sense and according to his mother, Casey shared the same eyes—right down to the dark blue coloring—as him, but he was having a hard time believing the girl’s rambling story.
None of this made sense. How? Why?
“I’d like to see her,” Missy continued, her lilting voice laced with a condescending tone. “Now. If that’s all right with you.”
“You can’t.”
Realizing again how bad mannered that sounded, Liam tried once more to soften his tone. “She’s at the rodeo with her gran—with my folks. My family. She had a good time today and didn’t want to miss the finals, presentations to the winners or the fireworks afterward.”
“Hmm, yes, I remember well how a rodeo works.” Missy’s smile was rueful as she continued up the steps toward him. “How can a mother compete with all that?”
She remembered because of him. Because of their time together. That thought caused a burst of heat to ignite right in the center of his chest.
“They also figured you and I would appreciate the opportunity to talk privately about...well, about everything.”
“Saying we have quite a bit to discuss seems a bit of an understatement, doesn’t it?”
Liam stepped back when she joined him on the porch but not before a summery floral scent with a hint of peach invaded his head. Damn, she still wore the same perfume. Swallowing hard against the rush of memories, he took a step back and gestured toward a seating area set up at the far end of the porch.
She moved past him, walking in that same graceful way she’d had as a teenager. Years of ballet training, she’d once told him. Her hair was the same honey-blond color, but she wore it up off her neck, a few long pieces curling around her face. He wondered if it was as long as it’d once been, halfway down her back.
As if she could read his mind, Missy paused when she reached the wicker sofa, one hand tucking back a strand of hair that had fallen free as her chin rose in an almost regal attitude before she sat.
Yeah, she still possessed that British reserve that had made it hard for her to make friends when she first came to Destiny all those years ago.
He’d noticed her the first day of his senior year in high school. Every guy had. She’d been so different from the rest of the girls in their class. Some of his friends had made fools of themselves, trying to capture her attention, but the more they tried, the more she shot them down.
As someone who never had any problem getting a pretty girl to notice him, he’d liked that about her.
After a few months of watching her, he’d been determined to melt that icy reserve—and brave enough to try thanks to a dare from his buddies at the winter semiformal.
It’d taken until the night was almost over before he asked her to dance. She’d surprised him by accepting, and like a klutz, he’d tangled his boots with her delicate shoes. She’d laughed it off, stepped into his arms and he’d been a goner.
“You’re
