Cowgirl Bride. Сьюзен МэллериЧитать онлайн книгу.
exactly,” he answered, then ruffled the boy’s hair. “So you’d rather she taught you to ride than your old man?”
“Yeah!” Rory grinned. “She’s cool.”
“That she is.” He took his keys from his jeans pocket and handed them to his son. “Let’s go.”
Rory raced to the truck and carefully unlocked the passenger’s door. Dylan followed more slowly, wondering what his next move should be. He could give Sierra a few days to get used to the idea of him being back in her life. After all, he had the advantage—she was going to be coming to his ranch to teach his son to ride. There were possibilities in that.
“Lost, McLaine?” a low male voice asked.
He turned toward the sound and squinted into the sunlight. The man moved out of the shadow of the barn and as he did, memories put a name to the face. Kirk Conroy—Sierra’s older brother.
“Or are you just checking to see how the other half lives?” Conroy said, his tone as unwelcoming as his expression.
“Neither.” Dylan glanced at the truck and saw Rory sitting on the front seat. He held a couple of plastic action figures in his hands and was obviously oblivious to Kirk’s presence. “I wanted to talk to Sierra.”
“She doesn’t have anything to say to you.”
“You don’t know that.”
Conroy moved a few steps closer, his posture challenging. They were about the same size. Talk about an even contest, Dylan thought, standing his ground.
“She didn’t need you all those years ago, and she doesn’t need you now.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Kirk’s eyes darkened. “Because I held her while she cried after you ran off and married Claire. You didn’t stay around long enough to watch her heart break, but I did.”
Dylan hated that he’d hurt her. That wasn’t supposed to have happened. “There are things she didn’t understand. I tried to explain…” His voice trailed off. Even to his own ears, his excuse sounded lame. At the time the right course had been so clear. In a choice between honor and love, he’d done what he’d thought was right. Now—Now he could only look back and wonder.
“But she never answered your letters, did she?” Conroy said with grim satisfaction.
His success in the courtroom was often based on a feeling in his gut. He’d learned to pay attention to what his body was trying to tell him. At this moment, it was practically screaming a question. So he asked it. “How did you know I sent her letters?”
Kirk shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t much, but it was all Dylan needed. Several missing pieces clicked into place. He hadn’t believed it when she’d never written him back. Despite what he’d done, they’d loved each other. He thought he’d been a fool for caring about her when she’d responded with silence. That wasn’t it at all.
“She never got my letters,” he said, knowing it was true. “You had no right to keep them from her.”
“I had every right.” Kirk pointed at him. “You promised to love her forever. You promised to stand against your family and marry her. You let her dream. But in the end, you turned your back on her and how she felt about you. You married another woman and never gave Sierra a second thought. That damn well gives me the right. She’s my sister and I’m going to make sure you don’t get a second chance to destroy her.”
There were so many things he could tell the other man, Dylan thought to himself. But the truth wasn’t always as simple as one might like. A thousand thoughts flooded his brain, a thousand images from the past. A thousand second guesses. In the end, he didn’t even bother.
“You’re wrong,” he said quietly. “About me, about why I did what I did, and about me not giving her a second thought. I never stopped loving your sister.”
Kirk’s angry stance never wavered. “That must have made you a poor excuse for a husband.”
“That’s what my wife said the day she left. Goodbye, Kirk. Don’t think you’ve seen the last of me because I’ll be around. I’m going to do my damnedest to explain everything to Sierra. I owe her that.”
“The only thing you owe her is to stay the hell out of her life.”
“You’re probably right. But I can’t.” Dylan headed for the car.
Kirk let him go without saying a word. As he turned the truck, he saw the other man still watching him. Would Kirk report the conversation to Sierra? What about the letters? Did he still have them? Would he ever tell his sister about them? Would Sierra believe Dylan if he told her about their existence?
Too many questions, he thought as they rolled onto the highway and headed back to their ranch.
“Dad?” Rory asked.
He glanced at his son. “What?”
“Is Sierra that lady? The one Mom always talked about?”
Dylan grimaced. Claire hadn’t cared who could hear her when she was in the mood to scream about something. He didn’t like to think about all the things his son had heard over the years.
“Yes,” he said. “She is.” Only Claire hadn’t referred to Sierra as a “lady.” Instead she’d been “that cowgirl bitch you can’t forget.”
“You still love her?” his son asked.
How like a child to cut to the heart of the matter. “I’m not sure,” he said, going for easy instead of honest.
“Well, I like her,” Rory announced and relaxed into his seat. “I think she’s cool.”
Dylan smiled, and for the first time since deciding to move to the ranch and look up Sierra, he thought there just might be hope for all of them.
Sierra kicked at the wooden fence post that was sunk deep in the ground, then tugged on the wires. The twisted metal was taut against her fingers. Although this portion of the fence was older, it was still in decent shape and wouldn’t need replacement for a few years. She pulled a small notebook from her jacket pocket, removed her right glove and made a notation.
Riding the line was a time-honored tradition on a ranch. The boring job was necessary to insure the cattle stayed where they were supposed to. Sierra was always willing to take her turn, but she never volunteered for the duty unless she needed to think. Which was why she’d been out checking fences for the past two days.
In the space of a heartbeat, everything had changed. Her world, while not perfect, had been comfortable and familiar. Now she couldn’t look around at the lush pastures and grazing cattle without another image superimposing itself on the scene. An image of a man’s face. Dylan.
She’d actually reached the point where she could go weeks without thinking about him. When he’d first left, she’d barely been able to take a breath without recalling him. Then she’d been able to forget him for minutes at a time. Going an entire day without wondering about him had happened after a year or so. Gradually, though, time had healed…or so she’d thought. Apparently the scar wasn’t more than a superficial covering. One look into his brown eyes and she’d felt herself ripped open again.
She put the notebook away, pulled back on her glove, then walked to the next fence post and kicked at it. As she tugged on the wire, she felt a twinge in her left arm. Neat stitches held skin together. The swelling had finally started to go down, but she was going to carry a bruise for a few weeks. In addition to giving her time to think, riding the fence lines also gave her time to heal. She would rather take light duty than use a sick day. Sick days implied a weakness she didn’t dare show around the ranch.
Sierra