His Little Cowgirl. Brenda Minton
a million questions and plenty of accusations racing through his mind, he switched his attention back to Bailey. She twisted away from him but not quickly enough for him to miss the streak of red creeping up her neck.
Cowgirls couldn’t lie.
“Go inside, Meg,” Bailey said.
“But I need a drink.”
“Get a juice box out of the fridge. I’ll be in soon.”
“Who is he?” The little girl crossed her tanned arms and gave him the look that said she was the only law in town and he was trespassing. He wanted to smile but he couldn’t. Not yet.
“He’s someone I used to know.”
The little girl nodded and walked back into the house, the screen door slamming behind her. Bailey waited until her daughter, his daughter, too, was out of sight before facing him.
“It looks like I’m not the only one who needs to apologize,” he whispered, not really sure if he could say the words aloud.
He had a daughter. He was six months sober, living in an RV, and he had a daughter.
He was on step 9, and it seemed that Bailey had a Step 9 of her own. Making amends.
“I tried to tell you.” She looked away, the breeze blowing her hair around her face. He remembered the feel of her hair, like soft silk and feathers.
He remembered that being with her had made him believe in himself. For a few short months he had believed he could be something better than his own father had been. Now he couldn’t find that feeling, not with anger boiling to the surface.
“You didn’t try very hard.”
“The day you left the ranch, I told you that I loved you and that we needed to talk. You laughed and walked away because, and I quote, ‘Cowgirls always think they’re in love.’”
As she faced him with his own stupid actions, it was his turn to look away. He focused on the same tree-covered hill her gaze had shot to moments ago. Without really trying, he remembered that day. He remembered getting in his truck and driving away, with her running out of the barn trying to stop him.
He remembered thinking that if he didn’t get away, he would drown in her. More memories returned, along with the knowledge that he had wanted to lose himself in that feeling. That had scared him more than anything. At twenty-five he’d been too afraid of love to take a chance. He’d been afraid of failure.
Now he had a daughter. He was in the middle of a program that included not starting new relationships, and this one had to be taken care of. He had a little girl. He needed to wrap his mind around that fact and what it meant, not just for the moment but for the rest of his life.
“I should have listened to you.” He ran his hand through his hair and shoved his hat back in place. “But you could have told me. You’ve had six years of opportunities to tell me.”
“I left messages for you to call me. After a while I gave up. Wouldn’t you?” She crossed her arms, staring him down with brown eyes that at one time were warmer than cocoa on a winter day. “You were running so fast, Cody. You didn’t want to hear what I had to tell you because you were afraid it would be about love and forever.”
“You should have told me.”
“And have you believing that I was trying to trap you? The day you left Wyoming you made it pretty clear to me that you weren’t looking for ‘forever’ with anyone.”
He needed to sit down. He didn’t want to think about how much he needed a drink. Six months sober, and he wasn’t going to end his sobriety like this.
“Bailey, don’t throw my words back in my face. That was six years ago. I’ve learned a lot, and I’ve been through a lot.” He shook his head and took a step back from her.
“Keep your voice down.”
“And on top of that you want me to be calm about this?”
“I’m sorry.”
He remembered her at twenty-two. She had dreamed of being a famous horse trainer with a ranch and a few kids. He’d been running from those kinds of women, the kind who dreamed of forever.
“I won’t keep you from seeing her.” She made it sound like the offer of the century.
“Of course.”
“In case you’re wondering, she knows that you’re her dad. I haven’t kept that from her. But you’re not on her birth certificate.”
“Did you ever stop to think that maybe she needed to see me?”
“When would she have seen you? Maybe once or twice a year as you drove on through? Or on TV with a pretty girl on your arm.”
“Is that how you portrayed me to her?”
She sighed and shook her head.
Of course she wouldn’t do that. He knew that much about her. Bailey was kind. She had faith, and he’d taken advantage of her innocence. That had haunted him for years. Her tears had haunted him, too, and her regret.
“I told her that someday she could meet you.”
“That’s great, Bailey.” He took a step back. “I have a daughter and you were going to let me meet her someday?”
“What did you expect from me, Cody?”
“Bailey, I don’t know the right answer to that. I just know that I have a daughter and she’s five years old. Don’t ask me to make sense of this or tell you how I would have reacted a few years ago. I’m a different person today.”
“Older and wiser?”
“Something like that.”
He couldn’t adjust with Bailey staring at him with soft brown eyes and a guilty flush staining her cheeks. He had to get away from her because he didn’t know if he should hug her or throttle her.
“I need to think.”
She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. But he could tell that it did. It mattered to him, too.
And he had honestly thought he’d be able to stop by, say his apologies and leave. He’d been surprised on more counts than one. He’d been surprised with a daughter, and surprised that Bailey Cross still had the ability to undo him.
“I have to ride in Springfield tonight.” He walked to his truck, followed by the tongue-wagging blue heeler. He turned when he realized that Bailey was right behind him. “I’m leaving my RV here so that you’ll know I’m coming back. I’m not a twenty-five-year-old kid now, Bailey. I don’t run.”
“I’m sure you don’t.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t even go to Springfield.”
“I think you should go, Cody. You can call and we’ll talk this out.” She took a few steps toward him, and he hadn’t counted on the rush of feelings and memories that returned. “I know you can’t miss this ride. I know you’re at the top of the point standings.”
“Bailey, some things are more important than eight seconds on a bull. Family is more important.”
“I know that. But I also know what this world title means to you.”
“I’m coming back,” Cody said. “Tonight.”
He leaned to unhitch the RV from the back of his truck, aware that she stood next to him, her hands shoved into the front pockets of her jeans.
“Fine, you can come back and we’ll talk.” Bailey backed up a step, as if wanting that distance between them. “We’ll work something out.”
“Work something out?” He shoved the tongue of the trailer off the hitch and turned to face her. “You make it sound like we’re disputing over a property