Cowboy at the Crossroads. Linda Warren
their father with his love of the land. His brothers were businessmen and had never returned to the ranch after leaving for college, whereas Cord didn’t want any other life. His manner, too, revealed a directness, a simple honesty that was quite removed from his brothers’ more polished charm.
Becca didn’t know how long they sat there with Cord holding on to her like a lifeline. She didn’t mind. He needed to hold someone and he probably wasn’t even aware of who she was. How could Anette Prescott do this to him? she found herself wondering. Cord seemed so family-oriented, and he obviously worshiped his little girl. From what Colton had told her, she knew Anette had been in a state of depression. She’d always wanted a child and had gone through several fertility procedures before she conceived Nicki. But once the baby was born, she sank into postpartum depression. Since it had continued for at least four years, it had obviously turned into a psychiatric disorder, maybe hormonal in cause, maybe not. She apparently functioned reasonably well, so it wasn’t clinical, but she should have had some form of therapy. She could’ve gotten treatment, done something besides drink herself to death. Becca knew her opinion was tempered because of her medical training and because of the man trembling in her arms. But like Cord, she didn’t understand.
“Mr. Prescott.” A woman’s voice interrupted them. “I can’t find Nicki. I’ve looked everywhere.”
Cord drew away and got to his feet. He stood at least six foot two, much taller than his brothers. “Don’t worry, I’ll find her,” he said in a tired voice. “She’s been hiding a lot since her mother…” He stopped, unable to finish the sentence.
Becca also stood, her heart aching for this man. “I’m sure she’ll feel better when she sees you,” she said softly.
He blinked distractedly at her. “Thank you, Becca,” he murmured, walking away.
He knows who I am. It was silly, but she couldn’t shake the warm feeling that gave her.
She hurried over to Colton. “I’ve got to get back to Houston,” she told him.
“I know, and I appreciate your coming.” Frowning, Colton ran one hand through his blond hair; until recently he’d worn it shoulder-length and she guessed he wasn’t used to this newly short style. “I saw you talking to Cord. Did he say anything?”
“Just that he doesn’t understand why this happened.”
“Yeah, none of us do.” He shrugged. “Cord keeps everything inside. Doesn’t let his feelings out. We’re worried about him.”
“Cord will be fine.” Blanche, Colton’s mother, spoke up. Becca had never met Blanche before today. She’d heard Colton talk about her for years, and it was quite an experience meeting her in the flesh. In her sixties, she dressed as if she were much younger. She wore a tight-fitting black dress that ended four inches above her knees. The plunging neckline showed off her ample breasts and the diamonds around her neck. Her bleached blond hair was styled in a stiff pageboy, but no amount of artifice could hide the aging on her face.
“Anette was never right for him, anyway,” Blanche was saying. “She hated the ranch and the cows and horses. I never figured she’d take the easy way out, though. I wonder who she thought was gonna take care of that kid upstairs. It certainly isn’t gonna be me.”
As Blanche walked off, hips swaying, Colton remarked with raised eyebrows, “Charming, isn’t she?”
Becca didn’t say anything. She could only stare after the woman in stunned silence. Blanche was crude and unbelievably hard-hearted. Still, Becca didn’t know why she was surprised; she knew the story of Blanche Duffy and Claybourne Prescott. Blanche had married Claybourne when she was eighteen. He’d been sixty. It wasn’t a love match—she’d wanted security and he’d wanted a son. His first wife and eldest daughter had died in a car accident. His second daughter, Edith, was still alive and in her seventies. She lived on the ranch, and Colton had mentioned that the relationship between Blanche and Edith was strained. Having met both ladies, Becca had no problem imagining the situation. Edith was a quiet, demure person, and Becca was sure that Blanche made her life a living hell. The Prescott family was an eccentric group, to say the least.
She kissed Colton’s cheek. “Talk to you later.”
“I’ll call when I get back to Houston,” he said.
Becca wished again that there was a spark between them. But they were just friends. Not for the first time, she wondered how Colton felt about her—whether he hoped for more than the easy companionship they now shared. They never discussed their relationship, but since Colton had opened a branch office of his computer company in Houston, they spent a lot of evenings and weekends together. Colton was almost forty, and if he harbored feelings for her, they had to talk about it. Why was she thinking about this today? she asked herself as she went into the foyer to get her purse. She and Colton had a good friendship and they were both adult enough to accept that. She glanced at her watch—three-ten. She’d better get moving.
Before she could reach the front door, she saw a small bare foot sticking out of a partially opened closet. It had to be Nicki. Becca opened the door and found a little blond girl sitting on the floor. Her curls were everywhere and her pink nightgown was wrinkled. She clung to a doll that was as big as she was.
“Hi,” Becca said.
Nicki didn’t answer. She buried her face in the doll’s hair.
“Your daddy’s looking for you.”
At the mention of her father, Nicki raised her head. Her eyes were brown and filled with the same sadness Becca had seen in Cord’s.
“I can’t find my mommy,” Nicki said in a tiny voice. “Daddy said she went to heaven, but I can’t find her.”
Becca’s heart crumbled inside her, and she dropped to the floor and gathered the child into her arms, just as she’d done with her father. Nicki nestled against her.
“My mommy tells me a story,” Nicki whimpered. “I can’t sleep until Mommy tells me a story.”
“I can tell you a story,” Becca murmured, gently brushing blond curls away from Nicki’s face. “I have a brother who’s seven and I tell him stories. He likes the ones about monsters and dragons.”
Nicki shook her head. “I don’t like monsters. They ’care me.”
“What kind of stories do you like?”
“The princess one” was her quick answer. “The princess with the fairy godmother.”
Why did every little girl love that story? Just wait, little princess, life will change your mind. There are no fairy godmothers in this world. And as for princes, forget it. They’re all frogs. God, was that cynical or what? She didn’t actually feel that way, did she?
She searched her mind, trying to remember the story. “Once upon a time there was a girl named Cinderella. She lived with her wicked stepmom and mean stepsisters. They made her scrub the floors and do the laundry, and they were very unkind to her.”
“That was bad,” Nicki said.
“Very bad,” Becca agreed. “Then one day her fairy godmother changed Cinderella’s rags into a beautiful dress, and a handsome prince came and saved her from the wicked stepmother. They rode off into the sunset on his big horse and lived happily ever after.” That was a drastically shortened version, but it seemed to satisfy Nicki.
Nicki stared at her with wide eyes. “My daddy rides a horse. Is he the prince?”
Before Becca could form a response, Cord appeared in the doorway. “Nicki, baby, I’ve been looking all over for you.” He reached down and drew Nicki out of Becca’s arms. As he did, his hand brushed against her breast, and a current of warmth shot through her whole body. This was crazy! His touch was innocent and unintentional and didn’t mean a thing. Her emotions were just highly charged.
Nicki hid her face against Cord’s shoulder, still clutching the doll. Cord stretched