Cowboy at the Crossroads. Linda Warren
He stopped and took a breath. “Never mind, I’ll handle Blanche. Just prepare an extra-special meal.”
Della glanced at him. “You’re very excited about this.”
“I am. My daughter’s life depends on it.”
AS BECCA WAS TRYING TO DECIDE what to wear, she thought about Nicki. The child should have adjusted to her mother’s death by now, but it was hard to judge with children. Trauma affected them differently. Becca could still hear her saying in that pitiful little voice, “I can’t find my mommy.” Death was so hard to explain to children, and Becca wasn’t convinced she could help Nicki. However, she’d certainly try.
She dressed in a tan pantsuit and brown blouse, then brushed her long brown hair and let it hang loose down her back. Working or at school, she always wore it pinned up or clipped at the nape of her neck. As a teenager, her hair was much longer, an unruly mane that used to drive Emily crazy. But these days Emily never complained about Becca’s hair. Considering everything that had happened in their lives, they got along exceptionally well.
Becca stared at her brown eyes and olive complexion in the mirror. Everyone said she was looking more and more like her mother. Becca had always thought Emily was beautiful, but she didn’t feel she was. Emily had a grace and sophistication that Becca felt she lacked. Becca was more down-to-earth in both temperament and appearance. She had far less patience than Emily and often lost her temper. Emily never did, and Becca envied that about her. Becca envied everything about her wonderful mother; maybe that was her problem.
She applied lipstick and forced herself to stop thinking. All this free time, all this soul-searching, was making her feel confused. And she wasn’t confused—she just needed to get her life and goals in perspective and then everything else would fall into place. Like her social life. Gin said she didn’t have one, but Gin was wrong. She’d dated several interns, and each occasion had proved to be an exercise in restraint. They thought sex was the normal conclusion to a date. She didn’t. She wanted love and passion—not just sex. Emily had told her when she was a teenager that sex without love was just an act and she would know when the time was right. So far, that time hadn’t happened for her. In high school, her boyfriend Tommy had pressed her continually for sex, but she’d never taken that step. Not with him or with any other man.
When she’d found out about her birth, her world had been turned upside down and she rebelled, dating guys Rose and Emily disapproved of. Still, she couldn’t degrade herself by sleeping with boys she didn’t care about merely to punish her family. Later she was so busy with her studies that love eluded her, and she refused to have sex without it. Her feelings on the matter had to do with her upbringing and with Emily’s influence. Now she was older and knew more about sex and life, but her standards hadn’t changed. She was waiting for the right man…and love. Any nice guys left out there? One came to mind and she quickly grabbed her purse. She didn’t want to keep a nice guy waiting.
BECCA HEADED FOR INTERSTATE 10 and drove out of Houston toward Beaumont. The city gave way to farmland and ranchland. Soon she saw the stone and wrought-iron entrance. The sign—Triple Creek. Prescott Ranch—appeared on a high arc above the cattle guard. She drove through, between wood rail fences, watching the grass sway gently in the breeze and the cows and horses grazing. The land was mostly flat with creeks and valleys; here and there she noticed some beautiful old oak trees.
The white stone ranch house came into view. Sprawling and roomy, it had a long front veranda with stone pillars and a wrought-iron fence that enclosed the backyard. She parked in front, grabbed her medical bag and walked to the door. She rang the bell, which she heard resounding throughout the house.
Cord opened the door, and for a moment Becca was speechless. He had on worn boots and jeans with a blue cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled up. His dark blond hair was combed neatly and curled onto his collar. His mustache and honed masculine features told Becca that here was a true Texas cowboy. That wasn’t an idle impression. She knew from what Colton had said that Cord’s appearance was a true reflection of his personality and his calling.
His mustache moved slightly as he said, “Come in, please. Sit down.”
Becca walked past him through the large foyer and into the den. She took a seat on a leather sofa.
Cord watched her for a second, then sat opposite her in a matching leather chair. A saying he’d heard many times from Gus, his ranch foreman and Della’s husband, came to mind. That gal’s been spit and polished until she shines. Cord never paid much attention to Gus’s sayings, but looking at Becca, he knew what it meant. Becca with her bright smile and sophisticated manner caught his eye like a shining star. No wonder Colton was so enamored of her.
“Thank you for coming. I’m really grateful,” he said before he got completely sidetracked.
“You’re welcome,” Becca answered, glancing around. “Where’s Nicki?”
“Upstairs in her room. As always.”
“She’s been in her room all day?”
“Yes. The only time she comes out is when I force her, and it’s getting increasingly hard to do that since she cries most of the time.”
“That’s not good, Cord,” she said in a solemn voice.
“I know—and I’m hoping you can figure out what to do,” he replied.
She saw a familiar sadness in his brown eyes, but it was much more intense than the last time, and something in her reacted strongly to that—just as before.
“Can I see her?” she asked with a catch in her voice. “I’d like to examine her.”
“Sure.” He got up and led the way toward the stairs. At the bottom, he stepped aside to let her go first. She wore medium heels and felt dwarfed by his height. But it wasn’t only that. She was very aware of Cord Prescott—as a man. Maybe it was the cowboy thing. That persona intrigued her, as it did most women. Or maybe she just empathized with him because of what he was suffering, because of his grief and his fear for his daughter.
“Second door on the left,” Cord said as they reached the landing. There were hardwood floors throughout the house and beautiful area rugs. A lot of the furniture was antique, probably dating from when the house was first built. Portraits of Prescott men were displayed on the wall of the staircase. Becca remembered Colton telling her that all the Prescott men’s names began with the letter C; it was a tradition kept alive from generation to generation. She wondered why there were no pictures of Prescott women or wives. They could be in another area of the house, she supposed, and she would definitely ask Colton about it.
Cord opened the door and they went inside. Nicki sat in a children’s rocker clutching the same doll she had a year ago. Becca was dismayed by what she saw. The child’s blond curly hair was neatly combed and in pigtails, and she wore pink shorts, a matching top and sandals—but her cheeks were hollow and her little arms and legs were so thin. She reminded Becca of anorexic teenagers she’d seen. What had happened to this child?
Cord squatted beside her. “Baby, we have company. Do you remember Becca?”
Nicki hid her face in the doll’s hair. Just as she had a year ago.
Becca knelt on the floor. “It was a long time ago, but I told you the story about Cinderella and the prince. The prince who rode a horse like your daddy. Do you remember?”
Nicki shook her head and didn’t look at her.
“Would you like me to tell you another story?”
Nicki shook her head again, but Becca wasn’t giving up.
“I know lots of stories,” Becca said. “Of course, most of them are about monsters or scary stuff that my brother, Scotty, likes. But we’re girls and we don’t care for that kind of nonsense, do we.”
Nicki still didn’t answer and seemed to burrow into the chair.
“Baby, Becca asked you a question,” Cord said softly. Nicki still