The Cowboy on Her Trail Read online

  So what was new?

  “There you are,” her father snapped. “You get my part?”

  “I did.” She tossed him the sack. “I have a bone to pick with the two of you.”

  “Oh, do you, now?” her father said. “Going to take us to task, are you?”

  “I don’t appreciate your discussing my private, intimate business in front of customers.”

  “We would never—” her mother began.

  “You did. Both of you. Just a little while ago. Justin Chisholm came in and overheard your argument. Thanks to you, he now knows I’m pregnant.”

  “He what?” her father demanded. “You mean he sneaked in here and eavesdropped on our private conversation?”

  “I mean you were shouting at the top of your lungs at each other. He was coming back here looking for me and couldn’t help but overhear.”

  “Wait a minute.” Blaire’s mother narrowed her eyes and tapped a manicured nail to her cheek. “Did you go out with him here a while back?”

  Here it comes, Blaire thought. She wouldn’t lie to her parents, because it would serve no purpose. “Yes,” she said.

  “Is he the sorry bastard who did this to you?”

  Blaire arched her brow. “Only if you were a sorry bastard when you ‘did this’ to Mother.”

  “You watch your language, young lady,” he snapped.

  “Huh,” Blaire said in disgust. “What you really want to know is if Justin is the father of my baby. The answer is yes. And now he knows about it.”

  “Well, then,” her mother said cheerfully. “We better start planning the wedding. How soon do you think we can put it together?”

  “There isn’t going to be any wedding,” Blaire said firmly.

  “What do you mean?” her mother asked, shocked.

  “Is that sorry scoundrel refusing to marry you? Well, don’t you worry about that. I’ll set him straight quick enough.”

  “You’ll do no such thing.” Blaire glared at her father. “You won’t say a word to him, not a single word. Justin and I are not getting married, and that’s the way I want it. And that’s final.”

  Her father bent forward and got in her face. “Don’t you be telling me what’s final and what’s not. I say that boy is gonna do right by you, and you’re gonna let him.”

  “You think Justin and I should get married just because I’m pregnant?”

  “What better reason is there?” her mother wanted to know.

  “I don’t know, and it sure worked well for the two of you, didn’t it?” Blaire knew she was going too far, but this was one line she would not allow her parents to cross.

  “Do you want the two of us to end up as miserable as the two of you?” she demanded, nursing her anger, feeding it. “You want us to wind up hating each other the way you do? Blame the child for every lousy thing that happens, the way you’ve always blamed me?”

  “We have never blamed you for anything. You just mind what you say, young lady.”

  “Every time one of you gets unhappy with the other, you’ve always said that if it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have had to get married and none of this—whatever is happening at the moment, anything from plumbing leaks to hurt feelings—none of it would be happening if it wasn’t for me. Is that what you want? You want your grandchild raised feeling like an albatross around her parents’ neck?”

  Her parents stared at her, speechless.

  “What?” she demanded. “Did you think I haven’t noticed, from the time I was old enough to understand the word blame? Don’t try to tell me you never meant to make me feel this way, because this is exactly how you meant to make me feel. Responsible, to blame, for every bad thing that’s ever happened in your life.”

  “Blaire, honey,” her mother began.

  “Don’t, Mama. Just don’t say anything. I am not going to marry a man I don’t love, who doesn’t love me, and that’s final. The two of you are going to stay completely out of this, out of my business. If you don’t, if you start meddling, I’ll leave and disappear and I won’t come back. And that’s a promise.”

  “Well, now,” her father said. “I think you’re being stupid.”

  “We only want what’s best for you and the baby,” her mother said.

  “Do you think it’s best for this baby or any other to have two parents who can’t stand to be in the same room together? Who fight all the time and don’t care what hurtful words they use in front of the child? Is that what you think is best for me and the baby?”

  Chapter Three

  “Where are you going?” Sloan asked Justin. “I thought you were going to help me work on this tractor.”

  “You don’t need me for that,” Justin said. He needed something physical to do. Something hard and sweaty that didn’t require thought or care. “Cattle and horses will need more hay by tomorrow. Thought I’d go load the hay trailer.”

  “If you ask me,” Sloan said, tossing a wrench into the toolbox and fishing out a smaller one. “I’d guess you’d probably rather have hemorrhoids.”

  “Than load hay? I don’t mind loading hay.”

  “Than have woman trouble. Which is what I figure you’ve got.”

  “You figure that, do you?”

  “I do. Now I’m trying to figure out which woman it is who’s got you so tied up in knots.”

  Justin wanted, badly, to pour it all out to big brother and let Sloan tell him what to do next, how to handle the situation. But he was a grown man, and this was an intensely private matter for him and Blaire. He figured he was going to need some advice along the way, but right now he needed to keep things between him and Blaire. It wasn’t fair to go around revealing her condition before she was ready for people to know.

  He shook his head at Sloan. “I’m not ready to say just yet, but I will be before long. Just let it be for now, okay?”

  “Is it serious?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  Sloan studied his younger brother for a long moment, then decided he could either browbeat the kid until he spilled his guts, or he could keep his mouth shut—which for a caretaker like himself was extremely difficult—and let Justin run his own life.

  He gave a slow nod.

  Justin returned the gesture and turned to go.

  “Justin?”

  Justin stopped but didn’t look back. “Yeah?”

  “I’m always here, whenever you’re ready to talk.”

  Justin looked over his shoulder at the man who had been both father and brother to him all his life, even though there were only seven years separating them. “I know, Sloan. Thanks.”

  There was something therapeutic about hefting one sixty-five pound bale of hay after another and slinging it onto the trailer. Usually. It was a handy chore to tackle when a man needed to work off a mad, or a little extra energy.

  Today it wasn’t working. With every bale he lifted and tossed, he got madder. He had long since shed his coat, and now his shirt was getting damp. He’d worked up such a head of steam that the only way he knew the temperature was dropping was by the white cloud formed by each breath he huffed out.

  If he was going to talk to Blaire again—and he damn well was—he’d better get this anger, this sense of betrayal under control.

  He would like to say that she was the only one he was mad at, but it took two to make a baby, and he was the other half of this pair. If there was blame to be passed around, then it belonged to both of them. They’d even used a condom, both times. But condoms didn’t come with a guarantee, or the makers would go broke paying child support for millions of children.

  That Blaire was pregnant was not what angered him. He couldn’t be angry about a child of his own making. But he could be and was angry that she knew and hadn’t told him. From all indications, she’d had no plans to tell him any time in the near future.

  He tossed another bale then, shoulders aching from not pacing himself, he sat on the fender of the trailer.

  If he looked at the situation from
Blaire’s viewpoint—at least the best he could, considering that it wasn’t his body that was invaded, which would now grow all out of shape and make him sick and maybe leave scars and let’s not even think about the agony of childbirth.

  Okay, so he couldn’t get a good grasp on her viewpoint. But he could guess that she might be upset about suddenly finding herself pregnant when she hadn’t planned to be. It might take a little getting used to.

  Then, too, she would have to make certain she really was pregnant. They sold those test kits at every drugstore, grocery, and discount store in the country. Then maybe a visit to a doctor to confirm.

  Justin had no idea what such a visit might entail, but he was pretty sure that it wasn’t a barrel of laughs unless a woman was eagerly looking forward to the good news of an impending blessed event.

  He didn’t imagine Blaire had been any too eager to learn she was about to become a mother.

  Justin had known her, although not well, for years. He’d been trying to get to know her better since last summer when she came back to town. He’d finally got her to go out with him, but only a couple of times before that night they’d spent together. Now she was carrying his child. She obviously was not happy about having this tie to him.

  What a kicker, he thought. She was gorgeous, smart, sexy, and she was carrying his child. And she wanted nothing to do with him.

  It was that last part that had him grinding his teeth and tossing hay bales.

  Maybe it was just going to be too bad if she wanted nothing to do with him. She was going to need help throughout her pregnancy, and certainly after that. Financial help, emotional support, physical aid.

  As the father of her child it was his duty—his right—to provide that help. She might throw it in his face, but one of the things he liked about her was her intelligence. She wasn’t stupid enough to turn down needed help. Unless her pride got in her way.

  The next day he decided to find out. He drove to the feed store, determined to see her and talk to her.

  First, he had to get through her father.

  “You!” At the first sight of Justin, Thomas Harding vacated his stool behind the counter so fast that it clattered to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

  Justin did his best to put out of his mind the fact that Harding kept a loaded shotgun behind the counter. “Mr. Harding.” Justin nodded. “I came to see Blaire.”

  “Hmph. Way I hear it,” he said, something akin to hatred in his eyes, “you’ve seen more than enough of my little girl.”

  Justin swallowed. “She told you.”

  “She told us. You’re gonna do the right thing by her, Chisholm. I mean to see to that.”

  “Whatever she wants, whatever she needs,” Justin said. “That’s why I’m here.” Whether she wants me here or not. “Is she in the office?”

  “Yeah, but not for long. If you wanna catch her you better get back there. And when you’ve seen her, you and I have some more talking to do, boy.”

  “Yessir, Mr. Harding. I imagine we do.”

  “In fact,” Harding said as he started around the end of the counter toward Justin, “I think maybe we better do our talking right now, you and me.” The gleam in the man’s eyes promised retribution for the wrongs done to his daughter.

  Justin held up both hands. “Now look, Mr. Harding—”

  The bell over the front door jingled, announcing the arrival of more customers.

  Harding stepped back behind the counter. “Go on,” he said to Justin. “I’ll get to you later.”

  How clichéd was that? Justin wondered. He’d just been saved by the bell.

  As he stepped toward the side door that led to the office behind the outer room, Mr. Harding mumbled something he couldn’t quite catch. It sounded a little like, “Keep your pants zipped.”

  Justin halted and looked back. “Sir?”

  Mr. Harding scowled. “It’s a little like closing the barn door after the horse is out,” he hissed quietly so the two customers at the other end of the room wouldn’t hear, “but keep your…hands to yourself around my daughter.”

  Justin figured Blaire knew where she did and didn’t want him to put his hands, but he didn’t think her daddy would take too kindly to hearing that, so Justin merely nodded and went on his way.

  At the door to the office, he stopped. “What the hell?”

  Boxes were everywhere, on the desk, the chair, stacked on the floor. Boxes of file folders, office supplies and equipment, supply catalogs. It appeared that everything in the office was being crammed into boxes.

  Blaire was on her knees emptying out a bottom file drawer and evidently had not heard him.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked.

  Blaire let out a squeak and slapped a hand over her heart. “You scared the daylights out of me.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I guess you were concentrating on what you’re doing. What are you doing?”

  She flapped her arms out, toward the boxes on either side of her. “What’s it look like?”

  “It looks like you’re moving the office.”

  “You got it in one.”

  “Where to?”

  “To my old room in my parents’ house.”

  He looked around the cramped space, which had been added on years ago for office space. “You don’t like it here anymore?”

  She sighed and rose to her feet. “Why are you here, Justin?”

  “I came to talk to you.”

  “I told you yesterday, I don’t want or need anything from you.”

  “I know you did. I happened to disagree. I think we should talk about it.”

  She sighed again and rubbed her forehead. “I’m moving the office to the house because I don’t think the pesticide and herbicide fumes in this place are good for the baby.”

  Her answer gave him pause. He’d been right that she was going to need help. This was one of what would probably turn out to be dozens of changes she would undergo during the coming weeks and months.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” he told her. “Are any of these boxes ready?”

  She looked at him with suspicion. “Why?”

  He rolled his eyes. “So I can set fire to them. So I can carry a load over for you.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “As far as I’m concerned you could have. For that matter, I think you should have. But you didn’t. I volunteered. I’ll go get the two-wheeled cart.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Why what?”

  “I told you yesterday I didn’t want or need anything from you. Why are you here offering help?”

  “Why are you afraid of accepting it?”

  Her spine stiffened as if someone had replaced it with a steel rod. “I’m not afraid.”

  “Fine.” But he could see in her eyes that she wasn’t sure if her statement was truth, or merely wishful thinking. “Then there’s no reason not to accept my help. If it worries you, pretend I’m just the hired help. Back in a minute.”

  He turned and walked out before she could comment. She wanted to send him packing. He could read that much in her eyes. If he could get her to talk to him, trust him, maybe she would tell him why.

  He found the two-wheeled cart in the giant storeroom next to the loading dock. How many times had he backed up to that very dock and helped one of Harding’s employees, or Harding himself, stack a load of feed in his truck bed? Too many to count.

  Now here he was, manning the cart himself so that the mother of his unborn child could get away from the fumes that lingered in every feed store he’d ever been in.

  Blaire’s father watched Justin’s every move with a jaundiced eye.

  Blaire herself watched Justin with almost as much distrust, but her look was tempered with a touch of curiosity. She wasn’t sure what he was about. And that was fine with Justin. Better her uncertain curiosity rather than a more negative reaction.

  He stacked boxes to the top of the handles on the cart, then
followed Blaire as she led the way out into the storage room, down the loading ramp, and across the gravel drive to her parents’ two-bedroom red-brick house twenty yards behind the store.

  Mrs. Harding held the door open for them and offered Justin a tentative smile. So far she was the only member of the Harding family who didn’t seem eager to see the last of him.

  “It’ll be a tight fit turning into the hall,” she offered, “but we got a triple dresser in there, so these boxes should go all right.”

  With a little back-and-forth maneuvering of the two-wheeled cart, he got the boxes to the front bedroom with no trouble.

  The room had been stripped of everything except the blinds on the windows. He eyeballed the space and had his doubts about its adequacy.

  “Are your desk and file cabinets going to fit in here?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “We’d never get that big desk of mine through the bedroom door. I’m going to work off a folding table for now, until we figure out something else.”

  “Did you consider using the garage?” he asked.

  “Yes, but we’d have to pipe in heat and air and put a wall up in place of the big door. This is only temporary, anyway.”

  “Is it?” he asked.

  Blaire frowned at him. “You think I’m going to be pregnant the rest of my life?”

  “No, but if breathing those fumes is not healthy for the baby, it can’t be healthy for an adult, either, even if a baby’s not involved.”

  Blaire’s mother patted Justin on the arm, but she spoke to Blaire. “You picked a smart one, honey. He makes good sense.”

  Justin could see the muscle flex in Blaire’s jaw as she obviously ground her back teeth together. “I haven’t picked anybody for anything, mother, so just stop it right now.”

  “Now, honey, is that any way to talk about Justin?”

  An explosion was definitely in the making, if the fire in Blaire’s golden brown eyes was any indication. Since he was, in this case, a coward, and didn’t want to witness a daughter annihilating her mother, or vice versa, he threw himself into the breach.

  “It’s all right, Mrs. Harding.” He leaned down and whispered loudly, so Blaire would have no trouble hearing. “She’s not too happy with me right now. I’d just as soon give her a little time to get over that.”