The Cowboy's Forever Family (9 page)

“You might be able to better absorb the kick if we adjust your stance a little bit.” He reached for her waist—or where her waist used to be—and gently turned her hips to the angle he'd used when he was shooting.

“You'd think I'd be used to absorbing kicks by now. I'm convinced Baby Beckett is a future soccer player.”

He shared a rich, low laugh with her and his chest rumbled against her shoulders. She glanced back at him and grinned.

He cleared his throat. “Okay, then. Back to work. There. Now put a bullet in the chamber and straighten your arms.”

He stood directly behind her with his arms on either side of her as he made small adjustments to her shoulders and elbows. She knew she needed to be concentrating on everything he was telling her—she was trying to shoot a
gun
, after all—but all she could think about was the strength of his biceps, the leathery, earthy smell that was distinctly Slade. His warm breath brushed her cheek as he instructed her in the fine points of her grip.

There were a thousand reasons why she shouldn't be thinking about Slade, or feeling the gentle poke of tentative emotions springing up like flowers pushing their way through the uncooperative ground of winter. No matter how many times she inwardly scolded herself for recognizing the chemistry between them, her contrary heart and mind refused to listen.

She knew the exact moment Slade felt it, too. He stiffened but didn't immediately draw away from her. The tension was almost palpably crackling between them and she barely resisted the urge to melt further into his embrace.

Was he struggling as much as she was with what should not and could not be? She should be strong, be the one to break the embrace, or at least shoot the gun. That was bound to break the electric moment between them. But no matter how much her mind told her to withdraw, she could not find the strength of will even to pull the trigger.

Slade made a sound from deep in his throat and stepped away from her. She could see the tension rippling across his shoulders and the tautness around his jaw. Jagged pangs of guilt assaulted her. She felt as if she was betraying Brody—because she missed the sheltered feeling of Slade's embrace the moment it was gone.

Where had this come from?

She barely even
liked
Slade. It didn't make any sense that she would be attracted to him, even remotely. She must be more hormonal than she realized. It was the only explanation that made any sense, and she clung to it desperately.

Slade appeared to be every bit as uncomfortable as she felt. Color rose in his cheeks, staining right through the shadow of stubble on his face. His eyes, always an extraordinary shade of blue, glittered darkly and even more fiercely than usual.

What was he thinking?

She met his gaze for a second but his eyes were unreadable. Had she imagined what had just happened between them? Had she been the only one to feel the chemistry between them? That would be even worse than if he'd felt an attraction as well, because that left her feeling like every kind of fool.

“I think you've got it,” Slade said, his usually rich baritone taking on a deeper, huskier quality. “You can shoot whenever you're ready.”

He kept a light fingerhold underneath her elbow as a silent reminder to keep her arms steady, but otherwise he physically distanced himself from her and she felt it wholeheartedly, the emptiness where once there was warmth. She hadn't realized until this moment how completely alone she felt.

She'd experienced similar emotions in her life, the barren ache in her chest, only a few times before, as she grieved when her parents had died, and when Brody had been taken from her before his time.

But Slade was here. He was real. Strong. Steady.

Alive.

His fingertips barely brushed her elbow and yet every one of her nerve endings was hypersensitive to his touch.

And he was waiting for her to pull the trigger.

Eyes open
, she reminded herself silently.

Eyes open.

Her throat was ragged and dry. That was good advice, and not just for shooting the handgun. She needed to keep her wits about her where Slade was concerned. He was a man with a trail of broken hearts paved miles behind him. She would have to be emotionally blind to entertain the notion of becoming the next in his string of conquests, even for a moment.

That would never happen. She wouldn't
let
it happen. She not only had herself to consider—there was her unborn child. And that reality would affect every decision she made from here on out for the rest of her life.

She took aim, braced for impact and brushed her finger across the trigger. This time she was ready for the pop and kick of the weapon, but not the ting of the bullet hitting aluminum as one of the cans leaped and plunged.

Her breath came out in an audible gasp. Slade whooped and held his hands in the air in the symbol of victory.

“You did it! Only your second time around and you hit the target. That's no easy feat. Way to go, princess.”

She wasn't sure whether his enthusiasm stemmed from the fact that she'd hit the can or because he'd been the one to teach her, but she couldn't avoid the pride that welled in her at her accomplishment. She'd hit the target. Who would have thought she had it in her?

She'd done it. Not just shot a gun, but conquered a fear.

And maybe she'd even grown to understand a little more what made men like Brody and Slade tick. She had to admit the flush of adrenaline coursing through her was rather addictive. She felt more alive than she had in months. Was this why men like Slade and Brody did what they did—rode bulls, became policemen, carried weapons?

“You want to give it another go?” Slade asked, his voice laced with enthusiasm. “I still have plenty of rounds left.”

Laney shook her head and carefully offered him the gun. She'd wanted to prove something to herself—and maybe to Slade—and she had. But now that she was coming down from the thrill of the moment, her hands were shaking again and her heart was hammering. She thought it was probably best to take a break and rest. She lowered herself onto the blanket Slade had thoughtfully brought along and spread across the grass for her.

She watched as he unholstered his belt and placed the gun in the lockbox he'd brought along with him. He dropped down beside her and stretched his legs, bracing himself on one elbow.

“I knew you could do it.” He smiled at her, his gaze warm, and she had to look away in order not to drown in the blue of his eyes.

“I didn't,” she admitted softly.

He ran his index finger lightly across her jaw. She forced herself to breathe and not to stiffen under his touch, no matter how much it affected her. She knew better than to give a man like Slade even the smallest hint of acknowledgment, or he would push his advantage, and she wasn't certain she was strong enough to resist it right now.

“You don't give yourself enough credit.”

She sputtered. “As I recall, it wasn't all that long ago that you weren't giving me any credit at all.”

He had the good grace to wince. “Touché.”

“But then again, I didn't give you much of a chance, either, did I?”

“With good reason.”

She didn't know what he meant by that statement, but she had the strangest notion they were speaking of completely different things.

“Well, that's all behind us now, isn't it?”

“Is it?”

Now she
knew
he was talking about something different, but what she didn't know was how to ask him what he meant.

“For Baby Beckett's sake,” she clarified, hoping he'd take the lead and expand on the subject, give her a hint as to where his mind had gone.

He didn't. He simply shifted his gaze to somewhere over her shoulder and nodded in agreement. “For the baby.”

Feeling the conversation was at an impasse, she searched her mind for another less uncomfortable topic.

“Why did you decide to become a police officer?”

“I'm hungry. Are you hungry? I wish I'd thought to pack lunch for us. I could really go for an apple right now.”

She raised a brow. He was going to avoid this subject, as well?

He correctly interpreted her expression and shrugged his free shoulder. “I'd like to claim altruism and say it was entirely for the good of the community, but that wouldn't be the truth, or at least the whole truth.”

“Why, then?”

“Excitement. The thrill of the moment. The chance to carry a gun. Kind of a tough-guy thing to do. My two older brothers run the ranch my folks passed down to us, so I'm really not needed there. Maybe it would have been different if I'd been like Brody—”

His sentence slammed to a halt, but she didn't interrupt as he gathered his thoughts.

“An only child, that is,” he finally continued, his voice gravelly and full of pain. His brow furrowed. “Grant and Carol both assumed he'd eventually tone down his wild ways and settle on the ranch. And he probably would have, if it hadn't been for me.”

She reached for his hand before she had the chance to think better of it. “His legacy will be honored. I promise you that.”

“I know.”

His gaze met hers. It was the first time since she'd met him that he had affirmed her commitment to doing what was best for Baby Beckett, the first time he'd really acknowledged the reality of her relationship with Brody at all.

“He'd be proud of you, you know.” Slade absently linked his fingers with hers. “He would have waved his hat in the air and bragged long and loud about how he'd married the prettiest, bravest woman in all the world. And one who knew how to shoot a gun.” His eyes were still sad but one side of his mouth kicked up.

Despite the grief that rose to the surface as they spoke of Brody, she smiled gently. The way Slade had described the scene—that was all Brody. Slade had known and loved his friend in a way she'd never been able to. She'd never been Brody's friend. Had never known him that deeply. She'd never been much of anything to him.

“Did Brody not want to become a rancher?” she asked, realizing that he must have had similar motives for becoming a cop and not settling down at home.

“He wasn't like me. He always wanted to be a part of his family's legacy eventually. He dreamed of the day he'd have a family to share it with—of bringing you home to the ranch, once he fell in love with you.” His voice sounded strangled. “The truth is, he followed me on to the police force because I always prodded him to do so. I was a bad influence on him. I knew it, and I let it happen anyway. I was an arrogant jerk.”

“I don't see how becoming a policeman would be having a bad influence on him,” she said, and realized she meant it. Up until now she'd seen the two only as men pursuing danger on a lark, but now she suspected there was much more to it than that, even if Slade was unwilling to admit it.

His gaze widened. “Being a cop wasn't what he wanted to do with his life. I shouldn't have pushed him to it. And there—there were other ways I led him astray.” He gestured toward her with his chin. “Ways that hurt innocent people.”

She didn't pretend not to know what he meant. He was honestly acknowledging his part in the way Brody had behaved after their hasty and ill-thought-out marriage. But there was so much more to it than what he was saying aloud, layers she'd only just begun to explore. She wasn't anywhere near ready to discuss it all, to shred through the surface with Slade. And she was fairly certain he didn't want to go there, either.

“Have you ever had to shoot someone?” This time she was the one to throw a question right out of left field, but it had the desired effect. He sat up abruptly and dropped her hand as if it burned him.

“No, I—” He paused. “No, I haven't. And I hope it never comes to that. But I wouldn't hesitate to do so if it was necessary to protect Serendipity, to keep the people I know and love safe from harm.”

A week ago, she would not have believed that answer coming from Slade McKenna's mouth. She'd not thought him capable of deep commitment to an honorable cause, much less his ability to admit it out loud.

Yet now, at this moment, she'd not only expected the answer he'd given, but she believed it. It unnerved her to think about the ramifications of what she'd discovered today. Because the Slade she'd built up in her mind as the worst kind of scoundrel was no longer that man.

Maybe he never had been.

Chapter Eight

S
lade was anxious to get to the Becketts so he could see Laney again, even if only to test his new theories about her—he hesitated to call them feelings.

Somewhere along the way, something had shifted between the two of them and Slade was at a loss as to how to describe where things stood. He only wished he knew what had changed. He couldn't believe he was admitting this, even to himself, but maybe he'd been unfair in his judgment of Laney. Could his perception of her as a purely selfish woman who'd married Brody and then tried to change him have been so far off?

It was as if his eyes were suddenly opened and he was seeing her for the first time. He'd always acknowledged her outer beauty, even from the first time he and Brody had noticed her. A man would have to be blind not to recognize how pretty she was with her caramel-brown hair and deep chocolate-brown eyes. He'd always assumed that was what Brody had been attracted to—her outward beauty. No doubt that had been part of it. Laney had turned Brody's head from the very first moment he'd met the gorgeous rodeo princess.

But now Slade wondered if that was all it had been. Had Brody recognized what a treasure he had in Laney? That her sweetness extended beyond her appearance and into her heart?

Great. Now he was spouting nonsense, even if it was only in his mind. Next thing he knew, the same drivel would start coming out of his mouth. He'd have to watch everything he said from now on.

And what did it matter, anyway? No matter how Slade's feelings might have started to change, the fact was that Laney was carrying Brody's baby. Slade's job was to protect and care for both of them as Brody would have wanted him to.

No more, no less. Simple as that.

He only wished it felt as clear-cut as it should be. He had to get his act together, and fast, just the way he did before going into the arena. Riding a bull was as much a mental exercise as it was a physical one. He needed to extend the same principles to his friendship with Laney. Keep his wits about him at all times.

When he arrived at the Becketts', Slade first checked the ranch office. That's where he usually found Laney when he came to visit her, sitting behind her desk and up to her cute black reading glasses in paperwork.

He couldn't help but be impressed by how well she'd taken to ranch management—the part of it she could do now, anyway. She'd said she'd worked at a large marketing firm in business management, but running a ranch could hardly require the same skills. Yet she handled it all with grace, picking up on the unfamiliar aspects quickly and competently. And he had the sneaking suspicion that once Baby Beckett was born, Laney would tackle the rest of ranch management with a vengeance, becoming as equally capable on the back of a horse as she was behind the desk.

The office was empty, so Slade went looking for Laney in the house. He shucked his boots and hung up his hat in the mudroom and then started checking for Laney room by room, passing first through the kitchen and then into the dining area. Carol and Grant appeared not to be home and he was beginning to wonder if Laney was absent as well, when he heard the warm Texas lilt of her voice coming from the living room.

“It's only a two and a half hour drive. I'll be fine.” There was a pause and then she continued. “I'll stop at least once an hour and get out and stretch. Yes, I promise. My ankles are swollen enough without adding a long, nonstop drive into the mix.”

She was going somewhere? How had he not known about that? She hadn't mentioned it to him, but then again, why would she?

Still, wherever she was going for her little day trip, Slade was determined to go with her—to make sure she kept the promises she was making to whomever she was speaking with on the other end of the phone. Two and a half hours one way meant a total of five hours on the road in one day, assuming she was making a round trip in one day. That was an awful lot for a woman in her condition. She might think she was up to it but he didn't want to take any chances.

He rounded the corner just as she pressed the end button on her cell. “I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you say that you—” His breath left him in a rush when he spotted the two suitcases by the door.

He felt as if he'd been sucker punched.

He tried to inhale but couldn't force air into his lungs. It was as if all the oxygen had left the room. “You're leaving?”

As in
leaving
, leaving.
No, no, no, no, no.

“Yes.” Her eyebrows arched, surprise clearly written on her expression.

That wasn't much of an answer, and it wasn't anywhere close to what Slade wanted—
needed
—to hear.

“Just like that? You're out of here?”

“Just like that,” she repeated with a smile. “Don't worry. Carol and Grant already know I'm going.”

Slade's pulse ratcheted. “And they're okay with this?” Surely Brody's parents wouldn't want Laney traipsing all over Texas—or worse yet...

The thought that had first occurred to him when he'd seen her suitcases assaulted him now. What if she was leaving for good?

“Okay with it?” She sounded genuinely surprised. “They were the ones who suggested it.”

He felt as if he'd missed something major. He and Laney were evidently talking at cross-purposes. Grant and Carol were sending her away? Sending their
grandchild
away? It didn't make any sense.

Maybe he was the one who'd misinterpreted what was going on. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe there was a simple answer. He hoped.

“Where are you headed?” He hoped he didn't sound as desperate as he felt, but he was choking on the news that she was leaving. As selfish as it was, he couldn't let her walk out that door, taking Baby Beckett away from him before he or she was even born. There were too many suitcases for it to be a short trip, and the baby was due in a month.

And it wasn't just Baby Beckett whom he stood to lose. The thought of never seeing Laney again—well, he simply couldn't go there. Not for a second. This was quickly becoming his worst nightmare.

“I'm off to my sister's place in Houston. That's where I lived before coming to Serendipity, you know.”

He did know. So what did that mean? Had she changed her mind? Was she going back to live with her sister? What had changed that was causing her to run off to her sister's place?

“You'd give up? Just like that?”

She gaped at him. “What do you mean,
give up
? I can't believe you'd even accuse me of such a thing. Don't you know me well enough by now to know I don't quit at
anything
?”

He did. He
thought
he did.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, but Laney misinterpreted the gesture as a negative response. Heat rose to her face, staining her cheeks a fierce red. Which would have been pretty, had she not been glaring daggers at him. She clenched her fists and for a moment Slade thought she was going to deck him, but she either decided against it or the movement was merely a way for her to control her temper.

“You can't leave.” He knew he was pleading, but for maybe the first time in his life, he put his ego on the back burner for the sake of someone else. Two someone's.

She flared up like a peahen, her feathers clearly ruffled as she invaded his personal space. They were only inches away from each other. He was several inches taller than she so he shouldn't have felt intimidated by the move, but somehow, he did. He'd rather not have to deal with an angry Laney.

“You don't get to tell me what to do, you big oaf. I can't believe it. I thought you'd changed, but you're still the same overbearing jerk you've always been.”

He should have been offended, but he was too busy trying to mentally regroup. Her nearness was doing a number on him, stirring his senses. He couldn't think straight over the woodsy scent of her perfume, her glossy full lips—even if they were turned down at the corners—and the sparks emanating from her eyes. For a couple of seconds he completely forgot what they were talking—arguing—about, or that she'd just called him all kinds of names, none of them pleasant.

She wasn't playing fair standing this close to him, although from the harsh expression on her face, he doubted she had any idea of the impact she was having over him.

“I—er—” he stammered, knowing if he didn't get a handle on this conversation, it was going to head right down the garden path, and he had a pretty good idea of how she would respond if he did what he was thinking about doing, which was taking her into his arms and kissing the daylights out of her.

Now
that
would take the wind out of her sails.

It would also probably get him slapped, and rightly so. It would prove her point—that he hadn't really changed at all, falling back on his old habits to get his way. He'd never be able to convince her that the emotions he was experiencing were nothing like anything he'd ever had before in his life, brought on by the threat of her walking out for good.

“You assume the worst of me and think I'm abandoning my responsibilities when you don't even know what you're talking about,” she charged, visibly refusing to be cowed by his superior height, not that he was trying to impose on her or take advantage. Not like that, anyway. He didn't dare move any closer, which meant he needed to back off.

Now would be good.

It struck him as humorous that she'd accused him of not knowing what he was talking about. She couldn't possibly know what he was thinking, since the only thing he'd managed to do so far was stutter nonsensically. Wouldn't she be surprised if she knew what was running through his head right now?

Surprised. And angry.

“You're right, princess. I
don't
know. So why don't you enlighten me?” He kept his tone deep and even, knowing the expression of endearment he'd purposefully used would be enough to get her to back off.

Or deck him. That possibility was definitely still on the table.

She growled in frustration and stepped away from him, turning on her heels so her back was to him, then whirling around to face him again. Steam might not be literally coming from her ears, but figuratively, it was doing all that and more. “You. Are. Incorrigible.”

He grinned and winked at her. His natural charm usually worked with women, getting him ahead in the conversation. Though he doubted it would work with Laney, he had no other tools to use. “Thank you.”

“That wasn't meant to be a compliment. You are the most exasperating man I've ever had the misfortune to meet.”

That bad, huh?
This whole conversation brought him back to the first time he'd seen her after she'd moved in with the Becketts, wandering around helplessly on the grassy range. Good thing he'd come by then and pointed her toward home. She was clearly as lost now as she'd been then, and it was equally in her favor that he'd come around now, because instead of being determined to make a go of it in Serendipity, she was now apparently set on leaving.

Which he couldn't let her do, obviously. But at this point he wasn't sure how to talk her out of it.

“Why
are
you leaving?” He slumped onto the couch and extended his arm over the back, giving her a little bit of space and hoping it would help her open up and tell him what was really going on, because he still couldn't even begin to guess. He'd thought everything was going so well for her here.

When she didn't budge, he gestured to a nearby softly pillowed armchair, thinking it would be the most comfortable for her. “At least sit down and talk to me about it.”

He hoped he didn't sound as clueless and frustrated as he felt. His senses were still on overload and now his mind and heart were, too.

She shook her head and joined him on the couch. “If I sit down in that chair I'll never be able to get out of it again.”

“Oh. I didn't think—”

“You wouldn't know. I had no idea how limiting some aspects of late pregnancy are until I experienced them. Sometimes I feel like a beached whale.”

“Not even close,” he assured her. Was that was this was about? Did she feel she didn't have enough support here? Had handling the stress of the ranch business become too much for her and she was worried about Baby Beckett's health?

If that's all it was, he could handle it. Whatever support she needed to stay on at the Becketts', he could and would provide.

“I'll do anything to help you,” he vowed solemnly, placing a hand over his heart. “You just have to ask and I'll be there for you, and for the baby. You don't have to lift a finger if you don't want to. As far as I'm concerned, you can just rest on the couch all day and read your books. I'll take care of everything else, I promise.”

“I don't need—” she started, and then stopped, her eyes widening and her jaw slackening. “Oh. So
that's
what this is about. You think I'm leaving permanently. Why didn't you just say that in the first place and save us both all this grief?”

He jerked his chin toward the suitcases by the door, his throat tightening. “Aren't you leaving?”

“No. Yes—but not in the way you mean. I'm just going to visit my sister for a few days before it becomes too cumbersome for me to travel.”

Relief flooded through him. He was surprised by the strength of his emotions.
She was coming back. With Baby Beckett.
He didn't even want to examine why his first thought had been of Laney and not the baby.

“I'll be gone for three days.”

“With all that luggage? You have to admit that's pretty condemning, two suitcases for three days. You can't blame me for getting the wrong impression.”

“I travel prepared for anything.”

“I guess.”

“So you see, you were worried over nothing. You don't have to worry about me, or about the ranch, for that matter. I'll be back so fast you won't even miss me.”