An Accidental Hero

An Accidental Hero Loree Lough A head-on collision with burned-out rodeo star Reid Alexander is the last thing actress Cammi Carlisle needs! Pregnant, widowed and considered a "has-been," Cammi is returning to her family's Texas ranch in search of forgiveness. Little does she know that Reid wants her forgiveness….Though there's sizzling chemistry between them, Reid knows a relationship would never work. Unbeknownst to Cammi, Reid was the one driving the pickup that killed her mother years ago. Even though it was a tragic accident with no one at fault, how will she ever forgive him when he can't even forgive himself? A pain like none she’d experienced sliced through Cammi’s midsection. Reid was on his feet and beside her in a heartbeat. “What’s the matter?” Try as she might, Cammi couldn’t find her voice. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gripped her stomach and prayed. Not the baby, Lord. Please don’t let it be the baby…. “Georgia,” Reid bellowed to the diner owner as he scooped Cammi up in his powerful arms, “call the emergency room. Tell them we’re on the way.” “Don’t look so scared, pretty lady,” he said after he gently deposited her inside his truck and buckled the seat belt. “Everything will be all right.” Leaning against the headrest, she closed her eyes. Stay calm, she told herself. The Father is with you. Reid reached across the seat to squeeze her hand. “Keep a good thought, okay?” “Pray, Reid,” she managed to say. “Please…pray for me….” LOREE LOUGH A full-time writer for many years, Loree Lough has produced more than 2,000 articles, dozens of short stories and novels for the young (and young at heart), and all have been published here and abroad. The award-winning author of more than thirty-five romances, Loree also writes as Cara McCormack and Aleesha Carter. A comedic teacher and conference speaker, Loree loves sharing in classrooms what she’s learned the hard way. The mother of two grown daughters, she lives in Maryland with her husband and an old-as-dirt cat named Mouser (who, until recently—when she caught and killed her first mouse—had no idea what a rodent was). An Accidental Hero Loree Lough www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) …wait on the Lord, and He shall save thee. —Proverbs 20:22 To my family, whose loving support gives me courage, and to the heroes who save us from all manner of danger without a second thought for themselves, for that is true courage. Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Letter to Reader Chapter One Cammi Carlisle had been heading east on Route 40 since dawn, doing her level best to keep her mind on the road rather than the reasons she’d left Los Angeles. It would take Herculean strength and the courage of Job, too, to tell her father everything she’d done since moving away from Texas…. Sighing, she looked away from the rain-streaked windshield long enough to glance at the blue-green numerals on her dashboard clock. Fifteen minutes, tops, and she’d be home. Dread settled over her like an itchy blanket. Her dad would never come right out and voice his disapproval of her decisions. Instead, he’d shake his head and say, “It’s your life…but I think you’ll be sorry….” He’d said it when she signed up for Art instead of Bookkeeping in high school, when she traded her scholarship to Texas U. for acting lessons at the community college, when she announced her plans to move to Hollywood and try her hand at acting. Cammi sighed, wondering how old she’d have to be before her dad no longer made her feel like a knobby-kneed, silly little— From out of nowhere, came the angry blare of a car horn, the whoosh-hiss of tires skidding on rain-slicked pavement, the deafening impact of metal smashing into metal…. Then came an instant of utter stillness, punctuated by the soft tinkling of broken glass peppering the blacktop. Cammi loosened her grip on the steering wheel and took stock. She’d been traveling north, but her fifteen-year-old coupe now faced south in the intersection of Amarillo’s Western Avenue and Plains Boulevard—the very corner where, thirteen years earlier, on a rainy night much like this one, her mother had died in a fiery car wreck. Still reeling from the shock of the impact, Cammi stepped shakily onto the pavement. She didn’t seem to be hurt, and prayed whoever was in the other car had been as fortunate. Not much hope of that, though—the vehicle reminded her more of a modern-art sculpture than a pickup. The truck’s side window had shattered on impact, making it impossible to see the driver. Gently, she rapped on the crystallized glass. “Hello…hello? Are you all right in there?” “I’m fine, no thanks to you,” came the gruff reply. The door slowly opened with a loud, protesting groan. One pointy-toed cowboy boot thumped to the ground, immediately followed by the other. “Are you crazy?” the driver demanded as he stood and faced her. Pedestrians had gathered on the street corners as the drivers of other vehicles leaned out of their car windows: “Anyone hurt?” one woman asked. “Doesn’t appear so,” a male voice answered, “but I’m gonna be late, thanks to these idiots….” Good grief, Cammi thought. As if her reasons for coming home weren’t bad enough, now she’d have to add “caused a car crash, smack-dab in the middle of town” to the already too-long list. Suddenly, she felt light-headed and grabbed the gnarled fender of the cowboy’s pickup for support. He waved back the small crowd that had gathered, and steadied her, two strong hands gripping her upper arms. Crouching slightly, he squinted and stared into her eyes. “You okay? Should I call 911?” The dizziness passed as quickly as it had descended. Cammi shook her head. “No. I’m okay.” And to prove it, she stepped away from his truck and smiled. He thumbed his Stetson to the back of his head and looked her over from head to toe. Satisfied Cammi was indeed all right, he nodded and crossed both arms over his chest. “Did you even see that red light?” Blinking as the cold October rain sheeted down her cheeks, she stared, slack-jawed and silent, as her gaze slid from his dark, frowning eyebrows to his full-lipped, scolding mouth. Not a bump or bruise, Cammi noted, not so much as a split lip. Thank God for that! “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what was…” He ignored her just as surely as he ignored the quickly thinning crowd. Muttering under his breath, he began pacing circles around what was left of their vehicles. “Is she blind?” he said, throwing both hands into the air. “Where’d she get her driver’s license, in a bubble gum machine?” Unlike her sisters and so many of her friends, Cammi had earned her license on the first try, and hadn’t been involved in so much as a fender bender since. “I can see perfectly well, thank you,” she snapped, “and there isn’t a thing wrong with my hearing, either.” He looked up suddenly. Scrubbing both hands over his face, he expelled a deep sigh, then slid a cell phone from his jacket pocket. “Well,” he said, flipping it open and punching the keys with his forefinger, “at least you’re not hurt.” Frowning, he gave her a second once-over. If Cammi didn’t know better, she’d have to say he looked downright concerned. “You are all right, right?” Except for that brief dizzy spell.—and Cammi thought she knew what was to blame for that—she’d come through the accident unharmed. A quick nod was her answer. Facing the intersection, he spoke quietly into the phone, shaking his head. He reminded her a bit of her father, what with his frustrated gestures and matter-of-fact reporting of the facts. He probably outweighed her dad by twenty pounds, all of it muscle, she decided, remembering the way his strong hands had steadied her moments earlier. The similarities made Cammi swallow, hard, knowing that the reprimand this cowboy gave her would pale when compared to the look of disapproval she’d see in her father’s eyes once she got home. It would’ve been tough enough, bringing him up to speed on the reasons she’d left L.A.—without this mess. Especially one so similar to the wreck that killed her mother. Especially considering that in his mind, this too, like so many other things, had been her fault. Stubborn determination, she knew, was the only thing that stood between her and tears. But there’d be plenty of time for self-pity later, after she’d told her father about Rusty, about the— “Tow trucks are on the way,” he said, interrupting her reverie. He snapped his phone shut, dropped it back into his pocket. “You look a little green around the gills,” he added, wrapping those big fingers around her upper arm yet again. “Soakin’ wet, too,” he continued, leading her toward Georgia’s Diner. And in a voice she couldn’t describe as anything but tender, he added, “What-say you wait inside, where it’s warm and dry, while I take care of things out here.” She hated to admit it, but she did feel a bit dazed and confused. Why else would she have so quickly and willingly followed his instructions? As he reached for the door handle, Cammi considered the possibility that he was one of those multiple personality types…raging mad one minute, sweet as honey the next. What if he’d just robbed a bank, and the accident had interfered with his getaway? He held the door open and smiled. “Order me a cup of coffee, will ya?” He nodded toward the intersection. “I have a feeling I’m gonna need it once that mess is cleaned up.” Like a windup doll, Cammi went where he’d aimed her, wondering yet again why she was being so agreeable. It wasn’t like her to let others tell her what to do. She chalked it up to the welcoming comfort of being in the restaurant where, as a teenager, she’d spent hundreds of hours, earning spending money for movies and mascara and the myriad of other things high school girls need. “Hey, Georgia,” Cammi said, stepping behind the counter to grab the coffeepot. “Mind if I help myself?” “Well, as I live and breathe!” Cammi’s former boss tossed her cleaning rag aside to add, “Look what the wind blew in!” Georgia wrapped Cammi in a warm hug, then held her at arm’s length. “You sure are a sight for sore eyes, honey. Are y’home for a little visit? I’ll bet your dad is just thrilled outta his socks. Every time that man comes in here, it’s ‘Cammi this’ and ‘Cammi that.”’ It stunned her a bit, hearing her father had spoken well of her. But Lamont London had never been one to air his dirty laundry in public. She waited for Georgia to take a breath. “I’m home to stay,” she managed to say between hugs. “Had a little accident out there in the intersection, and that’s why I’m—” “Accident? You okay, honey?” Georgia pressed chubby palms to Cammi’s cheeks. “Let’s have a look at you….” Cammi gave Georgia a one-armed hug, mindful of the hot coffee sloshing in the egg-shaped pot she held in her other hand. “I’m fine, but my car isn’t. And neither is that cowboy’s pickup truck.” She took a step back and pointed toward the intersection. “I was told to wait in here while he ‘took care of business.”’ “Well, now, will wonders never cease. A real-live gentleman, in this day and age!” Georgia walked toward the customer who’d just seated himself at the counter. “Glad to have you home, honey,” she said, winking at Cammi. “You know where ever’thing is, so go right ahead and help yourself.” Cammi filled two mugs with coffee and carried them to a booth near the window wall. The overhead lights glinted from the narrow gold band on the third finger of her left hand. Sighing, she stared through the diner’s window, watching the cowboy “taking care of things” out there. For all she knew, he could be arranging to steal her car and everything in it. Why had she so casually handed over control of the situation, when usually, she demanded to be in charge of her life? Cammi groaned softly, knowing that wasn’t even remotely true. No one in charge of her own life could have messed things up as badly as she had this time! Maybe his soothing DJ-deep voice was the reason she’d obeyed like a well-programmed robot, or was it those greener-than-emeralds eyes? Or that slanted half smile? Or his soft Texas drawl…? Fingernails drumming quietly on the tabletop, she sipped black coffee, watching as he talked with yellow-slickered police officers, as he scribbled on the tow truck drivers’ clipboards, as he collected business cards. He pointed and gestured, nodded in a way she could only term efficient. No, she corrected, the better word was definitely manly. Once both tow trucks drove off with their loads, he headed for the diner, big shoulders hunched and hands pocketed as he plowed through wind and driving rain. It suddenly dawned on her that the coffee she’d poured for him would be cold by now. Cammi hurried to the counter for a hot refill, and was just settling back into the booth when he walked through the door. He shook rain from his hat and denim jacket and hung them on the pole attached to the seat back, then slid onto the bench across from her. “I, uh, owe you an apology.” Not a word about the trouble he’d gone to out there, about being drenched by the cold rain, about being without his truck for who knows how long…thanks to her. Cammi blinked and, smiling a bit, held up one hand. “Wait, let me get this straight…I ran the red light, totaled your truck, and you’re apologizing?” His cheeks reddened and his brow furrowed. “Yeah, well, I went overboard. Way overboard.” He wrapped both hands around his mug, then met her eyes. “Wasn’t any need for me to get that hot under the collar.” She’d had plenty of time, sitting there alone, to toss a few ideas around in her head. His truck hadn’t been a new model, and his clothes, though clean and neatly pressed, had a timeworn look to them. Which told her that, without his pickup he’d likely be hard-pressed for a way to get to work. No wonder he’d given her such a dressing-down! Now his quiet, grating voice and the haunted look in his eyes made her believe something far more serious than property damage had inspired his former grumpy mood. “Let’s make a deal,” she suggested. “If the mechanic can get your truck back on the road in a day or two, then you can apologize for blowing things out of proportion.” She grinned. “But I have a feeling that apology isn’t going to be necessary, don’t you?” His smile never quite made it to his eyes, Cammi noted. For an instant, she considered asking about that. Instead, she slid a paper napkin toward him. Earlier, she’d jotted her insurance agent’s name and number and her own cell phone number on it. “Better drink up while it’s hot,” she said, pointing to his mug. Before he could agree or object, she tacked on, “I want to assure you the accident won’t cost you a dime. It was my fault, completely, so if you need a rental car until your pickup is repaired, or if—” His mouth formed a thin line when he interrupted. “Thanks, but I’ll manage.” He held out one hand and cleared his throat. “Name’s Reid, by the way. Reid Alexander.” She wondered if his skin was naturally this warm, or had the hot coffee cup heated it? “Cammi Carlisle,” she said. It still seemed strange, saying “Carlisle” instead of “London.” Deep down, she admitted her new last name wouldn’t upset her dad half as much as the rest of what she would have to tell— “If you have a pen,” Reid was saying, “I’ll give you my phone number, too, in case your insurance agent needs it.” Cammi fished the felt-tip pen from her purse and watched as he plucked a napkin from the chrome stand-up holder on the windowsill. She liked the strong, sure lines of his handwriting, the firm way he gripped the pen. He had a nice face, too, open and honest, with look-straight-at-you green eyes that told her he was a good, decent man. But then, she’d believed that about Rusty Carlisle, too…at first. “Hungry?” he asked as she tucked his phone number into her purse. She didn’t think she’d ever seen thicker, darker lashes on a man. “As a matter of fact, I haven’t had a bite all day.” He raised an arm and waved. “Hey, Georgia,” he called, grinning. “How ’bout a couple menus over here.” The husky redhead shot a “you’ve gotta be kidding” look his way, and propped a fist on an ample hip. “I don’t remember seeing you come in here on crutches, honey, so unless your leg is broken, come get ’em yourself.” To Cammi, she mouthed Men! and went back stacking clean plates behind the counter. Reid chuckled. “Be right back,” he whispered. “Wouldn’t want to rile the cook.” “Right,” Cammi agreed, “’cause y’never know what might end up on your plate.” She liked the way he walked…like a man who knew who he was and where he was going in life. He leaned over the counter and grabbed two plastic-coated menus and exchanged a few words with Georgia. The good-natured tone of their banter told Cammi they knew one another well. Funny that Cammi didn’t know him, too; she’d only been away from Amarillo two years, after all. Only. A silent, bitter laugh echoed in her head. The past twenty-four months seemed like a lifetime now…. When he returned, Reid slid into the booth, handed her one menu, flattened the other on the table in front of him. “So, what can I order you?” Georgia made the best burgers in Texas and Cammi had been craving one of her specialties for weeks. “I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger and fries, on one condition.” He met her gaze. “Condition?” There was no mistaking the suspicion and mistrust written on his handsome face. Cammi wondered what—or who—had caused it. “I’m buying,” she announced, holding up a hand to forestall his argument. “You’d be home now, safe and sound and chowing down something home-cooked, no doubt, if I hadn’t plowed through that red light. Buying your supper is the least I can do, and I won’t take no for an answer.” That teasing look on his face made Cammi’s stomach lurch. Was he flirting with her? Under normal circumstances, she might have been flattered. But these were hardly normal circumstances. “There isn’t a nickel’s worth of fight left in me. So okay, you’ll buy, this time.” This time? Cammi got to her feet. What better way to hide from her reaction than to put on her “efficient waitress” face? “A lifetime ago,” she explained, “I worked here at Georgia’s. Maybe I can pull a few strings, get you some extra fries or a free slice of pie.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Georgia bakes it herself, you know.” Laughing, Reid said, “Yeah, I know.” Then he added, “I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Cammi hurried to the counter, and came back carrying silverware in one hand and a pitcher of ice water in the other. She was about to leave again, to get glasses and straws, when he grabbed her wrist. “Thanks,” he said, giving it a little squeeze. “This is right nice of you, especially after the way I behaved out there.” The bright fluorescent light had turned his eyes greener still. “You behaved like any normal person would under those conditions.” She eased free of his grasp. “This is the least I can do.” She puttered behind the counter and caught up with Georgia as the diner owner slapped burgers onto the grill and dumped frozen fries into the deep fryer. She couldn’t help wondering as she watched her former boss poke the meat patties with a corner of a metal spatula, why she hadn’t experienced any of these heart-stopping, stomach lurching “first meeting” feelings with Rusty. Cammi shook her head. But honestly! What business did she have feeling anything! Cammi blamed the long drive, the accident, the reasons she’d been forced to leave L.A. for her strong reaction to Reid. Finding out she was going to be a mother on the very day she’d become a widow would make any woman behave strangely, right? When Cammi finally slid the food-laden tray onto their table, Reid gave an admiring nod. “It’s like riding a bike,” she said, dismissing his unspoken compliment, “you never forget how to balance.” If only balancing my life were as easy as balancing this tray, she thought. He waited until she was seated to say, “I owe you more than an apology, I owe you an explanation. All that bellowing and…” He shook his head. “Well, it was just plain uncalled for. This is a flimsy excuse, I know, but I had a similar experience some years back, and that accident…” He took a deep breath, exhaled. “Let’s just say I’m downright sorry for behaving like a mule-headed fool.” His admission conjured a memory, one so strong Cammi didn’t trust her voice. The boy who’d been driving the truck the night her mother died…his name had been Reid. One and the same? Or a queer coincidence? She didn’t realize how intently she’d been staring until he shifted uncomfortably in the seat. If he was that Reid…. “Did you know that cold fries cause indigestion?” she asked. His expression said, Huh? Using a French fry as a pointer, Cammi explained: “It has something to do with the way cooking oils mix with stomach acids. I think. Something like that.” She was rambling and knew it, but better to have him think she was a babbling idiot than to press him for details…and find out she might be sitting face to face with the guy who’d killed her mother. She’d been horrified to learn how her danger-hungry stuntman husband had died, but his death only served to underscore what she’d realized on their wedding night—they hadn’t married for love. The cold hard fact was, they’d been friends with one thing in common: a tendency to act on impulse. So jumping to conclusions about Reid didn’t seem the smartest thing to do at the moment. Besides, she recognized Reid’s far-off expression as an attempt to hide from the miseries of his past. She recognized it because she felt exactly the same way. Cammi wanted to comfort him, if only for this brief moment in time, and gave in to the urge to blanket his fidgeting hands with hers. Then, suddenly, for a reason she couldn’t explain, Cammi found herself biting back tears, found herself feeling guilty for harboring so much anger toward Rusty. It would be hard, very hard, getting past the way her husband had died…and with whom. Still, on the day he’d been buried, Cammi had promised herself that Rusty’s child would never know those awful details. Reid eased his hands from beneath hers and broke the uneasy silence. “So, you live ’round these parts?” She hadn’t realized until that moment exactly how much she’d missed hearing a good old-fashioned Texas drawl, how much she’d missed Amarillo, how good it felt to be on familiar turf. “Actually,” she said, shrugging, “my dad lives not too far from here.” She sipped her soda. “And you?” It seemed as if a shadow crossed his face, darkening his features. Reid cleared his throat. “Once, I was a…” He took a deep breath and started over. “Well, I’m a ranch hand now.” He said “now” as if it were “the end,” and she wondered for a moment why. But Cammi wouldn’t ask that question, either, because crashing into his life had already caused enough damage, without rousing bad memories as well. From now on, she’d keep the conversation light, carefree, noncommittal. Cammi looked out the window, gestured toward the bustling street. “I grew up in Amarillo, but I’ve been away a few years.” He smiled. “Lemme guess…you’re married with kids, and your husband’s job took you away from home.” “No.” She stared into her mug, saw the overhead lights glimmering on the surface of the glossy black coffee. She could tell him about Rusty, about the rush wedding, but then she’d have to admit what an addle-brained twit she’d been, running off without a thought or a prayer to marry a man for no reason other than that he’d asked her to. “No husband, no kids.” She pressed a palm to her stomach. At least, no kids yet, she thought. “I’ve been in California, trying to become an actress,” she finished in a singsong voice. Usually when she said that, people chuckled at her admission, rolled their eyes, smiled condescendingly. Cammi waited for one of the typical responses. It surprised her when instead, Reid said in a soft, raspy drawl, “Well, you’re sure pretty enough to be a movie star.” Everything, from his smile to his tone to the sparkle in his eyes told her Reid was interested in her. If they’d met him at another time, under different circumstances… But even if Cammi trusted her judgment—and considering the gravity and multitude of her mistakes, she most definitely did not—what man in his right mind would consciously get involved with a pregnant widow? “So, what happened?” Reid asked. “Happened?” “To your acting career.” Thankfully, he hadn’t asked about the rest of her life. While she’d inherited her mother’s dark eyes and hair, the acting-talent gene hadn’t been passed down. Cammi had given it her all out there in L.A., but she’d had less luck pleasing directors than she’d had pleasing her dad. “Guess I just wasn’t cut out for Hollywood,” she said. It was true, after all, in more ways than one. And when this pleasant little meal and friendly conversation ended, she’d have to go home and admit that fact—and a few more—to her father and sisters. Home. She glanced at her watch. “I’d better see about getting a taxi. My dad was expecting me over an hour ago. Don’t want to worry him.” “I’d drive you, but…” He extended his hands in helpless supplication. Cammi took no offense at the reference to his destroyed pickup because there hadn’t been a trace of sarcasm in his voice. “You oughta smile more often.” One brow lifted in response to her compliment, making him look even more handsome. Cammi felt the heat of a blush color her cheeks. “I like your smile, is all,” she said, and started digging in her purse. Reid leaned forward. “What’re you looking for?” The rummaging had been a good excuse to avert her gaze. “Change, for the pay phone.” A half-truth was better than an outright lie, right? “My cell phone’s dead.” Cammi glanced toward the booth on the far wall and made a move to get up, but Reid held up a hand to stop her. “Here,” he said, passing her his cell phone. “I never use up all the minutes on my plan, anyway.” He sent her a lopsided grin that made her heart beat double time. She had no business reacting to this man. For one thing, he might well be partly responsible for her mother’s death. For another, she was newly widowed…and with child. “While you’re at it, ask the dispatcher to send two cabs.” She flipped the phone open. “You wouldn’t happen to have the number of the taxi company programmed into this thing, would you?” “Never had any use for cabs, myself.” On his feet, he added, “But I can duck into the phone booth over there and look one up.” He grabbed the cell phone. “Might as well call ’em myself, long as I’m in there, anyway.” She watched him walk away. Reid was different from just about every man she’d met in California. Oh, he was good-looking enough to join the parade of those pounding the pavement in search of leading man roles—more than attractive enough to land a few, too. Which is why it seemed so strange that everything about him, from the leather of his cowboy boots to the top of his dark-haired head screamed “genuine.” Careful, Cammi, she warned. The man doesn’t need any more trouble in his life. And neither did she, for that matter. Chapter Two If he’d had the sense God gave a goose, Reid would have ordered Georgia’s pie for dessert, or another cup of strong, diner coffee. He would have pretended that a ravenous appetite required yet another burger. Something, anything to keep Cammi with him a little while longer. But once he’d called for the taxis, there was no stopping time, and Reid had to satisfy himself with hanging around as they waited for their drivers. For several minutes after hers drove off, he found himself staring as the taillights turned into glowing red pinpricks before disappearing into the rainy black night. “Where’s your truck?” Billy asked half an hour later, nodding toward the taxi that had delivered Reid to the Rockin’ C Ranch. He flung his jacket onto the hall tree. “Had a crack-up in town.” His friend’s face crinkled with concern. “You okay?” he asked, one hand on Reid’s shoulder. “Yeah.” Physically, he was fine. But something had happened to his head, to his heart, sitting with Cammi at Georgia’s. She looked awfully familiar, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember where, or if, they’d ever met. Something he’d have to think about long and hard before he saw her again. “Whose fault was it?” Reid heard the caution in Billy’s question; his friend didn’t want to wake any sleeping ghosts, and Reid appreciated that. “Hers.” Nodding, Billy headed down the hall toward the kitchen. “Put on a pot of decaf couple minutes ago. Martina made apple pie for dessert tonight. Join me?” Though he’d wolfed down his burger and fries before downing two cups of coffee at Georgia’s Diner, Reid said, “Hard to say no to anything Martina whips up.” While Billy sliced pie, Reid filled a mug for each of them. “Li’l gal ran a red light,” he explained, grabbing two forks from the silverware drawer, “and I broadsided her.” Wincing, Billy whistled. He didn’t say more. Didn’t have to. He’d been there that night, too. “Really, son, you okay?” Reid nodded. “Yeah.” Okay as the likes of him deserved to be, anyway. “Just remember, this one wasn’t your fault, either.” Billy had talked “fault” after meeting then fourteen-year-old Reid at the E.R. “I talked to the cops,” he’d said on the drive back to the Rockin’ C, “and they told me three eyewitnesses stated for the record that Rose London ran the red light.” Then he’d reached across the front seat and grabbed Reid’s sleeve. “Quit fiddlin’ with the bandage, son, or you’ll wear a scar on your forehead the rest of your days.” Reid half smiled at the memory, because ironically, the scar he wore now, in almost exactly the same spot, had been inflicted by a raging Brahma bull, not a car accident. “Stop lookin’ so glum,” Billy was saying. “Just remember, the accident wasn’t your fault.” He’d said pretty much the same thing all those years ago: “You’re not to blame for what happened to the London woman.” True enough—Mrs. Lamont London had run a red light, same as Cammi Carlisle, and he’d plowed into the side of her car, too. However, assigning fault did nothing to ease Reid’s guilt. Not then, not now. And Billy had bigger problems to worry about than traffic accidents, present or past, since his doctor’s prognosis. “Georgia says ‘hey,”’ Reid said, changing the subject. “Said she misses seeing you and Martina.” The fork hung loose in Billy’s big hand. Absent-mindedly, he shoved an apple slice around on his plate. “Gettin’ harder and harder to drag my weary bones into town,” he said on a heavy sigh. “Gettin’ hard to drag ’em anywhere.” Reid knew Billy had never been one to wallow in self-pity, so it didn’t surprise him when his longtime friend sat up straighter, as if regretting the admission, and cleared his throat. “That list I gave you this morning was longer’n my forearm,” Billy said. “When did you have time to stop at Georgia’s?” So much for changing the subject, Reid thought. “Accident happened in front of her diner.” Cammi’s pretty, smiling face flashed in Reid’s mind. “We, uh, the other driver and I got all the particulars out of the way over burgers and fries.” Billy chuckled. “Ain’t that just like you, to buy the kid a meal after she cracks up your only means of transportation.” Kid? He nearly laughed out loud, because Cammi Carlisle was more woman than any he’d seen since returning to Amarillo. More woman, in fact, than the dozens who routinely followed him around the rodeo circuit. Right now, she was the one sunny spot in his otherwise gloomy life. He was about to admit she’d insisted on paying for the food when Billy spoke. “Amanda called.” Using his chin as a pointer, he added, “I wrote her number over there, on the pad beside the phone.” Reid groaned inwardly at being forced to recall his last day with the tall willowy blonde who, despite his arm’s-length interest in her, seemed determined to change his mind about “the two of them.” He thought of the afternoon, more than six months ago, when the surgeon gave Reid permission to leave the Albuquerque hospital. Amanda had been there…again. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, so he blamed his sour mood on the months of physical therapy that lay ahead of him. “Isn’t fair to string you along while I recuperate,” he’d said. “I need time, to make some hard choices about the future.” He realized now that his evasiveness had given her hope that, at the end of his “alone time,” she’d be part of that future. Reid strode across the room, saw from the area code that Amanda had been near Amarillo when she’d called. Shaking his head, he groaned again, this time aloud. First thing in the morning, he’d call her, invite her to breakfast, and set things straight. “Well,” Billy interrupted, getting to his feet with obvious difficulty. “Guess I’ll drag my ol’ bones up to bed.” He started clearing the table. “I’ll take care of these.” Chuckling, Billy winked. “I was hopin’ you’d say that.” He limped toward the door, stopping in the hallway. “Don’t be up all night, now, frettin’ about that accident, y’hear? I know it roused some ugly memories, but thinkin’ it to death won’t change anything.” True enough. Still… “I’ll turn in soon.” The look on Billy’s face said he knew a fib when he heard one. “Don’t forget, the new ranch hands start at first light.” Reid only nodded. “G’night, son.” Billy had been the closest thing to a father Reid would ever know. Watching him suffer, watching him die, as he was now doing, was about the hardest thing Reid had ever done in his life. A tight knot of regret formed in Reid’s throat, all but choking off his gruff “’Night.” He listened as Billy shuffled slowly up the steps. If he could trade his own robust health to get Billy’s back, he’d do it in a heartbeat, because what did he have to live for, to look forward to? Sadly, life wasn’t like that. Reid would have to be satisfied with doing everything humanly possible to make Billy as comfortable as possible during the time he had left. Standing woodenly, Reid gathered up the dishes and added them to the already full dishwasher. The fact that Martina hadn’t turned it on told him that she’d known her husband and “adopted” son would share a late-night snack. The thought made him smile a bit, despite the dark thoughts pricking at his memory. The drone of the dishwasher’s motor harmonized with the ticking clock and the pinging of water in the baseboard heaters. It wasn’t really furnace weather just yet, but because of Billy’s steadily declining condition, Martina had set the thermostat at seventy degrees and left it there. The mere thought made Reid wince. When his hot-tempered stepfather was diagnosed with cancer, it hadn’t hurt like this—hearing the news about Billy’s condition had been painful and terrifying. It didn’t take a membership in Mensa to figure out why; almost from the moment Reid set foot on Rockin’ C soil, Billy had scolded him for not doing his all-out best on chores, helped with homework, convinced Reid he was good enough to ask the prettiest girl on the cheerleading squad to the homecoming dance. One palm resting on either side of the sink, Reid stared out the kitchen window, watching raindrops snake down the glass as wind buffeted Martina’s butterfly bushes. She often stood here, overlooking the wildlife that visited her gardens. She’d probably been standing on this spot when she’d called him a couple months back to tell him about Billy’s prognosis. After they hung up, Reid threw everything he owned into his duffle bag and drove straight through, arriving in Amarillo the very next day. He’d moved into the same room he’d occupied when his mom was the Rockin’ C housekeeper and his stepdad the foreman. Hanging his head, Reid wondered if he would’ve been so quick to come back and help out if his injuries hadn’t already ended his rodeo career. Just one more thing to feel guilty about. Well, he was here now. Determined to do everything in his power to help Billy and Martina, in any way he could, for as long as they needed him. The grandfather clock in the hall struck one, reminding him that Billy was right: The rooster crowed mighty early at the Rockin’ C. If Reid knew what was good for him, he’d try to catch some shut-eye, starting now. He flicked off the kitchen’s overhead light and quietly climbed the wide, wooden stairs, skipping the third and the tenth so the predictable squeak wouldn’t wake Billy or Martina. Two hours later, he lay on his back, fingers linked beneath his head, still staring at the darkened ceiling. The rain had stopped, but the wind blew harder than ever, rattling the panes in his French doors. He wondered if Cammi had made it home safely, if her homecoming had been warm and welcoming. She hadn’t seemed at all that enthused about being back in Amarillo. Brokenhearted because she hadn’t “made it” in Hollywood? Reid didn’t think so. Cammi seemed too down-to-earth, too levelheaded for pie-in-the-sky dreams of stardom. No, her reluctance, he believed, was more likely due to a falling-out with some wanna-be actor in L.A. Or maybe she’d come home for the same reason he had…to help an ailing sibling or parent. It got Reid to thinking about his own father, who’d taken off for parts unknown the moment his mom said “We’re going to have a baby.” And his mother? Well, for all her good intentions, she had a talent for choosing no-account men. The promise of a leak-proof roof and a steady supply of whiskey was enough for her. In exchange, she promised forty hours’ worth of work each week…from her young son. She had already put four ex-husbands behind her when she said “I do” to Boots Randolph. Grudgingly, Reid had to admit that Boots had taught him plenty about ranching. And while he’d been the best provider, he also had a hair-trigger temper, and Reid still bore the scars to prove it. Had Cammi run off to California to escape a father like Boots? The very thought made Reid clench his jaw so hard that his teeth ached, because it wouldn’t take much of a blow to break someone that fragile. No, not fragile. Cammi’s demeanor—right down to that model-runway walk of hers—made it clear she was anything but delicate. He liked her “tell it like it is” way of talking, admired how she looked him dead in the eye and admitted the accident had been her fault—no excuses, no explanations. She was agile, as evidenced by the way she’d balanced that tray of diner food on one tiny palm. Quick-witted, too, so he couldn’t imagine what had distracted her enough to run that red light. Picturing their vehicles again, gnarled and bent, made Reid cringe. It could have been worse. So much worse, as he knew all too well. Miraculously, they’d both walked away from the wreck without so much as a hangnail. “Thank God,” he whispered, though even as he said it, he knew God had nothing to do with their good fortune. If the so-called Almighty had any control over things like that, Rose London wouldn’t be dead, her husband wouldn’t be a widower and her four daughters wouldn’t have grown up without a mama. He forced his mind away from that night. Far easier to picture Cammi, smiling, laughing, gesturing with dainty hands. Once she’d locked onto him with those mesmerizing eyes of hers, he’d been a goner. She’d looked so familiar that he’d thought at first he’d met her somewhere before. But Reid quickly dismissed the idea, because he’d never seen bigger, browner eyes. If he met a girl who looked like that, it wasn’t likely he’d forget! Reid sensed Cammi was nothing like the women who’d dogged his heels from rodeo town to rodeo town. How he could be so sure of that after spending forty-five minutes in her presence, Reid didn’t know. Still, it was a good thing, in and of itself, because it had been a long time since he’d felt anything but guilt. Guilt at being born out of wedlock. Guilt that taking care of him had made life a constant struggle for his mother. Guilt that though he’d turned himself inside-out to please his parade of stepdads, he’d never measured up. Guilt that, while rodeoing was by its nature a business for the wreckless, his devil-may-care attitude had cost him his career. And the biggest, naggin’est guilt of all…that one rainy night a decade and a half ago, he’d been behind the wheel of the pickup that killed a young wife and mother. He tossed the covers aside, threw his legs over the edge of the bed and leaned forward, elbows balanced on knees. Head down, he closed his eyes. When he opened them, Reid stared through the French doors, deep into the quiet night. Self-pity, he believed, was one of the ugliest of human emotions. He had no business feeling sorry for himself; he’d been given a lot more than some he could name. He had his health back, for starters, a good home and a steady job, thanks to Martina and Billy. If not for this confounded disease of Billy’s, he’d have the pair of them, too, for decades to come. He’d taught himself to dwell on the positives at times like this, to get a handle on his feelings—remorse, shame, regret, whatever—because to do otherwise was like a slow, painful death. Billy and Martina needed him, and he owed it to them to get a grip. A well-worn Bible sat on the top shelf of the bookcase across the room. Martina had put it there, years ago, when he’d come back to Amarillo for his mother’s funeral. “Whether you realize it or not,” she’d said, “Boots did you a favor, beating you until you’d memorized it, cover to cover.” “How do you figure that?” he’d griped. She had smiled, hands folded over her flowered apron. “Anything you need is in those pages. That’s why folks call it ‘The Good Book’!” She’d been so sure of herself that Reid had almost been tempted to believe her. But blind faith had been the reason his mother had married badly…five times. If she hadn’t taught him anything else, she’d shown him by example what a mind-set like that could cost a person! Three or four steps, and he’d have Martina’s Good Book in his hands. Two or three minutes, thanks to Boots’s cruel and relentless lessons, and he’d locate a verse that promised solace, peace, forgiveness. A grating chuckle escaped him. Just ’cause it’s in there don’t make it so, he thought bitterly. In all his life, he’d known just two people who were as good as their word, and both of them were fast asleep down the hall. He loved Billy and Martina more than if they’d been his flesh-and-bone parents, because they’d chosen to take a confused, resentful boy into their home and love him, guide him, nurture him as if he were their own. Though he’d given them plenty of reason to, they’d never thrown up their hands in exasperation. And he wouldn’t give up on them now. Suddenly, he felt a flicker of hope. Again, Reid considered crossing the room, taking the Bible from its shelf. Maybe Martina had a point. She and Billy had made God the center of their lives for decades, and they seemed happier, more content—despite Billy’s terminal illness—than anyone he’d ever known. Maybe he should at least give her advice a try. He stood in front of the bookcase and slid the Bible halfway out from where it stood among paperback novels, Billy’s comics collection and Martina’s photo albums. A moment, then two, ticked silently by…. “Nah,” Reid grumbled, shoving the book back into place. He remembered, as he slid between the bedcovers, how often he’d overheard Martina’s heartfelt prayers for Billy’s healing. But the healing never came. Instead, Billy’s condition worsened, almost by the hour. If God could turn a deaf ear to Martina, who believed with a heart as big as her head, why would He listen to a no-account like Reid! Staring up at the ceiling again, he shook his head. There was no denying that Martina believed God had been the glue that held the decades-long marriage together. Once, during a visit to the Rockin’ C a few years back, Reid had encountered a deep-in-prayer Martina in the living room. Glowing like a schoolgirl, she’d sung the Almighty’s praises. “You talk as if He hung the moon,” Reid had said, incredulous. She’d affectionately cuffed the back of his head. “He did, you silly goose!” Something otherworldly was certainly responsible for their contentment and happiness. Scalp still tingling from Martina’s smack, Reid had wondered if he’d live long enough to find a love like that. “You’re only twenty-seven, son. Give the Father time to lead you to the one He intends you to share your life with.” As Reid opened his mouth to object, she’d added, “Think about it, you stubborn boy! If He could hang the moon, surely He can help you find your soul mate!” Soul mate, Reid thought now. Did such a thing even exist anywhere other than in romance novels? Romance. The word made him think of Cammi. Pretty, petite, sweet as cotton candy. When his gaze was drawn again to the gilded script on the Bible’s spine, he stubbornly turned away, closed his eyes. As he drifted off to sleep, it was Cammi’s smiling face he focused on. A few hours earlier… “Wow, lady,” the cabbie said. “This is some place you’ve got here.” “Isn’t mine,” Cammi corrected. “River Valley is my dad’s.” He nodded. “Still, mighty impressive all the same.” She couldn’t deny it. Anyone who’d ever seen the ranch had been impressed, if not by the three-story stone house, then by the two-lane wooden bridge leading to the circular drive, or the waterfall, hissing and gurgling beneath it. Everything had been the result of her father’s design…and his own hardworking hands. The tall double doors swung wide even before Cammi stepped out of the cab. Bright golden light spilled from the enormous foyer, painting the wraparound porch and curved flagstone walkway with a butter-yellow glow and casting her father’s burly form in silhouette. A booming “Camelia, you’re home!” floated to her on the damp Texas breeze. Then, his deep voice suddenly laced with concern, Lamont added, “What’s with the taxi? Did you have car trouble?” Cammi grinned at the understatement. “You could say that.” “You should’ve called,” he said. “I’d have come for you.” Could have, should have, would have. How many times had she heard that before leaving home? Lamont held out his arms and Cammi melted into them. Plenty of time to tell him about the accident—and everything else—later. For the moment, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, she put aside the reasons she’d left home. Forgot his “you’ll be sorry” speech. Forgot how determined she’d been to prove him wrong, for no reason other than that for once in her life, she’d wanted to make him proud. Proud? So much for that! Cammi thought. “Good to have you home, sweetie.” My, but that sounded good. Sounded right. This was where she wanted…no, where she needed to be. And if the length or strength of Lamont’s embrace was any indicator, her father felt the same way. At least, for now. “Good to be home,” Cammi admitted. He released her and went for his wallet. “Dad,” she started, “I can pay the—” But Lamont had already peeled off a fifty. “That’ll cover it, right, son?” he asked, shoving the bill into the driver’s hand. “Yessir, it sure will!” Eyes wide, he waited for permission to pocket the bill. “Keep the change,” Lamont said, grabbing Cammi’s bag. The man beamed. “Sayin’ ‘thanks’ seems lame after a tip like this!” Grinning, Lamont saluted, then slung his arm over Cammi’s shoulder. “Drive safely, m’boy,” he said, guiding her toward the house. He hadn’t closed the front door behind them before asking, “Where’s the rest of your gear?” “I shipped some boxes a couple of days ago. They’ll be delivered tomorrow, Monday at the latest.” She tugged the strap of her oversized purse, now resting firmly against his rock-hard shoulder. “Meanwhile, I have the essentials right here.” “Meanwhile,” he echoed, frowning as he assessed her rain-dampened hair and still-wet clothes, “you’re soaked to the skin.” He nudged her closer to the wide, mahogany staircase. “Get on upstairs and take a hot shower. After you’ve changed into something warm and dry, meet me in the kitchen. Meantime, I’ll put on a pot of decaf.” In other words, Cammi deducted, despite the late hour, he expected her to fill in the blanks—some of them, anyway—left by her long absence; she hadn’t been particularly communicative by phone or letter while she’d been gone, with good reason, and she was thankful Lamont hadn’t pressed her for details. Now the time had come to pay the proverbial piper. “Warm and dry sounds wonderful,” she said, more because it was true than to erase the past two years from her mind. “Everything is exactly as you left it.” How like him to keep things as they were. Though her mother had been gone thirteen years when Cammi headed west, the only things Lamont had replaced were the linens, and even those were duplicates of the originals. Something told her it was love of the purest possible kind that kept him so stubbornly attached to his beloved Rose. The fact that her dad had held on to memories about her, too, inspired a flood of loving warmth. “I’ll just be a few minutes,” Cammi said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Almost as an afterthought, she added, “Love you, Dad.” “Love you, too.” At least for now you do, Cammi thought. Suddenly, the prospect of being in her old room, surrounded by familiar things, rejuvenated her, and she took the steps two at a time, half listening for his oh-so-familiar warning: “You’re liable to fall flat on your face and chip a tooth, bolting up those stairs like a runaway year-ling.” He’d said the same thing, dozens of times, when Cammi and her sisters were children. She stopped on the landing and smiled. “I’ll be careful, Dad,” she said, pressing a hand to her stomach, “I promise.” He had no way of knowing she had a new and very important reason to keep that promise. Cammi blew him a kiss and hurried to her room. The sooner she got back downstairs, the sooner she’d know if this amiable welcome was the real deal…or a temporary truce. Real, she hoped, because she would need his emotional support these next few months, even if it might come at the price of seeing his disappointment yet again. How would she tell him that, in yet another characteristically impulsive move, she’d exchanged “I do’s” with a movie stuntman in a gaudy Vegas wedding chapel? And it wouldn’t just be the non- Christian ceremony he’d disapprove of. When Reid had asked earlier if she had a husband and children, her heart had skipped a beat. For a reason she couldn’t explain, it mattered what Reid thought of her. Mattered very much. So much so, in fact, that though she’d enjoyed his company, she’d rather never see him again than risk having him discover the truth about her. And if a stranger’s opinion mattered that greatly, how much more difficult would it be to live with her dad’s reaction! For the past four months, since learning of Rusty’s death and the baby’s existence, Cammi had spent hours thinking up ways to break the news to her father. She’d hoped an idea would come to her during the long, quiet drive from California to Texas. Sadly, she still didn’t have a clue how to tell him that in just five short months, his first grandchild would be born. Lamont would be a terrific grandfather, what with his natural storytelling ability and his gentle demeanor. If only he could learn he was about to become a grandpa in the traditional way, instead of being clubbed over the head with the news. What Cammi needed was a buffer, someone who’d distract him, temporarily, anyway, from asking questions that had no good answers. “Hey, Dad,” she called from the top step, “where’s Lily? I sort of expected she’d be the one bounding down the front walk when I got home…with some critter wrapped around her neck.” “Matter of fact, she’s in the barn, nursing one of those critters right now.” Lily was the only London daughter who’d never left home. A math whiz and avid animal lover, the twenty-four-year-old more or less ran River Valley Ranch. “As much time as she spends with her animals,” Cammi said, “I’ll never understand how she manages to keep your ledger books straight.” “That makes two of us,” Lamont said, laughing. She ducked into her room, telling herself that if she survived coffee with her dad, she’d pay Lily and her critter a little visit. Maybe her kid sister would drop a hint or two that would help Cammi find a good way to tell them…everything. A shiver snaked up her spine when she admitted there was no good way. Lamont’s back was to her when she rounded the corner a short while later, reminding Cammi of that night so many years ago, when she’d padded downstairs in pajamas and fuzzy slippers. “Dad,” she’d whimpered, rubbing her eyes toddlerlike despite being twelve years old, “I can’t sleep.” When he’d turned from the kitchen sink, his redrimmed eyes were proof that he hadn’t been able to sleep, either, that he’d been crying, too. “C’mere, sweetie,” he’d said, arms extended as he settled onto the caned seat of a ladder-back chair. She’d ignored the self-imposed rule that said a soon-to-be teenager was too old to climb into her daddy’s lap, and snuggled close, cheek resting on the soft, warm flannel of his blue plaid shirt, and closed her eyes, inhaling the crisp spicy scent of his manly aftershave. Even now, all grown up and carrying a child of her own, she remembered how safe she’d always felt when those big arms wrapped around her, how soothing it was when his thick, clumsy fingers combed through her curls. Her unborn baby deserved to feel safe and protected that way, too; had her impulsive lifestyle made that impossible? Could Lamont accept what she’d done, at least enough not to hold it against his grandchild? It hadn’t been hard to read his mind that night, the eve of Rose’s funeral. What was going through his mind now? Cammi wondered. Had looking through the rain-streaked window at his long-deceased wife’s autumn-yellowed hydrangeas conjured a painful memory? Had the moon, which painted a shimmering silver border around each slate-gray cloud, reminded him how much the mother of his children had always enjoyed thunderstorms? She wouldn’t tell him about Rusty and the baby tonight. Tomorrow or the next day would be more than soon enough to add to his sadness. There’s a time and a place for everything, she told herself. And sensing he’d be embarrassed if she walked in and caught him woolgathering, Cammi backed up a few steps, cleared her throat and made a noisy entrance. “Hey, Dad,” she said brightly, shuffling into the kitchen on white-socked feet. “Coffee ready?” He masked his melancholy well, she thought as he turned and smiled. “Sure is,” Lamont said. “Still drink it straight-n-plain?” “Yessir.” “We Londons are tough, so save the milk and sugar for kindergarten kids!” they said in unison. Laughing, father and daughter sat across from one another at the table. A moment passed, then two, before Cammi said, “So how’ve you been, Dad?” “Fine, fine.” He nodded, then reached across the table, blanketed her hand with his. “Question is, how’re you?” She looked into gray eyes that glittered with fatherly love and concern. There were a few more lines around them than she remembered, but then, worrying about her had probably put every one of them there. Cammi felt overwhelmed by guilt. He’d worked so hard to provide for his girls, all while doing his level best to be both mother and father to them. He deserved far better than what she’d always given him. “I’d hoped to accomplish something out there—” she blurted. “Something that would make you really proud of—” “You’ve always made me proud,” Lamont interrupted, “just being you. You know that.” She didn’t know anything of the kind, especially since her mother’s accident, but it still felt good, real good, to hear him say it. Suddenly, she found herself fighting tears. Lamont gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. “I told you before you left home that those Tinsel Town phonies didn’t have enough accumulated brain matter to power a lightbulb.” He’d said that and then some! “So how’d you expect dunderheads like that to have enough sense to see what a great li’l gal you are!” He patted her hand, then added, “I know you gave it your all, sweetie. If your best wasn’t good enough for ’em, well…” He lifted his chin a notch. “Well, that’s their loss.” So he thought her failure to land any decent roles in L.A. was responsible for her dour mood. Cammi was about to set the record straight when Lamont said, “You did the right thing, coming home. You have any idea what you’ll do now that you’re back?” Lamont’s question implied she was home to stay, and he was right. This baby growing steadily inside her deserved a stable home, deserved to be raised in a house where it would be treasured, and protected and nurtured by a big loving family. It didn’t matter one whit what was good for her; from the moment she’d learned of its existence, Cammi had put the baby first, always, and that meant giving up her crazy ideas of stardom. She’d earned a degree in Childhood Development, had spent nearly three years teaching four-and five-year-olds before heading for L.A. She ran a fingertip around the rim of her mug. “I made arrangements to meet with the Board of Ed first thing tomorrow. There are some openings in the Amarillo School District.” “Good plan.” He slid his chair back and got to his feet. “Baked an apple pie today….” “Baked a pie? You?” Cammi laughed. “What’s this world coming to!” “If you call following directions on the box ‘baking,’ then I baked a pie.” He chuckled. “It was Patti’s day off, see, and I got a hankering for something sweet.” Unceremoniously, he plopped the dessert on the table. “Care for a slice?” Cammi went around to his side of the table, gently shoved him back into his chair. “You tore open the package and put it in the oven, all without your housekeeper’s help, I might add. Least I can do is serve it up.” She wasn’t surprised, as she rummaged in the cupboards for plates, silverware and napkins, to find everything right where her mother had kept them. “More coffee?” Lamont held out his mug, and, smiling, she topped it off. “Did I tell you it’s good to have you home?” She folded a paper napkin and laid it beside his mug. “Yes, you did.” Bending at the waist, Cammi kissed his cheek. “Did I tell you it’s good to be home?” Cammi didn’t miss the slight hitch in his voice when he echoed her response. “Yes, you did.” She slid a wedge of pie onto a plate. As he speared an apple with one tine of his fork, he added, “I sure have missed you.” She looked at him, smiling nervously, blinking. What was going on here? Her stoic, keep-your-feelings-to-yourself dad, admitting a thing like that? “Heard from Ivy or Vi lately?” she asked carefully. “Your sisters will be here for a welcome-home celebration as soon as we can arrange it. Patti will be whipping up a special dinner for us. Cammi had been fairly sure that, like most everything else in her life these days, her homecoming would be a fiasco. In fact, she’d been dreading the whole miserable scene so much that she’d been distracted and run the red light in Amarillo. Memory of the accident brought Reid Alexander to mind yet again. Cammi pictured the handsome, tortured face. She knew precisely what event from her past haunted her, but what had painted the edgy, troubled look on his— “So, what happened to your car?” Cammi gave a dismissive little wave. “Little fender bender in town is all. No big deal.” Thanking God yet again that no one had been hurt, she remembered the napkin, tucked into the front pocket of her purse, that Reid had given to her in the diner. “The mechanic will call you with an estimate,” he’d said, looking as if he’d been the one responsible for the damage. Cammi braced herself, waiting for her dad to ask whose fault the accident had been, waiting for the safety lecture that would surely follow once she admitted she’d been one hundred percent to blame. Instead, Lamont said, “Important thing is, you’re home now, safe and sound.” And so is your grandchild, she thought, thanking the Almighty again. He shoved his empty pie plate to the center of the table. “Not bad for store-bought and frozen, eh?” Not bad at all, Cammi thought, looking into his loving face. Not bad at all. And pie had nothing to do with the sentiment. As she made her way up to bed around 2:00 a.m. after having a heart-to-heart with her sister Lily in the barn, Cammi’s mind drifted back to Reid. His voice and manly stance, and the bright green of his eyes set her heart to pounding, as if she were a teenage girl in the throes of a first crush. She dreaded going to bed because she knew she wouldn’t be having a peaceful night’s sleep. More than likely, she’d have nightmares induced by worries about her condition—and how Lamont would react to the same news. Chapter Three Reid stood beside his rumpled bed, staring at the napkin bearing Cammi’s name and phone number. Thinking about her had kept him up most of the night. Shaking his head, he slapped the napkin onto the nightstand, because there didn’t seem to be a single legitimate reason to call her. Couldn’t use the car repairs as an excuse, because he’d already told her the mechanic wouldn’t have time to assess the damage until Monday, at the earliest. Couldn’t say the tow truck driver needed information, because she already knew their vehicles had been delivered to Wilson’s Garage. What was wrong with honesty? he wondered. Why not just tell her he enjoyed her company and wanted to see her again. He could suggest a movie, or a quiet dinner, someplace where he could get to know her better. Reid held the receiver in one hand, the napkin in the other, then noticed that his alarm clock said five-thirty. Groaning, he blew a stream of air through his teeth. What was he thinking? Not everyone got up with the cock’s crow! She’d driven all the way from L.A. to Amarillo and had had a car wreck, all in one day. Surely she’d be sawing logs at this hour. Still, he thought, palming the napkin once more, hadn’t she said this was her cell phone number? More than likely, it was turned off and recharging. He could leave a message, and if she didn’t return the call, he could tell himself it had somehow been lost in cyberspace…. Holding his breath, Reid punched in the digits. After three interminably long rings, her lyrical voice said, “Hi. This is Cammi.” He could almost see her, smiling, bobbing her head, big eyes flashing as she recorded the message. The mental picture distracted him so much that he didn’t hear the beep. “Uh, hey, Cammi. It’s Reid. Reid Alexander. From last night, and, uh, y’know, the accident?” He looked at his watch. “It’s just past five-thirty, Saturday morning and, well, I was just wondering if…” What if he suggested a date and she rejected him? “…if there’s anything I forgot. Y’know, phone numbers, or…whatever. So, call if you need anything.” He rattled off his cell phone number, even though he had seen her tuck the napkin he’d written it on into the front pocket of her purse. Reid glanced at his watch again. “I hope you’re okay, ’cause, well, I’ve heard that sometimes a person doesn’t feel the after-affects of an accident till the next day, or even the day after that.” He rubbed his face and winced. “I hear-tell aspirin is good for what ails you.” Shut up, you idiot! he told himself. “Anyway, I hope you’re all right. Thanks and—” “You’re welcome. And I’m fine. How’re you?” He felt like a colossal birdbrain, a jerk, a sappy blockheaded schoolboy. He could only hope Cammi didn’t agree. “I, uh, thought I was leaving a message.” No wonder he hadn’t heard a beep! “I got into the habit of answering the phone that way, so I’d sound in demand in case a producer ever called.” When she giggled, Reid’s heart beat double time. “I guess since I’m no longer in demand, I can start saying a simple ‘hello’ like everybody else, huh?” Another merry giggle tickled his ear. He wanted to say, First of all, you’re not like everybody else. Instead, Reid said, “You’re very much in demand, at least by one beat-up cowboy.” Her tiny gasp made him grin. Would she be sitting there, wide-eyed, one hand over her mouth? he wondered. “You’re up awfully early.” “Early? Should’ve been up and out half an hour ago,” he said, glad she hadn’t hung up despite his long-winded “message” and his blatant flirtation. “But what’re you doing up at this hour, if you don’t mind my asking?” Her sigh filtered through the wires, kissing his eardrum. Reid shivered involuntarily. “No specific reason,” Cammi said. “I just have… There’s a lot to be done today.” Was that sadness he heard in her voice? Reid hoped not, because something told him that if anybody had earned the right to be happy, it was Cammi. “Well, I won’t keep you, then. Just wanted you to know you can call, any time, if I forgot anything.” “You didn’t forget anything, but if I remember something you might have forgotten, I’ll be sure and call.” After a long pause, she added, “And I hope you know you can do the same.” He nodded, then shook his head and chuckled under his breath, because of course she couldn’t see him nodding. “Sure. Right. I’ll do that.” Reid cleared his throat. “Well, you take it easy, y’hear?” “I will. You, too.” “Catch you later, then.” “Have a good one!” If one of them didn’t put a stop to this, they’d go on “ending” the conversation till sundown. Much as he’d enjoy spending the day with her, even by phone, he took the bull by the horns: “Bye, Cammi. Glad to hear you’re still feeling fine.” “Thanks. Glad you’re all right, too. I’ll call if I hear anything from the insurance company or the mechanic.” “I’ll do the same.” He put the phone back into its cradle, wondering why the room felt colder and darker. Reid remembered that earlier, he’d pocketed Billy’s note, the one with Amanda’s hotel and room number. Grimacing, he fished it out. The sooner he got things cleaned up, the better. She answered on the first ring. “Hey,” he said, “I got your message and—” “Reid, darling!” she shrieked. “How are you! Why haven’t you called! I’ve been so worried about you!” He sighed. “Will you be free in about an hour? I know it’s early, but—” “Oh, Reid,” she cooed. “I’m never too busy for you.” He stifled a sigh of frustration. Amanda’s tendency to overemphasize even the simplest words was but one in a long list of reasons that it could never work out between them. “When did you get into town?” “Why, yesterday, of course. I called the minute I settled in, so we could get together and talk about us.” He could tell her, here and now, that there never had been and never would be an us, but Reid didn’t believe in taking the easy way out. The night he’d won the Silver Buckle award, Amanda had tearfully admitted she didn’t have a ride home. And because Martina and Billy had drummed into his head that gentlemen treated women like ladies whether or not they deserved it, he agreed to drive her. He should have immediately put the brakes on her intense thank-you kiss in the hall outside her apartment. If he had, he wouldn’t have paid for his thoughtfulness every day since. “I didn’t leave my room once,” Amanda was saying. “I’d just die if you called while I was out!” “Mmm-hmm,” he said distractedly. He had tried, over and over since that first night, to explain that one kiss doesn’t seal any deal, least of all of the relationship kind. Her sobs had made him decide to explain things another day, when she wasn’t so…emotional. And today’s that day. “I can hardly wait to see you, Reid! Did you miss me as much as I missed you?” In place of a response, he said, “How ’bout I pick you up at eight, buy you some breakfa—?” “Oh, Reid! I’d just love that!” “See you at eight.” Reid felt strangely guilty after hanging up, not for severing the connection with Amanda, not for what he was about to tell her, but because it seemed this meeting with Amanda was tantamount to cheating on Cammi. He couldn’t help but chuckle at that, because wouldn’t it be a bitter irony if Cammi was home right now, rehearsing the same speech for him that he was about to make to Amanda! Amusement faded fast as he imagined her, hemming and hawing as she sought a compassionate way to deliver her message. It would hurt worse than a fall from a saddle bronc, no matter what words she chose or how kindly she spoke them. “Ridiculous,” he muttered. “Face it, man…you barely know the woman!” Still, admitting how it would sting if Cammi rejected him started a ‘what goes around, comes around’ mantra swirling in his head. It made him decide to set Amanda straight gently. Very gently…just in case. He half ran down the stairs, anxious to get it over with, once and for all. If he didn’t waste any time, he could get the new ranch hands squared away before heading into town…. The moment he stepped into Martina’s big sunny kitchen, he saw that she’d set the table. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee permeated the air, and pots and pans promising a full country breakfast were steaming on the stove. “Good grief,” he said, looking around. “What time did you get up?” Martina handed him a glass of juice. “Never you mind. Just sit down and eat before everything gets cold.” Billy only shrugged, so Reid did as he was told; might be a lot easier for Amanda to take his “I’m not good for you” speech if he wasn’t wolfing down bacon and eggs while he made it. “I want you to have a healthy meal in your belly,” Martina told her husband, “before we start out for Fort Worth.” It wasn’t like Billy to comply so quickly, without so much as a teasing retort or a sly wink. Reid blamed it on nerves; Billy had never liked long drives or sleeping in hotel beds, and liked doctors’ exams even less. This trip to the latest in a long list of specialists would require both. Martina handed each man a plate piled high with link sausages, over-easy eggs, crisp golden hash browns, and buttered toast. She filled their coffee cups, then joined them at the table. Spreading homemade raspberry jam on her bread, she asked, “You okay this morning, Reid?” He looked up, more than a little surprised at the question. Later today, she’d drive her husband all the way to Fort Worth for who-knows-what kind of prognosis. “I’m fine. How ’bout you?” From the day Reid’s mom brought him and his beat-up cardboard suitcase into this house, Martina had taken Reid under her wing, treated him like the son she’d never had. He couldn’t love her more if she were his mother. A guilty thought rapped at the edges of his mind: Reid did love her more than his own mother. But then, Martina had earned that love. “Never mind about me.” “I’m fine,” he said again. Her left brow rose, the way it always did when she thought he was holding something back. “You’re not all stiff and sore? After that collision last night?” He reached past the Eiffel Tower saltshaker and the Big Ben pepper mill to grab her hand. “Nope.” She still didn’t believe him, and the proof was that in addition to raising her brow, Martina had tucked in one corner of her mouth. God knows the poor woman had enough on her slender shoulders, what with all she did around the house and helping Billy with Rockin’ C business. And now this mind-numbing death sentence…. “Honest,” he added in a voice much too bright for his mood, “I’m right as rain. Fit as a fiddle. Sound as a dollar.” Billy chuckled as Martina sighed and shook her head. “Well, all right. If you say so. But there’s a bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet, just in case.” Reid couldn’t help but smile around a bite of spicy sausage, because truth was, his neck did feel a speck creaky, and a cramp in his lower back had nagged at him several times during the night. He blamed the long, sleepless hours for his minor discomforts; seemed every time he closed his eyes, he saw Cammi, smiling that smile of hers…brown eyes flashing, dimple deepening, musical voice reminding him of the wind chimes outside Martina’s kitchen window. How was a man supposed to get any shut-eye when— “What in thunder did you put in those sausages?” Billy asked his wife. Her brow furrowed. He used his butter knife as a pointer. “You can see for yourself the boy’s off in la-la land.” Reid stopped chewing and smiled nervously under their scrutiny. He looked from Martina to Billy and back again. “What?” The couple exchanged a knowing glance, and Martina giggled. He put down his fork. “C’mon guys. Cut it out. You’re gonna give me a complex.” “This girl who ran into you,” Martina began, “is she pretty?” Reid felt his cheeks flush. Because Billy and Martina were on to him? Or because Martina’s question gave him yet another mental picture of Cammi? “She’s okay,” he said, though pretty didn’t begin to describe her. “What’s her name?” Martina asked. “Cammi Carlisle.” “Carlisle,” Billy said out loud. “Don’t know the name.” “Must be new in town,” his wife told him. Reid helped himself to another sausage. “She was on her way home from spending a couple years in California when we, uh, met. Said she’d lived here all her life before that.” Billy and Martina looked puzzled. “Maybe Carlisle is her married name. Maybe her parents are divorced and—” Reid didn’t hear Billy’s explanation, because his mind had locked on the word married. Unconsciously, his fingers tightened around his fork handle. Heart thundering as his ears grew hot, he remembered asking Cammi if her husband’s job had taken her away from Amarillo. The only word he could come up with to describe how she’d looked was sad. Even now, he heard the sorrowful note in her voice when she’d answered. Her reaction conjured more questions than answers. Maybe Cammi had followed some guy to California. Maybe they’d tied the knot while they were out there, and things went sour, so she’d come home to put an end to it. That sure would explain why her mind hadn’t been on the road when she ran the red light. Then again, maybe there hadn’t been a husband at all, and she’d come home for no reason other than that she couldn’t cut it in Hollywood. The real question was, what did he care? At that moment, all Reid wanted was to get off by himself. It would take half an hour to drive to Amanda’s hotel. He’d have plenty of time to roll those notions around in his head a time or two on the way over, see if he could figure out why the idea of a man in Cammi’s life nagged at him like the after-affects of a bug bite. Reid scooted his chair back and got to his feet. “Great meal, Martina, as usual.” He carried his plate and silverware to the sink, grabbed his jean jacket from the wall peg and opened the back door. He was half in, half out when she said, “Where are you going in such an all-fired hurry?” “Got those new guys starting work today, remember. Don’t want them lollygaggin’, ’specially not on their first day.” He nodded toward the outbuildings. “Might as well put them right to work on that fence.” Billy was leaning back in his chair, preparing to agree, when Martina said, “Before you go, I have a favor to ask you.” Reid stepped back into the kitchen. “I’ll do it.” Her brows rose. “But you don’t even know what it is yet!” “Can’t think of anything I’d refuse you.” She smiled, then folded her hands in front of her. “Well, you know how terrible I am with directions.” She bit her lower lip, glancing quickly at her husband before meeting Reid’s eyes. “And you know Billy can’t drive anymore, so I was wonder—” “Say no more,” he interrupted. “What time were the two of you planning to hit the road?” “Right after lunch,” Billy said. Reid put his hands in his pockets and nodded. More than enough time to get this nasty business with Amanda and the new ranch hands taken care of. “I’ll just get the boys started, make sure they have enough to keep them occupied till we get back. I have a, uh, errand in town, but I’ll be back by noon. We can head out whenever you’re ready.” Martina gave a relieved sigh. “I had a feeling we could count on you.” She brightened to add, “I took the liberty of booking a room for you at our hotel.” The long drive before and after the doctor’s appointment would wear Billy to a frazzle, so despite the fact that he hated hotels, Reid would stay the night. “All I can say,” Billy put in, “is this doc better be worth the trip.” He gave Martina a stern yet loving look. “Those last four quacks weren’t worth their weight in feathers. You’ve run me all over, looking for a—” “A miracle. Yes, that’s right,” she finished for him. Tears filled her dark eyes. Suddenly, she gripped her husband’s hand, gave it a little shake. “I have faith, mister, and I won’t rest until we’ve exhausted every possible option!” On his feet now, Billy gathered her close and nuzzled her neck. “Aw, now, honeypot, don’t get all weepy on me.” He pressed an affectionate kiss to her cheek. “Don’t pay me any mind. Y’know I love you to pieces for all you’re doin’ to save my ornery hide, right?” Eyes closed, Martina nodded and pressed her freshly kissed cheek against his knuckles. If Reid hadn’t already known how absolutely devoted she was to Billy, this scene would have made it obvious. Her wavering breath pulsed in the quiet room. So as not to disturb them, Reid slipped out the door, feeling like an interloper for eavesdropping on this very private, very loving moment. Something nagged at the periphery of his consciousness: He’d never been one to envy what others had…but it sure would be nice to know a love like that before he met his Maker. After giving the ranch hands their orders, Reid drove to Amanda’s hotel and found her waiting for him outside the entrance. “I figured you’d be driving some kind of monster truck,” she said, giggling when she opened the passenger door, “so I wore blue jeans.” She sidled up, intent on planting a kiss right on his lips. He gave her his cheek instead, and pretended not to notice the disappointment that registered on her face. She recovered quickly, though—he had to give her that. After a second or two of silence, she snuggled close. “I hate to sound like an old codger,” he began, pointing at the passenger seat, “but you need to slide right back over there and buckle your seat belt.” He stared straight ahead. If Rose London had been wearing her seat belt thirteen years ago, she might have survived the accident. Since that night, he’d been a stickler when it came road safety. But Amanda had no way of knowing that, and her wide-eyed expression proved it. “Had a fender bender last night,” he added, “so it’s making me more cautious than usual.” “How sweet,” was her breathy reply. Amanda chattered about turbulence during her flight as Reid drove to Georgia’s Diner and parked in the lot, babbled about too few towels in her hotel room as they walked inside, yammered about Amarillo’s gray skies and chilly temperatures as they scanned menus. “You look wonderful,” she said, once the gum-snapping waitress had left with their order. Reid knew she expected him to return the compliment, but to say anything flattering right now would only make his speech that much harder to deliver. No point putting off till tomorrow what you can do today, he silently quoted Billy. Taking a deep breath, he plunged in, saying it was all his fault that she’d come to believe they had a future as anything but friends. To spare her feelings, he called himself a fool, a self-centered jerk, a boor. To his amazement, Amanda didn’t resort to tears, didn’t disagree. In fact, she said nothing, nothing at all. Instead, she simply stood and gathered her things before walking woodenly out the door. Groaning inwardly, Reid put a twenty on the table to cover the cost of the food they’d ordered, and followed her. He caught up to her on the entrance to the parking lot. “Amanda,” he began, “don’t go away mad. There’s no need—” She threw herself into his arms and held on tight. Reid looked up, as if the answer to this problem was written on the underside of a rain cloud. He was about to offer to drive her back to the hotel when movement across the street caught his eye. Cammi—in tiny black shoes and a bright white sweater—mouth agape and eyes wide, looking directly at him. It was as if the world had come to a dead halt. Cammi no longer heard the steady din of traffic, didn’t see sparrows flitting to and fro, pecking the sidewalk in search of food scraps dropped by hurrying pedestrians, couldn’t feel the biting blast of autumn wind against her cheeks. She wasn’t even feeling the rush of satisfaction from the successful interview she’d just come from with the principal of Puttman Elementary that had resulted in a teaching position. Instead, she was aware only of Reid, locked in an intimate embrace with a tall, striking blonde. It made no sense why jealousy reared its ugly head, started her heart beating faster. Reid hadn’t mentioned a woman last night in Georgia’s Diner. But then, why would he? He certainly didn’t owe her any explanations. The sight of him, face half buried in the blonde’s long, gleaming tresses, made her fumble-footed, and she tripped over a protruding blob of hard tar, squeezed into a crack in the curb. Tires skidded, horns honked, brakes squealed as she landed on hands and knees in the road. She felt ridiculous, crawling around in a small circle, grabbing up the tube of lipstick and ballpoint pens that had spilled from her purse. She had no idea when Reid had crossed the street, or when he’d knelt beside her. But there he was, lips a fraction of an inch from hers, smiling as she stuffed a rat-tail comb, a pack of tissues and a quarter into her bag. “We’ve gotta quit meetin’ this way,” he drawled. Cammi giggled nervously, despite the dull ache in her lower back, despite the burning, bloody scrapes on her knees and the palms of her hands. As they neared the curb, a wave of nausea and dizziness staggered her. But, just as he had the night before, Reid steadied her. “You okay?” he asked, voice laced with concern. She was about to answer, when the blonde he’d been hugging so tightly flounced up. “Well,” she huffed, “at least now I understand why you wanted to end things.” She blinked mascara-blackened lashes at Cammi. “I hope you’ll be very happy, following your rodeo cowboy from town to town.” Glaring at Reid through narrowed eyes, she added, “I feel it only fair to warn you, you won’t be the only one!” With that, she spun on her stiletto heels and click-clacked off. “And don’t you even think about following me, Reid Alexander,” she tossed over her shoulder. Reid seemed torn between helping Cammi and fixing things with the angry woman. “I’m okay,” Cammi assured him. “Really. Now hurry, or she’ll get—” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/loree-lough/an-accidental-hero/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.