The Cowboy's Comeback (Montana Mavericks: What Happened To Beatrix? Book 2) Page 11

  “In what way?” Holt asked.

  “First of all, he’s been in trouble with the law. Second, he practically lives at Wild Wesley’s, that dive bar out in Bronco Valley, and I’ve heard stories about that place. And third, my daughter just graduated from high school two months ago. She’s headed to college at the end of the month. Suddenly, she’s saying she thinks she met the love of her life and that maybe she could take a year off. That punk is not the love of her life, and she’s not losing her scholarship to Wyoming Western College. Over my dead body!”

  “Mr...” Holt prompted.

  “Thompson. Edward Thompson. I’m the senior VP of new development for Thompson Paper—a business that’s been in my family and Bronco Heights for almost a hundred years. My daughter’s name is Piper. Short for Pauline. Do I have your word you’ll take care of this problem?”

  “Mr. Thompson, you said your daughter is eighteen. So is Brody. I’m not sure how anyone can prevent them from dating.”

  Thompson crossed his arms over his chest. “Apparently Brody likes this job. Threaten him with it. Tell him he either stops seeing Piper or he’s fired. If the job means that much to him, he’ll move on to another pretty girl—this time from Bronco Valley.”

  This time from Bronco Valley. Until they’d moved to Bronco Heights from Whitehorn, the Daltons had always been from the wrong side of town. So Holt knew exactly what the man meant, and he didn’t like it. Or Edward Thompson. What a pompous—

  “I said what I came to say,” Thompson huffed. “I’m a big donator to the ranchers’ association, and I think the powers that be over there would want to keep me in their good graces.”

  Now he was threatening Holt and Dalton’s Grange? Thompson wouldn’t make a donation unless Holt intervened, and if Holt didn’t, the loss of big bucks to the association would be the Daltons’ fault?

  I don’t think so, buster.

  The man was down the porch steps before Holt could respond and that was probably for the best. He got in his silver Range Rover and drove off.

  Holt sat down on the porch swing, shaking his head. “Believe that guy, Bentley?”

  The dog rested his chin on Holt’s knee, and he rubbed the sweet pooch’s furry head.

  Brody didn’t live on Dalton’s Grange. There were two bunkhouses a mile out back on the property that some full-time hands shared, but Holt recalled that Brody had his own tiny apartment, an efficiency, right above Wild Wesley’s. Man, that had to be loud all night long, particularly Thursday to Saturday nights. He knew this detail about where Brody lived because he’d dropped the guy off there after bailing him out of jail, and Holt had said, “You just got busted for getting into a fight here, now you’re going back for more? I don’t like wasting my money, Brody.”

  And Brody had again insisted he didn’t start the fight nor had he wanted to participate in it, then explained he lived above Wild Wesley’s, thanked Holt again for bailing him out, then had gone in a narrow door wedged between the bar and a dark alleyway.

  He’d talk to Brody tomorrow morning. Holt had no idea what he’d say yet. Maybe just relay the exchange between himself and Edward Thompson.

  He pulled out his phone and called his dad. Neal Dalton answered on the third ring, his trademark.

  “Thanks for the warning about the hothead, Dad.” Seriously. Neal Dalton couldn’t have given him a heads-up that some loose cannon was on his way?

  “I’m sure you handled it fine, Holt.”

  “How, exactly, am I supposed to handle it? Brody’s eighteen and so is Thompson’s daughter. Oh and by the way—if I don’t break up the relationship, he threatened to pull his big donation to the ranchers’ association and make sure the powers that be know it’s our fault.”

  “Classic,” Neal said with almost respect in his voice. Whose side was his dad on?

  “I’ll talk to Brody in the morning when he turns up. Though I don’t know why you sent Thompson to me when he was already at your house and you could have dealt with him.”

  “Because I figured you could talk him down, use your own experience but with hindsight, you know? I don’t always have the answers even if I think I know everything.”

  Maybe his dad was coming around some. There didn’t even seem to be a back-handed compliment in that. And good thing because Holt hated clapping back at his dad, hating being at odds with the man. Getting along meant the world to his mother, and Holt knew it.

  “I’ll see what I can do, Dad.”

  Which would clearly not include trying to explain to Edward Thompson that Holt couldn’t stop his daughter from dating who she wanted. He’d tried that, and it was beside the point for Thompson. The point was separating the couple. Keeping Piper Thompson “uncorrupted.” Making sure she left for college in three weeks, the Bronco Valley “punk” history.

  Well, he couldn’t blame his dad for thinking Holt knew something about that very topic.

  “Kiss Robby good-night for me,” his dad said and hung up.

  Holt shook his head. His father made him want to throw something. He walked down the porch steps into the front yard and threw a stick as hard as he could. Bentley went flying after it, returning it and dropping it at his feet.

  “Good dog,” Holt said, giving Bentley’s side a pat. Yup, that was what happened when you tried to avoid something, throw it away. It came right back, demanding to be dealt with.

  Like Amanda maybe. She’d come back into his life for a reason. Now. Just when he was ready for her. That had to mean something.

  He went back to the porch swing, Bentley trailing after him. Thompson had gotten under his skin and Holt knew why. Because in a parallel universe, the man could have easily been Amanda’s father, furious about Holt and Amanda, and deep down Holt still felt like that twenty-two-year-old guy.

  He’d changed his ways because of Robby, and seven years later, he led the most law-abiding, kid-focused life possible. His world was work and Robby and his family whereas ten years ago, before Amanda and in the few years after, his life had been about chasing a good time, pretty women and cold beer. His group of friends at the time were just like him. One had ended up in prison for a string of burglaries. Another had joined the army and had probably been straightened out. And another had tried to turn his life around when his older brother died of a drug overdose and had had to leave Whitehorn because no one would let him change, be a new person.

  Sometimes Holt thought his dad didn’t accept that he’d changed. Neal Dalton acted like Holt could revert at any time.

  I coulda sworn you married that hard-edged gal because you knocked her up, his father had said at his and Sally Anne’s wedding. But she says she’s not expecting.

  I married her because I love her, Holt had said.

  He had loved Sally Anne. Yeah, she was rough around the edges—just like he was. They came from the same place, so to speak. They spoke the same language, understood each other. But Sally Anne had been even wilder than Holt, and she lived for attention.

  What killed Holt now, and during the past four years since he’d been raising his son on his own, was that Holt’s choices had put Robby in this position. To have a mother who’d walked out on him. To need his reading tutor to stand in at a mother-son fun run. To wonder why he wasn’t special enough for his own mother to want to be in his life. Sometimes Holt thought about what his dad had said at the wedding and regretted not knowing better, not making sure that a woman who’d said she wasn’t maternal, wasn’t cut out for motherhood didn’t get pregnant by accident. They’d been young and in love and tipsy most of the time—and careless.

  Anyway, if Holt hadn’t married Sally Anne, Robby wouldn’t exist. And Holt wouldn’t trade his life with his son for anything.

  He got up and headed back inside with Bentley, giving Oliver his dinner reserve, which had the cat rushing over, then he shut the lights on the first floor. He, Bentley
and Oliver went upstairs, Bentley going back into Robby’s room and Oliver following Holt into his own bedroom. Usually the cat stuck with Bentley, but Holt was glad for the company tonight.

  He sat down on the edge of his bed and opened the bottom drawer of his end table as Oliver jumped up on his bed and scratched at a spot and then curled up. Under a bunch of old keepsakes was one of the most precious of all: a photo of him and Amanda from ten years ago. They were sitting on the dock of the lake at Camp KidPower, Amanda’s back against his chest, her legs straight out in front of him, his arms wrapped around her. They were both beaming. And so damned young.

  He wondered what the story was with Brody and Piper, if they were in love like he and Amanda had been. Maybe Brody already planned to walk away from Piper, to let her head off to school and start her new life, which had no place for him. Or maybe the two had other ideas. In any case, they were adults, new ones but legally able to make their own decisions whether Thompson approved or not.

  Holt would talk to Brody in the morning but he had to wonder: how could he advise Brody to walk away from Piper for her own good when doing exactly that with Amanda was the biggest mistake Holt had ever made?

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning, Amanda was happy to see her next-door neighbor Melanie Driscoll come out of her apartment as Amanda was leaving and locking up. Mel spent a lot of time at her fiancé’s ranch, so Amanda didn’t get to see her dear friend as often as she used to. As usual lately, Amanda’s gaze went right to Mel’s gorgeous diamond engagement ring.

  What did that mean? Amanda used to be drawn to the ring kind of wistfully, as in, That’ll never happen for me because I’ve taken myself out of the game. Now, the ring seemed to say something else to her. I symbolize love and commitment and those things really do exist.

  Maybe Amanda was changing? Just a little? She hoped so. Being closed and guarded didn’t feel great.

  Amanda smiled at her friend, who looked beautiful as always. Mel’s long blond hair was loose past her shoulders, and she wore the cutest outfit. Amanda glanced at her own outfit, which was professional meets superdull. She loved the way Mel and Brittany dressed with style and flair, but Amanda had always been a more fade-into-the-woodwork type. Maybe she’d ask Mel and Brittany to go shopping with her and let them suggest some upgrades to her ho-hum look.

  The funny thing—and funny strange, not funny ha-ha—was that Holt seemed to find her sexy just as she was. He had ten years ago, too, which had shocked not only her but all the girls at camp. Amanda of the ponytail, no makeup, baggy T-shirts, and nose in a book had somehow stolen the attention of the cutest guy in camp. Once, when a girl asked Holt what he saw in her—Amanda had happened to be in eavesdropping distance but not visible—she’d heard Holt respond, I see everything in Amanda—everything beautiful and everything that matters. The girl had swooned. Amanda had burst into tears, unable to believe that someone, someone she’d fallen so hard for, had said something like that about her. She’d wanted to call her mom and tell her, but her mother wasn’t the kind you shared stuff like that with. Amanda had held it close to her heart until he’d dumped her, when she’d stopped believing in anything Holt had said to her.

  A few weeks into camp, Amanda had made a close girlfriend, another counselor who also had a boyfriend she was nuts about, and the two girls had told each everything. Daniella had always been there for her over the years, and though she now lived in Alaska, Amanda would always feel close to her faraway friend. In fact, Daniella had paved the way for Amanda to open up to new girlfriends, and she’d easily become close to Brittany in college and then Mel when she moved next door. She trusted in girlfriends. Not so much boyfriends.

  “Hi, Mel. I’ve been meaning to update you on my online search for Beatrix. So far, no leads on the one site I posted to—adoptees looking for information—but last night I posted on two other sites. I’m so hopeful.”

  “Me too,” Mel said. “I want to find Beatrix so badly.”

  “You’ll find her. I truly believe that.”

  Her own words shocked her. Maybe instead of being so cynical, she was becoming more open to possibilities. She hoped so. She certainly wasn’t looking to get hurt again, but her wise roommate’s words kept coming back to her. Keep an open mind—even just a smidge open.

  Did she dare do that when she was entering a race called the Mother-Son Fun Run with Holt’s child? She already felt close to Robby Dalton. Being involved in something like this, given Robby’s particular situation, pulled her in even more. She’d love to have a little boy just like Robby. But the thought of giving Holt another chance felt...scary. Truly scary. To allow herself to be that vulnerable, and then to be left heartbroken and alone... She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t do it. She had a plan for a Robby of her own. She was researching, investigating, figuring out.

  Amanda and Mel headed out into the perfect August Montana morning together, chatting about the search for Beatrix, then went their separate ways. Amanda couldn’t stop thinking about Josiah Abernathy and Winona Cobbs during the short walk to the coffee shop, where she picked up an iced mocha latte to fortify herself for her presentation to a potential new client. Somewhere out there, a seventy-five-year-old woman may have been wondering about her birth parents all these years. That was if Beatrix even knew she’d been adopted at birth.

  Amanda had so many questions. Had Josiah kept tabs on his baby girl from afar? He’d known where she was. Now, with Josiah suffering from Alzheimer’s, he was unable to provide any answers about the past. It was up to Mel and the great search.

  An hour later, after Amanda’s meeting with the school district’s superintendent about potentially taking on their social media needs, she stopped back in the coffee shop with her laptop to type up her notes and to work on a few other current campaigns. One thing she loved about her job was that she could do it anywhere. Such as while drinking a sweet iced tea and nibbling on a white chocolate and raspberry scone.

  “CJ Donville is supercute,” a voice whispered from the table beside her. “And omigosh, did you see that blond guy with the serious muscles at the health club last night? Hot!”

  Amanda smiled to herself. She loved girl talk—even just listening. She’d noticed the two women, neither of whom she’d recognized, when she’d sat down. Both were in their midtwenties, one blond with great bangs, the other auburn-haired with killer eyebrows.

  “I have my eye on a few Dalton brothers,” the redhead said.

  Amanda almost spit out her iced tea. Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to be hearing this.

  The blonde nodded. “Five gorgeous brothers! Holt is so hot, but forget him. And Morgan—ooh la la. Ridiculously sexy. You should go for him.”

  Forget Holt? Why? Because he was involved with someone, namely Amanda? No one would know that, though. But they had been spending time together around town—Bronco’s Brick Oven Pizza just last night. Maybe people thought they were a couple.

  No, other women didn’t look at Amanda and think the hottest guy in town would go for her.

  The redhead shook her head and bit into her bagel. “Do you know Cheyenne, the junior Realtor at Bronco Properties? Tall, thin, huge chest, gorgeous? She has guys chasing her left and right. She asked Morgan out after running into him in the grocery store and he turned her down, made some excuse. So trust me, Morgan’s no better.”

  No better? What did that mean?

  “Yeah, neither of them seems to be interested in anyone right now,” the blonde said, then sipped her drink. “I thought Holt stopped dating because no one could deal with his hyper kid.”

  Amanda narrowed her eyes. Hyper? How dare she refer to Robby in an unkind manner! Kids were off-limits—worldwide rule.

  “No, I heard he’s seeing someone,” the friend said.

  Amanda had no doubt that someone was her. Might not be true, but she did like the idea of Holt being off the market. A
nd clearly there was quite a market.

  The blonde smirked. “Like that’ll last. My cousin Lulu dated Holt last year when he first moved to town. He’s gorgeous and a total gentleman, but he’s a package deal and his kid’s a nightmare. Never stops talking and has to be the center of attention. Holt told Lulu his son has to be his priority, not dating.”

  Amanda wanted to take her iced tea and dump it over the woman’s head, then crumble the scone on top. What gossips! How dare they!

  “Well, shouldn’t his child have priority over his love life?” the redhead asked. “I think that’s a good thing.”

  “I guess. He told Lulu he’s looking for a mother for his son. She heard that and ran for the hills. Holt is seriously hot, but she knew she’d turn into the babysitter real quick and have the life sucked out of her. No thanks. No one needs a brat aging them ten years in a month! Who could afford that kind of Botox upkeep?”

  The women laughed and clinked to that with a double amen.

  Steam coming out of her ears, despite the air-conditioning in the coffee shop, Amanda packed up her laptop, stuffed her half-eaten scone into its little bag and into her tote and grabbed her tea. She stood up and turned to the women. “You’re talking about a seven-year-old boy. And before you tell me to mind my own business, maybe consider that when you gossip about people in a coffee shop, you never know who’s sitting next to you.”

  Both women’s mouths dropped open. Amanda stalked out, fury climbing up her spine.