Heart Of A Cowboy (5 page)

She knew she had to and waiting would only make it worse. Knots riddled her stomach, and she hadn't eaten much in the past twenty-four hours. For a moment at church on Sunday, she'd contemplated telling him then, but he'd hightailed it out of the sanctuary so fast she hadn't had a chance. It probably hadn't been the best place anyway. They needed to be totally alone.

She saw the same black pickup as she had Saturday. She hoped that meant he was inside. Trudging toward the entrance, she surveyed the ranch. Several corrals with some horses surrounded the black barn. A little farther away were green pastures with groups of horses, some with colts and fillies. His place had a well-tended look about it, which didn't surprise her because that was the kind of person she'd known as a teenager. He took care of his own.

Inside, the hay-scented air cooled a couple of degrees. She peered down the long center of the cavernous structure with stalls on each side. “Zachary,” she called out.

A short wrangler stuck his head out of an open door. “You just missed him. He's at his house.”

“The blue one by the road?”

“No, ma'am. He lives due west. A small white place. You can't miss it if you stay on the dirt road that runs in front of here.”

She smiled although the corners of her mouth quivered. “Thanks.” Seeing him at his house would be perfect. They could talk without being disturbed.

A few minutes later, she pulled up to a one-story white house, again well tended with a small vegetable garden to the left and a flower bed running the length of its front. Exiting her car, she inhaled a calming breath, full of the scent of the recently mowed grass. A swing hung from the ceiling of the wraparound porch, offering a comfortable haven at the end of the day. A sense of peace enveloped her as she took in her surroundings.

That peace was shattered a few seconds later when the front door opened and Zachary emerged from his house with a scowl on his face. She stiffened. The carefully prepared speech she'd rehearsed for hours wiped completely from her mind as he descended the steps and strode across
the lawn toward her. His features were schooled in a neutral expression.

“What brings you out here?” His voice remained flat like the prairie around them.

Seeing him suddenly made her want to postpone telling him. Forever. The muscles in her throat convulsed. She backed up a few steps until she bumped into her car behind her and she couldn't go anywhere else. Trapped.

I need to leave.
How could they work together for Nicholas's benefit? “I have to talk to you.”

“What do you want?”

“A glass of water.”

His brow crinkled. “What?”

“Water. I'm thirsty.” Anything to delay what she needed to do.

“You came all the way out here for water?” He threaded his fingers through his hair.

“No, but I could use some first.”

Several heartbeats later he shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He spun on his heel and marched toward his place.

Jordan fortified herself with another deep breath and trailed after him.

He banged into the house, closing the door on her.

The barrier didn't bode well for the conversation she had to have with him. She sought the comfort of the porch swing and sat.
Lord, I need your help. Please give me the right words to say to him.

The door opened, and Zachary came outside holding a tall glass with ice water in it. He handed it to her then lounged against the white railing and folded his arms over his chest.

Her hand trembling, she sipped several gulps of the cold water although it did nothing to alleviate the tightness in her throat. “Thank you. That hit the spot.”

His biceps bunched. “Why did you come all the way out here, Jordan? What's going on?”

“I needed to talk to you in private. I thought this might be a good place and time.”

His jaw clenched. “For?” He crossed his legs, totally closing himself off to her.

Her heart pounded so fast and loud she wondered if he heard it. Perspiration broke out on her forehead, upper lips and her palms. “Nicholas…” Her son's name came out in a whispered rush, the air sucked out of her lungs.

“Is this about homeschooling? I don't know anything about that. Talk with Becca if you want. She could answer your questions.”

She put the glass on a table near the swing before she dropped it, then ran her damp palms on her capri jeans. Her chest rose and fell with the deep inhalation. “No, I went by and talked with Dr. Baker last Thursday. I've decided to take him out of school and teach him at home. I've got to do something different because what he's doing now isn't working.” The sense of doom and the sensation of being cornered besieged her as though she were under attack.

“Then what is it?”

Tell him. Before you lose your nerve.
“Nicholas—” The blood rushed into her ears. She gripped the edge of the swing, her fingernails digging into the wood, her breath trapped in her lungs. “Nicholas loves coming out here, and I want to thank you again for giving him lessons.”

A sigh blew out between pursed lips. “What is it you're avoiding? This isn't like you not to come to…” His gaze latched onto hers. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head. He shoved away from the railing, not one emotion on his face. “How old is Nicholas?”

“He turned ten in April. He's small for his age. He was born a month early. Nicholas is your son.”

He slumped back against the wooden post, clutching it. The dark stubble of his beard accentuated a gray pallor. His eyes fluttered. A flush of excitement glimmered in his expression. But quickly joy morphed into a bitter twist like a bundle of barbed wire. “You kept my son from me?”

She nodded slowly—all words lumped together into a huge knot in her throat.

His gaze clashed with hers. He opened his mouth to say more but snapped it closed, his teeth clicking from the force. Pivoting away, he clamped his hands on the railing and leaned into it. With his shoulders slumped forward, he dropped his head.

She collapsed back against the swing, twisting her hands together in her lap. She should have eased into the news. Cushioned the blow. But it wouldn't have really made a difference. It wouldn't change the fact Nicholas was his son.

Finally he turned slowly toward her. The painful look in his eyes tore down all her reasons for never telling him and made a mockery of the hurt she'd experienced at him not contacting her. Then a shutter fell over his face. He wore a cold mask as though they were strangers—adversaries, and she supposed they were now.

“Why didn't you tell me this eleven years ago? Even a week ago?”

The lethal quiet of his words sent a chill down her spine. He wasn't innocent in this whole affair. She'd given him two chances, and he'd ignored her—hurt her and left her to deal with Nicholas's birth and illness by herself. She'd learned the hard way to rely only on herself and God. No one else. Certainly not him.

“I called you and left several messages. You never called back.”

He fisted his hands. “I never received any messages from you.”

“But I talked with your sister once, then later when I called again, to your mother. I asked her to have you call me. That it was important. In spite of the fact she informed me that you were engaged and happy, I was going to tell you I would be having a baby within two months. Your child.” For a few seconds the memory hurled her back in time. A bone-deep ache overpowered her.

“I dated some but nothing serious. I didn't get engaged until after I left the army.”

“Then I would have a talk with your mother.” Her anger seeded itself in her heart, and she bolted to her feet. “I'm not the villain here. I tried. I decided while I was having Nicholas three weeks after that call that I would never force a man—you—to be his father.”

He uncurled his hands then curled them again. Taking two steps, he cut the distance between them and thrust his face close to hers. “After calling twice,
you
decided I didn't have a right to know I had a child. That I couldn't be his father. Who are you to make that decision for me?”

“I'm Nicholas's mother. I'm the person you told that if I left Tallgrass that it was over between us. I'm the one who stayed in the hospital chapel on my knees praying to God to let my son live when he was struggling to stay alive. It was your mother who took pleasure in telling me you had a new woman in your life.”

“Leave. You've done what you came to do.”

He stalked to the front door and yanked it open. The sound of it slamming shut reverberated through the air. Jordan stared at the barrier between her and Zachary, her brief fury deflating. He had a right to be angry. But so did she. Why hadn't his mother told him?

She started to knock on his door, stopped and decided to
leave as he asked. Emotionally she didn't have the energy to talk to him anymore. She still needed to tell Nicholas. Tonight when her mother took Granny to church. Nicholas and she would have the house to themselves. She hurried toward her car to put as much distance between her and Zachary as possible. Maybe then the pain would go away.

 

Numb, Zachary stood in the middle of his living room, staring at the floor as though that would help him to understand what had just happened. His mind swirled like a dust devil on the prairie. He couldn't grasp a thought beyond he had a son. Nicholas.

How could Jordan keep something that important from him? He sank into the chair next to the phone, his legs weak, his heart hammering so hard it hurt.

And his mother had kept Jordan's call from him. He flinched at the double whammy. If only he'd known about Nicholas, everything would be different.

No, he couldn't change what Jordan had done all those years ago, but he needed to know the truth. His hands shook as he reached for the phone to call his mother, who now lived in Arizona. He had to hear from her that she had kept Jordan's phone call from him. Even if his mom had, it didn't excuse Jordan. He hesitated with the last number. What good would it do to know his mother had kept a secret from him? He loved his parents, hated for anything to come between them. And yet, she'd had no right.

He moved the receiver toward its cradle. He halted in midair. No, he needed the truth—all of it. Then he would deal with the fact he had a son, that between Jordan and his mother he'd lost over ten years with his child. A child he'd dreamed of having but with the rodeo accident had
been wrenched from his grasp. Was this a second chance? He pressed the last number.

When his mother answered, his tight grip on the phone shot pain down his arm. “Jordan Masterson has returned to Tallgrass. She just left here. She told me she asked you to have me call her that spring after we broke up. Did she?”

“Becca told me she was back home, that you two have seen each other several times.”

“Mom, did she leave a message for me?” His heartbeat thundered in his ears as though a storm crashed against his skull.

“She called in March. You'd just finished boot camp and had been sent overseas. You talked about having met a girl you liked and had even gone out on a few dates. I didn't want you to be hurt again by Jordan so I didn't tell you.”

He clamped his teeth together and watched the second hand make half a circle on the kitchen clock before saying, “That wasn't your decision to make.” Somehow his voice only held a hint of the turmoil he was experiencing.

“That was more than ten years ago. Why are you bringing it up now?”

“Because Jordan just told me I have a son.” A son! His insides felt as though a tornado raged within him.

The sound of a swift intake of air followed by a long silence greeted Zachary. He collapsed into the chair at his round oak table, holding the phone in one hand while kneading his temple with the other. He was ecstatic; he was angry.

“Are you sure he's your son?”

His mother's question sucker punched him. Pain radiated throughout his body as the fact he was a father finally sank into his brain. Really. Thinking back to what Nicholas looked like—the same eyes and set of his chin with a
cleft—Zachary closed his eyes. How could he have missed it? “Yes, Mom, Nicholas is my son.”
I have a son after all these years.

“I have another grandchild? How could she keep something like that from you, from our family?”

“She called right before he was born to let me know she was pregnant.” Part of him wanted to take back his defense of Jordan, but there were so many good memories tangled up in the bad ones that he couldn't totally put the blame on her.

“She should have said something to me. I'd have told you if she had mentioned she was having your child.”

The accusatory tone sliced across his chest, a band drawn taut. “She said something about you telling her I was engaged. I guess that stopped her.”

“Oh, that.” His mother sighed. “That still doesn't excuse her for not saying something to you.”

No, it doesn't.
She should have called back. Everything would have been different if she had.

“She was wrong, son.”

A long, long silence stalked her last words. He shifted in the chair.

“I'm so sorry I didn't say anything. I didn't want you to get hurt again. I don't know what else to say.”

The anger he felt toward Jordan eclipsed any he could have toward his mother. Jordan should have called and called until she had spoken to him personally. How could he ever trust her again? How could he forgive her for stealing ten years of being a father from him?

 

Jordan downed the last swallow of her fifth cup of coffee in the past two hours. She had to tell Nicholas as soon as her mother and grandmother left for church. After her
encounter with Zachary today, she couldn't put it off any longer.

Her grandmother shuffled into the room, wearing a pink chiffon dress, with makeup on her face, and her short gray hair done in soft curls.