The Cowboy's Forever Family (7 page)

“Jo's not the domineering one in this scenario.” Her eyes were blazing and he realized once again he hadn't given her enough credit. Brody might not even have realized it during his whirlwind romance with the woman, but Laney was as strong as they came. Little minx was a regular spitfire.

He bent his head when she tugged on his shirt, apparently not quite finished with what she had to say.

“And don't call me princess.”

* * *

Laney guessed from the way the voices of the patrons in the café tapered off and then swelled again that she was the new topic of conversation in the room, but it didn't really bother her. She didn't feel particularly self-conscious, especially after several people, including the cook and his wife, came by her table to introduce themselves. Everyone was so friendly and welcoming.

She didn't know what Slade had been worried about. There was a moment's hesitation when she wondered if the story of Brody's rocky marriage had been tossed about town, but if it had been, she couldn't tell. No one treated her any differently.

She'd seen most, if not all, of these people at Brody's funeral, but she'd been so physically and emotionally ill at that point that most of her memories were a blur. Then she'd left straight afterward for her sister's, and so had never had the opportunity to put names with faces. Now that she would be living here, she was anxious to get to know her neighbors and make new friends.

“Better?” Slade asked as he slid into the vinyl booth opposite her.

“You or me?”

“Well, I meant me and my rodeo dirt, but it's fine if you want to talk about yourself instead.” He arched his eyebrows suggestively, and she wondered if the man even knew how to relate to a woman outside of flirting. Or fighting. He leaned his arm across the back of the booth and his biceps flexed with the motion. Was that a practiced move?

“Absolutely not.” She didn't even have to think about that answer. “I do not want to talk about me.”

She wasn't at all inclined to lead the conversation her direction, except... Her contrary heart wanted answers for the one thing that had been bothering her ever since she and Slade had become reacquainted.

He was silent and watching her intently.

“There is one thing—”

She paused as Jo poured decaf coffee for them and served them each a huge slice of warm peach pie à la mode. Laney tested the coffee against her lips as she considered how to phrase her question. Her curiosity was going to get the best of her, although the truth might be more painful than she imagined. Maybe it was because of her emotional state with her pregnancy and all, but she was seeking some kind of reassurance about her relationship with Brody, that it hadn't all been for nothing. Unfortunately, only Slade could give her that information.

“I'd like to hear about you and Brody.” She figured she'd start there and try to lead the conversation in the direction she desired.

Slade's eyes were an electric blue and sparks were flying. His jaw tightened and his biceps rippled with strain. “What do you want to know?”

What had she said that had put him on the defensive? He looked as if he was ready to come out fighting.

“Other than Grant and Carol, whom I came clean with when I moved to Serendipity, you're the only one who knows the story—the
whole
story.”

“What?”

“That Brody and I were separated. That there was a reason we weren't living together as man and wife at the time of his death. But even I don't know the rest of it. Why he never brought me home. Not once. He was keeping me a secret from his family. His friends. The town. And I want to know why.”

She'd just told him she didn't want to talk about herself and then she'd plunged right into the deep end, exposing her most personal and vulnerable side.

And to think she intended the original question to be about how Slade and Brody had started riding bulls and how long they'd been doing it. Instead...

“You think he didn't bring you home because he was ashamed of you?” Slade looked and sounded stunned.

“Wasn't he?” She tried to keep the bitterness from her tone but knew she wasn't entirely successful in her endeavor. And she'd completely ruined any chance she had of gently leading the conversation the way she'd intended it to go. She wasn't talking about Brody and Slade at all. She'd already managed to bring it right around to the strained subject of her marriage to Brody, which had very little to do with Slade at all.

“No.” Slade leaned forward on his elbows. “Whatever else you might think about Brody, he was in love with you. Always.”

“Then, why?”

He raised his eyebrows at the question as if he didn't understand what she was asking.

“You know what I'm talking about. He put me up in an apartment in Houston, like he didn't want anyone to know about me. He didn't even stay with me most of the time. He was either doing police work here in Serendipity or fooling around on the local rodeo circuit.”

Slade winced. She'd definitely hit home.

“What did he tell you about where he was?” he asked, his voice husky.

“Not much. Only that he was working toward getting us somewhere permanent to stay before he brought me here. That it was supposed to be a surprise for me. But none of that was true, was it? We both know he already had a home in Serendipity. And he was never going to bring me there.”

“He would have.” Slade's jaw ticked with strain and he was avoiding her gaze. “He would have.”

“You know very well that we were separated,” she hissed, trying to keep her voice down and maintain a tenuous hold on her emotions, which were jumping all over the place.

The café was definitely not the place to be having this conversation, and she desperately wished she hadn't opened the can of worms in the first place.

“I was completely on the level when I told you he was coming back to you.” Slade threaded his fingers through his thick black hair and rubbed at the knotted muscles of his neck. “I wasn't just telling you what I thought you wanted to hear.”

“Why should I believe that?”

“Because it's true.” He half stood, and then, after realizing he was drawing the attention of other patrons, regained his seat with a frustrated grunt. “He wanted to reconcile with you, more than anything in this world. And he had every intention of bringing you home to the ranch, I promise you that. He just—he wanted it to be right.”

She wanted to believe him. She needed to trust what Slade was saying. Her heart ached for closure.

Baby Beckett moved and she rubbed a hand absently over her ribs. Oh, how she would love to believe that if things had been different, she and Brody and their little baby might have been a real family. If their lives had played out differently.

If Brody hadn't ridden that horrible bull.

Slade stood abruptly, threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table and rubbed his palms down the front of his jeans. “I'm sorry, Laney. You'll never know how sorry I am.”

And then he was gone, striding out of the café without a backward glance.

What had just happened?

Whatever it was, Laney knew instinctively it was something significant. For maybe the first time since they'd met, Slade had extended genuine sympathy to her.

And then he'd walked away.

Was she imagining the change in Slade's demeanor? Something didn't feel right or ring true. The man wasn't in the habit of apologizing, for starters, and anyway, what did he have to be sorry for?

“He lit out of here like his tail was on fire.” Jo Spencer slid into the spot Slade had vacated and offered Laney a heartfelt smile, kindness and empathy in her gaze. “Putting him in his place, were you?”

Laney started to answer Jo's question but couldn't manage to get a word in edgewise.

“Well, good for you. It's been my experience—and I've had plenty, mind you—that most men need to be knocked down a peg or two now and then, especially the handsome ones like Slade. Their egos tend to swell bigger than their brains. And who better to pop that balloon than us ladies, don't you think?”

Jo cackled and Laney couldn't help but join in the laughter. Not one word the old woman had said was spoken with malice, but rather with affection. The boisterous redhead was probably one of the nicest women she'd ever met. A person couldn't
not
like her.

“Actually, I don't know what that was,” Laney said, bemused. “I don't think I'll ever understand that man's mind.”

Jo reached across the table and patted her hand. “If I were you, my dear, I wouldn't even try.”

That was good advice. Why should she care what Slade thought about anything? He'd been nothing but a thorn in her side since the first day she'd laid eyes on him, strutting around the rodeo with Brody as if the two of them owned the place.

“Are you settling in?” Jo asked in a blatant attempt to change the subject. “Meeting folks from town?”

“A few. I've been so busy with trying to learn the ins and outs of ranching that I haven't had much time for social activities.” Nor the inclination, though she wasn't about to tell Jo that. She didn't want to hurt the woman's feelings and wasn't convinced Jo would even understand her reluctance.

“You'll be wanting to make an exception for tonight, dear.”

“Why? What's tonight?” Laney felt unaccountably weary, and the last thing she wanted to do was spend more time in public. Regardless, she flashed Jo a polite smile, hoping her expression wouldn't give away the strain she was feeling.

“First Tuesday of the month. Jam session at the community center, six o'clock sharp. It's a Serendipity tradition. You won't want to miss it. You know where the community center is located?”

“I do. But what's a jam session?” It sounded like something a bunch of teenage boys would do in their garages on weekends. “Heavy metal, lots of bass guitars?”

Jo chuckled and waved her arm at Laney. “Maybe in a larger town. Here, the musically talented among us bring their instruments and voices and treat the rest of us to some good old-fashioned country music.”

Despite her fatigue, she had to admit that seeing how a small town celebrated and found joy in their everyday lives piqued her interest. And she liked music.

“Trust me, it will be worth your time. You'll come?”

She couldn't deny Jo, not with the anticipation and delight that lit her eyes like firecrackers. She looked as excited as a small child at Christmas.

“I'll do my best to be there.”

“Or be square,” Jo added with another laugh. She pointed to her tye-died T-shirt, which indeed sported a square, with the words Don't Be printed in the middle of the shape.

Laney glanced at her cell phone for the time. “I'd better hurry if I'm going to have time to go home and change first. What does one wear to a jam session, anyway?” she asked, feeling uncomfortably big-city.

“Calls for formal wear.”

A country gathering with formal wear? Great. Laney didn't have a single thing in her pregnancy wardrobe that would even remotely qualify as close to formal, and there was no prospect of fitting into her standard little black dress. That was a possibility that had long passed her.

“
Serendipity
formal wear,” Jo added with a gleeful chuckle. “Jeans, dear. Blue jeans and cowboy boots.”

Chapter Six

S
lade strummed his thumb over the strings of his acoustic guitar and winced at how out of tune it sounded. Adjusting his seat on the stool, he plucked first one string and then another, adjusting each one until he could strum a chord that didn't sound as totally off-key as his insides were feeling.

He wished it was as easy for him to put his life in tune as it was to tune his guitar. There weren't any easy adjustments he could make to solve
those
problems.

Usually the monthly jam sessions raised his spirits, but he doubted even music could reach him tonight. Though he continued to show up to play and sing, he didn't find nearly as much joy in it as he used to.

For one thing, Brody's drum set stood empty at the back of the stage. On occasion one teenager or another would pick up a pair of drumsticks and accompany the band with percussion, but every month since Brody's death they'd left the set empty during Brody's favorite songs as a tribute to him.

It was still hard for Slade to reconcile himself to Brody's death. Sometimes he expected to look up and see Brody pounding out a rhythm, his white-blond hair bobbing to the beat. But even harder was trying to reconcile the wrongs he was only now realizing he was accountable for.

For Brody. For Laney. And even for Baby Beckett.

He was directly responsible for Brody's death. He didn't think he'd ever figure out how to live with that knowledge, but he owned it. And he was just now starting to see what else he had done, things that had hurt people far more than he'd realized. Instead of supporting Brody when he was struggling with the emotional aftermath of his hasty, and some would say reckless, marriage, he'd encouraged his friend to ignore the vows he'd made, and to continue living like a carefree bachelor. He hadn't wanted to share Brody's time and attention with anyone. In some ways he supposed he'd felt as though Laney had taken Brody away from him, and Slade had fought back. If it wasn't for cowboy church, Slade still wouldn't know there was a better way to go through life.

Oh, the irony. Now he
knew
there was a better way, but he had no idea exactly what it was or how to find it. Jesus's death on the cross had reconciled his heart to God. He believed that, but for what purpose? It was all head knowledge, and not even a whole lot of that. He felt like a kindergartner in an algebra class. Without Brody, Slade was walking a lonely, jagged path with no signs to point him in which way to go.

He was too ashamed to go to church. Maybe eventually he'd get his nerve up, but he'd been a reckless teenager who'd turned into an irresponsible man. How could he just show up for church like none of that mattered, as if he belonged in a group with people who had always done the right thing? He'd tried to read his Bible, but without guidance he wasn't getting very far.

He turned his thoughts back to the present as the other musicians, ranging in age from sixteen to seventy, started trickling in, greeting Slade and setting up their equipment. A second acoustic guitar, an electric bass, an ancient piano that was kept in the community center and wheeled out for the jam sessions, and three fiddles. Old Frank Spencer and a couple of other men checked the decrepit sound system to make sure it was working as well as it could be. Slade checked his mic and gave Frank a thumbs up, then glanced up and straight into Laney's beautiful brown eyes.

His heart jumped into his throat. She looked every bit as surprised as he felt. What was she doing here? She hadn't expressed any interest in attending community events.

No, that wasn't quite right. He'd never invited her, had never even thought to mention it to her. Someone else had done the honors.

Add that to his ever-growing list of Never Thought To's where Laney was concerned. Yet another black mark on his record.

He grinned and winked at her, falling back on his usual, most comfortable method of dealing with the fairer sex, especially since his mind was flailing all over the place and he couldn't think of anything else to do.

Only it didn't work with Laney, and it didn't make Slade feel comfortable, either. She rolled her eyes at what Slade belatedly realized she might have interpreted as an openly flirtatious gesture—which was the furthest thing from the truth. Of course he hadn't meant it that way. She should know better. He felt an unfamiliar jolt of embarrassment and heat flooded to his face. Everything about his encounters with Laney were way out of his comfort zone, and this was no exception.

Fortunately for him, she quickly turned her gaze away when Jo Murphy approached her and soon she was deep in conversation with the gregarious redhead. No doubt Jo had been the one to invite her to the community event. Once again Slade chastised himself for the oversight.

Samantha Davenport, the church organist and all around talented keyboardist, slid behind the piano. Taking their cue from her, the others took up their instruments. The drum set sat empty and a blast of pain hit Slade's chest, jarring the breath out of him. It was worse than being thrown from a bull and slamming straight down onto his back in the dirt. Definitely not the condition he wanted to be in when he was supposed to be starting a set of songs.

How could he sing when he couldn't even breathe?

Slade was generally the group's leader and the band was looking to him for the cue to begin. Despite the pain in his chest, he whispered the name of a high-energy country romp and leaned into the mic.

“Glad to see everyone out here tonight.”

The crowd quieted and then broke out in applause. He searched for Laney and found her on the outside edge of the room, leaning against a concrete pillar as if for support. And she was completely alone.

“I don't know how many of you have met Laney Beckett,” he said, gesturing in her direction. She became instantly alert, her eyes wide and her expression shocked. She jerked her chin, either begging or maybe warning him not to continue, but he was already all-in, and it was for her own good. “She's Brody's—” he paused around the catch in his voice “—widow. I hope you'll all take a moment to make her feel welcome tonight and introduce yourselves if you haven't already.”

There. He hadn't been the one to invite her tonight, but he'd just made sure she wouldn't be standing alone the whole time. Now she wouldn't have time to feel lonely or out of place. A sense of satisfaction swept over him.

A group of teenage girls gathered by the front of the stage, mimicking a concert setting. Slade knew he was the big draw for the impressionable youngsters, but that knowledge no longer swelled his ego. Too much had happened, too many bad things. He was finally growing up, maturing beyond the arrogant cowboy who considered seeking women's attention—any female between seven and seventy—the highlight of his day.

He cleared his throat and began the song, singing the first two lines a cappella before Samantha ran her fingers down the keyboard and joined in with some lively chords. The crowd started clapping, a makeshift rhythm that made the lack of percussion even more pronounced. As the guitars and fiddles joined, Slade put everything he had into the performance, singing and playing to soothe the ache in his heart, and maybe to show off—just a little—to Laney. He'd totally blown the bull-riding thing, so he had a lot to make up for.

Surely she'd like the music. She had to.

He played a second song, and then a third, urging the townsfolk to join in singing the familiar tunes. Despite his best efforts to the contrary, his gaze kept finding Laney's, no matter where she was in the room. She'd long since moved away from the pillar and into the center of the celebrating mill of people, all of whom welcomed her warmly.

Another glance and he realized the majority of those to whom she was speaking were men.
Single
men.

His hackles rose and his strumming become more intense. He should have realized the guys in town would see the attractive woman and go in for the kill.

Have some respect, fellas. Laney's not fresh meat.

She was Brody's
widow
, and she was nearly eight months pregnant, for pity's sake. Did these guys have no sense whatsoever? Never mind that, at least in the past, he had been as guilty as the next man for seeing a pretty face and not the person underneath.

But Laney? This was too much.

“Set's over,” he announced when the song ended.

“But we've only done four songs,” Samantha protested, backed by the whole slew of muttering musicians.

“Fine. Then play without me.” He pulled the guitar strap over his head and set the instrument on a nearby stand.

Samantha shook her head, clearly flummoxed at his behavior, but directed the band into another song—a ballad. Folks started pairing off for impromptu dancing and Slade increased his pace, determined to break through the thick crowd before some idiot asked Laney to dance. He could only imagine what kind of angst that would leave her with.

He caught up with her just as one of the men in her circle of admirers leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Seth Howell, recently back in town from his army deployment, was already being way too familiar with Laney. His hand brushed across her shoulders as he bent his head to hear her response.

Her
laughter
.

Slade couldn't understand why she would be encouraging the soldier. His pulse hammered and his gaze clouded with anger and resentment as she smiled up at Seth and blinked those amazing brown eyes of hers.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing—Laney with her rounded belly, flirting like there was no tomorrow. What had this world come to?

He overheard Seth using the word
dance
and watched as he gestured toward an open spot close to the front of the stage, and it was all Slade could do to keep his cool and not deck the man for his impertinence. Slade wasn't used to
experiencing
such strong emotions, much less containing them.

He didn't pause to consider why that was. He simply reacted. He'd come up on Laney from behind, so she didn't even know he was there until he took her by the shoulders and spun her around and into his arms.

“Sorry, pal. She's with me,” he told the soldier, who immediately threw his hands in the air to demonstrate his surrender. Slade couldn't help the smug grin that lined his face when the man backed off.

“Wipe that smile off your face,” Laney snapped, glaring up at him. “What do you think you're doing?”

He would have thought it was obvious. Saving her from herself.

Again.

She never got him, did she? Instead, she always assumed the worst about him. Shoot first, talk later.

“I'd think it would be obvious, princess. I'm keeping you from having to say no to that fellow.”

“What makes you think I was going to say no?”

He froze midstep and held her at arm's length. “Weren't you?”

One corner of her full lips twitched upward and her eyes glittered with unspoken amusement.

“Very funny.” He tightened his grip on her and whirled her around, ignoring the way his senses were reacting to holding her in his arms. His large hands spanned the back of her waist, her lip gloss sparkled from the glow of the overhead lights and the clean, woodsy scent of her perfume wound around and through him.

But this wasn't just any pretty woman. This was
Brody's
Laney, and he had to get his mind elsewhere.
Now
. He was every bit as bad as the other single fellows if he couldn't keep his mind on what really mattered here.

He spun her around, and then again. He wasn't an expert dancer by any means, but he had a pretty good handle on the Texas two-step. He just needed to concentrate on where his feet were going and not on the woman in his arms.

“Why do you feel the constant need to butt into my business?”

Her demand made him feel as if she'd thrown a bucket of ice water over him. Thankfully, the music was so loud it nearly drowned out the question even to his ears. He was fairly certain their conversation wasn't being overheard by the friends and neighbors dancing around him. How humiliating would that be—not only being taken down a notch, but having it done right there in public?

“I don't know.” He frowned and tried to shrug it off. Why did she have to be so serious all the time? “Why do you think?”

“You seriously don't want me to answer that question,” she said, playfully swatting his chest.

He let out his breath. So this wasn't a challenge, after all. She was goofing around with him. He didn't know whether to be relieved or alarmed by the knowledge.

“But cut it out,” she continued, her gaze narrowing on him. “I don't need you to fight my battles for me. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself—and Baby Beckett, if that's what you are worried about.”

“Brody would have my hide if I didn't look out for you.”

“That's very sweet,” she said in a saccharine voice that suggested sarcasm. “But entirely unnecessary, I assure you.”

“Fine.” He didn't see a point in arguing with her. They'd been over this territory many times before, and revisiting the matter wouldn't change anything. He was still going to watch out for her and protect her—from outside forces, and from herself, when necessary—and she would no doubt continue complaining about it.

“Great music,” she said. Slade was relieved at the abrupt change in subject. Finally, she was giving him a break. “I'll admit I was a little skeptical when Jo first told me about the
jam session
.”

He chuckled. “Why? What did you expect?”

“I don't know. Heavy metal played by a bunch of high school kids?”

His chuckle turned into an all-out laugh. “In Serendipity? Princess, this is cowboy country.”

Her eyes narrowed on him in an unspoken warning.

What? What had he said?

“Exactly,” she said after a moment's hesitation. “I'd call this a—a hoedown, maybe. A country dance.”