Erika glanced over her shoulder into the backseat where Beck was securely strapped into his car seat. She’d hung a small mirror on the headrest of the seat so she could see his face, and he was wide awake, his dark blue eyes gazing intently at the bold black-and-white pattern beneath the mirror, his little feet moving restlessly. How could anyone be unpleasant to Beck though? He was the sweetest, most gorgeous baby boy, and he deserved all the love in the world. But the world wasn’t a just place. Goodness wasn’t always rewarded, and bad guys often prospered.
“We’re going to meet your dad today,” she said, her voice breaking the silence. “Not sure how this will go.”
Obviously, Beck didn’t answer, but her stomach did a nervous flip and she felt queasy all the way through. It had seemed so logical to come here and find Billy Wyatt, but now that she was here, she felt overwhelmed by doubt. No, make that anxiety, as well as fear.
How did you just spring it on someone that he had a son?
But it had to be done, so that Beck could be settled and secure with his forever family, as Erika knew her side of the family wasn’t it. She herself had spent the past ten years trying to distance herself from her family, wanting more from her future than what she’d known in her past.
Finally, the rain eased and sun peeked through the clouds, creating a hopeful golden glow above. Erika drew a breath and exhaled hard. If she was going to do this, she needed to do it now, before the rodeo began.
With a knit cap on his head for warmth and Beck secure in a baby carrier on her chest, she allowed her yellow rain slicker with the bright blue flowers to drape over the baby carrier, covering enough of Beck so that he’d be protected from the worst of the odd splatter, while still being able to breathe. Head down, watching the watery potholes, she reviewed her plan for tracking down Beck’s father. She’d buy the cheapest ticket she could, most likely a seat in the bleachers, but she had no intention of actually sitting anywhere. The best place to find a cowboy was near the chutes, or the horses, or somewhere in that vicinity. Her biggest question was, would she be allowed in that area?
So intent on avoiding mud, Erika walked into a couple in front of her. She lifted her head to apologize but froze as the man’s head turned and looked down at her.
It was him. Him. April’s cowboy, Beck’s dad, Billy Wyatt, but he wasn’t alone, his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a very slim, very pretty brunette.
Erika had studied her cousin’s photo book so many times, trying to memorize the cowboy’s face, trying to imagine who he was, and how he could get April pregnant and then just disappear, that it was shocking—overwhelming—to see him in person. Anything she’d hoped to say to him died, her heart racing too hard, her entire body cold. Frozen.
She’d been determined to find him, and she had. But it had never crossed her mind that he would be with someone when she found him. “I’m sorry,” she said, taking an unsteady step back, mud squelching beneath her shoes.
He gave her an easy smile, creases fanning at his eyes. Blue eyes, bright blue eyes, so like Beck’s. “You okay?” he asked.
“My fault. I wasn’t looking.” Her gaze searched his face, all those carefully rehearsed words having deserted her. He was good-looking, very good-looking, even better looking in person than in photos. Erika didn’t quite know what to do with that knowledge, nor did she know what to think of the brunette tucked close to his side, slender, young, and very happy to be at Billy’s hip.
This wasn’t the scenario she’d imagined. Billy Wyatt wasn’t just a photo from an album, but a tall, ruggedly handsome, seriously handsome man—strong cheekbones, square clean-shaven jaw, piercing blue eyes, sensual lips—and he was not single. At least, not at the moment.
She glanced down at Beck, his head covered in a knit cap, his small body shrouded in her bright yellow rain jacket. Her heart fell, her stomach ached.
This wasn’t the time.
This wasn’t the place. Eyes burning, throat constricting, Erika turned around, and slowly returned to her car, trying to figure out her next move.
*
Billy was having a good year, a really good year, and was in the finals each weekend, resulting in big money. He and Tommy were both doing well, and their sibling rivalry brought the best in both of them—who would take top spot? Who’d have the best time, the best score, the biggest win? They were pushing each other hard, usually entering the same rodeo because they both wanted to be attending the important rodeos, the ones that offered big winnings since in the professional rodeo circuit it was about earnings, not just wins.
Billy hated taking a weekend off, but missing out on a weekend of competition wasn’t as painful as it would normally be because Tommy was missing out, too. The two of them had headed home to Montana. It was Granddad’s eighty-ninth birthday and they weren’t going to miss that. Not for all the money in the world. Granddad had raised them. He was like their dad, and the Wyatt boys loved him dearly.
Billy and Tommy had arrived late last night, pulling in after dark. Sophie and Joe had dinner waiting, and after visiting for a couple hours, had gone to bed, only to be woken up early for this morning’s ride. Granddad wanted to go inspect some of the fencing that might have been damaged from the rockslide on the far side of the property, which was another way of saying, Granddad just wanted his boys with him on a ride. Nothing made him happier than being in the saddle, on the ranch, with his four grandsons.
They’d been out for several hours when Billy’s mom’s voice came over the walkie-talkie, radioing that she needed Billy to return to the house. She needed Billy, and only Billy, and she wanted him now. They were all together when the static filled message came through, having taken a coffee break.
Granddad arched a brow as he sipped from his thermos. “Your mom doesn’t sound happy,” he said.
Granddad was a master of understatement. Their mom, Summer, had a bit of sharpness to her, and the boys never knew if it was due to the grief of losing their dad when they were all so young, or her arthritis that had crippled her in her early forties, but they loved her despite her prickly edges, aware that she loved them, and would fight for them always.
“What did you do, Billy?” Tommy asked, feet planted, thumbs hooked over his belt, beneath his open sheepskin coat.
Billy shook his head even as he pushed up his sleeve to check his watch. Eleven fifteen. He shook the sleeve down again. “No idea, but I better head down. Don’t want to keep her waiting. It won’t help her mood.”
“I always worry when we all leave her,” Sam said. “She could fall. Something could happen.”
Oldest brother, Joe, screwed the cap back on his coffee thermos. “Sophie is down there, just a stone’s throw from the house. Mom would call her if it was serious.”
Billy nodded, agreeing with Joe, but he was antsy to return now, and he slid his thermos back into a saddlebag, and then untied the reins from the quaking aspen, its bright green foliage heralding spring in the Absaroka Mountains. A moment later he swung up into the saddle and gave a nod to his brothers. “See you back at the house.” And then he nudged his horse into a canter.
It’d take him a good thirty minutes to get home from this point, plenty of time to consider all his sins. But nothing significant came to mind. He was financially solvent, happily single, competing well, very well, earning very good money. He couldn’t think of anything he’d done, at least lately, that would ruffle Mom’s feathers.