Roughneck Cowboy (2 page)

 

W
HEN THE HUNKY MAN
returned to the parlor, Sara pretended interest in her second-graders' spelling tests. Through veiled eyes, she studied the man, noting his bare ring finger. She wondered if he was the little girl's father. Uncle? Family friend? The absence of a bowlegged walk confirmed he was no cowboy, but his muscular build and deeply tanned face suggested he made his living outdoors.

The imp fidgeted in her seat, peeking at Sara every few seconds.
Oh, dear
. The child realized she had an audience. When Beulah delivered her meal, Sara nodded toward the other diners and whispered, “Who are they?”

“Came up from Houston to visit the little girl's granddaddy.” Beulah motioned to Sara's coffee mug. “More?”

“Thanks.”

Sara had just taken a bite of corn bread when Mr. Coppertone bent to pick up his napkin from the floor.
The girl stuck out her tongue, wiggling the appendage like a worm on a fishhook. Sara giggled, but looked away before the child caught her staring. Her resolve to ignore the comedian lasted less than a minute. When she glanced up, two white straws protruded from the girl's nose. Sara awarded her an A for creativity—the walrus face was priceless.

The man stopped playing with his cell phone and scowled. “That's not funny, Charlie.”

Charlie.
Unusual name for a girl.

“Take the straws out of your nose.” His deep voice boomed. “Now.”

The troublemaker pointed at Sara. “She thinks I'm funny.”

Oh, you little stinker
. Sara resisted the urge to duck her head. She offered a friendly smile, but the man's scowl remained in place.

“I don't care if the world thinks you're hilarious. Finish your cereal.”

“I want to go home.” The pint-size rascal crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.

“Too late to turn back now. We're in this for keeps.”

His words coaxed a quiet sigh from Sara. What she wouldn't give to find a handsome man who wanted to be in it for keeps with
her.

 

T
HE GRAVEL ROAD LEADING
to the Lazy River Ranch felt like a dark, endless tunnel. Travis battled another round of second thoughts as they bumped along the path. Should he have phoned and given the old man a heads-up about his and Charlie's visit? Or should he have waited until after the holidays to drop in? He
shoved his worries aside. Dominick Cartwright didn't deserve any courtesies from him.

What if your father didn't know you existed all these years?

Travis had considered the possibility, but it was easier to assume Dominick had wanted nothing to do with him than to believe his mother—the woman who'd raised him single-handedly all these years—had denied him a relationship with his father.

“When are we gonna be there?”

No sooner had Charlie spoken than the ranch house came into view. Halogen lights lit the circular drive crowded with cars. Damn, he'd crashed a party. He parked by the empty coral.

From a distance, the barn appeared old but in pristine condition. He'd have expected an oil baron to possess a state-of-the-art aluminum-sided structure with central air and all the high-tech stuff. Maybe the small cattle herd they'd driven past was just for show. He switched his attention to the house. Light poured through the windows of the white two-story home with a wraparound porch.

“Well, I'll be,” he mumbled when a hound dog limped from around the corner of the house.

Charlie unsnapped her seat belt and pressed her nose to the windshield. “What's wrong with him?”

“Probably just old.”

“He looks sad.”

The dog barked once, swished its tail, then disappeared inside the barn. “I guess that means we're welcome.”

“Aren't we going in?” Charlie asked.

How did a father explain to his little girl that he was scared spitless?

You're doing this for Charlie.

If he could fool himself into believing that, then he wouldn't have to acknowledge his own need to know if he'd ever mattered to the man who'd sired him. The decision to stay or leave was taken out of his hands when the front door opened and two men stepped outside. They stood beneath the porch light and stared in Travis's direction. A moment later, they shuffled down the steps and headed across the driveway.

“Stay put, Charlie.” Travis cut the engine and got out of the truck. One man walked with a cowboy swagger, the other possessed the steady gait of a confident businessman.

As they drew near, the swaggering cowboy spoke. “Need directions?”

Hardly
. “I'm here to see Dominick Cartwright.”

Both men stopped a few yards away. Travis didn't blame them for being cautious. He suspected all kinds of kooks claimed they had business with Dominick Cartwright in hopes of getting their hands on his millions. “Got a name?” the businessman asked.

“Travis Cartwright from Houston, Texas.”

Right then the front door opened again and an elderly gentleman stepped outside. There was no doubt in Travis's mind that the man was Dominick Cartwright. He stood tall and straight with dark hair and a white mustache. “Matt? What's going on out there?” He headed toward the group.

“Duke and I will take care of it, Dad!” the cowboy shouted.

Travis's mother hadn't mentioned a third child in her
diary entries, so he had no idea who Duke was, but the cowboy must be Matt—his mother had mentioned an older brother by that name. As his father drew closer, Travis suddenly wanted to run. To pretend he'd never learned of his mother's secret. To reject the idea that he was part of a family he hadn't known existed most of his life.

Charlie hopped out of the truck and joined Travis, sliding her hand into his. He squeezed his daughter's fingers embarrassed by the need for her support.

Despite the fact that there must be more than thirty years difference in their ages, the old man's chiseled face was a dead ringer for the one that met Travis in the mirror each morning. They shared the same nose, high cheekbones and thick, black eyebrows. If there was any doubt, the pronounced Adam's apple sealed the deal.

“Dominick Cartwright?” Travis said, cursing the break in his voice.

The old man stiffened. “Who are you?”

Disappointment stabbed Travis, but he squelched the feeling. Now was not the time to
feel.
“Travis Cartwright. According to my mother, Charlotte Keegan- Cartwright, I'm your son.”

Dominick stumbled back and the other men steadied him. Masculine hands covered in a network of thick veins clenched into fists. He opened his mouth, then shut it so tightly his lips vanished beneath the mustache as he stared at Travis.

Unfazed by the tension between the adults, Charlie asked, “Are you my grandpa?”

Before Dominick had a chance to answer, Duke said, “Help Dad inside, Matt.”

Travis's brother took Dominick's arm and led him
away. Once the two were out of earshot, Duke said, “You better be for real or you'll have a lot to answer for.”

Travis nodded toward the house, where a group of women and children had gathered on the front porch. “I don't want to intrude. Charlie and I will return in a couple of days.”

“No one drops a bomb like you just did and walks away. C'mon.”

He was grateful Charlie hadn't released his hand as they followed Duke. If he wasn't so agitated, he'd laugh at himself—the big, bad roughneck afraid of a few rich people.

“What's the matter, Duke?” one of the women asked when they neared the porch steps.

“We'll talk inside.”

The crowd filed into the house, then Duke motioned Travis and Charlie ahead of him. They joined the others in the crowded foyer. Dominick stood to the side, staring into space.

After a tense silence, Charlie blurted, “How come no one's talking?”

A pregnant woman with blond hair smiled. “I'm Renée.” She set her hand on the shoulder of a young boy. “This is my son, Timmy.” The woman motioned across the foyer. “You've met my husband, Duke.”

A tall woman with long black hair and a quizzical expression stepped forward. “I'm Samantha.”

My sister
. Travis and Samantha shared the same dark eyebrows, olive skin and jet-black hair. Unlike his brother, Matt, whose blue eyes, brown hair and paler complexion favored their mother.

Samantha slipped her arm through the man's next
to her and hugged a little boy close. Both males wore identical eyeglasses. “My husband, Wade, and our son, Luke.”

“I'm Amy, Matt's wife.” A petite woman with curly hair motioned to two little girls. “Our daughters, Rose and Lily.” The girls giggled and hid behind their mother's legs.

“I'm Charlie.”

“That's a weird name for a girl,” the boy wearing glasses said.

“Charlie's my nickname.”

“What's your real name?” the boy asked.

“Charlotte. That's my grandma's name, too.”

The adults froze at Charlie's announcement.

“Where's your grandma?” the little girl in pigtails asked.

“She died. And I don't have a mom. It's just me and my dad now.” Charlie fidgeted next to Travis, unaware of the bombshell she'd dropped.

Samantha slapped a hand over her mouth and tears flooded her eyes. Matt's face drained of color. Travis searched out Dominick, but the old man had disappeared. A moment later, the echo of a slamming door thundered through the hallway.

T
ravis wasn't sure if his physical presence or the news of his mother's death had caused his estranged father to leave the group. Regardless, Travis decided he wasn't ready for this confrontation. “Charlie, let's go.”

“Wait.” The blond woman named Renée stepped forward. “We were about to serve dessert. Please stay.”

“Last one to the kitchen's a rotten egg.” Timmy took off, and the other kids followed. Renée held out her hand to Charlie.

Noticing Samantha's pleading expression, Travis decided it wouldn't hurt to answer a few questions about their mother. “Go ahead,” Travis urged his daughter.

Matt's wife kissed his cheek, then joined the others in the kitchen. Samantha gazed into her husband, Wade's, eyes and Travis swore the couple shared an entire conversation without speaking a word. Wade hugged her, shot Travis a be-nice-to-my-wife glare and left.

“I'll make sure you're not disturbed,” Duke said before vacating the hallway.

Travis nodded to the door Dominick had slammed moments earlier. “Maybe you should check on your father.”
He's yours, too
. True, but for all intents and
purposes, he and Dominick Cartwright were strangers who happened to look alike.

“This is unbelievable.” Samantha cast a worried glance down the hallway.

“We could all use a drink,” Matt said. They filed into the parlor and Travis positioned himself in front of the windows. His sister collapsed on the leather sofa and Matt poured scotch into three glasses at the wet bar. After serving the drinks, he sat in the chair near the fireplace.

Travis swirled the gold liquid in the crystal glass, thinking this was a three- or four-shot occasion—not a one-shot. He wasn't a conservative drinker, thanks to his chosen career. As soon as his two-week rotation on the rig ended and he stepped onto the mainland, Travis and his coworkers headed straight for the local bars to blow off steam. Even though he hadn't seen the harm in his bi-monthly binges, his mother had nagged him to cut back on his alcohol consumption. He hadn't appreciated her concern until she'd been diagnosed with cancer. After helping to raise Charlie, Travis owed his mother a lot more than a promise to watch his drinking. He would have done anything for his mom if it would have cured her illness.

Then she'd died and he'd discovered his whole life had been a lie. He'd grown up a latchkey kid, living in one-bedroom apartments because that's all his mom could afford on a secretary's salary. Only when he'd landed the job on his first rig had they been able to scrape together the down payment for a small house. He hadn't resented going without as a child—it was all he'd ever known. But the knowledge that he was the son of a wealthy oilman made him bitter.

“If you didn't look so much like our father,” Matt said, “I'd accuse you of fabricating the story of Charlotte's death in order to blackmail Dad.”

“I've lived thirty years without a dime of Cartwright oil money. No reason I can't go another thirty years without it.” Travis sipped his scotch, savoring the burn of alcohol against his throat. Even though he understood his sibling's mistrust, he hated that he had to defend himself when he was the one who'd been wronged.

Samantha waved a hand in the air. “Enough talk about money. How did Charlotte die?”

“Cancer. Multiple myeloma,” Travis said.

Matt tossed his drink back in one swallow. “What kind of cancer is that?”

“A tumor of the bone-marrow cells. Mom was diagnosed two years ago. After treatment she went into remission, which lasted nine months.”

“When did she die?” Samantha wiped at a lone tear on her cheek.

Travis felt empathy for his sister, the emotion surprising him. He didn't know this woman, yet he couldn't deny their physical similarities and the weird connection he felt in his gut when they made eye contact.

“Mom passed away three weeks ago.” Travis cursed the lump that formed in his throat. He was done crying for his mother. “I'm sorry.” Not that the apology meant anything coming from a complete stranger.

“Did Charlotte ever talk about Matt and me?” Samantha asked.

“No.” His answer startled Matt, and Travis regretted his bluntness.

“How did you find out about us?” Matt asked.

“Mom kept a diary.” She'd mentioned leaving
Dominick and her two children—something poetic about heeding the call of her heart. All bullshit. When her remission ended, the entries had turned morose and she'd confessed that she'd regretted forsaking Matt and Samantha for a chance to be with her true love. Travis had yet to figure out just who the hell her true love had been. There had never been another man in his mother's life—at least not one that Travis had known about.

“Do you have Charlotte's diary with you?” Samantha asked.

“Yes.” Maybe his sister and brother would find solace in her words. The diary had only pissed off Travis.

Matt shot out of the chair and paced in front of the fireplace. “I just remembered something.” He stared at Travis. “This past summer Dad confessed that he should have gone after Charlotte when she'd walked out on us years ago. But he said his pride got in the way and he'd believed that she'd come to her senses and return on her own. Then months passed and there was no word from her, so Dad filed for divorce.”

Feeling shaky, Travis left his post at the window and joined Samantha on the couch. What would his life have been like if his mother had had a change of heart and returned to the Lazy River? Or if Dominick had gone after her and convinced her to give their marriage another try?

“Did Dominick talk about our mother often?” Travis directed the question to Matt.

“Anytime Sam or I asked questions about her, Dad changed the subject.” Matt glanced at Samantha. “Before Amy and I married, I considered hiring a private detective to find Charlotte.”

“You did?” Samantha's expression softened.

Travis envied his siblings' close relationship. All these years he'd believed growing up an only child had been better than having to share a bedroom, clothes or toys with a brother or sister. He wasn't so sure now.

“I mentioned my plan to you, Sam, but you talked me out of it,” Matt said.

“Really?” Samantha spoke her next words to Travis. “When I was a teenager, I had an accident—a horse kicked me in the head and I almost died.” She smiled. “But I survived.” The smile flipped upside down. “The bad thing is that my short-term memory was affected and I forget things.”

“Amy encouraged me to invite Charlotte to our wedding,” Matt said.

“Why did I talk you out of it?”

“You believed if Charlotte came to the wedding, she'd upset Dad. After giving it more thought, I decided you were right. Dad's always been there for us, and I didn't want to do anything that might hurt him.”

“I felt the same,” Travis said. “There was a time I toyed with the idea of searching for my father, but I never had the money to hire an investigator.” And why bother if the man didn't want Travis in the first place?

“I don't understand how Dad couldn't have known about you all these years.” The note of suspicion in Matt's voice didn't escape Travis.

“Poor Dad,” Samantha said. “I'm worried about the toll the news of Charlotte's death will take on him.”

Matt helped himself to more scotch. “He'll need time to get used to the idea that both his wives are now dead.”

“Both wives?” Travis asked.

“Matt and I were teenagers when Dad married Duke's mother.”

That explained Duke's presence in the family—a stepson.

“Laura died in a car accident several years ago,” Matt said.

Travis's siblings had lost two mothers in their lifetime. “I'm sorry.”

“The whole situation is sorry.” Samantha stared into her drink.

“Did you bring proof of Charlotte's death?” Matt asked.

Yeah, her body's in the bed of my pickup
. Travis squelched his anger. He couldn't find fault with his brother for wanting to protect his father. He'd have the same urge if this had happened to his mother. “I'll mail Dominick a copy of her death certificate as soon as Charlie and I return to Houston.”

A peek at the wall clock told Travis that the three of them had been together a half hour and Dominick had yet to make an appearance. “It's best if Charlie and I leave.” Having a civilized discussion about his mother's death was more than Travis could handle. “I'll leave my cell number in case Dominick changes his mind and wants to talk.”

“Dad's going to want answers before you leave,” Matt said. “You might as well stay here tonight so the two of you can talk tomorrow.”

“The kids are planning to sleep in the bunkhouse. Charlie will love that. And this couch—” Samantha pointed to the piece of furniture she sat on “—is a sleeper sofa.”

Okay, so they had room to put him and Charlie up
for the night, but the invitation wasn't heartfelt. Travis got the impression that Matt didn't trust him and wanted to keep an eye on him. “Charlie and I don't want to intrude.”

“Thanksgiving is a time to be with family,” Samantha said.

Family—the reason Travis and Charlie had embarked on the trip to Oklahoma in the first place. He couldn't return to Texas until Dominick agreed to care for Charlie should Travis suddenly drop out of the picture. And what about his daughter? Charlie hadn't smiled much or played with any friends since her grandmother's death. “We'll stay.”

 

“I
F YOU' RE MY GRANDPA
, how come you never visit me?”

Charlie's question met Travis's ear as he reached the bottom of the stairs. After tossing and turning on the sofa bed all night, he'd showered and changed in the second-floor bathroom and had been heading to breakfast.

“Who said I never wanted to visit you, Charlotte?”

“Why do you keep calling me Charlotte? My name's Charlie.”

“Are you always this impudent?”

“Did you call me a swearword?”

The two needed a referee. Travis entered the kitchen. “Mornin'.” He reached out to ruffle his daughter's hair, but she saw his hand coming and ducked.
Impudent
little stinker.

“Grandpa keeps calling me Grandma's name.” His daughter thrust out her lower lip.

“Charlie prefers to be called Charlie,” Travis said.

Dominick stood at the stove, flipping pancakes—avoiding eye contact. “Where is everyone?” Travis asked. The house was too quiet.

“Visiting Juanita's family.”

“Grandpa said Juanita bosses him around.”

Dominick set five miniature pancakes in front of Charlie, then slid the syrup bottle across the table. “Juanita's been my housekeeper since Char—for a long time.”

The conversation baffled Travis. This was the first time his father had spoken directly to him since their arrival last night, and they were discussing the housekeeper. Dominick poured batter into the frying pan, his movements careful and precise. A couple of minutes later, he added a second plate of pancakes to the table and a large mug of coffee. “Dig in.”

“Thanks.” Travis reached for the syrup bottle.

“You're probably confused about who's related to whom in the family.” Dominick refilled his coffee mug, then propped a hip against the kitchen counter.

Travis had a pretty good grasp on everyone's relationship, but kept quiet.

“Matt married Amy this past summer. She was a widow. Her daughters, Rose and Lily, are from her first marriage.”

“Rose said that Lily pooped marbles all over the bathroom floor when Matt babysat them.”

“We don't talk about stuff like that when we're eating,” Travis said. Leave it to his daughter to add flavor to the morning meal.

“Amy owns a horse-boarding business in Idaho and
Matt raises cutting horses on her farm. I wish they lived closer. I don't get to see them often enough.”

Travis steeled himself against the painful twinge caused by Dominick's words. Had Travis's mother not isolated him from the family, his father might have missed him, too.

“I married Duke's mother, Laura, when Duke was sixteen.” Dominick stared into his coffee mug. “Laura passed away when Duke was in college.”

“I'm sorry,” Travis muttered. Why was he always muttering
sorry?
When would someone apologize to
him
for being cheated out of his rightful place in the Cartwright family?

“Is Grandpa sad?” Charlie whispered.

“Not anymore, Charlotte,” Dominick answered.

Charlie opened her mouth to protest her proper name, but Travis nudged her hand and she settled for an eye roll.

“Duke transferred his information-and-technology company to Detroit a year ago. He met Renée there. She's a social worker. They adopted Timmy. Their baby's due in January.”

Travis shoved a forkful of pancake into his mouth. He'd lost his appetite but felt obligated to eat, since Dominick had gone to the trouble of cooking for him.

“Samantha married Wade this past September. Wade opened his own investment firm and Samantha runs a rescue ranch for horses. Luke is Wade's son from his first marriage.” Dominick joined Travis and Charlie at the table. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” he asked Charlie.

“Nope. I don't even have a mom.” Charlie shrugged. “My dad said she ran away after I was born.”

Dominick's dark eyebrows arched. Travis made no excuses for being truthful with his daughter. He wished more than ever his own mother had been truthful with him.

“Is Julie ever gonna be my mom?” Charlie always referred to her mother by first name. Travis assumed it was only natural, since she didn't remember Julie.

“I don't know, Charlie.”

“That's okay. At least I got a dad and you always come back when your job gets over.” Charlie's smile zapped Travis's heart. He couldn't remember the last time his daughter had said something so nice to him.