Loving A Cowboy (18 page)

“That’s great, Lib.”

A warm, cozy feeling filled her. He hadn’t called her Lib since…five years ago. “Yeah. I was pretty happy.”

And despite the interlude with Ben, she couldn’t deny she was pretty happy now as well. The sex had been incredible, even if the circumstances had been less than ideal. But she’d known what she was getting into and what she wasn’t. If this was the only way to be part of his life, for now, she’d just have to accept it.
No strings. No regrets
. If she said it enough, maybe she’d believe it.

“If you get that job, any chance you can put in a word and get me a good draw at their next rodeo? Nothing like starting a new season with a good ride on a rank horse.” He winked at her as a slow smile teased his lips.

Her insides went mushy.

She shook her head. “I’ll just be a lowly promotions person. Besides, I’m sure it doesn’t work that way. I’m afraid you’ll just have to take the luck of the draw.”

He slid his hand across the table and covered hers, warm and protective. “I’m willing to take my chances, as always.”

So was she.

* * *

The ring of the doorbell woke him. He glanced at the clock. Nine thirty blinked back at him. Who could be at the door? Everyone he knew would have come around the back. He struggled to clear his head.

Next to him, snuggled against his side, Libby stirred as the doorbell chimed again.

Hell, he’d probably worn her out last night. They’d gone at it right after pizza and once again earlier this morning. He couldn’t get enough of her. He’d never been able to get enough of her. That was the problem. But damn if he didn’t feel good, even if his ribs ached.

The doorbell rang again.

“Who is it?” Libby mumbled, only opening one gorgeous blue eye.

“Don’t know. But you go back to sleep. I’ll see to it.”

He flung the blankets back and sat up, grabbing his jeans from the heap beside the bed.

The bell rang two more times before Chance, limping, reached the door. Whoever it was, they weren’t particularly patient, since he’d called out he was coming.

He flung the door open. And went from feeling good to feeling lousy.

“Where is she?” Sam Brennan stood there in all his huffing and puffing glory, looking like a bull ready to charge. The man was dressed in short sleeves and dress pants, somewhere between work and casual.

“Libby’s sleeping.”

Sam gave Chance a once-over glance. “In your bed, no doubt.”

“Good morning to you too, Sam.”

“Nothing good about this morning, Cochran.”

Chance shook his head. Same old Sam Brennan. Ornery as ever. It had been five long years since Sam last showed up at his door. He wondered if this time the outcome would be different. Only Libby would know. “Come in. I’ll get her.”

Sam crossed the threshold, looking around as he did so. Despite the circumstances, Chance felt a little pride infuse him. No doubt Sam had expected Chance to hole up in a one-room shack or something equally as sorry. Nothing sorry about his ranch.

“This yours?”

“Bought and paid for.”

Chance closed the door behind him. “I’ll get her.”

But as he turned around, Libby appeared in the hallway.

“Daddy? What are you doing here?”

At least she was dressed in jeans and a shirt, though her feet were bare. She’d brushed her hair so she didn’t have that tousled look about her. He kind of missed that tousled look.

“That’s my question for you, young lady. What the hell are you doing here? And why aren’t you with Ben instead of this here interloper?” He jerked a thumb in Chance’s direction.

Interloper? Well, the man could have said a lot worse, he guessed.

“If anyone’s an interloper, Sam, it would be you, since this is my house and you weren’t invited.” Chance kept his voice even as he crossed his arms over his chest. A lot had changed in five years, and it would behoove Sam to realize that. But he wasn’t about to lose his temper either.

“Daddy! You best be civil. Come in the kitchen and I’ll put some coffee on.” Libby sounded more resigned than anxious. She turned on her heel, not waiting to see if Sam would follow. He did.

Last time her father had come knocking, Libby had trembled and shook before Chance had even opened the door. Then when he had flung it open, she’d rushed into her father’s arms, saying she was sorry.

Sorry? The memory still stung.

“Seems at this hour you’d have coffee brewing already,” Sam grumbled as he pulled out a chair and settled his large frame onto it.

Chance ran his hand through his hair, finger combing it. This was surely a sight he never thought he’d see—Libby fussing around his kitchen while Sam Brennan looked on.

“Sit, Chance,” Libby commanded.

Nope, Libby didn’t seem at all fazed by her father’s presence.

“I’ll fix you some eggs while we wait for the coffee. You have anything to eat this morning, Daddy?”

“Course I did. But I’ve been driving since before seven. I’ll take some of those eggs,” Sam said, drumming his fingers on the wood table. “Throw in some bacon, too, if you’ve got it.”

Libby proceeded to fill the coffeemaker with water and ground beans as Chance had shown her, and then she flitted around getting the fixings for breakfast like it was the most normal thing in the world for her father to be sitting in Chance’s house. Nothing to do but help her, Chance figured as he opened the dishwasher and snatched out three clean plates.

After he’d hobbled around setting out the plates, cups, and silverware, Chance slid into a seat across the table from Sam and stretched out his foot, which had begun to throb. Things sure were swinging between real good and real bad these days.

Sam drummed faster on the table. “I spoke to Ben, Libby.”

“I know you did, Daddy. My tongue’s bloody from biting it to keep from jumping on you about it.” Libby cracked the egg on the rim and let the fluid drip in the bowl. That’s about how she felt, cracked and dripping.

“Someone had to tell the poor guy what was going on. He was all broke up.”

Was he trying to make her madder? She whirled around to face her father, bowl and beater in hand, and began to whip the eggs into a scrambled froth, hoping the action would release some of the tension pulling her nerves into a tightrope. Staring into Sam’s defiant eyes, it was clear the man had no regrets about orchestrating the showdown—only about how it turned out.

“And that someone was going to be me, when he got back. But no, you had to jump the gun and take it on yourself to talk to Ben, making a difficult situation nigh impossible.” She beat the eggs faster. “How do you think he felt coming here?”

She whirled back around and dumped the foamy mixture into the fry pan, sending up a satisfying sizzle.

“Not good, but that wasn’t my doing. You’re the one who flew up here and parked yourself in this one’s bed.”

She clamped down on her teeth. Patience. Was. A. Virtue. Too bad she wasn’t feeling virtuous. She stole a glance at Chance. His brows were knit, but more in concentration than in anger, as if he didn’t want to miss a single word.

A day earlier she could have denied her father’s charge, but not after last night. Not after a night of body-thrilling sex. Not after a night of being in the arms of the man she loved.

The eggs were firming up. She swirled the spatula in the mixture, fluffing it.

“That was between Ben and me.”

The microwave beeped, signaling the bacon was done, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chance rise.

“Sit. I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

She shut off the stove’s flame and divided the scrambled eggs between the three plates, then retrieved the bacon, which she’d have preferred to fry in a pan, but time hadn’t allowed for it.

One minute her life had been all planned out and moving forward, and the next she wasn’t sure of anything, including what moving forward would even look like. Throw in a father who insisted on inserting himself in the middle of it all, as he’d always done, and her world had gone from straightforward to way too complicated.

“Daddy, we’ll discuss this more after you and Chance have eaten something.”

Sam shot Chance a wide-eyed look.

“I’ve learned one thing recently, Sam. When your daughter is determined, best to do as she says.”

Her father nodded, never one to need much encouragement where eating was concerned, and the two men tucked into their breakfasts. Before Libby sat down, she fed Cowboy in the mudroom, as he’d come in only after the voices had quieted. Smart cat, she thought as she scooped up a handful of nuggets. After giving the cat a pat as he gobbled up his meal, she returned to the kitchen and sat down between the two men.

It didn’t take long for breakfast to disappear and coffee cups to drain. Surprisingly, her father kept the conversation light, asking Chance about the ranch, its size, how many horses he could run on it, how bad the winters were, and if the land flooded.

Chance answered him as if Sam were a neighbor who had just dropped in for a chat and not the man who had so dramatically changed both of their lives. She could have kissed him for that alone.

But it was just a lull in the inevitable storm that had been brewing for five years, or maybe a lifetime. Not between Chance and Sam, but between her and her father.

She’d hoped Chance would excuse himself after he finished off his plate, but he’d stretched out his legs, crossed his arms, and settled back in the kitchen chair, waiting, as she was, for Sam to scrape his plate clean.

Once he had, Libby lost no time.

“Why did you come here, Daddy, if you knew Ben and I had broken up?”

Her father’s eyebrows arched in unison. “To change your mind, talk some sense into you.” He speared Chance with a narrow-eyed glance. “The question is, baby girl, why did
you
come here?”

She took a deep breath. Chance shifted in his seat. “I thought I was coming here because I owed Chance something, and he needed help—”

“You don’t owe this fellow—”

Chance bent forward as if to comment, but Libby held up her hand. Chance would not fight this battle. This was hers to win or lose.

“Stop right there, Daddy. You’ll listen to my answer when you ask a question, and you’ll answer my questions when I ask them. That’s the deal, or there is no discussion.”

Chance let go of a chuckle. She shot him a look she hoped would cure him of that tendency. She was serious, and both men had better treat her as such.

Her father gnawed on his lip before answering. “Fair enough,” he finally said.

“As I said, I thought I came because I owed Chance something. But the truth…one I only realized once I got here, was that I came because I wanted something from Chance.”

Sam rested his elbows on the table. Chance ran his hand through his hair as if uncomfortable with what she was going to say. Too bad. She was done with running. Of just letting things happen. She was taking things into her own hands. Maybe too late, but—

“Exactly what was that? He signed the damn affidavit.”

Could she say it out loud? For a split second, her nerve shriveled like a plant denied water, but when she looked at Chance and saw the questions in his eyes, she knew he deserved the truth. Even if it was said in front of Sam. “I wanted Chance’s forgiveness. And his love.”

“Libby…” Chance began, straightening in his seat like a rod had been shoved down his back.

She’d said it. She owned it.

“I know I can’t have either. I’ll have to deal with that,” she said, addressing Chance and hoping that no one noticed the quiver caused by a suddenly dry throat. “But that’s the real reason I’m here. And the real reason I can’t be with Ben, Daddy. I don’t love him. I love Chance. Say what you want. Rant and rail as much as you want—that’s the truth of the matter.”

For a second, Sam looked like someone had hit him with a stun gun. He didn’t move, just sat there gaping. But it didn’t take long for him to recover. She knew it the moment his fingers started drumming on the table.

“You don’t love her, do you, Chance?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Libby. “The boy doesn’t love you. You’re throwing away a future for some wrong-headed romantic fantasy.”

Libby’s chest felt heavy as she fought to breathe, like she’d been pulled under a wave and was struggling to surface.

“What I do or don’t feel for Libby is between her and me, Sam.” Chance spoke in a slow, deliberate tone, more cautioning than threatening. “I’m not about to hash it out with you.”

It felt like another wave had crashed over her. Not that she’d expected Chance to blurt out his love for her. Her father was right—she was throwing away a future on what could never be. But it was her future. And it wouldn’t be right to marry Ben if she didn’t love the guy.

Sam looked from Chance to Libby. His fingers drummed faster, his brow wrinkled in a frown. There was no predicting what Sam would say. Whether he’d state his opinion, as he was prone to do on just about every subject regardless of whether it was his business or not, or move on to another topic. One thing Libby knew Sam Brennan would not do was acknowledge Chance’s point—not in words, anyway.

“I expect at twenty-three, I can’t talk sense into you. Whether you know what love is, or if you’re mixing it up with pity, isn’t for me to say. If you don’t love Ben, there is nothing for it.”

“I’m glad you admit at least that.” Small as the victory was, given he’d pretty much insulted her and Chance, she’d take it.

“What about working for me? You made any progress on getting a job?”

Moving on to another topic, even one almost as touchy as her relationship with Chance, was progress at least. Libby took a breath.

“Some. I’m in a final round for a job. But even if I don’t get it, I’m not working at Casper. I just can’t. I’m not a car person.”

Sam rubbed a hand across his face. For the first time that morning, she noticed he didn’t look well. Paler than she remembered. Older. More tired. Apparently he’d taken her breakup with Ben hard. Or maybe he really did need her. As worn out as he looked, it made her want to offer something.