Midnight Wrangler (15 page)

The test read positive. She was pregnant. The tiny pink plus sign in the readout told Bonnie that, without a shadow of a doubt. What it didn't tell her was what she was going to do about it.

She had to tell Rohn. But then what? What would they do? She had a scholarship to ASU. And Rohn had plans to play football at NEO.

He'd give up college to marry her. She knew that. But then what future would he have? What future would she have? Would they end up exactly like her parents? Struggling to survive farming because neither had gotten an education beyond high school.

Pressing one hand to her still-flat belly through the thin fabric of her nightshirt, Bonnie knew she was in too much shock to decide anything tonight. What she did have to do was hide this test and the box it came in where no one would ever find it, and protect this secret for as long as she could.

She heard the television. Her parents were still occupied watching it, so Bonnie took that moment to slip out the back door and into the darkness. With the test and box wrapped up tightly in the plastic bag, she opened the lid of the trash can and shoved it down beneath a bag of trash where no one would ever look.

As she spun back to the house, she found her father standing in the kitchen doorway.

Her heart stopped when he asked, “What are you doing?”

“Throwing something away.”

“Outside, in the dark, in your nightgown?” He strode outside and pushed her to the side, flinging the trash can lid open. He pulled out first one bag, then another.

“Daddy, it's nothing.” The sound of the blood rushing through her ears was deafening.

He spied the bag from the pharmacy, tied tight. “We'll see if it's nothing.” He tore into the bag just as her mother came to the doorway.

“What's going on?” she asked.

“This is what's going on.” Her father held up the pregnancy test.

Her mother's eyes widened. “Bonnie. Go to your room.”

She ran to the house, happy to get away from the anger she saw in her father's face.

Bonnie had barely gotten to the room when she heard heavy footsteps in the hallway. Her father came through the door, slamming it against the wall. Her mother rushed into the room after him. “Let's talk about this calmly.”

“Nothing to talk about.” He grabbed Bonnie's shoulder and shoved her facedown onto the bed.

He grabbed her nightshirt hard enough she heard it tear as he pulled it up to her head. While she struggled, facedown on that mattress, he yanked down her underwear.

She felt his knee in her back as he unbuckled his belt, all while her mother begged him to stop.

The first strike of his belt against her skin had her crying out.

His spit flew as he yelled horrible accusations, Saying she was a dumb bitch for letting any boy touch her. For letting herself get pregnant. Saying he'd kill the boy who'd done it.

The leather edge of his belt cut into her raw bare flesh with every insult, stroke after stroke. Worse than the beating was the fear. An emotion no child should have to feel for her father. She was helpless and he was out of control.

Bonnie was gasping for breath and sobbing when he finally stopped. She didn't know if it was because his arm had gotten tired or he'd finally listened to her mother's sobbed pleas for him to stop.

She heard his footsteps down the hall and then the front door slam. The truck engine fired up in the driveway and tires peeled out into the street.

For a second, Bonnie feared he somehow knew it was Rohn she'd been with and she was terrified he was on his way there. If he'd beat his own daughter, what would he do to Rohn?

Her father was a hunter. There were guns all over the house.

Panic and pain warred within her and she flipped over and tried to cover her nakedness. She found her mother, pale and shaking in the doorway.

“Pack a bag, baby.”

“What?” Bonnie wiped her tears.

“I'm taking you to the bus station. I'll call Grandma. She'll meet you in Phoenix.”

If her mother, always the calming force in the house, felt Bonnie had to get out of the house tonight, then she must be as frightened of her husband as Bonnie was.

“Are you coming with me?” In a daze, Bonnie moved to the closet.

“Not tonight.”

She stared at her mother, in shock. “Why not? He's crazy. He could hurt you, too.”

“He won't. I'll be fine.”

After what she'd seen tonight, Bonnie wasn't so sure.

Rohn drew in a deep breath, braced himself, and walked up to the only single woman sitting at a booth in the diner. “Margaret?”

“Yes.”

“I'm Rohn. It's nice to meet you.”

“Oh my God, Rohn, it's so very nice to meet you, too!” Margaret spoke like she wrote. It felt as if every sentence was heavily laden with the emphasis of a half dozen exclamation points.

He wasn't sure he could rally that much enthusiasm about anything at ten a.m. on a hot summer morning when work waited for him back at the ranch.

Dating was too much work. But it wasn't as if he'd be getting a whole lot of paperwork done if he was home. It was too distracting knowing that the boys were over at Bonnie's and he wasn't. That knowledge would be in the back of his mind, no matter what he was doing, just as it was now.

He forced his attention back to Margaret. She was pretty, in an odd kind of way. She looked like she'd spent too much time in the sun and had paid the price. Her skin had that deep, dark, leathery look to it.

Not that he could talk about skin or sun damage. He'd done the same thing to himself by running around outside twelve or more hours a day back before sunscreen was popular.

But he'd had his cowboy hat or a baseball hat on most times so he'd had some protection. And sad but true, he was a man and could get away with a bit more in the aging gracefully department than women could.

Forcing himself to look on the bright side, he figured if she was this tanned, she must spend an awful lot of time outdoors. Something they had in common, and perfect for first-date conversation.

“Please, sit!” She gestured to the side of the booth opposite her with more enthusiasm than the torn, vinyl bench warranted.

“Yeah, thanks.” Rohn slid into the seat as the waitress came over. “Can I getcha something?”

It was too early for a drink, even though his nerves sure could use one. “Coffee, please.”

“Herbal tea for me, please.” Margaret turned to him as the waitress went off to get their order. “I can't have coffee. Too much caffeine.”

If the woman had this much energy without caffeine in her system, he could only imagine her after a cup of coffee. He kept that observation to himself and decided to launch into his prepared small talk. “So, your profile said you like horses?”

“Oh my God, I love them. I'm a trainer, actually.”

“Really? That's interesting.” And explained why she looked like she spent a lot of time outside. It also meant they had something concrete in common.

“I buy horses at auction where they might be sold for meat, then I train them. I get them saddle ready and sell them to folks who want a good horse but can't afford a registered pedigree.”

“That's really admirable. We saddle break a few horses a year at my place. A good trainer is hard to find. Using your skills to help save the animals is a wonderful thing to do.”

“Thanks. It is satisfying.” Margaret smiled. She braced her forearms on the table, leaning slightly forward. “So is that what you do for a living? Train horses?”

Based on her body language, she was into him. Feeling more confident, Rohn answered, “Not for my main business, no. I raise cattle.”

“Oh.” She hesitated a second. “Dairy cows for milk?”

“Uh, no.” He started to have a bad feeling about where this conversation was going.

“Then what do you do with the cattle?”

“I sell them.”

She leaned back. “I hope not for beef.”

Her body language alone was a warning sign. That, accompanied by the tone of her voice, let him know he was in trouble. “Um, yeah. Some.”

“Oh.” She pulled her hands, which had been clasped on the table between them, into her lap. “I'm a vegetarian.”

“Oh. Well, that's fine. I, uh, like vegetables.” He liked them on the side of his plate right next to his beef, but . . . “Only some of my stock gets sold for beef, not all. Some I keep for breeding. And I also raise and train rough stock. Bucking broncs. Bulls.”

He'd hoped that information would make her feel a little better. Though when her brows drew low in a frown, he had his doubts.

“You mean like for rodeos?”

Rohn had a feeling things were about to go from bad to worse. “Yes.”

“Do you know how cruelly those animals are treated at rodeos? Have you ever been to a rodeo and seen for yourself?”

There was nothing that got Rohn more riled up than this particular debate. “Yes, I have been to many rodeos. Have you?”

“Yes, but I stayed outside the gates in protest.”

That wouldn't prove anything to her either way. There wasn't a whole lot she could see from outside the gates, except traffic.

She continued, “It's barbaric how they tie a rope around the animal's private parts to make them buck harder.”

He couldn't believe anyone still believed that bullshit. Now that the bigger bull riding events and rodeos were commonly broadcast on television, anyone could clearly see the flank strap was nowhere near being tied to the animal's
privates
as she'd called them.

“Well, I have been to many events
inside
the arena, both as a stock contractor supplying the bucking stock and as a competitor. I've personally flanked my bulls and I can tell you with certainty what you're saying is not true. More than that, I have never seen an animal being mistreated nor have I ever mistreated my own animals.”

“Well, maybe you haven't but—”

“No
maybe
about it. First off, if the animal were in pain every time he bucked he wouldn't do it. He'd stand still and not move an inch. He sure as hell wouldn't buck six feet in the air. And besides the fact that's not the kind of man I am, why in God's name would I hurt or allow to be physically damaged an animal that can be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars? Not only while he's on the circuit competing, but afterward as breeding stock?”

“So rodeos exist simply to make men rich? It's all about the money?” Her eyes narrowed with that accusation.

“No, not at all. Most folks in the business barely make a living.”

“Then why should the sport, if you can even call it a sport, continue?”

“How about tradition and heritage? How about that it's a wholesome, affordable event that families can attend together? How about it would put a whole lot of folks out of work if the sport, and it is a sport, was to be banned by those ignorant enough to believe it hurts the animals?”

When her brows shot up at his use of the word
ignorant,
Rohn drew in a breath to steady himself. “My apologies, Margaret. I think maybe it's best if we change the subject.”

What would be best would be leaving right now and getting out of this date that had gone to hell, but that would be rude. Though he figured he had already crossed that line a few minutes ago.

“I agree.” Margaret sniffed in a breath and looked around. She glanced at the specials board behind the counter, at the desserts in the case, at the cars in the parking lot outside the window. She looked anywhere and everywhere except at him.

As the uncomfortable silence stretched between them, Rohn glanced over his shoulder for the waitress, hoping she'd be fast at her job and bring their order, and the check. He was more than ready to get out of there.

An hour later, and not nearly soon enough, Rohn was back home. Thank goodness. The date had been a dismal failure and he'd hated every last second of it.

It served him right. How could anyone know if a person would be compatible with him from a damn profile on a computer? Rohn couldn't, obviously.

A picture and some answers to a few canned questions told nothing. He'd learned that lesson the hard way. Painfully and slowly over stilted conversation on his strained first—and last—Matchmaker date.

With a sigh, he sat at his desk in front of his computer—the cause of all his woes. If he was a man who had less control over his temper, that damn machine would be in a Dumpster by now. As it was, he wasn't feeling too generous toward it.

Gritting his teeth, he opened a browser window and typed in the URL for his Matchmaker account. The old messages loaded along with about a dozen new ones.

Rohn shook his head at the downfall of the human race. How could so many people be willing to put their future happiness in the hands of a bunch of statistics manipulated by some computer geek's program?

Nope. Not him. Not any longer.

“Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye.” He said it aloud with every click of the mouse on the delete button. It was strangely satisfying.

When the messages were all gone, a new one flew into his box from yet another woman. Rohn laughed out loud. The situation was too ridiculous for him to do anything else.

“And, good-bye to you too.” With one more click, his box was clear again.

Quickly, before any more messages came in, Rohn searched the information on the screen and found the area for Account Settings. There, he found and hit the button to delete the account.

“Good-bye and good riddance.”

They were sorry to see him go, or at least that's what the message read that flashed across the screen. Was he sure? it asked.

Yes, for the first time in a long time Rohn was one hundred percent sure.

He closed the window for the last time, never to return again, and that was that.

Now what?

Glancing at the time, he saw it was midday. That's what he got for setting a date for ten in the morning. Half of the damn day was gone. He'd been too nervous to get anything done that morning, and now, after the morning he'd had, he wasn't exactly motivated to do paperwork.

He wondered how the boys were doing. It was about time they'd be breaking for lunch. He could go over to Bonnie's and check on them.

There was one problem with that plan. Bonnie would be there.

Rohn sighed. He couldn't dodge thinking about last night any longer. He needed to decide what to do about that particular sticky situation—the fact that he'd kissed her and she'd kissed him back, and then told him it could never be. That's what didn't ring true.

She wanted him as much as he wanted her. He'd felt it. Only she had pulled away.

Why?

That was the question of the day and he wanted answers, but there wasn't much chance of him getting one that satisfied him.

Dammit. It didn't make sense. None of her excuses made any damn sense. He wouldn't be satisfied with anything less than her agreeing to give the two of them a chance at a relationship.

Okay, maybe he'd be happy with something else, too. If she'd fall into bed with him, he could work from there. He could remind her how good they'd been together, and show her how, all these years later, they could be even better.

If he could break down her walls, he knew she'd agree with him that they should try again. Not to recapture what they'd had then, but to build something new as mature adults who'd lived life and knew what they wanted.

Sitting there doing squat wouldn't accomplish a thing, least of all get him Bonnie back.

After pulling out his cell phone, Rohn hit the button in his contacts for Tyler's phone.

Two rings later, the kid answered. “Hey, boss. What's going on with you?”

Tyler, as usual, could imbue even a casual question with cocky attitude. Rohn wasn't quite sure how he did it, nor if he was in the mood for it today. “Nothing's going on with me. How's it going over at Bonnie's?”

“It went good. We left about half an hour ago.”

“What the hell do you mean, you left? Why aren't you still there?”

“Because it's lunchtime. We're at the barbecue place.”

“Did she say you could go?”

“Yes, in fact she insisted. She said we'd done all we could do for now and should go.”

“That's impossible.” There was no way that house was cleaned out already. He'd seen himself the sheer amount of stuff in it.

“Swear to God, Rohn. Call and ask her if you don't believe me.”

“But that house was still packed full of shit yesterday—”

“Yeah, and we made another load to the dump and the recycling center, then we made three loads to the church. One whole truckload was just her father's clothes. And just so you don't think we're slacking, Colt even bagged up the old man's clothes for her. She seemed like she wasn't wanting to do it herself.”

Rohn felt bad he hadn't been there to support her today. He remembered well how tough it had been on him when he'd finally packed up Lila's clothes. “She's probably still emotional. Her father just died last week.”

“Yup, that's what we figured. But after that, she said she had to go through the rest of the stuff and decide what to do with it. She said that could take a few days, so we should go back to working at your place.”

“So you went to lunch.” Rohn scowled.

“Since it's lunchtime, yeah, we did.” Tyler's statement was heavily weighted with attitude. “But I also told her to give us a call and we'll be over as soon as she says the word to get rid of anything else. Gave her my cell number and everything. That good enough for you, boss?”

“Yeah.” Rohn felt bad for being so hard on Tyler. “So when you coming back here to work?”

“Jeez, we just got our order. Give us half an hour to eat and drive back.”

“A'ight. That's fine.” He was in too strange a mood to deal with the yahoos right this minute, anyway.