Substitute Daddy

Substitute Daddy

by

Dahlia Rose

Substitute Daddy

Copyright © December 2013, Dahlia Rose

Cover art by Fiona Jayde © December 2013

Formatting by Bob Houston eBook Formatting

Amira Press

Charlotte, NC 28227

www.amirapress.com

ISBN: 978-1-627620-41-3

No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and e-mail, without prior written permission from Amira Press.

Chapter One

It was a dry heat, not like the city where the building backed the breeze and made the air stale and muggy. Matthew loved Nevada. New York was for business, and when he was at the ranch, it was definitely pleasure he felt. It had nothing to do with the fact that Ryder Ranch had the best breeding horses across the state and it made him money hand over fist. He loved waking up to the smell of hay and watching the sun rise over the desert. Today, standing on the white wraparound verandah, looking out over the corral was one of those days where life felt good. But there was still an empty place in his heart. He could almost close his eyes and see children running around the house and scrambling up the steps.

“You in your daydream again?” Lance asked as he came around the side of the house.

Lance was his best friend and head ranch hand. When Matthew was away it was Lance who kept the ranch running like a well-oiled machine. His cocky swagger and tousled, curly, sandy blond hair had all the girls in town swooning. That, and when he gave them that crooked grin they were like putty in his hand. Lance wasn’t selective, and, simply put, he was a man whore. Even so, he was a true friend, and Matthew could trust him with his life.

“Unlike you, I’m looking for something more than a flavor of the month,” Matthew drawled. “Christmas is about to be your season of plenty, I suppose.”

“Yes, it is! Yes, it is! Last night was vanilla.” Lance kissed his fingers. “I had seconds and thirds…”

Matthew held up his hand to stop the words he knew were coming. “Please, let me enjoy my coffee without the images you were planning on detailing.”

“Spoilsport.” Lance grinned. “Anyway, I’ve got the new herd ready to head out into the north pastures.”

“Is the Arabian ready to stud?” Matthew asked. “Springtime next year I want him breeding.”

“Just like—” Lance began.

“Eh, I don’t want to hear it,” Matthew replied and began to walk away.

“I was going to ride Drago up to the pastures,” Lance said.

That stopped Matthew in his tracks. Drago was a beautiful stallion, but he also had a mean streak a mile long. Riding him was dependent on his mood, and most of the time the stallion refused to be ridden. He’d thrown Matthew more times than he could count and he was an expert rider. Lance was too, but lately Drago had been impossible to deal with, and Matthew wondered if he would have to sell the beautiful chestnut-colored horse.

“He’s been evil for the past few weeks,” Matthew said. “I think you should let him be and give him his space. He is not in the holiday mood.”

“Maybe if he went up to pasture and hit one or two of those mares in heat, he’d be more sociable,” Lance said.

“He did last year and his disposition still sucks,” Matthew pointed out. “How about we leave him to himself? Or herd him in with the rest? Don’t ride him.”

“I’m a big boy, Matthew. I can manage Drago.” Lance’s voice took on the stubborn tone that he knew very well.

“Yes, you can, but for my peace of mind, leave him be,” Matthew said. “He’s got rage in his eyes today. I’m man enough to admit that I fear the fucking animal sometimes.”

Lance hooked his fingers into his belt loop and grinned. “That’s the difference between you and me. I don’t have fear.”

Matthew felt the bite of irritation at Lance’s cocky words. He loved his friend, but he could be a dick on occasion, a showboat who really could push his buttons.

“Well, you and your no fear attitude stay off Drago today. That’s an order,” Matthew said in a tone that meant no nonsense and strode into the house.

Maybe he should’ve made doubly sure Lance didn’t do the exact opposite of what he had said or maybe he should have even walked out to the pastures and watched the work himself, but he trusted the man and never had to check on his work before. It certainly didn’t occur to him that Lance would get a hair across his ass and go against his orders. Then the first yell came, and a chill ran through him. He heard someone yell call nine-one-one, and he was already on his feet and running out of the door.

Please, please, please, let
it not be what I think it is,
he thought frantically as he rounded the house and headed toward the corral. But it was his worst fear come true. Lance lay prone on the hard ground, and blood bubbled out of his mouth as he tried to speak. Other ranch hands held Drago back. The horse’s eyes were wild.

“Don’t move, buddy, don’t move. Help is on the way,” Matthew said as he got to his knees. Slowly, he assessed Lance for injuries starting from his legs and moving upward.

“Drago brought his hoofs down on the back of his neck,” Josef said. The horror of what had happened was evident in his voice. “I told him, Boss, I told him not to do it and…and he didn’t listen.”

“I know, Josef, I told him too,” Matthew said and stroked Lance’s hair out of his face. “You idiot. Why didn’t you listen to me?”

Looking closer, he could see the unnatural tilt of his neck and blood coming from his ears. Considering how far out the ranch was, it would take at least twenty minutes for an ambulance to get there. Matthew knew Lance didn’t have that much time. If he survived, he would be in a bed forever, unable to move. To a man like Lance, that would be a death sentence in itself. Matthew did the only thing he could and sat on the ground next to his friend and grasped his hand. He realized Lance probably couldn’t feel it, but Matthew wanted him to know he was there. His friend couldn’t move, but he lifted his eyes, trying to see Matthew and looked as if he was trying to speak.

“It’s okay. I’m here, Lance. It’s okay. You’re not alone.”

His words were broken as grief filled his heart, yet he stayed and talked to his friend about the good ol’ days and growing up, anything to calm his fear. Lance’s eyes lost life long before the ambulance got there, and still Matthew kept talking. They took his body away, and Matthew was numb. Josef asked what to do about Drago and should he be put down?  Matthew was unable to answer. Finally, he walked back to the house and sat down to speak to the police about how Lance’s death was an obvious accident. He lost his best friend at Christmas time.

The rest of the week was spent making funeral arrangements, and that mild Saturday it seemed everyone turned out for the funeral. He saw a sea of women all vying to mourn the loudest and cry the hardest as if shedding the most tears would win them a prize. Except for one. One very pregnant woman who didn’t cry, who didn’t wring her hands or fall to her knees. She just rubbed her belly as the preacher spoke, and she was one of the first to leave. He didn’t have time to think about her after that because the wake was held at the ranch, and she was not there. That night, in the quiet, he mourned his friend the only way he knew how—sitting in front of the fire, taking in the chill of the Nevada night, and nursing a Jameson and ginger over ice.

* * * *

Grace sat on the old, lumpy couch and thought about her options as she rubbed her belly. Damn it all to hell, she was stuck. Her doctor said she was too far along to take a plane back to Georgia, and her beat-up car would not make it as far as she planned to go. Half the time she was just thankful it got her around town and didn’t crap out.
Well, you made a mess of it
, she thought miserably. The day she left Savannah for Nevada her instincts screamed no, but Lance was so charming and she, as usual, listened to her heart instead of using her head. Now she was pregnant and stuck in a state where she knew no one and was running out of money fast. She could always ask her mama to send her a loan, but asking her for a plane ticket to get home got her an hour-long lecture. Her mother said, if you want my money you will listen to what I have to say.

Grace loved her mother but liking her was another issue. Half the time the woman’s negativity about life made her not want to talk to her. The rest of the time she was spouting off scriptures and twisting the bible to suit her. Hearing that her baby would be a bastard and that she was going to hell every other day was getting old. Grace wondered how Janice Reid would react if she told her she knew the truth. An aunt had told Grace she was firmly planted in her mother’s womb when she walked down the aisle. So her mother’s sanctimonious attitude rubbed Grace raw each and every time she opened her mouth.

She did have some money left. What little she got from Lance she used carefully. But it became clear after a few months that the dream was over. When she got pregnant she saw the panic in his eyes and even though he said he was happy he began to turn away. He liked his women thin, big chested and childless apparently. Because while he was saying he was worried about hurting her and the baby, he was gracing the bed of other women. Then she found out he had been doing it way before she got pregnant. He worked at a well-established and locally known ranch but claimed his friend paid him poorly. Grace got so tired of trying to figure out the truth in his lies she stopped listening and began trying to make her own way. Sewing for her neighbors and crocheting blankets and other items brought in some money, but it wasn’t enough for her and a baby to survive.

Lance was now dead, and while she was sorry for the loss of life, she didn’t feel much else. He stopped being someone she cared about when she realized she was being used. She saw the crowd of women at his funeral, lamenting like sheep for a man who whored around. Grace held too much pride in herself to be one of those idiots.
Nope, I’m not the one.
A noise at the front door made her look up, startled, and the sound of keys in the door had her scrambling back. The only other person who had keys to the apartment was dead so someone must be trying to break in. Grace grabbed a bat and the cordless phone and began dialing nine-one-one. She was ready to fight for herself and her baby’s life.

“Emergency operator. How may I help you?”

“There is someone unlocking my front door,” Grace said into the phone.

“Ma’am, if you gave your keys to someone…” The emergency operator’s voice mocked.

“Listen, idiot, the only other person who has keys to this apartment is dead and wasn’t living here anyway,” Grace snapped. “I’m pregnant. You better get someone over here or you’ll have to explain why me and my baby are dead!”

“You’re at the Governor Court Apartments?” the male voice asked.

“Yes, apartment three-zero-three,” Grace said. “Hurry!”

She screamed when the door opened and a tall, broad shouldered man took up the space in the door. Grace dropped the phone and held the bat like an all star baseball player.

Grace yelled, “There’s nothing to steal here, and I called the police! Get the hell out!”

The man looked at her with surprise on his face. “Wait, what? Who are you? This is my friend’s apartment and you’re apparently squatting. Miss, I have to say you shouldn’t do drugs while pregnant.”

“Oh, hell no, you didn’t,” Grace yelled. “I’m not on drugs, asshole! My body is a palace and the little girl inside is a princess. Lance lived here and now he’s dead. I don’t know who the hell you are.”

She watched as understanding bloomed on his face, but that didn’t mean she was willing to trust him any more than before. She wasn’t dropping the aluminum weapon in her hands.

He pointed. “You’re the girl from the funeral. There’s some mistake. I’m Matthew Ryder. Lance was my best friend.”

“The guy that paid him pennies? Great for you. Why the hell are you breaking in?” Grace asked. She could hear sirens and they were getting closer.