Buch lesen: «Wyoming Cowboy Sniper»

Chapter One
Four months later

Vanessa Carson was not a coward. In her entire life, she’d never backed down from an insult, a challenge or a fist. She’d faced all three of those things practically since she’d been born, and yet none of it held a candle to this moment.

She sat in the driver’s seat of her ancient sedan in the back parking lot of Delaney Bank. She preferred her motorcycle but... Without thinking the movement through, she placed her hand over her stomach. It was starting to round, just a little bit. No one else would notice, but she could tell. It wouldn’t be long before other people would be able to tell, as well.

The morning sickness had been hell, but it seemed to dissipate more every day. She’d taken to eating better, and she’d sworn off alcohol for different reasons ever since that night. Her doctor said she and baby were healthy as a horse.

Luckily, she was surrounded by clueless men for the most part, so no one in her life had any idea. She was convinced it was paranoia that on more than one occasion she’d caught her cousin-in-law or new sister-in-law staring at her with a considering gaze when she did something like eat a veggie plate or pass on another hit of caffeine.

Paranoia or not, she had to face the music before anyone actually put the puzzle together. Had to. Before the music told him itself.

You are not a coward.

She repeated those words with every step toward the bank. She had never once stepped foot in Delaney Bank, would have rather chewed her own arm off—or simply driven the twenty-plus minutes to Fremont whenever she needed a bank.

But this wasn’t about asking for a loan or sullying the white halls of such an upstanding establishment run by the Delaneys. It was about the very unfortunate truth.

She was going to have Dylan Delaney’s baby.

For a few weeks she’d considered running away. Disappearing. Grady would likely try to find her, with her cousins Noah and Ty not far behind him. But it would have been possible if she’d played her cards right. Eventually, they’d have given up on her. Maybe.

But Bent was her home. Her life. Her mechanic shop was everything she’d built her life on. She’d paid in blood, sweat and tears for it. She wasn’t ever going to let a Delaney scare her into running away.

Your baby is half Delaney.

She paused at the corner of the bank building. Ruthlessly, she reminded herself Dylan wouldn’t want anyone to know that any more than she did. He’d agree to her plan. He had to. He’d never risk his reputation just to be a part of his baby’s life.

Which was why she had to tell him. He’d be spiteful if he found out some other way. She needed this to be quick, easy and painless. Which meant she couldn’t just stand here.

She heard a noise from behind her and turned to see a back door opening. Dylan stepped out, looking perfectly dapper in a suit with a briefcase clutched in his hand. He slid sunglasses onto his face in defense of the setting sun, his dark looks tinged with gold in the fading light.

She’d never understood her reaction to him—a tug, a want. No matter how much she knew she did not want the uptight, soft banker boy, something deep inside of her begged to differ.

Luckily, she was a smart woman who knew when not to listen to stupid feelings. She just needed to explain to him how things were going to be, and be done with him for good.

“Dylan.”

He startled, as if he recognized her voice instantly and how incongruous it was at his precious bank. He immediately scanned the lot before turning his gaze to her.

When he’d seen there was no one else around he took a few steps toward her, suspicious and uncomfortable, but not sneery. She would have preferred a little sneery to get her back up.

“Vanessa,” he said, his voice cool and clipped, though not nasty.

“Dylan. We need to talk.”

He raised an eyebrow. Such a disdainful look, and yet she didn’t feel that same animosity from him she’d always had when they’d been growing up. They’d avoided each other even more carefully than usual since Laurel and Grady’s wedding, which was hard to do in a small town when your siblings were married. But they’d done it.

Still, there’d been a cooling of antagonism on both their parts. Perhaps they now knew a little too well where unchecked dislike could lead. Being apathetic worked a heck of a lot better.

But she wished he’d be nasty, so she could be angry and defensive instead of so nervous she felt sick.

This is better. You can be calm and collected and show him he’s not the only one with some control.

“We really need to talk,” Vanessa repeated when he said nothing. “Privately.”

Again he scanned the lot and seemed satisfied no one lurked in the dusky shadows. “Follow me.”

He used a key card on a pad outside the door he’d come out of, then pulled it open and gestured her inside. She went, chin too high and sharp, shoulders back and braced for a fight.

But it wouldn’t be a fight. It would be a quick, informative conversation, and then she’d walk right out of the bank with this awful weight off her shoulders. She wouldn’t run her mouth. She’d just say it plain.

He stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a definitive slap. With a nod, he moved down the hallway, leading her to another door—this one glass. Inside was a fancy office. Evidently his, since his name was printed on the glass.

“You know, in my shop I don’t have to put my own name on the door to my office.”

“I’m guessing, in your shop, you’re not entertaining wealthy clients in your office.”

She flashed him a hard-edged grin. “You’d be surprised who likes me doing the oil change on their car.”

His lips pressed together. She couldn’t help but remember him not as the slick, suited businessman who stood before her but as the rumpled, slightly shaken man she’d woken up with that morning all those months ago.

He set his briefcase down and took a seat behind the big, gleaming desk, then ran a hand over the lapel of his suit jacket. He looked impossibly elegant. He wasn’t like his siblings. They were the down-home noble type. Laurel the cop, Cam the former marine and Jen the shopkeeper.

Dylan had style—with an edge to it. She didn’t know why he stayed in Bent when he was clearly meant to be somewhere a lot more posh than this nowhere Wyoming town.

She didn’t know why she had this odd memory of his hands on her feeling right.

Just insanity and liquor, she supposed.

“What did you need to discuss?” he asked in the cool, detached voice he’d almost always used on her. Even when they’d been in the same class in first grade, he’d spoken like that to her at the age of seven. Like he was inherently better.

It should have put her back up, but all she could do was stare at him behind his big desk, looking imposing and important in this big, fancy bank office.

She swallowed as an unexpected emotion swamped her. Regret. It was a shame the way her baby had been conceived because this whole Delaney legacy belonged to him or her too.

Money. The kind of reputation people slaved a lifetime to never live up to. The baby wouldn’t even have to deal with being the first commingling of Carson and Delaney. Laurel and Grady would always take whatever heat people blamed on a foolish curse, because they’d promised to love each other in front of God himself.

Not everyone in town took the feud between the Carson and Delaney families as seriously as she did, and not everyone in town believed the old tale that if a Carson and Delaney ever fell in love, the town itself would be cursed to destruction.

A story passed down from generation to generation since the Carsons had accused Delaneys of stealing their land back in the eighteen hundreds.

Enough people believed it to make it a thing.

The fact Bent hadn’t immediately crumbled or been struck by lightning didn’t soothe the most superstitious. They were still waiting for it. As for Vanessa, she was more of a take-life-as-it-comes type of girl. She’d deal with a curse if there was one, and she wouldn’t be surprised if life went on as it always had.

“I know you’re not here for the view. Or a repeat performance,” Dylan said, shocking her out of her reverie.

Repeat... She clamped her jaw shut so it wouldn’t drop. No one ever turned her off-center like this.

It was the baby softening all her edges. Which was fine and dandy, once she’d done her business. She was determined to be a good mother—the kind hers had never been—where her kid came first and foremost. And not one man was going to ruin that for her kid. She’d soften every last edge, sand off her tattoos and cut out her own swearing, drinking, idiot tongue if it meant giving this baby the kind of idyllic childhood she’d never had.

Which meant no strife with the father of the baby, even if Vanessa didn’t plan on him being involved.

The best way not to have any strife was to be quick and to the point. She took a deep breath in and let it out, forcing herself to meet Dylan’s dark, imposing gaze.

“I’m pregnant.”

* * *

THE WORDS LANDED like a blow, the kind that had your ears ringing and your eyes seeing stars. Even as Dylan’s brain scrambled to make sense of those two simple words, he desperately held on to his composure.

In business, composure was everything.

This wasn’t business.

Pregnant. Baby. She was telling him she was pregnant and that meant...

He opened his mouth to speak, though he wasn’t sure what it was he meant to say. No words or sound came out, anyway.

“I’m not asking you for anything,” she said clearly. Her gaze was calm, direct, but he saw the way she clutched her hands together in her lap. For a woman like Vanessa she might as well have been shaking in her boots. “I’d rather—”

“Yes, I can imagine all you’d rather,” he muttered. He glanced at her stomach where her hands were clutched. There was no evidence a child grew there, but one did and it was his.

His.

His heart squeezed as if gripped by some iron outside force, a mix of panic and awe. Mostly panic, he assured himself.

“But if I didn’t tell you, you’d figure it out and assume. So I’m telling you. You don’t need to worry or do anything. I’ll keep your part in this a secret and raise this baby myself.” Her hands squeezed harder, and he couldn’t seem to bring himself to lift his gaze from them to meet hers.

“Yourself,” he repeated stupidly.

“Yes. I’m capable. Maybe I don’t look like the most maternal—”

“I’m not challenging you, Vanessa,” he snapped, looking away from her hands. Her eyes were storms of a million things. Things he didn’t want to consider.

But she was pregnant with his child. His child.

Hell.

“Regardless,” she said, sounding surprisingly prim. “I wanted to be clear that I’ll be taking care of everything. As long as you don’t yap, we’ll be fine.”

“Fine,” he echoed. Fine. This was not fine.

She began to stand.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Home. I told you what I had to say and—”

“And you think I’d just step back and ignore the fact I have a child? You honestly thought you’d make your little announcement and that would be it?”

Her eyes went cool, the nervousness in her clutched hands gone as they came to rest on the arms of the chair. “Obviously, I considered you’d be obnoxious, but I held out hope you’d understand that yes, that’s it. Because it’s a Carson child.”

He stood, pressing his hands to the shiny surface of his desk in an effort to center himself and leash his anger. “Half Delaney.”

She folded her arms across her chest and gave him one of those patented Vanessa Carson, you-are-a-bug-to-be-scraped-off-my-boot looks. “Are you suggesting we cut the baby in half?” she asked dryly.

“I’m not suggesting anything. You’re not giving me time to suggest anything. You’ve dropped your bomb and now seem to think you’re going to waltz out of here and leave me to deal with the fallout.”

“I believe that’s usually how bombs are dropped,” she replied. She was back to herself. Sharp, dismissive and oh so sure she was better than him.

But she hadn’t been for a few minutes, and she was carrying his baby. His child.

A living, breathing human being.

He sat back down. The weight of it floored him. “I can’t... How long? It’d be...” He did the math. “You’ve been sitting on this for a while.”

She shrugged. She wore jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Heavy black boots. Even with her tattoos covered, she looked like trouble. She always had. He didn’t know why he’d think pregnancy would change it.

He focused on her. On the gleaming silver skull ring on her thumb. The way her hair seemed all that much blacker against the fair, freckled skin of her cheeks. Sharp edges with surprising hints of vulnerability.

And she was carrying his child.

She sighed heavily. “Look, I don’t know what you think sitting there staring at me is going to accomplish, but this is how things are going to be. I have the kid, tell people the father’s some random out-of-towner. I live my life and you live yours.”

“Knowing your child is mine.”

“Consider yourself a sperm donor.”

“I will not,” he said, managing to keep his voice as even as hers. It was a hard-won thing. “I don’t know if you’re trying to be difficult or if it just comes naturally, but this is not a small thing. It’s a huge, bomb-sized thing.”

“You seem pretty calm and collected to me,” she muttered.

“Years of practice,” he said through clenched teeth. The lies he’d told and the things he’d seen. Yes, he’d had years of practice in how to appear calm when he was anything but. In control of a world that would not bend to his will—here in Bent or out there where he’d lived his secret life.

Now this. He wanted to be angry, but every time it spurted up, this strange weight settled over him. Calm wasn’t the right word for it. There was something like a flash of her, from that night. Something he should remember and couldn’t. A softness. A rightness.