Lies And Lullabies: Courting the Cowboy Boss

“I need to borrow fifty bucks, baby girl. Just until Monday. I’m good for it.”

She’d long since given up keeping track of her father’s IOUs. His requests were always modest amounts. Fifty here, a hundred there. Even when she gently reminded him he owed her money, he was all smiles and apologies. But the repayment never took place.

It was her own fault. All she had to do was cut him off, and he would get the message...eventually. But regardless of his failings, Harold was her father. He’d helped raise her, and he’d been the one she’d clung to when her mother died. He was her own flesh and blood.

“Why do you need the money, Daddy?” She dumped everything on the kitchen counter and confronted him.

Harold gaped, his expression both astonished and cagey. She’d never before pressed him about where the cash went. She hadn’t wanted to know.

His bloodshot eyes stared back at her. “I had a lot of bills this month,” he muttered.

“Is that why you don’t have enough left for drinking tonight and tomorrow?”

“I don’t appreciate your tone,” he snapped.

She had definitely ruffled his feathers. But at the moment, she was so tired and dispirited she didn’t care. “I’m not an ATM. I have expenses of my own and a business to support.”

“Where have you been tonight?”

The change of topic caught her off guard. After a split second’s hesitation, she saw no reason to dissemble. “I took dinner to Case Baxter. He has the flu.”

“Well, ain’t that sweet.”

Her father’s colloquial sarcasm nicked her patience. “I’m tired, Daddy. And it’s late. Why don’t you go home and have a rum and Coke...without the rum.”

Harold’s face turned red. “What’s gotten into you, girl? If you think hangin’ out with that fancy-ass richer-than-God cowboy makes you something special, you’re wrong. Big-shot ranchers don’t marry women who clean their toilets.”

His deliberate crudeness broke her heart a little bit. Was this what they had come to? She refused him one time and he attacked?

Her chest aching with emotion, she reached for her purse, opened it and took out a handful of bills. When she held out her hand, Harold grabbed the money as if he was afraid she might change her mind.

Suddenly, her father was all smiles. “You’re good to your old dad. I won’t forget it.” He folded the money clumsily and stuffed it in his shirt pocket.

She dug her teeth into her bottom lip, trying not to cry. “I’m done, Daddy. This is the last time. I want you to get help.”

“I told you...I’m fine. Don’t know why you’re kicking up such a fuss about a little bit of cash.”

“I’ve been looking at the rental income. You could be living like a king.” She helped out with the Winslow Properties business, and though she wasn’t in that office very often, she knew enough to realize the incoming cash was substantial. And she also knew that Harold wasn’t pouring any of that money back into upkeep and development.

“You worried about your inheritance? Is that it?”

The insult barely registered. She had figured out a long time ago that her father would be lucky not to end up a pauper. “I’m worried about you,” she said quietly. “And though you may not believe me, I’m done. No more handouts.”

He backed toward the door, his posture hunted. “I may sell the Courtyard,” he said defiantly. “I’ve had inquiries from a company called Samson Oil.”

The Courtyard was an old renovated ranch several miles west of town. It included a large barn and a collection of buildings that housed a growing and thriving arts community, consisting of both studios and retail shops. The land on which the Courtyard sat increased in value day by day.

“You know selling would be a big mistake.” He was threatening her. Manipulating her. Classic addict behavior.

Harold shrugged. “That’s your opinion. I gotta go. See you later.”

Before she could react, he disappeared. Moments later she heard the front door slam.

She sank into a kitchen chair and buried her face in her hands. If she had stayed at Case’s house, she could have avoided her father tonight.

Scarcely five minutes had passed when her doorbell rang again. Damn it. If Harold had come back, she was going to have a little hissy fit. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and stood up, grabbing a paper napkin to use as a makeshift tissue.

Rarely did she let her father get to her. But as she blew her nose, she conceded inwardly that his barbs had hit the mark. He was often a mean drunk, and tonight was no exception.

It was a distinct relief to find Amanda Battle on the other side of the door. “Come in,” Mellie said.

“I won’t stay long. I know it’s late.” Amanda slipped past her, shivering dramatically. “What happened to the warm days?” The sheriff’s wife was tall and slim and full of energy.

“We’re headed toward the holidays. It was bound to happen. What’s up, Amanda? I doubt you came to see me for a discussion about the weather.”

Amanda chuckled. “The guys are playing poker at our house. I had to get out of there for a few minutes. Besides, I need a firsthand report. Nathan called Case a little while ago to see how he’s doing, but you know how men are. Case said he was fine.”

“You don’t believe him?”

“Parker told us Case was in bad shape. He said if you hadn’t shown up at the ranch to clean yesterday and found Case, he might have ended up in the hospital.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. I’m glad I happened to be there. I did take dinner to him this evening. He was grumpy but overall seemed somewhat better.” Better enough to flirt, anyway. Not that she was about to tell Amanda that.

“You’re definitely a Good Samaritan. But don’t worry. Several of his friends and their wives and girlfriends have put together a meal schedule. We won’t let him starve. You’re off the hook with a clear conscience. And Parker is going to keep tabs on Case’s flu symptoms.”

“That’s great.”

Mellie knew Amanda didn’t mean to sound dismissive...or as if she were kicking Mellie to the curb. Even so, the unintentional message was clear. Mellie was not part of that tight-knit circle of friends. It was ridiculous to let her feelings be bruised. Maybe because she had recently gone several rounds with her father, she was feeling fragile.

Amanda glanced at her watch and sighed. “I’d better get back. I promised Nathan I’d throw together some nachos.”

Mellie raised an eyebrow. “At this hour?”

“When this crew convenes, they like to pretend they’re all eighteen again.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way. I hear it in your voice.”

Amanda shrugged, her expression sheepish. “Yeah. You know me—I love to cook for people. And these guys work so hard it’s fun to see them unwind.”

“Nathan is lucky to have you.”

Amanda’s grin was smug. “Yes, he is.”

Mellie walked her friend outside, feeling unmistakably envious of Amanda’s good fortune. What would it be like to be loved in such a way that you knew the other person would never let you down or disappoint you, at least not in any significant way?

Ila Winslow had been that person for Mellie. But once she was gone, Mellie had been forced to face a few cold, hard truths. Love, true love, whether familial or romantic, was rare and wonderful.

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