The Cowboy's Secret Family

Miranda Contreras.

His old teenage crush. The girl who’d strung him along before breaking his heart beyond repair. And here she was again, all grown up, prettier than ever and rocking Matt’s world again, just as she’d done the day she arrived at Wexler High, a pretty sophomore with a bubbly laugh.

She stepped out of the sunlight’s glare, and when her eyes met his, she flinched. Her lips parted and she placed a hand on her chest as if she hadn’t expected to see him ever again. “Matt?”

“Miranda.” His body tensed, and he kept his tone cool. But inside his gut coiled into a knot.

She swept a glossy strand of dark hair behind her ear. A nervous gesture?

“It’s been a long time,” she said.

“Yep.” Too long, it seemed. But maybe not long enough.

Matt’s gaze swept across the yard, from the pony in the corral, to the chickens in the coop, to the lamb in the pen and then to the little brown-haired girl hugging the dog.

Was Miranda responsible for all of...this?

She had to be.

But why in the hell, after all these years, had she come back to the Double G? And how long did she intend to stay?

Uncle George had made it clear that he ought to hold his questions until after they left, but the curiosity was eating him alive.

“I see a pony in the corral,” Matt said to the child. “Did you bring it with you when you came to the Double G?”

“No, she’s brand-new. I mean, she’s not a baby. She’s just a little horse. And she’s already grown up. Uncle George gave her to me because I’m going to be a cowgirl when I grow up.”

Uncle George? Back in the day, Miranda had claimed his father’s uncle as her own. And now she’d encouraged her daughter do the same thing. It hadn’t bothered Matt a bit when they were younger, because if things had worked out between them, that relationship might have become official. But that’s not the way their teenage romance had played out.

For that reason, having Miranda here knocked his blood pressure out of whack, especially since he had the feeling she’d moved in permanently. Her daughter might think they were going back home one of these days, wherever that home was. But flowers on the porch, a pony in the corral and a dog guarding the yard suggested otherwise.

“Guess what?” Emily asked, as she placed her small hands on her denim-clad hips. “I can saddle my pony all by myself.”

“Good for you.” As angry as Matt might be with her mother, he couldn’t fault the cute little girl with a splash of freckles across her nose. He wondered whether she favored Miranda or maybe her father, whoever he might be. It had been years since he and Miranda had split. When had she had Emily? How old was she?

Before he could ask the little girl her age, Miranda stepped off the porch, her purse slung over her shoulder. “We’ll have to play catch up later, Matt. If Emily and I don’t leave now, we’ll be late.”

Good. Uncle George had some explaining to do.

Miranda turned to the old man and blessed him with a smile. “I have a pot roast in the oven.”

“Is it big enough to feed a drifter?” George asked.

She hesitated, then smiled. “Yes, of course.” She turned her gaze to Matt. “There’s plenty.” Then she held her hand out for Emily. “Come on, honey.”

Matt watched them walk toward her car. Miranda wore a loose-fitting summer dress—a soft yellow with a floral print. She looked as fresh as spring, although she’d obviously grown up—and changed. She had womanly curves now. And, if anything, she was even prettier than before.

Once she started the car and headed down the drive, Matt turned to his uncle. “Okay. What gives?”

“Miranda and Emily needed a place to stay for a while, and I had plenty of room. They’ve been good company.”

The subtext was clear. Matt hadn’t been around much. He shook off a twinge of guilt, promising himself he’d have to do better from now on. Then he leaned back and set his rocker in motion again. “So what’s her story?”

“She needed time to sort through some things, and we both figured this was the perfect place for her to do it.”

“What’d she need to think about?”

“Back in February, she broke her engagement. I ’spect she’s got a few things to sort through.”

Two months ago? Damn. Each answer George provided only stirred up more questions. “What made her back out?”

“You know me. I don’t like to pry.”

Matt blew out a sigh. “Does Miranda’s father know she’s here?”

“Nope. And she doesn’t want him to know.”

Matt stiffened, and the rocker stalled. “Are you kidding? No one’s come looking for her yet?”

“Not here. She told him she was staying with a friend, and her dad must have assumed it was someone she’d met in college. He’s called her cell phone a few times, but he doesn’t have any idea where she is.”

“That’s not good.” Matt blew out a ragged sigh. “You remember what happened the last time he found her here.”

“I sure as hell haven’t forgotten.” George’s rocker picked up speed, creaking against the wooden floor. “He got so angry and red in the face that I damn near thought he was either going to have a stroke or I’d have to shoot him full of buckshot.”

Matt hadn’t forgotten that day, either. Or the words Carlos Contreras had said to Miranda. I can’t believe you’ve been sneaking around with a good-for-nothing-wannabe cowboy who won’t amount to a hill of beans.

Matt had spent the past eight years riding his heart out—what was left of it, anyway. He’d shown the rodeo world that he was more than good enough for anyone, even Carlos Contreras’s daughter. But he doubted his skill and a collection of silver buckles had done a damn thing to change the old man’s opinion of him. Not that it mattered. That teen fling had ended a long time ago, validated by a phone that never rang.

“So what’s the deal with Emily?”

George stopped rocking, leaned to the side and grinned. “She’s a real sweetheart. Spunky, too. And she loves animals. You’ve met Sweetie Pie, the stray she talked me into keeping.”

“Yeah, I met the dog. But that name doesn’t suit a mutt who nearly chewed off my leg when I got out of my truck and started walking toward the door.”

His uncle chuckled and folded his arms across his chest. “Animals love her, too. She really has a way with them, including the chickens. I can’t tell those hens apart, but she can. Heck, she’s named each one.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.” Matt leaned toward his uncle and lowered his tone. “How old is she?”

“Seven or eight, I reckon.”

A feeling of uneasiness began to niggle at Matt. Something about the timeline felt...wrong.

“Who’s her father?” Matt asked, watching for the hint of a smile or a twinkle in his uncle’s tired blue eyes, which seemed to be a lot livelier these days. But George had a talent for donning a good poker face when he wanted to.

“You’ll have to ask Miranda,” George said, the rocking chair creaking against the porch’s wooden flooring.

“Didn’t you ask?”