A Daddy for Dillon (16 page)

“I’ll explain when we get there,” he interrupted.

Seeing he didn’t want to discuss the subject now, she turned her gaze back to the countryside and tried to assure herself that agreeing to be alone with Laramie for the next couple of hours wasn’t a mistake. After all, she was a grown woman now. Not a teenager who could be seduced by the first man to give her a second glance or a line of lies. And Laramie was far, far from Heath’s sort. She had to remember that and hope that she wasn’t making a fool of herself a second time.

Chapter Nine

O
nce they were on the highway, they traveled at least ten more miles before Laramie steered the truck onto a graveled road. Leyla looked around with interest as they passed through low rolling hills covered with blooming sagebrush and snags of twisted juniper trees. Green grass and pastel-colored wildflowers nodded in the bright afternoon sun.

“This is very pretty,” Leyla remarked. “Is this your land we’re going over now?”

He pointed to a section of sturdy H braces and strands of barbed wire stretched tight against fat cedar posts. “My land starts right up there at the next cross fence.”

“How much acreage do you own?”

“Two hundred acres. It’s enough to carry a few mama cows and their calves.”

She looked at him with surprise. “Oh. I didn’t realize you had cattle of your own.”

“The subject never came up,” he said, then gave her a brief smile. “Besides, I don’t want to bore you with too much cattle talk.”

“You’re so busy on the Chaparral. When do you have time to take care of these cattle?” she asked.

“Right now while the grazing is plentiful, the herd doesn’t need much attention. But I have a man hired to keep a close watch to make sure all is well—especially when they’re calving. During the winter he takes care of the everyday feeding, too.”

Laramie slowed the truck, then turned left onto a steep, graveled driveway. At the bottom of the hill sat a small stucco house with wooden shingles on the roof and thick board shutters on the windows. Though small, the structure appeared to be freshly painted and in perfect condition.

As they drew closer, Leyla leaned forward for a better look. “This house belongs to you, too?”

“It does. The remainder of the property runs eastward, behind the house.” He cut the engine and unsnapped his seat belt. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

He came around to her side of the truck and helped her down to the ground. As his hand lingered on her elbow, she lifted her gaze to his and suddenly she felt as though she’d just been shaken awake from a long sleep. Everything around her looked different. Especially him. After Heath had turned her world upside down, she’d done her best to keep herself and Dillon shuttered away from the world. And in doing so she’d not really opened her eyes to the lives of people around her, to the joys and pains they were going through.

“Laramie, before you show me around, I—I want to apologize.”

Surprise arched his brows. “For what?”

Her expression rueful, she glanced past his arm to the huge cottonwood shading one end of the house. “For assuming that you only wanted to work for the Chaparral instead of wanting a place of your own. You should have told me about this piece of land—that you raised cattle for yourself.”

His eyes narrowed. “That makes a difference in how you feel about me?”

Seeing that he’d misconstrued her, she frowned at him. “Not the way you’re thinking.”

“How am I thinking?”

Glancing away from him, she swallowed. “That I’m all about acquiring things and wealth. That I believe everyone should have those same ambitions. Including you. But that’s not right. All I’ve ever wanted is a measure of security. To have somewhere to belong.”

His eyes suddenly softened and her heart melted as he touched his fingertips to her cheek. “When I had to leave this place, that was all I wanted, too. Just to know I would be in a place where I’d always be safe and warm and fed.”

A long breath eased from her. At least he understand that much, she thought with relief. “Yes, that’s exactly how I feel.”

Placing a hand on her shoulder, he urged her toward the small yard surrounding the house. A mixture of grass and weeds covered the loamy soil; a few patches of prickly pear popped up here and there. Other than the massive cottonwood that shaded the north side of the structure, there were three aspens behind the house. As the two of them strolled along in silence, Leyla couldn’t help but wonder if there’d ever been a woman on this homestead. One who planted flowers and vegetables, raised children and dreamed of growing old with the man she loved.

Laramie interrupted her thoughts. “This was my home until I was nearly sixteen.”

Stunned by this revelation, her footsteps halted, which in turn caused him to stop beside her.

She asked, “This is where you lived with Diego?”

“That’s right. This is where my mother left me.”

Suddenly the house, the land, everything around her took on even more importance. When Laramie had told her they were coming to his place, she’d simply assumed it was a piece of property he’d purchased. Instead, it was a legacy, a symbol of his childhood. The notion touched her deeply.

“Diego willed this homestead to you?”

“He had no one else. He’d never been married. And when he died, his two brothers had already passed on. He truly considered me his son.”

Curving his hand around her elbow, he urged her toward the front of the house. “Come on. I’ll show you the inside,” he said.

After guiding her to the door, she stood to one side while he opened the lock.

“I don’t go in the house very often,” he admitted. “So you’ll have to ignore the dust.”

“When you’re used to living in a house with a leaky roof and broken plumbing, a little dust is nothing,” she assured him.

With a hand at her back, he ushered her over the narrow threshold and into the very dark interior.

“Just wait here until I light a lamp. I don’t keep the electricity turned on. With no one staying here it’s not needed. And I don’t have to worry about the wiring shorting out and starting a fire.”

She heard the strike of a match and then a dim glow of light filled the room. Blinking her eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness, she glanced over to see Laramie standing next to a small table where he’d lit a kerosene lamp with a glass globe. She could see a dark green couch with sagging cushions behind him. Across from it sat a tall wooden rocker with a short footstool in front of it. It was the only furniture in the room.

Leyla stepped forward as she gazed curiously around her. “Is this the way things looked when you lived here?”

“No. There was a bit more furniture then. And things like newspapers and boots and ropes were always lying around. And a few beer cans, too. Diego liked his beer. But he never had one too many. He was a good man.”

“You didn’t have to tell me that. It’s plain to me.”

Curiosity arched one of his dark brows. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“He raised you,” she answered simply.

Her compliment put a modest grin on his face. “Diego would thank you for that. And so do I.”

Something in his gaze reminded her that they were alone and that he was thinking about kissing her. Just as much as she was thinking about kissing him.

Doing her best to shake her mind from that temptation, she stepped away from him and forced her attention back to the bare, dusty room. “Was Diego originally from this area?” she asked.

“No. Fort Stockton. When he was about twenty-three or so he moved down here to Lincoln County to hunt for a job. He ended up going to work at the training barns at Ruidoso Downs. He’d done a bit of everything there. Mucking stalls, saddle valet, general gofer or whatever was needed. He stayed there for many years before he finally managed to gather enough money to buy this place. By then he was getting close to the age when most men retire. But to Diego he was just beginning. He never thought of himself as old. I guess that’s why he was willing to take on the task of raising a baby.”

Leyla couldn’t stop her thoughts from straying to her own father. The man had never put much effort into being a father, an employee or even a husband. If he had, Leyla’s life would have probably taken a different path. Not that she could blame George Chee for the mistakes she made with Heath. No, those had been her own. But a child, no matter what age, often needed a father’s support. And that was something she’d never received from George Chee.

Across from her, she saw Laramie pick up the lamp then motion for her to follow him. “Come along and I’ll show you the kitchen.”

They stepped into a tiny hallway with three separate doors leading off from it. Laramie gestured to their right. “That’s the bathroom and bedroom there. There’s only one of each. Diego and I shared both.”

She followed him through the open doorway to their left and into the kitchen, where plain, beige-colored cabinets filled one wall. Centered in the worn countertop was a single sink with a rusty water stain directly below the faucet. Along the adjoining wall was a small gas cook stove and an old refrigerator with the door propped open.

On the opposite side of the room there was a farm table with two worn chairs. Even with the furniture and appliances, the room looked bare and forgotten. To Leyla the notion was a sad one. The house had once been filled with life. A man and his son had dwelled here together. Now there was no one.

“Being in this house must bring up all sorts of memories of your father,” she murmured as she gazed around the room where Laramie had taken his meals as a child. “Does it bother you to come inside?”

His life had changed dramatically from those days, she thought. Maybe seeing all this made him count his blessings.

After carefully placing the lamp on the table, he answered. “For a long time I couldn’t walk into the house without it hurting. Right here.” He bumped his fist against the middle of his chest. “But now I mostly remember and wonder.”

The raw huskiness of his voice drew on her and as she moved closer, the warmth and scent of him added to the powerful pull of his presence. And suddenly she very much wanted to slip her arms around his lean waist and press her cheek against that spot on his chest that had once ached.

“Wonder?” she asked softly. “About what?”

Glancing at her, he shrugged. “Lots of things. Like where I really came from. And how Diego actually took guardianship over me.”

Frowning, she studied his face. “I don’t understand. I thought you knew how you came to live with Diego.”

His expression wry, he shook his head. “I only know what I was told by Diego.”

“And you doubt his word?”

With a rueful groan, he walked over to a door that led to the backyard. He opened it wide and Leyla wondered if he needed to see the cheery sunlight and hear the happy twittering of birds to push away the dark thoughts in his head.

“Like I said before, Diego was a good man. I never once knew of him lying to me about anything—until a few years ago when I got the idea to search for the whereabouts of my parents. It was then I learned that some of his story about my birth didn’t ring true.”

Surprised, she said, “If I remember right, you told me you didn’t know your parents or where they might be.”

Walking back to where she stood by the table, he said, “I still don’t. I asked several old-timers in the area about Peggy Choney and if they remembered her. Some did. And they remember her being pregnant. But they had no idea where she’d gone to. And all the public records I could find have no trace of her.”

Frowning thoughtfully, she asked, “Do you know how Peggy came to be acquainted with Diego?”

He nodded. “She worked as a waitress over in a little café in Alto. It was a place Diego frequented during his many trips to Ruidoso. Apparently they became friends and he helped her rent a little house that was situated about a mile from this one. That’s how they ended up being neighbors.”

“Is the house still standing? Does anyone live there now?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s been torn down. When we drive back out, I’ll show you where it used to be. It sat just off the road.”

“Oh, so no clues there,” she mused aloud. “But if Peggy and Diego were that close of friends, then he surely must have known the identity of your father.”

“He always told me my father was a man named Calvin Jones. And that Peggy had met him while she’d been in Texas visiting family. The way he’d told it, she’d gotten pregnant by the man after a one-night stand.” Releasing a heavy sigh, he lifted his hat and ran a hand through his dark hair. “But the story doesn’t stand up.”

“How do you know? Do you have proof that it happened differently?”

“Partly.”

“What does that mean?

He shook his head with misgivings and Leyla wondered why he’d decided to tell her all of this now. It was clear that the whole matter tore deeply at him. Is that what he wanted her to see? That she wasn’t the only one who’d been hurt by family?

“While Diego was still alive I didn’t question his story. I didn’t want to insult the man who’d been such a good father to me by calling him a liar. And back then I had no means to search for Peggy or Calvin through computer or any other way. Later, after Diego passed away, I was too focused on making a home for myself at the Chaparral to worry about my long-lost parents. But a few years ago, Quint urged me to make an effort to search for information.”

“And you found something.” She stated the obvious.

“Hmm. I guess you could say it was what I didn’t find that shed a different light on Diego’s facts of the story.”

“What does that mean?”

“Calvin was supposed to have been in the Army, stationed at Fort Bliss. And shortly after I was born Peggy decided to let Calvin know he had a son. That’s when she’d learned he’d been killed in a training accident on the fort. The incident involved a helicopter, and Calvin had been badly burned. But I discovered all of that turned out to be false. The Army had no records of Calvin Jones being stationed at Fort Bliss at that time, much less one who had been killed in a helicopter crash.”