Second Chance Cowboy (3 page)

Chance’s mouth spread into a tight
smile. He wasn’t sure why Harry McAllister called and asked him to
come, but Chance could be damn sure Carly wasn’t home. Invitations
inside the house didn’t come with her there.

He followed Harry through the
tastefully decorated foyer with sleek oak flooring and expensive
framed art. Carly once told him the name of the famous artist, but
art wasn’t his interest, not like it was for the McAllisters. The
vase of colorful flowers filled the room with a sweet, strong
smell.

Harry’s office was right off the
hallway and Chance stopped in the doorway, a strong whiff of smoke
accosted his nostrils. How many cigars had Harry smoked before he
got there? Evidently, the man wasn’t himself.

Chance shot a look around the room.
Some of Harry’s greatest loves lined the walls. The older man
called this room his open scrapbook. Antique guns, dating back to
the Civil War, were on proud display in glass cases. Bookshelves
with works of famous writers, many autographed, filled the wooden
shelves, and an expensive collection of limited edition fountain
pens held a special place in a container on a small
table.

The man liked precious and rare
finds.

His first memory of coming to the
McAllister ranch involved Harry’s valuable collection of souvenirs.
Harry had given Chance a tour of the many exquisite items he’d
collected over his lifetime.

Pain developed deep in his chest each
time he thought about the past.

Being divorced took some getting used
to.

He hadn’t wanted to come see Harry.
However, the sense of urgency in the man’s voice made it difficult
for Chance to dismiss the seriousness.

Chance wondered if he was going to get
his balls busted by his ex-father-in-law. He hoped the guns weren’t
loaded. Harry had a temper and wasn’t afraid to flaunt it if the
need arose.

Did Carly tell her father they’d spent
the night together two nights ago and about the argument that
followed?

Rejecting the thought, Chance knew
that wasn’t like Carly. She wasn’t the type to kiss and tell, but
how well did he know her now? He hadn’t sat and had a conversation
with her in two years. When he’d met with her the other night,
talking wasn’t of importance. They’d been too busy exploring one
another for words.

The part of his anatomy behind his
zipper twitched alive with the memory.

If Harry knew and planned to unleash
his anger, Chance wouldn’t have a problem telling him to mind his
own damn business.

Carly had opened up to him two nights
ago, only to turn around and slam his ass right out the door, all
in a course of eight hours. He didn’t need Harry’s input added to
the unpleasant mix.

Uneasiness crawled down Chance’s
spine. Sweeping his glance around the lustrous space, he looked for
the changes he knew Carly would have made, and then he spotted a
big one.

Missing photos.

Once upon a time, one wall of shelves
held a row of framed photos of Chance and Carly from their wedding
day. Now the only pictures remaining were of Carly, a stepstool
arrangement of each of her birthdays, from her first to her
thirty-second, which she celebrated only a few weeks
ago.

The top shelf stretched arms-long with
Devon’s smiling, dimpled baby face. Several from the smoldering
July afternoon when he’d made his entrance into the world and a
couple taken with Carly holding him. Only a few more. Too
few.

Harry’s gray eyes followed Chance’s
line of sight. His sigh of displeasure sounded vast. He went to the
aged box on his desk, took out a Cuban cigar, and lit it. Chance
knew he’d tried to quit numerous times, but after his sixty-seventh
birthday, he said his greatest gift to himself would be to enjoy
life, one cigar at a time.

“
Carly took the wedding
pictures down a while ago,” Harry explained through a cloud of
smoke.

Chance shrugged. “Makes sense. We’re
divorced now.”

Heading to one of the overstuffed,
brown leather chairs by the window, Chance sat and positioned his
back to the pictures. Being there was difficult enough, but to have
to stare into the faces of his lost loved ones would send him over
the edge.

Harry followed suit, sitting on the
matching chair across from Chance, separated by a small glass-top
table that held a frayed-edged copy of
Horse Illustrated
.
The deep worry lines around Harry’s eyes and mouth and his pale
color concerned Chance. His age showed.

“
I came when I could,”
Chance said and he removed his hat and hooked it on his
knee.

“
I’m glad you did, son.” He
took a long hit of the cigar before continuing. “I told you it was
important. I wouldn’t have called you away from the Swift Wind
otherwise.”

Harry, normally a man who displayed a
cool exterior, seemed different, anxious.

“
Are you okay,
Harry?”

“
Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He
waved a hand to blow off the question. He glanced out the window
before turning back to Chance, like he’d needed a moment to gather
his thoughts. “I’m going to be perfectly honest here today, son.
When you and my daughter separated, I thought you both made a big
mistake. The two of you were in love. You reminded me of myself
when I met Carly’s mom.” A sparkle lit his pale eyes. “Boy, I loved
her.” He smiled at the memory. “Shame we can’t turn back time. Then
the divorce,” Harry continued with a sad shake of his head. “I
thought I’d died and gone straight to hell when that poser Chris
Whitfield started coming around and flashing his fake smile and
deep bank account. If my guess is as good as I believe it is, the
man will be all over Carly now, asking for her hand in
marriage.”

“
She has to make her own
choices.” Chance clenched his fist against his thigh. He didn’t
quite believe his own words.

He’d worked his ass off at the ranch
the last two days hoping to ease the pent-up anger from the
argument that sent him charging out of the McAllister house. It
hadn’t worked. None of his ranch hands wanted to be near him for
fear he’d blow up at them.

It wasn’t like him to lose his temper,
but when he did, people knew to clear a wide path. He’d been
pickling in his bitter juices since he’d spent the night with
Carly.

Harry shrugged a thin shoulder,
bringing Chance’s attention back. “I guess.” He slid forward until
his knee grazed Chance’s thigh. “Let me ask, son. Do you still love
my daughter?”

Wow, he hadn’t expected a
bombshell.

Chance knew he could lie, but Harry
would realize he wasn’t being honest. So he attempted to sidestep
the question. “Harry, we both know what Carly and I shared is
over.”

“
That’s not what I asked,
boy,” Harry retorted crossly. He seemed to be growing impatient in
his later years.

Chance slanted his chin. Time seemed
to rewind itself to when Harry, the well-meaning father,
interrogated the twenty-six-year-old man who asked for his
daughter’s hand in marriage.

Sweat beaded on Chance’s upper lip.
“Harry, why did you ask for me to come here?”

“
Carly was in an
accident.”

Chance lurched forward in the chair.
The oxygen seemed to zap from the room and he couldn’t breathe. His
heart missed a beat. “What? Is she okay?”

A smile spread over Harry’s wrinkled
face. He flipped the ashes off his cigar into a crystal ashtray and
relaxed back in the soft chair. “I suspected that you do still love
her.” He seemed proud of the discovery.

Chance sighed and palmed the arm of
the chair in frustration. “Is she okay or were you making it up?
Damn nasty trick, Harry.”

“
I don’t lie, especially
not where Carly is concerned.” Harry scowled. “Two mornings ago,
while I was up at the cattle auction, I got a call from Sam telling
me he found Carly lying at the bottom of the stairs. She’d fallen
and hit her head.” He stopped a moment and sucked in a breath.
Tears were visible in his eyes but he blinked and the mist
vanished. “She was conscious and sitting up on her own but he took
her to see Dr. Maxwell. The sawbones ran the usual battery of
tests. Besides a huge lump on her head, she seemed fine.” He took
one last puff of his cigar and snuffed it out.

“
Why didn’t you call me?”
Chance asked. He laid his hands on his legs to control the
shaking.

“
I did.”

“
Why not when it happened?”
Guilt sliced through him. The accident must have occurred right
after he left.

“
Besides a few bumps and
bruises we thought she’d be fine. I brought her home and she slept
most of the day. When she awoke late yesterday, I realized
something wasn’t right.”

“
What is it?” Chance
frowned, raking a hand through his hair. Anxiety tunneled its way
from his chest and through his stomach.

Harry actually laughed. “Hold on to
your worn boots, son. Carly thinks she’s still married to you.” He
slapped his knee in humor.

The words were like a hammer smashing
into Chance’s brain. If this was a joke, he didn’t appreciate
it.

“
I get it. Carly told you
what happened between us the other night so you’re jerking me
around. Fine, I deserve it, I guess,” he said through his laughter.
Work needed to be done back at the ranch.

He started to get up but Harry’s
leather-skinned hand on Chance’s knee stopped him. He relaxed back
into the chair and sighed.

Harry wasn’t laughing anymore. “Carly
hasn’t told me anything concerning the other night.” He seemed to
toss it around in his mind before saying, “We’ll discuss that
later. The doctor said she has amnesia, the type you get from a
head trauma. We’ve told her she has some memory loss, but she
doesn’t know the extent of it.”

The trace of humor disappeared from
Chance. His blood pumped faster through his veins.
“Amnesia?”

“
Parts of Carly’s memory is
missing, like the divorce. She woke up and asked where you were. I
told her I didn’t know and she broke into tears. She believes you
two got into an argument and she came here to stay for a few
nights, and she’s waiting for your apology. She mumbled something
about pink curtains and a horse’s ass.” Harry shrugged. “Beats the
hell out of me why you’d argue over pink curtains and the ass of a
horse.”

Chance swallowed loudly. Pink
curtains? He didn’t know…
Oh hell!
He remembered. She’d
wanted the girly curtains in their bedroom. He told her the truth
from his perspective. They were ugly. She made some outlandish
comment, accusing him of having a masculine complex, making him
dislike the color pink.

He’d eventually given in, like he
always did. In fact, the frilly things still hung on the
windows.

“
Is it permanent?” Chance
asked through tight lips.

“
Don’t know. Doc Maxwell
said amnesia is a tricky thing. It may be lasting or temporary,
depending on the degree of damage to her memory
storage.”

“
I’m confused. She can’t
remember everything that’s happened in the last four years. You say
it’s just certain facts that are gone?”

“
I’m not sure what she
recalls,” Harry replied dryly. “Maxwell asked her simple questions
in regard to her name, age, the basics, and she remembers those
things. But when it comes to the facts regarding your marriage and
family, she’s lost.”

“
She can’t remember
Whitfield? What about the divorce? What about Devon’s death?” His
voice cracked.

“
None of it, son.” Sadness
swept over his eyes. “I’ve had lengthy conversations with her and
she doesn’t remember any events this side of the curtains. The pain
of your son’s death is gone, like it never happened. You two
separating and living apart? All vanished. You know her killer
smile? It’s back.” His thin lips curved at the corners.

The shock seeped into the marrow in
Chance’s bones. “Aren’t you going to tell her the
truth?”

“
Tell her what?” Harry’s
silvery-gray head snapped up.

“
We’re not married any
longer.”

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes.
“No.”

“
But she has the right to
know.” Chance couldn’t believe his ears.

“
Chance, I love my
daughter, you know I do. I’d do anything in the world for her. Lord
knows I’ve tried to give her everything I could.” A long break
spaced his words. “I think I felt sorry for her after her mother
died. I sheltered her. It killed me to see her heart breaking when
Devon got sick.” Harry scratched his smooth chin. “You know how
she’d sit by his crib, never leaving his side. It’d been obvious to
everyone, but her, that he was gone. The choice you finally made
was the right one.”

Chance kept his eyes glued to the
window, not seeing anything but Carly’s panic-stricken expression
three years ago. He told her he planned to sign the papers to have
Devon’s life-support machine unplugged. Carly had fought him, but
in the end, she’d walked away and let him make the decision alone.
“Was it, Harry? Sometimes it feels like I signed my life away that
day.”