She stared him down, refusing to give in to her roiling stomach and hammering heart. This was one battle she had to win.
“Okay,” he growled and forcefully jamming his hat on his head. “I won’t say anything negative about you or the baby to the Becketts.”
“Do I have your word on that?” She had no idea why she was pressing him. What good was his word, anyway? From what she knew of him, he’d say or do anything to get what he wanted.
He jerked his head in a clipped nod and stalked away from her, causing Nocturne to jolt forward. Thankfully she’d been holding on to the saddle horn or she might have been unseated. The thoughtless man didn’t even consider the consequences to his actions. And yet he had the gall to be all over her about hers?
Slade had better not renege on his promise, if he knew what was good for him. Because if he somehow hurt Brody’s parents—well, he’d have her to deal with.
And it wouldn’t be pretty.
Slade uncinched Nock’s saddle and slid it from her back, slinging it over a barrel with an audible huff and probably more force than was strictly necessary. Since he was temporarily taking over some of Brody’s duties for the Becketts, he’d recently been stabling Nocturne in their barn and not at his parents’ spread next door, where Slade usually kept her. His two brothers ran the family ranch, leaving him to pursue his own interests.
In his day job he was a member of Serendipity’s police force, and he stayed busy with the local small-town rodeo circuit on the weekends. Maybe someday he’d have a ranch of his own, when he settled down. If he settled down. But he was having too much fun being an unabashed bachelor to think about that day.
Or at least he had been, until Brody’s death. Slade no longer considered himself a carefree bachelor. That life had little appeal to him now. Not without Brody. The importance of living every day to its full value meant more than ever.
He should never have given his word that he wouldn’t talk to the Becketts about the baby Laney was carrying and his suspicion that she might take advantage of them, or worse yet, not stick around once the baby had been born, take off again as she’d done right after the funeral. Brody’s folks were like second parents to him, and he wouldn’t forgive himself if they ended up getting hurt when he could have said or done something to keep themselves from heartache. He didn’t know what Laney’s game was, but there were too many unanswered questions that left Slade wary of her motives. In their grief, it made perfect sense that Grant and Carol Beckett would be quick to grasp at a carrot like the one Laney was dangling before them.
A grandchild. Brody’s legacy. A flesh-and-blood reminder of their son.
Slade winced as pain jolted sharply through his chest. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. What kind of world did he live in where a good man was taken away just as a new life was given?
Why Brody? He’d been a far better man that Slade could ever hope to be. And now to find out that Brody would have been a father. It was almost too much to bear. Why was he still here when Brody was gone? Where was God in all this?
Slade brushed Nock’s sweat-soaked back with long, even strokes. It didn’t make sense. Brody had only recently given his heart to God, vowed to change his ways, and yet had never been allowed to see that through. He’d never been able to go home to Laney and make a new start. He’d never even known he was about to be a father.
Slade had likewise made a commitment to God, for all the good it had done him. After nearly a year of living his new faith, he was more aware than ever that he was too rough a man to settle down and be good. Not like what he figured God expected of him. It wasn’t fair.
Brody—he would have made it. He could have become the man God wanted him to be—with a wife and a family. Brody would have managed to change his life completely, and for the better, if it weren’t for Slade goading him into riding Night Terror that one last time at the rodeo. Bring home the purse, Slade had told Brody, and Laney would be sure to forgive him for whatever fight had caused their split. In truth, Slade hadn’t cared about Brody using the money to placate Laney. It had really been just one man’s thrill-seeking challenge to another. It made him sick just to think about it.
If he hadn’t taken that ride, if he hadn’t gone for that prize, Slade had no doubt Brody would have managed to patch things up with his estranged wife without the insubstantial purse a small-town rodeo afforded. Surely Laney wouldn’t have wanted to separate her baby from his or her daddy. Brody would have been the best father ever to that little baby Laney was carrying.
He would have been so happy. So pleased.
It was painfully easy for Slade to picture the joy Brody would have found in a son or daughter, the proud papa holding his infant in his arms for the first time. Teaching his kid to ride a horse and rope a cow, raising up a new generation of Becketts to work the land that had been in their family for over a century.
Now—nothing.
The child would grow up without knowing his or her father. Without having Brody’s fine influence to emulate.
And Slade could have prevented that loss. All of it.
He smothered the curse that came naturally to his lips—a bad habit that was difficult to break, but he was trying. God forgive him, swearing was the least of his sins.
He dumped a bucket of oats into Nock’s bin and made sure she had plenty of fresh water. When he was finished, out of habit more than anything else, he headed for the Becketts’ ranch house. He’d gone about twenty feet when he stopped so suddenly his boots created a cloud of dust from the dirt path. His breath turned as heavy in his chest as if he’d run several miles. Sweat dotted his brow despite the cool evening and he dabbed at it with the corner of his shirt.
Things were different now—and if Laney stuck around, they always would be. The easy camaraderie he shared with Grant and Carol, folks he considered as second parents to him, would be history. Slade was a living, walking reminder of all they had lost—in addition to being a man Laney had despised from the start, long before his thoughtless dare had cost her a husband. Why should they want to have anything to do with him when instead they would have Brody’s baby to love?
Maybe he shouldn’t visit the Becketts tonight. It would probably be better for all concerned if he just turned around and walked away. If it wasn’t enough that he might cause Grant and Carol any means of distress, he and Laney had knocked heads enough times already for one day.
Then again, why should he let Laney dictate anything he did with his life? If he wanted to visit with the Becketts, he’d do it, Laney or no. Grant and Carol hadn’t given him any reason to believe his presence caused them any grief, although now that he thought about it, he would try to be more aware of their feelings.
His decision made, he hastened to the house. He didn’t go to the front door as a guest might do, but rather entered through the mudroom like one of the family, where he removed his boots and hung his hat on a peg on the wall and then washed up in the sink, using extra soap and scrubbing thoroughly to make sure his hands were clean, then wiping his face clean with a nearby towel. Carol Beckett would have his hide if he got dirt on her good rugs or touched her furnishings with grubby hands.
“Slade.” Grant Beckett emerged from the kitchen and extended his hand for a firm shake. “Good to see you, son. Join us in the kitchen. Carol’s making cookies, and you know how she gets when she starts baking. She’s already made enough baked goods to feed a small army.”
“Be happy to take a few off your hands, sir.”
“Thought you would.” Grant slapped Slade’s back affectionately.
Slade entered the kitchen and immediately tensed when he saw Laney propped on a stool next to the counter, laughing at something Carol had said. They looked like a couple