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The Cowboy's Forever Family

By Deb Kastner

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Chapter One
“I miss you, buddy.”
Slade McKenna’s throat burned and he swallowed hard. He shook his head and grunted at his own foolishness. He wasn’t in the habit of talking to those who'd passed on. Thankfully, no one was here to witness the rarity.
Stirrup-high Texas grass brushed across his boots as he rode the fence line in search of bent posts or breaks in the barbed wire where the Becketts’ cattle might get free. Mending fences kept his mind off the bad stuff.
Mostly.
He wasn’t the kind of guy who expressed emotion, verbal or otherwise, but right now his feelings were digging as deeply into his side as spurs, no matter how hard he bucked and resisted to throw his grief.
His best friend Brody Beckett was gone. Forever.
Dead.
He could hardly bear to think the word, much less say it aloud, especially when Brody’s absence was such a stark, bitter reality. Checking the fences on his parents’ ranch property had been Brody’s chore since he was old enough to sit straight on a horse, and as his best friend, Slade had often accompanied him in his rounds. When they were both little tykes, Slade and Brody had spent many hours out here on the range together, where the lowing of cattle, the gentle Texas wind and the creak of saddle leather were the only sounds to break the sweet silence.
That, and the howling and hollering of a couple of ornery young boys who’d rather have been wrestling than wrangling.
Riding and roughhousing with Brody. Those were some of the best memories Slade had. And all of Brody he had left to take with him now.
Memories.
Slade pulled his mount up, clenched his jaw and concentrated on pushing his thoughts—and the pain—away.
His black quarter horse mare Nocturne shifted sideways and pricked her ears forward. Slade was suddenly alert and completely attuned to both his mount and his surroundings. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the area for the prospect of danger, thankful for the shadow of the brim of his black Stetson against the glaring sun.
He knew his horse as well as he knew his own thoughts. Nock’s muscles twitched underneath him He tightened the reins and squeezed his knees to encourage his horse to remain steady. The hair on his arms stood on edge from the crackle of tension in the air and he strained to listen to the sound of movement within the silence. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he had no doubt there was something out there on the Texas prairie. Nocturne wasn’t easily spooked.
A snake? A cougar?
But it wasn’t the sound of rattling Slade’s keen ears picked up on.
Instead, he heard sniffling, coming from just over a rolling mound of earth only a few feet away.
Adjusting the brim of his hat low over his brow, Slade dismounted, leaving Nocturne to graze. He approached the direction of the unlikely sounds cautiously, unsure of what he’d find—or rather, who he was about to encounter. Frankly, he’d rather face a whole pack of hungry coyotes than one weeping female.
If he had to guess, he expected her to be a teenager, one of the local girls who’d just had her heart broken and was hiding out trying to sort her emotions. Bit far out of town for a kid, but she'd probably parked near the fence and decided to walk for awhile. Not the smartest idea. A girl could be easily lost. But she probably wasn't thinking straight.
Adolescent angst. Just what he didn’t want to have to deal with today.
Slade’s first thought was that he shouldn’t interfere with whatever drama was going on in the Becketts’ backyard. He hadn’t yet made his presence known. He could turn around, mount up and ride away and the Mysterious Crying Female would be no wiser for him having been there at all.
He had no business here. For starters, he wasn’t any kind of expert in female drama, teenage or otherwise. If the girl was hiding out here fairly far out on the range to have a good cry, she probably didn’t want to be found or interrupted, especially by a guy like him.
On the other hand, he couldn’t very well walk away if the poor kid needed his assistance. It wasn’t in him to leave when he might be needed. He was a cop, for one thing. Helping people was his day job. He figured he ought to at least check her out and make sure she wasn’t hurt, even if it did make him feel every kind of awkward. And it was what God would expect him to do, right? Help his fellow man—er, woman?
But consolingmforting a teenager? So far out of his comfort zone. This newfound faith of his was going to be a whole lot harder than he’d imagined when he’d first bowed his head at the cowboy church and acknowledged the Almighty.
The ranch was private property, but Brody’s parents wouldn’t be too bothered by a girl seeking out somewhere to be alone and find some solace. In fact, they’d be urging him to help her out, since he was the one to find her.
He shoved out a breath, resolving to be nice to the kid. Patient, if he could manage it. He wasn’t known for that particular virtue, or many others, for that matter. But he would try.
Yanking his Stetson from his head, he topped the grassy mound, his shadow engulfing the female huddled on the other side. “Excuse me, miss, but I was riding by and I couldn’t help but overhear—”
His sentence slammed to an abrupt stop at the same moment his gaze met a pair of fiery brown eyes showering sparks at him.
“You.” His voice formed around the word like an accusation because that’s exactly what it was. “What are you doing on Brody’s property?”
Laney Beckett, Brody’s estranged wife and now his widow, scrambled to her feet, all five feet and nine inches of her. She raised her chin and brushed the moisture from her cheeks with the sleeve of her lavender-colored shirt. She might be on the taller side for a woman, but Slade stood at six-two when he was slouching and he towered over her. He squared his shoulders and used his superior height to his advantage.
“I could ask you the same thing, Slade McKenna,” she countered, apparently unfazed by his attempt to intimidate her.
Fury rushed through him, heat rising from the heels of his boots until it burned in his ears. It was all he could do to rein in his temper. He curled the brim of his Stetson until his knuckles were white.
She crossed her arms in a paradoxically defiant and defensive gesture. It was only then that his gaze shifted away from her eyes—and straight to her burgeoning middle.
Slade’s breath slammed from his lungs as if he’d been sucker punched. He scowled in disbelief.
The woman was pregnant. Had he lived, Brody would have been a father.
Slade clenched his jaw, afraid he was gaping, or that he’d say something he’d later regret. Emotion surged through him. He was angry, shocked, grief-stricken and indignant on Brody’s behalf, all at once, and he didn’t know what to do with any of the feelings consuming him.
Brody couldn’t have known about it. Slade was certain of that fact. Laney must have been pregnant at the funeral, but Slade certainly hadn’t been the wiser for it. She hadn’t looked pregnant. But she must have known she was carrying Brody’s baby, even back then. How could she take off without even sharing that information with anyone? It made him sick just to think about it.
He spun away from her and stalked several yards, scrubbing a hand through his thick black hair and forcing raspy breaths into his lungs.
“Why are you here now?” he growled. “Especially in that—” he waved a hand in the general direction of her protruding midsection, “—condition? It certainly didn’t take you long to hightail it out of Serendipity after the funeral. With Brody’s baby, no less.”
“I don’t answer to you,” she responded, her tone deceptively quiet and even. It wasn’t hard for him to hear the barely-concealed disdain for him in her voice.
He couldn’t care less what Laney thought of him. His only concern was for Brody’s honor and memory, for which Laney obviously cared so little. And what about Brody’s folks? Did Grant and Carol know they had a future grandchild?
Brody’s baby. How was this even possible? Laney and Brody had been separated. And now she was pregnant? How could he have missed that fact when Laney was here for the funeral? A looming sense of guilt and responsibility clouded Slade’s thoughts.
Brody’s baby.
“You owe me some answers,” he pressed, turning to face her full-on. One way or another, she was going to tell him everything.
She sputtered and gasped. Her irises flared, darkening the chocolate-brown of her eyes. “You are the most arrogant, self-absorbed man I have ever met in my life. This isn’t about you, and I’m certainly under no obligation to answer to you. What would possibly make you think I’d tell you anything, especially after the way you’ve treated me today with all your blustering and bullying?”
Slade flinched. He was many things, but he wasn’t a bully. Maybe he was trying to intimidate her a little bit, but for good reason. He was after the truth. And Laney did owe him that much, even if she didn’t acknowledge it right now. He had an obligation toward that baby. But maybe he was approaching her wrong, although he didn’t have the slightest idea how to fix that problem. He took a mental step backward, regrouping his forces against the stubborn woman.
“Brody was my best friend.” Nothing like stating the obvious, but he had to say something to fill the awkward void left by her question.
“He was my husband,” she launched back, spitting the words. “Not that you would have any idea about the kind of commitment a man and woman make to each other.”
He hissed through his teeth. He had less use for love than he did for Laney. Just look at what it had done to Brody. He glared at her belly rather than meeting her gaze. One way or another, he was going to pull the truth from her.
“I don’t understand. You didn’t even look pregnant at the funeral, and now you just show up in Serendipity out of nowhere.” A statement of fact, even if it resembled an indictment. “What’s your angle, Laney? Why are you really here?”

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