Cowboy Lullaby (The Boones of Texas 6)

He shook his head. “You don’t owe me a thing.”

He hadn’t planned on standing there, staring at her. But he did. And she stayed where she was, looking right back. The longer she stared at him, the harder it was to stay put. His fingers itched to touch her, his arms ached to hold her close...

“I’m happy you’re doing this, Click,” she said. “I think Lynnie would be thrilled to know she’d given you your dream.”

He swallowed, nodding. “Almost.”

Tandy’s brow furrowed. “Almost?” She nodded. “I guess dreams change over time—”

“Mine hasn’t. I still want what I always wanted.” He took a step closer, his heart pounding.

“But... This is what you wanted,” she said. “Your own place, training cu

tting horses, doing it your way—”

“With you,” he said.

She blinked rapidly, her gaze falling from his. “Even now?” The question was a broken whisper.

He closed the distance between them but didn’t touch her. “Always.”

She looked up at him. “How? How can you look at me and not hurt? When...after... How do you get up, keep going and not ache?”

“I do, of course I do.” His hand cradled her cheek. “Every day. She left a hole in my heart, one that’ll never be filled. But looking at you...” He stepped closer. “Damn, Tandy, being away from you nearly broke me. Now, I look at you and miss what we had.”

“We can’t go back.” She blinked, tears falling down her cheek.

His thumb wiped her tears away. “You’ll never move forward if you keep holding on so tight. If you can’t accept it wasn’t your fault, then learn to forgive yourself. Our baby girl was stillborn, Tandy. You didn’t cause that. I still cry, I still hurt, but I’ve made peace.” He cleared his throat, fighting the tightness. “We both lost her. But you don’t have to lose me, too. I’m here. And I still love you.”

Tandy cradled his face between her hands, her thumb running across his lips. “You do?”

“I’ll always love you,” he said, clasping her hand and kissing her palm and the inside of her wrist.

She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath.

Click pulled her against him. “I wish I could take the pain away, Tandy, with all my heart.”

She cried, gripping his shirt and pressing her mouth to his shoulder. His arms pressed her tight, knowing she needed this but hating the depths of her grief. She sobbed, her arms twining about his waist, gripping his belt for support.

“I got you,” he said, burying his face in her hair. “I won’t let you go.” He scooped her up and carried her into the front parlor. He sat cradling her close, rocking her, until she’d cried herself dry.

Chapter Twelve

Tandy woke with a terrible headache. Not just her head, but her eyes and throat. She stared up at the ceiling overhead, but it was too dark to make much out. She rolled over, staring at the massive window with the white lace curtains. From the thick black sky outside, Tandy knew she’d slept the day away. And now, she was wide awake.

It had been a long time since Tandy had felt this alert. She was exhausted, her body drained to the point of inertia, but she was awake. The numbness she’d been clinging to was gone. Every nerve felt exposed, raw and hyperaware.

She ran a hand over her face and pushed off the bed.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she’d skipped lunch to avoid more chitchat with her uncle. She didn’t know how her cousins put up with him. She’d yet to make it through a meal when a simple conversation hadn’t unleashed some sort of booming diatribe from the great Woodrow Boone. His opinion, of course, was always the right one. So attempting to challenge or question his topic of conversation or opinion only increased the likelihood they’d talk about whatever it was for even longer. Tandy had given up after her first dinner there.

Would her uncle be railing about her absence at the dinner table?

Click wouldn’t mind her raiding his fridge.

The door creaked on its hinges. Tandy waited, but no one came down the hall so she slipped out. Banshee was sprawled across the parlor, snoring softly.

Click had left a light on in the kitchen, so she could see easily.