A Cowgirl's Secret - By Laura Marie Altom Page 0,61
house. My mom’s going to sprout green envy horns when she sees this place decked out for the holidays.”
“Lucky for her,” Daisy said, “it could be next year before we’re open for holiday business.”
“True,” Luke said with a resigned nod. There were a daunting number of tasks left to do, but he had a feeling working together would make the jobs fun. Sure, they’d have their squabbles over paint colors and bathroom tiles, but overall, he couldn’t wait to start their shared lives.
“Speaking of your mom, did you ever bring up the fight I had with her?”
“Yeah. I would like her to apologize, but she’s sticking to her guns.”
Easing upright, Daisy’s eyes narrowed. “In what regard?”
“Look.” He straightened as well. “There’s no pleasant way to put this, so I’m going to come right out with it. Mom and Dad feel I should take legal action to make sure Kolt’s mine—you know, on paper.”
“Whoa.” Hands on her hips, she stood. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. They’re dead serious. And it got me thinking—maybe they’re right? I know you’re not running again, but what could it hurt to put it in writing? Something along the lines of a formal prenup arrangement should you ever decide Weed Gulch isn’t the place you want to be.”
The last thing Luke had intended was to upset Daisy with his suggestion, but judging by her scowl, she was more than a smidge miffed, although dressed as she was—in her panties and his white dress shirt—it was hard taking her seriously.
“Aw, baby,” he said, cinching his arms around her waist. “Don’t be mad. Forget I ever mentioned it.”
She laughed, but the sound was brittle. “How am I supposed to forget a thing like my future husband having so little faith that I’ll stick around that he actually wants me to sign over legal rights to our son—just in case.”
“Daisy, I didn’t mean it like that.” Or had he? Luke would be lying if he said a small part of him wasn’t still gun-shy when it came to Daisy sticking around. She’d hurt him once so badly. Who was to say she wouldn’t do it again? He hoped like hell she wouldn’t, but the doubt remained all the same.
In the process of tugging his shirt over her head, she ruined her fancy hairdo. With her hair spilling at crazy angles, she was back to looking like the teenage girl he’d first loved. The same girl who’d first broken his heart.
She plucked her bra from the floor, putting it on with little fanfare before wriggling into her dress. Adding her heels, she began blowing out candles. “Would you please douse the fire. I know the chimney sweep said it was safe, but I don’t want it burning when no one’s home.”
“Why are you doing this?” Luke asked, refusing to do one lick of her bidding until she came to her senses. “Considering the fact that I didn’t even know I had a son until ten freaking years after his birth, is it really too much to ask for you to give me insurance in an ironclad, legal-type document you’ll be sure to understand?”
“You won’t put out the fire,” she said. “Fine. I’ll do it myself.” Marching into the kitchen, she filled the bucket she used for cleaning. Her heels made a racket on the wood floors, the sound echoing through the empty house. With water on the flames, the logs hissed and smoked. She grabbed her coat, making quick work of slipping it on. “Ready?”
“You can’t be serious?” he asked along with a sarcastic chuckle. “After all I did to make this night perfect, you’re going to ruin it by pitching a hissy fit?”
“Oh—” Yanking off the ring he’d spent hours figuring out how to order online, she took his hand, setting the still-warm platinum band in his palm. “I’ve gone way past hissy into the realm of blind fury. The sooner you get me home, the better.”
“You are home.” Hoping words of reason might help her find her apparently lost sanity, he said, “Our home. You and me, remember? We just made love on the living-room floor. A second time on our new sofa. Are you really going to give up what we share all because I need black-and-white proof you’ll never leave me again?”
“Yes,” she said, voice hollow and cold, “because in the same respect, I need proof that the man I plan to marry trusts me.”
DAISY SPENT THE REMAINDER of the night crying into her bedroom pillows. Thankfully, by