the copies in town and burn them,” Sharon Lynn said vehemently, tossing the offending tabloid onto her parents’ kitchen table. “If Harlan Patrick sees this, he’s going to freak out.”
This was a half-page picture of country-music superstar Laurie Jensen with “Her Secret Love Child.”
“He’s finally over her,” Sharon Lynn said of her brother. “He’s not even playing her songs on the new jukebox down at Dolan’s anymore.”
“No, now he plays them on that boom box he carries with him everywhere he goes,” her mother said. “We have to show it to him. Maybe this will finally close that chapter in his life. He’ll have to move on once he sees she has a child.”
Harlan Patrick stood outside the kitchen door and listened to the whole conversation. His stomach had clenched and his hand had stilled on the screen door the instant he’d realized the topic. The merest mention of Laurie was all it took to get his heart to thudding dully and his forehead to break out in a cold sweat.
How the hell was he supposed to get over Laurie when she was a part of him, as vital to him as breathing? Losing her had made him question everything, every choice he’d made, even his commitment to the family ranch. There were times when the weight of the family’s expectations and his sense of his own destiny almost combined to crush him.
With his grandfather in his eighties and his father, Cody, getting older, the fate of White Pines was all but his. Ranching was in his blood; it defined who he was, but that didn’t make it any less of a burden at times. Day in, day out, 365 days a year, the demands were unceasing. The damned ranch was what stood between him and Laurie, and yet, when the chips had been down, the ranch was what he’d chosen, just as surely as she’d chosen her music over him.
His heritage over his heart. It was pitiful enough to be the heartbreaking theme of a country-music megahit. He was surprised Laurie hadn’t written it herself. She’d turned everything else they’d shared into top-ten hits. There was something downright eerie and irritating about hearing his life played out on the radio.
Thinking back, he realized that maybe he’d made the decisions he had because he hadn’t believed for a minute that she’d really leave. Despite repeated warnings from his sister, his cousin Justin, his grandfather, just about everyone, he’d trusted that their love was stronger than anything else on earth. By the time he’d recognized his mistake, it was too late. Laurie had been gone and with her, his soul.
Ironically he’d gotten another chance a little over a year ago, but his pride had kicked in with a vengeance and he’d watched her run out on him all over again. Pride, as his granddaddy had told him more than once, made a mighty cold bedmate. Even knowing the truth of that, he still hadn’t been able to make himself go after her. He’d called for a while, but when those calls hadn’t been returned, he’d cursed her every which way and given up.
Okay, so he was a damned fool. He admitted it. She’d made things clear enough the last time he’d seen her. She’d told him flat out that she still loved him, just not enough to come home and be his wife. He’d accepted her decision. What choice did he have? He couldn’t go chasing halfway around the world to be by her side, could he? What was he supposed to do? Run White Pines long-distance?
But he hadn’t forgotten about her, not for a single second. Now she had a child? He didn’t believe it, couldn’t believe that some other man had shared her bed, not when she’d so fiercely declared that she was still in love with him. Theirs simply wasn’t the kind of love that died overnight, no matter how badly they’d mistreated each other. No one had replaced her in his heart or even in his bed. He’d managed to convince himself that she’d do the same. Apparently that was just one on a whole long list of delusions he’d held about Laurie.
He yanked open the screen door, then let it slam behind him as he stared into two shocked, guilty faces. “Let me see it,” he demanded, his voice deadly calm.
Sharon Lynn moved between him and the table, blocking his view of the paper. “Forget about it,” she said. “Forget about her.”