Cowgirl Up and Ride (Rough Riders #3)(2)

Why had he come here?

Right. No reason to be home, sitting alone, wondering what the hell to do with himself. Couldn’t do chores at night or else he’d be doing that. He’d rattled around the empty house for the last two days at loose ends.

Earlier, when he’d slipped on a Matchbox car and nearly fell on his ass, he’d automatically yelled, “Ky, come down here right now and pick this up…” The silence hit him like a load of hay bales. His son wasn’t there. Ky wouldn’t be around for another forty-two days.

Not that Cord was counting or anything.

The band struck up a cover of George Strait’s “All My Exes Live In Texas” and boots thumped as dancers crowded the tiny wooden dance floor.

Cord upended his beer and tugged his Stetson down his forehead a notch. His ex didn’t live in West Texas, rather on the West Coast. The twangy tune served as a reminder of the disturbing events of the last month.

Ky’s mother, Marla, had called out of the blue, demanding to see their son.

The son she’d abandoned.

Naturally, Cord flat-out refused. Then Marla turned nasty and threatened to drag Cord to court, throwing around words like “joint custody” and “parental rights”. Words that sent shudders down his spine and ice into his soul.

Kyler McKay was his son. His. Marla had handed over Ky’s care to him the day he’d been born. She’d lasted six months after Ky’s birth before she’d hightailed it back to Seattle for a temporary separation. A tearful Marla returned to Wyoming a year later with her tail tucked between her legs, full of apologies, proclaiming she’d changed, wanting another chance to make things—their marriage and motherhood—work.

She’d only lasted three weeks that time.

Cord had filed for divorce. Marla hadn’t contested it, as she hadn’t contested his demand of full, sole, permanent custody of Ky.

No doubt he struggled as a single parent, but luckily his family lived nearby and they helped him out. Consequently, Ky was a happy, bright, well-adjusted, four-year-old boy surrounded by uncles, aunts and grandparents. Ky didn’t need a mother and they sure as shootin’ didn’t need her. Cord had told Marla as much over the phone.

But Marla wouldn’t back down about the visitation rights. Cord took the matter to his attorney. The lawyer’s advice was to let the boy stay with his mother for the seven-week period she’d requested. It surprised Cord when his own mother sided with the lawyer, claiming it would be good for both Ky and Cord.

Seven days ago he and Ky had hopped a plane and flew to Seattle. Cord insisted on being there as a safety net before he passed Ky over to Marla, a mother Ky didn’t remember at all.

Leaving his son in the care of a virtual stranger hundreds of miles from home was the hardest thing Cord had ever done. A million bad scenarios raced through his mind.

He’d almost turned around and flew right back to Seattle after he’d landed in Cheyenne.

Let his brothers and cousins run the massive McKay ranch for a few weeks. God knew, Cord had pulled their weight more than a time or two. They owed him.

Cord’s mother talked him into coming home, giving Ky time to adjust before making a rash decision. Ky seemed fine whenever Cord talked to him on the phone, which had calmed his fears somewhat.

Somewhat. Damn, he missed his kid something fierce.

So, here he was killing time in the local honky-tonk, wondering how he’d get through the next month and a half without going insane. Wondering if the next time he stumbled over one of Ky’s toys whether he’d break down and bawl like a lost calf.