Cowgirls Don't Cry(72)

“Can’t help you there.”


“I figured you’d be more the Copenhagen type anyhow.” Samantha sighed heavily. “Thank you. I’m sure it sounds like I don’t appreciate all you’ve done, and all you’re doing, but I do. I really do. I just can’t wait to get out of this place and get back to my life.”


He waited for her to add that she couldn’t wait to get back to her kid, but she didn’t.

“As far as the next visitation?” he asked.

She met his eyes. “I’m not being melodramatic when I say skip it. I know it’s a drive for you. And the holidays are coming up. I don’t think I could stand to see him, knowing…” Her eyes flooded with tears and she glanced away. “Maybe after Thanksgiving and Christmas I’ll be ready for him. I’ll let you know. I get phone privileges soon so I can call you.” Samantha stood and knocked on the glass partition. The guard let her out and she didn’t look back.

Brandt wasn’t sure how long he sat there, his gut churning with the thought that maybe this situation with Landon wasn’t as temporary as he’d been telling everyone.

He didn’t call Jessie until he was close to his house. As much as he appreciated she didn’t ask questions about how it’d gone with Samantha, he needed someone to talk to.

But who? He couldn’t have a rational discussion with his parents or his brothers. His married cousins with kids weren’t options either. If he talked to Kane’s wife, Ginger, she’d probably urge him to prepare for legal action to ensure Landon wasn’t in limbo—even if his mother was.

Brandt ended up driving to his cousin Ben’s place. In addition to knowing his stuff about ranching, Ben was a damn fine carpenter. It’d taken him six years, but he’d designed and built his log cabin home from the ground up. This house sparked Brandt’s envy like no other house in the vast McKay family. Not only was it spacious with three bedrooms and two baths, including a master bath with a hot tub and a walkin shower, and a kitchen that boasted every possible amenity, it was rugged, a real guy’s space. Animal trophy heads lined the walls. A gigantic game room dominated the layout, with a huge big-screen TV surrounded by comfy couches, and a regulation gaming table that’d comfortably host ten card players. A fully loaded, fifteen-foot hand-carved wooden bar, a pool table, and an electronic dartboard. Just outside the garage was a detached woodshop and a metal barn. No one blamed Ben for being such a homebody when he had a home like this.

There was the rumor that his playboy cousin had never brought the same woman back to his house twice. A rumor Ben wouldn’t confirm or deny, which is probably why it lived on in the annals of McKay legend.

Ben ambled out, his dogs Ace and Deuce at his heels, as always. “Brandt. Surprised to see you.

What’s up?”


“Nothin’ much. Just drivin’ by and thought I’d stop to see if you had time for a beer.”


“Sure. You wanna come in? Or you wanna head into town?”


Brandt grinned. “Cuz, your bar puts any bar within a hundred miles to shame.”


Ben grinned back. “That is true. I was just about to crack a cold one anyway.”


The dogs followed them back inside and stretched out in front of the wood stove. Brandt parked himself on a barstool and Ben grabbed two Fat Tire beers from the fridge behind the bar. He slid one to Brandt, leaning his elbows on the counter.

“So, you wanna exchange bullshit about our families, you ask me how Quinn’s new baby girl Amelia is doin’, or how Chase’s season is goin’ in the PBR. Then I ask you if Dalton and Tell are still banging the Beaumont twins. Or how f*ckin’ bizarre it is that Luke fathered a kid with some teenage chick right before he died. Or do you wanna cut the crap and tell me the real reason you stopped by?”