Page 8 of Blame It On Midnight

“Do I look pretty, daddy?”

“The prettiest in the world.”

Her face lit up and he scooped Nora into his arms, grabbed her bag and headed for the stairs laughing at the high-pitched squeals that fell from her as they made their way to the front door. It was nearly five o’clock and he was about an hour late, but this was still a working ranch, and he’d had business to attend to.

His cell pinged just as he buckled Nora into her car seat and he grabbed it from his pocket, then slid into the truck. It was from Daisy Mae and instantly his good mood vanished. Funny how seeing a name could steal all the good things and leave nothing but blackness in a man.

I expect my baby at eight pm. Don’t be late.

He didn’t bother with a reply and tossed his cell, before turning on his Spotify because his brother Calvin wasn’t the only singer in the family. Nora sang along to every single Hank Williams song that played, as well as a couple from Cash and Waylon. By the time they got to Cal and Millie Sue’s place, the little girl had made it through an impressive amount of material and knew every word.

He’d done something right, he thought, as he parked and let her run ahead of him into the house, her bag nearly falling out of her hands as she disappeared inside. His daughter was always running like she was ten steps behind. He smiled at the thought, though it faded as he took stock of the situation.

There was barely room for his rig on account of the twenty or so vehicles parked out front. That meant there would be a lot of socializing for the next couple of hours, and socializing wasn’t exactly high on his agenda these days. If he didn’t like Ivy so damn much he would have come up with an excuse not to attend.

But she was special, and Mike Paul would have given him hell if he didn’t show, so he’d agreed to come and would just have to deal with it. He’d find a quiet corner in the shade and nurse a beer or two until it was time to leave.

He jumped out of the truck and glanced up at the house. His brother’s place had been built the previous year, and it was something else. With the Rockies as a picture-perfect backdrop, it was one of the prettiest spots on the Triple B Ranch, and Cal and Millie Sue had made it their own. Set atop a knoll, it overlooked the valley, giving an impressive view from inside because there were floor-to-ceiling windows to let it all in.

As he climbed the steps to the front door, squeals echoed from the back yard—no doubt there was a pack of kids in the pool. He walked in, but it was quiet. Most everyone was outside, but he spied his oldest friend and foreman, not to mention his brother-in-law, Dallas Henhawk, coming from the kitchen. His buddy looked frazzled, and when he spied Benton, he stopped mid-stride.

“How’d the mare make out?” Dallas asked.

The mare was the reason Benton was late to the party.

“A filly. All good.”

“Right. Good.” Dallas nodded.

“You okay?” Benton asked.

Dallas nodded. “Yeah. I will be.” His eyebrows shot up. “Have you talked to your sister yet?”

“Which one?”

“The one I’m sleeping with.”

“Nope.”

Dallas pointed behind him. “She’s out back. I was just heading to the truck to grab something. I’ll see you out there.”

Benton sighed, then cranked his neck and, with no other option, walked through to the kitchen. He spied the crowd outside. It was impressive. There were a lot of folks from town in attendance, along with all of the Bridgestones, save for the youngest, Ryland. He was currently in Texas.

His sister Scarlett and her husband Taz sat by the pool, while Cal and Millie Sue were snuggled up near the bar area, their child asleep in Cal’s arms. He spied Mike Paul barbecuing up some ribs, while Ivy was deep in conversation with his sister Vivian and Ivy’s pal, Kip Lafferty. The guy’s right shoulder was in a sling which explained his appearance, though to be honest with all the crap going on in his life Benton hadn’t paid much attention to sports.

He walked over to his father, Manley, and grabbed a beer from the bucket on the table. His father sipped from a bottle of water while his lady-friend Martha Pulman was busy helping Mike Paul.

“That child of yours is something else,” his father said with a nod. Bent followed his father’s gaze and shook his head with a smile.

Nora was currently perched on the edge of the diving board, her mouth moving a mile a minute while Michaela Dawson put on her water wings.

“No doubt she’s trying to convince that woman she doesn’t need those things on her arms.”

“No doubt,” Bent murmured as Michaela glanced up. An attractive lady with an easy smile, they’d become reacquainted when she moved back to her family’s ranch after a nasty divorce. Single, with two kids, they’d been thrown together on more than one occasion, and there was some chemistry there. But his head wasn’t in the right space for anything other than sex with no strings, and he wasn’t sure she was the kind of woman for that.

Long, caramel hair. Pouty lips. Slender hips and thighs. Breasts that begged for his mouth.

He blinked away the image. Shit. It had been months since Nashville, and the woman with no name was still on his mind.

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