Page 56 of My Cowboy Temptation

Chapter 18

Callie

I don’t knowhow long I stood there, watching Brody walk angrily out of that lobby and possibly my life. It was only when a kind woman stopped to see if I was okay that I realized where I was and what I was supposed to be doing, that I shook myself out of my stupor long enough to go and reschedule my visit.

There was no way I wanted this special occasion to be marred with the anger and disappointment of the past few minutes.

When I get outside, Burke seems surprised to see me so soon, but other than a curt nod, he follows me back to my place. At least it’s Monday, and the gallery is closed, which means I don’t have to worry about calling in to ask for the day off.

I’m never letting you go… I love you.

Those were the last words Brody spoke to me the other night, words that have stayed with me these past couple of days, bringing me renewed hope for our future, and a future I couldn’t wait to start. Beginning with my telling him the truth. And now that chance seems to have ended before it even began.

Why didn’t I tell him the truth the other night, when we were wrapped in each other’s arms? I know why. I was a coward and didn’t want anything to risk breaking the moment with accusations or anger. But now I’ve lost the moment, the chance to come clean, and I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive me, no matter what my reasons were.

Wearily, I climb the stairs to my apartment and unlock the door, sinking against it for a moment as the tears slip down my face. Finally, the urge to pee is too overwhelming, and I head to the bathroom.

What I need is to put all these emotions into my art. Maybe deep purples and violets contrasted against red? No, that won’t work. I’m sure it will come to me once I get started.

I’m setting up all of my stuff when there’s a loud pounding on my door.

Brody. My heart hammers in my chest as I head over to the door. I have to remind myself not to just throw the door open but to exercise some caution by peering through the peephole.

My hope of Brody’s arrival nosedives as I’m staring into the face of another cowboy, a younger face with none of the lines around the eyes.

Sighing, I open the door to Childs. “Hey. What’s up?”

“It’s your dad,” he says, his usually amiable face pale and drawn in concern. “One of Palmer’s guys shot him. They’re all on their way to the hospital. Brody asked me to swing by and escort you there personally, for your protection.”

“My dad?” Fear grips me, and it’s like I’ve been punched in the gut as I struggle for breath. “Is he okay?”

“I don’t know. Just that we should probably get there straight away.”

“Of course,” I say, even as he’s already heading to the stairs, leaving me barely any time to grab my phone and purse and pull the door closed behind me.

When we reach the lobby, he turns left instead of heading to the front door. “I’m parked in the rear,” he explains. Sure enough, his truck is right outside the fire exit, and I scramble onto the front seat as he throws the truck into drive, and we peel out.

My dad. He has to be okay.

When was the last time we talked? At Sunday dinner, seven—no, eight days ago when he seemed a little distraught about my pregnancy announcement initially, but he quickly came around and was the supportive dad I knew him to be. A dad who Brody laid a lot of information on last night, about us and our relationship, something that I should have told him about myself.

When I found out he and Everly had been carrying on for a couple weeks, and neither of them had confided in me until I caught them nearly in the act, I was shocked, furious, and even more, hurt. Hurt neither of them could share this with me before. Then, there I go and do the same thing, never sharing with either of them the extent of my feelings for Brody.

My dad is probably just as angry and hurt as I was.

What if I never get the chance to talk this out with him, to apologize and share with him what I might have done from the beginning?

He can’t die. He’s too stubborn and too strong to let a Palmer get the better of him.

I stare down at my phone. Why hasn’t anyone texted me or called me to tell me about this? Why hasn’t Everly called at the very least? Is she mad at me too?

“Is Everly with my dad then?” I ask, glancing over to Childs, who is looking more panicked than usual as sweat drips down the side of his face.

“I believe she rode in the ambulance with him.”

Okay. I guess that would explain why she hasn’t called me; there hasn’t been time.

But that doesn’t explain why Brody couldn’t at least give me the courtesy of a call. He’s mad at me, I get it. But this emergency with my dad trumps everything.

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