Page 86 of The Moments You Were Mine

I guessed that wasn’t any different than how I’d spent most of my life.

Get a grip!my conscience screamed. Those ridiculous thoughts were the leftovers of the troubled teenager I’d once been. And they’d never been completely true. Yes, my family had been a mangled mess of knots, but I’d always been loved. I’d had Spence for the first fourteen years of my life, and he’d been more of a dad to me than my own father until he’d died. Spencer had loved me, showered me with praise, and taught me everything he knew about farming and the ranch and the land—or as much as he could when I’d still been a kid.

And Mom had never held back her affection when she’d been clear-headed. Every time she came out of another battle with addiction, she’d tried to make it up to me. She loved me, but fighting her demons had taken most of her strength and focus.

Even Dad had proven himself and his love at the time I’d needed it most. When I’d felt the most alone, he’d returned to the ranch solely for me. He’d ensured I kept the one thing I’d always wanted.

So it was time I jerked myself out of my pity party and moved on, got past the childhood baggage. I had to do it if I intended to raise a child without my scars bleeding into them.

I glanced at the antique clock on the bathroom vanity and realized I’d spent far too long under the steady stream. If I didn’t hurry up, Parker would return thinking I’d keeled over in the shower. I washed my hair as quickly and as gently as possible, wincing every time I came near the large knot on my temple. I washed off the rest of the dirt and grime from lying on the ground and then stepped out of the shower.

The large mirrors reflected a pale face, making the bruise on my forehead stand out even more.

I tried to comb my hair and then gave up because pulling onthe tangles hurt too much.

I wobbled, exhaustion and dizziness tugging at me. I planted my hands on the counter and stared into the mirror, gaze settling on my lips and feeling again the two amazing kisses Parker had given me. They’d scoured themselves into me and would remain there forever.

He’d promised me more. He’d promised romance and naked bodies.

Teenaged Fallon was screaming with excitement, doing three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turns on Daisy’s virtual back. Adult Fallon, who’d just found out she was carrying someone else’s baby, was desperately sad. To come so close to all my dreams, to have them a kiss away, only to have them ripped away by an asshole who had supposedly loved me and then tried to sabotage my life, was just too much.

Brutally harsh.

Almost as harsh as the shots fired at me and my guests.

A tremor ran up my spine.

What the hell was I going to do? Not only about the danger to me and my guests but Parker’s admission? Once he got something in his sight, he didn’t let go. Even if I tried to push him away, he’d pursue me with that single-minded focus of his I’d always craved to have centered on me. The only way to get him to stop was to tell him the truth.

And I wasn’t sure I was ready to tell anyone yet.

A sharp rap on the door brought me back to my current problem—the staff showing up and the public relations nightmare of a shooting on the resort grounds.

“Fallon?” Concern dripped through Parker’s voice. That wasn’t anything new. He’d always been worried about me. He’d always cared. I’d just hoped one day that caring would turn into something more. And now he was trying to offer it, and I felt obliged to reject it so he wouldn’t take on another responsibility that wasn’t his.

How had I imagined it working out in those childish dreams? Had I really imagined him changing his mind about relationships and kids just to sweep me off my feet and give me the family I craved?

Is this how my mom had felt when she’d found herselfpregnant with Dad’s baby when she was really in love with Spencer? So much of what had happened to my mother had been because of her own choices and those of her family that it had made it hard to feel a lot of compassion. But now, I felt an empathy I’d never wanted. And yet, it hadn’t stopped me from wishing for something good to happen in her life. Something not tied to the ranch or me or Dad or the cursed Hurly and Harrington legacies she insisted on honoring. I’d hoped she’d start wanting more for herself than the land that would never be hers.

What I hadn’t wanted was to understand her choices. And I certainly had no desire to be her, repeating a cycle her mother and grandmother had started—marrying because you were pregnant.

Another rap on the door was followed by the rattling of the handle. I opened it before Parker could storm in. He scanned me from head to toe and back, lingering on the bruise.

I’d dressed in a pair of loose leggings and an oversized T-shirt. It wasn’t professional. It didn’t screamboss, but it was all I could manage.

“Sheriff Wylee is here,” Parker said.

I didn’t answer. I just stepped around him, keeping my pace slow and steady so I didn’t nearly pass out again like I had when I’d stepped out of his truck.

In the great room, Wylee was pacing in front of the windows overlooking the resort. The bright light made me wince as he turned toward me, twisting his hat in his hands. The look he gave me sent a curl of dread up my spine. It was cold instead of concerned. Hard instead of soft.

“Have you found the shooter?” I asked.

“Not yet,” he said curtly, watching as I eased over to the couch.

“You own a Remington bolt-action rifle?” he asked.

Parker made an inarticulate noise from where he stood behind me—a grunt of disapproval.