Chapter 15

It was Rock’s turn to stand frozen in place as the dark-haired man stood and turned around.

Monty fucking Hill.

He couldn’t believe it. What the ever-loving hell was he doing here?

It was clear from Quinn’s expression that she didn’t have a clue either.

His gaze snapped to Logan. Had he had something to do with this? Had he brought this guy here to keep Quinn from being with him?

Quinn’s brother glared at Monty’s back. No, he obviously hadn’t had anything to do with it either.

Had Max somehow contacted him? Or had his questions about his father somehow conjured him out of thin air?

Monty ducked his head. “Hey there, Quinn. Long time, no see.”

Rock watched the muscles tighten in her jaw as she looked from Hill to Max, obviously fighting to hold back what she really wanted to say.

And he was sure she had a lot to say.

“What are you doing here?” she finally choked out.

“I was passing through and thought I’d drop in to see my boy.” He wrapped an arm around Max’s shoulder, and Rock wanted to knock it away. In fact, he wanted to punch the deadbeat in the throat. Then kick him in the nuts, then punch him in the face. And he would just be getting started.

My boy?

Shee-it. Why was he here all of a sudden, claiming Max was his?

Rock ignored the clawing in his gut that reminded him that Max really was his boy.

“You look good, Quinn. You haven’t aged a bit.” Hill offered her a smile that was a cross between friendly and flirty.

Rock’s hands curled into fists. After he punched him, he was considering running him over with his truck.

She didn’t return the smile. Her lips pressed into a flat line, and a vein pulsed in her neck.

Monty held out a hand to Rock. “Monty Hill. You’re Rock James, right? I think we played football against each other in high school.”

Hill knew damn well who he was.

For the second time that day, Rock ignored a snake’s outstretched hand.

But this was a different kind of snake than the reporter. The press guy was an annoying garter snake that wound its way through the grass and caused a fright when it slithered next to his foot. Hill was more like a rattler—a coiled-up predator full of venom that no one knew when it would strike. Or who it would hurt.

Well, screw that. He knew how to take care of a rattler. He stamped on its mouth with his boot heel or chopped its head off with a shovel. That was the only way to keep it from hurting someone, and Rock wasn’t going to let that snake hurt Quinn or Max. Not his family.

He took a step forward, then stopped in his tracks, his knees threatening to buckle underneath him.

Quinn and Max weren’t his family.

He didn’t have any claim to them at all.

In fact, Max was Monty’s son, so they were Hill’s family.

That thought sobered him quickly, especially when he looked down and saw Max’s sweet face as he looked up to him with adoration.

Shit. Max also looked at Monty that way. Like that asswipe hung the freaking moon. Quinn had told him that she had been careful never to talk poorly of Monty around Max, because she didn’t want to give him any more issues—it was enough that he had been abandoned by his father; she didn’t want to add in that Monty had rejected him as well.

So instead, Max was acting like Hill was some kind of hero who had just swooped in to save the day.

And how could he wreck that impression? How could he take that away from Max—one of the sweetest kids he’d ever met. A kid he had already fallen in love with.

His head pounded, the headache back with a vengeance as indecision tore through him.

What the hell was he supposed to say? To do?

Should he stay here and support Quinn or back away and let them have time to figure out what was going on? He wanted to be here for Quinn, but he wasn’t sure he had that right.

He tried to gauge what she was feeling, what she wanted, but for once was at a loss.

Her face was pale, a blank mask void of emotion. Her shoulders were tight, and she stood with her legs planted in a stance of fight or flight.

Although he knew she’d never pick flight, she’d never abandon Max or walk away from him. No. Leaving was Rock’s department. And, apparently, Monty’s.

Bile filled the back of his throat at his comparison to this slimeball guy who had abandoned his family, who had walked away from the people who needed him the most.

Pain seared through his head, and he gave it the smallest shake, as if to clear the idea that he had done the same thing.

He couldn’t feel Quinn trembling anymore, and he realized she’d taken just the barest step away from him instead of toward him.

Maybe that was the answer he was looking for. Maybe she didn’t need him at all.

She could fight her own battles—had been fighting them on her own for years, without his help or concern.

But he hadn’t been back in her life like he was now. Maybe she needed him now. Maybe this time he could do something.

A hard notion hit him. Maybe she wanted Monty to be back in Max’s life. Maybe she wanted Max to have his dad around. She’d told him that Monty had walked away, but she’d never really said if she’d wanted him to stay.

He needed to talk to her, to get her away from this situation so he could find out what was going on in her head, what she needed from him, what she needed him to do or not do.

Somehow, he didn’t think she’d approve of his idea to punch the guy in the throat and kick him out on his ass, at least not in front of Max.

The front door banged open, and Hamilton stormed in, his face a mix of fury and concern as he headed straight for Monty. He towered over Hill and glared down at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came to visit my son,” Monty said, his voice hard as he stared back at Ham, as if daring him to throw a fist.

That was not a dare that any sane man would make. Ham might be in his fifties, but the guy was hard as steel, his body lean and muscled, and Rock had seen him wrestle a steer twice the size of Monty to the ground just last week when they were branding.

Hamilton Rivers defined the word tough in tough as nails.

He held his ground, staring Monty down with eyes that were glinty and hard. His jaw was set, and a vein pulsed next to his eye. The cords in his throat strained against the skin of his neck, and his hands clenched in tight fists at his sides.

The air crackled with tension as the group held their collective breaths, waiting to see what Ham would do.

“Grandpa?” Max’s small voice broke through the silence.

This was it. This moment would tell Rock what Quinn was feeling. If she would let her dad do the thing that Rock, and most likely Logan, wanted to do. Would she let her dad sock this guy in the face? Would she let him kick him out?

Quinn stood next to her dad, her gaze darting between Ham, Monty, and Max. Without saying a word, she held out her hand and placed in on Ham’s arm, a silent message that shouted “stand down, soldier.”

And that was all it took.

All that Rock needed to know. She didn’t want them to throw Monty out.

At least not in front of Max.

He should go. This was obviously a family thing, and he was obviously the outsider. Everyone else in the room was related to one another in some regard.

Except for him.

He opened his mouth to tell Quinn that he was going to go, but before he could speak, she took a step forward, a step closer to Monty.

“Could I speak to you a minute? Alone?” Her voice was a tight blend of anger and control.

And broke Rock’s heart.

Monty tore his gaze from Ham’s and took a step back, surrendering his stance of power. “Sure. No problem.”

She gestured toward the den off to the side of the kitchen, and Monty turned and headed in that direction.

Rock didn’t know their whole history, but the guy must have been around enough to be familiar with the house. He obviously knew the layout as he opened the french doors and stepped through.

Quinn followed behind him, her steps heavy, her shoulders slumped, as if she were headed to the gallows instead of into the study.

She turned, and Rock waited to see where her gaze would fall. Who would she look to for support? He held his breath as he prayed for her gaze to turn toward him, to glance his way, to seek his encouragement.

But she didn’t.

Avoiding anyone’s eyes in the room, she kept her head down and pulled the doors shut behind her with a resounding click.

* * *

Quinn swallowed, her throat dry as she tried to think of something to say.

She had plenty to say, but somehow didn’t think covering him with a river of violent swear words would be the best way to get the conversation off on the right foot.

Leaning her hip against the side of the desk, she took a deep breath and unclenched her hands. “Okay, Monty, it’s just us. Now you can tell me what the hell you’re really doing here.”

Okay, maybe not a river of swear words, but she couldn’t hold back at least a small trickle of a stream.

“I told you. I’m here to see Max.” His shoulders slumped forward. “And to apologize to you. I probably could have handled the way I took off a little better.”

“Oh, you mean when you used me at that party and then acted like nothing ever happened between us? Or do you mean when I told you I was pregnant and you denied that Max could be yours? Or do you mean when I sucked up my pride and offered to let you be part of Max’s life after he was born, and instead, you took off, and I had to hear from Melinda down at the Burger Barn that you’d left town and never even told me, or your son, goodbye?”

“Yeah, that would pretty much be what I meant.” He offered her a shrug and a coy smile that she assumed he meant to be charming.

It wasn’t.

That charismatic bad-boy charm wasn’t going to work on her. She’d fallen for it before. She wasn’t about to fall victim to it again.

She narrowed her eyes as she studied him. He looked different, not unrecognizable, but older, and not exactly the cool teenage bad boy she’d first met. He was still good-looking, but he’d cleaned up; his jeans were neat and minus the trademark holes and tears that used to be a constant part of his wardrobe.

The night she’d met him, he’d been wearing a faded T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, his significant adolescent muscles on full display. His hair had been just a little too long, as if he hadn’t had time to get it cut versus he wore it that way on purpose. The real truth had been that he couldn’t afford to get his hair cut, couldn’t afford new jeans that didn’t have rips and faded fabric thin from wear.

He’d had a green John Deere hat, the kind with the mesh in the back, which he’d always worn back then, giving him that cute plowboy look.

Today, he had on a pressed, button-up western shirt, although the visible creases made it clear it had just come out of the package. His jeans also looked new, along with the fresh haircut. But his boots were scuffed and worn, and his hands seemed calloused and dry. A thin line of dirt or grease ran under the length of his thumbnail.

He’d obviously worked hard to give the impression that he was doing fine for himself, but his watch—a cheap knockoff with a faded band—gave him away.

“Why now? Why after all of these years of not even recognizing that he was your son are you suddenly here wanting to see him?”

“I get why you’d be confused. I’ve been a jerk. I know that. But I’ve made some significant changes in my life, and I swear, I’m here to make amends.”

“What kind of changes?”

“It all started when I got into some trouble down in Texas.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a change.”

He shrugged. “I deserve that. But I’m telling you, I have changed. I’m not like that anymore. As part of my sentence, I had to join this men’s group and attend it and counseling once a week. It changed my life. These guys are the real deal, and they’ve shown me the error of my ways and the real path to the truth and the light.”

Quinn almost choked. She was a firm believer in the power of prayer and had seen the hand of God work in mysterious ways, but she’d been fooled by Monty before and had a hard time believing his arrogance would yield to a complete one-eighty of his earlier beliefs. Plus, his words held the slightest tone of drama, like he’d memorized the lines and was putting on a performance.

She narrowed her eyes, studying him as she tried to discern if he was truly being sincere and really had been touched by faith. “Are you serious right now? You’re telling me you are back, that you traveled all the way here from Texas and are now ready to recognize Max as your son because you suddenly found Jesus?”

He cringed, and she almost believed her words had hurt him. “It’s not a joke. I know I used to give you a hard time for going to church and believing in all of that stuff.”

Gave her a hard time? Was that what he called it? She remembered when she’d called him to tell him she was getting the baby baptized at the same church where she’d grown up, where she and her brother had been baptized.

Monty had chastised her and informed her in no uncertain terms that he would not be taking part in some foolish tradition with a bunch of judgmental hypocrites who thought handing out casseroles and sprinkling some water on a baby’s head would grant them access to heaven. Which was another thing he’d expressed disbelief in.

“Monty, you told me once that you would rather go to hell in a limo with Satan as the driver than set foot in a church. So yeah, I have a hard time believing you.”

“Believe it. It’s true. I know I wasn’t the most supportive when you used to talk about wanting to go to church and to raise our kid there, but I finally understand what all this faith stuff is about.”

She wrinkled her nose, as if his words, the bullshit he was selling, carried a bad scent.

She didn’t know what to believe. This had to be a con, a scam. There had to be more to his story than he was letting on. She knew faith could change a person, but she’d never known Monty to be real susceptible to change. “So what do you want from us?”

“I just want a chance to get to know my son.”

She cringed every time he called Max his son. Even if it was true, he had denied it for so long, the words carried a false note. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means that I moved back from Texas. I’m staying with one of my brothers, and I’d like to be able to spend some time with Max. Get to know the kid. And get to know you again.”

Well, that damn sure wasn’t happening. She had no interest in getting to know him again. He was a bygone that would stay a bygone, as far as she was concerned.

She wasn’t going to be sucked back in by an old flame that had burned the hell out of her.

Although that’s exactly what had been happening the last week. She’d been getting sucked in by not just an old flame, but a full-on forest fire, and a fire that had not only burned her, but left her heart seared and scarred.

Rock.

She’d given Rock another chance.

But Monty wasn’t Rock. She’d never been in love with Monty. Never given him her entire heart.

And this guy was nothing like Rock.

Still, he had told her he wanted a second chance, that he had changed, just like Monty was saying, and she had given him a chance.

Except with Monty, it wasn’t just giving him a chance to hurt her; she was opening up the possibility that he could hurt her son. And she wouldn’t let anything happen to Max.

But what if Monty was telling the truth? What if he really had had a life-altering experience and had truly changed and was trying to make a fresh start? Last week’s sermon had been about how all things were possible with God, but she had a hard time believing even God could change this man.

A hard thought struck her—one that twisted her gut and had the acid churning in her stomach.

What if by keeping Max away from Monty, she was hurting him more?

She’d always tried to shelter Max from learning what kind of man his father really was, but what if he was old enough now to judge for himself?

And what if Monty really had changed, and she was keeping her son from having a chance to get to know and have a relationship with his father?

She chewed at the loose cuticle on the side of her thumbnail, weighing her options, then let out a sigh. “Fine. You can see Max. But only for short visits, and I’m always going to be there.”

Monty’s face lit with what appeared to be a genuine smile. “That’s fine. That’s great even. Let’s get started.”

“Slow down there, slugger. We need to establish some ground rules first.”

“Rules? What kind of rules?” His tone darkened for a moment with an obvious disregard for authority.

She narrowed her eyes in a glare, and he backed off.

“Okay, yeah, sure. Some rules are fine. Like what?”

Except for that one moment that his expression slipped, he still seemed altogether too agreeable. She didn’t like it. And she still didn’t trust him. But she’d give him a chance. For Max’s sake.

“No keeping him up past his bedtime, no feeding him sugar and caffeine without asking me first, no undermining my parenting, and no daring him to do anything stupid that could get him hurt.”

Monty nodded. “That sounds reasonable.”

“In fact, he’s not allowed to do any kind of activity that could involve him getting hurt.”

This time he pulled a face. “Come on, that seems a little unreasonable. He could get hurt walking across the driveway. Or just in normal roughhousing.”

“Max doesn’t do much roughhousing.”

“Why not? Is there something wrong with him? Is he sick? Is there something you’ve been keeping from me?”

“Geez. No. He’s not sick. He just doesn’t play like that. He’s not into wrestling and horseplay.”

“What is he into?”

She shrugged. “Bugs and dinosaurs and books. He loves to read.”

“Books? What about sports? Doesn’t he play baseball or football?”

Quinn let out a laugh. “No. He doesn’t. My dad tried to get him to play T-ball one year, and that was a bust. And just a few weeks ago, I heard Logan try to get him to go outside and play catch, and Max politely declined.”

Monty wrinkled his forehead. “What kind of kid doesn’t want to play catch?”

She let out a sigh. This wasn’t going to be easy. “The kind of kid that Max is. You said you wanted to get to know him.”

He held up his hands. “Okay, you’re right. I just want a chance to hang out with him. Does he have some time now?”

Another sigh escaped her. “I guess so, sure.” She opened the doors of the den.

Her dad, brother, and son all sat morosely in the living room.

Rock was gone.

Her heart stuttered. He hadn’t even waited around to tell her goodbye or see if she was okay.

Was she okay? She had no idea.

That’s not true. She would be okay. She had to be. She was a mom. That’s what moms did. Or were supposed to do. Moms made everything okay.

She pasted on a smile, avoiding her dad and brother’s gaze. “Well, it looks like Monty is going to be sticking around for a little bit.” She couldn’t bring herself to say your dad. “Would you like that, Max?”

Max’s eyes widened, and he jumped off the sofa and ran to her, throwing his arms around her legs. “Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.” He turned and offered a shy smile to Monty.

Monty returned the smile and bent down to Max’s level. “I brought an old football with me to toss around if you want to go outside and play a little catch?”

Hadn’t he heard a word she’d said?

“Sure,” Max answered. “That sounds fun.”

Wait—what? That sounds fun? Who was this kid and what had he done with her son?

“Come on.” Max took Monty’s hand and led him out the front door.

She offered an incredulous look to her father and brother, who both looked just as dumbfounded, then followed them out the door.

Monty really had brought an old football with him, and he carried it into the front yard and lobbed a gentle throw at the small boy.

Max completely missed the ball, the oblong shape slipping through his hands. But instead of getting upset, he giggled and laughed like his blunder was the funniest thing he’d seen all day.

His toss back to Monty was clumsy and woefully short of its mark, and Quinn waited for Monty to reprimand him or give him a hard time for his terrible throw. But he didn’t.

He was surprisingly patient with Max as he recovered the ball and offered the boy tips on where to hold it and how to throw it.

Max butchered throw after throw, but he didn’t lose his determination, and Monty kept his cool.

Quinn sat on the porch steps, watching them play, but zoning out as Monty regaled Max with tales of his high school glory days on the football team of Franklin High. She didn’t recall those days as being all that glorious.

But Max seemed enraptured with every word out of Monty’s mouth. His energy never waned as he continued to try to master the art of catch. And his skills did seem to improve.

“Good job, champ,” Monty said as he caught one of Max’s better throws.

Her son beamed with pride at the compliment.

She tried to keep her eyes from rolling.

Was she making the right decision here? Should she let Max spend time with Monty? What if he hurt him? Not if—when? Because she had no doubt in her mind that Monty would end up hurting her boy.

The only problem was she didn’t know what she could do about it.

She wasn’t a coward, so she wouldn’t run away or hide.

Killing him seemed out of the question—but only marginally so.

For now, all she could do was keep on her toes and keep a watchful eye on Monty. He claimed he had changed, and maybe he had, maybe he did deserve a second chance, but she wasn’t about to let her guard down.

Not for one minute.

* * *

Quinn was putting the finishing touches on supper later that night when she heard her father come in the front door, followed by the sound of small footsteps running down the hall.

She heard Max greet Ham, then listened as he regaled him with stories of all the things he’d done with Monty that afternoon.

Thankfully, she’d put a roast in the Crock-Pot that morning, so all she’d had to do was boil a few ears of corn and throw together a salad. She put the last of the meal on the table, then slumped into her chair as Ham and Max washed their hands and joined her.

Her dad had barely finished the blessing when Max started up again.

He filled his plate as he talked, using his spoon to dump a large mound of butter next to his corn. His small hand shook the pepper shaker, black flakes raining down onto the bright-yellow butter. “And then he showed me how to put my fingers between the laces to throw the football. He said I’d get a better spin on it then. My dad—he’s a real smart guy.”

Oh yeah. He’s a smart one all right. Quinn’s gaze was fixed on her son’s plate, seemingly transfixed as she watched him shake the salt, then stir the butter mixture together before swirling his corn through it.

Her father was doing the same thing, absently spinning his corn in his own butter, salt, and pepper mixture as he listened to Max talk. She wondered if her forehead held the same crease of concern that was evident on Ham’s.

Logan was filling in at The Creed tonight, so it was just the three of them. Well, four, if you count Monty, who, although he had driven away an hour ago, still seemed to be present in the room with them.

Her dad didn’t say much throughout the meal. Neither did she.

She figured they were both trying to keep their mouths shut as Max chattered on—and on—about how great his dad was. A little sliver of pain sliced through her heart, and she tried not to wince every time he said my dad, as if Monty were getting equal billing in this parenting gig, even though she’d done all the work the last eight years.

“Mom? Mom?”

Max’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Yeah, baby?”

“I was telling you about how my dad is a famous bull rider. He told me he’s been in hundreds of rodeos. Did you know he rode bulls?”

“I know he’s full of bull,” she muttered, then wished she could take it back as her son’s thin shoulders drooped and his small brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so mean?”

Dang. How was she supposed to answer that?

She let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Max. I’ve just had a long day.”

“You’re acting like you’re mad. Did I do something to make you mad?”

“No, of course not.”

“Aren’t you happy that my dad came to see me?”

She swallowed back the cutting remark forming in her mind and tried to soften her tone. “Yeah, sure I am, buddy.”

Max looked down at his plate, his own voice dropping a degree in volume. “I’m sure glad. I’ve been wishing and praying that he would come. And now he’s here, and I feel so happy, like my heart is gonna bust out of my chest. But you just seem mad and kinda sad, and that makes me feel bad about being so happy.”

Oh. Ouch.

She took a deep breath, pushing down all of the negative feelings she had toward Monty, and forced a smile. She could do this. She could pretend for Max’s sake. She could do anything for Max’s sake.

Even spend time in the company of the low-down snake who had slept with her and then had always denied even being Max’s father.

“I’m not mad. I’m just tired,” she said, trying her best to sound genuine. Hell, she was tired. That wasn’t a lie. “I’m glad for you that you are getting a chance to meet your father.” She tried not to choke on the word father.

“I’m glad too. Super-duper glad. I like him. I think he’s pretty great.”

Of course you do.

Another stab to her heart.

It’s easy to seem great when all he had to do was show up one afternoon and toss a football and a few compliments around. He wasn’t the one who had to set a consistent schedule, and wipe a snotty nose, or clean up vomit, or say no to more television or computer when it would be so much easier just to give in and say yes.

No. All of those things were what she’d had to do, what she still had to do, alone. Sure, her dad and her brother helped, but the majority of Max’s parenting came down to her. Success or failure fell squarely on her shoulders.

“Why don’t you help me clear the table, then get cleaned up?” She looked over at her dad. “I’ll wash these dishes if you can find him some clean pajamas and get him started with the shower.”

“Sure,” Ham said, already pushing his chair back and lifting his plate to carry it to the kitchen. Max followed suit with his plate and glass, then tore off down the hallway toward his room.

Ham brought in the last of the dishes as Quinn filled the sink with water, squirting in a healthy dose of liquid detergent. Her dad prided himself on being frugal and had never seen the need for a dishwasher, and on nights like tonight, the menial task of washing the dishes was just what she needed.

Being in the kitchen alone, she sang along to the country music station on the radio as she let the hot water and the chore of scrubbing the dishes take her mind off the problems of her son, her newfound relationship with her old boyfriend, and the unexpected arrival of Monty Hill.

She finished washing the last pan and was just wiping down the counters when her dad stepped back into the kitchen.

He leveled her with a steely stare. “Just what in the Sam Hill do you think you’re doing?”