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  So, she reminded herself, she must do no less. One resolve threaded through the pounding that had begun in her head. Don’t tell him, don’t say the words. If he doesn’t know, nothing will change. He can’t know. There’s no way, not unless you tell him.

  “What would make you think something so ridicu—”

  “Don’t. Don’t bullshit me, Carly.” He spoke even more quietly now, looking into her eyes with a sort of controlled desperation—and absolute determination. “I did the math. I need the truth. Don’t you think you owe me that much?”

  Of course she did. He was right. She’d lied about it for the past two years. Her palms felt damp as she pressed them against the sides of her dark jeans. A spurt of nausea churned through her.

  Well, perhaps she hadn’t lied exactly, but she’d hidden the truth. He was asking now, though. Straight-out asking.

  He deserves to know, a tiny voice whispered inside her even as the tight, breathless sensation rolled back again, more intense than before.

  This hadn’t happened in over a year. Not since she’d received that nasty phone call out of the blue from her cousin Phil. That day the panic had rushed back, swamping her with a sense of suffocation, of nausea churning like acid through her stomach.

  Phil Beaumont, the son of her mother’s half sister, the boy who’d long ago gotten his kicks locking her in a closet, had done a search for her name online and had come upon a link to an article about Carly’s Quilts. The story had been published in Lonesome Way’s daily newspaper back when she first opened the quilt shop. No sooner did Phil read it than he called her at the shop, telling her he needed money.

  He’d just been released from prison after doing time for aggravated assault and insisted he needed something to start over with. He said she owed him, since his mother had taken her in, given her a roof over her head when Carly had no one and nothing.

  He wanted five thousand dollars.

  Carly told him no and hung up, shaking. The phone call, the sound of Phil’s rough voice, had triggered a full-blown panic attack. It came on so suddenly it nearly knocked her off her feet. The rush of breathlessness, the faintness, the overwhelming sense of being closed in…

  It had lasted for hours—thank heavens Emma had been asleep—but she hadn’t had a single attack since. And she hadn’t heard from Phil again.

  So she’d thought her panic attacks were as much in her past as he was.

  But now, with Jake standing right before her, demanding to know the truth, she found herself struggling for breath.

  Go away, she told the cramping tightness in her chest, cursing the reaction and her own inability to cope. She fought to breathe, to steel herself. She tried to remember how to draw air into her lungs. She did it every day…why couldn’t she do it now?

  Opening her mouth, she gave a little gasp, sucked in a breath, then another.

  She wouldn’t tell him the truth. She couldn’t. It would ruin Emma’s life and his—and her own. He wouldn’t be there for Emma; he’d only hurt her, make her miss him, wonder why he was always gone and not around to help her with homework or carry her around on his shoulders or teach her how to print her name….

  Breathe, she told herself desperately as a warm wave of dizziness washed over her. You can do it. There’s plenty of air. Just breathe it in.

  “Hey. Carly. Carly, what’s going on? You all right?”

  His voice had sharpened. Not with anger, but with concern. Still, it sounded distant…and the nausea circled up in her throat….

  “I’m fine,” she managed, but it came out as a gasp. “I just…want you to…leave.”

  “You should sit down. Then you can tell me the truth—”

  “She’s mine. My daughter. That’s the truth.” Carly used every ounce of her concentration to focus on him. She needed to get through this. For Emma. She struggled to ignore the lack of air in her lungs, the erratic racing of her heart. “Emma’s father is none of your business. My life is none of your business…. I—oh!”

  She broke off as he reached out, caught her hand in his big palm. His fingers felt cool. Strong. His grip was careful, and unexpectedly gentle considering the determination in his eyes. She’d expected him to yank her forward, to try to intimidate her, but he didn’t. He merely enclosed her hand within his strong one, his expression concerned as he stepped closer.

  “You don’t look so good. I’m not going anywhere until you feel better. And then you can tell me—”

  “Tell you what…to leave? I’m telling you…right now. Just because we spent one…n-night together you think you have a claim on…m-my daughter. G-get over yourself. I…”

  Her voice faded. She felt her chest tightening like a vise from lack of air.

  “Whoa!” With lightning reflexes, Jake’s arms swept around her waist as she swayed forward and began to gulp, one desperate shallow breath after the other.

  “Come on, you need to sit down,” he said quietly. “Right now. What can I do?”

  She was too busy trying to breathe to answer him.

  He drew her carefully to the chair, eased her into the seat. The next instant he was kneeling beside her, gently rubbing her palms, the backs of her hands, her fingers, even as his concerned gaze searched her face.

  “You eaten anything today?”

  “I…yes…” Through the panic clawing at her lungs, her stomach, and filling her head with a swirly sensation, Carly fought her guilt. Miserable, overwhelming guilt.

  “This…just…happens sometimes. Well, it hasn’t…h-happened for a long time. I just need to…”

  “What? What do you need? Maybe I should take you to the hospital.”

  “No! No hospital…it’s just a p-panic attack. It will…pass. I want you to…to…leave me alone….”

  “Not going to happen. You should get checked out by a doctor—”

  “Once you leave…I’ll be all right.” She fought for air.

  “You don’t look so good. I’m taking you to the ER right now.”

  “No!” Frantically she clutched at his arms as he drew her up from the chair. Even through her panic she felt a jolt of heat as her fingers touched rock-hard biceps.

  “Are you this upset because I asked you if Emma is my daughter?”

  She shook her head.

  “It sure seemed that way.”

  “I…I just…”

  “I know it isn’t fair to ask you when you can barely breathe,” he said softly, “but just keep in mind that I need to know.”

  Carly couldn’t tear her gaze from his eyes. Those mesmerizing deep blue eyes. Guilt stabbed at her.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I really am…sorry.”

  Then she froze in horror. What was she saying? The panic was freezing her brain. Or maybe it was only that a part of her was cracking in two, torn between protecting Emma at all costs and telling the truth. She was an honest person. She tried to be honest whenever possible, except when it came to…this. To Emma.

  But the pressure of keeping the secret sometimes weighed on her—and never more than right now, looking at Jake, lying straight to his face…that strong, handsome, concerned face….

  He studied her for a long moment before he eased her back into the armchair and left her sitting there as he strode across the quilt shop to the sink at the back and filled a glass with water. When he returned, he placed the glass in her hand, his fingers closing around hers to make sure it didn’t slip from her grasp. “Drink.”

  She obeyed, sipping, letting the cool water trickle down her throat as she told herself to get a grip. The first burst of panic was easing finally…but it could come back…it used to come in waves, rolling in and out, eventually building…

  She wished he didn’t seem so concerned about her. That upset her more than anything.

  “You doing okay now? Better?”

  “Please don’t be nice to me.” She closed her eyes and wished she hadn’t said that aloud.

  “Why shouldn’t I be nice to you? I like y
ou. And right now,” he added, rubbing her fingers with a gentleness that stunned her even through the haze of panic, “I’m plenty worried about you.”

  “No…reason to be. I’m fine. You should leave.”

  “Carly, I’m not leaving. Not until I’m sure you’re all right. Let me drive you home.”

  She looked up into his eyes. They were the same vivid blue as Emma’s and her throat closed up again, and she felt all the air evaporating from her lungs. He wouldn’t give up. Not him—not this towering, quietly powerful cowboy.

  He wasn’t wearing a Stetson, but in his Wranglers and black polo shirt and boots he looked rugged, exceedingly muscular, and ready for anything—to ride a bull, to herd cattle for days on an open range, to unload fifty-pound bags of feed off a truck—or to find out that he had a daughter he’d met for the first time last night, a daughter who was almost two years old.

  He was crouched beside her, watching her as if he expected her to pass out at any moment and he needed to be ready to catch her and rush her off to the ER. It made her feel worse than ever. If only he was yelling at her, demanding she tell him the truth, she wouldn’t feel so guilty.

  It didn’t mean he was giving up, she told herself. He could turn to his brother, to Travis. Travis Tanner was former FBI and now owned a security business in town. He could trace Emma’s birth certificate, learn the date she was born.

  And then Jake would know…. Everyone would know….

  Who was she kidding? He somehow already knew. Or suspected. There was no putting this genie back in the bottle.

  She swallowed. Gasped in a little more air as the nausea skimmed through her again.

  She wasn’t a coward. She had to face facts. It was going to come out. Whatever had made Jake come here in the first place to ask if Emma was his daughter wasn’t going away.

  If the truth was about to burst over her like a dam, she’d rather have it come from her than from anyone else.

  Take control of the fear, Dr. Worthing had always told her. Don’t let it control you. You can control it.

  Through the tightness in her chest she peered up at him. Bit her lip. “I want you to know…I don’t expect or want anything from you. Not now, not…ever. And I’d appreciate it if you never tell…Emma.”

  She felt him go as still as a Sunday morning. She could feel his gaze burning into her and forced herself to look directly into his eyes.

  “Are you saying…?”

  “You’re…right. She’s yours. Your…daughter.” The nausea began to recede, just a little. Take control. She ran her tongue across her lips. “So…if you want to see her…now and then…you can. I’ll think of an excuse. We’ll tell her you’re a friend—”

  Jake surged to his feet. “What kind of a man do you think I am?” He rocked back on his heels, staring at her in stupefaction.

  “The kind who doesn’t…want a family.” She pushed herself out of the chair, stood erect, as the tightness in her throat mercifully eased a fraction. “The kind of man who doesn’t want…obligations. Commitments. I understand. I’m assuring you that you don’t need to worry about Emma.” She stopped to suck in a breath of air. “Or about me. We don’t need you. We’re fine. We’re…g-great, actually, and—”

  “I want to see my daughter. Now.”

  Carly felt the slightest flutter of dizziness wash over her again. It was unnerving hearing him say “my daughter.”

  “No. Not…today. I need to figure this out and—”

  “Listen to me. I need to see her.” His jaw was set. There was hard determination in his eyes—and something else. Something that looked like anguish.

  “I’m not saying this to upset you, Carly.” He kept his tone low. “If you need a doctor, we’ll go there first. But I’ve lost nearly two years.” Suddenly he raked a hand through his jet-black hair. His expression was grim, set. Those blue eyes so like Emma’s stared into hers.

  “I need to see my daughter. Where is she right now? Where’s Emma?”

  Chapter Eight

  Carly noticed the frown on Martha’s face as she swung up Carly’s driveway and parked her car behind Jake’s truck.

  Okay, here we go, Carly thought. Her heart pounded as she rose from her perch on the edge of her porch swing. Turning her head slightly, she studied Jake, standing on the porch behind her.

  He was lounging against the wall of her house, his powerful arms crossed, trying to look relaxed, but she sensed the anger and tension coiled in his body. She watched him straighten and drop his hands to his sides as his gaze sharpened on Martha’s car. Or rather, on the little girl—Emma—strapped in the car seat in the back of Martha’s car.

  “Just don’t tell her, Jake. Not yet. Please, I don’t think Emma would understand, but just in case—” she muttered for the fourth time as she started down the steps, not looking back at him.

  “I won’t say anything. Not yet.” He spoke quietly, but firmly. “I just want to meet her. I have a lot of time to make up for.”

  Jake’s brain still hadn’t stopped spinning. He had a daughter. A little girl he’d seen the previous night for the first time while she was asleep.

  He’d never even gazed into her eyes. She’d never peered into his.

  He’d never held her. Touched her tiny fingers and toes.

  And she didn’t know him from the garbage collector.

  There was a hard knot of anger in his gut because Carly hadn’t told him about Emma. Just the opposite. She’d cut him coldly and completely out of the first year and a half of his daughter’s life. Still, a part of him had to acknowledge that despite the panic attack he’d witnessed today, she must be one hell of a strong woman to have taken on single parenthood all alone. One thing was clear—she was fiercely protective of their daughter and obviously loved her deeply.

  But she sure as hell wouldn’t be raising Emma all alone anymore. He felt a huge weight of responsibility settling like iron weights on his shoulders. Nearly two missed years’ worth of responsibility. There was no way he was walking away from it.

  But his brain was still reeling, which sucked right now, because there was so much he had to figure out. And a full schedule he needed to quickly rearrange.

  He was supposed to leave for Wyoming and the Bighorn Bull Rodeo in a few days. And he had a commercial shoot coming up soon after that. He’d thought all he had to do was hang around Lonesome Way for Zoey’s birthday party, get Brady a job and back on track, draw up some plans with Denny McDonald for his antibullying project—and then he could take off again next week.

  He had a month’s worth of rodeo competitions and guest appearances ahead of him after the new ad was filmed, but now it was all on hold. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  At least not for a few more weeks, he decided, his brows drawing together in a frown. Two weeks probably—that ought to do it. He’d have to push everything back that long and then he’d need to return to Lonesome Way again, a whole lot sooner and a lot more regularly than he’d thought.

  He intended to try to see Emma at least every other week. There’d have to be a way to make that work. And he’d need to sit down and plan a schedule with Carly.

  There were tons of details to work out. Like financial support for his daughter—for Carly, too, if she wanted it. But most of all, he needed to get to know that little girl, to make up for the time he’d lost.

  He had to start building a relationship with this tiny red-haired stranger Carly was now unbuckling from the backseat of Martha’s car.

  His heart felt like it was going to shoot out of his chest as he gazed at her. Was she really his? This impish little curly-head? She had Carly’s red-gold hair and it tumbled in fluffy unruly ringlets around a flushed, happy little face. For the first time he saw her eyes. Blue. Intensely dark blue. The same exact color he remembered from his own baby pictures. She had amazingly long eyelashes, dimples, small wisps of pale eyebrows.

  She looked so fragile. So beautiful.

  Something strange and unfamiliar clenc
hed tight and deep inside his heart.

  Emma’s arms were stretched out toward her mother, eager and entreating. The way she smiled at Carly…

  How will she react to me? he wondered tautly, stepping down off the porch.

  “So what’s this all about?” Martha raised her voice to be heard over the sounds of Emma’s excited squeals after she caught sight of Carly. Then the older woman shot Jake a curious glance.

  “Well, now, Jake Tanner. I heard you were in town. All the single ladies who came in for manicures or cuts today are in a tizzy, thinking maybe you’ll still be in town for the auction and might bid on them next week. What are you doing here?”

  “Good to see you, Martha.” Jake sidestepped her question and was relieved when she apparently forgot about it as Carly lifted her daughter out of the car seat.

  “You know, I was supposed to keep my little miss overnight,” Martha sniffed, peeved over her interrupted Emma time. “Why’d I have to bring her back so soon? We were just going to the park.”

  “I can’t explain right now, Martha.” With Emma’s arms entwined around her neck, Carly started up the walk. “But I’ll bring her back to you in a little while, I promise. She can still spend the night.”

  For the first time, the older woman noticed the strained tone of Carly’s voice. She whipped a glance at her face.

  “Heavens, what’s wrong with you? You’re pale as winter sun, child. What’s this all about? Here, let me bring this big old diaper bag inside for you—”

  “I’ve got it, Martha.” Taking the bag easily from the older woman, Jake forced a smile. “Everything is fine.”

  But his words only drew a stare—a long one. Martha studied him, then turned sharply toward Carly, who, Jake reflected, didn’t look so good. She was pale and was giving off uneasy vibes in spades. Martha’s gaze shifted to the little girl in Carly’s arms, then darted quickly back to Jake’s face.

  She drew in a breath.

  “Well, I’ll be going now.” She spoke more faintly than Jake had ever heard her speak in his life. “What time should I come back for Emma?”