Swallowing back emotion, she took the photo and stuck in on the mirror of her dresser. She looked so much like her mama.
“I hope you’re still watching over me,” Mindy whispered.
Swiping away tears, she grabbed up the box and took it outside.
It was time she got rid of the past. This would prove to herself that she was over Creed.
In the firepit, she started a fire and once the blaze was hot, she dropped the posters in and watched them incinerate. A part of her childhood was up in smoke.
That didn’t feel so bad.
She picked up a shirt, shook it out and suffered an internal kick to her ribs. The jersey had belonged to Creed. He’d given it to her the night they’d made love because she was cold.
“I hope you’re not thinking of putting that in the burn pile.”
Her body stilled. Her heart jumped inside her chest. She’d know the thick, husky tone from anywhere. Dragging in a labored breath, she turned and felt the dirt cave from under her bare feet.
Creed had his hat lowered on his forehead, but it didn’t hide the faded denim color of his gaze that caught the rays of the sun. His worn, dirty jeans sat low on his hips and the large silver belt buckle glistened, drawing her attention to his crotch. She gulped and jerked her gaze upward, onto a safer region, but his wide chest wasn’t much safer. He was now wearing a shirt and the tight-fitting black cotton stretched across his broad shoulders. She remembered earlier how good his sweat-slicked torso had looked as he pounded the fence post. His cocky smirk took her down memory lane of those long summer nights on a mountain trail, loud country music playing from the truck radio, and barefoot races in tall grass after a downpour. The moonlight streaming down as he undressed her, awakening her body to his touch, taking her with such gentle, kindness that ruined her for other men.
Warmth spread through her.
She suddenly felt self-conscious. She’d changed, but he hadn’t—no, he had, but he’d gotten better over time. In uneasiness, she wrung the jersey between shaking hands imagining that it was his neck.
Chapter Four
“MAYBE YOU SHOULD give her the phone back.”
“She’s getting to you, Ma. You’re caving. She has a way of blinking those innocent eyes and hypnotizing us to her ways.” Creed poured himself a thermos of coffee, tightened the lid, and stuck it under his arm. “Rules are in place for a reason. She broke them.”
“If I remember correctly, you and your brothers always said to me, “rules are made to be broken”, or at least that seemed the run of things with you boys growing up.”
“I thought you said girls are easier to raise than boys,” he reminded her.
She held up her hands in defense. “I didn’t say that. I wouldn’t have anything to compare it to. Anyway, Livvy needs a mother.”
“She has you.”
“I can’t stay here forever, Creed. I love Livvy, and you, but I’d like to do some traveling before I get too old.”
He narrowed his gaze. “I never heard you talk like this before. Is there something you’d like to confess?” He’d suspected for some time that she had someone she was trying to impress. She came home one day with a new hairstyle, new color, and a manicure. Not that she wasn’t allowed to pamper herself, but for as long as he could remember, he’d never seen his mom with polished nails.
She dropped the towel she’d been drying dishes with and shrugged. “When there’s something you need to know I’ll tell you.”
“Oh, I see. You can give your opinion about my love life but yours is top secret? Why don’t you give this much heat to Hank and Boone about their relationship status? They’re both single.”
“Because they don’t have kids, a daughter, who needs a female role model.”
“Ma, let’s not have this discussion now. Please.” The last thing he needed was the added pressure of asking someone out right now. In his twenties he had no qualms about asking a woman out, but dates never seemed to get beyond the first. They were either too chatty. Too needy. Too something or other. Hell, who was he kidding? He was just too damn particular. In his thirties, as he matured, he got too busy with Livvy and work, and didn’t have the time for dating. Now as forty approached, he realized most of his friends were married and dating wasn’t nearly as easy. “I need to get going. I’m stopping off at Sage Ranch then heading to parent teacher conferences with Livvy’s teacher. Maybe you can coax Liv into coming down to eat dinner.” He kissed his mom on the forehead. “Sorry that my brothers and I were tyrants. I’m having trouble with one teen and you had three boys. Lord, you deserve sainthood.”
“Don’t worry about Livvy. We’ll be fine.”
His daughter seemed to listen more to his mother than she did to him. At times he felt like he was a visitor in his own home—in his own relationship with Livvy. He thought about this as he climbed behind the wheel of his truck, started the engine and let it idle. Maybe his Ma was right, it had come to the point where he needed to do this alone, without her assistance. He couldn’t deny he’d used his Ma as a buffer on more than one occasion and Livvy knew this.
When had he become the bad guy?
He had no clue what a girl—or woman—needed. He hadn’t been on a date in so long he’d forgotten how to. If his parenting skills had any relation to his
