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Frankie saw me first over the crowd, her brow knitted in concern as I lifted my head and looked up at her.
“Sierra?” she asked, her voice lifted over the crowd gathered for a late lunch and drinks before the first evening of the rodeo began.
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but words failed me. I hugged myself with my arms and doubled over, finding it hard to breathe. Frankie shouted something, but I didn’t catch it. A second passed and I was being scooped up and carried through the bar.
“What the hell—” Pete’s voice rang out, but my vision was blurred by tears. “My office—”
It was Wes who held me, his body warm and dry against my rain-soaked frame.
Then Pete’s hands were on my shoulders and I was being pressed down into a chair.
“Are you all right?” Pete asked, taking off my soaking wet hat and tossing it on the floor. He smoothed the wet hair away from my face. “Sierra?”
“I’m going to call an ambulance,” Wes cut in.
“No,” I interrupted, looking up and glancing between them as reality crashed into me and the terrified haze lifted. “No.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No?” I locked eyes with Pete, praying he could just read my mind so I didn’t have to tell him what happened.
Because that would make it all the more real.
“They found me,” I whispered, my eyes holding Pete’s gaze. “They found me.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Pete
Sierra was starting to hyperventilate, her eyes darting around the wood-paneled office like it was closing in on her. I hauled her up to her feet, hastily unzipping the rain jacket. She was practically fevered, sweat dappling her brow.
“Calm down,” I said as gently as possible. “This isn’t good for you or the baby—”
“There’s a woman berating Jules at the bar right now,” Frankie hollered as she rushed into the office, skirting past Wes. She took one look at Sierra and turned a fiery red, her eyes glistening with fury. “What happened?”
“My mom,” Sierra sputtered, her entire body trembling. “She cornered me at the grocery store…I-I didn’t know what to do…”
“Get out there and help Jules,” I said to Frankie. “Wes, call Grant and George—”
“Where is she? I need to speak to the manager!” A shrill female voice sounded in the hallway. Sierra’s eyes went wide for a moment before she squeezed them shut.
“I’m sorry, Pete,” she whimpered.
I pressed her to my chest and felt nothing but pure, unfiltered rage.
I knew without Sierra’s confirmation that the woman stomping down the narrow hallway toward my office was her mother.
Frankie shoved past the woman as she tried to walk in, nearly knocking her off balance. Wes stood with his arms crossed over his broad chest, towering over the already very tall blonde female who took up the doorway.
She didn’t look like Sierra. Her eyes were the same, I realized, but that was it. It was obvious she’d had work done to retain her youth, too much, in my opinion. The only expression she was capable of making was one of pure ice. Her bleach-blonde hair was pulled away from her face, her long, pale fingers glinting with gold. Her eyes widened when she noticed me holding her daughter against my chest, my feet spread and body rigid in a protective, damn near possessive stance.
“Get the fuck out of my bar,” I shouted.
“I could have this place closed down in an hour,” she seethed. “Who the hell are you, and why are you touching my daughter?”
I shoved Sierra behind me. She squeaked, but pressed her face into my back as I crossed my arms over my chest and looked down at her mother. The grandmother of my child, who I swore on my life at that moment would never know the miracle resting in my woman’s belly.
“Grant’s on his way, so is George,” Wes said, his phone pressed to his ear as he eyed the woman closely.
