Roughneck Cowboy Read Free Page B

girl,” the boy wearing glasses said.
    â€œCharlie’s my nickname.”
    â€œWhat’s your real name?” the boy asked.
    â€œCharlotte. That’s my grandma’s name, too.”
    The adults froze at Charlie’s announcement.
    â€œWhere’s your grandma?” the little girl in pigtails asked.
    â€œShe died. And I don’t have a mom. It’s just me and my dad now.” Charlie fidgeted next to Travis, unaware of the bombshell she’d dropped.
    Samantha slapped a hand over her mouth and tears flooded her eyes. Matt’s face drained of color. Travis searched out Dominick, but the old man had disappeared. A moment later, the echo of a slamming door thundered through the hallway.

Chapter Two
    T ravis wasn’t sure if his physical presence or the news of his mother’s death had caused his estranged father to leave the group. Regardless, Travis decided he wasn’t ready for this confrontation. “Charlie, let’s go.”
    â€œWait.” The blond woman named Renée stepped forward. “We were about to serve dessert. Please stay.”
    â€œLast one to the kitchen’s a rotten egg.” Timmy took off, and the other kids followed. Renée held out her hand to Charlie.
    Noticing Samantha’s pleading expression, Travis decided it wouldn’t hurt to answer a few questions about their mother. “Go ahead,” Travis urged his daughter.
    Matt’s wife kissed his cheek, then joined the others in the kitchen. Samantha gazed into her husband, Wade’s, eyes and Travis swore the couple shared an entire conversation without speaking a word. Wade hugged her, shot Travis a be-nice-to-my-wife glare and left.
    â€œI’ll make sure you’re not disturbed,” Duke said before vacating the hallway.
    Travis nodded to the door Dominick had slammed moments earlier. “Maybe you should check on your father.” He’s yours, too . True, but for all intents andpurposes, he and Dominick Cartwright were strangers who happened to look alike.
    â€œThis is unbelievable.” Samantha cast a worried glance down the hallway.
    â€œWe could all use a drink,” Matt said. They filed into the parlor and Travis positioned himself in front of the windows. His sister collapsed on the leather sofa and Matt poured scotch into three glasses at the wet bar. After serving the drinks, he sat in the chair near the fireplace.
    Travis swirled the gold liquid in the crystal glass, thinking this was a three- or four-shot occasion—not a one-shot. He wasn’t a conservative drinker, thanks to his chosen career. As soon as his two-week rotation on the rig ended and he stepped onto the mainland, Travis and his coworkers headed straight for the local bars to blow off steam. Even though he hadn’t seen the harm in his bi-monthly binges, his mother had nagged him to cut back on his alcohol consumption. He hadn’t appreciated her concern until she’d been diagnosed with cancer. After helping to raise Charlie, Travis owed his mother a lot more than a promise to watch his drinking. He would have done anything for his mom if it would have cured her illness.
    Then she’d died and he’d discovered his whole life had been a lie. He’d grown up a latchkey kid, living in one-bedroom apartments because that’s all his mom could afford on a secretary’s salary. Only when he’d landed the job on his first rig had they been able to scrape together the down payment for a small house. He hadn’t resented going without as a child—it was all he’d ever known. But the knowledge that he was the son of a wealthy oilman made him bitter.
    â€œIf you didn’t look so much like our father,” Matt said, “I’d accuse you of fabricating the story of Charlotte’s death in order to blackmail Dad.”
    â€œI’ve lived thirty years without a dime of Cartwright oil money. No reason I can’t go another