“I know where he comes from—do you? Do you know what his father was, Libby? A drunk. A mean drunk, too. A man who beat his wife. And his son. That’s what he grew up with. That’s what he knows. If he ever laid a hand on you—”
“Chance isn’t like that, Daddy.”
“No? I heard tell he once took down Scott Henderson—a lowlife if there ever was one. But almost twice Chance’s size at the time. That boy’s got a temper. You ever been around him when he’s been drinking and mad at you?” His eyes roamed over her face as if he was searching for the answer. Or bruises.
“I’ve seen him drink, but never drunk. And though he’s had plenty of reason to be mad at me, he’s never even raised his voice at me much less his hand. Ever. He’s almost too controlled.”
“And heaven help you if he ever loses that control, Libby, given the role model he’s had. And heaven help me, because if he ever harmed you, I’d have to kill him.”
Libby’s stomach turned over at the matter-of-fact way her father said those last few words. “Daddy, Chance isn’t his father.”
“People brought up with cruelty end up being cruel. That’s the way of things.”
“It’s not Chance’s way.” She shook her head as an icy shiver skidded down her spine at the painful reminder of all Chance had to face in his life, all he’d overcome. “Is that what made you come after me back then? You were afraid he’d hurt me?”
“That, and the fact you were too young and hadn’t finished your schoolin’. All good reasons, I might add. I wasn’t about to wait around for him to hit you. As I said, I’d have had to kill him, and I didn’t relish spending the rest of my years in jail.”
She’d never understood why her father disliked Chance so much, given Chance always worked hard and had made something of himself. Those were traits her father should have admired. She would have never guessed he’d feared for her safety—not with Chance.
Libby kissed his cheek and caught a whiff of coffee. “You’re wrong about Chance, but I can’t prove it to you, just like you can’t prove to me why you’re right.”
Her father grabbed her in a warm hug that felt strong and reassuring. “I hope I am wrong,” he said. Releasing her, he hesitated a moment before he slipped into the car, the seat leather creaking under his weight. He let out a big sigh as if the simple act of getting in the car had been too much. Worry prickled her insides, filling her with unease.
His next words, however, fixed her focus squarely back where it had been, on Chance.
“If you need anything, if he lays a hand on you…you call. I’ll come and get you. Do it before he does something so bad I’ll have to kill him. For my sake. And his, I guess.”
It was clear her father still believed the worst about Chance.
“I love you, Daddy. I love you for caring. But I need you to trust my judgment. I understand that you didn’t have enough faith in the judgment of an inexperienced teenager. But I’m twenty-three now. You were ready to trust me with the dealership in Casper. Trust me to know this man for who he really is—not the man people have painted him to be because he had a rotten father and a coward for a mother.”
Her father’s face screwed up into a pained expression. “You’re wrong about his mother, but that’s for another day.”
“Did you know Chance’s mother? Do you know what happened to her?” Libby had never met Deidre Cochran, and Chance had rarely talked about her. She’d always been curious about the woman who had been able to leave her son in the hands of an abusive father. Curious and condemning.
“I do. And he does too, if you’d ask him. She’s alive and surviving. That’s what Deidre Cochran is, I’d say. A survivor.”
“How do you know all this?” Her father’s reach was astonishing.
“Your mother and Deidre went to school together. Somehow she knew you and Chance had dated. About three years ago, she tracked me down and asked for my help to get in touch with him. She obviously didn’t know about the bad blood between Chance and me. But I helped her. After all, he wasn’t hard to find, being on the rodeo circuit.”
“You mean Chance knows where she is? He’s been in touch with her?”
“Can’t say they’ve been in touch. I know she tried to contact him. Last I heard, and that was a while ago, he hadn’t returned her calls. That’s what I mean, Libby. He’s hardhearted. Like his daddy.”
“Maybe he has his reasons. She abandoned him, after all.”
“There’s two sides to every story, I reckon, and I’m guessing you don’t really know either side.”
Libby swallowed hard. What her father said was true. Chance had never confided in her about either of his parents except to say his father was dead and his mother might as well be.