Cowboy at Midnight by Ann Major Page A

Her mother hadn’t known what to do with small kids, so she’d been raised by her father and kindly nannies. It was only when Amy had turned thirteen that her super-compulsive mother had suddenly taken a much more active role, picking her friends with the attention of a dictator choosing his generals, because the choices Amy made even at that early age could affect her future.
    When Amy had argued, her mother had dominated and crushed Amy’s independent spirit by grounding her and making her a virtual prisoner. Slowly a deep anger to be something other than the successful, well-dressed, popular robot her mother approved of had begun to burn inside Amy. When she’d gone to her father at sixteen and pleaded for the freedom to date a certain cowboy,he’d said her mother was in charge. Her mother had even wanted her to stop riding.
    Amy had felt if she didn’t do something, her mother would destroy everything she was. So she’d started playing the dutiful daughter, coming home at the right hours, appearing to run with her mother’s choices of friends, making good grades, but all the while she’d been sneaking out. And so had Lexie.
    Amy went to her mirror and pulled her long blond hair back into a ponytail. This morning there was no trace of that rebellious young girl. Her face was lightly made up. She looked very professional in cream-colored slacks and a matching long-sleeved silk blouse that she’d buttoned all the way to her throat. She wore no jewelry, and her beige pumps were low and sensible.
    Not that beige was her color, but then, that was why she wore it. Unlike her mother, who always, even when she was in the courtroom, dressed with dramatic flair, Amy didn’t want to look flashy or stand out in any way.
    Never again!
    Except for last night.
    Unbidden came a vision of herself in Rasa’s low-cut black spandex. She shivered at the jolt of heat she felt even as she remembered Steve mouthing the little L on her left breast outside the Hyatt. He’d thought she was a bad girl for sure.
    She felt hot. In spite of her best intentions, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Then she lifted her chin up and told herself that the new, reformed Amy would not think about him—ever again.
    On her way to the door, the reformed Amy grabbed her briefcase and purse and her cup of coffee, but just as she touched the doorknob, a timid hand tapped lightly on the other side of her door.
    Had Steve followed her somehow? Her heart thumped eagerly until she raised her shade and saw that it was her father. She laughed because in his black spandex shorts, fluorescent-red riding shirt, mirrored sunglasses and skull-shaped black bicycle helmet, he looked like an alien from another planet.
    She threw the door open. “Daddy!”
    Mike Sinclair handed her a small silver-wrapped box with a white bow on it.
    â€œThis is a treat, Daddy. You never come by without Mother.”
    He shrugged sheepishly. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
    She pulled at the white bow on her present. “This is for me?” she whispered. “From you?”
    â€œI hoped I’d catch you before you left for work. Usually you’re gone when I come by.”
    â€œYou’ve come by before?”
    His quick nod both thrilled and surprised her.
    â€œI had no idea.”
    â€œI’ve been worrying about you more and more.”
    â€œYou have?”
    He nodded.
    â€œI’m fine, Daddy.”
    â€œYou always say that. Because you’re like me. Because you want to believe it. You think if you just keep on keeping on, things will work out.”
    What did that mean, she wondered. Was he unhappy?
    â€œSometimes you have to do something…to change….” He stopped. “But who am I to give advice?”
    Suddenly she wished he wasn’t wearing those mirrored sunglasses so she could read his eyes. He shifted as if he suddenly felt uncomfortable. “I’m