“And whose fault is that?”
She couldn’t get into all that now. She wanted to convince him, not provoke him.
“Now your mother’s incapacitated, for who knows how long. How can you possibly take care of Becky?”
The look on his face told her he couldn’t. But he rallied, saying bluntly, “I’ll find a nanny agency.”
“What good will that do? She needs someone with more training than your usual babysitter or nanny. Someone who can talk with her in a language she can understand.” The stiffness of his posture said he knew this already. She pressed home her advantage. “What are the chances the agency can fill those requirements?”
“I’ll worry about that when I see the applicants.”
She struggled to keep her voice level. “We talked about this earlier—I asked if Becky could understand you. Do you know any ASL at all?”
Of course he didn’t. She’d bet her last school paycheck for the summer on it.
Reluctantly, she considered his defense. Sam Robertson had never seen his daughter, but that shouldn’t matter. He could have—should have—learned to sign so he would be ready to talk to her when they met. If they ever met—
She stopped in midthought. Where was she going with this mental argument with herself? Of course, she knew how important it was for people to be able to communicate with Becky. But she also knew what Sam was like.
Now, he stood squinting at her, as if trying to focus across a great distance. That and the sudden chill in his expression startled her. She wasn’t sure if he’d even heard her. After a moment, she squared her shoulders and changed her tactic.
“Obviously you don’t know ASL.” He looked blank. “American Sign Language. You don’t know how to sign, do you?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Her grandmother doesn’t know how to talk to Becky, either, does she?” Kayla asked.
No squinting from him now, just a hard, cold-eyed look as he stared her down. A muscle in his cheek flexed. “The two of them manage just fine.”
The two of them. No mention of himself at all. Or of his mother knowing ASL. Everything she’d seen and heard only reinforced what Ronnie had told the family about him.
Sam Robertson was uncaring to the bone, except when it came to money and working day and night on this ranch.
And it only confirmed what Kayla had feared. Becky had no one here who could communicate with her, no one who truly loved her.
She tried to soften her tone. But she couldn’t.
“Your mother’s not able to take care of Becky,” she continued, “and won’t be for the foreseeable future. You can’t get a qualified caretaker. What are you going to do with Becky in the unlikely event a judge sides in your favor? Keep her stranded out on this ranch with no one who can talk to her?”
He said nothing, and she barely stopped herself from thumping her fist to her forehead, little finger held upright in the sign for idiot.
Panic pushed her on. “You don’t even know her,” she said, her voice breaking.
Again, he stayed silent.
He wasn’t going to let her walk out of here with Becky. She could see that now. It had been foolish even to think she had a chance.
That didn’t mean she had given up or even given way. Her determination was as strong as ever. Becky deserved that. Becky deserved everything any other child had.
Father or no, Sam had never been a parent to her niece. So Kayla would do whatever needed to be done.
She moved to stand directly in front of him, forcing him to look at her. To listen. Just as she would when Becky—in one of her infrequent stubborn moods—refused to give Kayla her full attention.
She would offer him one last opportunity to do the right thing.
“You’ve got a problem,” she said flatly. “But we’ve got the perfect solution right here. I can communicate with Becky. And she’s known me as far back as she can remember. Let me take her home with me.”
He narrowed his eyes, now gleaming in the light. “No way in hell.”
She swallowed her instinctive response.
“Fine,” she said in a clipped voice, blinking back angry tears, hanging on to control as firmly as she could manage. She couldn’t worry any longer about trying to convince him of anything. Only Becky mattered. “I’ll be going along with you to court tomorrow morning. We’ll see what the judge has to say about a man who wants to condemn his four-year-old daughter to solitude.”
Barely registering Sam’s shocked expression, she stepped back and slammed the bedroom door in his face.
Chapter Three
Unbelievable.
Kayla took a second glance around the town square of Flagman’s Folly, which looked like the backdrop of every cowboy movie she’d ever seen. A row of hitching posts circled the perimeter of the square. Well-used horse troughs lined each of the pathways leading to the buildings in the center of the grass-filled area. Instead of water, the troughs now overflowed with some kind of prickly-looking cactus. Pretty, though, with their bright yellow blooms.
She shot a sideways glance at Sam, who looked very prickly himself. Earlier that morning, at the ranch, he had thrown out every argument he could, but Kayla stood her ground.
She would appear with him in court, and that was that.
Holding tightly to Becky’s hand, she followed Sam up the steps and through the wide double doorway of the Town Hall. Their footsteps echoed loudly on the wooden floor as they walked across the entryway.
In the courtroom, the judge ruled from behind a massive wooden bench set beneath a revolving white ceiling fan.
One look at the Honorable Lloyd M. Baylor, and Kayla felt her confidence wilt. She was no tough, thorny desert cactus.
More like a water-starved bouquet.
The man could easily pass for a throwback to a Western movie judge himself, with his hair styled into a thinning white pompadour. An aging Elvis impersonator, minus the sideburns. Through the unfastened neck of his black robe, she could see a shirt collar held together by a string tie ending in hammered silver tips. When he prepared to leave the courtroom, it wouldn’t surprise her a bit to see him buckle on a low-slung belt carrying a couple of six-shooters. Meanwhile, behind the desk, he wielded his gavel like a weapon.
Even as Kayla settled Becky in the first row of spectators’ benches, her hands began to tremble. What were the chances a good old boy like that would favor her over the outstanding citizen standing before him?
Sure enough, from the lofty height of his bench, the judge’s bright blue eyes lasered in on Sam, giving preference to the local over the outsider. “And what brings you to my courtroom on this fine morning, young Robertson?” he asked in a slow, Southern drawl.
Worse, his words held a familiarity that made Kayla stiffen with dread. After quickly signing Okay? to Becky, who nodded her response, Kayla hurried to Sam’s side.
“Now, Judge.” The court clerk, a wiry older woman with faded brown hair and lively eyes, stood near his elbow. She leaned even closer and said, “You know just what this is all about. And you’ll want to get a move on with it, else you’ll be late for dinner.”
He raised his brows and made a show of pulling back the robe’s sleeve to look at his watch. “Ellamae, it’s nine-fifteen in the a.m.”
She beamed. “My point exactly.”
“Hmm. Well, let’s get this show going, then. But, first, we’ll mind our manners.” The judge turned in Kayla’s direction. “Morning, young lady. And exactly who might you be?”
She took a deep breath and plunged in. “I’m Kayla Ward, Becky’s aunt.” She pointed to Becky, who sat playing with her doll. “I’ve come here to take her home with me.”
“You can’t,” Sam said. “She’s mine, as of two days ago. And I intend to make the situation permanent. Judge, I want full custody of my daughter.”
Kayla gasped. She hadn’t expected him to state his case immediately. “No! That’s not right. He hadn’t even seen Becky until—”
<
br /> “Yeah?” Sam countered. “You can just thank your sister—”
The judge banged his gavel and the noise startled them both into silence. Kayla dropped her hands to her sides.
Judge Baylor had slammed his gavel firmly enough to cause Becky to look across the room. He waggled his fingers at her and smiled, as if he’d only wanted her attention so he could say hello. She grinned, waved and returned to playing with her doll.
The judge sat back and focused on Sam again. “Young man, this is a court of law,” he intoned. “You’ll keep a civil tongue here, unless you want me to hold you in contempt.”
Kayla fought a sigh of relief. Maybe her chances weren’t as hopeless as she’d thought. “One for my side,” she murmured.
“Sorry, Judge.” Sam’s tone sounded contrite, but she couldn’t find a bit of remorse in the steely gray gaze he shot her way.
“And you, young lady.” She snapped her head up to meet a second pair of unyielding eyes. “My hearing’s good as it ever was. If you don’t mind, I’ll be the one keeping score in this courtroom.”
“Yes, sir.”
“‘Your Honor’ will do me fine.” He looked briefly toward the spectators’ benches before turning to Kayla. “You’re countering this man’s request. On what grounds?”
She swallowed hard, then said in a rush, “I want full custody, Your Honor. On the grounds that Mr. Robertson is not fit to take care of Becky.”
“You what?” Sam loomed closer. “And the hell I’m not—”
“According to Ronnie—”
“Who couldn’t tell the truth if she—”
Bang!
“Second warning.” The judge glared at them both. “And as Ellamae here can attest, you won’t want to pay the penalty that comes of making it to number three. I’m surprised at you, Sam Robertson. With all your shenanigans, you, at least, ought to know how I run my courtroom.”
Shenanigans? What could that mean? Sam had a history of trouble? Possibly even a court record? Kayla made a mental note to find out more about this. To find anything that would give her some leverage without having to make Ronnie’s story public.
The judge set the gavel down on the bench. “Now, it’s my understanding you’re here fighting for the responsibility to care for that child sitting in the first pew. Let’s get at this another way.” He looked at Sam. “Your request for custody’s come up fairly suddenly. The ink’s barely dry on Ellamae’s paperwork. Now, exactly how did all this come about?”
Sam explained the details of Ronnie’s appearance at the ranch with Becky and Sharleen’s story of the conversation.
The judge frowned. “I can’t take steps on something this serious just on your mama’s word. Or on that other woman’s say-so. These things have to be handled properly. Legally.”
“But, Judge, her mother agreed to turn responsibility for her over to me.”
“And my responsibility is to the court—and, by extension, that little girl. Now, you’re telling me that ex of yours is giving up the child, after so many years?” The judge frowned. “Unusual, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then I’ll tell you. It’s downright unusual.” He swung his gaze back to Kayla. “And it’s even more peculiar, at least in my courtroom, to have someone besides a parent put a foot into proceedings like this one. You, ma’am, feel the need to contest the mama’s wishes? And the daddy’s?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Kayla said, an uncalculated tremor in her voice, “I do. I’ve helped raise Becky since the day she was born. I love her, and I want her with me.”
She could hear Sam’s exhalation. The back of her neck prickled as if his breath had touched her. Trying to block out all thoughts of him, she took a half step forward. She needed to focus on the one person in the room who could give her what she wanted.
“Your Honor,” she continued earnestly, “my niece is deaf. Becky needs someone to watch over her who can communicate with her, something Sam—Mr. Robertson—isn’t capable of doing.”
Sam closed in on her again, clenching his hands into fists. She wouldn’t have much more time to state her case before he exploded into speech.
“I’m a teacher, Your Honor. What’s more, I teach American Sign Language, the only language Becky knows. I have a deaf sister and learned to sign with her long before Becky was born. I can talk with her. Sam can’t. Besides,” she rushed on, “he doesn’t have a relationship with her. He’s never had one. They’re strangers to each other. Becky doesn’t know him at all.”
Judge Baylor stared at her for a moment, then gave an understanding nod and glanced over toward Becky. Kayla’s heart suddenly felt lighter. She didn’t dare look sideways.
Finally, turning back to her, the judge said, “The child and her daddy haven’t seen each other in years, and now you want to take her away?”
“I—” Kayla’s throat tightened at his unexpectedly accusing words and tone. She had to swallow hard before she could speak. “Your Honor, she’s been with me, with my family, since birth.”
“True enough.” He nodded. “And it seems to me only fair for her daddy to take his turn. Now’s the perfect time for him to get to know his little girl.”
“But, Your Honor—”
“Sounds great—”
This time, Judge Baylor simply lifted a finger, forcing them both into silence. He stared down at his hands, now folded on the desk in front of him.
The only sound came from the whirring of the fan above them, a rhythmic swishing noise that seemed to echo the pulse beating in Kayla’s ears. The judge wouldn’t make Becky stay with Sam. He couldn’t.
At last, he spoke. “Let’s not rush into things here. The child herself needs some exposure to her daddy’s life, something she’s never had a chance to experience. She can meet some of the folks out in the community, too.” He smiled. “We’ve got us a nice little town here, if I do say so myself. And I know everyone will welcome that little girl with open arms. After all, she’s part of the history of Flagman’s Folly.”
“Your Honor, please,” Kayla burst out. “With all due respect, Becky doesn’t understand about history.” Near the judge’s elbow, the court clerk swung her hand across her throat in an emphatic cut-it-off-now warning, but Kayla felt too upset to care. “Besides, what is the point of having her get to meet people? I don’t intend to stay here with her. She’ll go back with me to Chicago. And—”
“Forget that,” Sam yelled. “Becky’s not going anywhere.”
The gavel slammed again. Kayla would have sworn the blades of the overhead fan jumped from the vibration.
The judge slapped his hand on the bench. “We seem to have lost track of the fact that I’m the one who makes the decisions around here.” Slowly, he shook his head. “Young Robertson, I’m ashamed of you. And you, as well, little lady. That’s a child you two are fighting over, not a roping calf you’re chasing to see which one of you can bring her home.”
Judge Baylor’s face had turned red with anger.
Ellamae, the court clerk, gave a resigned shrug and stared at the floor.
Kayla looked away, blinking hard against a sudden rush of tears.
Beside her, Sam shifted uneasily.
The judge was right. But how could she not fight for Becky? How could she not look out for her niece’s welfare, something Becky’s own father had never done?
“As I see it,” Judge Baylor began again, “for all intents and purposes, Becky’s mama abandoned her little girl, and here you both are wanting to tear the child apart in my courtroom. I won’t have it.” He glared. “I won’t even entertain a thought about that child’s future until her present life has had a chance to settle. That’s not a matter for negotiation.” He rapped the gavel again. Then he stood, bracing his hand on the bench, looming over them.
Kayla stiffened to attention. From the corner of her eye, she could see Sam doing the same.
“Let me just add,” the judge said, his voice ringing through the courtroom, �
�that I will look unfavorably upon noncooperation. From either party.” He stared them down in turn.
Kayla wiped her suddenly damp palms against her pant legs, then grasped the fabric and held on tight. She fought to hold her tongue, too. The man might be only a caricature compared to the several judges she’d met socially in Chicago, but he wielded the power in this courtroom. She couldn’t afford to get on his bad side.
If she hadn’t already.
“Now.” He sank back into his leather swivel chair. “Obviously, at the present moment, we’re not within spitting distance of a nice, happy resolution. Neither of you will walk out of here today with the outcome you desire.” He cleared his throat and glanced toward Becky. “But we do have the child to consider. In my estimation, there’s only one reasonable and beneficent thing I can do in her regard.” He stared at Kayla and Sam again. “And we do want reasonable and beneficent where that child is concerned, do we not?”
They all nodded, including Ellamae.
“All right, then. I’m going to table both requests for full custody. For the moment. Until we track down the mama and look into the matter further.”
“I have someone trying to locate her,” Kayla said eagerly.
“Very helpful, I’m sure,” the judge drawled, raising his brows. “And young lady, you said you’re a teacher?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” she replied, her heart soaring.
“And you teach sign language up there in Chicago?”
“Yes! Yes, I do.” She clasped her trembling hands in front of her.
He beamed. “Well then, I ask you, what could be more perfect? You’re off for a bit now, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, I am. And it is a perfect time, Your Honor. I would have all summer with Becky in Chicago. All the time in the world to be with her and—”
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