A Rancher's Pride

by Barbara White Daille

  She looked up at him. “Well, Sam,” she said finally, “who else will direct the conversation around here, if I don’t? You?”

  “I’m not much for talking at mealtime,” he said.

  “I noticed that.”

  “Good.” He shoved his chair in, leaned toward her and almost hissed, “Then I expect you won’t have a problem remembering it.”

  SAM COULD HAVE KICKED himself. He had blurted those words in anger, hadn’t really meant what he’d said. To tell the truth, he had a feeling most of his temper wasn’t directed at Kayla at all.

  In the living room, he watched Becky playing with her dolls. She had them lined up along the couch and sat talking to them, her fingers flying.

  The sight only increased his feeling of incompetence whenever he came near her.

  He would never be able to sit and have a conversation with Becky. To teach her the things daddies taught their daughters. To read her a bedtime story, tuck her in and tell her he loved her.

  Maybe things would’ve been a whole lot different now if he and Ronnie had done some communicating of their own. If he’d known about his daughter. But the marriage had turned so bad, so quickly, life around here had fallen into a state as unproductive as two armed camps on either side of No-Man’s-Land.

  Maybe he could have handled things with Kayla better.

  On second thought, judging by the way he’d stormed out of the kitchen after supper, maybe not.

  From that direction now, he could hear Kayla clattering plates together. He hadn’t given a second thought to her when he’d walked away. Just as, now, she wasn’t giving even a first thought to what it would cost to replace a whole set of dishes.

  Another thing she had in common with his ex.

  If he didn’t want a new expense to add to the long list Ronnie had left behind, he’d better do something about Kayla.

  Besides, he needed to make her forget the parting shot he’d taken as he’d left the table. If she ran with his comment to the judge, he could kiss any chance of custody goodbye.

  The thought left him shivering in a cold sweat.

  He threw aside the newspaper he’d pretended to read and jumped to his feet.

  Becky looked up, her face taking on that same bewildered expression she’d had at the supper table. He gave her what he hoped passed for a reassuring smile.

  Then he marched past her and back into the kitchen.

  Kayla walked toward the table, refusing to look at him, he knew. She reached for the noodle casserole.

  “Let me give you a hand with that.” He grabbed the dish.

  “I can manage it.”

  “I’m sure you can. But it’s my house, remember? My kitchen, too. I appreciate you doing the cooking, and I figure the least I can do is help clear up. I’m used to it.”

  She shot him a puzzled look that resembled Becky’s, but with a lot more punch behind it. “You’ve had a sudden change of heart.”

  He forced a rueful smile. “Let’s just say I found my company manners.” Better to think of her that way, as a guest in his home, a temporary visitor. Which is exactly what she was.

  Although not nearly temporary enough to suit him.

  LATER THAT EVENING, KAYLA almost laughed as she thought of what Sam had said. She stood in the guest bedroom, rummaging through her overnight bag, and shook her head.

  Did he really think she would fall for that line? She doubted he had any company manners. At least, she hadn’t seen any evidence of them yet. No, he had something else up his fresh, clean, T-shirt sleeve.

  Trying to make her forget his outburst in the kitchen, more than likely.

  As if she could.

  Still, she had pretended to go along with the idea, needing to keep things peaceful for Becky.

  The thought of her niece made her smile. The thought of the surprise she had for her made her grin.

  She had left Becky in the bathroom, brushing her teeth at the sink, eager for the bedtime story Kayla had promised her.

  Hurrying across the bedroom, Kayla stepped out into the hall and almost ran into Sam. She came to a dead halt. So did he.

  His gaze dropped to the object in her hand.

  “What’s that?”

  “Just a stuffed animal.” She forced herself to speak naturally to him. “It looks pretty awful, doesn’t it? It’s well loved.” She held the toy up to show him. A small black bear, once furry but now with a worn and matted pelt, a squashed nose and only one eye. “I had it in my carry-on but forgot to tuck it in with Becky last night. I can’t believe Ronnie didn’t pack it up with Becky’s things. It’s her favorite toy. I bought it at the airport in Santa Fe the day Ronnie and I—”

  Left.

  She’d cut herself off, but the unspoken word hung between them, as hurtful and harsh as if she’d yelled it at the top of her lungs. Mentally kicking herself, she rushed on. “It’s the state animal, Ronnie said.”

  “A black bear.” He nodded. “I would have bought one for Becky, too. If I’d known about her.”

  “If you’d…?” She tried again. “What…what are you saying?”

  “Plain enough. I never knew about Becky. Never even knew Ronnie was expecting.”

  She gasped and shook her head. How could that be possible?

  But there was no missing the pain that filled his eyes.

  Despite their uneasy relationship, despite all Ronnie had said about Sam, Kayla couldn’t help feeling devastated by the sight. Before she could think, she reached out to him. Just short of touching his arm, she pulled her hand back. Frozen in place, she stared at him, unable to say a word.

  Mixed emotions tumbled through her. Confused thoughts muddled her brain.

  “But…” Again, she halted. Finally, she found her voice. For the little good it did her. “You never wanted anything to do with the baby. Ronnie told me—”

  “Yeah,” he interrupted in a dull tone. “I’m sure she did.”

  Abruptly, he turned and walked away.

  She wanted to stop him, to reach out without retreating this time, to make some kind of physical contact that would ease his pain.

  Instead, she did the only thing she could do. She wrapped both arms around the well-worn bear and hung on tight.

  Chapter Eight

  Sam paced his bedroom floor and tried to swallow his groan.

  Kayla didn’t believe him.

  He could tell from her expression, from her halting words. From the way she’d reached out to him and then backed away as if he were something she wouldn’t touch.

  That same contrariness he’d felt out in the yard before supper had him wanting to reach for her, too. Dang, but this arrangement of theirs seemed nothing but a lead-in to trouble.

  It had taken all he was worth to walk away from her without first tracing his fingers down the length of her silky brown hair.

  And without responding to his need to unload more of the truth.

  He wouldn’t get anywhere with trying to talk her into giving up the idea of custody if she already held a long list of grievances against him. All the lies Ronnie had ever told about him—and there were a hell of a lot. To hear his ranch hands and the townsfolk tell it, his ex couldn’t come up with a straight story if they’d handed her a slide rule. No wonder Ellamae had automatically trusted he’d never known about Becky.

  Kayla, on the other hand, would believe all the stories Ronnie had made up.

  Worse, Kayla had seen all the times he froze when he came near his own daughter.

  Yeah, the woman sure didn’t miss that.

  Dumping more on her about Ronnie would only give her ammunition to use against him with the judge.

  He had to keep custody of his daughter. Too much of her life had already been lost to him.

  He left the bedroom and strode down the hall, determined to head downstairs and get outside, where he could mull things over. Having that woman in his house had done serious damage to his ability to think. But as he neared Becky’s room, his steps slowed
and finally stopped just outside the open door.

  Inside the room, Kayla and Becky sat on the floor with a picture book spread open on the rug between them. Kayla’s arms were raised, her hands skimming through the air in gestures he couldn’t begin to identify. Becky knew what they meant. She sat there, entranced, with her eyes bright and her mouth stretched in a grin.

  He stood there, staring, unnoticed by either of them.

  Kayla’s gestures grew larger, her face even more animated. And, for the first time ever, he heard his little girl laugh. The high-pitched, trilling giggle jolted hard inside his chest and made him struggle to catch his breath.

  What he wouldn’t give to be able to make Becky laugh like that.

  His chest tightened another notch at the thought, which had turned into an almost-silent plea. The truth was, he couldn’t give her what she so obviously needed.

  At least Kayla could talk to the child—as she hadn’t hesitated to rub in since the minute she’d set foot in the house. But she wouldn’t be here for very much longer.

  He’d see to that. The six weeks would pass before they could blink, he’d satisfy the judge’s crazy requirements and Kayla would go back to Chicago.

  Finally, he would have custody of Becky. And he would do what was best for his child.

  He stood in the hallway, looking into the room.

  An outsider in his own home.

  After one last glance, he turned from the doorway, his steps surer now as he went downstairs and into the room he used as an office. Without pausing, he crossed to the old-fashioned rolltop desk in the corner and sat heavily in the swivel chair behind it.

  The desk, broad and solid, had filled the corner of this room in the ranch house for four generations. The cheap, mass-produced stuff they made nowadays could never measure up to this. Most of the folks he knew agreed. No surprise then, that Manny had asked him to create the new sign for the café.

  Sam never begrudged his good friend the time and effort it took to design and make the wooden plaque that now hung outside the Double S. But in his heart, he knew he’d have done the same for anyone in town. The job had given him satisfaction, an extra channel for his creative energy, a way to distract him from his problems.

  It had let him make another check mark on the list of things he did to get right with the whole of Flagman’s Folly.

  Though he did those things to satisfy himself, to make up for the time he’d run wild as a teen, he couldn’t help but wonder. Did the judge’s spies ever hurry back to him with news of any of the good things Sam had done?

  He shoved the rolltop’s curved front panel up in its track, revealing pigeonholes overflowing with papers and pamphlets and bills.

  Luckily, that panel had been closed earlier when Kayla had come in to use his computer.

  He looked at the pile of information he’d accumulated and thought again of Becky. Only two days since she’d come home, and he’d spent a lot of that time thinking. Had unearthed a lot of research. Had retrieved reams of data from the computer.

  All that involved facts and figures.

  He weighed the load of dry but critical information against the living, breathing, laughing little girl he’d just left upstairs.

  No, he couldn’t provide everything his little girl needed.

  But he knew the first step he had to take toward finding someone who could.

  He swiveled his chair around to face the computer on the table at his right elbow, opened his email program and started tapping the keys.

  ALONE IN THE KITCHEN the next morning, Kayla paced the tiled floor.

  Becky had gone outside to play on the back porch.

  Sam had left the house early, even before she and Becky had woken. Downstairs, instead of the money she had expected to find, he’d left a note on the kitchen table.

  Will meet you and Becky at the Double S at noon.

  No, not what she had expected at all, from the stories Ronnie had told her about Sam’s self-imposed isolation. His unwillingness to go far from the ranch.

  He was doing this to satisfy the judge. She had to remember that.

  She’d left her cell phone on the counter. When it rang, she pounced on it. At the sight of Matt Lawrence’s number, her heart thumped erratically. She had talked to him the day before to give a rundown of what had happened in court. He’d had no news for her then. But now…

  “Just checking in, Kayla. I’m sorry to say we don’t have anything to report yet.”

  She didn’t know whether to feel happy or sad. In a way, she almost hoped Matt wouldn’t track Ronnie down. What if she got it into her head to take Becky back again? Kayla couldn’t deal with seeing her precious niece sent back and forth across the country between parents who didn’t really want her.

  “I know you haven’t heard from Ronnie,” Matt continued, “or you’d have called me. She hasn’t gotten in touch with your parents, either?”

  “No.”

  “And no contact with Lianne?”

  “No. Ronnie never keeps in touch with her.” Ronnie had never learned to sign with Lianne. She knew only the basics of communicating with Becky. “She doesn’t contact me very often, either,” Kayla told him. “She usually just leaves messages with my mom and dad.”

  “All right, maybe she’ll get around to doing that. Meanwhile, we’re following up on the leads you gave us.” Kayla hadn’t known much to tell him about Ronnie’s private life, but she had managed to dredge up a couple of men’s names from memory. “Let me know if you hear anything at all.”

  “I will, Matt. Thanks. And I should have asked already—how is Kerry?”

  Matt’s wife, an art teacher, had missed the last few weeks of school when she’d gone on maternity leave.

  “Getting cranky,” he told her. “She’s not happy with the enforced bed rest.”

  Just what Sam had said about his mother. “Well, she’s got to take care of that baby. Say hi for me and let her know I’ll see her as soon as I get back to Chicago.”

  There was a long pause, as if they were each wondering just when that would be.

  “Sure,” Matt said finally. “Before we hang up, though, is there anything else I can do?”

  Kayla bit her lip. He’d asked her already about doing a background check on Sam, and she had wanted to hold off for Ronnie’s sake. But time was passing, and though she planned to talk with Sam’s mother and friends and any of his neighbors she could, who knew if they’d be willing to tell her anything. She took a deep breath.

  “I think it’s time to go ahead with that check on Sam. But, please, Matt, make sure it’s discreet.” If the judge found out she was trying to go around his orders, she might never get custody of Becky. “And let me know if you hear anything about Ronnie. I’ll do the same.”

  She ended the call and jumped when a noise sounded from the direction of the living room. Matt’s mother stared at her from the archway. With a pang of guilt, Kayla wondered how long the woman had been there.

  Though she had crutches propped under each arm, Sam’s mother leaned awkwardly against the door frame. Kayla had only gotten a glimpse of her when Sam escorted her into the house the other night. A petite woman in her early sixties with Sam’s dark hair shot with silver, bright blue eyes and a flawless complexion. Kayla suspected the lines etched around her eyes were caused by pain.

  Her heart went out to the woman.

  Crossing the room quickly, she pulled a chair away from the kitchen table. “Please sit down, Mrs. Robertson.”

  “Sharleen,” the woman corrected with a Southern twang much softer than Judge Baylor’s. She lowered herself into the chair.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Kayla asked. “I could have helped you with the stairs.”

  “Thought I could handle them myself.” She sighed heavily. “Thought wrong, I guess.”

  “Becky and I just finished breakfast. Can I get you something? I’d have brought you up a tray, but Sam told me last night you didn’t want anything in your room thi
s morning.”

  “No. I’d planned to come downstairs. Just not quite this late.”

  “We had pancakes, and I’ve got batter left.” She opened the refrigerator door. “It’ll just take me a minute to make some.”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.”

  Kayla got to work, heating up the skillet again, setting a place at the table and pouring a glass of orange juice. It didn’t take long at all before she had a plateful of pancakes ready.

  “Hope these are the way you like them.” She smiled as she set the plate in front of Sharleen. “I’m sure it’s a little awkward having another woman cooking in your kitchen.”

  “When it’s a woman who’s out to make trouble for my family, it is.” The twang had disappeared completely. Sharleen Robertson’s voice and blue eyes had turned colder than the container of orange juice Kayla had just picked up to return to the refrigerator.

  She set the juice carefully on the shelf, then closed the door quietly. She turned to the table again. “I’m not here to make trouble,” she said. “Only to do what’s right for Becky.”

  “Sam wants that, too, you know.”

  “I don’t know that, for sure.” She swallowed hard, but curiosity won out. Against her better judgment, she blurted, “He said he didn’t even know about Becky.”

  “That’s right. Neither of us did. We hadn’t heard a thing about that little girl until Ronnie brought her here and left her.”

  Kayla wondered. Maybe Sharleen had known nothing, but Sam…? How could she believe him, against all Ronnie’s claims?

  The sound of a dog’s bark distracted her. The noise had come from the backyard.

  She moved over to the screen door and saw Becky outside with one of the ranch animals, a puppy. He looked like a Labrador-shepherd mix. His body and nose were dark, his face tan. A large dark patch of fur completely circled one eye, giving him a permanently startled expression.