A Rancher's Pride - By Barbara White Daille Page 0,2
with him through the years. She had helped Ronnie pack up and head out. Had walked off with his wife and—if only he’d known it—his daughter.
It would be just like his ex to send her here again, claiming she’d changed her mind about Becky.
Well, if this woman thought she’d waltz in here and take his daughter away, she had another think coming.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
She glanced past him toward Jack and the barn. “Can we talk inside?”
He opened his mouth to snap a negative reply, then shut it again. Aware that Becky played just around the corner, he nodded. Better not to let this woman get anywhere near her.
He gestured for Kayla to go ahead of him.
Inside the house, he had to clear their path of a couple of pillows left on the living room floor. He tossed them onto the couch. With Becky around, already he’d noticed the changes in the orderliness of this place. And of his life.
As for the woman in front of him…
Well, he’d take care of this situation the same way he dealt with trouble on the ranch—one crisis at a time. Only, lately, it seemed the catastrophes had a way of piling up.
“What do you want?” he repeated.
“I want Becky.”
He nodded. “That figures. Ronnie sent you, right? She changed her mind already?” He laughed scornfully. “She dumped Becky off on me, in case you didn’t know.”
“I do know.” She reached up, slicked a hank of hair behind her ear, then clasped her hands together. Every move made it obvious she was gearing up for something. “I’m here to bring Becky home again.”
“You—” In spite of knowing what she had to be up to, the words hit him hard. He glared down at her, his jaw clenched tight. It took effort to speak, and he didn’t bother to keep his tone civil. “Not gonna happen.”
No one would ever take his daughter from him again.
“You can’t keep her here—”
His harsh laugh cut her off midsentence. “The hell I can’t. Did Ronnie forget to tell you? Or just feed you another one of her lies? She gave me sole custody of Becky.”
A strangled sound came from her, as if someone had gut-punched every ounce of air from her lungs.
“You didn’t know about that, did you?”
For a second, he might’ve felt sorry for her, the way she believed in her scheming sister. But the thought of what Kayla had come here planning to do—and the reminder of what she had done to him five years ago—drove all pity from him. “Ronnie will never walk out of here with Becky again. Neither will you.”
“I don’t believe you. Ronnie told me—”
“Ronnie told you wrong. I’ve got an appointment with the judge in town tomorrow morning. You could come and find out—except you’re not going to be here that long.”
Kayla Ward stared at him without saying a word, which came as a surprise. Somehow, she didn’t seem the type to give in that easily.
Another look at her face—eyes cold and homed in on him—proved him right. She hadn’t given in at all.
She moved closer. Near enough that he could smell whatever she used in her hair, some kind of shampoo that made him think of wildflowers and sweet grass.
“Becky hasn’t even been here twenty-four hours yet,” she said.
“Long enough for you to have gotten here five times over, if you were all that concerned.”
“I was out of town at a conference,” she protested. “I didn’t know what had happened until I got home this morning. Then I took the next flight out.” She stopped, shook her head. “What does that matter? The point is, I want to take Becky back home. Why would you want her here?” She glared at him. “You don’t even know each other.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“Does she know that?”
He frowned, taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“Have you told her you’re her daddy? Did she understand you?” She took a deep breath and blinked rapidly, probably to hide the moisture he’d seen suddenly brightening her eyes. “I’m sure you weren’t ever expecting to have the responsibility for your daughter. Since Ronnie ‘dumped Becky off’ here, as you called it, I assume you’re saying she didn’t give you any notice. She’s left Becky unannounced at my mom and dad’s house plenty of times over the years, too.”
“Well, you can tell your folks they don’t need to worry about that anymore.”
“I don’t have to tell them anything. I’m bringing their granddaughter home with me.”
“Like hell—” The sounds of sneakers