A Rancher's Pride(26)

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.