A Rancher's Pride(33)
Weighed against all this, could her efforts to rack up points against Sam be worthless?
On the day of the barbecue, would the judge take one look at Becky on that big, open ranch—the ranch she had the right to one day inherit—and decide that being brought up there would be in the child’s best interests?
Kayla clenched her hands at her sides. This defeatist mind-set wouldn’t help her, and she had to get rid of it now.
Dropping her attitude toward Sam was a different story.
Fighting to keep her voice steady, she continued, “I’m not sure about the shopping list I made. It was hard to figure out what to cook when I’ll never be sure what time you’ll be in for dinner.”
“Ranchers work long hours.” He frowned. “And I’m not used to having to report in with my schedule.”
“So Ronnie told me.”
He stopped and turned to her, looking suddenly as hot under the collar as she felt. “Do you have to bring that ‘Ronnie told me’ into every conversation?”
She shrugged. “Just making a point.”
“Yeah, a point to remind me you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really?” Suddenly, Sam’s series of backhanded insults and her own memory of what had happened in the courtroom of that very building where Becky now played made her even more annoyed. The knowledge of what could happen there in the next few weeks pushed her past the boiling stage. “I do know what I’m talking about, which happens to be a lot more than you think. Enough that I could march right in to your good-old-boy judge with it, and he would give me custody of Becky in a New York minute.”
“All right,” he said, his teeth clenched. He turned to face her and leaned down to meet her eyes. “You got something like that you’re sitting on, quit flapping your wings like a brood hen who’s just caught a javelina in the henhouse, and say whatever you’ve got to say.”
“Or what? You’ll hit me?” Kayla demanded. “Just like you did Ronnie? Well—”
He grabbed her arm. She jerked free in outrage, feeling a momentary regret that she had blurted the question.
Sam backed away a step. “I wasn’t going to hit you—”
“Oh, of course not. That’s what they all say. But then, I’m not your wife, so I’m not really worried that you would—”
“Stop it,” he said. “Just stop.”
His face had drained of all color. His mouth hung slack for a moment, as if she had hit him in the face—literally, instead of just with her words.
“That’s not what I intended to say,” he continued. “I meant, I wasn’t going to hit you. I just wanted you to stop saying those things. Look, I don’t even know where you got that idea. Well, yeah,” he contradicted himself immediately, his voice bitter. “Reckon I do. But how could you believe that?”
“Ronnie—” In spite of her eagerness to prove herself, she stopped and changed direction. “I’d seen proof, Sam. Cuts and bruises.”
“What? When?”
“When I came here to help Ronnie leave town.”
He stared at her, saying nothing, his eyes bleak and seeming unfocused. Without warning, he raised his arm and stepped toward her again.
Chapter Ten
The instant Sam saw Kayla flinch, he dropped his arm to his side.
She stood staring at him, her pupils widened to dark pools, and he realized just how much he’d frightened her.
“Listen, calm down. I’m sorry,” he said, almost running the words together in his hurry to explain. “I was only going to point to Town Hall. I want you to go up to the courtroom with me to see the judge. He’ll tell you the truth. Come with me, please. If I go in ahead of you,” he added, fighting to keep resentment from his voice, “you might think I talked him into lying for me.”
For a second, he could see her waver, torn between agreement and flight. She took a long, deep breath, then turned and walked toward Town Hall. She waved her hands in the air to Becky, who entered the building ahead of them.
He let Kayla walk ahead of him, too, and gave her plenty of room to go through the double doors into the building without crowding her. His stomach churned with both guilt and regret. Her words had torn him up inside. But he’d never meant to scare her.
Inside the courtroom, Ellamae sorted through paperwork at a small desk in the corner. Becky sat in the judge’s leather swivel chair behind his huge old desk, her face all Sam could see above the surface. The judge stood beside the chair, grinning down at her. At their approach, he looked up.