A Rancher's Pride(9)

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—”

“Yeah?” Sam countered. “You can just thank your sister—”