Burn It Up(57)

“You want our daughter to know why you missed her birth?” she countered.

“No, I don’t. But I also know she’s gonna find out someday. Because she’s gonna ask, and I’m gonna tell her. Just like he’s gonna find out about you. So yeah, you better tell him, unless you want somebody else painting that pretty little picture for you.”

“I’ll tell him. When the time’s right.” She didn’t suspect any good could come of explaining to James that she and Casey were only lovers, only casual, not when he was feeling so vigilant about the stability of Mercy’s situation. She let him infer it was more than it was, if only to skirt a lecture.

“We both f*cked this all up real bad,” James said at length, tone softer. “Parenthood, I mean. And I’m really goddamn pissed at you right now. For not telling me, then for trying to shut me out. For running to a load of strangers and making me out to be some kind of psycho. I did a lot for you, you know. I forgave a lot, overlooked a lot. You used me and I was happy to let you, and this is how you repay me?”

“You scared me, when we broke up. I thought you might even hurt me.”

He shook his head, looking ancient. “I wish I could say you knew me better than that . . . But maybe that’s too much to hope for.”

“And you didn’t handle this situation all that great, yourself. Coming around in the middle of the night, spying or whatever that was about.”

He sat up straight. “What, now? This the same crazy bull Grossier was yelling at me about?”

“You came by. Miah saw you.”

“Who the f*ck is Miah?”

She sighed, exasperated. “The guy with the black hair. Your height. He and his parents own this ranch. And he saw your truck, chased you down the road. Don’t deny it.”

“I sure as f*ck will deny it. I’ve never set foot on this property before today. I didn’t know where you were. And even if I had, I wouldn’t’ve been stupid enough to show up uninvited. Grossiers pack more guns than sense.”

She wanted to believe him, only it didn’t add up. Who else would show up in a black truck, the same week James had been released and was trying to get to her, and come snooping around the farmhouse?

Still, she trusted his expression, and she’d never known him to lie—lying was for cowards like the old Abilene, whereas James feared nothing.

But she couldn’t accept the coincidence. Not a hundred percent.

“Now,” he said, standing. “I want to meet my daughter.”





Chapter 15


Casey was planted in the rocker, with a clear view of the second-floor landing and Abilene’s door. His muscles were tensed, ears trained for the flare of voices. So far, nothing but a dull murmur, no discernible words. Then, after what felt like three hours but was probably closer to thirty minutes, the door opened above. He gripped the arms of the rocker, resisting the urge to jump to his feet.

Abilene emerged, followed by Ware. She looked calm; he looked stony. As they came down the steps, her eyes locked with Casey’s and she smiled, giving his heart permission to slow.

Ware also looked his way, unreadable. The guy could have been pissed or relieved or frustrated or plain old tired, for all the emotion that glance gave away.

Look at Mercy with that expression and I’ll break your face, Casey thought.

The two paused at the bottom of the steps, and Abilene said, “We’re going to go and see Mercy.”

Casey nodded. “Okay.” The baby was in the office—Christine was keeping an eye on her while she did paperwork. Nobody had thought it would be a great idea for Ware to show up and find Casey holding his daughter.

They disappeared down the back hall, and Casey released the chair arms, fingers prickling as the blood rushed back to their tips. He took a deep breath, shoulders shaking as it drained back out. He wanted a beer. Wanted a shot, but his pride was interfering with the impulse—he didn’t care to exchange any words with Ware and have the guy smell booze on him. Which was f*cked, really, to care so much about the opinion of a criminal, only he wanted so badly to appear worthy of all the trust Abilene had put in him.

He listened to the office door open and close, caught soft voices. Christine appeared shortly wearing a cautious smile. She held up two sets of crossed fingers.

“She seem okay?” he asked.

“I’d say so. I think she looked relieved. Nervous, but relieved.”

He nodded.

“Coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’m counting down the hours until it’s socially acceptable to hit the bourbon.”

“Don’t blame you. It hasn’t been this tense around here since the last property scout came knocking.” Christine headed for the kitchen.

Casey focused on the clinking of dishes and the rush of running water, trying to distract himself. He wanted like hell to sneak down the hall and listen at the office door. He wanted to know what they were saying. He wanted to know if Ware was holding the baby, and whether or not she seemed to like him. The sharpest, fiercest bit of him bared teeth at the thought, a jealousy he’d never even conceived of before. He didn’t consider himself Mercy’s father by any stretch, but a part of him did identify—and with secret pride—as the primary man in her tiny life. His fingers curled up tight again, forming fists atop his thighs.