Longwalker's Child

by Debra Webb

  Gray opened his eyes and forced the painful memories away. He had left Sharon with child, and she obviously hadn't considered him worthy of the knowledge. He supposed he couldn't really blame her. He had been a bitter, mixed-up hothead back in those days. Still, the fact that she hadn't told him didn't sit right in his gut. He knew Sharon. Or at least he thought he had. Things had gotten a little crazy those last couple of weeks before he left. Leaving Thatcher had been the only thing that had kept him sane and out of trouble with the law—at least the law according to the Buckmasters.

  Enough, Longwalker, he ordered. Gray turned his attention back to the Whitmore woman. A thick mane of blond hair fell around her shoulders. Her eyes were the greenest Gray had ever seen. Like jade. She had long, shapely legs to which the navy leggings she wore clung like a second skin. The thigh-length matching sweater did nothing to conceal the lush curves underneath. Gray felt a stirring in his loins and averted his gaze.

  She might look like a million bucks, but he already knew that Lauren Whitmore would treat him just the way everybody else in this town did. Not to mention the fact that she stood between him and his child. The child he had only recently learned existed.

  Gray set his jaw and willed the rage to retreat. Rehashing the past would serve no purpose, but he would not allow history to repeat itself. Gray had been called a half-breed all his life. No one who wanted to continue breathing would ever call a child of his half-breed. And no child of his would ever be called a bastard.

  He glanced at the Whitmore woman again. No one would stop him from claiming his child.

  No one.

  Since Gray's whereabouts had been unknown, an ad announcing the Whitmore woman's intent to adopt the daughter of Sharon Johnson and Gray Longwalker had been placed in the local newspaper of his last-known city of residence.

  Gray knew without a doubt that no real effort had been made to find him. Davis had merely fulfilled the necessary legal technicalities to proceed with the adoption. Neither he nor Lauren intended for Gray to find out about Sarah. If they had known that Gray still had connections in Laredo, the ad would never have been placed in a newspaper there. Still, he'd had to give her the benefit of the doubt. But when he had gone to Lauren's door, her attitude had told him she wasn't interested. And now, here they were, sitting in her attorney's office getting nowhere.

  Lauren and Davis had apparently reached some sort of decision and both returned to their seats. Davis settled behind the big oak desk and Lauren sat in the chair adjacent to Gray. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on Davis, not giving Gray so much as a sideways glance.

  Gray's pulse picked up. Now he would find out just how serious Lauren Whitmore was about keeping his daughter from him.

  "Mr. Longwalker," Davis began, "the law clearly gives you the right to demand custody of your child—"

  Lauren gasped, but quickly cleared her throat and clasped her hands in her lap. Gray saw the tremendous effort she required to compose herself once more. She evidently didn't want to hear what her attorney had to say now any more than she had a few moments ago.

  "As I was saying," Davis continued. "If you are, in fact, Sarah's biological father, then you have every right to petition the court for custody."

  "Is there any question that I'm the father?" Gray straightened in his chair and leveled his full attention on the round face of the stocky attorney. "I thought Sharon named me as the father on the birth certificate." And with his Navajo heritage there couldn't be much question as to whether the child had inherited his Native American features. That part would be obvious. With her Irish-American background, Sharon certainly couldn't have passed those traits onto the child.

  "That's true. Ms. Johnson did name you as the father, however, that alone won't stand up in court."

  Gray's hackles rose at the implication. "Sharon Johnson might not have been one of Thatcher's more prominent citizens, but she would never have lied about something like this." Gray had no intention of sitting here and allowing some spit-polished, college-educated snob to sully Sharon's name, even though she hadn't seen fit to let Gray know about his child.

  "I didn't mean to imply otherwise," Davis clarified quickly.

  "Good," Gray said, and glared at the man behind the desk. He forced his fury back to a manageable level. He had worked long and hard to learn to control his temper, but this new turn of events was testing those limits.

  "Ms. Whitmore was given full custody of the child by the biological mother. If you choose to contend her adoption proceedings, then it's up to you to prove your right to do so in a court of law."

  Gray shrugged. "I have no problem with that. Just tell me where to go and what to do."

  Davis eyed him skeptically. "The test and court costs will be quite expensive, Mr. Longwalker. Since it is up to you to prove paternity, then the burden of cost for both you and the child will fall on your shoulders."

  "Whatever it takes," Gray responded without hesitation. His own attorney had warned him to expect this stall tactic.

  Lauren darted a nervous glance in his direction. Gray smiled to himself. He may have left Thatcher as poor as dirt, but he hadn't been as dumb as dirt. Don Davis would probably faint dead away if he knew just how much money Gray had growing interest in a Dallas bank account.

  "Well, then." Davis jotted a few notes on his legal pad before looking up again. "I'll see that the arrangements for the test are made as soon as possible. Leave a contact number with my secretary and I'll be in touch. Once the paternity issue is resolved in the eyes of the law, Mr. Longwalker, you may petition the court for custody."

  Gray had a bad feeling about the custody part. Lauren Whitmore probably had the whole town on her side—including the judge. "How long will the test results take?"

  "Two weeks at least," Davis answered smoothly.

  "The custody battle, however, could go on for months—" he peered self-righteously at Gray over his wire-rimmed bifocals "—or years even," he finished smugly.

  Gray restrained the anger that skyrocketed inside him. He didn't care how long it took. Sarah was his child, and he fully intended to have her. "Fine," he relented, his patience holding on by a thin thread. "When can I see Sarah?"

  "Don," Lauren protested. She clutched the arms of her chair, her knuckles white with the effort.

  "We won't discuss visitation until after paternity has been established," Davis stated, as if the issue was closed to further discussion.

  Gray rose to his full height of six feet two inches. He leaned over and placed his hands palm down on Davis's gleaming desktop and settled a gaze Gray hoped communicated the seriousness of his words to the man staring up at him. "Discuss visitation or don't discuss it, it makes no difference to me. But I will see my daughter. Is that clear?"

  "You will have absolutely no contact with Lauren unless it comes through me, Mr. Longwalker. I hope that's clear," he said cautiously. "And threatening me won't do you any good," he added carefully.

  "It's not a threat," Gray offered without apology. He straightened and picked up his hat from the table that separated his chair from Lauren's. "It's a promise." He met Lauren Whitmore's gaze for the space of two heartbeats before turning away.

  Gray strode out of the office without a backward glance. As angry as he was, he knew one thing for sure—he would never be able to forget the look on Lauren Whitmore's face. As pale as a ghost, her eyes full of fear, she had looked ready to break down and cry.

  He hardened his heart against the sympathy that arose immediately. It wasn't as if he hadn't given her the opportunity to resolve this thing between the two of them. But she wanted no part of a negotiation. She had made up her mind long before laying eyes on Gray. She intended to keep his daughter from him, that much was evident. Gray clenched his jaw. He had no doubt that the woman cared deeply for his daughter. Lauren Whitmore would suffer as this battle played out. But her pain was inconsequential, Gray reminded himself. His only concern was claiming his daughter—Sarah.

  Chapter Tw
o

  Gray stood in the middle of Thatcher's only cemetery. The March wind whipped around him and through the branches of the old oak trees, the sound breaking the deathly silence. He felt cold and uncharacteristically lost inside. In the distance the small town that was supposed to be his home sprawled across the flat landscape that seemed to go on forever. The place had never actually felt like home to him, not even when he was a small child. No pleasant memories sprang to mind, no old friends he longed to visit. Nothing remained for him but pain and bitterness, and enough anger to last three lifetimes. But he'd been born and raised here.

  And that made this place home.

  Gray had always been an outcast. A half-breed bastard who worked like two men for half the pay of one. Gray swallowed the anger that accompanied that memory. Old man Jennings had at least given him a place to sleep, and three meals a day. No one else would have taken him in after his mother died, leaving him alone at sixteen, with no money or place to go. Gray drew in a deep breath and scanned the wide-open blue sky. It was during that eight-year stint on Jennings's ranch that Gray had discovered his God-given talent with horses and how to use it. But it wasn't until he left this hate-filled place that he had learned to utilize his skills to their fullest extent.

  Horse training required great patience and the ability to open himself completely to reach the animals, and before Gray could do that he'd had to learn to control the rage that had driven him from the age of ten. Self-discipline had been hard earned and long in coming. But he had mastered the art four years ago. Oh, he had the occasional relapse, like today in Davis's office, but he'd grabbed back control swiftly enough. He wasn't the same man who left here all those years ago. Despite the indifference and taunting he had suffered growing up, he held no true grudges, except one.

  Gray glanced beyond the rows of typical headstones until he found the one of the man who had sired him. A massive monument loomed over the family plot. He gritted his teeth and tamped down the churning emotions that threatened now, even after all this time. His father—the word turned his stomach—had taken advantage of Gray's mother, turning her into his mistress. Then he'd killed her one inch at a time. Never once had the man spared one iota of concern for the illegitimate child born of their infidelity. By the time Gray had reached school age, the man had turned his back on both of them. Covered up his wrong doing, making their lives miserable in the process.

  Determined not to be undone by his past, Gray shifted his gaze back to the small headstone that marked Sharon Johnson's final resting place. Tiny blue flowers blanketed the year-old grave. A frown furrowed his brow as he tried to think why Sharon would hide the existence of his child from him. They had been friends. It was true that he'd made a mistake by taking her to bed that last night, but she seemed to need him as much as he needed her.

  Gray blew out a weary breath. There was no point in wasting energy trying to analyze her motivation. The fact was she hadn't wanted him to know, and she had made the Whitmore woman promise to keep the child from him. He could not bring himself to hold that mistake against Sharon. God knows he'd made his share. What was done was done.

  The sound of a vehicle pulling to a stop next to his truck tugged Gray's attention in that direction. It was an older model sedan, its dark-blue paint dusty from the gravel road. He squinted to make out the face of the driver. The door opened and an elderly woman slowly emerged from behind the steering wheel.

  Mrs. Jennings.

  Gray removed his hat and waited silently as the old woman approached the cemetery gate.

  She hesitated when she noticed him. Gray saw the instant recognition flare. She eyed him another long moment. Then, using her cane for assistance, she closed the distance that separated them.

  "I'd heard you were back," she said in a voice rusty with age. Faded-blue eyes studied him with surprising sharpness. "Causing trouble already, too, they say," she added, pointedly.

  "Is that what they say?" A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Maybe he did have one good memory or two. Marilee Jennings was one little old lady who had a stubborn streak herself. She liked nothing better than to put a cocky young man with a smart mouth in his place. No fifth-grader ever dared defy her authority. Not even Gray.

  She nodded sagely. "Of course I set them straight about that." She leveled her gaze on his and thrust out her thin chin for emphasis. "I told them that to my knowledge Gray Longwalker never started any trouble in his entire life, but he sure as blazes would end it if anyone started it with him."

  The smile won the tug of war with his lips. "It might not be so easy to end this time."

  She lifted a sparse gray brow. "You may be right on that one. That city gal's mighty sweet and extra good to that little girl of yours." Mrs. Jennings leaned on her cane for support. "She'll give you a run for your money. Have you got yourself one of those fancy lawyers?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Gray assured her. "The best. I had hoped it wouldn't come to that though."

  The old woman shook her head. "Don't count on it, Gray."

  Gray glanced back at the sedan she had arrived in. "How is Mr. Jennings?"

  She pointed to the far side of the cemetery with her cane. "He passed on last year." Tears glistened in her eyes. "The ranch hasn't been the same without him." She glanced back up at Gray. "You should stop by while you're in town. I still put dinner on the table at the same time every day."

  "I'll try to do that," he promised. It was probably the only place in the whole county where he was halfway welcome.

  "You paid your respects to your momma yet?" she demanded in that once-a-schoolteacher-always-a-schoolteacher tone.

  "I was about to do that." It was a lie. He had no desire to visit his mother's grave. He didn't want to be reminded of her final days. But Mrs. Jennings still wielded an unexplainable power over him. Since fifth grade some deeply entrenched habit took over whenever she rattled off an order, and he found himself responding positively.

  "Well come along, then, and we'll see my Fred, too."

  Gray stepped back for her to lead the way. "Do you know Lauren Whitmore well?" he asked as he followed Mrs. Jennings's slow progress down the long center aisle that separated the two sides of the cemetery.

  "I know she won't give up that little girl without a fight." Mrs. Jennings turned back to Gray, her gaze connecting with his once more. "She loves the child like her own. She's done a fine job since Sharon, God rest her soul, passed on."

  Though he appreciated what the Whitmore woman had done for his daughter, renewed anger twisted inside him that she somehow thought a few months of baby-sitting made the child hers. "That may be, but Sarah is my daughter, not hers."

  "Watch your step, Longwalker," she warned.

  "Things are not always as cut-and-dried as they seem. Lauren isn't the only citizen of Thatcher who has an interest in little Sarah."

  Gray considered her words for a long moment. "Sharon had no living relatives," he countered. There was no one, except him, that would be related by blood to Sarah.

  "Let's just say that blood isn't always thicker than water. Buckmaster himself told me just before he left this world that he intended to make things right with you. I doubt his boys liked that idea very much."

  "They can rest easy," Gray told her. "I never heard from the old man."

  * * *

  LAUREN PACED the long entry hall that separated her living room and dining room, then peeked out the window for the umpteenth time. Nothing, only pastures quickly turning a rich-green spread out as far as the eye could see. Bluebonnets added a punch of color to the sea of green. Though Lauren's small ranch only included fifty acres, she loved every square foot of it. Five years ago she would have laughed had anyone told her that very soon she would be living in the middle of nowhere on a former horse ranch. Lauren had loved the energy of the city. Loved the hectic pace of her job. But things changed.

  Pushing the thoughts of the past away, she paced in the other direction, her fuzzy pink house slippers soundless on t
he polished oak floor. Otherwise Sarah would have wondered why her mommy was behaving so nervously.

  Fluffy, Sarah's huge black-and-white Persian, sauntered to the door and yowled. Lauren smiled and reached down to scratch the feline's furry head. Like Spinner, the old horse left on the ranch she had inherited from her aunt, Fluffy had come with the place. It hadn't taken Lauren long to realize that life on a ranch wouldn't be complete without at least one cat and one horse. While most folks around here felt lost without a dog sleeping on the porch, Lauren had yet to make a trip to the pound in Dallas to adopt one. Something always came up. But she had her heart set on a big old Labrador. Fluffy voiced her irritation with Lauren's slow reactions.

  "Okay, girl, you can go outside even if the rest of us are stuck in the house." Lauren opened the door just far enough for an impatient Fluffy to squeeze out, then closed and locked it. She immediately resumed her pacing.

  This is ridiculous, she fumed silently. She couldn't keep worrying that Gray Longwalker would show up at her door again. Don's parting words echoed inside her head. You need a restraining order.

  "Yeah, right," Lauren huffed to the empty hall. She knew all about Longwalker's reputation. If he wanted to drop by, it would take more than a legal document saying he couldn't to stop him.

  "Mommy!" The shrill little voice pierced the tense gloom shrouding Lauren, bringing a smile instantly to her lips despite her worries.

  Lauren stepped into the living room to see what Sarah wanted this time. Five minutes ago, she thought, affection widening her smile, it had been Leah. Sarah hadn't been able to find the special doll she'd had since the day Lauren brought her home to live with her. After searching every nook and cranny of the house, they had finally found the doll under the dining table.

  "What's wrong, sweetie?" Lauren crooned to the little girl, who was gazing expectantly at her.

  "Can I have a cookie, please?" The child smiled angelically, her expression hopeful as well as pleading.