by Stacy Finz
“You just got here,” Cecilia said, and took his empty plate to the sink.
“I know, but I thought I’d stop by McCreedy Ranch before it gets dark and check out some stock Clay wants to unload.” Okay, he’d say a few Hail Marys.
“All right, mijo. Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be over.”
On his way out he tried to remember where Tawny lived. It had been ten years, yet he found her tiny bungalow with little effort. He still knew the town like he did the back of a bull.
He parked across the street and sat behind the wheel, feeling edgy about going in. About seeing the little girl who might or might not be his. Nine goddamn years. Finally, he climbed Tawny’s porch stairs and rang the bell. He could hear movement inside and a few seconds later a young girl opened the door.
“Hello.” She looked up at him with big brown eyes. Eyes too large for her pale, gaunt face.
Lucky studied her. “You must be Katie.”
“Mm-hmm. Who are you?”
“A friend of your mom’s. She home?”
“Yes. Would you like to come in?”
Tawny needed to talk to the kid about inviting strangers into their home. “Sure.”
He crossed the threshold and gazed around the front room. There was an unfinished puzzle on the coffee table and the TV was on. The furniture, a set of mismatched chairs and a couch, looked pretty lived in. Tawny came out of one of the side doors in sweats with her head wrapped in a towel.
“Hey.” He bobbed his chin at her.
She quickly turned to Katie. “Go brush your teeth and get ready for bed, baby.”
Clearly curious about him, the girl seemed reluctant to go. Tawny gave her a look—the kind Cecilia used to give Lucky when she meant business—and the kid scampered off.
“What are you doing here?”
“I can’t tell if she looks like me.”
“Shush.” Tawny grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the house. “I don’t want her to hear you.”
“Why?”
She glared at him like he was a fool. “Why do you think?”
“Beats the hell out me. Unless you’re lying.”
She gave him another venomous glare. “Did you just come over here to tell me what a liar I am?”
Lucky blew out a breath. “I came over because I wanted to see Katie for myself. How long has she been sick?”
“She was diagnosed when she was five.”
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” The girl looked so ashen that it broke his heart. No little kid should have to go through that.
Tawny nodded, and Lucky could tell that she was trying to keep it together. Even if it turned out that the woman was the world’s biggest liar, Tawny was looking out for her daughter, like any good mother would do. His heart broke a little for her too.
“Why didn’t you try to get a hold of me when she was diagnosed?” Lucky asked.
“I figured you weren’t interested in returning my phone calls when I was pregnant, why would you suddenly call me back five years later?”
“Tawny, I never got your messages. If I’d known that I got you in trouble, I would’ve done the right thing.”
“You didn’t get me in trouble. You got me pregnant. And until now, I didn’t need you.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I deserved to know that I had a child, whether you needed me or not? Did it ever occur to you that Katie deserved her father? What have you told her?”
“Look, I don’t have time to do this now. Katie’s waiting for me.”
He stabbed his finger at her. “You better make time to do this. You dropped a goddamn bomb on me today.”
“Does that mean you’re willing to help?”
He paced the porch. “That’s the thing, Tawny, I would’ve helped whether she was my daughter or not. Because that’s what people do. But out of the blue you tell me I have a kid after all these years . . . that’s she’s sick and needs this cell transplant . . . It’s . . . I’m just reeling a little here.”
She swallowed hard. “I know. It’s a lot to take in. But I don’t want to do this with Katie here.”
“Then I suggest you show up at my place tomorrow and explain. Merely leaving a couple of lousy messages for a guy who’s supposedly the father of your child doesn’t cut it, Tawny. You should’ve done more.”
“I had my reasons,” she said.
“Well I’d sure as hell like to hear them. Tomorrow.”
She gave him a faint nod and slipped back inside.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2015 by Stacy Finz
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Lyrical and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.
First Electronic Edition: August 2015
eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-919-4
eISBN-10: 1-61650-919-8
ISBN: 978-1-6165-0919-4
