A Rancher's Pride

by Barbara White Daille

  Becky raised her brows and put her hand flat on her chest.

  “Mine?” Kayla voiced for Sam. She nodded.

  Becky took the package and ran toward the cashier at the front of the store.

  “Hers?” Sam asked. “Becky’s room already has curtains.”

  “I thought I’d buy something to make it a little more girlish in there.”

  “You don’t need to be buying her anything.”

  “I want to.”

  “She’s my child. Any buying that gets done around here, I’ll do it.” He turned on his heel and strode off in Becky’s wake.

  Kayla stood there a moment, puzzled by his strong reaction to her offer. She shrugged again. So, he didn’t like his daughter to have gifts, even when they were bought by someone else.

  What would the judge think about that?

  THEY WORKED THEIR WAY back down the other side of the street, through the post office and the volunteer firefighter station, in the same fashion. With Sam still barely remembering to introduce her along with Becky. By that time, Kayla’s previous irritation at his slights, compounded by the rejection of her gift, had worked itself up to a steady simmer. A good soak-down with one of the fire hoses might have done her some good.

  Without that, the next snub from Sam would probably make her boil over. In a very polite way, of course.

  They had reached Town Hall again, where Becky jogged up the path to the front steps, climbed them and jumped down. She proceeded to play this game as they stood watching.

  “We’d better head back after this,” Sam said. “You were planning on stopping at Harley’s, right? I’ll go with you. It’s about time to start stocking up for that barbecue the judge invited himself to.”

  The barbecue. “Yes, I need to pick up a few things at the store,” she said, her voice shaking.

  She had hoped Sam would forget all about the judge’s comment. The idea of the barbecue worried her more than she wanted to admit. That day in court, she had seen for herself how the judge seemed to favor the local boy and had heard how strongly he felt about Becky being part of the history of Flagman’s Folly. Now that Sam had shared his story, she understood the judge’s words. She could almost go along with them. Becky did have strong ties to the town. And Flagman’s Folly appeared to be a nice place filled with friendly people.

  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.

  Kayla’s hands began moving.

  “Now, young lady,” he said to her, “if you’re telling this little one to move, hold on, because she’s got my permission to sit here.”

  As they watched, he swung the chair in a gentle circle, while Becky flipped her hands back and forth in the air. He waited till the chair came to a halt before turning back to them.

  “Well, this is a surprise, isn’t it? I didn’t expect to see you two setting foot in my courtroom again so soon. What can I do for you?”

  Sam hesitated, feeling like a danged fool for bringing Kayla in here. What could the judge do, anyhow?

  Kayla didn’t believe anything Sam said. Hell, she didn’t even consider he’d told the truth about his own child. Why would she accept that he’d never touched his ex in anger?

  “Judge—” He drew a deep breath, fighting humiliation at the thought of what he had to ask. A bead of sweat ran down his temple. For once, the overhead fan sat still, just when he needed it most. He brushed the moisture away.

  “Judge Baylor,” he started again, “would you tell Becky’s aunt why my ex-wife was covered with cuts and bruises when she
left town?”

  The man’s brows leveled out, straightening almost into one solid line.

  From her seat in the corner, Ellamae looked up.

  Beside him, Sam could see Kayla tense.

  “Well, Sam,” the judge drawled, looking from one to the other of them, “it’s not clear to me why I’m the one doing the telling. But you know I never mind giving out explanations.” He looked at Kayla. “Your sister got herself involved in an automobile accident.”

  “When?” she asked.

  “As I recall, this happened only a few days before she left Flagman’s Folly for good.”

  “How do you know this?”

  The judge frowned, and Sam knew she’d just crossed a line. But the man answered mildly enough. “It was common knowledge, practically soon as it happened.”

  “I was on the volunteer rescue,” Ellamae spoke up. “She’d rolled her car into a drainage ditch between town and the ranch. Lordy, she’d gotten thrown around pretty bad. No seat belt.” She shook her head.

  “Fortunately,” the judge added, “there were no other vehicles involved. And no other passengers.”

  “I—I see.”

  Sam heard Kayla give a deep sigh. When she turned toward him, he stiffened. She hadn’t trusted in his honesty before. Nothing she could say would make up for that now.

  “I’m sorry.” She looked at him, her eyes shining. “I didn’t know—”

  “Yeah.” He turned away, his step heavy. So, now she did know. The truth. It made no difference. Had he really expected it to change anything?

  “Sam, please—” Her voice broke. She moved around to stand before him. “I’m truly sorry. I saw the cuts and bruises, and I only knew what Ronnie told me.”

  From across the room, he heard Ellamae’s gasp.

  Now she and the judge knew something, too, and they hadn’t had to work very hard making the leap to figure it out.

  “Let’s just go,” he said.

  She gestured to Becky, and a second later he heard sneakers on the wooden floor. He was about to start out of the courtroom when the judge called his name. Freezing in place, he took a deep breath. After what seemed a long while, he turned back.

  First he looked down at Becky, standing beside him.

  Then he looked at Ellamae, who stared, her eyes huge.

  Finally he looked at Judge Baylor, the man who’d always managed to slap him down. The man who’d never let him forget his past. And who had the power to decide his future.

  The judge came around his desk and rested one hand on the wooden railing in front of the row of spectator seats. Sam eyed him, saw the man’s knuckles tight on the rail and knew what to expect.

  “I doubt you need me to put this in words,” the judge said, in the softest voice Sam had ever heard come from him. “But I’ll share it, anyway. You can’t take things out on this young lady for believing what your ex-wife said. We all know only what others are willing to tell.”

  You could’ve heard a cactus flower drop to the floor in that room.

  Even Becky, as if sensing something wrong, stood without moving.

  He couldn’t look at Kayla. Didn’t want to see what would show in her face.

  “Yeah,” he said at last, staring across the courtroom again. “Gotta hand it to you, Judge.” He laughed without humor. “You just summed up the whole history of my bad marriage, right there in that one short sentence.”

  SAM THOUGHT JUDGE BAYLOR had finished making his point.

  He’d thought wrong. The man had only begun.

  When he’d asked Sam to stay for a “short spell in my chambers,” Kayla had looked suspiciously at them both.

  He could just see the protest on her lips, the indecision in her eyes. But, finally, she simply said she would go ahead to the market with Becky, and Sam could meet them when he was done.

  Unwilling to let her hear whatever else the judge wanted to say, Sam had agreed.

  Now, in chambers, Judge Baylor sat back in his swivel chair and eyed Sam up and down.

  He immediately flashed back more than a decade ago to the day he’d come before the judge for the first time.

  Right after the night he’d set fire to the Porters’ barn.

  He tried to push the memory away and managed to do it—only to face the judge’s double-barreled glare and to hear the man putting his own thoughts into words.

  “Y’know, Sam, it’s been a while since you first came into my courtroom.”

  “Yeah.” And since then, the judge had never managed to see any good in him.

  No surprise, since Sam hadn’t been good for much for a while after that. The judge’s warning that he’d toss him in jail and throw away the key had kicked off a rebellious streak in him that he’d never known existed.

  Or maybe it had started before that….

  Again, the judge voiced what Sam was thinking.

  “I went easy on you back then, son, on account of your losing your daddy.” He frowned and shook his head. “Too easy, perhaps. You made life hell for your mama, you know.”

  Sam nodded.

  “But your daddy was a good friend of mine. I owed it to his memory—and to Sharleen—to allow you the chance to straighten up. I’m glad you took me up on it—” he glared again “—even if it was in your own good time.”

  “I was…mixed-up back then, Judge.”

  The man snorted. “Well, that hasn’t changed much, has it? Sam, I’m not rightly sure what’s going on between you and that young lady. But it’s not sounding to me like you two are getting along.”

  “We’re managing,” he said as easily as he could, fighting not to break into a sweat again.

  The judge looked doubtful. Was the man going to renege on the six weeks he’d allowed them and make his decision right now?

  Had Sam lost his daughter already?

  He wouldn’t go down without a fight. He wouldn’t go down at all. “We’ve been out around town today, having Becky meet a lot of the townsfolk.”

  “That’s good. That’s very good.”

  Sam elaborated, detailing the story of their travels. It seemed to appease the judge. His goal accomplished, Sam didn’t waste any time getting out of the courtroom.

  If only his words could have that effect on other people.

  On one woman in particular.

  As he headed back up Signal Street toward the market, he thought again of the judge’s earlier statement. The one he’d made about people only knowing what others wanted to tell them.

  And not tell them, Sam should have added.

  Like the news Ronnie had never bothered to share with him.

  Still, the judge’s remark had started a question that kept circling around in Sam’s brain, big and bothersome as a green-eyed horsefly.

  No one knew better than he did that Ronnie couldn’t shoot straight with a story if she tried. So how could he blame Kayla for falling for her sister’s lies?

  THE AFTERNOON HAD GOTTEN hotter and stickier as it went on. Kayla swept her hair off the back of her neck to cool it. From her seat on the top porch step, she watched Becky play with her friend, Pirate.

  Sam had met them at the market as planned, though he didn’t say a word about his time with Judge Baylor. In fact, he’d barely said a word about anything.

  Thank goodness she’d had the rental car outside the café. She would never have made it back to the ranch if she had been forced to share Sam’s pickup truck. To tell the truth, the tension between them made her want to run.

  Only the knowledge that she couldn’t take Becky with her kept her from leaving town altogether.

  She wasn’t going anywhere without her niece.

  Once they arrived back at the house, the minute they unpacked the groceries, Sam had disappeared into his office, where Sharleen had set herself up at his desk, her foot propped on a stool, to use the computer.

  Eager to be away from both mother and son, Kayla had followed Becky into the backyard.

  Her face flushing—and no
t just from the heat of the day—she sagged against the porch railing.

  Why had she blurted out that accusation against Sam? Why hadn’t she refused to go talk with the judge? She’d have been so much better off. Yet, that wouldn’t have been fair to Sam.

  Long ago, Ronnie had made her promise never to breathe a word of what she’d been told to anyone. And now that Kayla had accused him of such a terrible act, she had learned all too clearly why Ronnie had sworn her to secrecy. She had lied.

  As Kayla had also accused Sam of doing.

  Across the yard, Becky and Pirate disappeared behind the barn. They liked to walk—and, in the puppy’s case, sniff—their way around the huge building. It always took a while.

  Still agonizing over what she had done, Kayla dropped her head onto her upraised knees and groaned. How could she ever make up to Sam for the way she had treated him?

  Her throat tightened as if to prevent her from saying the words aloud. Her head spun, and again, it wasn’t due to the heat, but from all the thoughts whirling in her mind. Now that she had learned the truth about Ronnie’s injuries, she had to question everything Ronnie had told her. Had to reexamine everything she had thought she’d known about Sam.

  There was one thing she could swear to, though, and from her own knowledge. All Sam could think about was winning over the judge and taking Becky away from her.

  If accusing him of abuse hadn’t turned the judge against her, it would certainly give the man pause. Again, she worried over what had happened that afternoon in the private conference in his chambers. She should have stayed there. She should have protested the two of them going off together. Who knows what deal they might already have made?

  An agreement that might be all the judge needed to decide Sam should keep custody of Becky.

  All thanks to Kayla’s own misinformed actions.

  What was she going to do to make the judge see she was the best person to care for Becky?

  From behind her came the sounds of the screen door hinges. She turned to find Sam leaning against the kitchen door frame, his slumped posture almost mimicking hers. She would have laughed, except he looked the picture of misery, and chances were if she could get her hands on a mirror, she would find she looked the same.