A Cowboy's Honor. Lois Richer
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“There is always someone watching them. Maybe you missed that.” An edge crept into Gracie’s voice, a defensiveness he hadn’t counted on. Or maybe he was the problem.
“Did I do something wrong, Gracie?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“Because it feels like I’m walking through a minefield.”
“It’s not you, Dallas.” Defeat weighted her shoulders, added to the dullness of her eyes. “It’s just…” She shook her head, sipped her tea. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. I’m her father. Your husband.” How strange that sounded. “I want to know if I said or did something that was out of place or hurt her. Or you.”
“It’s not you, Dallas. It’s Misty. She’s blind.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “I know.”
“But do you realize what that entails?” Gracie set down her cup. “I’m her security. I’m who she turns to when something’s wrong in her world. I can’t decide one afternoon that I need a time-out, and disappear.”
“You did this afternoon.”
She shook her head. “That was different. And besides, Elizabeth was here. Misty is always cared for when I work. I never leave her alone.”
“I’m sure you’re a great parent. But I’m here now. I can help.”
“You’re the problem.”
Her comment hit him squarely in the chest. She didn’t want him here.
“Fine. I’ll leave tomorrow morning, if that’s what you want.” Dallas clenched his jaw, swallowed his anger. “But I will continue to see my daughter. Now that I’ve found Misty, I’m not walking away from her.”
“I don’t want you to go!” Gracie shook her head. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Then you’d better explain,” he snapped, frustrated by the dead ends he kept running into. “Because I am completely lost. As usual.”
Her quick gasp, the way she huddled into her chair, her drawn miserable face struck him deeply, and his heart relented.
Dallas knelt in front of her, wrapped his hands around hers and waited for her to look at him. When she did, tears glittered on her lashes. He released one hand, lifted his fingers and brushed the wetness away, fingertips tingling at the contact with her skin.
“Gracie, I’m not trying to push you out of the way or take over. You’ve spent five years raising our child and I haven’t been here much more than five hours. I wouldn’t dream of undermining you. Why would I? You’ve done a wonderful job. She’s a daughter any man would love to call his own.”
A tremulous smile curved Gracie’s mouth briefly. “Thank you.”
He touched the damp strands that tumbled forward, pushed them away from her eyes so he could see more clearly. “I only want to share Misty with you.”
“I know.” She cupped her palm against his jaw. “I understand you want to help. But that brings its own problems.”
“Why?” Using every ounce of strength he had, Dallas resisted the urge to lay his head on her knees.
“Because Misty will want more.” Her hand pulled away from his, the other dropped from his cheek.
A keen sense of loss washed over him.
“From the time she could speak, Misty has talked about wanting a family. I try to give her everything, but I can’t give her that.” Gracie stopped, chewed her bottom lip. When she spoke again her voice had dropped. “I also can’t guarantee that you won’t hurt her.”
“I won’t.”
“Not intentionally, maybe, but when your memory comes back…” She met his gaze and did not look away. “I don’t want my daughter to suffer, Dallas.”
“I’m not going to hurt her,” he declared angrily, then told himself to calm down. She was a mother protecting her baby. “But nobody gets through life without some scars, Gracie.”
“I know that. Yet it’s hard to explain to a five-year-old.” A winsome smile tilted her lips up at the corners. “Awfully hard.”
“I’m sure. But your point is moot. I’m not going anywhere. And we already are a family.”
She shook her head slowly. “We were never a family,” she murmured, a note of sadness lacing her voice. “We didn’t have time.”
The words were devastating to hear.
Dallas had longed for things to be the way they had been before—when he assumed his life had been normal, had made sense. But did he even have what it would take to be a father to Misty, to one day be the kind of husband Gracie wanted, needed?
The past months had taught him many things, foremost that he was not a quitter.
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