Glory, Glory. Linda Lael Miller
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been in this together from the beginning.
“I guess the joke was on me, wasn’t it, Jesse?” she said. Glory was amazed by her calm manner; inside, she was a raging tigress, ready to claw the man to quivering shreds.
He stood so close that she could feel the heat of his body. “Damn it, Glory, what the hell are you talking about?”
It was then that her control snapped, when she thought of all the Christmases and birthdays she’d missed, all the important occasions, like the appearance of the first tooth and the first faltering step. “God in heaven, Jesse,” she spat, all pain and fury, “I hate you for keeping her from me like that!”
His hands came to rest on her shoulders, and their weight and strength had a steadying effect. So did the look of honest confusion in his dark eyes. “I get the feeling you’re talking about Liza,” he said evenly. “What I don’t get is why she’s any of your concern.”
Glory’s tears brimmed and shimmered along her lashes, blurring Jesse’s features. “Liza’s my daughter, damn you,” she sobbed. “Mine and yours! I had her nine years ago in Portland, and your grandfather made me give her up!”
Jesse let her go and turned away, and she couldn’t see into his eyes or read the expression on his face. “That’s a lie,” he said, his tone so low she could barely hear him.
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