“No. He has visitors.” She tugged Will away, almost as if he would catch something nasty by standing next to him. What the devil was this all about? While he wouldn’t say he and Rachel were friends, they certainly had moved past the coolness she’d shown him when he’d first arrived. He couldn’t help but think this change in her attitude had something to do with his ‘visitors.’
Since almost no one knew he was at the Lazy Sunset, he couldn’t imagine who would be visiting him. He took a quick wash and entered the ranch house. Not very familiar with the layout of the house, he glanced into two different rooms before he reached what had to be the parlor.
An older man sat on the settee, looking decidedly uncomfortable. He was dressed in a suit, but kept pulling on his string tie. Next to him was a young girl. Blond, curly hair, slender, and about fourteen years old. She slumped in the seat, an adolescent scowl on her lovely face. A face that looked vaguely familiar.
Rusty stepped into the room, an uncomfortable feeling clenching his innards. The man rose, and grasped the girl under her arm to raise her up. She stood and yanked her arm away from the man, glowering in his direction.
“You behave yourself, girl,” the man hissed.
She crossed her arms and stared at a spot on the wall in front of her, her lips pursed.
“Mrs. Stevens said you wish to speak with me?” Rusty asked.
“Yes.” The man tugged on his tie again.
Rusty glanced from him to the girl. “I’m sorry, but do I know you?”
“Not exactly.”
When the man said nothing else, Rusty removed his hat and placed it on a low table, then sat and crossed his arms. “Well that clears everything up.”
The man took his seat and tugged the girl down. She turned her back on him and continued to admire the wallpaper.
“I’m tired, it’s been a long day, and my supper is waiting. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. So why are we here?”
“Mr. McIntyre, I am Beatrice Foster’s father.”
“Beatrice?” He uncrossed his arms and sat forward. “You’re Beatrice’s father?”
The man nodded.
Rusty released a huge breath and leaned back. Beatrice Foster. The woman he tried to forget for almost fifteen years. They were young and had been in love, or at least he had thought they were. He had proposed, and the wedding was only weeks away when he found her in bed with one of the ranch hands.
In a fit of rage, Rusty had dragged the man out of the bed, beat the living hell out of him, and walked out with Beatrice crying his name, asking for forgiveness. He kept walking and never looked back. Strange how he hadn’t recognized her father. Foster, apparently, had been easy to forget.
“Why are you here?”
Foster fidgeted some more, and seemed to finally make a decision. “I’ve come to bring Amelia to you.”
“Who?”
The older man jerked his thumb in the direction of the girl, who still sat with her back to the two of them.
“What are you talking about? Why bring the girl here?”
“Because she belongs with you, and I can’t take care of her no more. Her mother died of the flu, left her with the wife and me, but we’ve had enough.”
Rusty shook his head in confusion. “I’m afraid I’m not following this conversation very well. Why bring her here?”
“Because Amelia here is your daughter.”
Rusty jumped from his seat. “What?”
The girl finally turned toward him, her eyes hard, her expression mulish. “Yeah, Papa. I’m your daughter.”
Chapter Three
“How is it possible you have a fourteen year old daughter and didn’t know that?” Rachel stood in the doorway to her house, barring the way.