Do you take this rebel - By Sherryl Woods Page 0,55
time the doorbell rang. Emma swept in with eyes blazing and a determined jut to her jaw. She gave Cassie a fierce hug, then plunked her briefcase on the dining room table and pulled out a chair.
“Start at the beginning. I want to know everything Cole said to you.”
As Cassie talked, Emma took notes, never once flinching, not even when Cassie summed up that night’s conversation and the proposal that was Cole’s alternative to a custody battle. When Cassie had concluded, Emma sighed and rubbed her eyes.
“We can give him a fight, if that’s what he wants,” she said, then clasped Cassie’s hand. “But I won’t lie to you, he has a good case. I don’t think he could get sole custody of Jake, but he could certainly get visitation rights and perhaps even some form of joint custody. You have absolutely no grounds for accusing him of being unfit, especially since he never had a chance to demonstrate his parenting skills.”
Cassie drew in a deep breath. “Then I have no choice. I have to marry him.”
“That’s up to you, of course.” She touched Cassie’s cheek. “It doesn’t have to be a fate worse than death, you know. You do love him.”
“A lot of good that does.”
Emma smiled. “Not that you could prove it by me, but I’ve heard that love can perform miracles.”
“Well, I’m certainly about to put it to the test, aren’t I?”
Cole took a room in a hotel while he awaited Cassie’s decision. When news of his return reached his father, Frank Davis came striding into the hotel lobby demanding to see him. At the commotion just outside the door to the hotel coffee shop, Cole glanced up from behind his newspaper and sighed.
“Over here, Dad,” he said.
His father crossed the small lobby and headed straight for his table. He sank down opposite Cole. “It’s about time you got back here. Why aren’t you at the ranch?”
“Do you even have to ask?”
“Are you planning on staying in this place?” his father asked, glancing around at the shabby furnishings, the tiny coffee shop that had only a handful of scarred tables.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“What happens this Sunday.”
His father regarded him with exasperation. “Stop talking in riddles. Are you back here to stay or not?”
“I’ll keep you posted.”
For just an instant his father looked older than his years. He looked defeated. “I suppose I might as well put the ranch on the market. I can’t manage it anymore on my own.”
Cole scowled at him. “Don’t pull that with me. You recovered from that heart attack years ago. You could run the whole state if you were of a mind to, never mind one little cattle ranch.”
“Fifty thousand acres isn’t little,” his father said heatedly. “It’s a demanding job, and I just don’t have the heart for it anymore. Not if there’s no one to leave it to.”
“Leave it to your grandson.”
“How am I supposed to do that? The boy doesn’t even know we’re related. If it’s left up to his mother, he never will.”
“That will change,” Cole said grimly. One way or another.
“Oh?” His father’s expression brightened. “You going after custody?”
“No. Not the way you mean, anyway.”
“What then?”
“I’ll tell you on Sunday.” He would know how this was going to play out by then.
His father struggled to his feet, looking disgusted. “You’re wasting time, Son. I would have had this settled long ago.”
“Probably so,” Cole agreed. “But for once I’m doing things my way.”
And they’d better work out, he thought, or he’d never hear the end of it.
For once Cassie wished the preacher’s sermon would go on and on. Instead, Pastor Kirkland spoke for only a few minutes, citing the late-August heat and lack of air-conditioning as the reason for his brevity.
“No point in talking if no one can hear me over the fluttering of those fans you’re waving,” he said. “You can all give thanks to the Lord for that and we’ll call it a day.”
The congregation laughed appreciatively, sang one final, rousing hymn, then began to file out. Cassie was one of the last to go. When she reached the church steps, she spotted Cole at once, leaning against the fender of his car, his eyes shaded by sunglasses and the brim of his Stetson.
“You’ve made up your mind, then?” her mother asked, clinging to her hand. “There’s nothing I can say to change it?”
“Nothing,” Cassie said grimly. “This is what I have to do.”
As she crossed the street, she wished she could feel one tiny little surge of