Twist of Fate (Taking Chances #2) - Tia Louise Page 0,68
for good measure. Scout’s watching me like he’s holding back a laugh.
“I guess you got rid of her. What was that all about?”
Melody is off on the other side of the store, I’m sure either digging up a doll or finding a drum to beat on or discovering some new sport. Mrs. Alice always joked about how busy J.R. and Scout were as little boys. Clearly, it’s genetic.
“We need to talk.” I go to where he’s standing, summoning all my nerve. “I was going to tell you this a few years ago, and then everything happened.”
Large hands cover mine, and his voice is gentle. “I think I know what you’re going to say. It’s been on my mind, too.” He looks down at our hands clasped. “I was going to say it last night…”
“Look, Mama! I’m the quarterback princess!” Melody runs to where we’re standing, an antique tiara falling down her three-year-old head with her pink football under her arm.
Her golden hair is like silk around her cheeks, and she blinks up at us with Scout’s bright blue eyes. We both look at her, and it’s a little earthquake. His grip on my hands loosens as he takes a step back, and my heart is in my throat.
“How old is your daughter?” Scout’s voice is quiet confusion.
Melody waits impatiently for me to acknowledge that you can be both a princess and a quarterback, information she’d never considered until this moment.
I swallow the knot in my throat. “She’s three and a half.”
Blue eyes flicker to me, and I’m trembling. He’s stunned. He’s confused. He’s trying to understand, but he doesn’t seem angry… or horrified… or shocked. He’s not backing out the door or pushing us away.
“Her birthday is February sixteenth.”
I watch as he thinks. I watch as he blinks, doing the math in his head and coming to the right conclusion. He doesn’t say anything, he simply goes to where she stands in her pink pajamas with a tiara on her head.
Lowering to one knee, he holds out a hand. “Melody, I’m Scout.”
Her nose wrinkles as she studies him. “Scout.” She says the word as if she’s testing it. “Scout, Scout, Scout.” Her little eyebrows pinch, and her rosebud lips are so cute. “Do you play football?”
“As a matter of fact,” he exhales a laugh, and an ache twists in my chest. “I sure do.”
“I’m the quarterback princess.” She says it like it’s now a thing.
“Your majesty.” He places his palm against his chest and bows his head. “I’m honored to meet you.”
Melody’s blue eyes widen like she didn’t expect him to do that. She places a small hand on his shoulder, and I have to blink fast. “Who are you?”
“I’m your brave knight. I’m here to make sure nothing bad ever happens to you.”
My hands flutter to my lips, and a hot tear slips onto my cheek. Our daughter looks up at me, and I manage to smile, giving her a nod. It’s all the reassurance she needs.
“My brave knight.” She clearly likes this idea, because she’s instantly hopping up and down, waving her free arm. “The quarterback princess and the brave knight. Here.”
She puts her pink football in his hands and takes off running to the stairs, bounding up them to her room.
Scout rises, following her with his eyes until she’s gone, and it’s quiet again. He turns to me, and I’m swirling with so much emotion. My chest flares with every heartbeat.
“She’s mine.” His voice is low, thoughtful.
My voice is equally low. “She’s yours.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He’s not angry.
It’s more like confusion, and it’s almost worse than if he were mad. At least if he were mad, I could be defensive. Now I just feel guilty.
“I wanted to tell you in person.” Lowering my hands, I try to explain. “Then I didn’t want you to feel trapped. Then everything went crazy. Then my dad died.” It’s the basic sequence of events over the last four years. “Believe it or not, I was planning to fly to L.A. and tell you now.”
He exhales slowly. “Why now? What changed?”
“You don’t need to worry about taking care of us. Dad left us quite a lot of money, so you can be as involved as you want or not—”
“She’s my daughter.” His voice sharpens. It’s the closest I’ve heard him come to anger. “I want to take care of her. I want to know her. I want…”
He doesn’t finish, but I step forward, holding out my hand, reaching for him.