A Rancher's Pride - By Barbara White Daille Page 0,42

all that mattered.

Even Sam Robertson, cold and inflexible as he was, would have to accept that.

As Becky ran back into the living room, Kayla took a half step toward Sam.

She found him staring through the kitchen doorway after his daughter. His frozen expression, the pain in his eyes, the shadow of something she couldn’t name, all made her catch her breath. Fighting an overwhelming urge to reach out to him, she clenched her fingers and forced herself to keep her hands at her sides. Forced her feet to stay in place.

As if trying to hide his exposed emotions, he turned away. “Gotta go check on that mama cow in the barn,” he muttered. A second later, the screen door slammed behind him as he left the house.

But he’d moved too late. She had already seen his reaction. The sight made her question her beliefs about him more than ever before.

She’d already fallen for one story Ronnie had told her, a story the judge and Ellamae had proved to be untrue. Maybe, instead of jumping to angry thoughts, she should give Sam the benefit of the doubt here.

The man was infuriating, though.

Was it only stubbornness on his part that made him refuse to learn to communicate with Becky? Only the limited time he had available, as he claimed? Or was there more behind his unwillingness to go along with Kayla’s idea of teaching him sign language?

She thought again of his frozen expression as he’d looked at his own child, of the shadow in his eyes, and her anger eased the slightest bit.

Could she already have seen the truth in his face?

Could Sam be afraid that he wouldn’t learn to sign well enough to talk with Becky?

Chapter Thirteen

A little while after Kayla had tucked her niece into bed, Becky had appeared again in the living room. She’d argued against being brought back to her room but now, worn-out from playing with her dolls and stuffed animals, she had already fallen asleep.

Kayla resettled the toy horse and lamb beside her.

She left the room, her steps slow on the stairway down to the first floor as she planned her next move.

It was time to get serious with Sam.

She had made up her mind. She would make teaching him to sign into a game, and he’d learn the basics of the language whether he wanted to or not.

The challenge gave her no qualms at all.

Only the fact that this would put her even closer to him gave her second thoughts.

Downstairs, she found him half-sprawled on one of the couches. He watched her approach, his eyes heavy-lidded, looking on the verge of sleep himself.

Kayla couldn’t take the couch opposite his, where Becky had so carefully arranged her family of dolls and the rest of her stuffed animals. Heart in her throat, she sat gingerly on the end of Sam’s couch, as far from him as she could get.

Even as she took a breath, she admitted the lie to herself. Of course, she could have moved the toys, could have sat facing him with the coffee table between them. But the thrill of knowing that one move of hers, one tiny slide across the cushions, would put her within touching distance of him had been a greater temptation than she could fight. With that one slide, Sam could pull her against him, could snuggle her close with his arm around her shoulders.

What would he feel when he held her? What would he think? More important, who would he see when he looked her way? Would he see her, Kayla, with her brown hair and blue eyes? Would he notice the tiny scar on her chin? Or would he focus only on her relationship to the ex-wife he so bitterly resented?

His eyes opened wider, and he shifted position on the couch. “Becky asleep?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I made sure to stay with her until she drifted off.”

“What brought her downstairs again?”

She shrugged. “A nightmare, probably.” No surprise that she had picked up on the tension between the two adults during dinner. “I didn’t question her. I was happy enough to have her fall back to sleep.”

“No bedtime story tonight?”

“We read one after her bath.”

“You’ve done that a lot.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, I have,” she said, encouraged that he had mentioned it. “Ronnie leaves Becky at my mom and dad’s often. I usually spend the night at my parents’ house, too, whenever Becky’s there. Although,” she added, “they can communicate with her. They couldn’t