A Rancher's Pride - By Barbara White Daille Page 0,7
indicated a wall-to-wall closet. “All yours. For the night.” After gesturing at the bed, he walked away, evidently not planning to say another word. He had gone through the doorway before she could think.
“Excuse me,” she said.
He turned back.
She took a deep breath. Everything hinged on how she worded what she needed to say. On how well she could convince this man of her sincerity without letting him guess her ulterior motive. “I know you’re planning to go to court tomorrow. I don’t think you’ll get anywhere. You’ve never had custody of Becky before. You’ve never even seen her until yesterday.”
“And whose fault is that?”
She couldn’t get into all that now. She wanted to convince him, not provoke him.
“Now your mother’s incapacitated, for who knows how long. How can you possibly take care of Becky?”
The look on his face told her he couldn’t. But he rallied, saying bluntly, “I’ll find a nanny agency.”
“What good will that do? She needs someone with more training than your usual babysitter or nanny. Someone who can talk with her in a language she can understand.” The stiffness of his posture said he knew this already. She pressed home her advantage. “What are the chances the agency can fill those requirements?”
“I’ll worry about that when I see the applicants.”
She struggled to keep her voice level. “We talked about this earlier—I asked if Becky could understand you. Do you know any ASL at all?”
Of course he didn’t. She’d bet her last school paycheck for the summer on it.
Reluctantly, she considered his defense. Sam Robertson had never seen his daughter, but that shouldn’t matter. He could have—should have—learned to sign so he would be ready to talk to her when they met. If they ever met—
She stopped in midthought. Where was she going with this mental argument with herself? Of course, she knew how important it was for people to be able to communicate with Becky. But she also knew what Sam was like.
Now, he stood squinting at her, as if trying to focus across a great distance. That and the sudden chill in his expression startled her. She wasn’t sure if he’d even heard her. After a moment, she squared her shoulders and changed her tactic.
“Obviously you don’t know ASL.” He looked blank. “American Sign Language. You don’t know how to sign, do you?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Her grandmother doesn’t know how to talk to Becky, either, does she?” Kayla asked.
No squinting from him now, just a hard, cold-eyed look as he stared her down. A muscle in his cheek flexed. “The two of them manage just fine.”
The two of them. No mention of himself at all. Or of his mother knowing ASL. Everything she’d seen and heard only reinforced what Ronnie had told the family about him.
Sam Robertson was uncaring to the bone, except when it came to money and working day and night on this ranch.
And it only confirmed what Kayla had feared. Becky had no one here who could communicate with her, no one who truly loved her.
She tried to soften her tone. But she couldn’t.
“Your mother’s not able to take care of Becky,” she continued, “and won’t be for the foreseeable future. You can’t get a qualified caretaker. What are you going to do with Becky in the unlikely event a judge sides in your favor? Keep her stranded out on this ranch with no one who can talk to her?”
He said nothing, and she barely stopped herself from thumping her fist to her forehead, little finger held upright in the sign for idiot.
Panic pushed her on. “You don’t even know her,” she said, her voice breaking.
Again, he stayed silent.
He wasn’t going to let her walk out of here with Becky. She could see that now. It had been foolish even to think she had a chance.
That didn’t mean she had given up or even given way. Her determination was as strong as ever. Becky deserved that. Becky deserved everything any other child had.
Father or no, Sam had never been a parent to her niece. So Kayla would do whatever needed to be done.
She moved to stand directly in front of him, forcing him to look at her. To listen. Just as she would when Becky—in one of her infrequent stubborn moods—refused to give Kayla her full attention.
She would offer him one last opportunity to do the right thing.
“You’ve got a problem,” she said flatly. “But we’ve got the perfect solution right here. I can communicate with Becky. And she’s known me as far