him an opportunity to buy back the land before he sold it?”
Her gaze clouded in confusion, then darkened. “I’m sure your father didn’t give him any opportunity whatsoever.”
Clay took that as a no.
If, as his father claimed, Wayne Powell had the chance to repay the loan and keep his land, why not tell his children?
Would Clay? Honestly, no. He’d have too much pride to admit to his children he couldn’t come up with the money.
Had he really been wrong about his father all these years? His father had said he was protecting Wayne. But at the expense of his relationship with his son? It didn’t make sense, not to Clay.
“Why are you asking?”
He considered telling Sierra the specifics of his conversation with his father, then decided against it. His dad could be lying. Clay needed to talk to his mother first. Even then, Wayne should be the person to tell his children the truth.
“My father mentioned something I hadn’t heard before.”
“What something?”
“It’s probably nothing.” He gazed down at his son who was soundly sleeping in his arms. When had that happened?
Longing squeezed his heart. This, a child of his own, was what he’d wanted, what he’d almost had and lost.
Only he’d always imagined having a wife along with his child. A wife he loved to distraction.
His gaze shifted to Sierra, slightly rumpled and yet incredibly appealing. She might have been his wife if things had worked out differently.
“Want me to take him?” she whispered.
“I’ll carry him to the house if that’s okay.”
“Sure.” She gazed adoringly at Jamie.
Clay almost felt like a heel insisting on taking Jamie half the time.
Not enough to alter his stand, however. Then again, he might be more inclined if Sierra ever looked at him the way she did their son.
They walked in silence to the house, entering through the kitchen door. Expecting Sierra to take Jamie from him, he was surprised when she said, “Do you want to put him to bed?”
They tiptoed down the hall and to the guest bedroom. The entire household appeared to be retired for the evening. In the room, Sierra switched on the nightlight. A ceramic teddy bear in pajamas sitting astride a calico pony provided enough illumination for Clay to see the portable crib on the floor beside the bed.
Together, he and Sierra gently removed Jamie’s outerwear. Clay lowered Jamie into the crib, laying him on his back. His limp arms fell to his sides, and his mouth moved noiselessly.
“Is he talking in his sleep?”
Sierra smiled fondly. “Babies do that.” She laid his jacket on the chair beside the dresser. “Once he’s down for the night, he usually doesn’t wake up till morning.”
“Is it always so hard to get him to sleep?”
“Not usually.”
“You tired?” Clay only now observed the shadows beneath her eyes and the lack of color in her cheeks.
“Some. You, too?”
“It’s been a tough week.”
“Yeah, it has.”
They stood for a moment, Clay thinking what it would be like to hold her in his arms and have her rest her cheek on his jacket as Jamie had done.
Talk about making a complicated situation more complicated.
“I should get going.”
“I’ll walk you to the door.”
He knew every inch of the Powells’ home, having spent endless hours there growing up. He could have found his way to the kitchen door with a triple blindfold.
Even so, he accepted Sierra’s offer.
On the patio, he turned to bid her good-night.
She stood, nervously rubbing her palms on her pants.
“Something the matter?”
“I, um, was going to have my attorney contact you tomorrow.”
“About the custody agreement?”
“Yes. And the living arrangements.” She exhaled, clearly struggling with what to say.
She was turning him down.
Disappointment arrowed through him. Up until this moment, he hadn’t realized how much he wanted her and Jamie to live with him. Granted, in the beginning, it had been a ploy to be close to his son. But that
Her gaze clouded in confusion, then darkened. “I’m sure your father didn’t give him any opportunity whatsoever.”
Clay took that as a no.
If, as his father claimed, Wayne Powell had the chance to repay the loan and keep his land, why not tell his children?
Would Clay? Honestly, no. He’d have too much pride to admit to his children he couldn’t come up with the money.
Had he really been wrong about his father all these years? His father had said he was protecting Wayne. But at the expense of his relationship with his son? It didn’t make sense, not to Clay.
“Why are you asking?”
He considered telling Sierra the specifics of his conversation with his father, then decided against it. His dad could be lying. Clay needed to talk to his mother first. Even then, Wayne should be the person to tell his children the truth.
“My father mentioned something I hadn’t heard before.”
“What something?”
“It’s probably nothing.” He gazed down at his son who was soundly sleeping in his arms. When had that happened?
Longing squeezed his heart. This, a child of his own, was what he’d wanted, what he’d almost had and lost.
Only he’d always imagined having a wife along with his child. A wife he loved to distraction.
His gaze shifted to Sierra, slightly rumpled and yet incredibly appealing. She might have been his wife if things had worked out differently.
“Want me to take him?” she whispered.
“I’ll carry him to the house if that’s okay.”
“Sure.” She gazed adoringly at Jamie.
Clay almost felt like a heel insisting on taking Jamie half the time.
Not enough to alter his stand, however. Then again, he might be more inclined if Sierra ever looked at him the way she did their son.
They walked in silence to the house, entering through the kitchen door. Expecting Sierra to take Jamie from him, he was surprised when she said, “Do you want to put him to bed?”
They tiptoed down the hall and to the guest bedroom. The entire household appeared to be retired for the evening. In the room, Sierra switched on the nightlight. A ceramic teddy bear in pajamas sitting astride a calico pony provided enough illumination for Clay to see the portable crib on the floor beside the bed.
Together, he and Sierra gently removed Jamie’s outerwear. Clay lowered Jamie into the crib, laying him on his back. His limp arms fell to his sides, and his mouth moved noiselessly.
“Is he talking in his sleep?”
Sierra smiled fondly. “Babies do that.” She laid his jacket on the chair beside the dresser. “Once he’s down for the night, he usually doesn’t wake up till morning.”
“Is it always so hard to get him to sleep?”
“Not usually.”
“You tired?” Clay only now observed the shadows beneath her eyes and the lack of color in her cheeks.
“Some. You, too?”
“It’s been a tough week.”
“Yeah, it has.”
They stood for a moment, Clay thinking what it would be like to hold her in his arms and have her rest her cheek on his jacket as Jamie had done.
Talk about making a complicated situation more complicated.
“I should get going.”
“I’ll walk you to the door.”
He knew every inch of the Powells’ home, having spent endless hours there growing up. He could have found his way to the kitchen door with a triple blindfold.
Even so, he accepted Sierra’s offer.
On the patio, he turned to bid her good-night.
She stood, nervously rubbing her palms on her pants.
“Something the matter?”
“I, um, was going to have my attorney contact you tomorrow.”
“About the custody agreement?”
“Yes. And the living arrangements.” She exhaled, clearly struggling with what to say.
She was turning him down.
Disappointment arrowed through him. Up until this moment, he hadn’t realized how much he wanted her and Jamie to live with him. Granted, in the beginning, it had been a ploy to be close to his son. But that
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