Lucky Penny by Catherine Anderson Page B

hours with precious little rest. “The mining towns in the mountains west of Denver are well established with their own hotels, saloons, bathhouses, and postal services,” he informed her. “Why would a man travel clear to Denver when all the things you just mentioned are readily available in the town where he works? I’ll also add that I checked out those distant mining communities. Leadville, Central City. I even went as far as Summitville. There’s no record of another David Paxton ever having been in any of those places. Quite simply, the man doesn’t exist. Do you think I’d be here otherwise? That I’ve got a strange hankering to take on a ready-made family? I have a nice life in No Name—a job as the town marshal and a prosperous cattle ranch.”
    “Then go back to them!” she cried. “I didn’t invite you here.”
    “Yes,” he corrected, “you did. In dozens of letters written over the last six years, you not only invited me here, but you begged me to come.”
    She sank against the clapboard wall behind her. “Please, just go. Don’t do this.”
    “I don’t have any choice,” he replied.
    “Why?”
she demanded, her voice rising to a shrill pitch. “Are you out of your mind? I guess I know who the father of my child is, sir, and you are not he!”
    “Then why did you send me those letters?”
    “I didn’t!” She practically screamed the words, then pulled in a gasping breath in an obvious fight for self-control.
    David was fast moving beyond diplomacy. “I’ve seen Daphne. That child is the spitting image of my mother. She even has the Paxton birthmark on her neck. Don’t stand there and deny she’s mine. I know better.”
    She laughed—a brittle, frantic little bleep of sound followed by a gulp that bobbed her pebble-size larynx. “You’re delusional. That spot on my daughter’s neck is
not
a birthmark.” She paused and her gaze shifted nervously. “Hot grease splattered from a skillet while I was cooking when she was just a baby. The burn left a scar.”
    David had interrogated too many people to be easily deceived. The hand she used to grasp her shawl had gone white at the knuckles. Instead of looking him directly in the eye, she kept her gaze fixed on the building behind him. He didn’t believe a word she was saying. Maybe he’d guessed right about there being a new man in her life and marital plans in the making. The unexpected appearance of her child’s father would sure as hell be a fly in her ointment.
    “Bullshit,” he shot back.
    She jerked at the word, which told him she was unaccustomed to rough language. Well, he was no longer in any frame of mind to mince words.
    “I know a Paxton when I see one,” he added. “She’s my kid, God damn it! And now you expect me to just walk away? Think again. You look like you haven’t had a decent meal in weeks. Your clothing is threadbare. My daughter would be wearing rags if I hadn’t sent money. Yet you stand there denying me the right to care for her—and for you?”
    “I’ve done the best I can by her! You have no right to criticize me or how I’ve provided for my child. You’re stepping beyond your bounds.”
    “I meant no criticism. Under the circumstances, I think you’ve done a swell job. But with my help you can do better.”
    “I don’t
want
your help.”
    “Not even if it makes things better for Daphne?” hethrust at her, and saw her flinch. He pressed his advantage. He had a feeling he wouldn’t get many of them. “Whether you want my help or not, Paxton men don’t sire children and then walk away. We’re honor bound to do right by the child
and
the mother. Get that straight in your head. Now that I’m here, I’ll by God not leave without my daughter.”
    She looked at him as if he were a five-headed coiled rattler. “Are you
threatening
me?”
    “Read into it what you like. I didn’t stutter my words.”
    Even in the dim light, tears sparkled like diamonds in her eyes. “You have to listen