have our differences of opinion, I thought I’d better get things straight with you.”
“Such as?” Suddenly she wasn’t hungry.
“Assuming we do find Elizabeth—”
“We will. I will.”
“And once you do, what then? What’re you plannin’ to do?” he asked, eyes narrowing on her.
“Meet her.”
“You mean meet her parents.”
“I mean her adoptive parents,” she clarified, bristling as she cut into a waffle with the side of her fork and plopped the piece into her mouth.
“And then?” he asked, as he pronged a peach slice with his fork. “What if they don’t want to meet you? What if they want to go to court to keep you from seeing her? What if your presence would be damaging to her, or her family? Ever thought of that?” he asked as he took a bite.
The waffle turned to dust in her mouth. She forced down a swallow and felt her stomach begin to revolt as the very doubts that had kept her awake at night returned to plague her. “Of course.”
“But you’re going to do this your way.”
“Yes.” She set her fork down. “But you don’t have to be a part of it, Nevada. No one’s twisting your arm.”
“That’s not what I meant. I just wanted you to look at all the angles.”
“I have. Dozens of times. Believe me. It keeps me awake at night. But this is something I have to do.” She hooked her thumb at her chest and realized that her coverup gaped, that the tops of her breasts were bare. Lord, this was ridiculous, sitting here half-naked, eating breakfast with her ex-lover and discussing the child she’d thought was long dead. She adjusted her lapels. “It’s time to set the record straight and I... I have to at least see her.” Her voice faded slightly as emotion gripped her throat. “Look into her eyes.”
“Hold her?” he asked, and she shuddered inside.
Oh, God, yes, I want to hold my baby. Hold her and never let go. “If ... if it’s possible.”
One dark eyebrow rose over the top rim of his sunglasses, but he didn’t comment. Shelby forced as much of her breakfast down as she could, but her appetite had waned and she had no choice but to face Lydia’s motherly reproach.
“What does your father say?” Nevada asked, after several long minutes when the only noises that disturbed the silence were the birds fluttering in the pecan trees and the clink of their forks against their plates.
“Not much. He started out denying knowing anything about it and now avoids the subject.”
“You want me to talk to him?”
“No!” she said vehemently, then bit her tongue when she saw the cords of his neck stand out above the open collar of his shirt. “I—I think I’d better handle it myself.”
“Okay, but I’m willing to step in.”
“Thanks.” She tried to force some enthusiasm into her voice but when it came to dealing with her father, she was certain she would make more headway than Nevada Smith, a man forever branded as a useless, uppity half-breed by the Judge. A man who, as a teenager, had worked hauling hay and rounding up cattle for the Judge before he’d been fired for getting into a fight with the foreman, a man who had stood before her father in the courtroom. “I’ll deal with Dad.”
“Let me know if you change your mind.” Nevada stretched out of his chair, took a long, slow look around the grounds and then hooked a thumb in a belt-loop of his jeans. “Keep me posted if you find anything out.”
“I will. And the same goes for you.” She stepped into her thongs and walked him through the gate. She couldn’t remember the last time Nevada had been to her house. Had he ever been?
He paused at the front of the house where his pickup, a dusty, dented reminder of his own lot in life, was parked facing the main gate. “And Shelby,” he added, turning and reaching up as if to touch her. But before his fingers grazed the skin of her bare arm, he let his hand fall to his side. “If Ross McCallum tries to contact you or bother you—”
“He
“Such as?” Suddenly she wasn’t hungry.
“Assuming we do find Elizabeth—”
“We will. I will.”
“And once you do, what then? What’re you plannin’ to do?” he asked, eyes narrowing on her.
“Meet her.”
“You mean meet her parents.”
“I mean her adoptive parents,” she clarified, bristling as she cut into a waffle with the side of her fork and plopped the piece into her mouth.
“And then?” he asked, as he pronged a peach slice with his fork. “What if they don’t want to meet you? What if they want to go to court to keep you from seeing her? What if your presence would be damaging to her, or her family? Ever thought of that?” he asked as he took a bite.
The waffle turned to dust in her mouth. She forced down a swallow and felt her stomach begin to revolt as the very doubts that had kept her awake at night returned to plague her. “Of course.”
“But you’re going to do this your way.”
“Yes.” She set her fork down. “But you don’t have to be a part of it, Nevada. No one’s twisting your arm.”
“That’s not what I meant. I just wanted you to look at all the angles.”
“I have. Dozens of times. Believe me. It keeps me awake at night. But this is something I have to do.” She hooked her thumb at her chest and realized that her coverup gaped, that the tops of her breasts were bare. Lord, this was ridiculous, sitting here half-naked, eating breakfast with her ex-lover and discussing the child she’d thought was long dead. She adjusted her lapels. “It’s time to set the record straight and I... I have to at least see her.” Her voice faded slightly as emotion gripped her throat. “Look into her eyes.”
“Hold her?” he asked, and she shuddered inside.
Oh, God, yes, I want to hold my baby. Hold her and never let go. “If ... if it’s possible.”
One dark eyebrow rose over the top rim of his sunglasses, but he didn’t comment. Shelby forced as much of her breakfast down as she could, but her appetite had waned and she had no choice but to face Lydia’s motherly reproach.
“What does your father say?” Nevada asked, after several long minutes when the only noises that disturbed the silence were the birds fluttering in the pecan trees and the clink of their forks against their plates.
“Not much. He started out denying knowing anything about it and now avoids the subject.”
“You want me to talk to him?”
“No!” she said vehemently, then bit her tongue when she saw the cords of his neck stand out above the open collar of his shirt. “I—I think I’d better handle it myself.”
“Okay, but I’m willing to step in.”
“Thanks.” She tried to force some enthusiasm into her voice but when it came to dealing with her father, she was certain she would make more headway than Nevada Smith, a man forever branded as a useless, uppity half-breed by the Judge. A man who, as a teenager, had worked hauling hay and rounding up cattle for the Judge before he’d been fired for getting into a fight with the foreman, a man who had stood before her father in the courtroom. “I’ll deal with Dad.”
“Let me know if you change your mind.” Nevada stretched out of his chair, took a long, slow look around the grounds and then hooked a thumb in a belt-loop of his jeans. “Keep me posted if you find anything out.”
“I will. And the same goes for you.” She stepped into her thongs and walked him through the gate. She couldn’t remember the last time Nevada had been to her house. Had he ever been?
He paused at the front of the house where his pickup, a dusty, dented reminder of his own lot in life, was parked facing the main gate. “And Shelby,” he added, turning and reaching up as if to touch her. But before his fingers grazed the skin of her bare arm, he let his hand fall to his side. “If Ross McCallum tries to contact you or bother you—”
“He
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