The Baby Bargain

“No!” Sean shook his head wildly as his voice cracked. “I’ve got to see her!”

“Get this straight,” Rafe said softly. “You won’t be seeing my daughter again—ever. You’ve done your damage, and now you’re finished. It’s over.”

“It isn’t!” Sean cried raggedly. “Dana?”

“Oh, Sean…” He never asked her for anything, and now that he had, she’d give all she held precious to help. But he might as well ask her to move a mountain.

“You come sneaking on my land, and I’ll have you arrested for trespassing,” Rafe continued. “And I promise you, sonny boy, this charge will stick. You got that?”

“Try and stop me, asshole!” Sean spun, jumped three steps to ground level and took off running.

Rafe took two strides after him, but Dana blocked his path. “Don’t.”

“So help me God, Dana, if he comes sniffing after her onto my land, I’ll hog-tie the brat and haul him home to you in my truck!”

“I’ve heard enough threats for one day.” Dana swiped the hair from her eyes, retreated to her swing and sat.

“How long have you been raising him alone? He’s out of control.”

“And I’ve had enough criticism about my child-rearing techniques, thank you. Want me to start in on yours?” Crossing her arms to wall him out, she closed her eyes, tipped her head back. Willed him to disappear in a puff of smoke.

No such luck. He growled something wordless, and the swing tilted as he sat down beside her. Their thighs brushed, and she shied away. After a moment, the swing rocked backward on its chains, glided forward. Dana heaved a sigh up from around her toes, lifted her heels up to the cushion, clasped her ankles. The swing arced gently through her self-imposed darkness, through the fragrance of roses. How odd to be rocked; she’d grown so used to doing for herself.

“Well, what now?” he asked finally.

“Now? I suppose I take the steaks out to warm up. I start the coals, bake the bread, make cookies for dessert tonight…” A distant, sleepy wail drifted through an upstairs window. “I comfort my daughter…”

“And what do I do about mine?”

“Try listening instead of ranting?” she suggested.

Warm fingers closed around her arm, just above her elbow. “Help me persuade her. Please?”

She bet he didn’t beg for help often. Still, she sighed and shook her head. “Can’t do it, Rafe. Zoe needs to find her way, not be shoved into somebody else’s plan for her life.”

“It’s the best plan,” he insisted. “The only plan right for her.”

“Then maybe she’ll come to see that in time. But it’s not for me to say.” Nor you.

The swing lurched as he stood. She squeezed her eyes tighter shut, then waited, willing him gone. At least her life had been peaceful before he stormed into it. If he left now…Was it too late to go back to that?

“Thanks,” he said bitterly.

“You’re welcome, Rafe.” Eyes closed, Dana waited till the crunch of his steps across the gravel had faded. Till she could hear nothing but the Ribbon River, chuckling down the mountainside. She sighed again, opened her eyes and went into her kitchen.

Who was she kidding? From now on, nothing would be the same.

“HERE COMES YOUR DADDY,” drawled Anse Kirby from his higher vantage point. He’d been lounging sideways, one arm braced back on the rump of his red roan, Tiger, watching Zoe wrestle with the top wire of the fence. Now he straightened in the saddle and gathered his reins.

“Oh?” Zoe levered her pliers around the curve of the cedar post, tightening the wire, then hammered the loosened staple home. She pulled a second staple from the carpenter’s apron she wore over her jeans and whacked that in, downstream of the first. “What should I do? Turn cartwheels?”

“Smile might go a long ways.” Anse apparently addressed the lowering sun.

“Yeah, go ahead. Take his side.” As her father’s top hand, he could hardly do else, Zoe supposed, but she was in no mood to be fair.

“Just a general observation. Woofle’s outgrinned you ’bout twelve to one, today.”

“Well, he had a banner day—found something dead to roll in. Me, I’ve done nothing but ride fence.” A chore she usually loved in the summertime. But not today. Not when she’d been given into Anse’s care like a five-year-old pest, with the implicit order, Keep her occupied. “I’m sorry, I know I’ve been a grump.”

“We all get a mood on, from time to time.” He made no visible move, but, responsive to a tensing of Anse’s thighs, Tiger swung to face the oncoming rider and set off at a lazy jog. Ignoring the horsemen, Zoe slogged off to the next post. Out on her flank, Woofle rose from the grass and trotted on a parallel course, careful to preserve the twenty-foot margin she’d ordained.

She’d completed that post, when the shadow of a horse and rider blocked the sun. “Anse will finish up here, Zoe. Let’s go.”

She shrugged and hung her hammer over the wire, untied her apron and draped it over the post. Anse had already dismounted and collected Miel, her little palomino, who’d been standing ground-hitched, placidly grazing. He passed her the reins with a wink. “Thanks for the help, Zoe.”

Like he needed it. She gave him a reluctant smile. “Sure. Anytime.” Probably every day this summer, if her father had his way. But he won’t. She cast Rafe a mutinous glance as her leg swung over the saddle and she found her stirrups.

Under the brim of his Stetson, his eyes were expressionless. He jerked his chin uphill. “Suntop?”