Читать книгу With This Child... - Sally Carleen - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Marcie pulled into the parking lot of the Holiday Inn in McAlester. Sam had called late last night and asked—ordered—her to meet him this morning to talk.

He’d been gruff, angry—frightened? She would be in his position.

I don’t believe you, he’d said. I want you to know that. I just don’t want any trouble for my daughter.

What he’d said didn’t matter. He did believe her, or he wouldn’t have asked her to meet with him.

During the hour-and-a-half drive down, she’d alternated between soaring ecstasy and black, subterranean despair.

It was going to happen. She was going to make contact with her daughter.

Would her daughter like her? Would Kyla hate her for not being determined enough to claim her as a baby?

Would Sam pass along his antagonism to Kyla, make her hate this woman intruding into their lives?

She slid from her car and spotted Sam across the lot. He must have been waiting for her.

He stepped down from the van and strode toward her, his scuffed cowboy boots making firm, determined contact with the solid concrete of the parking lot. His faded jeans were molded to the well-defined muscles of his thighs, and the sleeves of his denim shirt, rolled up to his elbows, accentuated strong forearms.

An unexpected surge of attraction coursed through Marcie, taking her completely by surprise. Astonished and dismayed by her inappropriate reaction, she shoved the feeling aside.

Sam Woodward was handsome, in a rugged sort of way. He definitely had a tantalizing, masculine appeal. But she couldn’t afford to let anything sidetrack her right now.

And Sam had the potential to do that. He was more than a little unsettling. He presented the picture of a man securely in charge. That was the last thing she needed. She was struggling to regain control of her life, to straighten out all the problems that had occurred because she’d lost it. As things stood, she was going to have to fight Sam for that control. She needed every advantage; she didn’t dare lose the slightest edge.

Sam had his own agenda, and it didn’t even come close to matching hers. If she didn’t have so much at stake, she’d run from the man as fast as she could.

She straightened her shoulders and went to meet him instead.

“Thank you for agreeing to talk,” she said, striving for an amicable beginning.

“You didn’t give me much choice.”

“I wasn’t given any choice when my daughter was taken from me.” As soon as she said the words, Marcie bit her lip, wishing she could recall them. So much for an amicable beginning. She’d intended to take charge of the discussion, to be reasonable, to keep things on an intellectual level, and already she’d slipped, let her emotions invade.

Sam didn’t reply, but she knew his guard had gone up.

She swallowed hard and forced herself to speak the appropriate words. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He nodded, unresponsive, his eyes focused straight ahead. Together, but miles apart, they entered the motel lobby.

“Food smells good.” She strove for some sort of conversation to break the thick tension surrounding them as they approached the dining room.

“Yes,” he agreed. “They have good food here.”

But when they were seated at a square, white-clothed table in the middle of the crowded room and the waitress came to take their order, Marcie asked only for coffee, and Sam seconded the request

“My stomach’s in knots,” she admitted, turning her glass of water nervously.

One corner of his mouth quirked upward in a way that almost resembled a weak smile. “Mine, too.”

Her gut unclenched a notch. She had to keep in mind that this was just as traumatic for Sam as it was for her.

She cleared her throat and plunged in. “So where’s...Kyla?” She made herself say the name, not refer to her as my daughter, not throw the issue at Sam the way she’d like to.

“At church.”

“She went alone?” For a fleeting moment, she felt guilty that, because of her, Kyla had to go to church without her father. Without Sam, she corrected herself.

“No, with a friend.”

A friend? Marcie’s heartbeat skipped erratically, remembering Kyla’s flippant comment about being grown up and dating and making Sam a grandfather. Had she completely missed her daughter’s childhood?

“A girlfriend?” She choked out the question.

He scowled. “Of course a girlfriend. What did you think? She’s only twelve.”

Marcie felt heat rise to her face... embarrassment that she knew so little about her daughter, relief at Sam’s words, and irritation at his tone, his superior knowledge of her daughter.

The waitress returned with thick mugs filled with steaming coffee.

Marcie sipped desperately, her attention fixed on the black liquid, a welcome distraction from the man sitting across from her. She wasn’t doing this well. She needed to lead the conversation and the decision of what to do next, to ensure that things turned out right this time.

“What do you want?” Sam suddenly demanded, snatching from her any last vestige of control over the situation.

She looked up from her coffee, refusing to back down from the anger in his dark gaze. “To be a part of my daughter’s life. To be her mother.”

“You want to take Kyla away from me.”

The statement fell between them like a weight.

“I told you, I don’t,” Marcie said. “To be honest, I wish I could. I wish I could turn back the clock and take her from you before you ever held her in your arms. But I can’t do that. I’ve lost almost thirteen years of my daughter’s life. I’ll never see her take her first step or hear her first word. I won’t get to play Santa Claus for her or hide Easter eggs. There’s no way I can ever get any of that back.”

Sam’s eyes darkened even more as she spoke. He wrapped big, capable hands around his coffee cup. His knuckles stood out white against his tan. The tendons bulged all the way up his forearms. For a moment, she thought he might crush the thick mug.

“If there were any way for me to take back my daughter without hurting her,” she went on, “I’d do it. If I had any evidence that you were a bad parent, I’d do my damnedest to get her away from you. But as far as I can tell, you’re a loving father, and she’s happy. And more than I want to have her with me, I want her to be happy.”

She’d faced that reality already, but putting it into words, hearing herself admit that she’d never really have her daughter, filled her with a bleak sense of loss.

It was all well and good for Dr. Franklin to beat his breast and repent his actions, but the past couldn’t be undone. She and Kyla were the ones who had to live with the results of those actions.

She and Kyla and Sam.

She looked down at the table, swallowed hard, picked up a spoon, then laid it back down.