Longwalker's Child. Debra Webb

I’ll be in touch. Once the paternity issue is resolved in the eyes of the law, Mr. Longwalker, you may petition the court for custody.”

      Gray had a bad feeling about the custody part. Lauren Whitmore probably had the whole town on her side—including the judge. “How long will the test results take?”

      “Two weeks at least,” Davis answered smoothly.

      “The custody battle, however, could go on for months—” he peered self-righteously at Gray over his wire-rimmed bifocals “—or years even,” he finished smugly.

      Gray restrained the anger that skyrocketed inside him. He didn’t care how long it took. Sarah was his child, and he fully intended to have her. “Fine,” he relented, his patience holding on by a thin thread. “When can I see Sarah?”

      “Don,” Lauren protested. She clutched the arms of her chair, her knuckles white with the effort.

      “We won’t discuss visitation until after paternity has been established,” Davis stated, as if the issue was closed to further discussion.

      Gray rose to his full height of six feet two inches. He leaned over and placed his hands palm down on Davis’s gleaming desktop and settled a gaze Gray hoped communicated the seriousness of his words to the man staring up at him. “Discuss visitation or don’t discuss it, it makes no difference to me. But I will see my daughter. Is that clear?”

      “You will have absolutely no contact with Lauren unless it comes through me, Mr. Longwalker. I hope that’s clear,” he said cautiously. “And threatening me won’t do you any good,” he added carefully.

      “It’s not a threat,” Gray offered without apology. He straightened and picked up his hat from the table that separated his chair from Lauren’s. “It’s a promise.” He met Lauren Whitmore’s gaze for the space of two heartbeats before turning away.

      Gray strode out of the office without a backward glance. As angry as he was, he knew one thing for sure—he would never be able to forget the look on Lauren Whitmore’s face. As pale as a ghost, her eyes full of fear, she had looked ready to break down and cry.

      He hardened his heart against the sympathy that arose immediately. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t given her the opportunity to resolve this thing between the two of them. But she wanted no part of a negotiation. She had made up her mind long before laying eyes on Gray. She intended to keep his daughter from him, that much was evident. Gray clenched his jaw. He had no doubt that the woman cared deeply for his daughter. Lauren Whitmore would suffer as this battle played out. But her pain was inconsequential, Gray reminded himself. His only concern was claiming his daughter—Sarah.

      Chapter Two

      Gray stood in the middle of Thatcher’s only cemetery. The March wind whipped around him and through the branches of the old oak trees, the sound breaking the deathly silence. He felt cold and uncharacteristically lost inside. In the distance the small town that was supposed to be his home sprawled across the flat landscape that seemed to go on forever. The place had never actually felt like home to him, not even when he was a small child. No pleasant memories sprang to mind, no old friends he longed to visit. Nothing remained for him but pain and bitterness, and enough anger to last three lifetimes. But he’d been born and raised here.

      And that made this place home.

      Gray had always been an outcast. A half-breed bastard who worked like two men for half the pay of one. Gray swallowed the anger that accompanied that memory. Old man Jennings had at least given him a place to sleep, and three meals a day. No one else would have taken him in after his mother died, leaving him alone at sixteen, with no money or place to go. Gray drew in a deep breath and scanned the wide-open blue sky. It was during that eight-year stint on Jennings’s ranch that Gray had discovered his God-given talent with horses and how to use it. But it wasn’t until he left this hate-filled place that he had learned to utilize his skills to their fullest extent.

      Horse training required great patience and the ability to open himself completely to reach the animals, and before Gray could do that he’d had to learn to control the rage that had driven him from the age of ten. Self-discipline had been hard earned and long in coming. But he had mastered the art four years ago. Oh, he had the occasional relapse, like today in Davis’s office, but he’d grabbed back control swiftly enough. He wasn’t the same man who left here all those years ago. Despite the indifference and taunting he had suffered growing up, he held no true grudges, except one.

      Gray glanced beyond the rows of typical headstones until he found the one of the man who had sired him. A massive monument loomed over the family plot. He gritted his teeth and tamped down the churning emotions that threatened now, even after all this time. His father—the word turned his stomach—had taken advantage of Gray’s mother, turning her into his mistress. Then he’d killed her one inch at a time. Never once had the man spared one iota of concern for the illegitimate child born of their infidelity. By the time Gray had reached school age, the man had turned his back on both of them. Covered up his wrong doing, making their lives miserable in the process.

      Determined not to be undone by his past, Gray shifted his gaze back to the small headstone that marked Sharon Johnson’s final resting place. Tiny blue flowers blanketed the year-old grave. A frown furrowed his brow as he tried to think why Sharon would hide the existence of his child from him. They had been friends. It was true that he’d made a mistake by taking her to bed that last night, but she seemed to need him as much as he needed her.

      Gray blew out a weary breath. There was no point in wasting energy trying to analyze her motivation. The fact was she hadn’t wanted him to know, and she had made the Whitmore woman promise to keep the child from him. He could not bring himself to hold that mistake against Sharon. God knows he’d made his share. What was done was done.

      The sound of a vehicle pulling to a stop next to his truck tugged Gray’s attention in that direction. It was an older model sedan, its dark-blue paint dusty from the gravel road. He squinted to make out the face of the driver. The door opened and an elderly woman slowly emerged from behind the steering wheel.

      Mrs. Jennings.

      Gray removed his hat and waited silently as the old woman approached the cemetery gate.

      She hesitated when she noticed him. Gray saw the instant recognition flare. She eyed him another long moment. Then, using her cane for assistance, she closed the distance that separated them.

      “I’d heard you were back,” she said in a voice rusty with age. Faded-blue eyes studied him with surprising sharpness. “Causing trouble already, too, they say,” she added, pointedly.

      “Is that what they say?” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Maybe he did have one good memory or two. Marilee Jennings was one little old lady who had a stubborn streak herself. She liked nothing better than to put a cocky young man with a smart mouth in his place. No fifth-grader ever dared defy her authority. Not even Gray.

      She nodded sagely. “Of course I set them straight about that.” She leveled her gaze on his and thrust out her thin chin for emphasis. “I told them that to my knowledge Gray Longwalker never started any trouble in his entire life, but he sure as blazes would end it if anyone started it with him.”

      The smile won the tug of war with his lips. “It might not be so easy to end this time.”

      She lifted a sparse gray brow. “You may be right on that one. That city gal’s mighty sweet and extra good to that little girl of yours.” Mrs. Jennings leaned on her cane for support. “She’ll give you a run for your money. Have you got yourself one of those fancy lawyers?”

      “Yes, ma’am,” Gray assured her. “The best. I had hoped it wouldn’t come to that though.”

      The old woman shook her head. “Don’t count on it, Gray.”

      Gray glanced back at the sedan she had arrived in. “How is Mr. Jennings?”

      She pointed to the far side of the cemetery with her cane. “He passed on last