Reluctant Father. Diana Palmer

from his grandfather about the old days. Meredith would sit and listen, her big eyes wide, her mouth faintly smiling. And Blake would brood, because his uncle had never given him that kind of time and affection. Blake was useful, but his uncle loved Meredith. He felt as if she’d usurped the only place in the world he had, and he’d resented her bitterly. And it was more than just that. He’d already learned that he couldn’t trust people. He knew that Meredith and her parents were dirt poor, and he often wondered if she might not have some mercenary reason for hanging around the Donavan house. Too late, he discovered that she hung around because of him. Knowing the truth put salt in an old wound.

      Plain Meredith, with her stringy dark hair and her pale gray eyes and her heart-shaped face. His uncle had loved her. Blake had almost despised her, especially after what had happened in the stable when he lost control with her. But under the resentment was an obsessive desire for Meredith that angered him, until it reached flash point the day his uncle’s will was read. He’d given his word to Nina that he’d marry her and he couldn’t honorably go back on it, but he’d wanted Meredith. God, how he’d wanted her, for years!

      She’d loved him, he thought wearily as he led the lawyer and child into the study. Nobody else ever had felt that way about him. His uncle had enjoyed their battles; they’d been friends. His death had been a terrible, unexpected blow, made worse by the fact that he’d always felt that his uncle might have cared for him if Meredith hadn’t always been underfoot. Not that it was love that had caused his uncle to adopt him. That had been business.

      Maybe his mother would have loved him if she’d lived, although his uncle had described her as a pretty, self-centered woman who simply liked men too much.

      So it had come as a shock to find out what shy young Meredith had felt for him. It didn’t help to remember how he’d cut her to pieces in public and private. Over the years since she’d left for Texas in the middle of the night on a bus, without a goodbye to anyone, he’d agonized over what he’d done to her. Twice, he’d almost gone to see her when her name started cropping up on book covers. But the past was best left in the past, he’d decided finally. And he had nothing to give her, anyway. Nina had destroyed that part of him that was capable of trust. He had no more to give—to anyone.

      He dragged his thoughts away from the past and looked at the child, who was staring plaintively and a little apprehensively at the door, because the lawyer had just smiled and was now making his way out, patent relief written all over his thin features. Sarah sat very still on the edge of a blue wing chair, biting her lower lip, her eyes wide and frightened, although she tried to hide her fear from the cold, mean-looking man they said was her father.

      Blake sat down across from her in his own big red leather armchair, aware that he looked more like a desperado in his jeans and worn chambray shirt than a man of means. He’d been out in the pasture helping brand cattle, just for the hell of it. At least when he was working with his hands on the small ranch where he ran purebred Hereford cattle, he could let his mind go. It beat the hell out of the trying board meeting he’d had to endure at his company headquarters in Oklahoma City that morning.

      “So you’re Sarah,” he said. Children made him uncomfortable, and he didn’t know how he was going to cope with this one. But she had his eyes and he couldn’t let her go to strangers. Not if there was one chance in a million that she really was his daughter.

      Sarah lifted her eyes to his, then glanced away, shifting restlessly. The lawyer had said she was almost four, but she seemed amazingly mature. She behaved as if she’d never known the company of other children. It was possible that she hadn’t. He couldn’t picture Nina entertaining children. It was totally out of character, but he hadn’t realized that when he’d lost his head and married her. Funny how easy it was to imagine Meredith Calhoun with a lapful of little girls, laughing and playing with them, picking daisies in the meadow….

      He had to stop thinking about Meredith, he told himself firmly. He didn’t want her, even if there was a chance in hell that she’d ever come back to Jack’s Corner, Oklahoma. And he knew without a doubt that she certainly didn’t want him.

      “I don’t like you,” Sarah said after a minute. She shifted in the chair and glanced around her. “I don’t want to live here.” She glared at Blake.

      He glared back. “Well, I’m not crazy about the idea, either, but it looks like we’re stuck with each other.”

      Her lower lip jutted, and for an instant she looked just like him. “I’ll bet you don’t even have a cat.”

      “God forbid,” he grumbled. “I hate cats.”

      She sighed and looked at her scuffed shoes with something like resignation and a patience far beyond her years. She appeared tired and worn. “My mommy isn’t coming back.” She pulled at her dress. “She didn’t like me. You don’t like me, either,” she said, lifting her chin. “I don’t care. You’re not really my daddy.”

      “I must be.” He sighed heavily. “God knows, you look enough like me.”

      “You’re ugly.”

      His eyebrows shot up. “You’re no petunia yourself, sprout,” he returned.

      “The ugly duckling turns into a swan,” she told him with a faraway look in her eyes.

      She twirled her hands in her dress. He noticed then, for the first time, that it was old. The lace was stained and the dress was rumpled. He frowned.

      “Where have you been staying?” he asked her.

      “Mommy left me with Daddy Brad, but he had to go out a lot, so Mrs. Smathers took care of me.” She looked up, and the expression in her green eyes was old for a little girl’s. “Mrs. Smathers says that children are horrible,” she said dramatically, “and that they belong in cages. I cried when Mommy left, and she locked me up and said she’d leave me there if I didn’t hush.” Her lower lip trembled, but she didn’t cry. “I got out, too, and ran away.” She shrugged. “But nobody came to find me, so I went home. Mrs. Smathers was real mad, but Daddy Brad didn’t care. He said I wasn’t his real child and it didn’t matter if I ran away.”

      Blake could imagine that “Daddy Brad” was upset to find that the child he’d accepted as his own was somebody else’s, but taking it out on the child seemed pretty callous.

      He leaned back in his chair, wondering what in hell he was going to do with his short houseguest. He didn’t know anything about kids. He wasn’t sure he even liked them. And this one already looked like a handful. She was outspoken and belligerent and not much to look at. He could see trouble ahead.

      Mrs. Jackson came into the room to see if Blake wanted anything, and stopped dead. She was fifty-five, a spinster, graying and thin and faintly intimidating to people who didn’t know her. She was used to a bachelor household, and the sight of a child sitting across from her boss was vaguely unnerving.

      “Who’s that?” she asked, without dressing up the question.

      Sarah looked at her and sighed, as if saying, oh, no, here’s another sour one. Blake almost laughed out loud at the expression on the child’s face.

      “This is Amie Jackson, Sarah,” Blake said, introducing them. “Mrs. Jackson, Sarah Jane is my daughter.”

      Mrs. Jackson didn’t faint, but she did go a shade redder. “Yes, sir, that’s hard to miss,” she said, comparing the small, composed child’s face with its older male counterpart. “Her mother isn’t here?” she added, staring around as if she expected Nina to materialize.

      “Nina is dead,” Blake said without any particular feeling. Nina had knocked the finer feelings out of him years ago. His own foolish blindness to her real nature had helped her in the task.

      “Oh, I’m sorry.” Mrs. Jackson rubbed her apron between her thin hands for something to do. “Would she like some milk and cookies?” she asked hesitantly.

      “That might be nice. Sarah?” Blake asked more curtly than he’d meant.

      Sarah