“News travels fast. Titanville is a small town.”
“And the doors at Glory’s Gate need to be thicker.” He put his hand on her back and guided her to a corner. “I’m sorry. I doubt me saying that makes a difference, but I really am. I was making a point with your father.”
He sounded sincere, which meant exactly nothing. “The point being?”
“That when he says jump, I’m not going to ask how high. You’re beautiful, Skye. I hope you believe me because I’m telling the truth. You’re lovely and intriguing and if I had let Jed know I was the least bit interested in you, he’d have all the power. I can’t give that away.”
Words she could understand. But could she trust them? Or him? “Not to worry, T.J. We’re fine.”
One eyebrow lifted. “But you’re dismissing me?”
“I’m letting you off the hook.”
“We could have dinner together instead. Or have I blown it with you? The fact that your father’s pushing us to be together isn’t my fault.”
She smiled. “I know that. Not dating you because my father would like it is the same as dating someone he wouldn’t like just to annoy him.”
“Now I’m confused.”
“I don’t know you well enough to have an opinion of you.”
“Let’s change that.”
His eyes were deep blue and he wore his custom suit with style and ease. He should have been everything she ever wanted.
“Did you come on to Izzy?” she asked.
His gaze never wavered. “We talked last night. Mostly about how she wanted to kick my ass for what I’d said. Did I mention I was sorry?”
“More than once. But you also didn’t answer the question. Did you come on to my sister?”
“It’s a trick question. If I say yes, I’m a jerk. If I say no, you’ll think I don’t like her.”
She smiled. “Maybe.”
He leaned close and whispered in her ear. “You’re the one I’m asking out, Skye. Say yes.”
He didn’t make her heart beat faster, but that wasn’t a bad thing. It meant he would probably never break it.
“Please?” he murmured.
She hesitated, then nodded. “Dinner would be nice.”
MITCH PULLED the sock over his stump, only to wince as the soft fabric came into contact with the raw and bleeding flesh. He’d been doing too much, too soon, and he was paying the price. His therapist had warned him about pacing himself, not that Mitch had listened.
Ignoring the pain shooting through his leg, he eased it into the prosthesis, then tentatively pushed into a standing position. While it hurt, the soreness was bearable. As the alternative was crutches and an empty pant leg, he told himself he was fine.
He left the makeshift bedroom and walked into the kitchen. He wasn’t hungry, but knew if he didn’t make an appearance, Fidela would come looking for him. He’d escaped her last night by turning out the lights in his room, guessing she would think he was asleep. But that wasn’t going to work for long. Fidela was stubborn and wily. He would rather face her directly. Besides, she was a whole lot easier than the dark.
When it was dark, the past returned, haunting him like a ghost. He remembered what it had been like to be in love with Skye. How happy they’d been. He remembered his pain and disbelief when she’d told him it was over.
In the dark, he remembered the explosion and how Pete had saved him, dragging him, not even slowing when he’d gotten shot himself. Pete had recovered in a couple of weeks and was already back in Afghanistan. Mitch knew the loss of his leg was just one of those things and the sooner he got over it, the sooner the dark would lose its power.
He stepped into the bright, sunny kitchen. Fidela stood at the counter, mixing something in a bowl.
“Morning,” he said, then frowned when he saw a young girl sitting at the table. “Who are you?”
She had red hair and big blue eyes. She looked familiar even though he knew he’d never seen her before. Her spoon dropped into her cereal as she sprang to her feet and beamed at him.
“You’re here! You’re really here. Fiddle said you were coming home and I’ve been waiting forever.” She moved close and reached out a hand, touching his arm as if to make sure he was real. “I’ve been hoping and praying. Fiddle and I prayed for you every day. And I talked about you in school and we sent cards to the soldiers. Did you get mine? I put your name on the envelope. It was pink. I know that’s a girl color, but it’s pretty. And you’re a hero and I thought you’d like something pretty and Fiddle said you’d come home and you’re here!”
“Who the…” He caught himself. “Who are you?”
She grinned. “I’m Erin. Fiddle and Arturo missed you so much. Arturo didn’t say anything, but I could tell. He was sad in his eyes. And Fiddle talked about you all the time, so it’s like I knew you and then I missed you, too. Are you hungry? Fiddle’s making pancakes. I really wanted some, but I waited for you because you’re back and it’s polite. So do you want pancakes?”
Fidela wiped her hands on a towel. “Good morning,” she said, moving behind the girl and putting her hands on Erin’s shoulders. “This is Erin.”
“I told him that,” the girl said happily as she smiled at him.
“Skye’s daughter.”
He got it then-the red hair, the shape of her eyes, although Skye’s were green, not blue. He saw the similarities in the set of her shoulders.
Here it was-living proof of Skye’s betrayal. Her child with another man.
The anger that lived inside of him flared again, making him want to raise his fist to the heavens. But then what? Did he plan to call God out? And if he did, what made him think God gave a damn?
“Why are you here?” he snapped.
Fidela glared at him. “Erin comes over most days. She keeps me company.”
Some of the brightness faded from the girl’s smile. “I wanted to see you,” she said, sounding less sure of herself. “I wanted to meet you.”
Skye’s daughter. The child they were supposed to have together. She’d promised to marry him and then had walked away because her father had told her to. She’d chosen Jed’s old friend as a husband, rather than him, and Erin was the result.
“I’m going to make pancakes now,” Fidela told the girl. “Why don’t you get the plates.”
“Okay.” Erin looked at him out of the corner of her eye, then turned away.
Fidela was at his side in a heartbeat and dug her fingers into his arm. “She is a little girl,” she whispered. “She believes that you’re someone special. Do you understand me? She didn’t do anything wrong. You have no reason to be angry with her.”
He would have ignored the words, except Fidela was right. Erin wasn’t to blame for her mother’s actions and he hadn’t fallen far enough into hell to take out his rage on an innocent child. Not yet, anyway.
He nodded once.
Fidela tightened her grip.
“I’m fine,” he told her.
She released him and returned to the stove where she picked up a pot of coffee. Mitch limped to the table. Erin stood there, looking uncertain. He forced himself to smile.
“It’s nice to meet you, Erin,” he said, feeling stupid but determined to make an effort.
Her smile returned. “Do you want me to get you a mug? I know where they are.”
“Sure.” He eased into the seat. “Thanks.”
She brought back a blue mug and set it in front of him. Fidela poured his coffee.
“I’ll get started on the pancakes,” she said.
Erin sat across from him. “Are you happy to be home? I would get really sad if I had to go away. Were you sad? Do you have lots of friends where you were? I have friends and I have horses, too. I ride.”
“Erin rides over nearly every day all by herself. Very impressive for a little girl.”
Erin laughed. “Fiddle, I’m not little. I’m growing like a weed.” She smiled at him. “That’s what Mom says. Are your friends going to come visit you? Did you fly on a big plane to get home? I was on a plane once. I wasn’t scared
