A Father's Promise. Helen Myers R.

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      The man was clever. Sneaky. Low-down. He’d once told Bud that he had the personality of a fox. Now he decided his friend had taken the analogy too seriously.

      “Up yours, compadre.”

      “I could always haul you in on a DWI.”

      It took all of John’s control not to lunge out through the half-lowered window. “You know damned well that I haven’t had a drink in—”

      “Ah-ah-ah.”

      “Since the day John, Jr. was born,” he snarled.

      “A whole ten days, good job. Because with a great-looking boy like that, it wouldn’t make sense to stick your ornery neck out any farther than it already is. Understand?”

      “Remind me to call you if ever I have a massive coronary,” John muttered sarcastically. “It would be comforting to know someone was around who would be sympathetic.”

      Bud straightened somewhat and looked up and down the road. “I am sympathetic, J.P., but you’ve gotta pull it together now.”

      Feeling another surge of panic and frustration, John replied with a snort. “For what?”

      “For that new life beside you, you big lummox! The one who didn’t do a danged thing to deserve this, but who’s stuck having to live with what you’ve helped create for him.”

      John felt Bud’s words reverberate through him. No matter how annoyed he became with his friend, the truth remained irrefutable.

      “I know you’re right but…I don’t know what to do,” he whispered to the dashboard, afraid to be heard, afraid he wouldn’t be.

      “What do you want to do?” came the gruff, though empathetic question.

      He didn’t have to think about the answer at all, although five minutes ago he’d had something far more vengeful in the forefront of his mind. “File for a divorce and get full custody of my kid as soon as possible.”

      “Anything else?”

      “Raise him to be a better man than his father,” he said grimly, only to add with no small anxiety, “but…I don’t even know where to begin.”

      “Take it one step at a time, friend.”

      John wanted to nod; instead he gripped the steering wheel. “There’s something else, too. I want to get Dana back.”

      Several long, weighted seconds passed. “You’ve never had Dana, John,” came Bud’s reluctant reply. “Not any more than my kid ever possessed that orphan fawn the year we rented that place near your east boundary. Some wounded things can’t learn to trust again after they’ve been damaged.”

      Everything Bud said was true, and he should know; he was one of the few in town who understood exactly how rough a childhood Dana had experienced. Frustrated and often left feeling helpless due to his youth, John had used Bud as a sounding board. But that was then. Donnal was long gone and as far as John was concerned, nothing was over until it was over. This conviction strengthened his resolve, was the steel that kept his spine straight.

      He felt Bud’s stare for another few seconds and then his friend swore under his breath. “Well then, stop turning my road into a parking lot while I’m standing out here like a drowning fool. You turn that way,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

      Farm-to-Market Road 5555. Like all the nonexistent telephone numbers on TV shows, this one ricocheted through John’s mind like a UFO streaking for home, triggering memories that were not all good. Not hardly.

      “She may not want to see me,” he said, thinking of that last ugly scene between them. It had been the evening before he’d left for the stock sale in Abilene and driven by jealousy and fear, he’d jumped to some terrible conclusions about her and Guy Munroe.

      “Probably not,” Bud agreed. “I said she was cautious, not stupid.”

      John shot his friend a withering look. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

      “I’m paid to uphold the law for all of my constituents. The fact that deep down I may have hoped you and Dana could have overcome both of your backgrounds and created something special together is beside the point.”

      Hearing him speak in the past tense wasn’t reassuring, either. “You don’t believe it’s still possible?”

      Bud wrinkled his nose. His dripping glasses inched back up the bridge a bit. “You were always too much for her to handle, my friend. Now there’s two of you Paladins. What do you think? Either way,” he added, angling his head so that the collected rainwater sluiced off the rim of his Stetson, “you keep your temper in check, hear?”

      “I never hurt her the way her father did, and I never would.” He knew Bud would understand his dangerously soft tone.

      “No man can say what he’d do in a moment of passion, John. Fact is, you never erased the look of wariness in her eyes. Could be you even made it worse. I have seen you lose control enough not to care how badly you upset her. So I’m telling you outright, don’t make me have to choose between you.”

      Maybe Bud was within his boundaries to read him the riot act, but that didn’t mean John had to like it. “Go dry off,” he said, shifting into gear again. “You won’t have to worry about any—calls this afternoon. At least not any from her place.”

      The lawman straightened and held up his hands in surrender. “Having your word on that makes me feel a lot better. Thanks, J.P…. and good luck.”

      As his friend returned to his car, John rolled up his window and turned left onto Dana’s street. Ironically his shaking had stopped, but now the rock he perpetually seemed to carry in his chest suddenly began slamming against his breastbone like a medieval battering ram.

      Had he been intending to do this all along? What did that make him—besides a jerk for blowing his chances with her in the first place? He gripped the steering wheel more firmly. How was she going to react? Would he see at least a flash of joy in those beautiful brown eyes of hers?

      A soft mewing sound rose from the box.

      “We can’t ask for a miracle right off,” he said, his gaze locking on the house. “It may take some time and even more work. She was pretty upset the last time I saw her, but I promise you this, little guy, if there’s a snowball’s chance in, er, never mind. Just trust me. One look at you and she’ll be hooked. I promise you’ll have a momma—the best—before all this is over.”

      But he didn’t feel quite so confident as he eyed Dana’s home. He’d hated the small white frame house even more than their former dwelling from the moment he’d heard that she’d planned to buy it for herself and her mother. He’d understood the frustration she’d been experiencing with spending money on rent, but had believed he’d had a better idea. Only she’d rejected it. Rejected him.

      The place looked somewhat better now. In the two plus years she’d been living there, she’d planted shrubs and repainted the cottage. The trim was now an attractive country blue instead of the ugly medicinal pink it had been. Nevertheless, John still disliked the house, having always СКАЧАТЬ