The Texan's Secret Daughter. Jolene Navarro

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      “Yes, she’s your daughter and we need to talk.”

      “You not only left me without a word, but you took my daughter?” He stared at the door Rosemarie had just walked through, his chest rising and falling in rapid movements. “I have a daughter.” He turned to her, eyes flashing intense heat. “Your parents knew. They knew.”

      “Yes. Like I said, we need to talk. I have to go right now, but I can meet you tomorrow—”

      “Tonight. We’ll meet tonight or I’m camping at the beach house door until we talk.”

      “Don’t come to the house. That would upset Daddy, and we have to keep him calm. I’ll meet you tonight at Pier 19. We can grab some coffee. Is the Painted Dolphin still there?” That was probably a mistake. Every wall was covered with memories of when they were dating and the early days of their marriage. The days that were filled with joy and laughter. When they thought they could conquer the world with their love.

      The last thing she needed right now was all the could-have-beens from the good days before the drinking started.

      He snorted. “Yeah, it’s there. New owners reopened it last month.” A grim expression shifted across his face. “What’s going on with your father?”

      “He suffered a heart attack while driving and crashed his car and wanted to recover at the beach house.”

      Elijah frowned. “I’m sorry. I know how close you are to your father. Is he going to be okay?”

      “The heart attack itself was minor as far as these things go, but he was also injured when he hit a street sign. It didn’t yield.” She held back a groan. Not an appropriate time for humor, Jazmine. “Anyway, if we can convince him to follow doctor’s orders, he’ll recover fully.” The acid in her stomach started climbing up her throat. “I also came because I knew it was time for us to come together and discuss a few things.”

      “Really? A few things?” he snarled at her. “About six years too late.”

      She took a step back. “This isn’t something that can be done over the phone. I wanted to see how you were and...” She cut her glance back to the dining area. “I was hoping you were...”

      “Sober?” His nostrils flared, a clear sign he was angry. “I’ve been sober for five years now.”

      Her eyes closed. If that was true, she didn’t want to think about the time she wasted worrying about calling him. “I was hoping you were better. I didn’t mean to meet you like this or for you to see her for the first time without...” She fluttered her hand helplessly in front of her, then looked at her bare wrist as though there was a watch there. The glimpse of her scar gave her new resolve, and she became businesslike once more. “I need to go. Rosemarie goes to bed at 8:30. I’ll see you at nine?”

      “Rosemarie? You named her Rosemarie De La Rosa?”

      “She’s Rosemarie Daniels. I did want Rose in her name, and since my mother’s family has a history of naming the girls after flowers, I thought...” She needed to stop babbling.

      His eyes went dark and hard. She took another step back. That was the expression of rage she had learned to fear. He had never deliberately hurt her, but that look had always made her wonder if the potential was there.

      “Does she even know about me? Does she know who her father is?”

      “Yes. She knows your name.” Today he didn’t resemble that boy at all. “How long have you been at the shelter? Never mind. I’m sorry. I need to go. I promise I’ll answer all your questions tonight. And don’t worry about the tab. I’ll cover it.”

      He leaned back on the counter. For a second, he closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply, causing his chest to expand. When he finally looked at her, the flash of anger was gone, but his face was closed and hard to read. “I can afford a couple of cups of coffee.”

      He smiled, the kind of smile that was a bit forced. Like he had to remind himself to play nice. It showed off the long dimple on his left cheek, and the new lines at the corner of his eyes. “I’ll even throw in some sopaipillas. I could actually get you one of everything on the menu if you want. I have an in with the chef.”

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. I just—” This was so much worse than she had feared. God, please lead me in this and give me the words and strength I need to make this right for everyone.

      He straightened and walked toward her. When she backed away from him, he stopped and frowned. “Why are you acting as if you’re afraid of me? I never hurt you.” His hard gaze held her in place, studying her like an image he couldn’t identify. “Did I?”

      Forcing herself to stand still, she shook her head. “No. You never hurt me. I’m sorry.” Why was she apologizing?

      “Don’t worry about it. It takes a lot more these days to upset me. Just be there.” Each word clipped and tense. “If you’re not, expect me at the house. I’ll stand at the door until you answer.”

      Her phone vibrated. She glanced down and saw her mother’s name. “I’ve gotta go.”

      “Jazz?”

      His low voice made her knees weak. She could not afford to be weak. “Don’t call me that. I’m not that naive girl anymore.”

      “You’ll be there?”

      “I’m not the one who breaks promises.” With resolve, she pivoted and headed for the door.

      “No, you only hide a child from her father.”

      She almost stumbled. That was a punch to the gut. And the worst part? He was right. And he had every right to be angry. But she was not going to regret what she did to keep her daughter safe. Not looking at him, she replied, “I’ll be there. I’m also going to do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”

      Then she rushed out of the pantry area. Now she was going to have to explain all this to her daughter.

       Chapter Two

      Standing alone, Elijah tried to clear his brain. The hum of the commercial refrigerators gave him something safe to focus on, anything other than the curve of her face. The rust colored freckles that dusted her cheeks over soft mahogany skin. The need to reach out and touch her, to make sure she was real had been a punch to the gut. He buried his fingers in his hair and dropped his head.

      For over five years, he had practiced his apology, holding each word tightly in his mind until the day he could tell her. He had written letter after letter, flooding her parents’ mailbox with them. Not that she had seen any of them—her parents had made that clear—but he had been desperate to make things right. And now the day had come, and he hadn’t uttered a word of his apology. He’d blown it. Anger soured his stomach.

      Because she had stolen his child. Digging his fingers into his scalp, he dropped into a crouch, elbows dug into his knees. Did she actually believed he was homeless? He laughed. Alone in the pantry, he laughed out loud.

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