Renegade Hearts (The Kinnison Legacy Book 3) (14 page)

He glanced at the clock in his truck. It was a little after six p.m. Angelique should be home, or would be very soon. This time she wasn’t going to get rid of him so easily, not at least until he heard the truth from her lips.

A few moments later, he pulled into the gravel drive of the Greyfeather farm. The front door was open, allowing the evening breeze through the screen door. Angelique’s car wasn’t in sight. He shut off the ignition, deciding that he could find out whether Rebecca, too, had been keeping Angelique’s secret.

Rebecca appeared at the screen door as he walked up the steps.

“Dalton.”

“Rebecca,” he replied.

“Angelique’s not home yet from work.”

“That’s fine. I’ll start with you, then.”

She searched his face and, with a nod, opened the door to invite him in. “I’ve been expecting you to pay a visit.”

He glanced at her. “You have?”

“The sight,” she commented quietly.

“Oh.” He nodded, unable to keep the sarcasm at bay. “Handy thing to have at your disposal, I imagine.” He stood in the narrow foyer. The house, a simple three-story clapboard, felt like a dollhouse in comparison to the vaulted ceilings and expansive rooms he was used to at the ranch.

“Please, come in.” She ushered him to one of the love seats covered in traditional American Indian design. The room was comfortable, tailor-made for the salt-of the-earth folks he’d always known them to be. “I’ll get us something to drink—lemonade, tea?”

He shook his head no. Seated on the edge of the couch, he folded his hands over his knees. “No, I’m good, thank you.” Which was a lie. He was nowhere near good and his system craved either so long as it was laced liberally with Jack Daniels--which was part of why he was here. He waited, staring at the floor, searching for how to begin.

She sat in the rocking chair across from him, one of Rein’s handmade tree-trunk coffee tables between them. Scattered across its top were papers with sketches of horses that Emilee had been working on.

“She’s got a wonderful, creative mind,” Rebecca said as though reading his mind. “Just like Angelique, when she was young—always drawing animals.”

Dalton glanced up at the woman, seemingly lost in her thoughts. “I don’t know exactly how to ask this, and to be honest, I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to hear the truth, but I feel I deserve to hear it, either way.” He pulled out his phone and handed it to her. “Aimee took this just a short time ago, back at the ranch.”

The older woman held it carefully, showing no emotion, no reaction at all.

“Do you notice anything?” he asked.

She handed the phone back. “I encouraged her to tell you.”

There it was. Emilee
was
his daughter—his own flesh and blood. He raised his brows, the force of her comment like a sucker punch. He stared at her, letting his brain absorb the truth. “Then
you knew
?” he asked, trying to remain calm. How many people knew about this other than the one person who
should
?

“Only for certain the day of the barbecue. I had hoped that she would have used the privacy you had at the cabin to explain everything.”

He thought back to the twenty-four hours they’d spent together in seclusion. While she’d mentioned a couple of times that she’d had some difficulties, it seemed she hadn’t wanted to think about them. So, he hadn’t pushed her. Instead, he’d allowed attraction to outweigh intelligence. Reasoning that the more time they spent together, the more she’d be able to trust him…ironically. “Why wouldn’t she tell me? Why’d I have to find out like this? As if it didn’t matter--as if
I
don’t
matter.”
I have a little girl who’s almost seven--
seven
.” He tried to understand, but just couldn’t. He looked at Rebecca. “I’ve missed out on seven years.”

Rebecca’s soft, motherly gaze searched his. “When she called us to come get Emilee, we had no idea. You must believe me.”

He dug his palms into his forehead. His brain was a mess…his life, suddenly a fucking train wreck. “Does she think so little of me? Think that I wouldn’t care, or be a good father to Emilee?” God, the woman had taken his heart on some wild roller-coaster ride these past few weeks. Knowing the thrill of her body next to his, the serenity of watching her sleep, hearing her laughter and being damn giddy thinking he’d caused it. He swiped his hands down over his face. “I don’t understand why she didn’t contact me when she found out.”

“You were both very different people back then. I feel Angelique should be the one to explain everything, but I can tell you that she did not know for certain who Emilee’s father was until after she was born. By then, she’d married, and I think she’d hoped the baby would help save the marriage. She didn’t want your life to be changed—you never wanted family—you’d made that clear to her.”

He shook his head. “You know what’s funny? I should’ve never let her get out of that truck that night. I should have asked her to stay, not let her go back to Chicago. Maybe I was scared.” He looked at Rebecca. “Maybe I didn’t want to face what I felt back then. Maybe I figured that she had what she wanted waiting for her.” He swallowed, picked up his phone, and stared at the photo. In every other way--her hair, her mannerisms, her love for horses—he’d only seen Angelique. In these past few weeks, he’d grown accustomed to seeing Emilee running around the ranch. Before that, their lives had barely crossed. Still, it wasn’t until Angelique returned to End of the Line that Dalton begin to change his mind about second chances, starting over. He held out his hand, surrendering to what he knew of himself back then and what he’d come to realize in a few short weeks. “You’re right. She was right. I didn’t want the same things that my brothers did. I thought having my freedom to do whatever I pleased was enough.” He shrugged. “I thought I’d be content to be single for a long time—if not for the rest of my life.”

“As long as you were the one calling the shots, deciding when the relationship was over, you couldn’t get hurt. The same as you’d seen Jed get hurt, the same hurt you felt when your mom left you boys.” She walked around the table and sat beside him. She put a hand on his arm.

He shook his head. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Angelique was afraid, Dalton. She can go into detail if she chooses, but her ex-husband was abusive, both physically and mentally. It’s taken her a long time, and it may take the rest of her life to fully recover. But I know she’s determined to stand on her own and take care of the one person she loves more than her own life—Emilee. Her little girl.
Your
little girl.”

“I love her, Rebecca.” He looked up at her. “I’m in love with her.”

She smiled. “I know and deep down, I think she knows you do. But her past, a dangerous, frightening part of her life, is still very real.”

He wasn’t sure what the older woman meant. “You mean the things that her husband put her though, the one who died overseas? How could he be a threat to her now?”

Rebecca held his gaze and released a sigh. Dalton braced himself.

“They are divorced, it’s true, but for her and Emilee’s safety, no one but her lawyer knows she’s here.”

Confused, Dalton tried to make sense of this new information. “I don’t understand.”

Rebecca paused a moment as though debating whether to say any more.

“Rebecca, I’ve just found out I have a seven-year-old daughter. How bad can it be?”

“She was key witness in testifying against her husband on a variety of charges-- manslaughter, drug-trafficking, I don’t know what else—anyway, she managed to divorce him and she has a no-contact order in place should he ever receive an early parole.”

Dalton stared at the woman. He’d already ascertained that the man was no hero as she’d made everyone think, but he was having trouble wrapping his brain around this new information. “Any man who abuses a woman is no hero in my book--I don’t care if he’s a five-star general. That much I figured out. But you’re telling me this bastard is still alive?”

“He was in the service and at first she thought his anger issues were primarily related to his post stress. But things got progressively worse. Counseling didn’t help, but knowing my niece’s tenacity, she probably felt she had enough stamina, enough faith and love to weather them through.”

She stood and walked over to the front window, briefly lifting the curtain. She wore a worried look. “She learned the hard way that you can’t change another person.” Rebecca faced him. “You can only change yourself.”

Dalton dropped back in the chair, the news blindsiding him. He sat for a moment, letting the pieces fall together. As unexpected, as frustrating as it was to hear it all, it nonetheless began to make sense. The only thing he didn’t know for sure was how Angelique felt about him. He stood, restless in his need to talk to her. He checked the time, noting it was almost seven.

Rebecca crossed over to where her phone lay under a bolt of material. “This isn’t like her to not call when she’s going to be late. Though she did mention she had to close tonight with her boss leaving early.”

A gasp from Rebecca pulled Daltons gaze to hers.

“There’s a missed call from Angelique’s lawyer. He’s been trying to reach her all afternoon.”

“About what?”

She looked up. “Apparently Tony walked away from a work house this morning and remains at large.”

“Does he know she lived here? Did he know where you lived?”

She shook her head. “We never met him. I don’t think Angelique would have sent Emilee here if she’d ever mentioned living in End of the Line.

He dialed Angelique’s number. It went straight to voicemail. “Voicemail.” He glanced at Rebecca. “Would she shut off her phone?”

Rebecca shook her head.

“Okay, I’m heading down to Billings. Call Michael, but don’t alarm Emilee.” He headed to his truck, letting the screen door slam behind him.

“Be careful, Dalton,” Rebecca called after him.

“Keep calling her number. If you don’t get an answer in the next ten minutes, call the Billings police and send them over.” He had no Crow, no Choctaw blood in him that he knew of, but something caused Dalton’s gut to twist in a knot. He punched her number once more and it leapt to her voicemail. “Dammit,” he muttered, tossing the phone on the seat and pressing his foot down on the gas pedal.

***

Exhausted from a long week, Angelique gathered up the towels she’d used to bathe the dogs kenneled for the weekend. Dr. Benson had taken off early to go fishing and the fact that he trusted her to close up boosted her spirits. He’d been talking about taking more time off, if she thought she could handle things with his permanent staff.

“Don’t you look damn sexy in those scrubs,” a low-timbered voice said.

She dropped the wet towels in the basket and lifted it, prepared to tell Dalton that she hadn’t changed her mind. Her heart stopped.

With nothing but the counter between them stood Tony, dressed in dirty jeans and a too small T-shirt. A beard, new since she’d last seen him, covered the bottom half of his face. All she could think was that her lawyer was supposed to have contacted her if he’d gotten an early release. Angelique doubted very much that the Illinois correctional facility even knew where Tony was.

She reached for her phone, and he leapt over the counter and plucked it out of her hand. He then ripped the landline phone off the wall and threw it across the room.

Angelique gripped the basket, her eyes on his. “What are you doing here?” She glanced at the exit sign at the end of the hallway to the alley.

He sauntered toward her. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with dark circles, his smile menacing. “Is that any way to talk to your husband?”

She adjusted the basket, prepared to throw it at him if necessary. “That’s ex-husband, and you’re under a no-contact order.”

He shrugged. “Had to see my girl.”

She swallowed hard, the fear climbing in her throat. There was little traffic after five in this part of town. “My uncle is expecting me to help him; he’ll suspect something is wrong if I don’t show up at a specific time.” She hoped the fact that she’d not gotten around to calling Aunt Rebecca to tell her she’d be running later than normal would make her curious.

Tony glanced at the phone, looked at her, and then threw it against the wall. It splintered into pieces, scattering across the tile floor.

She wouldn’t be a victim. Hugging the basket, she ran at him, ramming him backwards with everything she had. His body slammed up against the plate glass window, cracking it from top to bottom. Taking advantage of his dazed state, she dropped the basket and ran down the back hall, pushing open the exit door. She stumbled into the alley, searching for someone nearby.

“You can’t run from me, bitch! You’ll pay for what you did to me!” he yelled.

She bolted for the front parking lot. If she could get to her car, there was an extra key hidden in the console. She heard the crunch of gravel from his rapid footsteps as she tried to open the driver’s side door. Her head snapped back and she cried out. He wrapped her braid around his fist, pulling her away from the car, his mouth pressed against her ear.

“I told you I’d find you. I’ve had plenty of time to think about what I’m going to do to you.”