McKettrick's Choice - Linda Lael Miller [113]
He surprised her, as he so often did. “Go home to the Triple M,” he said. “I miss my daughter, and I miss the land.” He grinned again. “Hell, I even miss my brothers and the old man.”
“I envy you that,” Lorelei said. Maybe it was fatigue that was loosening her tongue. Maybe it was fear. Some need to connect with another human being, if only for a few moments. “I don’t miss anybody, except Raul and Angelina, and they’re probably better off without me around.”
Holt frowned. He’d been about to put his hat back on, but now he hooked a finger in the crown and gave it a distracted spin. “What about the judge? I mean, I know hard words have passed between you, but—well—he is your father.”
“He was William’s father,” Lorelei said wistfully. “Never mine.”
“William?”
“My brother,” Lorelei replied, figuring she was in so deep now, she might as well drown herself. “He was killed in a riding accident when he was nine. My father never got over that. Never got over wishing it was me that died, if somebody had to, instead of his only son.”
Holt shook his head, as if he couldn’t credit such a thing, though whether it was the judge’s feelings he was rejecting, or Lorelei’s perception of them, she couldn’t tell. “If that’s true, Lorelei,” he said gravely, and at some length, “then I’m sorry for you, and even sorrier for him.”
Lorelei’s throat went tight. There it was again, that dangerous kindness. Dear God, she was helpless against it. “You’ve never wished Lizzie’d turned out to be a boy?” she asked. If he got mad, it would be a relief, because she’d have cause to fight back. She didn’t like talking about her father; it made her feel desperate, lost and alone. Somehow, she’d never won his love, though God knew, she’d tried.
He set his jaw. “Never,” he said. Then, without any warning, he held out a hand to her. “Walk with me a little while?”
She surprised herself by setting aside her plate and letting him help her to her feet. Her appetite was gone, but fear made her restless, despite her fatigue, and she told herself some exercise might help.
“What happened to your mother?” he asked, when they’d started a wide circle around the camp. A few people glanced their way, most notably Rafe and the Captain, but no one else seemed to be paying them much mind.
Lorelei wondered why she didn’t bristle at the question. Maybe she was too tired, and too scared. She knew now that she should have stayed behind in Laredo with Heddy, if only because, that way, Melina would have stayed, too. But since it was too late, and since it was Holt she was talking to, she decided to keep that admission to herself. “She died when I was very young.”
Holt scanned the horizon, though it was barely visible, in the gathering twilight. “So did mine,” he said quietly. “I wish I remembered her.”
The backs of their hands touched as they walked. Quickly, Lorelei folded her arms, so it wouldn’t happen again. “I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it. She knew how hard it was to grow up without a mother, what a hole it left. As a child, she’d ached when dusk came and the women of the neighborhood called their broods in to supper. Angelina had tried her best to fill the gaps during those difficult years, but it hadn’t been the same.
All of a sudden, Holt stopped and turned to face her. The question he asked was so direct that it almost took her breath away. “Do you want kids, Lorelei?”
For a moment, she felt as bereft as she had on those long ago nights, standing in the yard in front of her father’s house, listening to the voices of other children’s mothers. How she’d longed to hear someone call her name.
“I think it’s too late,” she said, and nearly choked on the words.
“Too late?” Holt echoed, plainly surprised.
She looked away, looked back by force of will. “When I set fire to my wedding dress in the square that day,” she told him, trying for a smile and failing, “it was an ending. I’ll probably never get another chance.”
His expression