Chapter Thirty

Brantley's worn boots ate up that plushly carpeted hallway as he paced back and forth, back and forth. He shoved his hand through his dark hair and puffed his newly lit cigarette for all he was worth.

Damn...

He wanted Rebecca. He wanted a future that had her in it. He'd done everything he'd done in the past year just to ensure there'd be a chance at that future...

But here Rebecca sat in her gaudy house with all her fineries and Brantley just didn't fit. He could never live here. He could never be surrounded by so much wealth and ever be comfortable.

And a babe? What was a man like Brantley supposed to do with a babe? Surely he'd break it somehow... and if it did manage to survive, what did Brantley know about being a father? Nothing, he knew absolutely nothing.

The life he'd lived had been a hard one—weakness, softness, caring—all those things could get a man killed. But weren't those the same things he'd need in order to help raise a child? The only father figure Brantley had ever had in his life was Hoff.

"Can I ask you why you're out here pacing the hallway instead of meeting your child?" Rebecca's voice came from behind him. "If this isn't what you want then you need to go now and not waste another moment of my time. I didn't ask to get with child, Brantley, I didn't even know I could, but it happened and you can either accept it and build a future with us or you can leave. I understand if your choice is to go. You didn't ask to be a father."

Brantley could hear the pain in her voice. It made his own heart ache. Rebecca had known enough pain in her life—he didn't need to add to it. But what the hell was he supposed to do?

He kept his back to her because it was easier to speak when he wasn't look in those brown eyes. "You were never mine, Rebecca, not really. But damn if I didn't find myself imagining a future with you the entire time we were in that cabin. You got in my blood, made me want more than what I had."

"Brantley I was yours... I am yours."

Brantley felt a jolt of want but shook his head, still not looking back at her. "Everything I've done since that cabin was done in an effort to make sure you were safe.. and to ensure a chance at that future I'd pictured."

Rebecca's voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. "And I'm guessing a child was never part of that future you wanted?"

Brantley was too damn tired to lie. "No, it wasn't. You weren't supposed to be able to have children and I never once in my life wanted to be a father."

"I never misled you, Brantley. I honestly did not know I could conceive a child."

Brantley rubbed at the back of his neck. "I know you didn't and I am happy that you were wrong, Rebecca. You wanted that babe. You needed that babe."

"But you don't?"

Brantley's heart twisted. "When I pictured our future, this wasn't it. This house, while it's damn nice, I can't live here. I don't know how to be a father. I don't fit here. I don't fit in this life you've made yourself. And I'm not mad at you—I'm not blaming you. You wanted happiness and I saw you outside with your brother. You found happiness. That's all I ever wanted for you."

Brantley stiffened, a tremble washing over him when he felt Rebecca's hand on his back. "Do you remember what you said to me just before Martin took me away?"

Brantley jaw tightened as he nodded. "Yeah I remember." He'd told her to find her happiness.

"And do you remember what I said to you?"

His heart ached. "I remember." She had told him that he was her happiness.

Her fingers ran down his back as her arm fell away. "I love you, Brantley. Against all odds I fell in love with you in that shack. All I've dreamed of since was a future with you, but since you were dead, I knew those were dreams that could never come true. When I saw you, I thought maybe, just maybe , my dreams could come true." She paused and Brantley heard her take a steadying breath. "But I don't want those dreams if you're not sure they are what you want too. I love you enough to let you walk away if you won't be happy with us."

Brantley swallowed hard. Dammit, he didn't want a future if Rebecca wasn't in it. Rebeca was what he wanted.

"Can I..." His voice trembled and he knew his hands were shaking. "Can I meet my daughter?"

Brantley heard the swishing of skirts as Rebecca came around him. She stood in front of him and Brantley let his eyes once again drink in the sight of her face. That dark hair, that pale skin and those doe eyes that were red rimmed and full of tears.

Brantley followed one of those tears as it slid down her cheek and his eyes traced the path it made along her graceful throat. Then his gaze went lower still to the peaceful bundle in her arms.

His eyes landed on that pink skin all wrapped in a yellow gingham blanket. Dark hair was thick on the babe's head and her rosy cheeks were full. Blue eyes gazed up at him as if seeing straight into his soul.

She had Rebecca's dainty nose and her stubborn chin.

His daughter. Their daughter.

The babe's arm had broken free from the blanket she was wrapped in and Brantley reached up with a trembling finger. He placed that finger, covered in callouses and scars, against the silk smooth skin of his daughter's hand.

Never in his life had Brantley had something tug at his heart quite like when that tiny pink hand, closed around his finger and squeezed tight.

"What's..." Brantley cleared the emotion from his throat, never taking his eyes off that little pink face. "What's her name?"

"Lorelie. Lorelie Isabelle Mitchel."

Brantley's eyes widened and he moved his gaze to Rebecca's face. "You named her after my mama?"

Rebecca's gentle hand swiped a tear from Brantley's cheek as she nodded. "I did. I know how much your mother meant to you."

He nodded and looked back down at his daughter, wishing he could somehow stop the tears that were rolling down his cheeks but unashamed to shed them for Rebecca to see. "And you gave her my last name?"

"Of course I did. She's your child and I was proud to be carrying your child."

A smile faintly curved Brantley's lips. Rebecca was such a strong woman. Strong, warm, smart, resourceful... and damned beautiful. Of course she wouldn't give the baby Martin's last name, or even her maiden name. Of course she would give her the last name of a dead outlaw just because she didn't give a damn about what anyone else thought.

Brantley felt Rebecca's gentle touch on his arm and Lorelie's tiny hand was still wrapped tight around his finger. Who was he kidding? He couldn't leave them. If he walked out that door, if he walked away from these two ladies, Brantley would never again know happiness. He would spend the rest of his miserable life wondering what could have been had he been brave enough to stay.

Brantley met Rebecca's gaze, looked into her tear-filled brown eyes and smiled. "I reckon I'm yours, Rebecca. I ain't going anywhere."