itself.
“Why would he do this?” she asked no one in particular.
“Maybe it’s explained in the other letter,” he offered.
Glaring at him again, she grabbed the other envelope off the table. “I suppose you know what’s in this one, too.”
“No. And as I told you, I didn’t know what was in the other one, either.” For some reason, he no longer wanted to rile her.
She read, tears of anger streaming down her cheeks, dripping off her chin onto the paper. Wolf sympathized with her. He couldn’t understand why Amos had done such a thing. What in hell would have made Amos think he would agree to it?
When she finished, she let out a wail of anguish, crushed the letter into a ball and tossed it onto the table. It bounced, landing on the floor beside him.
She ran from the room. Seconds later he heard a door slam, and he was alone in the kitchen with the baby, who was crying as well, her fingers periodically jammed into her mouth.
He picked up the crumbled paper off the floor and put it on the table, not wanting to know what was written on it. He had too much to consider, himself. Strangely, it was all unreal to him. Marriage to Miss Julia? It wouldn’t happen. Something could be done to avoid it. He could …
Wolf scratched his chin, a feeling of unease tunneling into his stomach. He could loan her the money he’d gotten from Angus to keep her creditors at bay. Yes, he could. But did he want to? Hell, the money wasn’t the issue. She could have the money, for all he cared.
But a new feeling grew in his chest, like a seedling taking root. This was his chance to do something with his life. And he was selfish enough to want to take it.
Hoping to distance himself from the sound of the bawling baby, he started to leave. He gave her one final look, and she stopped crying. She continued to hiccough and suck loudly on her fingers, all the while staring at him with those big blue eyes.
“Ah, hell,” he muttered. He headed for the back door, then stopped when the baby let out another wail. With a shake of his head, he returned to the table and picked up the oatmeal. He’d never been able to stand the sound of a crying female—no matter what her age.
Someone had once told Julia she had a photographic memory; the ability to see words in her mind. Recalling the letter now, this was the first time she’d felt it was a curse rather than a blessing. Her father’s words burned into her brain. Some of them actually making her head hurt.
Julia, dearest daughter,
I know you think I’ve betrayed you. Wolf McCloud’s inheritance will save the ranch for you. Without marriage, my pretty Julia, I fear he won’t take my words seriously. I know how you think you feel about him, honey, but give him a chance. I would never do anything in the world to hurt you. Please remember that.
For your old Papa.
Now, she stood at the window, ignoring the tears that continued to track down her cheeks. Why had he done this? He’d certainly not been in his right mind. But she knew with a wilting certainty that of all her father’s failings, a weak mind hadn’t been one of them. He may have been troubled and ill, but he wasn’t insane.
Marymae’s voice filtered through her pain, and she gasped. Lord help her, she’d left the baby with that … that … that man.
Scrambling to the door, she flung it open and rushed to the kitchen, where she stopped short. Wolf McCloud had straddled a kitchen chair and was diligently feeding Marymae her oatmeal.
Chapter 4
4
T he tranquility was deceptive as the three of them headed toward Martinez. They’d hitched the geldings to the buggy, leaving Sally and Baptiste behind—well separated from each other.
Marymae was good in the buggy; it rocked her to sleep. Julia’s mind whirled with thoughts of getting rid of McCloud. She had insisted they see Mr. Williams. Surely something could be done about the ridiculous contents of her father’s will. McCloud was quiet as well. Julia sensed a
“Why would he do this?” she asked no one in particular.
“Maybe it’s explained in the other letter,” he offered.
Glaring at him again, she grabbed the other envelope off the table. “I suppose you know what’s in this one, too.”
“No. And as I told you, I didn’t know what was in the other one, either.” For some reason, he no longer wanted to rile her.
She read, tears of anger streaming down her cheeks, dripping off her chin onto the paper. Wolf sympathized with her. He couldn’t understand why Amos had done such a thing. What in hell would have made Amos think he would agree to it?
When she finished, she let out a wail of anguish, crushed the letter into a ball and tossed it onto the table. It bounced, landing on the floor beside him.
She ran from the room. Seconds later he heard a door slam, and he was alone in the kitchen with the baby, who was crying as well, her fingers periodically jammed into her mouth.
He picked up the crumbled paper off the floor and put it on the table, not wanting to know what was written on it. He had too much to consider, himself. Strangely, it was all unreal to him. Marriage to Miss Julia? It wouldn’t happen. Something could be done to avoid it. He could …
Wolf scratched his chin, a feeling of unease tunneling into his stomach. He could loan her the money he’d gotten from Angus to keep her creditors at bay. Yes, he could. But did he want to? Hell, the money wasn’t the issue. She could have the money, for all he cared.
But a new feeling grew in his chest, like a seedling taking root. This was his chance to do something with his life. And he was selfish enough to want to take it.
Hoping to distance himself from the sound of the bawling baby, he started to leave. He gave her one final look, and she stopped crying. She continued to hiccough and suck loudly on her fingers, all the while staring at him with those big blue eyes.
“Ah, hell,” he muttered. He headed for the back door, then stopped when the baby let out another wail. With a shake of his head, he returned to the table and picked up the oatmeal. He’d never been able to stand the sound of a crying female—no matter what her age.
Someone had once told Julia she had a photographic memory; the ability to see words in her mind. Recalling the letter now, this was the first time she’d felt it was a curse rather than a blessing. Her father’s words burned into her brain. Some of them actually making her head hurt.
Julia, dearest daughter,
I know you think I’ve betrayed you. Wolf McCloud’s inheritance will save the ranch for you. Without marriage, my pretty Julia, I fear he won’t take my words seriously. I know how you think you feel about him, honey, but give him a chance. I would never do anything in the world to hurt you. Please remember that.
For your old Papa.
Now, she stood at the window, ignoring the tears that continued to track down her cheeks. Why had he done this? He’d certainly not been in his right mind. But she knew with a wilting certainty that of all her father’s failings, a weak mind hadn’t been one of them. He may have been troubled and ill, but he wasn’t insane.
Marymae’s voice filtered through her pain, and she gasped. Lord help her, she’d left the baby with that … that … that man.
Scrambling to the door, she flung it open and rushed to the kitchen, where she stopped short. Wolf McCloud had straddled a kitchen chair and was diligently feeding Marymae her oatmeal.
Chapter 4
4
T he tranquility was deceptive as the three of them headed toward Martinez. They’d hitched the geldings to the buggy, leaving Sally and Baptiste behind—well separated from each other.
Marymae was good in the buggy; it rocked her to sleep. Julia’s mind whirled with thoughts of getting rid of McCloud. She had insisted they see Mr. Williams. Surely something could be done about the ridiculous contents of her father’s will. McCloud was quiet as well. Julia sensed a
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