The Way To A Rancher's Heart. Peggy MorelandЧитать онлайн книгу.
“My parents died in a car wreck when I was nineteen,” he said after a moment, his voice roughened by the memories. “I was a freshman at Texas A&M. Had to come home and take over the ranch. My sister, Penny, was thirteen. The courts appointed me her legal guardian.” He stood a moment longer, staring out the window, then angled his head to narrow an eye at her. “My wife died two years ago. Brain aneurysm. Gone like that,” he said, with a snap of his fingers. “Without any warning. Left me with three kids under the age of eleven to raise on my own.”
“You had Penny,” she reminded him, fighting back the swell of sympathy that rose.
Scowling, he turned to face the window again. “Had being the operative word.”
“You still have her,” she insisted. “Just because she chose to pursue her own life doesn’t mean that she’s extracted herself permanently from yours.”
He shot her a glare over his shoulder. “Sure you didn’t get that degree in psychology?”
She shook her head. “No. Art. But I’m a people watcher. It’s a hobby of mine. And do you know what I see when I look at you?”
“What?” he asked drolly.
“A man who feels sorry for himself.”
He slammed the glass down on the counter so hard that water shot above the lip like a geyser. He spun to face her, his face flushed with anger. “I don’t feel sorry for myself. I’ve taken the cards I’ve been dealt and played them as best I could. Nobody can question that. Least of all you.”
She rose and crossed to him. “Maybe I don’t have the right, but I do think I’m correct in assuming you feel sorry for yourself. And now you’re blaming your sister for leaving you to take care of your children alone.”
He grabbed her by the shoulders, his eyes boring into hers as he glowered down at her. “You listen to me little girl,” he grated out through clenched teeth. “I don’t blame Penny for anything, other than taking off without giving me any warning.”
Undaunted by his anger, by the dig of his fingers into her flesh, she met his gaze squarely, maybe a bit stubbornly. “She warned you she was leaving. You told me so yourself just this morning.”
He continued to glower at her, a muscle ticking on his jaw, then he released her, pushing her away from him as he turned back to face the window. “I didn’t believe her. She’d said before she was going to leave, but she never went through with it.”
“And you’re angry with her because this time she did what she said she was going to do.”
He whirled to face her, his gray eyes hard as steel. “The kids need her. They depend upon her. And she walked out on them.”
“They need you,” she argued. “Their father.”
He thrust his face close to hers. “And what makes you an authority on what a kid needs? Huh? What the hell makes you think you know better than I do what my own kids need?”
She drew in a long breath, never once moving her gaze from his. “Because I was a kid once myself. My father died of a heart attack when I was five. My mother never got over the loss. She committed suicide when I was six. I needed my father,” she said, and blinked back the unexpected tears that rose. “And I needed my mother, too. But she wimped out. Left me all alone.” She hitched a breath but refused to let the tears fall. “That’s how I know,” she said, her voice growing as steely as the eyes that met hers. “You want to talk about hard knocks?” She tapped a finger against his chest. “Mister, I’ll compare lumps with you any day of the week.”
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