The Excerpt
The sight of Jacob sitting on the front steps fleetingly lifted his doldrums ... until he saw the boy was wearing his Eastern sissy suit and felt the cool bore of his son’s stare. “Morning, pard,” he called with a brave attempt at a smile.
“Good morning, sir.”
Sir, again? Rory frowned slightly. “Thought we might ride on over to the Lone Star to see if we could find you that special horse.”
“My mother and I are taking Mr. Samuels over to the Indian Reservation this morning.”
“Oh.” He tried not to sound too disheartened as he sank awkwardly down on the steps beside his rigid son. Absently, he rubbed at his knee. “We can do it later. I didn’t know your mama had plans.”
“I don’t think I’ll be needing a horse, anyway.”
“Why’s that?” he asked, pretending not to know ... pretending his heart hadn’t dropped right into his boots.
( . . . and a bit more . . .)
But Jacob wouldn’t answer. He was trying hard not to cry. He didn’t want to talk about the horse he would never have or think about the father that would never be his. Better to pretend neither mattered. After all, the big rough-talking cowboy at his side wasn’t going to stop his mother from taking him away again. Wouldn’t he stop her if he cared?
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