Always With You - Part Three(3)

"Okay, that's a good place to start then. If you think of anything else, text me. We get good signal up there. I'll have my phone with me at all times, just in case they call with those paternity results."

Again, I watch her face closely for reaction. Her expression doesn't change at all. In fact, it remains decidedly blank. "Yes, they should be calling soon. Then you can rest easy about Isabella."

She smiles. I do something with my lips that might resemble a smile, but feels tight and forced. The thing is, I don't need to rest easy about Isabella. I'm not really worried about the results. I like her. A lot. I could see her being a part of my life, either way. Even if she's not my daughter, I'd still like to be a part of her life if Sophie stays around here. She's a good kid and she needs a father figure, if not a father. My investment in the results is part general curiosity and part wondering what the hell Sophie's end game is if I'm not the father. What could she possibly hope to gain?

It's hard to say, but knowing Sophie, it's a helluva plan. No matter how many lives it might wreck.





CHAPTER THREE



Olivia



Watching Dad with Isabella is both painful and satisfying. He was made to be a grandfather, just like Cash was made to be a father. They're both so good with her. It's easy to see that she's as enamored of them as they are of her, too.

I can't help that it makes me a little sad, though. I rub my belly, almost willing a life to take root there. If wanting had anything to do with it, I'd already have ten babies. Because I want it. I want it bad.

I watch the sweat break out across Dad's forehead and I'm happy when he points to the barn and tells Cash to take Isabella for a ride through the west pasture. It saves me from having to ask him to come and sit down in the sunshine that's pouring onto the back porch.

He walks toward me, the tiredness showing in his slow, measured steps, and plops down in the patio chair beside me. "It'll be fine if she's his. You know that, right?" he asks.

"Yes. I know."

"It hurts, your baby together not being the first, but this little girl won't make your child any less special."

"I know." Then why the hell is my chin trembling?

"Then why does it look like you're getting ready to cry?" he asks gently, brushing my hair behind my shoulder so he can better see what I'd much rather keep hidden.

"I don't know, Dad. All of this is just … just … I don't know. I feel like my perfect little world is falling apart. I know that sounds silly. It's just a little girl. A sweet, cute little girl at that. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Stress. This is a lot happening at once. Some stranger showing up with news like this, your old man having open heart surgery, having to move out of the apartment, worrying about when the house will be done, finding out Marissa's pregnant. Having to deal with the fact that you're not," he adds with a tenderness that makes my chest ache. "That's a lot of emotion for a short period of time."

"I guess. And I'm not handling it very well, I suppose."

"You're handling it with the grace and class and kindness that you handle everything that comes your way. Because that's who you are. Some conniving ex and a few road bumps won't change that. You're made of stronger stuff than that. You're a Townsend. And besides that, you've got your father's good looks. Those alone are enough to help you sail through life." His grin is playful, as is his wink.



       
         
       
        

"I did get my looks from you," I tell him, leaning over to kiss his stubbly cheek. It abrades my lips. "My grooming habits, on the other hand … " I say, rubbing my fingertips over the scratchy skin.

Dad strokes his chin and turns to stare thoughtfully ahead. "Maybe I'll keep it. Grow a beard. Or a goatee."

"You? A goatee? That'll be the day!"

"What? I could rock a goatee."

"Rock a goatee? What has happened to your vocabulary? Have you been watching Gossip Girl reruns again?"

"Don't give me that look! It'll pay off now that there's a nine-year-old around here. She'll think I'm the coolest granddad in the land."

I roll my eyes, ignoring the pang that still resonates in my heart.

"Oh!" he exclaims, straightening suddenly. "I'd better run and get that little bottle before I forget."

"What little bottle?"

"Cash asked if I had a little bottle with a lid that he could borrow. Told him I'd see if I could find one and I'd set it on the dresser in your room."

"A little bottle? For what?"