“When?”
“Callie, do you remember the rule about talking at the table?” Dallas asked.
The little sprite twisted her mouth and gave him a sly look out of the corner of her eye, as though not facing him directly would prevent him from seeing her displeasure at the question. “I’m to be seen, not heard.”
Dallas gave a brusque nod. “That’s right.”
Callie gave an identical brusque nod, before quietly picking up a pea between her tiny forefinger and thumb and offering it to the dog.
Rawley glanced over at Faith, who was struggling not to smile, and for a moment they were both kids at the very same table, determined to obey Dallas’s edict—children did not talk unless spoken to. The first time Dallas had asked Rawley his opinion during a meal, he’d been so taken off guard as to jerk forcefully enough to nearly topple over his chair. Only later did he realize Dallas was acknowledging he was grown. It was a wonder he’d survived Faith’s glare because she’d obviously not liked one bit that he had come into possession of a privilege denied to her.
He turned his attention back to the child who was quickly snagging his heart. She delicately picked up another pea and offered it to the dog, who gladly took it. Then she squarely met Rawley’s gaze and leaned toward him slightly.
“I don’t like peas,” she said in what he could only assume she thought was a whisper, but her voice carried over the table. “But Rufus does. Do you like peas?”
“I do, and do you know why?”
Her eyes widened—either because he’d surprised her by answering instead of scolding her for breaking the rule or because she was truly interested—and she shook her head, stretching farther over her plate as though he was about to impart some wondrous secret.
“They make you grow tall and run fast.”
“I can run fast already.”
“Bet you can’t beat me.”
She narrowed her eyes, bit her bottom lip in concentration, as though striving to determine if she should challenge him. “Can you run faster than Mama?”
He still wasn’t accustomed to Faith being a mother, to her daughter referring to her as such. A part of him continued to see Faith as a young girl, while another part had to admit she was anything but—especially when her eyes held a challenge, daring him to suppose for even a minute he could outrace her. He wondered about the man who had caught her, made her his own, and then abandoned her. He wasn’t happy about her keeping secrets from him. “Absolutely.”
Faith scoffed. “I’d like to see you try, Rawley Cooper.”
The words were tossed out easily, as though no years had passed, as though no distance had come between them. “You were fast, Faith, but I was always faster. You know that.”
“But you haven’t spent five years running after this little one.” She tilted her head toward her daughter.
He was slammed with regret, regret that he hadn’t been here for her. If he’d known, he’d have returned straightaway. He’d have made the damn fool who got her with child marry her. He wondered why the hell Dallas hadn’t.
It was the longest meal of her life. Maybe because her stomach was knotted up so tightly she could barely eat, or maybe because she didn’t know what Callie might blurt, or maybe, just maybe, it was because the sight of Rawley caused emotions to keep welling up. With his leaving, he’d made his position regarding her clear. But a part of her still longed for his arms to circle around her.
“All right, Little Bit, time for us to go. Give everyone a hug,” she announced. She watched as her parents embraced her child, her heart squeezing as it always did because they so accepted her daughter. She knew not all parents would.
She didn’t think it was possible for her chest to tighten any further until Callie rushed with open arms toward Rawley. Her screech echoed around them as he swung her up and over his shoulder, wrapped her arms about his neck before placing his below her butt, giving her a sturdy perch to rest on as her legs curled around his sides, her feet dangling just shy of his chest. “I’ll escort you home.”
She didn’t much like the way her nerve endings came to attention as though he’d offered a far more intimate service. “That’s not necessary. It’s not that far. We’ll be fine.”
“It’s getting dark.”
Laughing lightly, she hated the thread of panic roughening the sound. “We’ve traveled this path a thousand times.”
“Still.”
The single word held determination and reflected the obstinacy of a man who had made up his mind. She almost punched him. He’d used that tone on her countless times when she was a girl, but now she was a woman—
Only he didn’t wait for her to rebuff him. He simply headed for the door, her daughter bouncing excitedly against his back. “Won’t be long,” he called over his shoulder to her parents.
Her mother arched a brow at her, challenging her to make things right between herself and Rawley. Faith gave her a quick hug, then one to her father. “See you tomorrow.”
She raced out after Rawley, striving not to accept how natural it seemed, not to recall how many times she’d done so as a child, always chasing after him, always wanting to be in the middle of whatever he was doing. When she caught up to him, she was grateful her long strides matched his. She’d always wanted to be his equal.
