Elizabeth announced suddenly. She went to the old-fashioned marble counter and spoke to the cashier, returning a few minutes later with two large plastic cups.
Grateful, Kayla took hers and they headed for the door. They strolled around town, sipping their ice cream sodas and trying to catch up on the past sixteen years. Yet in the back of her mind, Kayla kept wondering if Jackson remembered his reaction when she’d told him she was pregnant...that he’d used condoms, so obviously the other boys were right about her sleep-around reputation.
Kayla straightened her back. Her son was safe and she’d already weathered some of the worst stuff life could throw at her. She would handle Jackson, one way or the other.
* * *
“I HATE YOU,” Morgan yelled, her blond hair bouncing. “Go ahead, hate me back.”
Jackson McGregor glared at his daughter, though he still chose his words carefully. Unfortunately, he’d had plenty of practice lately. “I don’t hate you,” he said. “But right now I’m struggling to like you as much as I usually do.”
“You think you’re so clever. Why can’t I go to the lake for the weekend?”
“At your age? A girl? With a bunch of the wildest kids in school, with no adults? Do you think I’ve lost my mind?”
Morgan stomped her foot. “If I was a guy you’d let me go, and that’s not fair. It’s a...a double standard. The other kids will think I’m a nun. Can’t you try to remember what it was like in high school?”
“I remember all too well, and I’ll be damned if I make it easy for you to repeat my mistakes.”
“Yeah, I know all about your mistakes.”
“Then, you should realize that I know what I’m talking about,” he told her.
“Yeah, you had fun, but you don’t want me to have any at all.”
Jackson counted to ten as his daughter disappeared around the corner of the barn. Morgan had always been strong willed, but lately she’d gone completely ornery and seemed determined to drive him crazy. It was a miracle if a day passed without a shouting match. As for being grounded, she did her best to make it appear as if she was disobeying him. Just that afternoon she’d hidden in the hayloft of one of the barns, letting him think she’d sneaked into town. He’d wasted hours looking for her. Lately he’d been in Schuyler far too often, tracking her down for one reason or another.
Just a few months ago she’d hacked her hair into a hideous spiky cut. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she’d begun adding a dramatic fluorescent streak down one side, using a selection of temporary dyes. Every morning it had been a different color. Though her hair had grown out, it put him on edge, wondering what she’d do next. Hell, much as he loved her, raising a boy might have been easier.
Jackson trotted up the patio steps and into the house, tempted to call his mother and ask for advice. But it wasn’t fair to load his problems onto her. His parents had raised their own family and two of his cousins, as well. They’d done their duty.
He glanced at Flora, the woman he’d hired to keep house. “Any pearls of wisdom to share?” he asked.
Flora shrugged. “Afraid not.” She was sitting at the kitchen table, snapping string beans. She worked hard and was a great cook but hadn’t connected with Morgan as much as he’d hoped. Not that it was a housekeeper’s job to provide motherly guidance.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you were spending the night in town.”
“My sister canceled on me. She got a hot date at the last minute.”
The brevity of the comment made him wonder if Stella was going out again with his great-uncle, who was definitely enjoying his retirement. The image of Stella Charlton on a hot date with Uncle Mitch was almost too much for Jackson’s stressed-out brain. Stella was a gum-snapping, determined strawberry blonde, whose ample curves were often poured into the kind of tight clothes normally seen on a twenty-year-old.
He drew a deep breath, trying to dispel the mental picture of Uncle Mitch and Stella together.
“Er...Morgan wants to go camping at Flathead Lake with friends from school, a totally teen party of girls and guys.”
“She should know better than to ask.”
Yeah, she should. But lately it seemed as if his daughter was determined to cross every line, test every boundary and break every rule she could find. And she was so blasted angry while she did it. Who’d have guessed that she used to be a sweet kid who loved to spend time with her daddy while he worked on the ranch?
Jackson rubbed the tense muscles on the back of his neck. What was he doing wrong? And now Morgan was throwing out comments about his teenage exploits...?
Hell. He’d tried to live down those years, but it was inevitable that she’d heard some of the stories. No doubt Morgan considered him a complete hypocrite and was angry that he was making her toe the line. But hypocrite or not, he didn’t intend to let his daughter head down the same road that he’d traveled. Not if he could prevent it.
Hmm. What if he tried to make her wear those dresses he’d bought her? Would traditional feminine clothes encourage her to behave more appropriately? But dresses weren’t practical on a ranch, and Morgan would just accuse him once again of having double standards.
“I’ll be out for a while,” he said.
“Going to ride fences?” Flora guessed.
“Yeah.”
As a rule, Jackson rode fences whenever he needed to think or to regain his cool. And with Morgan constantly acting out, he’d spent a lot of time in the saddle checking fence lines.
The next few hours allowed him to relax and clear his mind, only to get uptight again when Morgan refused to come out of her room for dinner.
After eating alone, he went into the ranch office, built on the side of the house so it wouldn’t intrude on the backyard or pool area. Paperwork wasn’t his favorite activity, but he dived into his breeding records with grim determination, only to have the office phone ring soon after he started.
Jackson reached to pick it up, then saw the caller ID on the display... K. Anderson.
He dropped his hand back to the desk.
Seeing Kayla that afternoon had brought a rush of mixed feelings. Pleasure at first—once he’d been fascinated by the outsider who was so different from the other girls in Schuyler. But the memory of their last discussion in high school had intruded on the pleasure. No guy enjoyed being treated as a chump, and Kayla’s claim that he’d gotten her pregnant had been ridiculous; he’d used protection and half his classmates had boasted about sleeping with her.
After a minute Jackson dialed in and listened to Kayla’s voice mail message.
“Jackson, this is Kayla Anderson. It’s urgent we speak as soon as possible. I’m staying with my grandparents, but please call my cell phone.” She gave the number and got off quickly.
He sat back and frowned.
What could Kayla want? Surely
