then he waited. Though he doubted it, he really hoped she’d get back into her car and leave, exactly as he’d told her to.
Of course she didn’t. A sharp knock on the front door made him curse under his breath. The sound startled Hal awake in his recliner. “Well?” he demanded, his faded green eyes bright as he stared at Travis. “Are you going to answer that?”
Damn. He’d been hoping to keep Hal out of yet another confrontation with someone from Wave Oil. Reluctantly, Travis nodded. Though both he and Hal had told them in no uncertain terms to stay off the property, clearly they’d once again completely ignored his wishes.
Taking a deep breath, he yanked open the door to glare at the dark-haired young woman standing there, coolly composed in her formfitting dress and high heels. Ignoring the instant tug of attraction, he glared at her.
“I thought I asked you to leave,” he said. The coldness in his tone should have warned her he wouldn’t be amenable to a sales pitch, no matter how much she fluttered her pretty green eyes.
“Well, that’s not really up to you, now is it? I’m here to see Mr. Hal Gardner,” she drawled, appearing not the least bit put out. He couldn’t place her Southern accent, though it definitely wasn’t East Texas, that’s for sure. Out of state, most likely. Alabama, Tennessee, maybe even Mississippi or Georgia. Another spark of interest, which again he immediately quashed.
“For the one hundredth time, he isn’t interested. Stay off our land.” He started to close the heavy door, but she slipped one pointy-toed, clearly expensive, patent leather high-heeled shoe inside to prevent him from doing that.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He stared at her foot in disbelief.
“So sorry,” she drawled. Her clearly false smile lit up her heart-shaped face, making her emerald eyes sparkle. “While I’m not sure why you think I’m here, I can tell you Mr. Gardner isn’t even aware of my existence. Therefore, there’s no way you can truthfully state he’s not interested. Maybe you should give him the chance to meet me and decide for himself. Now if you don’t mind fetching him...?”
Fetching? Any other time, any other place, any other man might have fallen for her over-the-top feminine charm, but Travis was immune. He’d learned the hard way that women like her and men like him wouldn’t work.
“For Pete’s sake, Travis. Let her in,” Hal ordered, his cantankerous tone curious. “I want to hear what she has to say.”
Though he didn’t want to, Travis opened the door wider and stepped aside so she could enter.
“Thank you,” she said, confidently moving past him, close enough that he caught a whiff of her scent, something exotic and floral. Heels clicking on the wood floors, she walked with an easy sort of grace, both innocent and confidently sensual. Desire hit him low in the gut, which irritated him, though it didn’t come as a surprise. No matter what she wanted, she was a gorgeous, sexy woman. Even men like him couldn’t ignore such flawless beauty.
* * *
Heartbeat echoing in her eardrums, Scarlett stepped into the old Victorian house, admiring the polished wooden floors. A million times she’d pictured the man who’d sired her, even though her childhood fantasies eventually became replaced with teenaged bitterness and, finally, adult acceptance. She’d never met him and hadn’t even known his name. Until she’d found her mother’s diary after her death and finally learned his name and address.
Hal Gardner of Anniversary, Texas.
Though at first she’d been frozen in fear, how could she not go meet him? She’d made the trip out west as fast as she could. Finally, here she stood. Hopeful, and trying not to be. Yearning, yet telling herself she’d made it thirty years without him, so it wouldn’t hurt at all if he refused to acknowledge her and ordered her to leave as the handsome younger man had.
“In here,” the tall, grumpy guy ordered, turning and leading the way. “He’s in the living room.”
Trailing along after him, she caught her breath at her first glimpse of a man who could only be her father. Sitting in front of the TV in a wheelchair. He looked frail, old, and she could see that he was ill from the pallor of his skin, the way his green eyes—the exact shade as her own—seemed to burn too brightly in his wan and lined face.
He wore his thinning gray hair combed to one side. His too skinny body appeared almost skeletal, though his smile seemed friendly enough. She caught a hint of skepticism in his expression, as though he also believed she might be here to try to sell him something.
Deliberately, she kept her expression neutral, though her steps faltered for a second before she regained her equilibrium.
“Well, ain’t you a pretty one,” the old man drawled. “Now tell me you ain’t with Wave Oil so I don’t have to throw you out.”
Suddenly struck dumb, she shook her head. “I’m not,” she managed. She’d rehearsed a speech a bunch of times while she’d searched for him. All of that seemed woefully inadequate now.
Cocking his grizzled head, he continued to study her. “You look awfully familiar. Like someone I used to know, many years ago.”
Finally, she found her voice. “My name is Scarlett. Scarlett Kistler. People always said I’m the spitting image of my mother, Maggie. Maggie Kistler.”
When she said her mama’s name, Hal stiffened. Suddenly alert, watchful even as he slid his gaze over her once more. “Maggie,” he breathed. “You do look an awful lot like her. Maggie Kistler was the love of my life.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Now there’s a name from the past. I always wondered what became of her.”
For the first time she realized her mother’s death might come as a shock to him. “She passed away,” she said softly. “Not all that long ago.”
He stared at her, disbelief and perhaps a brief flash of pain in his expression. “Was she ill? She wasn’t very old.”
Younger than he, that’s what he meant, Scarlett figured.
“She had breast cancer,” she said, her voice still going shaky when she said the awful words. She’d think she’d be used to the idea by now. She’d helped her mother fight for the last year and a half, and the word cancer had become an integral part of their vocabulary.
A shadow crossed his face. “Cancer. I hate cancer,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He turned his face, giving her his hawklike profile while a muscle worked in his too-thin cheek.
Wondering if he also had some sort of cancer, she waited silently, not sure what to say. Her mother’s passing had drained her, made her realize she was now completely and utterly alone in the world. Without family. Until she’d found the diary, buried deep in a box of old photographs and mementos in the back of her mother’s closet. She’d realized she wasn’t actually alone. She had him. Her father. Whether he wanted to be or not. For the first time she wondered if he’d even been aware of her existence.
Finally, he swiveled his head to look at her again. “Why have you come here?” he rasped. “Surely you didn’t travel all this way to bring me news of her death.”
“No,” she admitted, glancing toward the doorway to see that the other man had remained, standing
