The Rancher Takes A Family

And one angry man.

CHAPTER THREE

“BETSY’s upstairs asleep, again?” John demanded fiercely when he came in for dinner that evening.

“Yes,” Debra said and followed him out of the kitchen. “John, I thought a regular schedule would be beneficial both for Andy and—”

“I’m not talking about Andy! I care about Betsy. I want to see her when I get home at night!”

Debra stopped short in the hall. “Well,” she said, her tone terse, “I guess that’s just another lie.” She turned back toward the kitchen.

“What are you talking about?”

“Uncle Bill said you’d be a daddy for Andy.”

Damn. Even he wouldn’t be mean to a kid. Didn’t she know that about him, at least? He was just in a snit—at Debra, mostly—and disappointed that even though the ranch work was getting done now, he was seeing less and less of his daughter. From the look on Debra’s face, he knew her feelings had gotten hurt. He knew he needed to apologize. Shoot, he was never any good at saying sorry. Often enough he’d had to eat crow when Elizabeth was upset—whether it was his fault or not. But it was not a skill he’d ever really acquired. He was about to give it a try when Debra shot him a narrowed glance as sharp as a new blade and walked away.

He’d apologize later. Seeing Betsy was important now.

Upstairs, John found his baby sleeping peacefully. He touched her downy hair and patted her back, but after several minutes, he realized she wasn’t going to awaken. Satisfying himself with a kiss on her cheek, he went back downstairs and showered. Everyone was already eating.

“Sorry, John,” Bill told him, a worried look on his face. “Debra told us to go ahead and eat.”

“No problem. I just wanted to check on Betsy.” The other two men welcomed him, but he noticed Debra said nothing as she passed the food to him. She’d get over her anger when he apologized later, not in front of the men, of course.

He waited until after they’d all finished eating, including the apple pie she put on the table. He’d never tasted better. But he thought his men had praised her enough.

Trying to wait out his men, he sat at the table, not moving as she stacked the dishes.

“Did you need something else, Mr. Richey?”

Her formality surprised him. “Why are you calling me that?”

“Is that not your name?” she asked coolly.

He ignored her question. “I was going to apologize—”

“Not necessary. You made everything clear.” She began loading the dishwasher.

Why did women make it so hard to say sorry? he thought to himself.

“Debra, stop! I want to apologize to you.”

“I’m sorry, but I have a lot of chores and I’m tired.”

“You’re not some damned Cinderella, Debra.”

“No, of course not. I’m your housekeeper.”

“You’re my wife!”

“You and I both know that isn’t true. If you’ll excuse me, I need to start a load of clothes.” She left the dishes and walked out of the room.

He followed her. “I’ll be able to hire a housekeeper in the fall.”