Secondhand Bride by Linda Lael Miller

introduced.
    Now, he stood on the back stoop of the Arizona Hotel, his hands gripping the rail, white-knuckled, his stomach churning, his mind spinning. He stiffened when he heard the door creak open behind him, knew before a word was spoken that if he turned, he’d see Angus standing there.
    “You all right?” the old man asked.
    Holt gave a bitter laugh. “Nope,” he said, without turning around.
    Angus stepped up beside him, moved to lay a hand on his shoulder, then evidently thought better of the idea and let it fall back to his side. This was a relief to Holt; he didn’t think he could have borne to be touched—at present, his nerves were all on the outside of his skin. “I take it you didn’t know about this child,” Angus said.
    Holt shook his head. “I had no idea,” he admitted. He spared his father a brief, sidelong glance. “If I had, I sure as hell wouldn’t have left Texas without a backward look.” It was a gibe, and Angus grimaced as it struck its mark.
    “That’s what you think I did, I reckon,” Angus said, with a sigh.
    “That’s what I know you did, old man,” Holt replied.
    “I thought you were better off with your mother’s folks. What would I have done with a babe in arms? Hell, you couldn’t even talk, let alone ride.”
    Holt thrust out a hard breath. “I watched the road for you,” he said, without intending to reveal that much.
    “I wish I’d gone back,” Angus allowed. “But I had a ranch, and a new wife, and sons. There was no money back then, and no time. I had my back to the wall for years.”
    “I didn’t care about money,” Holt replied, consciously releasing his grasp on the porch rail, lest he snap it in two. “I wanted a father. Not an uncle who wished I’d never landed on his doorstep.”
    “Dill was hard on you, I reckon.” To his credit, Angus sounded sincerely regretful. Trouble was, it was too little, too late. “I guess he and the missus never had any children of their own.”
    “I was curse enough,” Holt answered.
    “I’m sorry,” Angus said.
    “Your remorse doesn’t amount to a pitcher of warm spit, old man, and there’s no sense talking about it now anyway. Too much water under the bridge.”
    Angus shifted beside him, turned to lean against the rail with his arms folded. “I might believe that, except for one thing. You had an outfit of your own, down in Texas. Becky told me all about it, said the two of you were acquainted back in Kansas City. You could be any of a hundred places, but the fact is, you’re right here in the Arizona Territory. That tells me there are things you want settled.”
    “I wanted a look at you,” he said. “You and those boys you cared enough about to raise up under your own roof.”
    “You’re mighty jealous of your brothers, aren’t you?”
    Holt tensed. “No,” he said. “I’d just as soon forget all of you.”
    “Well, I reckon that’s going to be difficult. Important thing is, what are you going to do now? You’ve got that little daughter in there, and she’s most likely alone in the world, but for you. She wouldn’t be here if she had other folks willing to take her in.”
    “I don’t know what I mean to do about Lizzie,” Holt confessed. “Maybe I’ll put her in boarding school.”
    Angus turned his head and spat, a clear indication of his thoughts in that regard. “Well, hell, don’t do her any favors. If you aren’t willing to give that little girl a proper home, Concepcion and I would be happy to take her in.”
    “She’s none of your concern.”
    “By God, she’s my granddaughter, flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone. That makes her my concern. I won’t see her handed over to strangers.”
    Holt’s breath scraped at his throat, and his blood ran as hot and poisonous as venom. “If you think you’re going to raise my daughter, you’re full of sheep dip.”
    That statement seemed to please the old man, though it surely wasn’t meant to. He gave a raspy laugh.