White-hot terror turns my blood cold as I study my daughter. She looks so much like her mother right now, I feel like I’m seeing far into the past.

But the hits just keep coming.

“Mom contacted me,” Olivia says, her innocent voice the only thing that keeps me from losing it right now and hunting her mother down and ending what I should have ended so very long ago.

All I can do is stand here, praying to gods I don’t believe in as she speaks.

“I want to stay here,” Olivia says, looking over at Emma, who is white as a sheet, looking at both of us.

“Of course,” Emma says.

“I’ll have your ass thrown in jail,” I tell her.

Olivia’s blue eyes meet mine. “So you want me to leave, then?” she asks, her voice so very calm. And I feel a flash of pride. My daughter really is mine. She’s backed me into a corner, and she knows it.

“If you stay, I stay,” I tell her, and Olivia arches an eyebrow at me before glancing at Emma.

“That’s up to you,” she says, and I see Emma stiffen.

“Aren’t you glad you got in the middle of this?” I ask her, and she meets my gaze, silently begging me to tell her what to do.

“Stay,” she tells me, and I nod.

I glance over at Olivia, feeling pride more than anger. She’ll never want for anything. She’s strong, like I’ve raised her. While this isn’t want I had in mind when I’d wanted her to blossom, I’m still glad to know she’s asserting herself.

And, as uneasy as I am that her mother is involved, I know that she’ll control every situation come hell or high water. She’s ready to know the truth about her mom, if she doesn’t already. And, the more I think about it, the more sure I am she does know.

I glance over at Emma, who seems lost.

She looks at me, her green eyes suddenly clearing as instinct kicks in. And I’m impressed at how well she’s handling everything.

“I’ll put you in the guest room,” she tells Olivia, who nods and says thanks while flashing a smile that shows off her cute dimples.

“And you,” she says, looking at me, “I’ll put you on the couch.” A little smile curves her lips and I sense she’s getting a kick out of making me uncomfortable.

“I put Dreamer away,” Olivia says, sounding very grown up.

Emma, still seeming a bit stunned at all that has transpired, nods and turns to lead us to the house.

Inside, I see her lead Olivia upstairs and look around. The couch seems like it’s comfortable, and I realize it’s slept in often. There’s even sheets and a pillow in a box beside it. What the hell is Emma doing sleeping on the couch in her own home?

When she comes back downstairs, I corner her. “I need your help,” I tell her and she looks up at me, her eyes wide.

When she says nothing, I talk fast and quietly. “I need you to get her phone while she’s asleep.” When she looks ready to balk, I talk fast. “Her mother is dangerous.”

She looks dubious, and I sigh. “Her mother had a problem. Being a mother was just too much, and what started as a glass of wine a night turned into several bottles of wine a night.” The truth begins to pour out, and I feel Emma softening.

“One day, she came to pick two year old Olivia from day care. She was wasted. So wasted the day care refused to let her take Olivia. They called the cops.” That old, familiar shame rises up in me as I talk. “She promised it would never happen again.” The bitter taste of betrayal sours my tongue and I feel the bile begin to back up my throat.

“But it did?” Emma asks gently, looking up at me with those cat like eyes in a way that melts my heart. She understands. She’s not judging, or hating me for the precarious position I put Olivia in. She does not hate me for taking Olivia from her mother. She understands.

I never expected anyone to understand.

“It did,” I say, swallowing hard. It’s painful to talk about, even now. “She got into an accident with Olivia in the car.” Even now, the pain clouds up my heart, leaving it hard to breathe. I’ve never opened up like this, never told anyone how I failed them both. I failed my wife by not getting her the help she needed. I ran away from her when she needed me. I took Olivia from her mother, instead of trying to fix things.

I was afraid.

I was weak.

“Olivia was in the hospital for two months. They thought she’d die. She almost did.” I have to stop, to breathe, to remember it didn’t end that way. She’s whole, she’s strong, she’s perfect.

Emma pulls me into a hug. “I’ll help,” she whispers in my ear, and suddenly, I want her more than I’ve wanted anyone in my life.

But she pulls away and tells me she’ll get some dinner ready.

“Can I help?” I ask, and she looks at me with a mix of surprise and amusement.

“You’re my guest.” She heads into the kitchen and I follow.

“I hope I’m also your friend,” I tell her, and she furrows her eyebrows a bit.

“Sure,” she says, not sounding very sure of it at all.

I smile. “Good. Why do you sleep on the couch?” I ask, needing to know. She seems surprised and she turns from the fridge to stare at me with wide eyes.

“What makes you think that?” she asks, her voice nearly breathless.

I arch an eyebrow at her. Surely she doesn’t think I’m stupid. “The sheets, blankets and pillow in the box beside the couch.”

She turns away and opens the fried, as if needing a moment to compose herself. “That’s for guests,” she says, but I know she’s lying.

“I told you some pretty dark secrets,” I tell her, and she stiffens up a bit.

She closes the fridge and looks up at the ceiling a moment before turning to me. “Some days I’m too tired to go up the stairs.”

“Why was that so hard to share?” I ask, mostly teasing.

Her eyes narrow. “Because you’ll use it to try to get my ranch.”

I hesitate, realizing this conversation for what it is. She’s sure I’m only out to get her home. And I have been. I am. She’s right.

Hell, I’ve been contemplating marrying her to get this damn place.

Kyle was right about me.

Fuck.