My eyes shift to Mr. Blanchard for a beat.
His expression is unreadable.
“I had accepted my fate as the sole heiress of a dynasty—my parents couldn’t conceive after me and adoption was out of the question for them. My place in life and my parents’ expectations all went out the window when Daddy hired a new foreman. The new hire’s son was to become a new stable boy?—”
“That’s me,” Mr. Blanchard says.
She smiles at her husband before returning her attention to me. “The second I met Warren’s gorgeous green eyes, I was desperately, foolishly, wholeheartedly in love. When he smiled, I was enchanted, completely under his spell. He was only sixteen, but he looked like a man. He was tall, strapping, and strong. I was fifteen, but my heart had sealed my destiny––I was to never love another. That summer was the best of my life. We became clever at sneaking around and hiding in the sunflower fields.”
Mr. Blanchard winks at her.
“That’s where we pledged our undying love and Warren made me his…” She lets out a loud exhale. “The problem with being in love when you’re young is that you’re dumb.” She sighs. “I didn’t know the first thing about birth control, so I became pregnant. It took me a while to figure out what was going on with my body. When I did, I told Warren. He promised he’d take care of the baby and me. I believed him. Then, I told my parents…” A sad expression veils her blue eyes.
“Mr. Jones flew into a fit of rage, fired my father on the spot, and proceeded to kick us off his property,” Mr. Blanchard says. “His demeaning words rang in my ears for decades. I was nothing but a poor sucker who shoveled horse shit for a living––with little chances of doing much better than my old man. How dare I touch––soil––his precious daughter?” Mr. Blanchard’s jaw clenches. “He threatened to sue my father and promised he’d make sure he was never able to find work in the great state of Texas ever again.”
“I didn’t know my father had done that,” Mrs. Blanchard says.
Great-grandpa Jones wasn’t a nice guy.
“We were forced to do the walk of shame because my father had been blacklisted from working for any ranch in our town and several surrounding towns,” Mr. Blanchard says. “Through word-of-mouth, Daddy found some work in Wyoming. Heartbroken, I had no other choice but to leave the love of my life behind and never have any contact with her ever again.”
“I was born in Wyoming,” I say.
“I know.” Mr. Blanchard nods. “I hired a private investigator to make sure Lore and I weren’t two sentimental fools,” he says. “I couldn’t approach you with false hope and disrupt your whole existence. I had to be certain you were ours.”
He went to a lot of trouble.
Mrs. Blanchard reaches for my hands. “To answer your question,” she says. “I wanted to keep my baby. Even though I begged––and God knows I begged––my father refused to entertain the idea of keeping an ill-advised bastard child. Especially, one from a poor worker’s teenage son. It was inappropriate for a girl of my stature, and it would irrevocably stain the family name. He wouldn’t stand for it.”
Mr. Blanchard grumbles something under his breath.
“As a river of tears trailed down my face, I watched, helpless, as a complete stranger, carried my baby in her arms. Thus, taking away my desire to live. My father shot me a warning look—a reminder there was no going back. My mother busied herself patting me on the arm, coaxing me to be reasonable, a satisfying smile curling her red lips, too happy to get rid ofmy little problem. And there I was. Alone. The pit of despair in my stomach yawned wider when my son started wailing as the agent left my bedroom?—”
“It angers me every time I hear that part, of you, struggling alone,” Mr. Blanchard says. “Shame on them.”
He rubs a hand over his face. “Sorry, Rhett, for letting old wounds affect me like this, but that was our son.Ourson.”
Mrs. Blanchard pats her husband’s arm before shifting her attention to me. “Since I’m petite, it didn’t take long before I was showing. To prevent tongues from wagging, my father dictated I’d have a home birth. Our ranch became my prison—complete with tutors.”
“You weren’t allowed to leave your home?”
She shakes her head.
“Her father stripped her of all her rights because he believed he owned her.” There’s no hiding Mr. Blanchard’s bitterness.
“I was only allowed to set foot outside the acres of our land once I was no longer adisgrace,” she says.
Holy shit.
“Even behind closed doors, I couldn’t comfort my baby. It wasn’t allowed.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head, as if reliving the traumatic ordeal. “Months after the adoption, I was inconsolable. I’d lost the man I loved and our child. I wanted to die.”
Dear God.
“Mr. Jones’s rejection and the way he gave us no choice were my fuel,” Mr. Blanchard says. “Her father robbed me of the chance to man up, which I was prepared to do.” He rolls his shoulders and cranes his neck side to side like a boxer warming up before a match. “I promised myself I’d work until my bank account looked like a goddamn overseas phone number—with call prefix and all—and then, I’d go after the woman I loved. I’m not quite a billionaire, but a net worth of six hundred million dollarsis nothing to sneeze at.”
Un-fucking-believable.
I figured the man was rich… but this is mega rich.
