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“It’s snowy outside. And the floors inside the store are slippery. You could fall down and get hurt in your princess shoes. If you wear them, you won’t be able to walk around. I’ll have to carry you like a baby.”
Those last few words seemed to hit home. Clara sighed. “Okay. I’ll wear my sneakers. But can we take my princess shoes with us?”
“Sure.” Tracy waited while Clara unzipped the tent flap, climbed inside, and emerged minutes later with her high heels in one hand and her little sneakers on the wrong feet. As she closed the tent flap again, Tracy slipped the credit card into her purse and glanced outside to make sure Travis had finished installing the booster seat.
“Are you ready to go?” she asked Clara.
The little girl clapped her hands. “Ready! It’s time to shop till we drop!”
* * *
Clara insisted that she knew how to fasten herself into the booster seat. Tracy watched as she struggled with the straps and buckles. After several tries, she finally got it right.
“Good for you!” Tracy exclaimed. “You kept trying, and you didn’t give up.”
“I told you I could do it,” Clara said. “My daddy showed me how. I just had to remember.”
As Tracy climbed into the car, a four-wheeler ATV rolled into sight along a snow-packed wagon road that came fr
om the far side of the ranch. It was pulling a two-wheeled trailer loaded with fresh Christmas trees. The driver gave her a friendly wave. Clara waved back. “That’s Conner,” she said. “He’s a real cowboy. He even rode bulls in the rodeo. And that dog sitting by him is Bucket.”
Tracy returned the wave as she backed the car out of the driveway. She hadn’t met Conner Branch, but she’d certainly heard of him. Two of the women she worked with had dated him. Both had fallen hard for the man, but Conner had moved on, leaving behind a trail of broken hearts. According to one lady who’d given up on him, Conner was simply having too much fun to settle down.
As far as Tracy could tell, Travis was a one-woman man, Conner was a player, and Rush . . . Rush seemed to be a loner, with an air of brooding sadness about him. Maybe this adorable little girl had something to do with the reason why.
By the time Tracy had turned onto the highway, Clara was peppering her with questions.
“Do you know my daddy? His name is Rush.”
“Not very well. We’re just friends,” Tracy said.
“Do you like him?”
“He’s a very nice man.”
“My mom says that Andre is my real daddy—she even had a doctor take a test. He stuck a stick inside my cheek. I guess he did the same thing to Andre, ’cause my mom said that the sticks came out the same. That meant that Andre was my father, and Rush had to go away.”
Tracy’s hands tightened around the steering wheel as the truth sank in. Rush’s ex-wife hadn’t just married her old flame. It appeared that they’d had an affair, and that he’d fathered her child—a child that Rush had believed was his own until faced with the proof of the DNA test.
What a monstrous betrayal.
“That must have been very sad for you,” she said to Clara.
“It was.” Clara sounded older than her years. “I cried a lot. But now I’ve figured it out.”
“What did you figure out?”
“Andre is my father. But he isn’t my daddy.”
“Why is that, Clara?” Tracy could guess the answer to her question, but she wanted to hear it.
“Andre doesn’t play with me. He doesn’t read me stories in funny voices. He doesn’t tuck me in at night or make me pancakes for supper. Daddies do those things.”
“Did Rush do those things?”
“Uh-huh. He’s the best daddy in the world. But he can’t come to our house ’cause Mom is married to Andre now.”
“But you could come here, right?”
