Page 13 of Take Me Home

I can’t tell if his expression is sad, or wary—maybe both.

As I pull on my boots and coat, he does the same, both of us stealing glances at each other. He slips his socked feet into rubber work boots that were resting on a doormat and then he tugs on a Carhartt coat similar to the one Lincoln was wearing yesterday.

Otto silently leads me to the shorter barn outside, opening the wide sliding barn door for me to walk through, then ushering me down the concrete hallway. There’s a mare in every stall, probably twenty in total. They’re all gorgeous. Two adorable Australian Shepherds rush toward us and Otto leans down to pet them both. If I wasn’t so focused on finding Hank Daniels, I’d reach down and pet them, too.

But just then, a man opens one stall and slips out, stopping to run a hand down the snout of a black mare.

“That’s a good girl,” he says, his voice soft and a smile tugging at his lips.

I stop in my tracks, recognizing him.

Hank Daniels.

Otto clears his throat, and Hank turns in our direction. He’s only about three yards away from us and seeing him up close knocks the breath from my lungs. He’s still smiling, and he has the same crooked dimples as me…the same reddish-brown hair color, only his is threaded with white strands. And the same round, green eyes.

“Hey, Dad. Who do we have here?” Hank turns his smile on me.

Otto raises his eyebrows and rocks on his feet. “This is Harriet Townsend. She’s staying in our guest cabin, and I think you two need to talk.”

Hank’s eyebrows draw together as he watches his father turn and leave. Finally, he looks at me. “Harriet, is it? How can I help you?”

“Please, call me Hattie,” I reply, standing there with my heart thrumming wildly in my chest. With Hank right in front of me, I’m suddenly at a loss for words. It was easier talking to Otto. This feels much, much scarier. “Do you remember a woman named Kimball Townsend?”

A hand comes up, and he scrubs his scruffy jaw. “It sounds familiar…what about her?”

“You met her about twenty-six years ago,” I continue, watching his expression to see if he remembers her.

His expression is blank, so I force myself to keep going.

“Nine months later, she had a daughter.”

Hank’s face falls. “What is it you’re trying to say?”

“I’m your daughter.”

He pales, his arms falling to his sides, and stares at me unblinkingly. I stay quiet, letting him process, waiting for him to say something.

“What do you need? Do you want money?”

I flinch at his words. “What?” I squeak out a humorless laugh. “I don’t want money.”

“Then why now? After all this time?” His green eyes sag at the corners. I recognize that look. He’s hurt. It’s also how I felt when I discovered I’d been lied to my whole life.

“I’m sorry. I just found out, too.” I cross my arms over my body, feeling suddenly chilled. “I’ll take a DNA test, so you know I’m not lying. I just wanted to meet you. That’s all.”

His hands rest on his hips, and he looks down at the ground, closing his eyes and inhaling a deep breath and then letting it out slowly. “Kimball Townsend?”

“Yes.”

He looks back up at me, shock still written across the features that are so similar to mine. His movements are measured and calm, but his hands are trembling. “I think we have a lot to catch up on, Hattie.”

I walk silently beside my father as we head back to the large cabin, and it’s impossible not to notice how my gait matches his, step for step.

CHAPTER 5

Lincoln

When I drove through the gate of Whispering Pines Ranch and past the small guest cabin this morning, I forced my eyes forward. Tried in vain not to wonder about the woman I dropped off there last night and why she’s here in Montana alone. Hank’s guests aren’t usually young women with designer bags.