Page 51 of Calamity Rayne Gets Hitched

Maybe I needed his protection after all, because I naïvely believed Remington would never hurt me. At least not maliciously. Deep down, I knew Remington loved me—differently than he loved his children and very differently than he loved his wives. We were friends.

Hale was a jealous, territorial man. And while his father had betrayed him with women before, poaching directly from his son’s bed without a single thought wasted on consequence, I was pretty sure Remington wasn’t attracted to me.

But I did love the man and he loved me. Our relationship was paternal, yet safe. He wasn’t trying to sculpt me into his image or shoulder me with a billion-dollar legacy. He only wanted to help me where he could and be slightly entertained by the minutia in between.

On some level, I think all the Davenport children were jealous of the way Remington doted on me. Sometimes he was kinder to me than he was to his own kids. But in all fairness, he hadn’t raised me. He wasn’t responsible for me, and he hadn’t had thirty years to hurt me.

Remington wasn’t the best father, but he tried his best. Unfortunately, there were times when his best was what better parents might consider the worst.

“Hale just wants to protect me,” I finally said.

“You mean protect what’s his.”

“It isn’t like that, Remington. You aren’t a threat to him like that anymore. At least not where I’m concerned. He knows our relationship’s different.”

He turned his glass by the stem and sighed in retrospect.

I sipped my salty martini, with perpetual disappointment. No matter how much I wanted it to grow on me, every sip tasted like I swallowed a mouthful of ocean. But the alcohol was working, so I at least had that going for me.

“Hale wants to put on a big show so that he can show the world—and me—that he won.”

I scrunched my nose. “Won what?”

“The prize sitting across from me right now fishing a lump of cheese out of her glass. Jesus, Meyers, it's for flavor not consumption. Leave it alone.”

“Sorry.” I sucked the vodka off my finger. I hadn’t eaten in a few hours and that lump of cheese was the only food in sight.

“Hale thinks he has something to prove.”

He was referring to Jasmine—the metaphorical church fart. Unlike the reporter, I knew how to respect a church fart so I silently let the reference pass.

“You came into my son’s life just before the shit truly hit the fan.”

“I’m sure you can find a better way to describe your granddaughter’s birth.”

“You know what I mean. Hale was in a bad way and I put him there. It was ugly. Ugly enough to literally trigger my heart attack. Then you showed up and somehow made him happy again.”

I grinned. That was probably one of the sweetest things Remington had ever said to me. “Hale’s easy to please.”

He laughed, hard. “That’s not even a little bit true, but the fact that you think so says a lot about your relationship with my son.”

I frowned because I did believe it to be true. Hale valued loyalty. Required trust. He loved physical affection. He hated it when I left sugar granules on the counter by the coffee pot. Sunday mornings on the floor with me and Elara were his absolute favorite. He liked his slippers by the door. These were not difficult expectations and when they were met, he was happy. I wished I was that easy.

Remington sighed. “He never talks with me anymore. He doesn’t come to me for advice, and I can’t recall the last time he looked at me as more than a business associate.”

I smiled sadly. The older Remington became, the more he craved a relationship with his kids, and the more they were disinclined to have one.

They all craved his attention, but after decades of criticism, they’d learned to live without his praise. By not offering it, he’d inadvertently taught them not to need it, so their dependency on his approval was waning. More so for Hale, the eldest of the three and the one who’d dealt with Remington’s high, sometimes unreachable, expectations the longest.

“Parenting’s hard, Remington.”

He glanced at me. “You seem to be a natural at it. So does Hale.”

“Elara’s easy right now. A high-pitched voice and a dramatic game of peek-a-boo get her laughing. Let’s see how good we do once she’s old enough to actually start making demands.”

He patted my hand. “You’ll do fine. You’ve always been quick on your feet.”

I expected to make mistakes where Elara was concerned. So did Hale. But he did everything he could to avoid repeating his father’s, which was why he always spoke with gratitude to those he loved. He didn’t withhold praise or expect perfection. Remington could try the same, but he no longer had the opportunities he once had to make an impact. A lot of the damage had already been done.

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