Page 67 of A Marriage Pact for the Cowboy

Her hunch about the source of Amelia’s hatred had been correct. It was all due to Eryn’s heart condition. She hadn’t been pretending! What would a baby or a toddler know about that, anyway?

She still needed someone to love her.

Maxwell Sullivan hadn’t said the words, but his kind eyes and tender kisses made her think it might become a possibility.

But then he’d discover her fatal flaw. She didn’t even know exactly what it was — the heart thing was only Amelia’s excuse — but it made people not love her for long. Maxwell would stop caring about her then, and it would break her heart.

She heard the door open downstairs, and she eyed the ladder, not that Dad had ever invaded her loft bedroom.

“Eryn? I’m home.”

“Hey, Dad.” She kept her voice even.

“Can we talk?”

“I’m pretty tired.” Right, it was only 8:30. It wasn’t like she was turning out her light any minute soon.

“I hate how I left things last night. I’d like to make things right.”

Eryn hated how he’d left things, too, but she didn’t want to talk about it. Still, Dad was all she had left, even if he thought the better daughter had died.

“I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Okay. I’ll put on tea.”

Tea had been Mom’s thing. Eryn doubted Dad had fixed a cup for himself his entire life until Mom had passed away. Now it was his answer to everything.

She scanned the rest of Amelia’s entry, but it was more of the same. Poor Amelia. No one understands. My sister is a loser. Yada yada.

If only it didn’t hurt so much to know how little Amelia thought of her.

It was self-inflicted pain. Eryn got that, but it seemed she should uncover the depth of the anguish before she could heal from it. Did that make healing the goal? Not likely. She just needed to remember that she wasn’t worthy of anything good, and there was no one better than Amelia to keep that in the forefront.

And Dad.

Eryn sighed, tucked the journal into her drawer, and climbed down the ladder.

“I bungled things last night. I’m sorry.” Dad’s hangdog face might have been funny if it weren’t directed at Eryn.

“You brought up good points.”

“I did?” He set two teacups on the table.

“If Maxwell wants to run, I’d rather he did it now rather than later.”

“It was that talk of his Chicago condo that triggered me. I should have known?—”

“No, it’s okay. He’s too good for the likes of me, so if that conversation convinced him to back off, it’s probably for the best.”

Dad frowned, obviously turning her words every which way to figure them out.

Good luck with that. Because Eryn couldn’t decipher them, either.

“He’s not too good for you.”

Eryn managed a laugh. “He is. He’s rich and self-confident. I’m not in his league.” Not like Amelia might have been.

“You’re a fine woman, and he’d be lucky to win you.”

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