Page 63 of A Sunny Sweetheart for the Cowboy

And maybe it wasn’t too late to pray. The woman on the plane had reminded her that she couldn’t escape from God, not that Paisley had been trying to do exactly that. But she could pray now, from here, just as well as she could have prayed from the ranch. And she had. She just hadn’t waited for a reply before acting.

Except, what was that verse? The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness… Paisley didn’t remember the rest or where it might be found. One more thing to look up later, after she’d charged her cell.

Always later, because her ‘right now’ was always a flurry of things flying at her that she needed to duck or to catch. Was she catching or ducking right now? She couldn’t remember which.

Paisley found her mother’s room, where the door stood ajar. She tapped lightly and stuck her head around to find Mom leaning against a stack of pillows with a game show playing on TV.

Apparently not dying, at least not this minute.

“Mom?”

Her mother turned toward the door, and the effects of drug use were etched on her face. Paisley had seen them all too often growing up. “Paisley?”

“Hi. I hear you’ve been asking for me.” She took a few cautious steps closer. But this was her mother. She reached in and offered a gentle hug.

Mom rocked back and forth, sniffling into Paisley’s neck. “It’s been so long, baby.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Sort of sorry. This flashback to her childhood and teen years stood testament to why she’d escaped and stayed there.

“I’ve wronged you, baby. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just get better, okay?” And lay off the substances.

“Yeah, I’ll try. There’s somebody I want you to meet.”

“Oh?” Paisley disengaged her mother’s thin arms from around her neck and studied her, but Mom was looking past her.

“That’s Earl over there. He, uh, he’s your daddy.”

Paisley pivoted to see a drug-ravaged man with unkempt hair sitting in the visitor chair. He waggled his fingers at her. She might have always wondered who her father was, but now she wished she still didn’t know.

She took a step toward him. “You are my father?”

“That’s what Rita says.” He shrugged a thin shoulder as he studied her. “I wouldn’t know but, hey, you’re pretty.”

Paisley’s stomach turned at the man’s assessment. This was not the reunion she’d hoped for. How had Nadine Kline lucked into finding out Walter Sullivan, Senior, was her father, while Paisley had been sired by this creep?

“We could do DNA,” Earl offered. “If you can pay for it.”

“No, thanks.” As long as she didn’t hold the evidence in her hands, she could pretend Mom had jumbled things up. That was probably the case, because this loser? Please, Lord, no.

“Hey!” Kait breezed into the room. “Oh, looks like you’ve met everyone.”

Paisley skewered her sister with a look. “Looks like.”

“Aw, baby.” Mom reached for Paisley. “He’s a good guy. Right, Earl? You tell her.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m one of the good ones.” He winked at Paisley.

Ugh. Paisley turned to Kait. “I’m ready whenever you are. You have to be at work soon, right?”

Kait glanced at the clock and frowned at Paisley. “Lots of time. Don’t worry about it.”

Paisley should never have come.

Chapter

Nineteen

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