and he had never been sorry for it. But it was past time she understood that despite the recent stroke that forced him to lean on a cane for support, he was still the master of Three Oaks.
“Until I’m planted six feet underground, Three Oaks is mine,” he thundered. “It will be yours when, and if, I say it is.”
“You promised—”
“Whatever promises I made to you came before I found out I had a son.”
“You’d give Three Oaks to a bastard son you didn’t even know about until this morning, when I’ve worked my fingers to the bone all my life for this land? You wouldn’t dare! This plantation belongs to me. I’ve earned it!”
“Bastard or not, Luke Summers is my son. If I choose to divide Three Oaks between the two of you, I will.”
“You can’t! You wouldn’t! I would never allow—”
“
You
don’t allow anything.
I
make the decisions here,” he bellowed.
“Not since your stroke, you haven’t,” Sloan countered, her voice choked with frustration and fury. “For the past nine months, I’ve made the decisions. I’ve run Three Oaks and you’ve leaned back in your rocker and watched me do it. I have no intention of letting you take it away from me now.”
“That’s enough!”
“No, it’s not enough. I haven’t begun—”
Rip’s hand streaked out to silence Sloan. He could not bear to hear the truth she spoke, and fear—fear that he was growing older, fear that he was no longer in control—had brought the back of his hand across his daughter’s proud face.
He saw the growing red mark on her cheek and knew it would soon be a dark bruise. He felt ashamed, but he offered no apology. He’d had no practice at it in the past and now . . .
He could not explain to her the fears that had prompted his violence. His recent close brush with death had created a fierce need in him to ensure the continuity of Three Oaks. He had counted it nothing short of a miracle when Luke Summers had arrived on his doorstep that morning and announced, “I’m your son.”
Even knowledge of Luke’s bastardy had not forestalled the surge of emotion Rip had experienced at this devil-inspired answer to the fervent prayers of his youth. He could not help his reaction to the knowledge he had a son. He wanted to give Luke a part of himself. And that meant giving Luke a part of Three Oaks.
Rip knew he was being a tomfool, knew he was acting like a ridiculous old man. None of that mattered.
He had a son.
Sloan’s eyes never left Rip’s face, so she saw the fleeting confusion and remorse, followed by tight-lipped obstinance. His mind was made up. She closed her eyes to shut out the hopelessness she felt. Her cheek burned as the blood rushed to the spot where Rip had backhanded her.
She hadn’t expected her father to strike her—not because it hadn’t happened in the past, but because it hadn’t happened in so long. Rip had learned years ago that he couldn’t intimidate her by using force, so he had stopped trying.
She resisted lifting her hand to her cheek to touch the fiery skin. There was no way to soothe the hurt she felt. What he wanted to do was wrong. She opened her eyes again and saw a giant of a man whose hand trembled on his cane. She knew she should feel sorry for him, but her feelings of betrayal trod hard on her sympathy.
She watched as Rip spread his legs for balance and placed the gnarled oak handle of his cane squarely in front of him, leaning heavily upon it.
“I’ve asked Luke to come for supper tonight,” he said. “I told him we had some talking to do. I plan to offer him an interest in Three Oaks.”
“The
hell
you will!”
“The hell I
will
!”
As furious as she was with her father, Sloan was even more angry at Luke. How could he have listened to her problems so sympathetically when all the time he had planned to steal Three Oaks right out from under her nose? She placed her balled fists on her hips. “I won’t share Three Oaks.”
“You don’t have any
“Until I’m planted six feet underground, Three Oaks is mine,” he thundered. “It will be yours when, and if, I say it is.”
“You promised—”
“Whatever promises I made to you came before I found out I had a son.”
“You’d give Three Oaks to a bastard son you didn’t even know about until this morning, when I’ve worked my fingers to the bone all my life for this land? You wouldn’t dare! This plantation belongs to me. I’ve earned it!”
“Bastard or not, Luke Summers is my son. If I choose to divide Three Oaks between the two of you, I will.”
“You can’t! You wouldn’t! I would never allow—”
“
You
don’t allow anything.
I
make the decisions here,” he bellowed.
“Not since your stroke, you haven’t,” Sloan countered, her voice choked with frustration and fury. “For the past nine months, I’ve made the decisions. I’ve run Three Oaks and you’ve leaned back in your rocker and watched me do it. I have no intention of letting you take it away from me now.”
“That’s enough!”
“No, it’s not enough. I haven’t begun—”
Rip’s hand streaked out to silence Sloan. He could not bear to hear the truth she spoke, and fear—fear that he was growing older, fear that he was no longer in control—had brought the back of his hand across his daughter’s proud face.
He saw the growing red mark on her cheek and knew it would soon be a dark bruise. He felt ashamed, but he offered no apology. He’d had no practice at it in the past and now . . .
He could not explain to her the fears that had prompted his violence. His recent close brush with death had created a fierce need in him to ensure the continuity of Three Oaks. He had counted it nothing short of a miracle when Luke Summers had arrived on his doorstep that morning and announced, “I’m your son.”
Even knowledge of Luke’s bastardy had not forestalled the surge of emotion Rip had experienced at this devil-inspired answer to the fervent prayers of his youth. He could not help his reaction to the knowledge he had a son. He wanted to give Luke a part of himself. And that meant giving Luke a part of Three Oaks.
Rip knew he was being a tomfool, knew he was acting like a ridiculous old man. None of that mattered.
He had a son.
Sloan’s eyes never left Rip’s face, so she saw the fleeting confusion and remorse, followed by tight-lipped obstinance. His mind was made up. She closed her eyes to shut out the hopelessness she felt. Her cheek burned as the blood rushed to the spot where Rip had backhanded her.
She hadn’t expected her father to strike her—not because it hadn’t happened in the past, but because it hadn’t happened in so long. Rip had learned years ago that he couldn’t intimidate her by using force, so he had stopped trying.
She resisted lifting her hand to her cheek to touch the fiery skin. There was no way to soothe the hurt she felt. What he wanted to do was wrong. She opened her eyes again and saw a giant of a man whose hand trembled on his cane. She knew she should feel sorry for him, but her feelings of betrayal trod hard on her sympathy.
She watched as Rip spread his legs for balance and placed the gnarled oak handle of his cane squarely in front of him, leaning heavily upon it.
“I’ve asked Luke to come for supper tonight,” he said. “I told him we had some talking to do. I plan to offer him an interest in Three Oaks.”
“The
hell
you will!”
“The hell I
will
!”
As furious as she was with her father, Sloan was even more angry at Luke. How could he have listened to her problems so sympathetically when all the time he had planned to steal Three Oaks right out from under her nose? She placed her balled fists on her hips. “I won’t share Three Oaks.”
“You don’t have any
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