Chance slipped off his hat and rested it on the console. Running a hand through his hair, he answered, “I came to see you.”
“What for?” Okay, she was being a little gruff, but really, she hadn’t a clue why he’d come calling now, when for weeks he’d ignored her texts, wouldn’t answer her phone calls, and hadn’t bothered to initiate either.
“How’s your father? I heard about the stroke.”
How could he have heard and from whom? “He’s still here. That’s all that matters to me.”
Chance nodded as if he understood, but she guessed he was just being polite, because he certainly had not understood what it meant to her when her father suffered a heart attack.
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m hanging in.” Barely.
“Can I say howdy to your father?”
He looked sincere but uncomfortable. Probably just being polite again. “It’s not really a good time.”
He frowned as he scrutinized her. “Do you have time to talk?”
Not really. “A little.” She gestured for him to enter the formal living room off the hallway, the small one that no one ever entered. It was like a stage prop to be viewed but never used.
The room was done in all neutral colors, a beige traditional sofa, a taupe upholstered armchair, a white coffee table. A fireplace with a painted white wood surround served as a focal point in an otherwise bland space.
He sat down on the sofa, and Cowboy jumped up next to him and then snuggled close as Chance started petting him. Libby sat on the edge of the armchair’s cushion. Still stroking Cowboy, Chance stared at her without saying a word, making her self-conscious.
She wondered how she must look. Her hair hung straight and flat since she hadn’t bothered to style it, and as for makeup, she didn’t have any on. She wore an old, ratty sweatshirt from her alma mater and a pair of yoga pants with a tear at one side seam that she hadn’t thought to repair. There hadn’t seemed much reason to fuss with her appearance, and she didn’t have the time anymore.
Well, he couldn’t be here for any romantic reasons, so what did it matter if he saw the real Libby, warts and all.
“Speak your piece, Chance.”
“I’ve come…” He stopped petting Cowboy. How could he ask her now, when her circumstances had changed so much? It was great that he’d finally come to his senses, but he feared it was too late. She had a greater burden than before. Knowing her father had suffered a heart attack, she still had wanted to make it work between them. But when she’d needed him, he’d walked away, afraid to risk a relationship with an increasingly uncertain outcome.
And now her father would be even more dependent on her, consume more of her time. How could he ask her to take him on as well?
“Spit it out. We should be beyond tiptoeing around each other by now.”
Fresh-faced and casually dressed, Libby looked like she was ready to take on the world. Take on him. He should be ready to take his lumps and keep on trying. Anything worth having was worth working for. Libby was worth having. She’d shown him that as she nursed him through his injury. He’d been too full of pride, and too scared, to see it. He’d been afraid to take a risk. Now he was afraid he’d lose her for good. He hoped what he offered would be enough—support, love, and willingness to share the burden.
“It was wrong of me to leave, especially after your father suffered a heart attack. And it was wrong of me to shut you out after you tried, with the best intentions, to have me confront probably my biggest fear—learning the truth about my mother’s leaving me.”
She seemed to relax her grip on the armchair, and leaning forward, she clasped her hands between her knees.
“I’m the one who’s sorry. I did have the best of intentions but…I should have realized—”
“What? That I’m a stubborn cuss, too pigheaded to see another’s side of things?”
He hadn’t noticed it before, but she looked exhausted, and her bottom lip quivered. He wanted to gather her up in his arms and hold her, but he knew he needed to earn that privilege back again.
“So you’re not angry about my bringing your mother to meet you?”
“I was. But I’ve had time to think, to investigate a few things. I went to see her.”
“Your mother? You went to see your mother?” Her eyes widened, her mouth gaped open.
He guessed it was pretty shocking. “I did. I needed to understand some things about who I was and who I wasn’t.”
“And what did you find?” She seemed genuinely interested, too engaged in the subject matter to think about what was still between them and what wasn’t.
“Well, I’m not Jess Cochran. That’s probably most important. I know I’ve got some of him in me, but I’ve finally convinced myself that I’m not going to be a duplicate of that man.”
“You’ve never been that man.”
“I’m glad you still believe that. Problem was, I didn’t until now.”