Once More A Family. Lily George

wasn’t about to stand for this. “You’re going.” He stated the truth firmly and flatly. “Is your trunk packed?”

      “Yes, but I can unpack it.” She scowled at him, lowering her brows in the same way Emily used to when she was in a fighting mood.

      “No, you can’t. I’ll make sure they go ahead and load it in the carriage.” He crossed the room and grasped the bellpull, preparing to give it a good hard yank.

      “I am not going with her.” Laura stamped her foot. “She is not my mother.”

      “What does that matter?” Jack was incredulous. Was he really going to have a fight with Laura after all he had done to make them a family? Did she have any idea what he had been through to make this happen? So many lives had been turned upside down just to bring them together again. “If your trunk is packed, then we’ll get going. I am sure Ada is done with Mrs. Erskine by now.”

      “I’m not leaving here.” Laura folded her skinny arms across her chest and glared at him.

      He looked at his daughter, still unsure if this was some sort of bad joke or a nightmare. She stood before him in her gray cotton uniform, with her long hair in a tangle of blond ringlets and her black tights bagging at the knees. Her black hair ribbon tilted crazily over one ear, giving her the look of someone who had been scuffling with an unseen enemy.

      Laura had always been an easy child, his “little chickadee,” his “sunshine baby.” This new behavior was likely the result of life in a highfalutin boarding school and not enough time out on the prairie. The sooner he brought her home, the better. She would get over this sulk and go back to being the sweet-tempered child she had always been.

      “Stop this nonsense and come on,” he ordered. If he gave in to this kind of behavior, she’d end up as spoiled and entitled as Emily.

      “I. Will. Not.” She punctuated each word with a stamp of her foot.

      Anger and helplessness boiled within Jack. He had no idea what to do. Unless he threw her over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes, kicking and screaming, there was no way to get her out of this parlor and down to the waiting carriage.

      Without another word, he turned and left the room, slamming the parlor door behind him. A walk would cool him off. A walk would enable him to think. He’d been through plenty the past few days, living with a strange woman in his home and then meeting with Edmund St. Clair. A man had his limits.

      As he dashed down the stairs, Ada and Mrs. Erskine stepped out of an office on the first floor. “Mr. Burnett,” Mrs. Erskine effused, holding out her hand. “How nice to see you again. I’m so sorry we will be bidding farewell to Laura. She has always been one of my favorites.”

      “Well, you might be keeping her, after all,” he snapped. “Seems she likes it so much here that she doesn’t want to leave.”

      “Oh, dear,” Mrs. Erskine replied with a polite little laugh. “How nice to know our school is so beloved.”

      Ada put her hand on his arm, her complexion draining of all color. “You look...rather upset.”

      “Going for a walk,” he announced coldly. “Be back in a while. Then we will see if we’re taking her home or not.”

      He slammed out of the front door and ran down the steps. The long, curving driveway gave him enough room to walk without having to worry about being knocked down by cars. He tugged on his hat and strode off, walking the same way he did at the ranch, with long and easy strides.

      This was what came of allowing a St. Clair to dictate your child’s life. She had gone from being a sweet and simple child to a terror under their tutelage. How was he ever going to turn this around? If he could only get her home, where she would be immersed in prairie life again, she would learn to forget this nonsense. Hard work, clean living and no ridiculous nonsense—that’s what made a strong and sensible person.

      He paused at the end of the driveway, before it joined the busy, bustling St. Louis thoroughfare. He was no part of the crowd. In fact, anyone looking upon the scene would recognize him as the piece that was out of place. Tilting his straw cowboy hat back, he gazed up at the blue sky. He wasn’t a praying man, so he couldn’t pray. He wasn’t a drinking man, so he couldn’t drink. There was nothing he could do but walk around until he had calmed himself down and pushed his emotions back so hard they would no longer interfere in his daily existence.

      He tugged his hat down and turned the corner into the busy street. Milling around with dozens of other people would help calm him or at least put his trouble in perspective. He made his way past a woman with a baby carriage. Emily had owned a pram that looked almost exactly like that one. She would wheel Laura out into the garden in it when the wind wasn’t too strong, pulling the cover up for shade, draping her shawl over the top so that Laura wouldn’t get sunburned. Then, once their daughter was settled, she would turn to him and say, “You dragged me out here. My poor baby, she’s stifling in this heat. Take us home. I want to live in Charleston.” He would never forget the accusing glare in Emily’s eyes as she turned on him, her hands on her hips.