Ruth Herne - Healing the Lawman's Heart

“Well, it’s about time. You got a new number.”

She wasn’t about to launch into an explanation of why she was calling from her father’s phone. “The old one still works but we had some storm damage so I’m using this one for now.”

“Did you get my letter?”

The question surprised her. “No.”

“Tomorrow, then. My attorney advised me to send a registered letter to show my intent, which means if you don’t show up with the boys, you’re in contempt of the visitation agreement. It seemed prudent when I didn’t hear from you.”

Impatient. Cryptic to the point of rude. Old feelings rushed back. He’d always wanted the upper hand. It was his way or the highway. Why hadn’t she seen that sooner?

“Don’t you think it would be better to reintroduce yourself to the boys a little at a time?” she suggested. “Call them. Do a face-to-face computer chat with them. Talk to them. Martin remembers you but Connor only knows you from your picture on their wall. I think that would be better for them, Vic. Don’t you?”

He let her know in harsh words that he had court-appointed rights. “And furthermore,” he reamed her, “I’m not the one that moved three hours away. That was all you, Julia, so just the idea that I’m required to meet you halfway ticks me off. I shouldn’t have to step foot out my door, but now I’ll spend an entire evening driving across the state and back. So don’t talk to me about easy. You gave that all up when you moved so far away.”

“Just looking to manage crowd control,” she answered smoothly. “I didn’t need our boys running into any of your ex-girlfriends when half the town knew what was going on. Making their life less awkward was the goal.”

“Babying them is more like it, which is exactly your style. It’s a good thing I made sure we stopped at two because I guarantee that’s all you could handle.”

His words fired a direct shot on her heart. She’d lost their first baby, a tiny girl, miscarried midway through the pregnancy. The devastating loss left a hollow ache in its wake, wondering what her daughter would have been like. Would she like dancing or prefer soccer? Would she sing off-key like Grandpa or join the choir? She would never know these things about her, gone so quickly. Never cuddled, never rocked, never nurtured at her mother’s breast.

And then Vic announced after Connor’s birth that he’d gone through surgery to prevent more children without consulting her. He’d decided two kids were plenty, and her dreams of having a little girl someday disappeared. She choked back a heated response, knowing he wanted to make her angry, but refusing him that satisfaction. “This call isn’t about my parenting. It’s about compromise.”

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