“Not in any way that counts.” His jaw clenched. “My talent comes from my mother. She nurtured my creativity and fostered my ambition. You don’t get to claimanyof that. Do you hear me?”
“I do. The two of you get all the credit. I don’t care what name’s on the book.”
“Who says there will be a book?”
“Oh, there will be. You just said you have talent and ambition, which means there will be a book, probably several books. Tell me, are any of your siblings writing?”
Damn. He’d said too much. If he refused to answer, that would be an answer. “Not yet.”
Irving smiled and folded his hands.
“Doesn’t mean what you think it does. They could start any day now.”
“You don’t want to believe my genes had any part in it, and that’s fine. But I’ll take comfort in knowing I didn’t utterly fail. The chain is not broken, after all.”
“Is that the only reason you’re here?”
“No, but it’s a big part of it. I told myself it didn’t matter, but after my heart attack, suddenly it did. And you were my only hope.”
“So basically you’re here to satisfy your ego needs? To confirm that you passed on your fabulous writing genes to the next generation?”
Irving gazed at him, his brown eyes gleaming with what looked suspiciously like respect. “That would be a bit narcissistic, wouldn’t it?”
“It sure as hell would.”
“Well, my therapist happens to agree with you. He was against me telling my wife and kids about you, against me coming here and disrupting your family’s Christmas.”
“I thought therapists were all about confronting your past.”
“They usually are, but this guy knows me pretty well by now. I have a borderline personality disorder. At sixty-one, I’m not likely to change.”
“Then you really don’t care if folks around you get upset. If you hurt them.” That was both repulsive and fascinating.
“Not as much as you would. Or your mother. I’m not very emotional. But when I called Desiree to tell her I wanted tocome, something weird happened. I started crying. I never cry. It was embarrassing.”
“You felt sorry for yourself. Big deal. She told me you cried on the phone. I figured it was an act.”
“It wasn’t. Something about hearing her voice?—”
“Listen, she’s happily married, so if you think for one minute?—”
“No, no, nothing like that. I enjoy my life. I’ll do my best to make this up to my family. I’m not great at apologizing but I’m hoping they’ll forgive me. They’ve put up with me so far.”
“Do you want my mother to forgive you?”
“Yes.” He looked down at his clasped hands. “I haven’t admitted that to myself until now, but I want her forgiveness. I suppose it’s an ego thing, too.” He glanced up. “And yours, Rance. I want your forgiveness.”
To soothe his ego? Not in a million years. “Let me save you some time and effort, Irv, old boy. There’s nothing you can do that will make me forgive you for twenty-nine years of silence.”
He nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Lani had promised Desiree she’d participate in the caroling and she prided herself on keeping promises. Her parents had chosen to stay home and be serenaded, so she’d borrowed their truck for the drive over to the ranch house.
The yard in front of the barn bustled with activity. Multicolored Christmas lights decorated Buck’s pickup and the railings on the flatbed. She quickly located Rance hauling hay bales and sliding them into position on the trailer floor. Her stomach did a few backflips.
She’d avoid him as much as possible and hope nobody noticed. After pinpointing Sara, she made her way to her sister without crossing his path. “Can I do anything?”
