“No.” I suddenly felt cold. The thought of my birth father out in the world …
“He’s demonstrated remorse and is determined to show the parole board he has been rehabilitated. He does feel, however, that he cannot truly demonstrate that without a possibility of reconciliation with his only daughter.”
Oh, this really had been the day from hell. “Are you kidding me? How did you get my number?”
“Ms. Ironside?—”
“How can my scumbag of a birth father afford an attorney? You’re not a public defender, right?”
“No—”
“In other words, dear old psychopath Nathan has made some connections in the clink and was hooked up with an attorney. Aye, that sounds legit rehabilitated to me?—”
“Ms. Iron?—”
“You tell Nathan I hope he rots in prison forever and as soon as I get off the phone, I’m going to make it my mission to ensure that board denies him parole. Oh, and fuck you, thank you very much.” I hung up the phone and immediately blocked the number.
Mum’s cheeks had lost all color. “Nathan’s up for parole?”
I glowered, my heart pumping wildly. “Something I think we should have known about, no?”
Mum turned to Dad. “I need to call my lawyer.”
Dad nodded. “What did his attorney want?”
“Nathan asked her to reach out,” I sneered. “So he could reconcile with me.”
“Over my dead body,” Dad warned.
“And mine,” I assured him.
Mum rushed to my side. “I will take care of this. I don’t want you thinking about it ever again. It’s too much stress on the pregnancy.”
Knowing she was right, I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath.
“Just forget about it,” Mum insisted. “I’ll take care of it.”
When I opened my eyes and stared into hers, I knew she would. I trusted her implicitly. After all, she’d saved us from Nathan before.
I nodded and drew her into my arms, more thankful for her than I could ever put into words.
Twenty-Seven
LEWIS
It was a typical summer day in the Highlands. Five minutes ago, my window wipers were going a mile a minute to keep up with the rain lashing the windscreen. Now I had to pull my visor down as the sunshine blared through the break in the clouds. My SUV rolled forward in slow-moving traffic, and I kept glancing at the digital clock on the dash. Our appointment time was creeping worryingly closer.
“We’ll get there,” I reassured Callie.
“We’re fine.” She sounded much more laid-back than I was feeling.
The past few weeks had been a mixed bag of emotions. First and foremost, I was relieved and over the bloody moon that Callie was giving us a real shot again. We’d been on several more dates, none of which were on the list she’d sent me, but I planned to make those happen in the future. I’d already booked us tickets to see a play in Edinburgh in a few weeks’ time so I could take her on date three and four in the same weekend. I hadn’t told her yet.
My offer on the house was accepted, and I’d invited Callie to see it before I finalized the offer. I wanted to make sure she loved it. Of course, she more than loved it. She thought it was spectacular and had already named itAn Caisteal Beag. The Wee Castle. Because of the moat. I finalized my offer, and the house would be mine in two weeks. I was already looking into having its registered address name changed to An Caisteal Beag. And I was very much already imagining Callie and I raising our child there. I could picture sitting in the window box with our son or daughter, reading to them or watching the wildlife in the surrounding forest.
Slow, I reminded myself as I pulled into the car park at the hospital in Inverness. Everything else was going so fast, I had to resist the urge to pick up the pace on the rest.
The last few weeks had been rough for my Callie, and I wanted her to feel safe with me. When I’d heard what Mrs. Rankin (a woman I barely even remembered but who seemed to think she was some kind of mouthpiece for the village) said at the bakery, I’d wanted to rail at her. Her viciousness did catch and there were some others who turned their noses up at Callie if she entered their establishment or passed them on the street.
