“Are you saying I am wrong?” he asked, indignant.
“Is she with her mother?”
Marcus shook his head, trying not to show his disdain. “No.”
“Where is she? Who is raising her?”
“My sister,” Marcus admitted. “Rose is happy and healthy.”
“But she doesn’t have her father.”
The familiar guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he clenched his jaw.
“Where is her mother?” Sage asked.
Marcus shook his head as he thought of Cassandra. Beautiful. Vain. He had believed he had loved her. “She didn’t want her.”
Sage’s lips tightened in disapproval. “And you took your daughter to your sister to raise?”
Marcus nodded.
“How old is she?” Sage asked.
“Three summers,” Marcus said softly, longingly.
She turned in the saddle to look at his face.
Marcus knew he had given away too much. His desire to see his daughter, his remorse at having someone else raise her. “She might be mine, but she has a different father. My sister’s husband.” As Sage opened her mouth to reply, he cut her off with a stern tone, “It is for the best.”
