The seconds stretched between them as he stared at her. “Say it, Hattie,” he insisted, his voice low, nearly menacing.
“I want you to actually say the words.”
“Don’t you blame me, Cade. You’re in this with me, but, yes, you’re the twins’ father. That last time we were together.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Don’t you? I see it in your eyes. You’ve probably suspected all along, so don’t start pointing fingers. We were both adults, both knew what we were doing.”
“You were engaged,” he charged.
“That’s right. To your brother.”
He took a step backward, distancing himself. “Shitfire, Hattie, how could you—”
“We, Cade. You and me. We made those babies. How could we?”
“But you passed them off as Bart’s.” His face contorted in disbelief, his scar showing white, the dark smudge of grease more visible against his suddenly very pale skin.
“Bart knew.”
“What? He knew? Jesus H. Christ, Hattie. You both knew and you kept it a secret.”
“No, no, no!” She was shaking her head, furious with herself for not being clear in the beginning. “He found out when I did, and that was long after the twins were born. In the beginning, neither of us guessed that the girls weren’t his, not really, though I knew it was a possibility. But it wasn’t until we tried to have another baby, not too long after the girls were born. I wasn’t for it; Lord, we already had two. Twins. I had my hands full. But Bart insisted. He wanted a son too. The girls weren’t enough for him, and then we started trying just before the girls turned one, I think. One month went by, then two, finally six or seven, and it seemed odd as the twins had been so easy to conceive.”
He was listening, not saying a word, just staring at her. The only sound was the wind outside as it rattled around the corners of the building.
“So,” she said, her voice still barely audible. “Sometime just before the girls’ second birthday, we went through a series of fertility tests and found out that he couldn’t . . . father children.”
“He was sterile?” Cade said. “Is that what you’re expecting me to believe?”
“Yes.”
“You could be just making this up now.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know, convenience. To try and rope me in.”
“Trust me, this isn’t the way I would go at it if I was trying to ‘rope you in.’ ”
“You waltz in here and make this kind of announcement, that I’m a father and I’m supposed to just accept it?” he demanded, color
returning to his face. “Would you?”
“You’re rejecting the girls?”
“No, damn it, I’m rejecting what you’re saying. For the love of God, Hattie, this is a pretty damned good jolt.”
“You’ve suspected all along, but I knew you’d fight me,” she said. “Even though it’s obvious the girls are Graysons. So, I brought some of our old medical records.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I suppose so.” Reaching into her purse, she withdrew an envelope and set it on the fender of a flatbed trailer.
“What is this?” he asked, ignoring the thick white packet. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing,” she said succinctly, trying to keep her anger in check. You started this, Hattie! Remember? You knew it wasn’t going to turn out all sweetness and light. “I just thought it was time you knew the truth. We’ve had a big jolt this week, were reminded how short life really is. I thought you’d want to know.”