The Millionaire's Intriguing Offer

Missed Connections

Jonathon stared back at the man, and shifted the cardboard box he was holding. "I'm Jonathon Berrington. But I guess you already figured that out."

"You always show up places uninvited?" The man set the bucket down, and the pigs grunted over it.

"Bailey isn't answering my calls."

"You ever stop and think that means she doesn't want to see you?" Harlan stared at him, and if looks could kill Jonathon figured he would be lying on a heap on the ground just about now. He hoped the thing about getting a shotgun wasn't serious.

"Is she here?" He kept his voice level.

"You don't walk onto my property and demand to see my daughter. Not after the way you've treated her."

Jonathon could feel his tempter rising. "I had one argument with her, and I had every right to be upset."

"That's not how she tells it."

"Well you obviously haven't heard my side of the story."

"Son, as far as I'm concerned there only is one side to the story. Bailey's. I don't much care what you have to say."

Jonathon glanced toward the house. "You're not going to stop me from seeing her."

"I wouldn't bet on that. But I don't need to since she's not here."

"Is that the truth?"

"First you accuse my daughter of being a liar, and now you're accusing me?"

"No. God." Despite his frustration, Jonathon couldn't help but be glad Sparrow had grown up to have such a staunch defender for a dad. "Look, I found out something that was a shock, and maybe I overreacted."

The older man's eyes narrowed.

"Ok, I definitely overreacted. I accused her of making up something because I knew it wasn't true. Then later that day I found out there actually were letters. So that part was true. But not the part about me never writing back, because I couldn't write back since I never got them. But by the time I knew that she was gone."

Harlan rubber a hand over his chin. "You're not making a lick of sense."

For someone who made his living explaining things to juries, Jonathon knew he was doing a damn poor job explaining what had happened with Bailey.  It was because for once in his life he had a situation he didn't know how to deal with. She'd spent all that time with him, made him feel like he knew her so well he couldn't imagine the rest of his life without her, and all the while had hidden something so basic about herself as who she was. He couldn't wrap his brain around it, and it made him feel frustrated and angry and manipulated and taken advantage of.

And yet.

Those letters.

The letters where Sparrow poured her heart out had almost brought him to his knees. His own heart ached for the girl who had kept on writing to him, kept believing in him long after anyone else would have given up.

"Well." Harlan said, shaking his head. "You might as well come in. She's not here. But since you came this far I'll listen to what you have to say, then we'll see."

Jonathon wasn't sure exactly what Harlan meant by "then we'll see," but hopefully it included the man telling him where Bailey was, and if she'd be coming back here later today. If she was, Jonathon would wait, welcome or not.

They walked up the steps, past the old fashioned porch swing, and into the house. The kitchen was big and homey, with a farmhouse-style table he couldn't help but imagine Bailey sitting at as a teenager, eating meals and doing homework. And the smells that assaulted his nose as soon as he walked in reminded him he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.