“Simply because I refuse to dote on them, to spoil them as you’ve chosen to do doesn’t mean I don’t understand my responsibilities.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Surprised at herself, she laid a hand on his arm. “Peter, it’s just the two of us here. We’ve neither of us anything to lose at this point, so let’s be honest. Let’s put this in its place so that we can stop going over the same ground again and again and accomplishing nothing.”

“It’s you who insists on going over the same ground,” he reminded her.

“All right, I keep going over it.” Arguments were useless and, she admitted, just too tiring. “I want to understand. I need to. It’s no longer a matter of what you did or didn’t feel for me, or I for you. They’re children. Our children. Help me understand why you don’t want them.”

For a moment, he stared down at the hand on his arm. Delicate. He’d always found that delicacy appealing. The fact that there was steel under it had been both disconcerting and disappointing.

And perhaps if they cleared up this matter, she would stop her constant requests that he flex his schedule to meet her expectations.

“I’m not father material, Laura. I don’t consider that a flaw, simply a fact.”

“All right.” Though her heart ached, she nodded. “I’ll accept that. But, Peter, you are a father.”

“Your definition of that term and mine are essentially different. My responsibilities are met,” he said stiffly. “You receive the child support payments every month.”

And they were banked, she thought, into the college funds that he had emptied before the divorce. “Is that it? A financial burden, an obligation. That’s all there is for you?”

“I’m not a doting parent, and never have been. I thought once that I would do better with sons. That I wanted them.” He spread his elegant hands. “The simple truth is that it doesn’t matter now. We didn’t have sons, and I don’t want more children. Candy’s are well tended, polite, and don’t require my attention. I don’t believe Allison and Kayla require it either. They’re being raised well and comfortably in a good home.”

Like poodles, she thought, as pity stirred. “The answer is, you don’t love them.”

“I don’t feel the connection you’d like me to.” He angled his head to look down at her. “Let’s both be honest, Laura. They’re more Templeton than Ridgeway. More yours than mine. That’s always been true.”

“It didn’t have to be,” she murmured. “They’re so beautiful. Miracles. I’m so sorry you can’t take what they would give you.”