A Dad for Billie (24 page)

He rose to his feet and pulled on his clothes. Better for him not to be discovered in her bed. They discussed it, but she had protested she wasn’t ready to let him go. So he’d waited until she’d fallen asleep.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. Then, taking his shoes in his hand, he crept down the hall and opened Billie’s bedroom door.

The girl—his daughter—slept on her back. An old teddy bear rested against her chest. Moonlight drifted across her cheek and made her look as sweet and innocent as an angel. He chuckled softly. Billie was a lot of things, but angelic wasn’t one of them. Still—

He closed the door and stepped back. He could feel himself sinking in deeper. What was he going to do? Not caring didn’t seem to be an option anymore. If he couldn’t turn away from them, he’d have to find a way of keeping them with him. If he wasn’t careful, they’d leave. Love meant losing. Jane had already proved she could leave him. This time he might not survive.

No matter what the cost, he had to find some way to get control and keep them here. If he didn’t, he would lose them forever.

Chapter Thirteen

J
ane looked over the stack of boxes in the attic.

“There’s a ton of stuff here,” Billie said, “but Charlene has lots more. Are there any clothes for me to play dress up?”

Jane shook her head. Not that again. Look at the trouble it had created the last time. Then she smiled. No more secrets, she thought. There was nothing to hide, nothing to fear. “I don’t think my mother kept anything like that, honey. Grandpa didn’t want her to save old clothes.”

It was late afternoon. The sun had slipped behind a large tree in the yard, putting the attic in shade. A couple of bare light bulbs hung from the rafters and provided light, as did a window at the front of the room. Dust motes floated in the air. They’d left a trail of footprints from the door to the boxes where they stood now.

Billie knelt next to the small window at the front of the attic. “You can see Adam’s house from here. The whole thing. It’s big, huh?”

“Yes. It’s big.” Without meaning to, she joined her daughter and stared out at the Barrington mansion. The wings stretched
well past where her own house ended. Windows gleamed from constant care. It was a lovely home, she acknowledged. At one time it was to have been hers. With a sigh she shifted until she was sitting on the dusty floor and staring up at the underside of the roof. She hadn’t seen Adam since Sunday. She smiled. Okay, technically Monday morning. When sleep had finally claimed her, he’d crept out of the house.

Yesterday a crisis had kept him tied up at the bank. He’d called to explain and sent a huge bouquet of roses. But she hadn’t really talked to him since they’d made love.

Had it been a mistake? Was it about the past or the present? Were they going to repeat the experience?

Just the thought of his hands and mouth touching her was enough to make her heart pound and her body flush. She’d spent most of yesterday wondering how she could have missed out on the wonder of it all for so long; and she’d spent most of today fearing that her feelings weren’t so much about sex as they were about Adam.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Billie asked, rolling over to sit next to her.

“Your father.”

“I like Adam.”

“I’m glad. I like Adam, too.”

Billie pulled the softball out of her shorts pocket. “Are we going to be a real family?”

“We’re going to try. And don’t throw that in the house.”

Billie’s sigh was long-suffering. She stuffed the ball away in her pocket. “If Adam’s my father, how come I don’t have his last name? Didn’t you say that kids get the boy’s name?”

The questions were inevitable, Jane told herself. So far she’d gotten off pretty light. But Billie was a verbal child and very bright. She couldn’t walk around the truth forever. “Usually. But Adam and I didn’t get married, so I didn’t take his name. I gave you mine so that we would have the same name and people would know we belonged together.”

“How are people gonna know I belong to Adam?”

Interesting question. “We’ll work something out. Come on.” She rose to her feet. “Let’s get to work on these boxes.”

“What are we looking for?” Billie scrambled up next to her.

“Paintings. Your grandmother took several art classes. She’s very talented. I know she did a couple of seascapes and a few watercolors of the area. I’d like to find them and hang them in the house.”

Billie frowned. “I’ve never seen Grandma paint. She won’t even do finger paints with me.”

“I know.” Jane opened the first box and peered inside. Old tax records. She closed the box and reached for another. “She had a dream, but she had to give it up.”

“Why?”

Oh, that was hard. “Sometimes we want to do something, but we know it will hurt someone else, so we don’t do it.”

“Like throwing my ball in the house.”

Jane smiled. “Something like that. Grandma wanted to paint, but it made your grandfather unhappy.”

“Why? If the pictures are pretty wouldn’t he want her to make them?”

“You’d think so. Grandpa is a different kind of person than Grandma.” She pulled off a cover and peered inside. “Oh, look. Here’s a couple.” She carefully drew out several flat canvases. The first watercolor painting showed a garden in full bloom. Luscious colors blended harmoniously. Small, sure brushstrokes added depth to the plants and a gazebo in the corner.

“I like this one,” Billie said, leaning against her arm. “What are the others like?”

Jane showed her, one by one.

“That one is like the roses Adam sent you.”

She was right. Pale peach-and-cream flowers floated in a glass bowl. She had a dozen of the same roses downstairs in the parlor. She’d placed them deliberately so that when she looked at them, she saw the patch of carpet where they’d first made love.

“Are we going to hang these up?”

“Yes.”

Billie touched the corner of the painting. “I don’t understand why Grandpa wouldn’t want her to do this. It’s nice. Can I have one in my room?”

“Sure.” Jane placed the watercolors on the floor by the door
of the attic. “I think there might be some more pictures. Let’s look for them for a little longer, then I’ll go start dinner.”

“Is Adam coming over tonight?”

“I hope so.”

She needed to see him and reassure herself that what had happened between them had been as perfect and right for him as it had been for her. She wanted to see him and touch him and—

“Should I call Adam ‘Dad’?” Billie asked. She wiped her hand down her face and left a trail of dust.

The question shouldn’t have been unexpected, but it was. So many changes. Still, she’d done this for Billie. And Adam. “If you want to.”

Billie shrugged. “I guess. I’m glad I have a father now. I wanted one for a long time. But when I think about him in my mind, he’s Adam. I’m afraid I’ll say it wrong.”

“It’s up to you.” Jane smiled at her daughter and ignored the small tug at her heart. It was going to be hard to learn how to share the affection of this eight-year-old. She’d been the only one for so long. “You could practice for a while. Soon you’ll start thinking of him as Dad instead of Adam and that will make it easier to say.”

“Okay. Dad.” She tried out the word. “Dad, Dad, Dad.” She twirled in the room, bumping into boxes and chanting the word like a song. She stopped and stared at her. “Did you love Ad—Dad?”

Where had that come from? It would be easy to make up a story, but she was so tired of the lies. “Yes, Billie, I loved your father with all my heart.”

“Then why did you leave?”

That was tougher. She wasn’t so sure anymore. At one time the answer to the question would have made a lot more sense. “I didn’t think I was ready to be married. Adam was all grown up, but I wasn’t. Relationships between men and women require that both people are ready.”

“Did he want you to go?”

She thought of all that he had told her. The bald way he talked about having to pick up the pieces of his life, the details of the
failed wedding, the anger when he spoke of her betrayal. “No, Billie, he didn’t. I hurt him very badly.”

“Are you sorry?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ‘pologize?”

She smiled. “Yes, I did.”

“Then it’s okay. You always told me ‘pologizing helps make it right.”

Jane held open her arms. Billie rushed into her embrace. She hugged her daughter close. “You’re a smart girl.”

“I know. This is going to be great. You and me are going to have Adam now. He loves us and we love him.”

Jane released Billie and walked to the window. Did she? She thought about her decision to come home from San Francisco. She recalled the way she’d pushed to have a confrontation with Adam, how she’d resisted telling him the truth because she didn’t want to face what she’d done. So many of her concerns had been about keeping Billie safe. Had those genuine fears allowed her to hide another truth? She thought about how easy it had been to make love with him. And it had been making love, she thought with a sureness that surprised her. It had been more than sex, because Adam was more than just a man from her past. She hadn’t developed a relationship with anyone else, because she’d been waiting and growing up. When she was finally ready, she’d returned, willing to pay any price to set the past right.

She loved him.

It didn’t matter that he might not want her now. It didn’t matter that he wouldn’t easily let go of his need to control. It didn’t matter that she had nine years to make up for. She loved him. That’s why she’d come back to Orchard. She’d come home to Adam.

*

“Something smells good.”

Jane turned at the sound of Adam’s voice. He stood in the doorway of her kitchen. She hadn’t heard him knock, but Billie had been playing out front and had probably told him to go in.

It was a little after four. He’d obviously come straight from the office. He’d removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves,
but had left on his tie. Stubble darkened his jaw and highlighted the firm lines of his mouth. She wanted to run to him and kiss him and tell him how much she’d been thinking of him. She wanted to have him whisper those words back to her.

Instead, paralyzed by a sudden burst of shyness, she hung back. “I’m trying a new recipe. It uses chicken and—”

He crossed the room in three long strides. “I wasn’t talking about the food.” With that he gathered her close.

Her arms went around his neck. She raised her head and he brushed her lips with his.

“I missed you,” he said, then kissed her again.

“Me, too.”

“You’re all I’ve thought of.”

“Me, too.”

“I thought this day would never end.”

“Me, too.”

He grinned. “Is that all you can say?”

Now that he was here, holding her, the shyness fled, chased away by desire. “No. I can ask why you feel the need to talk so much.”

With that she held his face still and raised herself up on tiptoe. She brushed her tongue across his lips. He tasted wet and warm and wonderful…like Adam, she thought, closing her eyes and leaning closer. His hands moved from around her waist up, until he cupped her breasts. Instantly, her nipples hardened and he teased them.

She broke away. “Billie’s outside.”

“I know.” He planted one last quick kiss on her mouth, then stepped back. “How about something to cool me down?”

“There’s still beer in the fridge.”

“Thanks.” He walked across the room. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get over here yesterday. It was one crisis after another. I didn’t want you to think it was because Sunday night didn’t mean anything to me.”

“You explained this on the phone as well as with the roses. They’re beautiful.”

He twisted the top off the bottle and shut the refrigerator. After
taking a swallow, he looked at her. “I wanted to make sure you understood.”

He was so damned decent, she thought, feeling her love for him swell inside of her. For a moment she toyed with the idea of telling him what she’d realized that afternoon in the attic. But it was too soon. There was still so much to work out. Besides, she wasn’t sure that Adam was interested in her love. He hadn’t had time to come to grips with all the sudden changes. Neither of them had. And he had a lot more forgiving to do than she did.

“I understand. Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“I’d love to.”

“Should I invite Charlene?”

“She’s busy with her packing tonight. I don’t know that she’ll have time.”

“I’ll call and ask. When does she leave?”

“In the morning.”

Jane smiled. “I admire her. Going to Greece. Alone. At her age.”

“I’m not so sure she’s going alone.”

She turned back to the counter and continued dicing the vegetables she’d been working on when he arrived. “Then with whom?”

“I haven’t a clue. Maybe one of her trucker friends. I was thinking about Billie,” he said, approaching her from behind and resting his hands on her shoulder.

“She’s been thinking about you, too,” she said. She tilted her head and rested her cheek on his hand.

“And?”

“She wanted to know about calling you Dad.” She smiled up at him. “I hope you don’t mind that I encouraged her.”

He swallowed. “I’d like that.”

“She said that it would take a little getting used to, but I don’t think it will be all that long.”

He picked up the beer bottle and took a drink. “Speaking of Billie, I thought I’d better bone up on this whole parenting thing.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll show you.” He walked into the hallway and returned with
a bag from a local bookstore. “I picked up a few books on raising children. Just to give me a frame of reference.”

He spread them out on the counter. She scanned the titles, then wiped her hands on a nearby dish towel and picked up the top one.
“Assertive Discipline For Children
. Don’t let Billie see this one.”

“She’s going to need a firm hand.”

Jane shook her head. She didn’t like the sound of that. “Billie is her own person.”

“She’ll be a teenager in a few years.”

“She’s only eight.”

“I’ve done a little reading. It’s important to control—”