He nodded, his focus riveted on his daughter. "Dammit, Jenna…I don't know a blamed thing about teenaged girls."
Jenna felt her lips curve. "Does anybody?"
Hank glanced at her, the anguish in his eyes nearly taking her under before he clomped down the steps…and past his daughter without saying a word.
* * *
Okay…what was up with Jenna touching Mr. Logan?
Just like that, Blair's good mood disintegrated. She tucked her arms against her ribs and stamped up the porch steps. When she got close enough, she could see that Jenna's cheeks were all pink, like she was excited or something.
"What's going on, Jenna?"
Her aunt jerked, her cheeks getting even redder. "What are you talking about—?"
"Why was Mr. Logan here?"
"To…make sure the plumbing was working okay. Why else?"
"Then why'd you have your hand on his arm?"
Jenna laughed then, but it sounded like there was too much air in it. "Oh, for pity's sake…so I touched him? That doesn't mean we're engaged, sweetie."
Oh, Jenna was trying to stay cool, but Blair could tell something was up. It was, like, so obvious that Jenna was keeping something from her. Something big. She had the same look on her face she'd had for all those months before she'd told Blair that Uncle Phil was sick, that stupid fake-happy look grown-ups wear when they don't think you can handle the truth.
Blair banged back the screen door and stormed inside, hauling Meringue up into her arms and carrying her into her room, where she climbed up onto her bed, her legs crossed. Meringue immediately started purring and kneading Blair's shorts, but she only half noticed. Her eyes burned—what if Jenna did like Mr. Logan? What if he started staying over at night, like DeAnna's mom's boyfriends did? What if—her stomach pitched—what if Jenna fell in love with Mr. Logan and they got married? And then Blair and Jenna would have to move here permanently?
Blair started to rock, hugging Meringue to her. Oh, God. OhGodohGodohGod…
At Jenna's knock on her partially open door, Blair swiped her hand across her nose, except then she sneezed five times in a row because like half the cat's fur was stuck to her face.
"Here," Jenna said, handing her a tissue box. Then she sat on the edge of her bed, her forehead all creased. "Honey…what on earth are you so upset about?"
Blair blew her nose, took a deep breath and said, "Promise me you won't marry Mr. Logan?"
Jenna looked like she was about to choke. "You're jumping to this conclusion because of what you just saw?"
"I never saw you touch anybody else. Not since Uncle Phil died."
"Blair, for heaven's sake…who would that have been? I hardly even go out, unless it's to take you someplace."
Blair shrugged, her chin in her hand as she dragged her fingers through Meringue's fur, watching the way it clumped into rows.
"In any case, cutiepie," Jenna said, hugging her with one arm, "it's not something you need to worry your pretty little head about. I barely know the man. And, well, let's just say he's not the type I've ever been attracted to." When Blair looked over at Jenna, she reached up and smoothed Blair's hair away from her face. "Even if I were interested in another relationship. Which I'm not." She leaned back, searching Blair's face, which made Blair nervous. "And what have you got against Mr. Logan, anyway?"
Now it was Blair's turn to choke. "Where would you like me to start?"
"Hmm. I don't recall you thought he was so horrible a little while ago when he was rescuing the puppy."
That tripped her up, but only for a second. "Yeah, well, you saw the way he just walked right past me a little while ago and didn't say anything, like he couldn't get away fast enough."
"And maybe that didn't have anything to do with you," Jenna said quietly, after a second. "Maybe he was…pre-occupied."
"And maybe he's just rude. And what does it matter to you, anyway, what I think about him? I mean, you don't like him, either."
"Just because I don't want to marry the man doesn't mean I don't like him. No, listen to me for a minute," she added before Blair could say anything. "I do understand why you think what you do about Mr. Logan. But I also know it's all too easy sometimes to base our opinions of people on misperceptions. If there's one thing my advanced years have taught me—"
Geez, Blair thought, ducking her head to pick at the polish on her big toenail, why did grown-ups always talk about how old they were?
"—it's that people who are rude or mean are often pretty unhappy about something. That doesn't necessarily excuse their behavior, I'm not saying that. But it does help us to understand them. To maybe have a little compassion, you know?"
Then Jenna paused, clearly waiting for Blair to agree with her. She scratched a mosquito bite on her elbow. "Yeah. I guess."
"Well. That's all I'm trying to say. Now…I see there's a grill outside—how about eggplant and peppers for dinner?"
Blair nodded.
"Good." Jenna patted Blair's knee, then stood up. "Come help me slice."
"In a sec, okay?"
Her aunt watched her for a moment, then walked to the door, hugging herself the way she did when she was nervous. Then she twisted back around, the fake smile back in place. "By the way, I saw a DQ on the way into town. After dinner, how about we go get some Blizzards?"
Blair studied her aunt's face, as if trying to suck the truth out of her. No matter what Jenna said, even if maybe she was telling the truth about Mr. Logan, Blair still felt all icky inside.
"Maybe we could get another one of those milk shakes from Ruby's instead?"
The fake smile got more real. "You got it."
* * *
Considering how wobbly her knees were, Jenna counted it as a miracle that she made it to the kitchen on her own steam. Aiyiyi…she'd never thought that fast on her feet in her life. Not that she'd lied about anything. Exactly. She could no more see herself seriously involved with Hank Logan than she'd expect antlers to sprout from her head. And the part about his being different from any man she'd ever been attracted to? No lie there. Jenna just hoped Blair's ability to read between the lines wasn't as highly developed as her math skills.
Dear Heavenly Father, Jenna thought as she dragged the veggies out of the refrigerator—however she and Hank were going to handle this, they'd better by a damn sight figure it out fast, because another session like that and she'd be toast.
She rinsed the eggplant under the faucet, allowing herself the indulgence of awareness, of the vegetable's sponginess when she squeezed it, the smooth, cool texture and deep, rich color of its skin, the sensation of the breeze from the open window wicking the moisture from her wet hands. An odd, vaguely familiar ache spread through her bones, like what a hibernating creature must feel upon awakening in the spring—the remembrance, and maybe even the joy, of being alive.
There was a world beyond that of her own creation, she realized with a start. One she'd virtually ignored for more than three years.
One that now beckoned for her return.
Frowning, she thwonked the knife through the eggplant.
* * *
"What the hell do you mean, Blair's my niece?"
Leaning against the hood of Cal's truck, a Marlboro dangling from his fingers, Hank wondered if his own expression was half as flummoxed as Cal's was right now. "Just what I said." He took a drag of the cigarette, hissed out a stream of smoke, even as he realized there wasn't enough nicotine in the world to ease the panic knotted in his chest. "Wasn't a coincidence, her looking like Mama's picture."
Far overhead, a hawk let out its hunting cry. Cal leaned up against the truck, too, his arms crossed. "You mean to tell me you knocked up Jenna Stanton's sister fourteen years ago and you're just now getting wind of it?"
"Blair's mother didn't seem to think I'd be interested in that bit of information." Then he filled his brother in on the rest of it. What Jenna had told him, anyway, about the diary and her not knowing, either, until that point. Under norm
al circumstances, Hank probably wouldn't have told either of his brothers—or anybody, for that matter—about any of this until he'd settled it down in his own head a bit more first. But Cal had basically nagged it out of him. And now his baby brother let out a nice, juicy cuss word.
"That about covers it," Hank said, thinking he had to admit, it eased things some, being able to tell someone else.
"This somebody you were serious about?"
Hank sucked in a sharp breath, then felt his mouth twist. "I was twenty-five, Cal. I wasn't lookin' to settle down at that point. Wasn't looking for much of anything, I suppose, other than somebody to make the nights a little less lonely. To tell you the truth…I can't even really remember what she looked like."
"It was a long time ago," Cal said softly.
"Yeah. I suppose. Doesn't seem…right, though, having a kid with someone you can barely remember."
"Hey—she skipped out on you, Hank, so don't you go beating yourself up over it. Only thing that matters is what you do now. Right?"
Hank felt one side of his mouth hitch up. "Yeah. Right." He took his last pull of the cigarette, pulverized the butt underneath the sole of his workboot. "But don't you dare tell Ryan."
"What d'you think Ryan's going to do? Lecture you on using protection?"
"I don't know and I'm not in the mood to find out, okay? So keep your trap shut until I say otherwise. Got it?"
"Yeah, yeah, fine." Then Hank felt his brother's gaze on the side of his face. "You okay?"
"What do you think?"
After a moment of silence, Cal grabbed his cowboy hat off his head, crammed it back on. "Man…" Hank glanced over, noticing for the first time that Cal didn't look so much like a kid anymore, that getting on to thirty had hardened his features some. "This is really somethin'."
Something hot and cold and scary shot through Hank as the pup waddled over, then sat down all lopsided and grinned up at him. How the hell had this happened? After Michelle, Hank's only goal in life had been to avoid having another living thing to worry about. To take care of. To be responsible for. So now, in the space of, what? An hour? He ends up with a dog and a daughter?
Cal swatted a fly away from his face. "Guess that means you'll be seein' more of Blair's aunt, huh?"
Oh, yeah. That, too. Hank inwardly swore. What with the shock of finding out he was somebody's daddy, the further ramifications of this little bombshell hadn't even occurred to him. But Cal was right: it wasn't like the month would end and Blair and Jenna would go back to D.C. and that would be that. Jenna Stanton was now a permanent part of his life, just as much as Blair was.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
"Guess so," Hank said. Casually. "Although I haven't thought much about that part of it."
"No, no, I suppose not. Well. I best be going." Cal finally got in his truck, slamming shut the door after him. Then he said, "Hey. You need to talk, you call me, you hear?"
"Oh, yeah? And what good you think that's gonna do?"
His brother shrugged. Cal wasn't as big as Hank, but that didn't mean he was puny, either. Kid had a good set of shoulders on him. "Don't know, actually. But I can listen. Sometimes it doesn't hurt to have a sounding board, you know."
Hank met Cal's irritatingly calm green gaze, then nodded. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, then stood and watched as his little brother drove off.
The pup yipped. Hank looked down. Like he needed something else to think about right now. Of course, nobody'd put a gun to his head about taking the dog. Just like nobody'd put a gun to his head about going home with some cute little brunette he'd met in a bar one night after work fourteen years ago. In other words, nothing was happening to him that he himself hadn't set in motion at some point along the way.
Not that that made him feel a whole lot better.
"I suppose you're hungry?" That got another yip, followed by a kowtow with the beast's scrawny butt up in the air, tail a blur. In spite of everything, something eased inside Hank. Not much, but enough so he could breathe again. "You like hamburger, mutt?" The pup plopped his keyster on the ground, cocking his head at Hank. He reached down and scooped up the little dog, who immediately started cleaning his chin. "Don't tell me you don't know what hamburger is?"
Guess this means you'll be seeing more of Blair's aunt, huh?
So much for being able to breathe again.
Hank carted the dog inside, setting him down on the floor and fixing one ear that had turned inside out. "Okay, listen up—you make a mess on this floor, you're history." He went on into the kitchenette and pulled three frozen hamburger patties out of the freezer, threw them under the broiler, his thoughts doing this ping-pong number between Jenna Stanton and Blair and Jenna and Blair and what the hell was he gonna do about any of this?
He went into the bathroom to wash up, caught a load of himself in the mirror. Scraping a hand across his bearded face, he thought, well, hell—no wonder Jenna hadn't fallen all over herself to tell him about Blair. He wouldn't have told him about Blair, either, not looking like this. Or acting the way he had, he supposed. Not a whole lot here to exactly inspire trust and confidence.
So he couldn't exactly fault her for being a little…whatever it was she was. Brittle? High-handed? Her niece clearly meant everything to her. Was everything to her. And her sister, even in death, had put Jenna in a hellacious position.
Hank finally got around to washing his hands, swearing when the soap went flying back behind the toilet where the floor wasn't as clean as maybe it could have been. He swiped it off the floor, picking clumps of dust and hair off it, frowning.
You know…Jenna could just as easily have decided to ignore what she'd seen in her sister's diary. If she hadn't bothered to look for him, nobody would've known but her. But she was here, wasn't she?
Oh, yeah, she was here all right. Way too here for Hank's peace of mind. Making his skin itch. Making him hot, just from one stupid little touch. Hell, making him hot just with those damn take-no-crap blue eyes of hers.
He'd hardly been the only twenty-five-year-old to indulge in casual sex. Even if it wasn't something he'd done on a regular basis, not even back then. So Cal was right—no sense beating himself up over it. Hank had treated Blair's mother well, the short time they were together, even though he pretty much figured the affair would end the way it had. When he'd called and her roommate had answered the phone, said Sandy'd left that morning and no, she didn't know where to, Hank had been neither surprised nor even particularly disappointed. Something about the way she'd never looked him directly in the eye, the way she'd given him her body, but nothing else…
Sandy Hollins had been no threat to his bachelorhood, that was for sure.
And neither was her sister. Even if Jenna Stanton could twist his gut inside out more with a single look than Sandy Hollins had been able to the whole time he'd known her.
He swore at his reflection and the soap, which was now all bumpy like that oatmeal stuff his mother used to use, then went back into the kitchen to turn the hamburgers. The mutt was at the back door, whining to go out.
"Okay," Hank said, opening the door. "But no wandering off. Just do your business and come straight back."
The pup scampered off and Hank went back to cooking and pondering, neither of which was giving him much pleasure.
He already knew firsthand how much of a bitch life could be. Didn't need a refresher course. Maybe fourteen years ago he would have taken on a wife and child, somehow worked things out…
A rueful laugh rumbled in Hank's chest. The probability that things would have "worked out" between him and Blair's mother was slim to none, and he knew it. Then he shut his eyes against a far more shameful truth: he didn't want to be a father. Not now. Not anymore. But it looked like he was one, whether he wanted it or not. So he'd get to know his daughter, even though he had a real strong feeling Blair wasn't going to make it easy. And in order to do that, he'd have to get to know Jenna Stanton, which was the only thing he wanted to do less. Not because he d
idn't like her, though.
Because he did.
Chapter 5
Jenna's muscles griped at being forced to work again after nearly a week off. Tough. She'd missed her runs, but what with everything that had been going on, getting up at dawn—which was the only time she could run and not risk heat-stroke—had not been high on her list. This morning, however, two days after Hank's discovery, she'd awakened with the birds, far too much adrenaline surging through her body to stay in bed. So here she was, her Nikes beating a tattoo in the dust as she ran along some back road or other. The sun bobbed into view over the trees, the sweetly scented morning mist mingling with the dampness leeching from her pores as she ran, and thought, and worried. Coming to a fork in the road, Jenna ran in place for several seconds, swigging warm water from her bottle, contemplating which way to go. The road to the right was shaded. Oh, goody—one thing, at least, that didn't require undue brain cell expenditure. Or induce an anxiety attack.
They'd been here for the better part of a week; Blair was bound to pick up that Jenna had yet to start her "research," even though Darryl Andrews had brought the fixed Toyota back yesterday morning. But for some reason, implementing phase 2 of the gameplan—getting together with Hank to figure out phase 3—was proving even trickier than phase 1 had been.
If she had half a prayer of selling Blair on Hank—no mean feat when her niece thought the man ranked several notches below snail slime—she was going to have to spend some time with him. Alone. If she had half a prayer of Hank's being able to meet Blair on something even remotely resembling her own terms, she had thirteen years of childhood to coach him through…alone.
Yep. Prime anxiety-attack-inducing material, there. But for pity's sake—just because she hadn't felt a man's touch in more than three years, and just because Hank Logan exuded enough animal magnetism to realign the North Pole was no reason, none, for her to feel jittery at the prospect of being alone with him. And maybe if she told herself that, oh, twenty or thirty thousand more times, she might even start to believe it.
Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how one looked at it—alone time hadn't been an issue for the past forty-eight hours, since Libby had come down with some sort of crud and Blair had had nowhere to go. Until today, since Libby had called Blair last night and said she was better and could Blair please, please come over today before Libby's brothers drove her totally nuts?
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