“With no income outside your work with the Asher Corporation, you could not afford to buy Bee Tree Hill and I will never give it to you. Ashers work for what they want. Nothing in life is free.”
Ashers work for what they want. He wanted to give Bee Tree Hill to his daughters. It was part of their legacy, and it was part of the legacy of Timber Falls. Just like Uncle Morgan had been allowed to live in the home, Chase wanted his girls to grow up on the estate—not because they had to work for it, but because he wanted it to be a gift.
But he’d never get it from his father. He’d have to buy it—and he had no money of his own—at least, not enough to purchase a multimillion-dollar estate.
“Why are you playing this game with me?” his dad asked. “You never told me you wanted Bee Tree Hill before.”
Everything was a game to his father. In his mind, no one could ever have a pure motive. Even if Chase told him the truth, Dad would assume Joy was coercing him or Chase had a selfish reason for wanting the property. Even if he wanted to explain, his dad would never understand. Just like Joy, Chase was leery to tell his dad about the girls—at least for now. He needed to make sure Joy had secure housing before his dad ever learned the truth.
“It’s not a game.” Chase sighed as the train disappeared. “I just don’t want the things you want. I like Timber Falls. I like Bee Tree Hill. I like our family legacy—”
“I don’t have time for this. Do your job, Chase. This is the last time I’m telling you that. If you give me any more trouble, I’m pulling you out of there and I’ll send in someone who could care less about Timber Falls and Bee Tree Hill.”
The phone went dead. Chase stared at it for a minute, anger and frustration making his jaw tight. His father was at the head of the company and no one ever went against him. Even if Chase called all the board members and made his plea with them, they’d never side with Chase. They were too afraid of Malcolm.
But he couldn’t give up. Even if he failed, he had to show Joy that he was on her side. He’d fight with her to the end, if he needed to, and he wouldn’t give up on his desire to give Bee Tree Hill to his daughters.
Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he grabbed his cup of coffee and started toward the mansion. More than anything, he wanted to see the girls again. He didn’t know when Joy would tell them he was their father, but that didn’t change the fact that he knew.
The heavy kitchen door was open and the sounds of breakfast drifted out of the enclosed porch. Constant chatter, pots clanging on the stove, and chairs scraping across the floor mingled with the sounds of birds calling in the trees and ducks quacking in the nearby pond. Chase didn’t usually come for breakfast, but he would now. If Joy would have him, he’d be there for every meal.
But as he reached for the screen door, his pulse started to race and his palms grew moist. What would he say? How would Joy treat him? What did a dad do?
“Is that you, Chase?” Mrs. Thompson called from the kitchen. “Will you set the garbage bags in the bins by the back door?”
Through the screen, he saw two full kitchen garbage bags sitting in the porch. He opened the door, picked them up and then walked them outside to the bins. The simple, everyday act made his pulse settle and his mind clear.
“Ryan, could you set a plate for Chase?” Mrs. Thompson asked as Chase opened the screen door and stepped into the porch.
“Morning, Chase!” Ryan called.
“Morning, Chase!” Jordan, Kodi and Kinsley echoed.
He smiled as he stepped over the threshold into the bustling kitchen. Mrs. Thompson stood at the stove, putting warm bacon onto a plate covered with a paper towel. Ryan stood on a step stool near a cabinet, reaching for a plate, Jordan had a pitcher of orange juice and was pouring it into all the cups and Kodi was setting napkins at each place. Kinsley was in her booster, a Minnie Mouse bib around her neck, a big-handled fork and spoon in each fist.
Kinsley was the first to greet him with a grin. “Chase!” She wiggled in her booster chair, pure delight on her sweet face.
Chase couldn’t take his eyes off her. It was one thing to know she was Joy’s daughter—another entirely to see her as his.
“You want bacon?” she asked.
He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her close—but he just nodded.
“I like bacon.” She clapped her fists together when Mrs. Thompson turned from the stove and set the platter of bacon on the table. “You like bacon?” Kinsley asked Chase.
“I love bacon.”
She squealed and he laughed.
The child knew what she liked—and did not like—when it came to food.
“Good morning,” Mrs. Thompson said with a smile. She winked at Chase. The way she looked at him, he suspected that Joy had told her about their conversation.
“Joy is getting Harper dressed,” Mrs. Thompson said. “She might like it if you go up and help.”
“Help?” Would Joy like that? Or would she feel it was an intrusion?
Mrs. Thompson nodded and smiled. She tilted her head toward the back stairs. “There’s no harm in offering.”
Chase turned toward the stairs and didn’t give himself a chance to hesitate. He took the steps two at a time. When he got to the top, he turned right. The girls’ bedroom door was open and Harper sat on the floor, her little legs straight out in front, a book on her lap. She still wore her footie pajamas, and her pigtails from the day before were crooked, but he’d never seen anything more adorable.
She looked up at him, her big brown eyes steady and watchful. Sunshine filtered through the billowy white curtains at the windows and bathed her in light.
Joy was nowhere to be seen or heard.
Chase stood at the door, unwilling to enter unless Harper was comfortable with him.
It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her with a book. She often had one in her hand as she toddled about the house.
“What are you reading?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.
“My Lucky Day.” She lifted it off her lap. The front cover had a painting of a wolf staring down at a sheepish-looking pig. “You read?”
Was she asking him if he had read it—or if he’d read it to her?
He took a tentative step into her room. She didn’t shy away—instead, she stood and reached up to him. He stopped—surprised that she wanted him to pick her up.
“You read?” she asked again.
“Do you want me to read to you?” he asked.
Harper nodded, her arms still raised.
His heart pounding, he reached down and picked up his daughter. She was so soft and delicate, he was almost afraid to hold her. What if he dropped her?
She pointed to a rocking chair in the corner where two floor-to-ceiling windows came together.
Chase walked to the rocker and took a seat. She positioned herself on his lap and opened the book to the first page.
The top of her head came up to his chin, and when she settled back against his chest, her wayward pigtail tickled his cheek.
He started to read the story, and she giggled at the silly pig that accidentally came to the wolf’s house.
As Chase read, he laughed at the funny story and got into the characters, changing his voice and reacting along with the pig and the wolf. Harper’s eyes shined as she looked up at him, her smile brighter than the morning, and Chase thought his chest would burst from the love he felt for her.
How was it possible to love someone so much in such a short amount of time?
When he finished the story, Harper clapped and said, “Again!”
“It’s time for breakfast.” Joy stood in the doorway, Harper’s clothes in hand.
Chase and Harper looked up at the same moment.
How long had she been standing there?
* * *
Joy had not expected Chase to come
to the main house until later in the day. But here he sat, his broad shoulders and long legs making the rocking chair look like doll’s furniture, with their daughter on his lap. Harper stared up at him with stars in her eyes and laughter on her lips.
The scene took Joy’s breath away.
But My Lucky Day was Harper’s favorite book, and if Joy didn’t put a stop to it now, she’d have Chase read it to her half a dozen times—and with the look of wonder on his face, he’d probably agree.
“Again!” Harper said to Chase.
“Your mama wants you to eat breakfast.” Chase didn’t make a move to set her on her feet. “But I’ll read to you later, if you’d like.”
“Yes.” With that promise, Harper climbed off Chase’s lap.
“Can you thank Chase for reading to you?” Joy asked her.
The little girl turned. “Thank you.”
Chase sat with his hands on the armrests and smiled at their daughter. “You’re welcome.”
Then Harper ran to Joy to get dressed.
“Do you need help?” Chase asked, coming to her side.
“I think we’ll be okay.” She unzipped Harper’s pajamas and helped the little girl step out, then she put on her purple jean shorts and white tank top with the purple hearts. The entire time, Harper talked about the pig in the story.
“Mrs. Thompson has breakfast on the table,” Joy said to Harper as she lifted her into her arms, “so we’ll fix your hair later.”
“How do you do it?” Chase asked Joy.
“Do what?”
“Selflessly get up every morning and take care of all their needs.”
Many people asked Joy that question, and she had a canned answer. “What choice do I have?”
“You have a lot of choices. Not everyone would take in three little boys while juggling twins as a single mom.” He put his hands in his pockets and lifted a shoulder. “Not everyone chooses to be a mom. I admire you, because you’ve not only chosen to be a mom, but you’ve chosen to be a good one.”
His words should have been a compliment, but instead they hurt. Her mom was one of those people who had chosen not to be a mother. When her dad left, Joy had been seven and it had destroyed her mom. Within two years, her mom had also left. Joy had been nine when the county learned that she’d been living alone for over a month. There was no food in the house, the water and electricity had been turned off and the neighbors had started to complain about the unkempt yard. “I know what it feels like to be a lonely and unwanted child,” she said, “and no matter how much I have to sacrifice, I will never, ever make these children feel how I felt.” She set Harper down and said, “Go to the kitchen for your breakfast, sweetie.”
Harper skipped out of the room, hopping from one foot to the next with little coordination, and went to the stairs where she held the railing and grinned at Chase before disappearing.
Joy turned to Chase. She’d already opened her heart to tell him the truth about the girls. Why not be honest about the boys, too? “When I heard that the boys were in need of a home, and I had one, I couldn’t turn them away. I knew it would be a lot of work, and I knew it would be frustrating and painful at times—and that people might doubt my ability—but I also knew I had enough love for all of them.” The last foster home Joy had lived in before graduating from high school was the one where she learned what unconditional love felt like. And when she’d moved into Morgan Asher’s home to work for the summer, she’d encountered it again in Uncle Morgan and Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. She wanted to offer that same love to as many foster children as she could.
“I think what you’re doing for the boys—and the girls—is wonderful,” Chase said.
His eyes were so full of warmth and admiration, she swallowed uncomfortably. “We should probably get to the kitchen to help Mrs. Thompson.”
“Wait.” He reached out and touched her arm to stop her from turning. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”
His touch, coupled with his intimate words, made her shiver. She hadn’t slept, either. She’d been too overwhelmed with the knowledge that she’d told him the truth—and now wondered when she should tell the girls.
“I called my father today,” he said.
Dread and fear took hold of her throat and squeezed until she felt like she would choke. “Why?”
“I asked him for Bee Tree Hill.”
“Did you tell him about the girls?”
“No.” He frowned and shook his head. “I have no reason to tell him—I’m still trying to process the information myself. The last thing I need is his interference.”
She started to breathe easier, allowing his other statement to finally hit her. “You asked him to give you the estate?”
“He said he wouldn’t give it to me—but, Joy, now that I know about Harper and Kinsley, I’m even more certain that you should raise the girls here, if that’s what you want. It’s their family home.”
She had never wanted anything more. “What are you saying?”
“That I’m reaffirming my commitment to help you stay at Bee Tree Hill. I still have to keep my father happy, or he’ll send someone else to do the job, but I want you to know that I will not let this place go without a fight. You have my word.”
It took Joy a moment, but she finally nodded, her heart nudging her to put her trust in him again. She knew Chase didn’t have the power to keep Bee Tree Hill—didn’t know that he’d even be successful at his goal—but what he was asking her to do was trust that he’d exhaust every possibility.
“I appreciate your offer, Chase, but I told you yesterday that you don’t need to feel obligat—”
“They’re my daughters, Joy.” The lines of his face were serious. “I want to be their dad.”
She inhaled. For the past four years, she’d wanted the same thing.
“It’s more than obligation,” he said, shaking his head in wonder. “I already love those girls more than life itself. I want to be the dad I never had—I want to be a part of their life. Not just this summer—but forever.”
Tears stung the backs of her eyes. Was Chase capable of being that kind of dad? She used to think so—a long time ago before he’d proven otherwise.
His hands were still in the pockets of his khaki pants, and he suddenly looked like a younger, less confident version of himself. “That means you might have to get used to me being around.”
Joy swallowed the flutter that raced up her throat at his words, feeling like a younger, more uncomfortable version of herself, as well. Could she get used to him being around? How could she keep her old feelings buried, if he continued to resurrect them? Could she keep her heart from being broken again?
But what if he was trustworthy? What if he was a great dad? Didn’t she need to risk that for her daughters’ sake?
“I think I could get used to it again.” She crossed her arms, not knowing what to do with them as she ran her toe along a design in the carpet. “For Harper’s and Kinsley’s sakes.”
There was an awkward pause and Joy finally looked up at him.
He was so good-looking, it hurt.
“I should probably help Mrs. Thompson,” she said.
“The appraiser should be here any minute,” he said at the same time.
“Okay.” She had the urge to hug him—or at least shake hands—or something. They had come to some sort of agreement about their daughters—shouldn’t that be marked by affection?
No.
She forced herself to turn away from Chase. The last thing she needed from him was physical touch.
Chapter Eight
The red Mazda drove slowly around the circle drive and came to a stop in front of the mansion where Chase waited. Inside the car, the driver put the vehicle in Park, turned off the engine and then opened the door.
Chase walked around the front of the car and extended his hand.
“You must be Mr. Taylor.”
Mr. Taylor nodded and his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. He quickly pushed them up before shaking Chase’s hand.
“I am Mr. Taylor.” The man smiled and his small mustache lifted at the corners. “And you’re Mr. Asher?”
“Chase.” He indicated the house. “Welcome to Bee Tree Hill.”
Mr. Taylor’s small eyes were made bigger behind his thick glasses as he studied the place. His brown hair was thin on top and he wore the sides longer, combing it over to compensate. He wore a pair of brown pants, which were too short, and a brown-striped shirt which was so thin and worn, Chase could easily make out the white shirt underneath.
“I’m sure the house is full of treasures, yet to be discovered,” Mr. Taylor said, rubbing his hands together. “I’m eager to get to work.”
“Did you find the hotel?” Chase asked.
“Yes, yes. Thank you.” Mr. Taylor opened the passenger door and pulled out a worn briefcase. “If you’ll point me in the right direction, I’d like to start as soon as possible. You’re paying me by the hour, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” Chase pointed to the stairs that led up to the enclosed porch. “I set up a card table in the porch, just like you asked. There is a family living here and it was the most convenient space I could find, so you will have a quiet place to work.”
“Good, good.” Mr. Taylor followed Chase up the stairs.
The man had come highly recommended by the local historical society, who had worked with him on several projects over the years.
Chase showed him his work space and where he could plug in his laptop. “How long do you think the job will take?”
“I can’t say for sure until I’ve had a chance to explore the house a bit. But,” he looked around at the covered porch and then out the window at the side of the house, “by my estimations, taking in the size of the exterior and the information you’ve given me about how old the house and artifacts are,” Chase could almost see the numbers being calculated in the man’s head, “I think it could take me three or four weeks to properly document and value the items—unless you need me to do it faster.”
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