by Beverly Bird
She didn’t want to think about it. They got to the garage and she headed for her car.
“We’re taking mine,” he said, stopping her.
Liv looked at the Monte Carlo and shook her head. “Uh-uh. I’m not getting into that on a road where you’re allowed to go seventy miles an hour.” He’d scared the hell out of her on the cliff the one day she’d ridden with him.
“Ah, Livie, I was just yanking your chain.”
“What did you do to her?” Vicky asked.
“I showed off my incomparable talents.”
“He took a year off my life.” Liv remained stubbornly planted by her driver’s side door. “Maybe five.”
“Mom’s kind of a wimp about some things,” Vicky confided.
“I’m sensible,” Liv protested.
“Well, we’re not.” He looked down at Vicky. “What’s it going to be, pigtails? Mom’s wimpy car or my cool one?”
“Your cool one,” she said promptly.
“I’m going to hold this against you,” Liv muttered, moving to his car.
“You do that so well.”
Her heart seized so suddenly—with anger this time—that it almost took her breath away. But when Liv looked at him again, he was grinning. “Say touché, Livie.” Then he put his hand on her back to nudge her into his car.
It was a word game of one-upmanship that they’d played so many times before.
She felt the warmth of his touch through her jacket, through her sweater, and it bloomed from there. That gesture was familiar, too, something he had done a thousand times…too long ago to remember. She shouldn’t remember. But it felt as though not a moment had passed since then. Her legs were unsteady as she got into the car.
It was going to be a very long day, she thought.
Three hours later, Hunter and Vicky dropped her off in front of the Borgata in Scottsdale. The luxurious minimall, built around a central outdoor courtyard, was a weakness of Liv’s. She rarely got in and out of the place without buying something for herself, as well.
She closed the Monte Carlo’s door, then she opened it again to peer inside. “Will you two be okay?” she asked nervously.
For a moment, some of the old resentment tightened his jaw. “We’ll be back for you in two hours, Livie. Jot down my license plate in case you want to issue an APB.”
“It’s not that.” A month ago she would have been terrified that they wouldn’t return. But he’d had ample opportunity to run with his daughter since then, and he’d always come back.
Maybe he’d been lulling her into a false sense of complacency.
Liv shook the insidious thought off. She was so tired of it—of the wariness and the bickering, of the exhausting, never-ending battle to hold her own against him.
“Don’t let her talk you into chocolate,” she warned. Don’t be Mr. Wonderful Dad.
“Oh, man,” Vicky moaned from the back seat.
“There, you see?” Liv said. “She was already planning on how to finagle you into it. But trust me, you don’t need the caffeine-high on your hands.”
“That true, pigtails?” Hunter shifted his weight to look at her in the back seat.
“It has no effect on me,” Vicky insisted.
“Who are you going to believe?” Liv challenged. “The one who bounces off the walls or the one who catches her?”
His expression relaxed. “Don’t worry, Livie. We’ll be fine.” He put the car into gear. “By the way, what do you want for Christmas?”
Her heart stalled. It literally gave a startled, apoplectic chug and gave out. “We’re not going to exchange—”
He didn’t let her finish. “Close the door, will you? We have shopping to do. Caffeine-free shopping.” He reached across the passenger seat and pulled it shut himself when Liv seemed incapable of doing it. Then he sped off, leaving her standing in the parking lot.
Christmas gifts? Was she supposed to get him a Christmas gift?
Liv struggled with it on her way inside. She moved dazedly from store to store and was still empty-handed after an hour. She finally stopped in a café for a cappuccino. Who’s on a caffeine-high now? Her nerves were already corkscrewed. She placed her order and when it came, she drank deeply.
What was she supposed to do about this?
Maybe she’d been hiding from the fact that he would be with them on Christmas morning, she thought. Maybe she had been deliberately avoiding acknowledging that, even to herself. His ninety days wouldn’t be up until the first week of January. What would it do to Vicky if they both sat there stiff as rods on Christmas morning, wearing false grins?
She should get him something, Liv decided, for Vicky’s sake. But how would he take it? Would he think—God forbid—that she was still in love with him, that she wanted to start up with him all over again?
“Livie?”
She jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice and jerked around in her little wrought-iron chair. Hunter was standing behind her. He moved to hunker down beside her.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Where’s Vicky?”
“Bathroom. Hush up, now. We’ve only got a minute or two until she comes back.”
“How did you find me here?”
“You’ve always been an exotic coffee nut. It followed.”
Something was wrong about this, she thought, something that had her pulse both taking off and trying to stop. “What is it?”
“I think I put my foot in it.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Ah, hell, you’re going to kill me. I told her there was a raceway right here in Phoenix.”
Liv didn’t get it. “So?”
“So there’s a side-track there for kids.”
Her brain cleared. “No! Oh, no, Hunter, no way. She’s a girl.”
He frowned quickly. “There are female stock car drivers.”
“None of them are my daughter!”
He pushed to his feet again. “Yeah. I kind of thought that would be your reaction.”
Liv stared at him. “You haven’t just done it anyway?”
“Let her drive?” One of his brows shot up. “She’d tell you and you’d kick me out.”
“I’m not allowed to do that.”
“You could find a way to convince Judge Woodingham that I’d endangered her. You’re good like that, when you sink your teeth into something.”
She didn’t take the bait this time. His explanation was only half true, she realized. He was taking her feelings into consideration on this. And he’d come all the way back to the Borgata to do it.
Liv cleared her throat. “I’ve always…been afraid.”
Hunter watched her face. When she didn’t go on immediately, he pulled out the chair opposite her and sat. “Of what?”
“That she would inherit it. Your…your…recklessness.”
“Don’t look now, Livie, but I think she has.”
She knew that, Liv thought. Oh, she knew. “I know you wouldn’t let her get hurt, but…I don’t want to encourage it. Those…those tendencies she has for speed and danger.”
“She doesn’t know about the speed yet. I’ve never taken her over sixty miles per hour.”
“The danger then.”
“You got her the mechanical bull,” he reminded her. “You underestimate yourself, Livie.”
She reared back in her seat. “No, I don’t. How?”
“You’re pretty daring in your own right. She could have gotten it from you. I don’t know too many nineteen-year-olds who would have had the courage to set off into parenthood on their own without even looking for support from the father.”
Liv recoiled, but there was no accusation in his tone now. “I had to.”
“You thought you had to,” he corrected.
“And I didn’t set off on my own. I married Johnny.”
“You told me last night that you didn’t know you were going to marry him until after you sent me away.”
No, she thought, shaken, she hadn’t.
; Then Vicky’s voice rang out across the café as she hurried toward them from the rest rooms. “Okay, guys, can I do it? Please, please, please?”
“No,” Hunter and Liv said together.
Vicky skidded to a stop a foot from their table, clearly surprised by the verdict. Liv glanced at Hunter. He might not agree with her, but he would support her in this. She went soft inside.
Vicky worked up a pout that she couldn’t quite pull off because her eyes were darting between them. “Are you two ganging up on me?”
“That’s about the size of it,” Hunter said. “How about some ice cream instead?”
She stuck out her bottom lip. “Now you’re bribing me.”
“Yep. Is it working?” he asked.
“No. How come? Why can’t I drive?” She looked at Liv accusingly. “You said no, didn’t you? You won’t let me do it.”
Hunter’s voice went down that notch into warning. “Watch yourself, Victoria Rose.”
Liv watched confusion, then misery cloud her daughter’s features at the reprimand. She started to reach a hand out to Vicky to comfort her, then she pulled it back. If Hunter was going to cooperate with her, then she couldn’t undermine him.
Vicky’s chin pushed out and she looked at her father. “Victoria Rose! Mom never calls me that.” She’s spoiling for a fight, Liv thought.
Hunter glanced at her. “What do you call her when you’re ticked off?”
Liv shook her head helplessly. “I just get louder.”
“You’re talking about me like I’m not even here!” Vicky protested.
“Do you want to join in the conversation?” he asked.
“Yes!”
“Then sit down and have some ice cream.”
Vicky looked at Liv. “Is it homemade, do you think, or that store-bought yuck?”
Liv put her head in her hands. “For once—just once—couldn’t you please be a normal child?”
“Sit down,” Hunter said to Vicky again. “If it’s store bought, your mom and I will eat it. You can watch us and feel sorry that you’re not more open-minded.”
“I have coffee,” Liv argued. “I’m fine.”
“Drop some vanilla in there.” He nodded at her mug. Then he winked at her. “Live dangerously.”
Her heart rolled over. “It’ll melt.”
“Exactly. Monique Shaughnessy drank her espresso like that all the time.”
Liv felt the fire of jealousy pour into her blood. “It’s cappuccino.”
He was grinning at her. “No, Monique definitely liked espresso. I remember that clearly.”
“I’m having cappuccino!”
“I don’t get it,” Vicky complained. “What are you guys fighting about now?”
“Your mother is jealous,” Hunter drawled.
“That would happen on a cold day in hell,” Liv grated.
Hunter signaled the waitress. “Three vanilla ice creams,” he said when she approached.
“Maybe I could have a little chocolate?” Vicky asked hopefully.
He looked at Liv. “We can always tie her to the roof on the way home.”
She fell into his eyes. She felt herself shrug.
“You know, you guys are developing an annoying habit of talking about me when I’m right here,” Vicky said. “Like I can’t even hear you. Duh.”
“One small scoop of chocolate,” Hunter said to the waitress.
The woman scribbled on her note pad. “We also have—”
“Maybe quit while I’m ahead,” Vicky told her quickly. Then she looked at Hunter. “Why can’t I drive?”
He seemed to think about it for a long time as the waitress departed. “Because I said so,” he decided finally.
Laughter rolled out of Liv. She had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle it.
He sounded exactly like a father.
Chapter 11
W hen she woke up on the morning of Christmas Eve, Liv still hadn’t figured out what to do about the Christmas gift problem.
She took her cornflakes down from the cupboard and grimaced at them. She’d been eating them for so many weeks now, trying to avoid Hunter and the dining room, that she wasn’t sure she could swallow one more mouthful. But lately he was underfoot every time she turned around, anyway. Now he was talking about Christmas presents. So what sense was there in trying to avoid him?
Because he’d be leaving in just two more weeks, she answered herself. She was almost home free. He’d go before she could do anything utterly self-destructive like allow herself to cherish her time with him all over again. As things stood now, she could still get her stride back when he was gone.
Her stomach floated up into her throat with an airy, weightless sensation at the thought.
They’d probably see him again before February, she realized, pouring the cereal. California wasn’t that far away. But his presence would be sporadic once the NASCAR season started up again.
She was standing against the counter, munching dutifully, when he pushed through the kitchen door as though her thoughts had summoned him. He grabbed the cornflakes box from beside her.
“Share,” he said. He opened the refrigerator, then turned back again, scowling. “What did you do with the milk?”
Liv forced herself to swallow. “Here on the counter.” She stepped aside because it was behind her. “Kiki didn’t make oysters this morning.”
“No, but there’s a nymphomaniac out there. I need to hide.”
“In the dining room? Who?”
“Lisa Scalantino.”
The blonde, Liv thought. Twenty-something, model looks, body to die for. She was at the inn for a week with her boyfriend. Liv had wondered if Hunter would notice the woman.
She was sexy, delightful—the Monique Shaughnessy type without the star status.
“Oh,” she said. It was the best she could manage.
“That’s all you’ve got to say? She just groped my backside!”
Liv’s gut cramped. She put her bowl in the sink. “Well, I used to think it was pretty gropable.”
He stopped moving with the milk still in his hand.
“Used to,” Liv repeated, heading for the door. Why had she just said that?
“Of course.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“I thought you said you were skipping the trail ride today because it’s Christmas Eve.”
“And because Bourne is off until Friday. But I have to go into town.”
“I’ll go with you,” he said quickly.
“Coward. Be strong. Face Lisa like a man.” But as she stopped in the door, her heart yearned suddenly and it hurt. She paused again. She wanted to believe that Hunter honestly wasn’t attracted to the woman. That his reluctance for Lisa’s groping wasn’t just for show. She clapped a hand to her chest as she realized that there was still a piece in there that wanted him to be attracted only to her.
She watched him pour milk into his own cereal. “That’d be a fine thing for Vicky to witness,” he said. “Some woman groping me under her mother’s roof.”
Cold swept through her even as Liv felt herself blushing. That was the only reason he was staying clear of Lisa. “Right.” Her voice was a croak.
“What’s wrong with you today, anyway?” he asked suddenly, looking at her again.
What was she supposed to do about a Christmas present? “Nothing.”
“You’re acting weird.”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
In contrast to Thanksgiving, she and Kiki threw open the inn’s doors on Christmas. Every guest room was full this week—predominantly because of the open house tomorrow night. Reservations for Christmas were always gobbled up a year—sometimes two—in advance. They threw a “period” party—a mining-ghost-town Christmas. Kiki’s buffet would be 1890s. And most people showed up in nineteenth-century costumes. It drew the whole town—tourists and residents alike.
He was still watching her closely. He finally nodded. “I got my costume yesterday. I dec
ided to be Rhett Butler.”
Liv frowned. “Rhett was Civil War. Old South.”
“Best I could come up with. The costume rental place didn’t have much left. They said people reserve the good stuff months in advance.”
That was true. Then, suddenly, a light dawned in Liv’s brain. “That’s why Vicky wants to be Scarlet O’Hara.” She waited for the old surge of jealousy. When it didn’t come, she was as worried as if it had.
“Yeah?” Hunter grinned. “That’s cool. What are you going to dress as?”
“Madame Louise.”
“Who?”
“She ran the place when it was still a brothel. I do it every year.”
“You’re going as a madame?” He looked flabbergasted. Then he grinned. Slowly. Wickedly. He pulled a wad of bills out of his jeans pocket. “What’s your going rate, doll?”
Heat swept her. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Liv floundered to get a grip on herself. “Madames didn’t sell themselves. They were above all that. Besides, that’s Kiki’s role.”
His grin widened. “Want to try explaining that one while you’re at it?”
Liv knew her face was aflame. She was just digging herself in deeper. “I don’t want to talk about sex with you.”
He took a step closer toward her. “It still does things to you, too, doesn’t it? Even after all this time.”
She had a flash of his mouth on hers again, so real and immediate it almost buckled her.
“That was always one of the best things between us, Livie,” he said. “The sex.”
She flattened her hands against the door behind her as though to hold herself up. “Stop it. I don’t want to talk about it.” She cleared her throat, then she frowned. “Sex was one of the best things? What were the others?”
“You were the only friend I ever had. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why the sex was so good.”
Liv pushed off the door, shaken. “I’ve really got to go.”
She left the kitchen and hightailed it upstairs. But his words chased her. They nipped at her heels while she changed and when she drove into town. It still does things to you, too, doesn’t it? Even after all this time.