The Daughter Dilemma

by Ann Evans

  Even more amazing was the fact that she’d kept her conversation with Nick D’Angelo semi-civil. If ever there was a man who could make a woman scream in frustration, he was it.

  Of course, she had to concede that he had some right to be angry with her. She had taken advantage of Addy, and that knowledge had left her struggling with enough guilt to choke a horse. Her mother had always complained that she was too much like her father. When Madison Churchill set his sights on something, he went barreling in and damned the consequences. Kari had certainly inherited that trait.

  The nurse who’d assisted the doctor came into the room. She handed Kari a prescription for a muscle relaxer and a mild pain reliever. “You’re all set to go,” she said. She handed Kari a third piece of paper. “Nick said to give you this. It’s the phone number for a couple of motels down by the interstate.”

  Kari slipped the prescriptions and the phone numbers into the back pocket of her jeans. She realized suddenly that the nurse, a pretty brunette about her age, had used D’Angelo’s first name. “You know Mr. D’Angelo?” she asked.

  The woman had already begun to strip the hospital gurney of its sheets. She glanced back over her shoulder. “Everyone around these parts knows Nick. He’s been baby-sitting Lightning River Lodge for his family for five years now.”

  “Has he always been so…”

  “Sexy?”

  “No!” Kari nearly gasped. That thought hadn’t entered her mind. “I was going to say…dictatorial.”

  The nurse’s eyes flickered with honest amusement. “Honey, you’d better have the doc check you over again. Make sure your brain didn’t get scrambled. Every woman in the Lightning River area would like to lasso Nick D’Angelo. Myself included.” She dumped the soiled sheets into a hamper and smiled at Kari. “I haven’t seen him look this grim since his dad had his stroke. You certainly seem to have gotten on his bad side.”

  “Oh, you mean there’s a good side?” Kari said. “I sure didn’t see it.”

  “Nick’s just protective of his family. He takes his responsibilities very seriously. But he can be a real sweetie.”

  “I must have missed the sweetness in between all the yelling and threats,” Kari said with a laugh. “In fact, are you sure we’re talking about the same Nick D’Angelo? The guy I know is the most arrogant, annoying, rock-headed man I’ve ever met.”

  “One and the same man, I’m afraid.”

  That slightly rough-voiced response came from behind Kari, and she started. She turned to find an older man in a wheelchair parked in the doorway. His features were worn and tired-looking, but a spark of vibrant life burned in his dark eyes.

  Kari swallowed hard. This had to be one of the D’Angelos. He had the same direct way of looking at a person that Nick had. The same commanding presence in spite of whatever illness had put him in that chair.

  But did they share the same temper, too?

  The man moved his chair forward, until he sat right in front of her. “I’m Sam D’Angelo,” he said in a calm voice. “Nick’s and Adriana’s father.”

  She’d been afraid of that.

  She wet her lips. “Mr. D’Angelo, you have a perfect right to be upset about what happened. I’d like to explain—”

  He held up one hand. “That isn’t really necessary. I think I have a clear picture. Adriana shouldn’t have taken you up, but she can be very…single-minded and impetuous sometimes.” He grinned. “She gets that from her mother’s side of the family, I’m afraid.”

  A little of Kari’s anxiety settled. This man wasn’t nearly the ill-tempered grouch his son was.

  But then he tilted his head at her, as though seeing a very unusual bug for the first time. “Besides, I wanted to meet the woman who has my son in such an uproar. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him like this.”

  “Like what? You mean, angry enough to drop me from the nearest cliff?”

  “Yes. That’s one emotion you seem to have brought out in him. Perhaps there are others.”

  She frowned, not sure what he meant by that. “I’m dreadfully sorry about all this. I really wish I could turn back the clock twenty-four hours. Addy told me everyone in your family is working double-time in preparation for some wedding your resort is catering. Will you be terribly short-handed without her help?”

  “Terribly.”

  That wasn’t the polite answer, certainly not the one she’d hoped for. She flushed, feeling more guilty by the second. “I’m so sorry,” she said again. “If there’s anything I can do…”

  He gave her a sharpened look as the tiniest of smiles twitched against his lips. Kari had the strangest feeling that he’d known she would say just that.

  “Perhaps there is something…”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE METALLIC RING of his cell phone pulled Nick out of a sound sleep. He fumbled it off the nightstand, resenting the loss of a dream that didn’t involve copter crashes and leaky pipes and annoying blondes.

  What now? To get temporary help for the lodge, he’d had to track down Clay Wyatt at the nearby Moose Lodge tonight. Then he’d had to make arrangements for Pete Golas, a fellow pilot who owned a flight service in Colorado Springs, to fly his chopper up to help cover the tours they had booked for the next few days. Calling in a favor from Pete might have been overkill, but chopper tours brought in hefty revenue, and he didn’t want to lose a single one of them.

  When he’d gotten back to the lodge things had seemed fairly calm. As far as he knew, everyone in the family was safe in bed, even Addy. The place had been quiet when he’d finally hit the hay, exhausted. Nobody needed him. For anything.

  He’d forgotten about Brandon O’Dell.

  “I guess you’re in bed,” his friend’s voice said in his ear. There was no apology in his tone.

  “Where else would I be?” Nick mumbled, not bothering to hide his irritation. He squinted through the dark to glance at the bedside clock. “It’s almost one o’clock.”

  “You’re turning into an old coot who can’t stay up past dark.”

  “Better than being a jackass.”

  According to Bran’s girlfriend Roxanne, his old army buddy had taken off a few days ago for parts unknown. She’d called Nick yesterday, worried and thoroughly pissed, but he hadn’t been able to help her much. He’d promised to call a few places Bran liked to frequent, but with everything that had happened, he’d completely forgotten to do so.

  “Roxanne called me,” Nick told him around a stifled yawn. “You need to let her know you’re all right.”

  “She’s not my wife. I don’t owe her anything.”

  As tired as Nick was, that remark didn’t set well. “A jackass and a bastard,” he said sharply. “You’re two for two, man.”

  Unexpectedly, Bran giggled and Nick knew his friend was drunk.

  Bran had never really adjusted to civilian life after discharge from the service. Back when they’d flown Black Hawks in the war, Nick would have trusted him with his life. But too many years of erratic behavior, lost jobs and bouts of excessive drinking had turned the guy into someone Nick didn’t know anymore. Tonight he didn’t have the patience for him.

  Bran’s amusement finally wound down. He snorted. “Lighten up on me, you damned spaghetti-bender. I’m half lit, and I don’t know what the hell I’m saying anymore.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Fresno, I think. Some hole-in-the-wall hotel.”

  “You need someone to come and get you?”

  “No. I need another drink.” The conversation stalled as Nick listened to the clink of glass against glass. If he knew Bran, it would be a bottle of cheap vodka.

  “Bran, you’ve got to get it together,” he said in a low, even voice. “You’ve made too many calls like this.”

  Nothing but silence after that. Just when Nick wondered if he’d lost the cell phone signal, Bran said, “I can’t seem to do it. Don’t want to, anyway.” He expelled a long, shaky breath. “You remember how we used to fly our
birds down the throats of those sand warriors? They scattered, didn’t they? Lord, I never saw men run so fast in such thick dirt. You ever think about those days?”

  In the inky darkness, Nick shook his head wearily. They’d had this conversation before, and it never ended well. “Sometimes,” he admitted.

  “I think about it all the time. Can’t seem to stop.” Nick heard his friend swallow a gulp of liquor, then gasp as the stuff must have cut a fiery path down his throat. When he could finally speak, he said at last, “When you dream, do you ever see those kids, Nicky?”

  Nick’s scalp tingled and he flinched. This was territory he definitely didn’t want to revisit. “No.”

  “Liar. I can hear it in your voice.”

  “Bran, you have to let it go,” Nick said quickly, with more sorrow than anger. “There was a war on, and you couldn’t tell an enemy sniper from a camel herder. Our guys were scared. But nothing we did, or didn’t do, would have made any difference that day.”

  “I tell myself you’re right. But that won’t make it go away. It won’t make them go away.”

  Bran’s voice was fierce and broken, and in his own sleep-mussed world, Nick silently cursed his friend for bringing up a past neither of them could do anything about. He didn’t need this right now. He didn’t want it. He grit his teeth, trying not to feel the memory of those days of the war curl around inside him like a hot, sour wind.

  “You need to get help, buddy,” Nick said at last. He’d said those words before, but they had never seemed to do any good.

  “I want you to come out here. Talk to me. Convince me everything can be all right. Just like old times.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I quit Pacific Pipe.”

  Nick rolled to one side. Damn! He’d pulled strings to get Bran that job. Flying repair crews out to remote work sites wasn’t exactly glamorous work, but the pay was decent, and it still meant flight time. “Why?” he asked.

  “Damn baby-sitting job. No self-respecting pilot would take that kind of work.”

  Nick bit down on an irritated, impatient retort. His friend was drunk and feeling sorry for himself, and there would be plenty of time to give him hell once he sobered up. “Look, it’s late. I’m fresh out of ideas right now. Sleep off the booze. In the morning call Roxanne so she stops worrying. Then call me back if you need to, and we’ll work things out. All right?”

  “I need to talk to you. In person. You’re the only one who ever seems to make sense to me. It’s a short flight. Pocket change.”

  “I can’t, Bran. We’re short-handed and we have a big wedding booked. Everything’s crazy here right now. Maybe in a couple of weeks.”

  He could tell by the sounds Bran made that he didn’t like that idea. But, with so much liquor in him, he couldn’t think fast enough to form any real objections.

  Sensing victory, Nick said in a stronger voice, “Go to sleep. Things will look better in the morning. You’ll see.”

  Bran started to protest, but Nick cut him off. When his friend was like this, his best approach had always been empathy delivered with a healthy dose of practical planning. He closed the phone and tossed it back on the bedside table. Maybe it was time to arrange professional intervention for Bran’s drinking.

  Nick ran a hand over his face, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep for a while. So much for getting a few hours of uninterrupted rest before facing the real world again.

  His stomach growled and he realized that he hadn’t had anything to eat since yesterday’s lunch. He got up, struggling into an old robe. If he’d been in his own cabin, he’d have raided the fridge in nothing more than his boxers, but since he and Tessa were staying in the lodge—their last night, thank God—he didn’t want to take the chance of scaring one of the guests.

  In the adjoining bedroom Tessa was sound asleep. Nick studied her for a moment, very still, absorbing the sweet innocence of the picture she made there in bed. Just watching her made his chest feel full.

  She looked so damned fragile, one hand tucked under her cheek, her lips slightly parted. He slipped a stray dark strand of hair behind her ear. Tomorrow he’d try once more to talk to her about the dress he’d made her return. She was a good kid. Level-headed. She’d understand eventually.

  Silently, Nick let himself out of the suite. Lamps burned low along the corridors and on the sofa tables in the lobby. They couldn’t afford to have insomniac guests tripping over furniture in the middle of the night. He wove his way across the small dining room and through the double doors that led into the kitchen.

  This was his mother’s domain, all stainless steel and gleaming copper. Everything in the kitchen was industrial-size, but it still felt warm and friendly. This was where D’Angelo decisions got discussed, argued and laughed over, around the big wooden table that sat in the middle of the room while his mother cooked and his father offered unsolicited advice.

  He headed for the refrigerator, then pulled up short as he realized someone had beaten him to the leftovers. Addy was bent over the interior bins.

  “What are you doing out of bed?” he asked around a sleepy yawn. “I swear, if you’ve eaten the last cannoli, I’ll break your other arm.”

  There was a startled sound, then a head popped up over the open refrigerator door. The midnight raider wasn’t Addy.

  It was Kari Churchill.

  A SMALL BUNCH OF GRAPES in one hand, Kari nudged the refrigerator door shut and straightened. There was only dim light in the kitchen, but she couldn’t miss the look of shock and disbelief on Nick D’Angelo’s face.

  In spite of his disheveled hair and bare feet, his commanding presence still managed to unnerve her. She offered him a weak smile.

  “You…” he rasped. “What in God’s name are you doing here?”

  She inhaled a deep, fortifying breath. “I’m sorry. I know it’s bad manners, but I’m starving.” She held up the grapes. “Your mother offered me something to eat when I first settled in, and I stupidly turned it down. But I got so hungry I woke myself up, so I didn’t think anyone would mind if I got a little something on my own.”

  Nick D’Angelo blinked, then threw one hand up like a policeman halting traffic. “Whoa. What do you mean ‘settled in’? Why are you here?”

  Kari stared at him like a deer before flight.

  Oh, no. Oh, just great. He doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

  Last night at the hospital Sam D’Angelo had told her he would talk to his son, but clearly he hadn’t. And now, here Nick was, looking angry and confused and dangerous.

  He wanted explanations, and Kari wasn’t sure she could manage them. A debilitating, crash-induced fatigue had nibbled away the last of her wits.

  And worse, how was she to have any credibility at all in her bare feet and a haystack mess of hair and— A sudden thought nearly took her breath away. Addy had loaned her pajamas to sleep in until she could get her own things from the helicopter. The short-shorts and skimpy top were silky and lavender and—Kari glanced down quickly—and way too revealing. As surreptitiously as possible, she separated her bunch of grapes into two smaller bunches and held them close to her chest, trying to make it look like a natural maneuver. It didn’t. Not a bit.

  A soft curse slipped out before she could stop it.

  “That about sums up my sentiments, as well,” Nick said with a frown. “Care to elaborate on that a little?”

  “I’m staying here,” Kari said. “Room Eight.”

  “I left a list of motels for you at the hospital. What was wrong with them?”

  “I’m sure they’re fine. But…I guess your father didn’t tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “I’m not a guest. I’m an employee.”

  That caught him off guard. He stared at her hard, blinking several times as though clearing his mind. “Like hell you are.”

  “Your father hired me.”

  “Well, I’m unhiring you,” Nick said in a weary tone.

 
; “You can’t,” Kari protested.

  She glanced away, realizing that the conversation had gone downhill faster than a runaway pushcart. She’d always thought she’d inherited her father’s gift with words, but around this guy she couldn’t seem to string two of them together and make a sentence. It was a new and unsettling feeling.

  “Now, look,” she said in her most democratic tone. “I know we’ve both had a tough day, but surely we can discuss this reasonably. Calmly. Without anyone getting nasty…again.”

  “All right, let’s discuss this,” he said. After a long moment he said in crisp, succinct syllables, “You are not working here. It is not possible.”

  She frowned at him, then made the sudden decision to do her best to keep the conversation from turning ugly. Tomorrow, Nick could hash this out with his father. Tonight, she wasn’t willing to back down, but neither did she want to argue and end up checking in someplace else in the middle of the night if he decided to toss her out into the street.

  “I wish neither one of us had been put in this position,” she said. “But I think it certainly is possible since your father told me he owns this place. I’m going to be helping out until Addy gets a little more mobile. A week. Less, really. That’s all.”

  “Over my dead body.”

  “He said you’d say something like that. He’s aware that you…that we…didn’t exactly hit it off. But he says you’re sensible enough to realize that the business needs all the help it can get right now.”

  “We don’t need your kind of help.”

  “Hey!” She tossed the grapes on the table and crossed her arms over her breasts. “There’s no need to be rude. I didn’t think it was such a good idea, either, at first. But your father’s very persuasive, and it started to make sense.”

  “Nothing makes sense,” Nick muttered, shaking his head again.

  “Sure it does. You need another body here while Addy’s out of commission. I hear there’s a big wedding coming up that’s going to require everyone to do more than their share. And since I feel…somewhat responsible for what happened, helping out would ease my conscience.”