Rafferty's mouth tightened at the recital of what Becky had been through. "I can't believe Maryanne would just leave her alone like that. She's just a baby."
"From the sounds of it, Becky was the more mature of the pair. I don't think your wife had a whole hell of a lot of common sense."
Rafferty stiffened and Ann held her breath. Flynn was deliberately trying to antagonize the man. Even if what he said was true, couldn't he have found a more tactful way to say it? Slowly, the tension eased from
Rafferty's broad shoulders. His mouth turned up in a rueful smile.
"I can't blame you for speaking your mind, Mc-Callister. You've done a lot for Becky, things I should have been there to do. I guess that gives you the right to ask a few questions.
"You're right. Maryanne didn't have much common sense."
Flynn set his coffee cup down and leaned forward, all pretense of relaxation gone. "What I'd really like to know is why your wife felt it necessary to take Becky and run away from you. I've had Becky in my care for over a month now and if you hadn't turned up, I was going to adopt her. The government may be satisfied with the fact that your name is on her birth certificate but, until I'm satisfied, Becky is staying right where she is."
The two men stared at each other, weighing and measuring in some way that Ann couldn't follow. Whatever he saw apparently decided Rafferty in Flynn's favor. He nodded slowly.
"I'd feel much the same in your position."
"Good. Then you wouldn't mind telling us why your wife took Becky and ran away."
"Maryanne was a very high strung, very sweet girl. And I use the word 'girl' deliberately. She just didn't seem to know how to grow up. I thought maybe she'd grow up when Becky was born but she didn't. She was a good mother but I'm not sure she ever really figured out that this wasn't a doll to play with. She'd dress the baby in fancy outfits with little ruffled hats and take her out in the stroller to show her off. When Becky was two, Maryanne bought matching mother and daughter outfits. They looked like something out of a magazine."
He was silent for a moment, lost in memories. He shook himself, coming back to the present with an effort. "I'm a doctor and my hours aren't all that regular. Maryanne wanted someone who could be there to pet and hold her, someone to take her out to dinner so she could show off her clothes. I wanted someone who understood how important my work was to me."
He shrugged. "It was a classic case of two people who didn't have enough in common. We quarreled a few times but never anything major. I wanted her to grow up and she wanted me to be a father figure. There was no middle ground."
He reached for a coffee cup, turning it absently. His hands were huge and Ann had a hard time imagining them holding a scalpel or anything smaller than a tractor.
"Maryanne... did something that she thought was going to make me very angry. She was right. I was furious. But she'd been told that when I lost my temper, I was downright dangerous." He set the cup down, linking his hands together loosely, elbows braced on his thighs. "I'll be the first to admit that I've got a nasty temper but I've yet to hit anybody, much less a woman. But she didn't know that and she thought... Hell, I don't know what she thought."
His fingers tightened on each other until Ann was sure that knuckles would crack. "We quarreled and I stormed out of the house. I went for a walk and ended up spending the night on a friend's sofa. I went straight to work from there. I figured we could both use the time to cool down. When I got home, she was gone and she'd taken Becky with her.
"I hired investigators but no one could turn up a trace of Maryanne or Becky. For all I knew, they were both dead, until I got the phone call from Ms. Davis."
He stopped speaking and no one else seemed inclined to say anything right away. Rafferty had told the story without fanfare or dramatics. He might have been talking about something that had nothing to do with him. But Ann had watched the way his fingers knotted over one another and she knew just how much it had cost him to dredge up the old memories. She looked at Flynn and could see that he was impressed despite himself.
"It's going to be awfully hard on Becky to just pack up and move. To her, you're a total stranger."
Rafferty nodded. "I know. She's just lost her mother. You two are the only security she knows right now. How did she take Maryanne's death?"
"Pretty well, I guess." Flynn took a swallow of coffee, his eyes on the cup. "I'm not sure she's completely grasped the reality of it. I think there's a part of her that still expects her mother to come back but we've done what we could to help her."
"Does she know how her mother died?"
"We decided to tell her that her mother fell and hit her head. Which, for all we know, is the truth. The coroner said that she died from a blow to the head but they don't know whether it was murder or an accident. She might have fallen accidentally and the guy she was with panicked and left her body in an aqueduct."
"Or he could have killed her." Rage rumbled in Rafferty's voice and Ann spoke quickly.
"We don't know that."
"And we never will." He thrust his fingers through his hair, tousling it into waves of gray. He gave her a quick, strained smile. "Don't worry. I'm not going to go hunting for this guy. There's nothing I can do for Maryanne. I've got to concentrate on Becky. I want to get to know my daughter again. You two know her a lot better than I do. What do you think would be the best way to tell her who I am?"
It was clearly not easy for him to ask for help, and Ann could not help but respect him for putting Becky's need above his own pride. She glanced at Flynn, but he appeared willing to let her take the lead.
"We thought that if Becky had a chance to get to know you before you leave, maybe even before she knows who you are, it might take a lot of the pressure off of her."
Rafferty stared at her for a long moment and then his eyes dropped to his hands. "You mean I should just hang around and let her get used to me and then tell her who I am? Seems like a hell of a way to get to know my own daughter, sneaking up on her?"
Flynn answered the pained question. "Becky's been through a lot lately. If we just drop it on her that her father has arrived, it's going to be pretty hard on her. You can stay here. There's plenty of room and it will give her a chance to get to know you without any pressure."
Rafferty ran his fingers through his hair and Ann held her breath, waiting for his decision. It couldn't be easy for him to rely on the advice of a pair of strangers for how to deal with his own child.
"Isn't she going to wonder why I'm staying here?"
"We can tell her that you're a friend of mine." Flynn's offer was made without expression, and Rafferty studied him for a long moment before nodding slowly.
"All right. I appreciate the offer."
Ann allowed herself to relax for the first time since hearing of Rafferty's existence.
"Now, I'd like to meet my daughter."
"I'll take you out and introduce you." They all stood up, but Ann caught Flynn's arm when he would have led Rafferty out to the balcony.
"I think Rafferty might appreciate a chance to meet Becky without an audience. She's out in the garden." She gestured to the sliding glass doors.
Rafferty gave her a grateful smile. "Thank you."
Flynn said nothing, but the muscles in his arm were rock hard beneath Ann's fingers as he watched the other man open the door and step out, sliding the glass shut behind him.
Chapter 10
Rafferty threaded his way between wide planters, some overgrown with vegetation, some full of bare soil. The sun seemed stifling after the Indian summer he'd left in Colorado. He stopped next to a planter that contained a small jungle of ficus trees and unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling them up his forearms. It was a delaying tactic.
What was he going to say to Becky when he was finally face-to-face with her? How could he resist the need to pull her into his arms and hold her close? He had to remember that he was a total stranger to her, less welcome in her life than the two people in the penthouse behind
him.
He walked on, feeling the rhythm of his pulse throbbing in his temples. Three years. Three years since he'd seen her. What would she look like? Did she look like her mother?
He came around the corner of a planter that contained a tangle of unidentifiable vegetation and stopped abruptly, feeling his heart almost stop also.
She was kneeling by a planter just a few feet away, digging in the bare soil with a small trowel, mounding the dirt carefully to one side. She was wearing bright purple jeans and a purple-and-white striped top. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, a bright yarn bow slightly askew.
He swallowed hard, his hand going out for an instant before he jerked it back. He pushed both hands in his back pockets to control the tremors that shook them. He'd done surgery, knowing the patient's life depended on the steadiness of his fingers, and his hands had been rock steady. He drew in a quick breath. He had to remember that he was supposed to be nothing more than a friend of McCallister's.
"Hello, Becky." He hoped she wouldn't notice the way his voice shook.
He moved forward as she turned to look at him and Rafferty sank onto the edge of the planter, as much to give himself support as anything else. The move put his face almost level with hers.
"Hello. This roof belongs to Mr. Flynn, you know. Did he say you could come out here?"
"I'm a friend of his."
She studied him for a long moment, her expression solemn. Rafferty took the opportunity to study her, his eyes devouring every inch of her. She'd changed so much. The realization hurt. She wasn't the plump toddler he remembered. This was a little girl on her way to growing up. She was taller, of course. He'd expected that. But he hadn't expected her to look so different. She was slim, with none of the chubbiness she'd had as a baby. And her eyes, her eyes looked so much older and wiser than her years.
He felt a flash of anger. She'd had to grow up too quickly. Maryanne had robbed her of part of her childhood.
She looked like Maryanne. The same delicate features, elfin in a child, changing to beauty in a woman. But he could see himself in her face. The same stubborn chin, and her eyes weren't the pale blue of her mother's. Her eyes were gray, uncompromisingly gray.
"I guess if you're a friend of Mr. Flynn's, it's okay if you're out here."
Rafferty smiled, hoping she wouldn't notice that his eyes were too bright. "Thanks. I'm Rafferty."
"I'm Becky." She held out her hand and he took it.
The first time he'd been close enough to touch his daughter in three years. Her hand felt so tiny in his.
"I'm digging for gold."
He dragged his eyes from her face and looked at the hole she'd dug. "Have you had any luck?"
"Not yet but Mr. Flynn says you got to keep at something to make it work. And Ann says that pers.. .perst...."
"Persistence?"
"That's it. Ann says you got to have that to get anywhere."
"Sounds like you've had some pretty good advice."
"Mr. Flynn and Ann are my best friends in the whole world. They know everything."
Rafferty's mouth kicked up on one side. "Well, I hope you and I can be friends, too."
"We'll have to see if we like each other." Becky picked up the trowel and returned to her digging.
"I think we're going to like each other a lot, Becky."
He sat there, with the hot L.A. sun beating down and watched her dig in the soil. He'd missed so much of her life. Years that he could never regain. But he wouldn't miss any more of it.
It wasn't that he wasn't pleased for Becky's sake, but did Rafferty Traherne have to be so damned perfect?
Flynn picked up the dice and shook them before tossing them onto the table. A full house stared back at him. The fourth full house he'd had in a row. He stared at the Yahtzee score sheet, wondering what else he needed. Nothing that the dice were offering. He picked up the dice and threw them all again. At the end of his turn, he was forced to scratch his Yahtzee.
"You're not having much luck tonight, are you, Mr. Flynn?"
He smiled at Becky. "Not much. But you're making up for it, urchin. It's a good thing we're not gambling or I'd have lost the farm to you by now." She giggled.
Rafferty threw next and, of course, threw a Yahtzee on the second toss of the dice. Becky squealed with excitement and Ann laughed. Flynn smiled, but what he really wanted to do was throw the dice out the window.
No, if he was honest, what he really wanted to do was throw the man out the window.
No. He didn't want to do that. There was nothing wrong with Traherne. In fact, that was what was wrong with him. Couldn't the man have a few flaws? Bad breath. Bowlegs. Anything would do. But there was nothing.
He was absolutely perfect father material. He was patient with Becky but not above being firm. He had a good sense of humor; he was a polite house guest. He was good-looking, but not too good-looking. He probably loved God, America and apple pie, not necessarily in that order.
It was impossible not to like him but Flynn was trying.
He watched Ann smile across the table at Rafferty and felt a knot in his stomach that had nothing to do with the biscuits that Becky had made for dinner. Jealousy. Plain, old-fashioned jealousy. He was honest enough to admit that he felt it, but that didn't change the feelings.
In the last two weeks, Becky had come to adore Rafferty. Which was just as it should be. Flynn was doing what he could to loosen the ties between himself and Becky. It hurt but it had to be done. She needed to transfer her dependence to her father. He was glad that she was doing so.
He wasn't so glad that Ann seemed to think Rafferty was the greatest thing since sliced cheese. Did she have to smile at him quite so often?
He picked up the dice when his turn came and threw again, barely noticing when he had to put the results down on chance. His eyes caught Ann's as Rafferty picked up the dice. She gave him a flickering smile and then looked away, her fingers toying with her pencil.
She'd barely looked at him since Rafferty's arrival. In fact, come to think of it, they'd barely spoken since the night they made love. It seemed as if something was always taking priority. First there'd been the death of Becky's mother, then finding out about Rafferty and then Rafferty himself showing up.
Flynn wondered if he was the only one to feel the tension between them. There was so much left unspoken. Their relationship had taken a giant step and then been frozen in time. They couldn't go back to what they'd been before, but there was no saying what might lie in the future.
"Your turn, Flynn." He looked up, startled out of his thoughts. Ann was holding the dice out to him, her expression quizzical.
"Sorry. I guess I wasn't paying much attention." He reached out to take the dice from her, their fingers brushing. Their eyes met, and Flynn knew he wasn't the only one to feel the sparks that resulted from the casual contact.
Soon, he promised himself. Soon, they'd have time for each other.
❧
"Good game. Not that the Raiders can compare to the Broncos, of course." Rafferty's grin took the sting out of the words.
Flynn lifted his hand, signaling for another round of beers before settling back in the booth and looking at his companion. "I haven't been to a football game in years."
"I thought you had season tickets." Rafferty emptied his mug as the waitress set another round down in front of them. He reached for his wallet, waving off Flynn's attempt to pay for them. "My treat. The tickets were yours."
"Thanks. But the tickets weren't exactly my treat. The family always has season seats. We just haven't used them in a while. My brother and I used to go almost every game."
"Did he switch to hockey?"
"He died and I guess I just got out of the habit." Flynn took a long swallow of the frosty beer, surprised by how little it hurt to mention Mark.
In the background, a country song twanged out the miseries of divorce. Two would-be cowboys played a desultory game of eight ball at a pool table near the jukebox. It was broad
daylight outside but the bar was dusky, as if light never quite penetrated the shabby wooden walls. The bartender polished glasses with a rag that looked like it had been used to polish an engine.
"Must be tough, losing a brother. Was he younger or older?"
Flynn dragged his gaze away from the surroundings. "Older. Older and perfect. In fact, you remind me of Mark."
Rafferty raised an eyebrow, his skepticism clear. "I do? Doesn't seem likely. Perfect is hardly a word likely to be associated with me."
"Not perfect, maybe, but you're so damn upright. Mark was like that. It was impossible not to like him but it was hell living up to him."
"Upright? I don't know that I see myself that way."
"Sure you are. You're a doctor. You're a great father. You probably own your own home and I bet you contribute to an IRA every year."
Rafferty laughed. "Guilty. Are those the only criteria for being upright?"
"Just about."
"Then I guess I have to confess to the crime."
Flynn smiled. "It's not exactly a crime. What do you think of Becky?"
Rafferty's face softened, answering the question even before he spoke. "She's terrific."
"Yeah. I thought so myself."
"I'll be telling her who I am soon."
Flynn nodded. "I figured. I'm going to hate to lose her but there's no sense in dragging things out forever."
"I think..." Whatever Rafferty thought was destined to remain unspoken. While they were talking, Flynn had been vaguely aware that the bar was filling up. Urban cowboys, construction workers and an assortment of women, accompanied and otherwise. The jukebox had been turned up and one or two couples were rocking back and forth on a tiny strip of space that could optimistically be called a dance floor.
It was the dance floor that was the source of the sudden trouble. Apparently, three men were claiming the privilege of the same dance with one woman. The disagreement had escalated into a shouting match. It was only a moment before the first punch was thrown.
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