“It’s been great to see you, Adam,” she said, ready to make her escape. “Billie and I have to get to town. It’s late and the furniture company swore they’d be delivering today. If they’re not, we have to make other arrangements.”
He glanced at his watch. “The office will be closed.”
“The headquarters are on the West Coast. They’ll still be open.”
“Uhh, Mom?” Billie stared at the ground and shuffled her feet. That didn’t signal good news.
“What have you lost, forgotten or broken now?”
“A window.”
Jane thought about the small amount of money they had to last them the summer. She wouldn’t start teaching until September and her first paycheck wasn’t due until almost the end of that month. Please, God, let the window be a small one, she thought as she turned to face her house. Maybe they could board it up for a few months. If it was on the side that faced Adam’s yard, all the better.
“Where?”
“There.”
But Billie wasn’t pointing in their yard. Instead her small tanned arm thrust up toward the front of Adam’s house.
“No,” Jane said. “Not—”
“Yup. I was playing ball and it got away from me.”
She glanced at Adam. He was studying her with that damned inscrutable expression of his. “All those times I ignored my mother when she told me to act like a lady are being paid back in spades. Sorry.”
“No harm done,” he said. “Except for the glass, of course.”
“Of course.” Was he making a joke? The great Adam Barrington risking humor? That wasn’t fair, she reminded herself. He’d always been witty and charming. She’d been the one out of her element.
“It’s over here.” Billie walked ahead of them, past the front porch and stepped close to the bed of flowers in front of the freshly painted white mansion.
“Don’t step on the…roses,” she called as her daughter planted a tennis shoe squarely on a peach-colored blossom.
“Tell me those aren’t still Charlene’s favorites,” she murmured half to herself.
“They are.” Adam kept pace with her, stopping at her side when they reached the scene of the crime.
“See,” Billie said, almost proudly. “It would have been a perfect pitch.”
“Yeah. All that’s missing is the batter, the catcher, a few other players and the umpire.” Jane glanced up at Adam. He looked down at her. If she hadn’t been so tired and out of sorts, she might have thought there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, that the straight line didn’t look quite as straight as it had a minute ago.
“It’s just this one pane.” Billie jumped up and pointed. Her landing crushed the rest of the rosebush. “Ow. It scratched me.”
“Self-defense on the part of the plant. Let me see.” Jane bent down and brushed the skin. “You’ll live.”
“I’m bleeding,” Billie said with a whine in her voice.
“One drop. You won’t miss it. Besides, you killed that rose.”
Billie stepped onto the grass and stared at the squashed bush. “Oh. Sorry.” She grabbed a stem, careful to hold it between thorns, and tried to straighten the broken plant. The stalk drooped to the ground. Crushed petals littered the soil. “It’s a goner.”
Jane rose and looked at Adam. “I mean this in the nicest possible way, but tell me that Charlene is dead. Because if she isn’t, I’m about to be.”
This time he did smile. The slow curve revealed perfect white teeth. Her heart fluttered madly against her ribs. She’d forgotten about his smile and how it made her feel that swooning was a lost art form.
“Charlene is alive and well,” he said, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “She’ll be out for blood when she finds out about this. You know how she feels about her roses.”
“There’s already been blood.” Billie marched up to them and pointed at her leg. “You guys are adults. I’m a kid. You’re supposed to get worried when kids bleed. And what about infection? You’re always making me wash my hands.”
A single drop rolled down and stained her sock.
“All right, let’s deal with the medical emergency.” Adam crouched down and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. He moistened the corner and blotted the tiny puncture. “It’s stopped bleeding. You should be able to keep the leg.”
“Good.” Billie held on to his shoulder for balance. “It’s going to be hard enough making the major leagues as a girl. With only one leg, I’d never have a chance.” She glanced at the sky. “It’s getting dark, Mom. Where are we spending the night?”
“In town. Come on, honey, I’ve got to go call the furniture company. Adam, I—”
His smile had faded and in its place was the distant coolness of a stranger. For a minute or two he’d forgotten, as she had. It had been like the old days, before she’d left town. Before she’d done the unforgivable.
She would apologize. Not now. It was too soon and she didn’t want an audience, not even her daughter. Later, perhaps after he’d had time to digest the fact that they were going to be neighbors. In his present mood he’d deny there was anything to discuss, maybe even refuse to listen to her. If only he’d admit he felt something. Anger, hurt, regret. She’d carried her burden of guilt around for so long, she felt weary and overwhelmed by the weight. Even if he hated her, it would be a start.
“I’ll get you the money for the window and the rosebush. My purse is in the house. I really do have to make that phone call. May I bring it by tomorrow?”
“Use mine,” he said, staring at something over her head. He’d stuffed his hands into his pockets, as if to keep her from seeing the tight fists. But the outline of his knuckles pressed against the twill material of his shorts. Below, the muscles of his tanned thighs bulged against the skin. He still jogged; she could tell from the lean, powerful silhouette of his legs.
“Your what?”
“Phone, Mom. Geez.” Billie stuffed her softball into her oversize pocket.
“I couldn’t. It’s long-distance.”
“Of course you could,” he said. “It’ll save you the drive into town.”
“It’s only a mile.”
She didn’t want to go into that house. Too many memories waited there. It had been bad enough next door, but at least all the old furniture was gone and the walls had been painted and repapered. In Adam’s house, things would be the same. Already the sun was setting and the scent of night-blooming jasmine filled the air. If she closed her eyes, she would be able to remember everything. She kept her eyes open.
“You’re very kind,” she said at last, because there was nothing else to say without admitting the truth. She’d come home for a number of reasons. The fact that the past stood in the way of most of them was something she’d have to get over. “After I make my call, we’ll talk about the window.”
“I picked out a bedroom that overlooks your house, Adam,” Billie said, fishing her ball out of her pocket and starting toward the front door. “Maybe we could set up walkie-talkies, you know, like a secret club.” She glanced at her mother. “No girls allowed.”
When Billie threw the ball to him, he half turned as if he was going to toss it to Jane next. He caught himself and returned the pitch to Billie.
Jane thought about pointing out to Billie that she was a girl, but knew better. “Honey, I don’t think Adam is interested in your ‘boys only’ club. He has a business to run and a life that doesn’t have room for your wild ideas. And you’re a little young to be calling him by his first name.”
“He said I could.”
“I said she could.”
They spoke together.
Jane stared at the tall man and the short little girl. Their feet braced against the thick grass. Fists pressed into hips in identical stances of defiance. Billie had turned her cap backward so that the bill stuck out behind her and the band mashed her bangs against her forehead. Wide brown eyes, the color of thick mud—the color of Adam’s—stared back at h
er.
Like father, like daughter.
He hadn’t guessed. She’d have to tell him…eventually. But what was she going to say? It had been almost nine years since she’d left Orchard and Adam. Nine years in which they’d never spoken or corresponded. The control she’d always hated had been polished to perfection. He’d barely shown a flicker of emotion when she’d walked up to him. But that was about to change. She was done hiding. As soon as they were settled and she was sure the time was right, she’d share her guilty secret: he was Billie’s father.
Chapter Two
“Fine.” Jane raised her hands in defeat. “If Adam doesn’t mind, then call him what you want.” She glanced at him. “I’m giving you fair warning, when Billie decides she likes someone, his life ceases to be his own.”
Adam looked down at the young girl standing next to him. He shouldn’t indulge her on general principle; she was her mother’s daughter. But he couldn’t find it in himself to turn away from her engaging grin.
“All right!” Billie said, holding up her free hand. “Gimme five.”
He hit her palm with his own, then walked up the stairs onto the porch. “The phone is this way.”
“Wow! A swing! I’ve never seen one like that.” Billie dashed across the porch to the old-fashioned swing hanging from the rafters. The worn chains groaned in protest when she threw herself on the seat. One forceful push against the wooden floor set the seat in motion. “This is totally cool. Mom, can we get one?”
“Maybe in a few months.”
“Come try it.”
“I’ve been on a swing before.” Jane stared at the ground, looking at neither Billie nor Adam.
He understood her reluctance. The anger threatened again, slicing and hacking at his wall of self-control. That swing. That damn swing. He should have taken it down years ago. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jane glance at him. The quick darting look, the worry darkening her eyes and drawing the color from her skin, pleased him. If she hadn’t—
But she had. And he’d stopped caring a long time ago.
“This way,” he said, holding open the front door. Jane walked past him. A subtle fragrance licked against him. Elegant, yet welcoming, it left the taste of longing on his tongue. He wasn’t as immune as he’d like to be, but he would never let on.
Billie slid off the swing and followed. “Can I come over and use it?”
“Sure. Anytime.”
“Great.” She stepped into the foyer and whistled. “This is some place. Wow! Stairs! Can I slide down the banister?”
She darted across the hall. Jane moved after her. By the time she reached Billie, the girl had one foot on the first stair.
“No you don’t,” she said, holding her firmly by the arm. “No playing on banisters, no softballs in the house. You know the rules.” She plucked the ball from her daughter’s hand and tossed him an apologetic smile. “We grow them wild out West.”
“I think I can handle it.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “How about lemonade and chocolate cake?”
Billie shrugged out of her mother’s grasp and walked sedately to his side. “I’m always hungry.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He motioned to the study. “The phone’s in there. On the desk. We’ll be in the kitchen. You still remember where that is, don’t you?”
“Yes.” She glanced at her daughter. “Don’t get into trouble.”
“Who me?” Billie looked up at him. “She’s always doing that. Telling me to stay out of trouble.”
Jane moved into his office. The last rays of sun filtered through the lace curtains on the windows beside the front door and caught the thick braid hanging down her back. The tail, tied in a peach-colored ribbon, ended several inches below her shoulder blades. He knew from experience that her hair, when loosed and brushed smooth, would tumble clear to her waist. Satin, he remembered. Living satin, all warm and sweet smelling. It could drive a man out of his mind.
The hand still in his pocket clenched tighter. The iron control he prided himself on kept him from groaning aloud or following her to touch the thick braid to see if it was as he remembered.
“So how long have you lived in this house?” Billie asked.
“What?” He forced himself to turn away from Jane and glance down at her daughter. “Oh, all my life.” He led the way through the foyer and down a long wide hallway toward the kitchen.
“We’ve moved a lot. Mom says the first year I was born, we lived in a house, but I don’t remember that. It’s always been apartments. I like having other kids to play with, but I really need a yard. The landlord used to get mad when I practiced pitching in the hallway. It rains a lot in San Francisco. Does it rain here? Is it always this hot? Hey, you’ve got some old pictures here. Do you know people this old?”
She stopped in front of a display of antique photographs hanging over a narrow writing desk. Adam retraced his steps until he stood behind her. “They’re of my family. We’ve lived in Orchard since the early 1800s.”
“Who’s he?” She pointed at a small grainy photo of a man in uniform.
“My great-great—I can never remember exactly how many greats—grandfather. He was a major during the war.”
“The war?”
He touched the frame, then took her hand and led her down the rest of the hall and into the kitchen. “The War of Northern Aggression.”
“I never heard of it.” She paused in the middle of the room. “This is big. You’ve got two stoves. Is one broken?”
“No. My parents used to do a lot of entertaining. Why don’t you sit here.” He pulled out a stool next to the long center island, then lifted her up.
“Where are your parents now?”
He took a glass from the cupboard beside the double sink and set it in front of her. “They died.”
“I’m sorry.” Billie removed her cap and brushed her bangs flat. “Does it make you sad?”
“It was a long time ago.”
“I had a friend at school. His mom died and he cried a lot. I told him he could share mine, but it didn’t help. At least he still has his dad.”
“I was a little older than your friend when I lost my parents,” he said as he uncovered the cake and reached for a knife. “Nineteen. And I have a brother and sister.”
“Older or younger?”
“Both younger.”
“I wanted a brother, but Mom said it wasn’t a good time.” She turned on the stool and grinned when it spun. “Do you have kids?”
“No.”
“A wife?”
He sliced off a generous piece of chocolate cake and slid it onto a plate. “No. Eat your cake.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s a grown-up way to say stop asking questions, huh?”
“Yes.” He winked.
She giggled and dug in. “Mmm. This is great.” A crumb fell off her fork and onto her chest. She tried to brush it away and succeeded in smearing a dark streak down her T-shirt.
He poured them each a drink, then pulled up another stool and watched her eat. There were flashes of Jane in her. The shape of her eyes, the gift of humor. But the rest of her personality had to come from her father. Jane had been sweet as a child, but never outgoing.
What had happened? he wondered. Billie hadn’t mentioned anything about her father, although he knew it usually took two to produce a baby. It seemed odd that there wasn’t a man around to take care of this little girl.
“Did you stop and visit with your grandparents on the way out?” he asked.
“Uh-huh. Texas. They live next to the water.” She took a drink of lemonade. “It’s nice there. I like the beach. Where are your brother and sister?”
“Dani lives in Atlanta. She’s married and has a little girl about four years younger than you. Ty has a construction company in the next town.”
“Dani’s a girl, right? Short for Daniella?”
He nodded.
Billie licked a dab of icing off the corner of her mouth. “Mo
m knows her. I think they were friends a long time ago. Is there a tree house in the backyard? She talked about that on the drive out. My mom went to school here and everything.”
“I know.” So Jane had mentioned his sister but not him? No surprise in that. After the last time he saw her—
He forced away the memory, refused to acknowledge the coldness that had swept over him or the overpowering scent of flowers and burning candles.
“There’s icing.” She pointed to the chocolate ribbon left on her plate. “Want to split it?”
“You go ahead.”
“Okay.” She swept her finger across the gooey confection, then stuck it in her mouth. “Yummy.”
It seemed easier to concentrate on Billie and ignore the past. He didn’t believe in thinking about things that couldn’t be changed. Choices had been made a long time ago. It didn’t matter anymore.
“What are those for?” She pointed to the copper pots hanging on the far wall.
“Cooking.”
“I’ve never seen pans that color before.”
“Adam, who are you entertaining in the kitchen? I declare, you’ll give our family a bad name.”
Charlene Belle Standing, of the Carolina Standings as she referred to her family, swept into the kitchen. A bright purple caftan fell in soft folds to the floor. Several bracelets jingled on each wrist. Her hair, still a bright shade of red, had been twisted into an old-fashioned chignon. She was close to sixty, looked forty and acted like she was twenty-five. Or fifteen.
“My, my. And you are?”
Adam rose to his feet. “Charlene, this is Billie. Billie, my favorite aunt, Miss Charlene Standing.”
Her blue eyes snapped at him. “I’m your only aunt, Adam. If I’m not your favorite, then I’ve been doing something terribly wrong.” She moved closer to Billie and stopped on the far side of the island. Diamond rings on three fingers of each hand gleamed in the overhead light. “Child, you look so familiar, but we haven’t met. I would have remembered.”
For the first time since he’d met her, Billie was tongue-tied. She stared at the older woman.
“She’s Jane’s daughter. You remember Jane Southwick? She lived next door.”
A Dad for Billie Page 2