A Dad for Billie

by Susan Mallery

  Adam had murmured he didn’t care about seeing Bobbi Sue, dressed or naked. That Jane was the one driving him crazy. She’d allowed him to release the catch on her bra and had arched in pleasure when he touched her pale virgin skin.

  He raised one hand toward her face. There weren’t any lines to show the passage of time. Her cheek looked as smooth and soft as he remembered. She watched him fearlessly, until her eyes drifted closed.

  No! He tightened his hand into a fist, then turned away. No more remembering. The past held nothing for him. It couldn’t. He didn’t want her.

  “I’m late,” he said, and left the room without once looking back.

  *

  Jane measured out the correct length and cut the shelf paper. One cupboard down, three to go. She brushed her bangs off her forehead. The muggy afternoon heat sapped most of her energy. After a morning in town, during which the replacement window for Adam’s house had been ordered, Charlene had offered to take Billie for a swim at the club’s pool. Jane had been invited to tag along, but thought she’d better start getting the house ready. It was Saturday, the furniture would arrive Monday. There wasn’t a lot of time. Besides, with Billie gone, she’d work faster.

  Unfortunately she also had time to think. About Adam. About that morning. One more mark against her, one more measure of guilt.

  She’d lied. Not outright, of course. But a lie by omission remained a lie. He thought she was divorced. That she’d met and loved and married another. That Billie had a father somewhere out there. What would he say when he found out the truth?

  There couldn’t have been another man. Despite the miles and years between them, she hadn’t been able to forget. Her daughter—his daughter—was a daily reminder. She couldn’t move on until she’d let go of the past. So why did doing the right thing have to be so tough? The answer was easy: Adam.

  He’d been so unaffected. Except for that brief moment, when he’d almost touched her face, he’d acted like a stranger. A well-mannered host offering refuge to distant, but unknown relatives. Not by a flicker of a lash did he let on that they’d once meant something to each other. How she wanted to blast him from his damn, cool self-possession. And she could do it. But for Billie’s sake, she needed to bide her time.

  Jane smoothed the paper onto the shelf. Charlene had warned her that he hadn’t waited. But he also hadn’t married. It was probably because she’d taught him not to trust anyone.

  The back door slammed and Billie bounced into the room.

  “We’re back.”

  “How was it?”

  “Great. I met tons of kids at the pool. The girls are kinda dopey, but I talked to some boys about the softball team.” Billie dropped her towel onto the counter and raised up on tiptoes to offer a kiss. “They didn’t believe me when I told them I was a pitcher.”

  “So she threatened to beat one of them up.” Charlene entered the room. “I declare, we’ll have our hands full trying to tame this one.”

  “I don’t need taming.” Billie thrust out her lower lip. “He said he didn’t fight girls, but I knew he was scared.” She assumed a fighter’s stance, feet spread, fists raised. One strap of her bathing suit slipped down her shoulder.

  Charlene ruffled her hair. “She’s a tiger. And she dove off the high board.”

  “I’m impressed.” Jane measured the next shelf. “Anything broken or lost?”

  “Nah.” Billie climbed onto the counter and wiggled to get comfortable. “Besides, Charlene told me that lots of kids break things. Adam kicked a football into his mom’s chandelier when he was in high school.”

  Jane smiled. “I’d forgotten that, but now that you mention it, we could hear the screaming all the way over here.”

  Charlene inspected her work. “Sometimes it’s easy to forget Adam wasn’t always the responsible man he’s become.” The older woman lifted Billie down from the counter. “You need a bath, young lady.”

  “But I just went swimming. I can’t be dirty.”

  “The pool isn’t clean, it’s wet.”

  “Mo-om.”

  Jane raised her hands in the air. “I’m staying out of this one, kid. You’re on your own.”

  Charlene led her to the back door. “Let’s go out to dinner tonight. They serve fried chicken at Millie’s diner on Saturday, and Billie told me you rarely make it at home.”

  “I hate cleaning up afterward. I’d love to go to Millie’s. Is the food still terrific?”

  “This is Orchard. We don’t take kindly to change.”

  Billie tugged on Charlene’s hand. “Can Adam go with us?”

  “No, dear. He’s going out tonight with…a friend.” She glanced at Jane, her shrug apologetic. “It seemed to be a sudden decision.”

  “Okay,” Billie said. “But we can bring some back, in case Adam doesn’t like his dinner.”

  They left together, with Billie still complaining about the bath. Jane cut the shelf paper, then slipped it into the space. She didn’t care that Adam was going out on a date; it wasn’t her business. If his cool response was to be believed, her return to Orchard hadn’t affected him at all.

  That couldn’t be true, she thought, sagging against the shelf. But it was. If he’d come after her all those years ago, if he’d forced her to listen to him, given her a sign he cared, that she was more to him than a convenience, she might have been convinced to stay. He had let her go without a word.

  Like it or not, they were going to be neighbors. He couldn’t avoid her forever. Even if he didn’t care about her, he had to be angry about the past, about what had happened. When he learned the truth about his daughter, the daughter that had been kept from him—

  Jane bit her lower lip. She’d only seen Adam truly enraged once. The collections manager at the bank had tried to intimidate a delinquent widow by using physical force. When Adam found out, he’d been a man possessed. The rage in his eyes, the barely controlled violence in his stance, the deadly quiet voice he’d used to fire the employee, had frightened her and had made her wonder if she knew him at all.

  Looking back through the eyes of an adult, she realized he had kept himself from her. The essence of what he was—the promising oldest son forced to grow up before his time—had remained hidden. She’d been no match for him. Even his carefully reinedin passion had frightened her virgin body. No wonder he’d let her go without a word. What had there been to say?

  She opened another package of shelf paper and unrolled it along the counter. The easiest thing would be for her to go along with him and play her own game of pretending nothing had happened. But that wasn’t an option for her. She had to think of Billie and protect her. Until they had put the past behind them, they couldn’t face the present. Until he had dealt with his anger, she couldn’t trust him with his daughter.

  *

  Jane sat at the window seat in the guest room. In the trees, morning birds called to one another and their young. It wasn’t yet seven, but already the humid heat threatened. Another Southern Sunday, she thought, pulling her light, cotton robe closer around her body.

  Last night Adam had stayed out late. She’d waited up as long as she could, but exhaustion had forced her to bed. This morning she’d rushed to the window and had caught a glimpse of him jogging off. He had to come back sometime, and she’d be waiting. They still had a lot to discuss, and avoiding each other wasn’t going to make it go away.

  After washing up in the bathroom, she pulled on shorts and a blouse. She would dress for church after her talk with Adam. She checked to make sure Billie was still asleep. Her child lay curled up like a possum. The light sheet covered everything but the tip of her head. Jane silently shut the door and made her way down the stairs.

  The house echoed with morning stillness. Underfoot, the hardwood floors felt cool and smooth. Adam had pulled up the old wool carpets and replaced them with scatter rugs. Most of the furnishings remained the same, but yesterday she’d caught sight of a complex entertainment unit in the game room. While he’
d kept the family portraits and photographs, the darker paintings had been exchanged for bright moderns and a few lithographs. An original cartoon cell hung in the hallway outside her bedroom. The changes in the house were minor, but no less important for their subtlety.

  Reaching the bottom stair, she sat down and waited. It had been almost an hour. He had to return soon. So what was she going to say? How far was she willing to push him? Telling herself that dealing with his anger herself was better than risking it spilling over to Billie was one thing. Facing Adam in a rage was quite another.

  The girl he’d known before would never have defied him. If he’d told her he didn’t want to talk about something, she would have never mentioned it again. That girl had been lost somewhere between Billie’s birth and the present.

  The back door slammed and jerked her out of her reverie. Here goes nothing, she thought grimly as she rose and brushed her damp palms against her shorts. She walked through the dining room and into the kitchen. And stopped.

  Adam stood with his back to her. His bare back. Since he’d last jogged out of sight, he’d removed his T-shirt. Sweat glistened on his skin, the sheen defining the rippling muscles clenching and releasing like thick ropes. One hand held the refrigerator door open. He reached in and pulled out a bottle of juice. He shook the container, then raised it to his lips. As he drank, her throat tightened and swallowed. A bead of moisture dripped from the bottle onto his chest and was lost from view. Her gaze drifted down, past the flat midsection rising and lowering with each deep breath, past the bulge indicating his gender, to long, powerful legs. She knew the exact moment he became aware of her presence. The sudden tension of his body forced her to look up.

  He hadn’t shaved. Stubble darkened his jaw and outlined the firm line of his mouth. A smattering of hair, damp and matted from the run, arrowed toward his waist. Her breathing grew ragged. Not from exertion, but from apprehension. She had initiated this meeting, it was up to her to tell him what she wanted. But her tight throat wouldn’t allow speech.

  Adam closed the refrigerator and set the bottle on the counter. After grabbing his T-shirt off the chair, he wiped his face and chest.

  “What do you want?”

  He stood with his hands on his hips. The elastic of his shorts dipped scandalously low; he looked every inch a dangerous man. Billie had the same way of standing, of looking defiant and angry. But Billie was only eight, still a child. Adam was—Adam was the girl’s father.

  “I ordered a replacement for the window,” she blurted out.

  His mouth twisted with irritation, but he didn’t speak.

  “I wanted you to know. It should be here Monday. They’ll install it and everything.”

  “Fine.”

  He stood there, perhaps sensing there was more, or waiting for her to leave. Those eyes, she thought, at last letting her gaze meet his. Those damn eyes. He still made her feel young and foolish. At seventeen, the six years difference in their ages had loomed between them like an uncrossable bridge. He’d been forced into adulthood by the death of his parents and the responsibility of his siblings. She’d been forced into adulthood by her own actions.

  “I’m sorry,” she said at last.

  “Did Billie break something else?”

  “No. I’m sorry for—” She clasped her hands together to stop their trembling. “Dammit, Adam, say something.”

  “Such as?”

  “Why are you so calm about this? I waltz in here after being gone almost nine years and it’s like nothing happened.”

  He shook his head impatiently. “I don’t have time for reminiscing. I’m not interested in the past. It’s done with. Let it go. I have.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “And you’re beating a dead horse.”

  He moved to walk past her. She touched his arm to stop him. Her fingers brushed against hot, damp skin. A current leapt between them and she jerked back, half expecting to see smoke. He froze in mid-stride, caught between her and the counter.

  “What do you want?” he asked, shifting until one hip braced against the cupboard. The T-shirt hung over one shoulder.

  She stared at the hem of the garment, studying the tiny stitches as if the answer lay hidden in the weave or the design.

  “I’m moving in next door.”

  “So?”

  “There’s no way to avoid—”

  “The hell there isn’t. I don’t want to be friends. I don’t, as a rule, socialize with my neighbors. So your living there doesn’t matter to me.”

  She told herself his disinterest came from pain, but a part of her wondered if she was wrong. Was Charlene speaking the truth? Had Adam recovered from what had happened? Did she not matter anymore?

  “Billie likes you.”

  “And I like her. I’ll be friends with the kid. I don’t need to deal with you for that.”

  If only it were that simple.

  “So the past means nothing?” she asked. She knew she was really asking if she meant nothing.

  He shifted. Again she risked raising her gaze to his. The brown irises had darkened to black. The lines bracketing his mouth deepened.

  “What do you want from me, Jane? You want me to tell you I still think about you? I can’t, because I don’t. It’s over. I’ve moved on.”

  “I’m not asking if you think about—” this was harder than she’d thought “—me. I understand that we’ve both moved on. But I won’t believe you’ve forgotten what happened. How it made you feel. Or what I did.”

  He looked away then, staring past her to something she couldn’t see. The curse he mumbled made her flinch.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I don’t care.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  He shrugged. “Believe what you want.”

  What was the old saying? In for a penny, in for a pound. “You once asked me to marry you.”

  He laughed harshly, the sound carrying more irritation than humor. “Hell of a coincidence. You once said yes.” His arms folded over his chest. “Don’t push me. I still don’t understand what you’re looking for, but I’m the wrong man. You don’t want to get me angry, and that’s about five seconds from happening.”

  “At last,” she said, stepping closer, feeling her own temper rise. “The fine, upstanding Adam Barrington. Banker, model citizen. You mean there’s someone inside? Someone real, with feelings? Is that a crack in the old wall there? I’m not completely at fault, you know. You let me go, damn you. Why? Why didn’t you come after me?”

  Jane covered her mouth. That wasn’t what she’d planned to say at all. But it was too late.

  “Let you go?” He spoke quietly, with a barely controlled rage. The muscles in his arms bulged with the effort of his restraint. His eyes burned with a hot fire that had nothing to do with passion and everything to do with rage. “You walked out on me. Not a word or a note. Just a church full of people and a bride who didn’t bother to show up.”

  Chapter Four

  Adam straightened his arms at his sides and balled his hands into fists. His muscles trembled at the effort to restrain himself. His angry words, so filled with frustration and hurt, hung between them, echoing silently against the kitchen walls.

  Damn her for forcing him to give it all away. Control, he told himself. Get control. But it was useless. Hot emotion tumbled through his body, swept on by heated blood. It bubbled and rolled within him, building with speed and pressure until the explosion became inevitable.

  “It wasn’t like that,” she said, speaking so softly he had to strain to hear her. “I never meant it to happen that way. I thought—”

  He swore loudly, the vulgar word cutting off her apology. “You thought?” he asked sarcastically, his rage burning the last of his civility. “What did you think? That no one would notice? That I’d get over being publicly humiliated? That your running away wouldn’t be the topic of conversation around town for months?”

  She lowered her head. She’d pulled her long h
air back in a loose braid. Bangs hung down her forehead, but her neck and ears were exposed. A dull red flush climbed from the neck of her T-shirt to her hairline.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Sorry? Is that the best you can do? There was nothing, Jane. Not one damn word. I’d seen you drive up with your mother. You were in the church. Then you disappeared. What the hell happened?”

  She opened her mouth to answer. He cut her off. “Don’t bother.” He turned away and faced the cupboards. If he continued to look at her, he wasn’t sure what might happen. “We all waited for almost an hour. I heard the people talking. I told myself there was a problem with the dress, or that you’d broken a heel.”

  He didn’t have to try to remember that afternoon. The sounds and smells enveloped him like the clammy mist of summer fog. She’d insisted that the church be filled with roses. White roses. That scent had haunted his sleep for months.

  He pressed his palms against the counter, as if the tile could cool his heated blood. He’d thought he’d forgotten it all, but the past broke through the wall of his control, swept across his emotions, unleashing the potential for destruction. Again his fingers curled toward his palms as if he could squeeze out the memories. Or the person who had caused them.

  “Adam, I’m sorry,” she said, interrupting his struggle to maintain a semblance of composure. “So very sorry. It was never about you. You’ve got to believe that. It was about me.”

  “You’ve got that right.” He spun to face her. “You ran away. It was a childish thing to do. I’m the one who had to deal with the aftermath of your behavior and make up some story about what had happened when I didn’t have a clue. I’m the one who sent the notes of apology, returned the gifts and paid the bill for a reception that didn’t happen.”

  She raised her head. Unshed tears glistened in her hazel eyes. She blinked frantically, but it didn’t help. A single drop rolled down her cheek. At one time her distress would have moved him. He would have gathered her in his arms and murmured words of comfort. Not anymore.