Sasha’s Dad

by Geri Krotow

  He was headed for his truck when her feet hit the gravel pathway.

  She stared at him hungrily before he noticed her. Tall, commanding in his work clothes. Not many men looked as good in loose jeans and a sweatshirt, but Dutch pulled it off. The regrets of their history tugged at her.

  He stopped for a beat, then went to his truck and got in the front seat. He left the driver’s door open, though, and sat half in, half out of the cab. A small concession to her presence.

  “Charming,” she murmured.

  “What’s that?” He was working on his laptop, which rested on his thighs.

  “Nothing. I wondered how things are going.”

  He spared her the briefest of glances. His demeanor appeared cool, but his eyes gave him away.

  So she did affect him. The moment in the cottage hadn’t been an aberration.

  “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done. You’ve made this much less of an ordeal than it could’ve been.”

  Dutch didn’t look up as he typed on his laptop. He half sat on the front seat of his pickup. One long leg hung down to the running board.

  “It’s my job, Claire.”

  “I know what your job is, Dutch. Can you let down the ‘I hate you’ wall for a minute?” Her exasperation came out with more force than she’d intended. Dutch raised his eyes and looked at her.

  “Okay.” Was that amusement in his expression? Contempt?

  “I know you have a hard time with me, Dutch, but Sasha—”

  “Sasha’s my daughter, Claire.” His voice was flat, and the emotional drawbridge came back up. His eyes homed in on her, as if she were prey. Or rather, as if her motives with Sasha were his target.

  “I’m not trying to get between you and Sasha, or Sasha and Natalie’s memory—” at his indrawn hiss, Claire held up her hand “—but it’s pretty clear to me that Sasha’s benefitting from her time out here. I’m giving her a sense of connection to Natalie at her age. I was the closest to Natalie until…until—”

  She didn’t finish. They both knew that until Dutch and Natalie made love, Claire had been Natalie’s best friend.

  Dutch’s lips thinned and his chin jutted out.

  “Sasha’s had enough hurt, enough loss. It’s very nice that you want to come in and play the great friend of her mother, but let’s face it, Claire, you hadn’t been a friend to Natalie for a long time before she died.”

  She ignored the sting of his accusation. “Maybe not. But I’m here now and I’m filling in the blanks for Sasha—and I can do that better than anyone else. And you know it, Dutch. Look how happy she is when she’s out here.”

  Dutch sat still, his right hand on the steering wheel and his left cradling the laptop. He gazed at some unseen object through his windshield.

  Tears of frustration burned Claire’s eyes.

  “Can’t you look past your disgust with me and see that this is good for Sasha? She thrives when she comes out here.”

  Dutch sighed and lowered his head. “I’m aware of that. I also know she’s been pulling away from me, bit by bit, this school year. I understand that’s all part of her growing up, but… I’m grateful she at least has you to talk to.”

  His mournful tone sent a shock of compassion through Claire. She lifted her hand to reach out to him, then let her arm drop back to her side.

  “It can’t be easy, Dutch, being a single father. You’ve raised her right—look at how well she’s doing in school, how polite she is with other adults. But it’s normal for her to pull away now. Isn’t it a comfort to you to know she was here instead of running around town with friends and their older siblings? Do you want to see her hanging out at the convenience store, bumming cigarettes or trying to buy beer?”

  “No.” He closed his laptop and put it on the passenger seat. Then he turned back to Claire. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes blazed with intensity. She gulped in a deep breath. He was angry, but she knew she was close to some kind of compromise. He might crack and admit things were working out.

  “So what’s the harm in burying the hatchet? I’m not asking for us to be buddies, Dutch, or for you to forgive me. But this—” she waved her hand between them “—has got to give. Sasha doesn’t need to feel this constant tension between us. It’s not healthy for her.”

  Dutch’s response was nonverbal and lightning-quick. Before Claire could take even a step back from the truck, he jumped down and stood in front of her. The instant proximity startled her, but she felt the heat that emanated from him. Even through his sweatshirt and her jacket, Claire felt his warmth.

  She looked up and started to take a step back, but his hands were quicker. He grasped her upper arms and stared into her eyes, making sure he had her full attention.

  “You’re right, Claire. Sasha needs a woman in her life—and you’re the perfect one, as far as Natalie’s history is concerned. But as for you and me, I want to make something clear.”

  He leaned forward and she saw his eyelashes sweep down against his cheekbones an instant before his lips met hers. Neither domineering nor apologetic, the kiss was certain, brief and hot.

  Claire hung on to her control, but only because of the brevity of his kiss. She gave herself a full minute to stand still before she opened her eyes. His gaze remained intense, but now she saw what could have been a reflection of her own face.

  Surprise. Bewilderment.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Why didn’t you fight it?”

  They spoke in unison, then reached for each other again.

  Unlike the first kiss, this one wasn’t so rushed.

  Dutch moved his lips over hers as if she were his last grasp on sanity. Claire met his kiss with equal desire. When his hands left her upper arms and buried themselves in her hair, Claire slid her arms up and around his neck. She held on tight.

  “You taste so sweet,” he told her as he licked first her top, then bottom, lip. He leaned back against the cab of the truck and brought her with him, hip-to-hip.

  Claire gasped at the pleasure of the contact. Even in their jeans they fit together perfectly.

  Dutch sucked gently on her bottom lip and Claire thought she’d scream in need.

  “Dutch.” She gasped his name into the spring air, the last of the day’s sun reflecting against the red enamel finish of the truck.

  A rumble that carried across the wind and made the ground beneath them tremble broke Claire’s reverie.

  Claire pulled back and looked at Dutch. “It’s a truck driving down the highway—it’s not coming up here,” she said.

  Dutch allowed her one more glimpse of the passion in his eyes before he stretched out his arms and forced Claire to take a step back. He loosened his grip on her arms and lowered his own.

  He stayed against the cab. Claire hated the instant cold vulnerability caused by the sudden break of contact between them.

  “So much for making things clearer.” Dutch sent her a wry grin. “But my point remains, Claire. You don’t disgust me, not in the least. It would be a lot easier if you did.”

  He straightened up and put one foot on the running board. She couldn’t meet his gaze.

  She understood. He felt the attraction, too. But his lack of respect for her, his inability to forgive her—hell, she couldn’t let go of their past, either.

  Spending time with Sasha, offering Natalie’s daughter unconditional love, might give Claire a chance to make peace with her inaction of the past. She had to accept that an easy, friendly relationship with Dutch was never going to be part of the package.

  Not as long as his kiss could affect her like this.

  Dutch rubbed his chin.

  “Sasha’s at an age where she thinks I need to date. She’s also not blind to the undercurrents between us.” Dutch’s face had returned to the impassivity she’d grown accustomed to.

  “I don’t want her getting her hopes up with you, Claire. As much as we share a physical attraction, you and I have too much history. We
know each other too well. That means we don’t have a future. I won’t have Sasha disappointed.”

  Claire tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. Do not cry in front of him.

  “I realize you probably think your time with Sasha is a way to atone for the time you lost with Natalie. I can’t deny you that, especially when it seems to be helping Sasha.” He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “I need to know you and I can agree on that.”

  “I get it, Dutch.” She ran her hand through her hair in an attempt at a casual gesture. “As they say, ‘this too shall pass.’ She’ll outgrow her infatuation with the idea of a romance between us and accept me as a family friend, period.”

  She fought the urge to scream at him that she didn’t need his permission to make amends to Natalie. And that he didn’t have to worry about her assuming there was more to their relationship than there was.

  He’d kissed her first, hadn’t he?

  “Right.” He climbed back up into the driver’s seat. The physical advantage it gave him was so obvious she had to bite her tongue to keep from making a scathing comment. Wasn’t his emotional rejection of her enough?

  “Claire, one more thing. Don’t overpay her when she works in the barn. Make her earn her wage—she needs to learn that money doesn’t come easily, regardless of the profession.”

  “Fine.” She turned toward the house as soon as she could without appearing rude or as though she was running away from him. But she didn’t want to watch him go down the drive like some lovesick teen, either. There was also the matter of the tears scalding her cheeks.

  Blinded, she stumbled up to her door. Only when the sound of the engine had faded did she wipe her eyes.

  No one ever said atoning for past mistakes was easy.

  CHAPTER TEN

  DUTCH LOOKED AT THE group of girls sitting around the dining-room table. Didn’t they hear how loud they were?

  “Sasha. Sasha!” He leaned toward his daughter and when she finally looked up from the MP3 player she was sharing with her friend Lisa, he crooked his finger at her.

  “What, Dad?” Man, did he ever recognize her expression. Same one Natalie had worn whenever she was annoyed.

  “Aunt Ginny called. She can’t make it—her study group has to meet tonight for a big presentation tomorrow.”

  “That’s okay, Dad. I know Aunt Ginny’s busy. She can still come for the family party on Sunday, right?”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. A hot shower would do wonders, but he wouldn’t be his own man until tomorrow morning at eleven-thirty when all these princesses left.

  “Where’s the pizza?” Sasha definitely had the female gene for party throwing.

  “I’ll go check. It shouldn’t be long now.” He went over to his laptop and clicked on the icon for the pizza delivery place. That was a frequent occurrence in their home these days. Ever since Natalie had gotten too sick to cook and they were all tired of the few basic meals he’d mastered at that point.

  “It’s in the box, heading over here.” Dutch turned to give Sasha the news, but she was already absorbed in a preteen conversation while simultaneously shoving cheese puffs into her mouth. Her braces—

  No.

  This was her twelfth birthday party and he wasn’t going to be a grouch. She was usually pretty responsible about her food choices—she wanted her braces to produce good results, too. And it was her last Friday night of being eleven. Her birthday was Sunday, but they’d picked Friday night for the sleepover so they wouldn’t break up all these families’ weekends. Plus, Dutch knew he’d need the remainder of the weekend to recover.

  He’d counted on Ginny’s being here tonight. Not that he couldn’t manage it by himself.

  Well, kind of.

  The doorbell rang and the girls cheered.

  “Pizza delivery boy!”

  “Wonder if it’s hot?”

  “Wonder if he’s hot!”

  Dutch grimaced and chose to believe the girls truly didn’t comprehend how adult they sounded. When he’d been in seventh grade all he thought about was baseball and…ah, yes, Claire.

  Ever since he’d kissed Claire earlier this week, his mind had been following a very adult tangent. Dutch was grateful that, as precocious as the girls could be, they couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

  He reached for his wallet as he opened the door. He’d paid for the pizza online, but still liked to tip in person.

  But the tall teenage boy with buzz-cut hair and pierced nose had been replaced by a woman in a lemon-yellow cardigan sweater that covered a tight white T-shirt. His eyes went south to the jeans and leather belt slung low on unmistakably female hips.

  “Claire.” He was lucky he found her name in the jumble his thoughts had become.

  She offered him the quickest of smiles. “Hi. I want to drop this off for Sasha.”

  She held up a bright pink bag with sparkling silver balloons emblazoned all over it.

  “Claire!” Sasha squealed behind him and Dutch moved aside, opening the door wide. “Come on in.”

  “No, no.” Claire raised a hand in protest.

  “Yes!” Sasha grabbed Claire’s wrist and tugged. “Come meet my friends, Claire.”

  “Oh! Okay, but only for a minute. I have dinner plans.” Her heels clicked on the tile entry as she half jogged past Dutch. He didn’t miss the glimpse of pink-polished toes peeking out from her heeled sandals.

  Keep a lid on it, man.

  Dutch knew his hormones were like red-hot coals, and seeing Claire in dressier clothes—compared to her farm attire—only stoked them.

  Of course, Claire in a feed sack would turn him on.

  Dutch wanted to stop her from coming too far into their home, but how could he when Sasha had a death grip on Claire’s arm? Besides, all of Sasha’s friends would think she had a weird dad. Definitely not the impression he wanted to give.

  CLAIRE KEPT TELLING herself to breathe. This wasn’t about her, or her and Dutch. It was about Sasha and her party.

  Sasha was turning twelve, a landmark year for a young woman. Claire had figured that by dropping off Sasha’s gift tonight, on the way to dinner with her parents, she’d fulfill her need to provide Sasha with some kind of connection to Natalie.

  She’d brought Sasha the very thing she’d given Natalie for her twelfth birthday—a cologne set with eau de toilette, talcum powder, bubble bath and lotion. Infused with what was apparently the most popular scent of girls today. Teen Brew wasn’t a scent Claire even pretended to like, but from what she’d learned on the Internet and from the drugstore clerk, Teen Brew promised to be one of Sasha’s favorite gifts.

  “Hey, everyone, this is Claire. She was my mom’s best friend when they were our age.”

  “Cool.” A smiling girl with curly brown pigtails smiled at Claire.

  “Claire, this is Maddie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Maddie!” Claire refrained from saying she knew Maddie was Sasha’s best friend. She didn’t want to embarrass Sasha or hurt any of the other girls’ feelings.

  “And Naomi.” Sasha moved to a girl dressed entirely in black, her hair short and uneven around her pale face. The girl barely looked at Claire, and when she did, Claire was horrified by the amount of eye makeup she wore. Did she want to look like Morticia Addams?

  “Huh.”

  “Hi, Naomi.” So Dutch had allowed Sasha to invite Naomi, Sasha’s childhood friend. Sasha had mentioned to Claire that she and Naomi were developing different interests, taking different paths.

  Sasha introduced the rest of the girls, six in total.

  Some of them looked up and smiled; others nodded but kept their eyes glued to the movie they were watching on the computer.

  Claire turned to Sasha. “I came by to drop off your gift and to wish you a happy birthday. I’ve got to go—”

  “No, wait, Claire, you have to see us do our skit! It’s going to be hilarious.” On cue, five of the girls laughed hysterically
. Even Naomi managed a half grin.

  Claire kept the smile on her face while her discomfort grew. This was not how she’d planned to wish Sasha a happy birthday. She’d intended to drop off the gift, then disappear back into the evening.

  Claire silently berated herself for not bringing her gift at a different time. But she’d wanted to have the dinner date with her folks in her hip pocket, to prevent this from turning into anything more than a friendly pit stop.

  “Claire has other things to do, Sasha.” The vibration of Dutch’s baritone piqued Claire’s awareness of him. She was standing in the middle of his house, for heaven’s sake. Of course she was aware of him.

  She was aware of Natalie, too. Claire looked around. She believed that even after someone’s death, his or her essence stayed behind. Especially someone as deeply loved as Natalie.

  Dutch and Sasha wouldn’t want her memory to fade, and it showed in all the photos of Natalie that hung on the walls and set on tables.

  From the outside, the Craftsman bungalow looked much the same as it had when Dutch and Natalie had bought it after college. But inside…it looked more Architectural Digest than Claire would have imagined.

  Gleaming wood floors, Shaker furniture, a full-size leather sofa and love seat in the family room. A high ceiling revealed a loft over the living area. Claire wondered if it was an office or another bedroom, then caught herself. She had no business wondering anything about Dutch and Natalie’s house.

  Dutch and Sasha’s house, she mentally corrected.

  SASHA LIKED HOW her Dad and Claire looked together. Claire was totally different from the way Sasha remembered Mom, but maybe that was good for Daddy. Anyone too much like Mom would only make him sad. And Sasha was tired of sad.

  “I’m really sorry, Dutch. I just stopped by to bring Sasha’s gift. I didn’t mean to come in and make it such a big deal.”

  “Didn’t you hear the roar from the street?” Phew! Dad had ignored Claire’s apology and Sasha was glad. Dad’s voice was low, and his comment typical of his jokes, but the tone was the one Sasha was all too familiar with. The “didn’t you see it coming, dummy?” attitude that drove her crazy.