Sasha’s Dad

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Sasha’s Dad Page 11

by Geri Krotow


  Claire sipped her coffee. They’d enjoyed a quiet truce for the past little while. “I need to get going,” she said. “I have to take care of the llamas.” Still, her body didn’t respond as she stayed firmly seated on the breakfast stool.

  “I stopped by on my way home. I knew it was late and figured you’d be sleeping. I didn’t want you to have to rush back. They’re fine, Claire. Finish your coffee.”

  She stared at him. “Thank you for doing that, Dutch.”

  “I owe you thanks for staying with the girls.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t plan it?” She smiled at him. She was determined to return to the safe banter that kept them off difficult subjects.

  “No, I didn’t plan for one animal to die and two to need hours of surgery, all because a drunk got in his pickup and went the wrong way.”

  “Sorry. That’s not what I meant.” Claire lowered her head and hugged her arms around her chest. She looked up again. “I meant that you didn’t have to cope with all the energy that was bouncing off the walls.” She sighed. “Will you ever take my comments for what they are?”

  “We’ll never get past our history, Claire.”

  “I don’t expect to get past it, Dutch. However, I do want to live for today. I can’t change my actions, or inactions, of yesterday. I was young—we all were. But obviously it worked out for the best, or you wouldn’t have your beautiful daughter.”

  His eyes glinted as his gaze homed in on her face. Claire hadn’t felt such intensity even when she’d faced the angriest of interview subjects.

  “If things had gone your way, I would’ve left Natalie for you.” He studied her reaction, and for a split second Claire believed he was right in what he’d said earlier—they’d never be able to let go of their history.

  Or rather, her history. Her mistakes.

  Claire sucked in a breath. The reminder of her appalling behavior that Thanksgiving weekend during her senior year in college cut deep. She swore she could feel blood oozing from what she’d thought was a healed wound.

  “That was a stupid night, Dutch. I had too much to drink and acted irresponsibly—to say the least. You were engaged, by the way. You weren’t married yet.”

  “But Natalie was still your best friend.”

  Claire wanted to put her head in her arms on the counter, but instead slumped down on the smooth oak stool. She lowered her eyes, but didn’t bow her head. She refused to let Dutch see the pain, the humiliation, that remained fresh after a decade and a half.

  Yes, she’d tried to seduce him that night. To bring back the magic they’d shared in high school—until he’d made love to Natalie. They’d just found out about the horrific car accident that had claimed Tom.

  Claire had adored Natalie’s older brother, but Tom had been Dutch’s best friend. In a moment of weakness, succumbing to grief and loss, Natalie and Dutch had made love.

  Claire had been out of town on one of her many academic field trips. She’d taken her most important relationships—with Dutch and Natalie—for granted and left them when they needed her support the most.

  Claire had run from the pain. In her selfish teenage angst, she hadn’t put their grief ahead of her own.

  Natalie had been the one to console Dutch. And he’d consoled her….

  Years later, on a trip home for their wedding, Claire had drunk a few too many cosmopolitans and taken advantage of finding Dutch alone after his bachelor party.

  “I know Natalie was a good friend to me, or at least trying to be. I wasn’t much of a friend to her at all. I’m quite aware of that.”

  She looked out the kitchen window, as if some answer would appear and make it all better. “I was stupid, Dutch. You were right to set me straight.”

  “Setting her straight” had meant telling her that she was behaving like a slut, not the girl he’d known in high school. She’d never forgotten the accusation in Dutch’s eyes that night. After a searing kiss, when she’d thought they’d never come up for air, Dutch had pushed her away. He’d told her that he’d made his choice years earlier, not only when he’d cheated on her with Natalie, but after Claire had left Dovetail and never looked back.

  “You were on a different path than we were, Claire,” he said in a low voice. It wasn’t a judgment, but a truthful observation.

  “I wanted to see the world.” She managed a weak chuckle. “To conquer the world.”

  “Did you?”

  “No, but close enough. I learned what I needed to.” She gazed into his eyes. “I’ve found out what really makes me happy. The farm, the llamas, creating my own schedule. Those are just a few of the things I love about being home.”

  Dutch turned off the burner beneath the frying pan and transferred some bacon to a paper towel. Was he listening to her?

  She drummed her fingers on the counter. “I wish I’d had the maturity to be there for Natalie, but I didn’t. I wasn’t. The fact is, I’m here for Sasha today. It really has nothing to do with you or me, Dutch, other than that you’re Sasha’s father.”

  Would he ask why she’d avoided him and Natalie after her misguided seduction attempt?

  The truth was, it had hurt too much to see Dutch. She’d never gotten over the look of disgust in his eyes that night. She’d lost any hope of ever reviving their childhood bond.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SASHA WOKE UP to the smell of her favorite breakfast. Peanut-butter pancakes and bacon.

  She crawled out of her sleeping bag, careful not to step on any of her friends. They were still asleep. She’d dozed off to the sound of Naomi and Maddie talking about why certain boys were cute and others weren’t. Naomi had seemed happier than she’d been in a while; Sasha supposed that all the fun things Claire had done with them had cheered Naomi up.

  Claire!

  Sasha heard her voice. She’d spent the night, after all.

  Sasha tiptoed through the dining room and listened at the entrance to the kitchen. She liked hearing Dad’s and Claire’s voices together.

  She liked the idea of her dad and Claire being together, too, but it was going to be hard to convince them.

  Dad didn’t see Claire the way Sasha did. But Sasha had noticed how he looked at Claire when he didn’t think anyone was watching. He said he didn’t like her “that way” but he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  Claire wasn’t as easy to figure out. She never said anything negative about Dad in front of Sasha, no matter how mad he made her. She didn’t really talk about him at all. She kept their conversations on Sasha’s school, the llamas or Mom’s growing-up years.

  Dad’s laughter caught Sasha’s attention. Her stomach rumbled and she went into the kitchen before she could get caught eavesdropping again.

  “Good morning, sunshine!” Dad was dishing up a small stack of pancakes from the griddle. A mound of bacon lay on a plate nearby.

  “Mmm, yeah. But mostly tired.” She yawned.

  Claire smiled at her. “You were up until after two.”

  “What time is it now?” Claire looked at her watch.

  “Eight-thirty—oh my gosh! I’ve got to get home.” Claire looked so pretty with her hair down, even though her clothes were messed up. She must’ve slept in them.

  But Sasha didn’t want her to leave. “Don’t go yet, Claire. Did you eat breakfast already?”

  “Yes, your dad fed me pancakes and bacon, and I’ve had two cups of coffee.” Claire patted her stomach. “I’m stuffed.”

  “Who made the coffee?” Sasha couldn’t help teasing her dad.

  Dad smiled. “Claire did.”

  Sasha laughed. “Figures. Aunt Ginny said she could teach Dad to cook and even bake cupcakes, but coffee’s not his thing.”

  “Hey, give your old man a break. I can make a decent pot of coffee.”

  “If you use the automatic one with the timer, yeah.” Sasha smirked at Dad.

  “What’s it to you? You don’t drink coffee, shrimp.” Dad came over and hugged her tight. Sasha wouldn’t let h
im do this in front of anyone but Claire or Aunt Ginny. He seemed to be in an especially good mood this morning.

  Sasha turned to Claire. “Dad always buys his coffee in the morning now. Either at the diner or the doughnut place.”

  “I see.” Claire winked at Sasha, and Sasha liked the way Claire treated her—as if they were the only two women who understood the weird side of Dad.

  Dad didn’t look as tired as he usually did after an all-nighter. “How’d your case go, Dad?”

  He sighed as he poured more batter on the griddle. “It was long, but I managed to sew up two cows and save a calf. He just had a scrape compared to his mother.”

  “Oooh!” Sasha hated the thought of any animal in pain, especially a baby. “Will they be okay?”

  “I think so.”

  “Your dad’s a master vet, Sasha. If it weren’t for him, my llamas wouldn’t have made it.” Claire stood from her stool like she was preparing to leave, but Sasha didn’t want to let her go, not yet.

  “You’d already tended to the first twin just fine.” Dad addressed Claire as he flipped the pancakes. Sasha recognized the tone. It was the “good girl, job well-done” tone he used when he was really pleased with her. Sasha wondered if Claire knew what a compliment it was to have Dad talk to her like that.

  “Hey, Dad, is it okay if I show Claire my room?”

  Dad’s eyebrows rose, but he stayed calm enough. “You didn’t show her last night?”

  Sasha shrugged. “No, we were too busy down here.”

  “That’s true,” Claire said. “But I’ll see your room another time, Sasha. I really need to get going.”

  “It won’t be more than a minute.” Sasha looked at Dutch. “Please, Dad.”

  “No problem for me.”

  Claire still wasn’t convinced. “Dutch, if you’re sure you’re okay with…?”

  “Of course. Just don’t look at the mess.”

  “Can’t be messier than mine or Natalie’s ever were.” She laughed, moved toward the stairs and followed Sasha.

  Sasha led Claire into her room and twirled around. “It’s not too fancy, but I wanted you to see what I did with the pictures I took at the farm.” Sasha pointed to the bulletin board over her bed and Claire walked over.

  “Oh, Sasha, these are beautiful!” She knelt on the rainbow-patterned comforter and leaned toward the wall. “You’ve captured the crias so well. Nip and Tuck have grown so much since then! And it was only a month ago.” Claire stared at the photos. Then she came to the one Sasha never took down.

  Sasha and Mom.

  Claire’s face grew still and Sasha wished she’d protected her. The picture of Mom with no hair and so pale would be a shock to someone who didn’t remember her that way. Sasha hadn’t meant to upset Claire or hurt her feelings.

  “I’m sorry, Claire. Please don’t feel sad. Mom was sick then, but she’s in a good place now.”

  “I know she is, sweetheart. And she loves you very much.”

  Claire didn’t look at Sasha, but kept staring at the photo of her and Mom. Maybe Claire hadn’t seen Mom bald. “Had she lost her hair the time you saw her when she was sick?” Sasha asked.

  Claire shook her head and got off the bed. “No—I mean, yes, she’d lost it, but it grew back after that. For a while.” Claire’s face was serious and Sasha wondered if maybe she was tired from last night, too.

  “Thanks for showing me your room, Sasha. It’s such a lovely place for you to come home to.”

  “Yeah. I like it.”

  “And thanks for letting me be at your party.” Claire held open her arms and Sasha went to her. They hugged, and Sasha loved that Claire rubbed her back. It felt so nice.

  “But you didn’t have to stay, you know.”

  Claire tugged on Sasha’s ponytail and pulled away. “It was my privilege, kiddo. I’m going now, but I’ll see you soon, out at the farm, okay?”

  “Yup!”

  “Don’t forget we’ll be working on the sweater,” Claire said in a stage whisper.

  “Thanks,” Sasha whispered back.

  Sasha walked behind Claire as they left the room and went downstairs. Three of the girls sat at the breakfast counter, stuffing their faces with Dad’s pancakes.

  “Hey, save some for me, you guys!”

  She noticed that Dad saw Claire getting ready to leave and he came to stand beside her. He was going to walk her to the front door. Sasha smiled. Maybe Dad and Claire would figure out for themselves that they made a good pair.

  DUTCH LET CLAIRE go even though he wanted to grab her arm, make her stay. Was he that lonely for female companionship? Did he actually want more conversations on the subject that was most painful for both of them?

  And yet he didn’t have any regrets. Claire was right; he had Sasha. And he’d loved Natalie with all his heart. They’d never had the chemistry he and Claire had experienced, but what they’d felt was deep and true.

  Claire had been gone the minute she’d found out what happened between him and Natalie. No understanding, no compassion. He couldn’t blame her, not when they were kids. But after a few years of college, he thought she’d get over it.

  She hadn’t. Or at least it seemed that way.

  “Claire, are you sure you have to go?” Sasha implored.

  “I’m afraid so. You girls have more energy than I do! But I’ll see you next week, Sasha.” Claire embraced her in a hug, her lips on Sasha’s bent head. Like Natalie would have done.

  His stomach tensed at the brief wave of pain and awareness. He knew Natalie wasn’t coming back. And he knew he was sane—Claire wasn’t channeling Natalie’s spirit.

  But the gesture of female affection from Claire and the way Sasha soaked it up brought tears to his eyes. His sister, Ginny, loved Sasha and Sasha loved her, but it wasn’t the same. Ginny was several years younger than him and Claire; she didn’t have a parental love for Sasha.

  Claire grabbed her sweater from the bench and shrugged it on. She looked back over her shoulder and caught him watching every move. She met his gaze with equanimity, then turned and left.

  She closed the door quietly and Dutch sighed. The house seemed colder without her.

  THAT AFTERNOON Dutch drove around Dovetail and its environs as he examined his patients with methodical care. Earlier, he and Sasha had cleaned up after the sleepover. Sasha had stayed home, since he didn’t plan to be longer than a few hours or so and she was exhausted from the slumber party.

  He was grateful for the solo time. He’d been a bit overwhelmed by all the female energy that had invaded his home lately.

  He shook his head at the horse he was examining. Sasha’s girlfriends weren’t the issue. It was Claire.

  “How you doing today, old gal?” He stroked the side of the aging mare. He was looking after her for the Browns while they wintered in Florida. They’d be home in a week or so. Usually Dutch left pet sitting to the smaller agencies or one of his assistants. But Goldy had needed antibiotics and he wanted to nurse her back from the infection in her right foreleg.

  He led Goldy out to her field to graze, and she placed her nuzzle against him. He laughed, and it felt good to let the joyful sound echo through his chest.

  How had he gone from never wanting to see Claire again to allowing his daughter to spend time with her?

  To kissing her?

  He could forgive himself for the kiss in front of the truck. He’d reacted to her constant presence, the way she got under his skin no matter how carefully he guarded himself. As well, the embrace outside the barn had been pure reaction.

  The kiss this morning, though, he had no excuse for. It had simply felt right to pull her onto his lap. She’d welcomed his touch as he’d kissed her. Those kisses had reminded him what making love to a woman who knows you feels like.

  Claire knew him—but she didn’t know everything.

  He’d thought he could never forgive Claire for what she’d done—or not done—with Natalie those last years. He’d made it clear where
she stood with him, and Dutch refused to lead a woman on.

  Unfortunately, he was having trouble following his own rules.

  The Claire he was getting to know bore little resemblance to the Claire of ten and fifteen years ago. He wondered what had brought about the change. It wasn’t just about Natalie or Claire’s regret over breaking a vow of friendship.

  He sighed and watched Goldy clomp around the small patch of fenced-off field. Perhaps Claire had simply grown up. She’d told him that she had finally figured out what made her happy. But it was too late for Claire and Natalie.

  And it had to be too late for Claire and him. Didn’t it?

  “SASHA! DINNER,” Dutch shouted. She’d stayed in her room since he’d come back from tending to Goldy.

  Dutch handed her the plate he’d filled with meat loaf and broccoli. He was grateful for this dinner together, when she didn’t have the pull of a social activity on a Saturday evening.

  “No potatoes?” Sasha looked at the plate and her voice rose.

  “You just reminded me.” Dutch made a quarter turn and opened the microwave door. “Here you go!”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  They took their usual spots at the counter on their stools. Dutch knew he should use the dining room more often, but this suited them fine.

  He mused at how effectively they’d become a team. He would’ve forgotten the potatoes he’d reheated until he went to use the microwave to make popcorn later, or worse, heat up their oatmeal in the morning.

  But Sasha knew that meat loaf wasn’t a meal without potatoes.

  “So how did you like your party?”

  “It was awesome, Dad. The absolute best.” Sasha swallowed a huge forkful of potatoes.

  “And you felt completely safe with Claire here?” He had to ask it, to assuage any parental guilt.

  “Of course!” Her eyebrows tilted up and Dutch saw the wariness in her eyes. Nothing got by Sasha these days. She munched on a roll she’d smeared with butter. “I mean, Dad, Claire would wallop anyone who tried to hurt us.”

 

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