His Daughter's Laughter (Silhouette Special Edition)

by Hudson, Janis Reams

  Tyler Barnett.

  Carly felt like groaning. What was he doing here?

  But then, she knew the answer. He had obviously come to convince her to change her mind and accept his offer.

  Carly smiled as Amanda stepped from the car and straightened the short, ruffled skirt of her pink dress. The child was a little angel; and Carly had fallen for her at first sight. Fallen hard. She ached deep inside for the pain a girl so young had suffered. Would yet suffer, if she was to get her speech back.

  Carly felt her heart soften. “Hi, Amanda.” Amanda waved and flashed two adorable dimples. Then she cocked her head and studied Carly closely.

  “What is it?” Carly asked.

  Amanda closed one eye and tapped her eyelid with a finger.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what that means,” Carly said.

  “Never mind,” Tyler Barnett said. “It’s just some of Amanda’s own brand of sign language.”

  “Oh.” Against her will and better judgment, Carly’s gaze drew to Amanda’s father.

  Amanda tugged on his arm and put her finger to her closed eyelid again.

  “It’s okay,” he told her. “It’s none of our business.”

  “I’ll probably regret this,” Carly said, “but what’s none of your business?”

  Instead of answering, he gave a perturbed frown.

  Amanda tugged on his arm, harder this time, and re- peated her gesture.

  Tyler heaved a sigh. “All right.” With more than a hint of resignation and wariness, he looked at Carly. “Amanda wants to know why you’ve been crying.”

  Carly’s cheeks burned. With a nervous laugh, she averted her gaze. “Oh, you know. One of those sad old movies was on TV.”

  He looked as if he didn’t believe her, then shrugged. “There, he told his daughter. “See? Nothing’s wrong. She was just watching a sad movie, that’s all.”

  A soft touch on the back of Carly’s hand had her looking down into serious young eyes. The child’s eyes, like her father’s, looked as if they could see into Carly’s soul.

  Carly forced a smile. “So, did you pass your ice-cream test?”

  Amanda grinned and nodded.

  “Okay,” Tyler told his daughter. “You got to say hi, now go wait in the car for me while I talk to Ms. Baker.” The words that could have been harsh were, instead, soft and loving.

  Amanda waved goodbye and went back to the car, look- ing over her shoulder at Carly several times on her way.

  Tyler Barnett folded his arms across his chest and wid- ened his stance, as if ready for battle.

  Carly’s choices were few. She could make a run for it, she could turn and go back inside, or she could face him. Raised flower beds flanked both sides of the sidewalk all the way down the yard. Crawling over them to escape Bar- nett’s presence would be the height of indignity, and was out of the question, as was retreating back up the sidewalk to her apartment.

  Barnett looked beyond her shoulder at the house behind her. “It’s beautiful,” he said, surprising her.

  Carly followed his gaze to the three-story, age-smoothed stone mansion. “Yes. It was converted to apartments years ago. There’s always a waiting list. I was lucky to even get in.”

  And would be luckier still, if she didn’t get kicked out, she knew.

  But she couldn’t think about her overdue rent. Tyler Bar- nett still stood militantly before her, and she needed to get going. She took the offensive. “What do you want? I’m late for work.”

  “You’re walking?”

  “It’s only a few blocks.”

  He smirked. “The Burger Barrel, huh?”

  “It’s a living.” Her cheeks stung at the lie.

  “I’ll bet.”

  Carly chewed on the inside of her jaw and kept quiet, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. He didn’t.

  “Dr. Sanders explained what happened at your last job,” Barnett said. “I don’t believe you took any money, and if you did, I don’t care. I’m not asking you to be my banker, and the family silver hasn’t been polished in so long, you wouldn’t have it if I gave it to you. Amanda and I want you to come home with us.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “You’re in the phone book.”

  Carly frowned at the obvious answer. It had been a stupid question, anyway.

  Tyler uncrossed his arms and shifted his feet. “I prom- ised Amanda I’d take her on the cable cars tomorrow before we go home Sunday. We’d both like it very much if you’d come with us.”

  “Stand at that corner,” Carly said pointing a half block down, “and one will be along in a few minutes.”

  He was shaking his head before she finished. “I checked the guidebooks. That one just goes up and down this one street. We want to see more than that—Lombard Street, Fisherman’s Wharf, Union Square. All the tourist stuff. You could be our guide. I’ll even throw in lunch.”

  Carly shook her head. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  He leveled his gaze on her, drilling her with those pierc- ing blue-green eyes. “She needs you.”

  “She needs a trained psychologist, not an out-of-work bookkeeper.”

  “Ms. Baker—Carly—Amanda has never responded to a stranger the way she did to you today. Never. And except for the time I heard her mumble in her sleep several months ago, she has not once, not one single time, uttered a sound since the night her mother died. Until today. With you.”

  Carly opened her mouth, not sure what to say, when he held up a hand to hush her. “Come with us tomorrow. Spend the day getting to know us.”

  “Mr. Banrett—-”

  “Please.”

  His quiet, husky plea did something to her insides. She shuddered. Before she knew what she was doing, she whis- pered, “All right.” What could it hurt, after all? Dr. San- ders trusted him enough to suggest she go to Wyoming with him. Surely a day playing tour guide in a crowded city would be safe enough.

  His smile was slow and powerful. Devastating in its bril- liance and the way it affected her respiration.

  Maybe not so safe.

  “Thank you,” he said. “We’ll be here at ten.”

  Tyler put his key into the ignition and watched in his rearview mirror as Carly crossed the street and disappeared into the crowd on the sidewalk. He let out a long, slow breath. Progress. Slight, but forward. Tomorrow he would convince her. Somehow.

  And he was beginning to care less and less just how he got her to come home with him. She had to help Amanda. She had to.

  When he and Amanda pulled up at the curb the next morning at ten, Carly was sitting on the front porch steps waiting for them. Tyler felt his breath give a slight pause. He didn’t normally go for sassy-looking pixies, but Carly Baker was so damn…cute. That was the word for her. Cute.

  Looking at her, he could practically feel the life and energy humming just beneath her surface. It was tamped down now, weighted, no doubt, by the trouble on her last job Dr. Sanders had told him about. Tamped, trapped, dimmed, but only temporarily.

  Then she stood and started down the sidewalk toward his car, and the word cute flew right out of his head. Fire- engine red high heels and a matching miniskirt made those shapely, golden legs look a mile long. The exaggerated sway of her hips as she walked the downhill slope of the sidewalk made his pulse leap. Her oversize red shirt, un- buttoned to reveal a plain, scoop-neck white top beneath, looked as if it would fit him better than it did her. The baggy garment that all but concealed her small breasts somehow gave her a fragile air, made her look as if she might break if handled roughly.

  In direct contrast, the giant gold loops dangling from her ears almost to her shoulders looked as bold as all get-out.

  Cute was long gone. Strolling down the sidewalk be- tween riotous beds of flowers, looking like a wild crimson rose among scraggly weeds, Carly Baker was nothing short of dynamite. So damn sexy she took his breath away.

  He got out of the car and helped Amanda out the pas- senger door, then turned
to greet Carly. Whatever he’d thought he’d seen in her eyes the day before was gone. No hint of sadness or pain now. Her big brown eyes glowed with the sharp light of determination, maybe defiance.

  “Whew.” He grinned. “You’re gonna wow ’em in Wy- oming, and that’s a fact.”

  It was the heat in his eyes that made Carly wonder if she’d made a mistake wearing these clothes. She had needed a lift, and her red outfit always made her feel good. She hadn’t considered, what he would think.

  Then she gave a defiant toss of her head and decided to hell with him. She had dressed this way for herself. If he chose to let himself get worked up…

  His eyes darkened to a turbulent green.

  When was the last time she’d had this effect on a man?

  It must have been a long time ago, because she couldn’t remember it. James had certainly never looked as if his only thought was to drag her to the nearest dark, private place and catalog her erogenous zones.

  But then, James had never made her heart pound with just a look, either. Suddenly her self-confidence, which had been severely wounded of late, took wing and soared.

  And why not? Why not see if she still had what it took to keep a man interested for more than a few minutes? After today, she would never see Tyler Barnett again. What could a little flirting hurt? He was going back to Wyoming the day after tomorrow. Her bruised ego could use the boost of a ruggedly handsome man’s interest for a few hours. And Tyler Barnett more than filled the bill.

  Western clothing on a man wasn’t all that rare a sight in San Francisco, but on this man, the effect threatened some- thing inside her that had never felt threatened before. His deep brown boots were polished to a high sheen and looked hand-tooled and worth more than her car. There was noth- ing remarkable about his brown dress slacks, unless she counted the silver oval belt buckle big enough to choke a moose.

  His starched, white Western shirt accented the deep tan of his face and hands. The pearlized snaps teased a woman with how easily she could—

  Down, girl, she told herself sternly. To get her mind off the snaps on his shirt, she raised her gaze. “Love your Stetson.”

  He tugged on the brim of his white hat. “Bailey, but thanks.”

  “What’s a Bailey?”

  Tyler chuckled. “The brand of my hat”.

  “Oh. Obviously, what I know about Western hats wouldn’t fill the brim.”

  “Come to Wyoming, then, and learn.”

  She just grinned and shook her head.

  The hat in question looked like an extension of the man. He hadn’t worn it yesterday, and she hadn’t missed it. But now, seeing it shade his eyes against the late-morning sun, she realized the hat belonged on him.

  Carly realized something else just then, too. She and Ty- ler were standing on the sidewalk ogling each other like a couple of teenagers with raging hormones, completely ig- noring the reason they were together in the first place. Feel- ing guilty, she looked down at the child holding Tyler’s hand.

  “Hi, there. My, don’t you look pretty?” And she did. Another frilly dress, this one yellow, decked out in ruffles and lace, with a giant bow at the back of her waist. “A perfect little lady.”

  Amanda peeked up through long bangs and smiled.

  “Are you two ready to go?” Tyler asked.

  Glancing up at him, Carly noticed the sudden sadness in his eyes as he gazed at his daughter. But it was none of her business. After today, she’d never see the Barnetts again.

  “I’m ready.” She pulled the shoulder strap of her red leather purse over her head and settled the bag on her hip.

  With Amanda between them, they turned their backs on the California-Van Ness cable car clanging up the street and walked three blocks north to catch the Powell-Hyde line.

  “How can you walk in those things?” Tyler asked, glancing down at Carly’s high heels.

  “I’m used to them.”

  “He smirked. “I’ll bet they see a lot of miles at Burger Barrel.”

  Carly was determined to have a good time today. She was not going to get defensive about her job slinging ham- burgers. Especially since she didn’t have the job, as of last night She’d been “released from employment.”

  She forced a smile. “Yes, and they look terrific with brown polyester.”

  On Washington they got lucky and were able to squeeze onto the first cable car that came along without having to stand in line.

  Carly surprised herself by enjoying her role as tour guide. Tyler surprised her by seeming to enjoy himself, too. She hadn’t thought a Wyoming cowboy would find much to like about a crowded city.

  But he and Amanda eagerly took in the sights up Hyde Street, over Russian Hill. The car stopped at Lombard Street and Carly got the distinct impression that if Tyler’d had a camera, be would have taken a picture.

  “Look at that street, Amanda,” he said. “That thing’s got more curves than a mountain switchback. And look out there. That’s called Coit’s Tower. And behind it is San Francisco Bay. Did you ever see water so blue?”

  His eyes. Carry thought with poignancy, looked every bit as young and excited as Amanda’s, every bit as blue as the bay. When was the last time she’d seen a grown man enjoy himself so thoroughly?

  The cable car lurched into motion, throwing Carly against Tyler’s chest. It felt like running into a stone wall. One of his hands covered hers where she gripped the brass pole tightly. With his other hand he held on to Amanda and steadied her.

  If Carly had been asked, she never would have guessed the texture of rough calluses against the back of her hand could excite her. She wouldn’t have dreamed the mere mo- tion of a man’s head dipping slowly toward hers could set her on fire. And she would have flatly denied how much she wanted a virtual stranger to tilt his head just a little bit more, so she could slip in beneath the brim of that white hat and taste his lips.

  Shocked at her own thoughts as much as by the sudden flare of heat in his eyes, Carly leaned back. It was a damn good thing she wasn’t going to Wyoming with Tyler Bar- nett. The man was positively lethal. But, oh, it felt good to know she had the same effect on him.

  A moment later, Tyler lifted Amanda up against his chest so she could see the Golden Gate Bridge coming into view, and the tension was broken.

  They got off the cable car at the Victorian Park turntable and crossed over to Ghirardelli Square. Amanda urged them toward a street performer in clown makeup. She watched, wide-eyed, as he twisted and bent and shaped balloons into animals. The young man spotted her enrapt gaze and gave her an exaggerated wink, motioning her over with the long orange balloon in his hand.

  She looked up at her father, blue-green eyes wide and pleading.

  “What are we waiting for?” Tyler asked. “Let’s go.”

  He led them to the silent clown, who proceeded to bend and shape the orange balloon until, with a flourish, he pre- sented Amanda with the results—a two-foot-tall giraffe.

  Amanda bounced up and down, clapping her hands and grinning. She hugged the giraffe to her chest just tight enough to make Carly wince in anticipation of a loud pop, but the balloon animal proved tough enough.

  Tyler slipped some money from his pocket and told Amanda to drop it in the large plastic cup at the clown’s feet.

  “She’s adorable,” Carly said with a smile.

  “Yeah.” Tyler’s smile disappeared. He gave Carly a di- rect, probing look. “And she needs help. She needs you.”

  Carly bristled. He was not going to make her feel guilty. “Was I mistaken? I thought today was for fun. That you weren’t going to do any arm-twisting.”

  He took a deep breath. “Right. No arm-twisting.”

  Amanda returned and took Tyler’s hand.

  “Okay, Ms. Tour Guide,” he said to Carly, “what’s next?”

  Carly led the way past The Cannery and its current com- plement of street musicians, along another couple of blocks on Jefferson to Fisherman’s Wharf.

  “This,”
Carly said dramatically, “is the second most popular tourist attraction on the West Coast, second only to—

  “Don’t say it,” Tyler cried with an exaggerated shudder.

  “Don’t say what?”

  “You were about to say the D word, the name of that place down in Anaheim. The place of big ears and small worlds.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So, a certain young lady gets the most pitiful, pleading look in her eyes every time she sees or hears anything about that place.”

  Carly grinned. “Give you a hard time, does she?”

  Tyler rolled his eyes.

  “So why don’t you take her?”

  “No time on this trip. Maybe next time.”

  They spent more than an hour seeing the sights and smelling those wonderful smells along Fisherman’s Wharf. The sea, fresh fish, hot bread, garlic from one shop, cin- namon from the next. A full banquet of aromas.

  Tyler was afraid Amanda would get tired or bored, but she seemed happy enough clutching her orange balloon gi- raffe. He held her free hand and tried to take in the scenery, the hundreds of people, the unique atmosphere, but found it more than difficult to keep his eyes off their tour guide. Carly seemed to be working extra hard at being cheerful. He wondered why. If she had her way, she’d never see him again. Why should she care whether she was so damned bubbly every single minute or not?

  With Amanda’s help, Tyler bought his dad and each of the hands a T-shirt in one of the dozens of shops along the street.

  Afterward, Carly followed her nose and pulled them to a steamy sidewalk kitchen for a snack of fresh crab and hot bread.

  “Where to next?” he asked her.

  She smiled brightly. “You can’t leave town without see- ing Union Square. Come on.”

  He wondered if she did it on purpose, if the high heels were responsible, or if that incredible sway to her hips came naturally. She had him feeling like a stallion locked away in the stud stall, with an in-season mare prancing by and twitching her tail.

  Damn. He’d definitely been alone too long the day a cute, sad-eyed pixie at least ten years his junior could turn him inside out.

  At the turnaround for the Powell-Mason cable car, they had to stand in line. Finally they made it onto the third car and rode past North Beach, up over Nob Hill, again, and down to Union Square. Here, at last, was a small patch of open ground. Tyler hadn’t realized how hemmed in he’d been feeling until he spotted the open-air plaza of Union Square.