Finding Her Dad

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Jon wore a dark charcoal suit with a white shirt and conservative navy blue tie. Presumably he’d come straight from work. His suits were always beautifully cut for his big, rangy body.

  “Do you ever wear a uniform?” she asked, then answered herself. “You must, because I’ve seen pictures of you a couple of times wearing one.”

  “Mostly for speaking to the press. The detective division goes plainclothes.”

  “Oh. I suppose so.” Of course they did—on TV shows, homicide cops were always wearing rumpled suits or even jeans and running shoes. She supposed a police captain had to think more about appearances.

  Sierra watched them leave with a vaguely maternal air that made Lucy laugh. “So much for worrying about her tender feelings,” she muttered as Jon opened the car door for her.

  “What did I tell you?”

  “Nobody wants to hear I told you so.”

  He laughed, too, a deep, husky chuckle that gave her goose bumps.

  During the drive, she said, “Maybe this is the equivalent of parents going on a date night and talking mostly about their kids, but… Do you think your mom and sister liked Sierra?”

  He shot her a glance. “You couldn’t tell?”

  “They might have been trying not to hurt her feelings.”

  “My mother fell in love at first sight.” He paused. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel before he said in a carefully neutral voice, “Lily told me it wasn’t fair that I got such a great kid without having to do any of the hard work getting her there.”

  Lucy couldn’t read anything at all in his expression, but some instinct made her say, “You didn’t exactly dodge out on being a parent.” Like my father did.

  She knew that wasn’t fair. He’d probably never had the least idea that he’d made her mother pregnant. Lucy had always assumed she was an accident. The surprise, really, was that her mother hadn’t had more of them.

  Jon grunted. “Then why do I feel guilty?”

  Lucy was mildly chagrined to realize she’d believed he should feel guilty. But she knew perfectly well she’d been projecting. She didn’t really think Jon was being nice to Sierra to look good for voters in case his relationship with her was exposed. She suspected he was a good man with a well-developed sense of responsibility. He also gave every indication that he genuinely liked Sierra.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Why do you?”

  Again his grip on the steering wheel gave him away. He didn’t fidget, but his fingers tightened and loosened several times as he drove in brooding silence.

  “The sperm thing was…stupid,” he said finally. “I only did it a couple of times. My father and I didn’t get along—you’ve probably figured that out.”

  “You did tell Sierra she wouldn’t have liked him.”

  His laugh was short, harsh. “No. She wouldn’t have.” He shrugged. “I refused to take a penny from him. Worked my butt off to get through college on my own. It took me an extra year, working damn near full-time along with keeping up the grades, but my pride wouldn’t let me back down. I was pretty damn broke sometimes. Donating sperm seemed easy.”

  Oh, it was easy, Lucy thought, as long as the man didn’t think about the consequences. And too many of them didn’t.

  “Then one day I saw a pregnant woman who’d come out of an ob-gyn clinic. We were both waiting for the bus. I wondered where her husband was.”

  She imagined it—the college kid gaping at the big belly—and her mouth curved. “You got to wondering if she was carrying your baby.”

  Stopped at a red light, he was able to meet her eyes. He didn’t look nearly as amused as Lucy suddenly felt.

  “Yeah. The thought did occur to me. It was like getting cold water dumped on me. I never went back to the sperm bank.”

  “Wouldn’t it be funny if that was Sierra’s mother?” she mused.

  A profanity escaped him. “Thanks for the suggestion.” Now he was smiling, if wryly. “You’re a big help.”

  “Do you even remember what she looked like?”

  “Hell, no. I was too busy staring at her belly to look at her face.”

  “I suppose the idea of actually getting a woman pregnant is pretty horrifying to a twenty-one-year-old guy.”

  “You could say that.” He put his turn signal on. “I should have asked. Is a steak house okay?”

  “That sounds good to me.”

  She’d heard of the restaurant he chose. It was out of her price range, so she’d never been there. What eating out she did with friends—and now with Sierra—was mostly pizza or a favorite little Mexican place. Neither had white linen tablecloths, dim lighting and private booths.

  Conversation proved to be astonishingly easy. She remembered thinking, when she and Sierra had first been shown into his office, that his charm was practiced and probably not sincere, but she’d come to believe she was wrong. Despite the guardedness that was probably natural for a cop—or maybe had something to do with whatever wounds his father had dealt him—Jon liked people. He told stories from the job that were sometimes funny, sometimes poignant, but never mean. He encouraged her to talk about the challenges of small-business ownership, about how she’d met Sierra, whether she’d known Sierra’s mother. The one awkward moment came when he asked, “Did you grow up around here? Any family besides your mother?”

  Had she mentioned her mother to him? Oh, Lord, she must have.

  “No, I was born in the L.A. area. I never really knew my father—I think I was something of an accident.” How lightly she said that. “We moved around some when I was a kid, but I did graduate from high school up here. In Tacoma, actually.” She was quick to direct the conversation back to him. “What about you? Did you grow up in the same house where your mom lives now?”

  He nodded. “Not so common these days, is it? I don’t know many people whose parents never moved. I didn’t have any of the trauma of new schools.”

  “Oh, I hated the first day at a new school.” She thought it might have been worse because she was a foster kid. She didn’t want anyone else to know, because sometimes they made fun of her, or else they felt sorry for her. She didn’t want anyone, ever, to know Terry was in prison. Although it had almost been worse when Lucy was living with her mother, because she was so afraid her mom would embarrass her in front of a new friend.

  Even now she didn’t want to talk about it. She hated the idea of Jon knowing. It felt, sometimes, as if she were hiding a stain on the tablecloth. Putting a vase atop it, so no one would see. No matter how often she’d scrubbed the fabric, she couldn’t get rid of the stain. Which was stupid, of course. She wasn’t responsible for her mom’s behavior, but it felt as though she was. Inside, she was still the scrawny, always-too-small child whose clothes usually came from whatever school program outfitted the poor kids.

  No, she wouldn’t lie to Jon, but it was too soon to bare a past that still made her feel raw.

  How are you going to keep hiding Mom when she’s right here in town? Sitting at your dinner table? Job hunting and naming you as her daughter?

  Lucy almost shuddered. Don’t think about it. Not right now. Don’t.

  Jon was looking at her oddly. Had he asked her something, and she hadn’t even heard him?

  “One trouble with moving,” she said, “is that you tend not to keep in touch with friends. I’ll bet you’ve stayed close to some kids you grew up with, haven’t you?”

  They talked, then, about friends, and eventually about what it took to make themselves feel rooted. Jon had never considered leaving the Puget Sound area, she discovered, despite the split with his father. Or maybe because of it. This was home. As a cop, his sense of responsibility wrapped around that concept—this county was his to keep safe.

  “It was different for me,” Lucy admitted. “I think because we moved a lot, I decided somewhere along the line that I never would again. All I wanted was to own my own house and have a garden and…belong,” she finished softly.

  He smiled, his e
yes warm. “You didn’t have a chance of resisting Sierra, did you?”

  “Because that’s what she needed, too? Nope. I didn’t.” Lucy’s light tone became more somber. “I was so mad when she told me her uncle didn’t want her. How could he not? Somebody had to want her. Growing up not feeling as if anyone really wants you, or that you have a real home…” A lump formed in her throat, and she didn’t even try to finish.

  Jon laid his hand over hers. “The first time we met, I knew right away that you were glaring at me because you felt so fiercely protective of Sierra. I think that’s what did me in.”

  Did him in? What did he mean by that? He was implying a whole lot more than he’d expressed when he said he was attracted to her.

  Her chest hurt with the knowledge of how much she wanted to believe him. To think that there was some chance he’d keep wanting her once he really knew her, once he’d seen her baggage.

  “I love Sierra,” she said. “She’s given me as much I have her. Don’t make me out to be some kind of saint.”

  His eyes still had the softness that made her ache. “I won’t.” The grin widened, became wicked. “I promise, saintly is the last way I want to think of you.”

  She blushed and Jon laughed. Thank goodness the waiter brought the check then, and she didn’t have to think of an appropriate response.

  In disgust, Lucy thought, I’ll bet Sierra knows how to flirt.

  On the way out to the car, he said, “I’m sorry to have to cut the evening so short, but I have an early-morning breakfast I have to attend.”

  “Political?”

  “Rotary Club. I’m the speaker.”

  “All the business organizations tend to have those crack-of-dawn meetings, don’t they?”

  “Yes, and I’m going to as many of them as I can right now. It’s getting old. I’m not really a political animal.” He opened her car door and stood back. “Then why—”

  “I want to be sheriff,” he said simply.

  Lucy waited until he was behind the wheel and they were under way before she asked, “Why?”

  His sidelong glance was swift. “Why what?”

  “Why sheriff?”

  “I think I can make the department better.” He paused, apparently concentrating on his driving. When he continued, he sounded almost reluctant. “Because I like giving orders better than taking them. I suppose I’m ambitious.”

  “Most of us are, on some level.”

  She earned another of those lightning glances. “You?”

  “I wanted my own business. All mine. My own house. All mine. I don’t know if that’s ambitious, but it’s possessive. You happen to want to have your very own police department.”

  Jon laughed. “The trouble is, it never will be my own in the same way your business is. I still have to contend with the county council, the unions, with voters who happen to be taxpayers, with the need to win reelection every four years. Not to mention everyone who works for me. Cops are a contentious bunch, almost as bad as those council members. I can’t get complacent.”

  “I can’t, either. I have to keep customers coming back. I have a lease on the building, suppliers, neighbors, the IRS—”

  “Point taken,” Jon conceded, his voice amused.

  She almost wished the drive was longer. Already he was pulling into her driveway behind her aging compact car. The porch light was on even though night hadn’t completely fallen yet, but the front window wasn’t lit. Sierra was probably engaged in a virtual world on her laptop in her bedroom.

  The silence after Jon turned off the engine was deafening. Lucy fumbled when she reached to unfasten her seat belt.

  “Let me,” Jon said softly, and undid first hers and then his. “I enjoyed myself tonight.”

  “I did, too.” So much it scared her. They hadn’t talked about anything that special, they hadn’t gone dancing, he hadn’t kissed her yet, but she liked looking at him and listening to him. That was dangerous. She couldn’t imagine that an ambitious man willing to run for public office to get what he wanted would find she suited his public image. Especially once he found out about her mother.

  “There shouldn’t be any interruptions this time,” he murmured.

  This time? Then Lucy remembered the customers who had come into her store as he’d raised her chin.

  His knuckles stroked her cheek. She looked up at the shadows and planes of his face, at his crystalline eyes, narrowed now, and finally at the mouth she’d thought to be hard even when he smiled politely.

  She wanted, quite desperately, for him to kiss her.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JON DIDN’T KNOW WHY he felt so hungry for this woman, but he was. That made him determined to be careful. Lucy hadn’t gotten over her wariness with him. He’d noticed how she avoided talking much about herself. Was she cautious around all men? He sensed she would have to be coaxed into a relationship.

  Sliding his hand around to cup the back of her head, he brushed his lips over hers. Then did it again. Hers quivered, parted slightly. He gently nibbled her lower lip, then flicked his tongue to taste it, to slide a bit inside to the tender, damp flesh there. Her face rose when he pulled back slightly, as though her instinct was to keep contact with him. He thought maybe he was smiling when he kissed her again.

  By the time his tongue met hers, his smile was long gone and a groan rumbled in his chest. She tasted like coffee and spices. She seemed startled by the kiss. Her tongue was shy, meeting his, then retreating. But as if she couldn’t help herself, she lifted one hand to his shoulder, where she gripped as if to hold him close.

  Jon was bombarded with sensations: the heavy, cool slide of her hair, the fragility of her neck beneath that hair, her spicy taste, the tiny sound that escaped her when he lifted his mouth enough to let them both breathe.

  He wanted to put his free hand on her breast, test its fullness and weight. He wanted to slip his hand inside her low-cut top and savor her naked breast. Hell. He wanted to take their activities into the house, feel her body pressed to his, hear that little choked gasp become a purr.

  He wanted…

  With the most self-discipline Jon had exerted in years, he squeezed her neck, nuzzled her face one more time and let her go.

  “If you didn’t have a kid inside, I might try to talk myself past your front door,” he admitted, hearing the roughness of his voice.

  “I’m…not quite ready for that.” But she didn’t sound so sure. And her voice was huskier than usual, too.

  “I won’t push. I’m a patient man.” Even if he didn’t feel that way right now.

  She made a funny, choked sound. “Maybe you are, but I’ll bet you’re pushy, too. In fact, you wouldn’t be where you are if you weren’t pretty domineering by nature, would you?”

  “I’m not sure I like the word domineering.” It made him think of his father. Still, he couldn’t discard the assessment. “You could be right, though. I simply try to disguise it.”

  “And you do that very well.” Lucy sounded more relaxed, more herself now. “I’ll wish you good-night.” She reached for her purse and then the door handle.

  Jon got out and met her at the walkway. Escorting her to her front door gave him an excuse to touch her again. He loved the subtle shift of muscles in her back when he splayed his hand there, the sheen of her hair under the porch light. She had glorious hair, thick and shiny, that reached her waist. He imagined wrapping his hands in it, or sheets of it falling across his chest and belly when she explored his body.

  Oh, hell. He was even more aroused now.

  She inserted her key and opened the door. “Do you want to stick your head in and say hi to Sierra?”

  “Sure.” What else could he say? He’d rather have stolen another kiss from Lucy before he left.

  “I’m home,” Lucy called, and Sierra came out of her bedroom.

  “Did you have fun?” She saw Jon. “Oh. Um, hi. I thought you’d left.”

  She didn’t call him anything. Not Dad, or Jon, or Capt
ain. They hadn’t even talked about what she should call him. It would almost have to be Dad, but he guessed the moniker would feel awkward for a while.

  “Just wanted to say good-night.” He looked from her to Lucy. “Can we do something Sunday? Maybe drive up to Paradise? We could take a picnic, or eat at the lodge.”

  Sierra’s face brightened. “A picnic would be cool. Wouldn’t it, Lucy? I’ll bet it’s really pretty there right now. I want to climb Mount Rainier someday.” Her hopeful gaze settled on him. “Do you mountain climb?”

  “I’ve been up Rainier a couple of times. I’d have to hire a guide—I’m not experienced enough for us to go alone. But we can do it next summer if you want.”

  “Really?” She dashed forward, gave him an impulsive hug, then sprang back as if embarrassed. “I really want to do that. Lucy could go, too, couldn’t she?”

  Alarm flared on Lucy’s face. “Lucy,” she said, “has never had the slightest desire to plod to the summit of Mount Rainier. An athlete I’m not.”

  Jon grinned at her. “Plodding doesn’t require any great athleticism. It is a slog, though, I won’t deny it. But standing up there, seeing the world for miles around spread at your feet, that’s pretty exhilarating. Think about it,” he said. “And now I’d better get going.”

  Lucy smiled at him. “Good luck with your Rotarians. And thank you for dinner. I did enjoy myself.”

  “Me, too.” He glanced at Sierra, then risked a quick kiss on Lucy’s cheek. Seduced by the cushiony texture of her cheek and the satin of her skin, he straightened. “Good night.”

  Woman and girl chorused their own goodbyes, and Lucy closed the door behind him. He found himself alone in his car a moment later, looking at Lucy’s cottage with light now falling cheerfully from the windows. He might feel like a giant when he was inside, as if he had to step carefully so as not to inadvertently smash the contents. Yet he wished he didn’t have to leave. The rooms were homey. A lot homier than his own.

  He wondered how Lucy, who had always wanted her own place, would feel about moving.

  The thought had scarcely formed when Jon stopped it. He was getting ahead of himself. Way ahead of himself.