Just one kiss (The Ashcrofts Book 1)

by Anderson, Poppy J.

  He frowned, feeling belligerent. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I think you know quite well what I mean.”

  Chapter 6

  When he stepped into Audrey’s room for the second time one morning, she was sitting up in bed, coloring in the new book Amy had brought her the day before. Over the preceding two weeks, Patrick had often seen that Audrey was a very frugal child. She rarely whined and was happy and grateful for even the smallest things. When she’d been given the coloring book, which most kids would have yawned about, she’d gotten all excited. His first impulse was to spoil his daughter with all the presents money could buy, just to show her how much he loved her, but it was apparent that wasn’t necessary. He’d probably shower her with gifts on her birthday and Christmas, but for now, he skipped the presents and was just spending as much time with her as possible while she was stuck in the hospital.

  They’d become very good friends in the short time, playing with her dolls and watching cartoons together. Three days ago, Audrey had fallen asleep in the middle of a movie about talking puppies. When she’d put her small head on his shoulder, he’d felt like his heart would burst. And he was thrilled with how naturally she called him “Daddy.”

  He was also relieved with her medical reports. Her general condition was improving faster than expected. She was making amazing progress, and he was feeling his tension abating, because Amy granted the father and daughter plenty of alone time.

  This morning, she was nowhere to be seen. She’d been there for the doctor’s visit earlier in the morning, but now, shortly before lunchtime, Audrey was sitting alone in her room.

  “Daddy.” She beamed at him and waved her coloring book in the air. “Look, I colored the kittens pink.”

  Patrick leaned down, kissed her on the head, and studied the colorful picture. Granted, he wasn’t an expert in children’s drawings, but he still thought this was not the usual scribbles and blots. It seemed like his daughter had inherited more than just her pretty, doll-like face from her mother.

  “What a lovely picture,” he said, before pointing at the sun, which she’d colored blue. “But why isn’t the sun yellow, honey?”

  “All suns are yellow,” Audrey declared with a shrug. She grabbed a crayon and returned to coloring. “It’s boring if all suns look the same.”

  How could he repudiate that?

  “Do you know what you’re having for lunch today?” Patrick pulled up a chair and sat beside her bed. She’d been transferred to a room in the pediatric ward, which meant she was allowed to play with other small patients now. She still had to take all kinds of drugs—including immunosuppressives—but fortunately they had all been without unwanted side effects so far.

  Her little face twisted into a look of disgust. “Chicken, rice, and bell peppers, but I don’t like peppers.” A tiny smile made the corners of her mouth curve upward. “But there’ll be pudding for dessert! And Mommy promised she’d bring me French fries later. The ones at the restaurant are the best!”

  He frowned. “At the restaurant?”

  She nodded distractedly, her attention on coloring in a flower. “Where Mommy works. She said she has to work until four, and then she’ll come here and brings me fries. Should I color the house green? Is your house green, Daddy?”

  Patrick frowned. Now he understood why Amy had stopped spending day and night at the hospital. She was working while Audrey busied herself with coloring books. He felt a queasiness spread through his stomach at the thought that she’d neglected their daughter.

  He tried to put on a cheerful face, as he asked Audrey, “Honey, are you okay with Mommy working while you’re in the hospital?”

  She pursed her lips a little, before peeking shyly up at him. “I don’t want to make Mommy sad, so I don’t say anything.”

  Faced with her insecure confession, he felt like giving her mother a piece of his mind. “Do you want me to talk to your mommy about that?”

  “But Mommy needs to work,” she said. “And I need to be a big girl.”

  “Don’t worry, darling,” he murmured soothingly and stroked her hair. “Your mommy and I will find another solution.”

  Patrick’s solution consisted of showing up at the restaurant one an hour later.

  Amy had given the nurses the address. The fact that she hadn’t mentioned to him that she was working dampened his mood just as much as the memory of Audrey’s sad little face when she’d confessed that she would have preferred to have her mommy by her side. Was he the only person who thought it irresponsible to leave your sick kid alone in the hospital while you went to work? He would go in and make Amy see that it was.

  The “restaurant” was located on a busy street. But you could hardly call it a restaurant. It was really just a diner that seemed to be popular for lunch. All the tables were occupied, as were the bar stools with their cheap pleather seats lined up along the long counter. Patrick joined the line of people waiting for a table and looked around.

  The long room had been furnished to look like an old dining car in a train, but it seemed like only the countless photographs on the walls were holding it together. The vinyl on the floor was almost nonexistent in some places, and the furniture appeared to be ready for the trash heap. The whole place was a real fixer-upper that smelled like grease.

  Just then, a waitress in a silly pink dress with a white apron and a white cap on her head stumbled past him. A moment later, her butt was slapped by a patron in a flannel shirt and a pair of dirty jeans, causing her to drop the giant tray she’d been balancing on her shoulder. When the other flannel-covered men at the offender’s table laughed at her misfortune, Patrick saw red.

  This was where Amy worked?

  This was where she slaved away? She’d chosen waitressing in a third-rate diner over a life with him?

  “Rita!” a fat, panting man yelled at the unfortunate waitress from behind the bar. “Clean up that mess, girl!” She was already scrambling around on the floor trying to pick up the large number of empty glasses that had fallen from the tray. “Is anything broken? Better hope not, so I don’t have to subtract it from your pay this week.”

  The way the employees were treated in this joint outraged Patrick. His expression darkened at exactly the same moment Amy came out of the kitchen, carrying another huge tray, hers loaded with plates of food.

  She looked far too delicate to be carrying and balancing that much weight. She was also wearing the silly dress, complete with apron and cap, and the sight made Patrick even angrier. She was still his wife, after all! His wife didn’t have to wear a stupid uniform that only served to make these boorish idiots think they could slap her ass. And the ugly cap—it made her look like a nineteenth-century maid!

  She hadn’t noticed him yet, because she was hastening toward the table of leering idiotic lumberjacks. Patrick tensed, watching the disgusting men exchange suggestive glances while Amy served them. They had the worst table manners he’d ever seen in his life.

  “Hey, sweetheart!” one of them called. “Bring me another beer, will you?” Emulating his pal, he slapped Amy on the butt.

  Amy gasped, but Patrick shot out of the line with a growl, pushed her aside, and planted himself in front of the flanneled rednecks. He knew he didn’t stand a chance against them—especially since he was still bruised from the operation—but his fury had overcome him.

  “Keep your hands off her,” he said threateningly, glaring at the guy who’d slapped her. His left incisor was missing, and he reeked as if he bathed approximately once a year.

  “What do you want from me, city boy?” the guy demanded while he picked at his teeth. “I can whatever I want.”

  Patrick’s hands balled into fists as he took another step toward the man. “Wrong. She’s my wife, and you’re going to keep your dirty paws off her. Do you understand me?”

  At his side, Amy gasped. “Patrick, please …”

  The same fat pig behind the bar who’d barked at poor Rita before, now yelle
d, “Amy! What’s going on over there? You’re supposed to be serving food, not having a party.”

  Amy tugged on Patrick’s sleeve. “Please, Patrick,” she whispered anxiously. “Could you just leave? I need to work—”

  “Not here!” he blustered. Turning, he looked into her frightened face, all of his anger redirected at her. “What are you doing here? You should be in the hospital, not working in this hellhole!”

  She froze, staring at him in disbelief for several seconds before frantically shaking her head. “Shh! Could you please keep your voice down?”

  Patrick narrowed his eyes. “I never thought you’d be this irresponsible—leaving Audrey alone at a time like this!”

  “Irresponsible?” she gasped. “What are you talking about?”

  He lowered his head. “My daughter—”

  “Our daughter,” she cut him off angrily, finally finding her pluck again. “Our daughter,” she continued, her voice getting louder, “knows that I need to work to earn money to take care of us. So don’t you dare lecture me.”

  “Amy!” the man behind the bar bellowed again. “What the heck is all this ruckus about? I won’t have anyone bringing their private affairs into my diner!”

  Amy flinched and ducked her head, leaving Patrick to watch, incredulous. “Patrick, please,” she whispered pleadingly. “You’re risking my job. Can we—”

  He shook his head firmly and grabbed her by the arm. “You’re not staying here. I won’t have you working in this dump, where every hick who buys coffee thinks they can harass you for sport!”

  “Let go of me,” she demanded. But he didn’t.

  He didn’t care that they’d drawn the attention of the entire diner by now. Or that the fat guy—who was apparently her boss—was foaming at the mouth. Or that she was furiously tugging her arm against his grip. All Patrick could think was that he didn’t want the mother of his child to be working in a place where disgusting men could touch her and push her around like some old-fashioned servant.

  “Get your things.” He pulled her closer and stared into her eyes, which were wide with fright and confusion. And anger.

  “No,” she said. “You are going to leave now.”

  “I won’t allow you to work in this shithole!”

  “Hey!” her boss yelled. “You shut your trap!”

  “We’re leaving,” Patrick said.

  Amy’s eyes flashed. “You have no right to—”

  “Amy, that’s it!” the fat man bellowed. “You’re fired!”

  She gasped. “But—”

  “Good!” Patrick nodded, looking satisfied. “Let’s go.”

  He managed to maneuver her out of the diner, ignoring her protests, and call a taxi.

  ***

  “What did you do?” Amy stared at Patrick, stunned. Beside her, he gave the taxi driver the address of the hospital. She shook her head, trying to shake off the daze her head was in, and clutched her bag to her body. “Do you have any idea what you just did?”

  He snorted and gave her a scornful look. “What I did? The question is what were you doing in that dump?”

  “I was working!”

  “You let people grope you!”

  Amy suppressed a sob and dragged her eyes away from the infuriating man. She stared stoically out the window, trying to keep her composure while tears of anger welled in her eyes and a lump formed in her throat.

  What had Patrick done?

  What had he been thinking, showing up at the diner unannounced and treating her like that in front of the lunch crowd? Not to mention her coworkers and their boss?

  Now she was devoid of the job that had been her livelihood for almost four years. It might have been a tough job—some of the patrons were disgusting, and her boss had never heard of giving a raise—but she’d always gotten paid on time and been able to work extra shifts when she needed extra money. Best of all, she’d been allowed to bring Audrey to work when she couldn’t get a babysitter. There was a back room where Audrey could play while her mother served food. It had been the perfect arrangement for their situation.

  But Patrick had just blown that for her. How would she find a similar gig? And quickly? Her savings would last the rest of the month, and cover the next month’s rent, but after that …

  In addition to all her other cares, she now had to worry about that, too!

  She leaned her forehead against the cool glass, wishing she could forget her worries for a single day. For almost three weeks now, she hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d had no appetite and couldn’t relax. She’d been worrying about Audrey, of course, and also calculating in her head which bills to pay now and which could wait a little longer. And she’d felt so guilty for leaving Audrey to go back to work.

  And then there was Patrick.

  Every time they met, his demeanor left no doubt about the fact that he despised her. His every word struck her as evidence that he wished she would go to hell. His behavior didn’t just hurt, it depressed her. Of course, she had made a huge mistake. It hadn’t been right to keep Audrey from her father. In that respect, she could understand his anger. But because they’d meant the world to each other six years ago, his rejection hurt all the more. After all, Patrick was still the only man she’d ever loved.

  “Do you have any idea how I felt when I saw you working in that hovel?” His brooding voice broke through her own gloomy thoughts.

  “What does my job have to do with you?” she asked, not looking away from the window.

  “You’re my wife,” he said. “There’s no need for you to work in a place like that, letting the patrons grope you.”

  Amy swallowed hard, feeling on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “You got a skewed impression,” she mumbled. “Our guests don’t normally do stuff like that.”

  “That’s all you have to say about the issue?”

  She sighed. “What am I supposed to say, Patrick? If the fact that I work for a living hurts your pride—”

  “Of course it hurts my pride,” he cut her off angrily. “Don’t you know what an embarrassment it is, you working there?”

  “Embarrassment?” She finally turned to look at him, frowning in confusion. “Why would it be an embarrassment to you?”

  He threw up his hands. “You’re still my wife, goddammit! I look like a tyrant with you slaving away while I have more money than anyone could ever spend!”

  “It was a good job!” she snapped. She didn’t want to argue about it. The thing they’d always argued about. She didn’t want to hear that he could just give her the money she needed.

  “Not from what I saw!”

  Amy gritted her teeth and looked into his storm-darkened eyes, hoping to see in them the man she’d fallen head over heels for all those years ago. “Patrick, that job was fine. I always got paid on time, and they let me bring Audrey whenever I needed to.”

  Apparently, she’d said the wrong thing. A vein in Patrick’s temple began to pulse. “You don’t mean to tell me that you took Audrey with you into that … that—”

  “Restaurant! It’s a restaurant! A perfectly normal restaurant!” Now it was her turn to throw up her hands. “What are you getting so riled up about? It’s not a freaking brothel!”

  “I won’t allow that! My daughter—”

  “Our daughter, Patrick, our daughter!” she yelled, ignoring the taxi driver, who casually turned down the radio. “She is our daughter!”

  “A fact that you conveniently forgot for five years!” he yelled back.

  Though he was furious, shaking with rage and looking more menacing than an ancient warrior, Amy registered that she was not afraid of him. “What do you want me to do?” she asked, her voice desperate. “What do you want me to do to stop you from bringing that up every five minutes?”

  “If it was that easy—”

  “Patrick.” She was close to crying now. “What do you want me to do? Tell me!”

  “Don’t you think it’s too late?” He was breathing heavily, the curve of
his jaw prominent. “What good would anything do now?”

  His words were like a knife through her heart. But she didn’t want to let him see how much he’d hurt her. “Audrey shouldn’t—”

  “There’s one thing Audrey shouldn’t see,” he said harshly. “And that’s her mother, serving other people food while she lets some dirty hick touch her.”

  “You arrogant asshole!” She slapped him. She slapped him so hard the smack must have been heard all the way to New York City. Tears streamed down her face. “How could you say a thing like that? I work so that I can take care of my child, so she doesn’t lack anything! And you make it sound like I’m selling my body!” The tears stung her eyes as she saw the confusion in his face. But she couldn’t stop shaking.

  “Amy—”

  “You’re such an incredible snob!” she yelled. “Unlike the women in your life who’ve never done anything but spend their husbands’ and fathers’ money, I had to earn my own livelihood! For Audrey! I’d have cleaned houses if necessary, so don’t you dare criticize me for it!” She almost choked on the gigantic lump in her throat. “I’m glad our daughter knows what it means to work. And I’ll tell you one more thing, Patrick Ashcroft: it is anything but embarrassing to serve food to other people if it enables you to make a living!”

  She expected another disdainful reproach, but he was silent.

  In fact, he said nothing for a long while.

  But she didn’t have any strength left for more yelling. She didn’t even want to check his expression—maybe he’d become frozen with anger. Instead, she closed her eyes and breathed, trying to still the trembling of her body.

  “Amy,” he suddenly mumbled, regret in his voice. “I’m sorry.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated hoarsely. “You’re completely right. There’s nothing embarrassing about it at all.”

  Unwilling to believe he meant his words, she lifted her head and gave him a dubious look. But when she met his eyes, they were dark with a despondent gloom.