by Day Leclaire
“I’m not missing. I’m right here.”
Pretorius erupted out of his chair and spun around. Jett sat curled like a cat on the counter behind him. Panic caused his heart to race and he fought to control his breathing. He tugged at the collar of his Metallica T-shirt, feeling cold sweat pool at the base of his spine. “What the hell are you doing down here?” he demanded tightly.
Only her eyes moved, a quick blink over intense, dark irises. “You and Justice sure swear a lot,” she commented in such a cool, matter-of-fact voice that he felt some of his panic ease.
“You haven’t answered my question, little girl. What are you doing here?”
“First, I’m not a little girl. I’m sixteen.”
He snorted and shoved his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. “Try twelve.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she let that pass. “I figured since the computer was offline you’d lose your eyeballs and I could sneak down here and watch you for a change. Since you’re always watching us, it only seemed fair.”
To his utter shock, he felt a blush warm his cheeks. “Justice tell you not to come down here? That I don’t like people, so you should stay away?”
“Yeah.” Jett frowned. For the first time a hint of uncertainty crept across her pixielike features. “But I figured I wasn’t exactly like real people.”
“Well, you are.” His frown matched hers, grew to a scowl. “Why don’t you think you’re like real people?” he asked, driven despite himself to ask the question.
Jett shrugged. “Everybody always said so.”
“Oh, yeah? I got news for you. Everybody’s full of sh—” Pretorius broke off and he stabbed a stubby finger in her direction. “Take my word for it. You’re real people. I should know. I can’t abide real people and since I can’t abide you, that makes you real.”
His rudeness didn’t faze her in the least. She simply nodded. For some reason her stoic acceptance of his remark bothered him more than he thought possible. “I was thinking since I bug you so much, you could pretend I was one of Justice’s robotics or something.” She focused on him, her expression carefully blank. “That’s what they called me, you know. Faulty Chip. Like a computer chip because I was so smart and logical, but faulty because I didn’t get all freaked and worked up like the rest of them over every little thing. Wasn’t emotional enough to suit them.”
“They really called you that?” Pretorius couldn’t seem to get past her single, painfully composed statement.
“It’s okay.” She lifted a shoulder in a shrug that was meant to appear uncaring. Instead it made her seem unbearably young and vulnerable. “Anyway, I was thinking… Maybe if you thought of me like that, like a robot or something, you know? I could hang out down here sometimes and watch you work. Pick up a few pointers.”
“Well, you can’t. I don’t like people. They make me nervous.”
“You don’t look nervous. You just look ticked.” Jett tilted her head to one side. “Maybe if you let me come around every once in a while, you won’t be so nervous or ticked anymore. Maybe you’d even learn to like me.”
He’d spent years listening to people, observing them from a safe distance. The practice had honed his ears and eyes to the point that he caught the merest hint of nerves slipping through her voice. A desperate want. And though she tried to control it, he also saw the wistful hope that tumbled across the youthful planes of her face. He opened his mouth to reject her and found he couldn’t speak the crushing words. Couldn’t be one more person in her life to rebuff her. Didn’t have the heart to send her away. Besides, for some reason she didn’t make him quite as nervous as most people.
“Okay, you can stay for a bit,” he grudgingly agreed. “But the minute I get nervous, you’re out of here.”
Her eyes lit with excitement, glittering like the semi-precious stone for which she’d been named. She fought to keep tight control over the explosion of emotions others had been foolish enough to believe she didn’t experience. “Thanks, Uncle P. I’ll just sit here real quiet and stay out of your way. You’ll never know I’m here.”
The “Uncle P.” almost did him in. “Sit there? Not a chance. You hang down here, you gotta pull your weight.”
“Really?” Her joy was so painfully intense that he had to look away before he did something unmanly. Like blubber.
“Yes, really.” He kicked the spare office chair in her direction. It shot across the floor toward her, the castors rattling noisily. “Well? What are you waiting for. Get down here and show me some of your computer moves.” He curled his lip in the best sneer he could manage. “Assuming you have any.”
She erupted from the counter and bounced into the seat, scooting over beside him. “You’re on.”
The next week furniture showed up from a local manufacturer whose work Daisy admired. And she hired a huge mountain of a man, Cord, to oversee the various alterations. They were along the line of minor tweaks, since Justice had built an excellent house with fabulous bone structure. It just needed a few cosmetic touches to take it from a house to a home. Well, tweaks and furniture.
“That’s all I’m trying to do,” she explained to Justice when he confronted her about the “tweaks.”
“Create a home for all of us.”
“Fine. I get that part. But does the creative process have to be so damn noisy?” Instantly a shrill wheep sounded from the speakers. His brows pulled together. “And what the bloody hell—” Wheep! “—was that?”
Daisy winced. “First, yes, the creative process of transforming a house into a home has to be noisy. I promise it won’t be for much longer. And I think you’ll be quite pleased with the results.”
One look at her anxious expression and he caved. “I’m sure I will be pleased,” he reluctantly agreed. “And that noise?”
Oh, dear. She twisted her hands together. “Jett is running an experimental program.”
“Not any longer she isn’t.” Justice frowned, and she could practically see him rewinding her explanation and homing in on the one detail she hoped would escape his notice. She should have known better. “What sort of experimental program?”
Daisy cleared her throat. “I believe it’s a behavioral modification program.”
It only took him a single heartbeat to add two and two. But then, Justice had always been excellent at math. “Are you telling me she’s created a program that emits that…that noise whenever I swear?”
Daisy flinched at the outrage in his voice. “I’ll speak to her.”
“You’re damn—” Wheep! “—right you’ll speak to her. I want that program terminated by the end of the day.”
“And the other changes?” she dared to ask, gesturing toward the great room.
They’d made serious headway over the past few days. The great room, as well as the dining room, was beginning to assume the function and appearance for which they’d been intended. The walls were still a painful white, but she’d address those in short order.
Justice stepped into the great room and studied the huge high-ceilinged expanse. She’d opened the shutters covering the picture windows to allow in a glorious view of winter landscape. The furniture she’d ordered was solid, yet elegant. Simple, yet comfortable. The textures and colors practically cried out, “Sit on me. Relax. Enjoy a conversation with friends and neighbors.”
Dead center in front of the picture window she’d put up a Christmas tree. Though Cord had strung it with colorful fairy lights that twinkled merrily, they’d yet to decorate it. She hoped to involve the entire family in the activity. Best of all, she’d found a mischievous cherubic angel to top the tree, the bright golden-red curls and beaming face uncannily similar to Noelle’s.
“It’s lovely, Daisy,” Justice said gruffly.
“Really? You like it?”
He tugged her into his arms. Since her arrival—and their lovemaking—he’d been more open and demonstrative in his affections. He was trying, no question about that. They just needed time. Time to bec
ome accustomed to each other. Time to settle into a routine. Time to learn to open up and trust.
To love.
There in front of the Christmas tree he kissed her and in that perfect moment she realized she was vanquished. She’d lost her heart to him when she’d been little more than a child. And though her feelings had been those of a child, they’d been the wellspring for what she now felt. What she hoped he’d also feel, given time. She had no idea what wonderful fate had caused them to cross paths again, or what accident of nature had occurred that ended in Noelle’s conception and birth, but she would be eternally grateful.
“I always have done everything backward,” she murmured dreamily. “Jumping first and looking afterward when it was far too late.”
He glanced at the tree, at the room, and smiled. “Funny. I would have said you did it perfectly.”
Well, perfect or not, now that she’d gotten Justice on board, it was time to address a final serious imperfection. As one day flowed into the next, Daisy couldn’t take it any longer. All these white walls were driving her insane. It was almost as though they taunted her. You’ve lost it. You’ll never paint again. Even though she’d set up her studio, she still couldn’t work. She wouldn’t accept those heartbreaking whispers. She couldn’t. If she started believing them, she’d go insane.
Besides, ever since coming here, something wondrous had happened. She’d felt a…a burgeoning. A stirring of new life not unlike what she’d experienced while pregnant with Noelle. Her hands itched to wrap around a brush. She longed for the messy mix and slide of paints. Of endless colors filling her palette. The scent of linseed oil. The texture, thick and rich and dense. The soft, wet skate of brush against canvas. The growth of a dream from first stroke to last.
She glared at the walls. Canvas. White wall. What was the difference? It didn’t matter one bit so long as it gave birth to the dream.
It didn’t take long to find the case containing her supplies. She selected a brush, stunned when that one simple action caused tears to fill her eyes. It had been so long. So unbelievably long. An endless winter of creative barrenness. Careful now, trying not to raise her expectations too high, she selected her paints while tears tracked her cheeks, a bewildering combination of joy and fear.
She’d start slow, she decided, swiping the dampness from her face. Small. Just something whimsical to get herself started. Something Justice would never notice…
Justice halted in his tracks and glared at a section of wall near where Noelle sat playing. “What the bloody he—heck is that?” he demanded.
“Hell,” Noelle happily prattled.
“Please don’t swear in front of our daughter,” Daisy said automatically. She strove for Noelle-like innocence and fell somewhat short. “And what is what?”
“Da—darn it! It’s practically winter. Pretorius?”
Noelle clapped her hands together and crowed. “P.P!”
The hidden speakers crackled to life. “Hey there, munch-kin,” the man who hated everyone practically cooed. “What can your uncle P.P. do for you?”
“Uncle P.P. can call the exterminators,” Justice answered in a dry voice. “We have bugs.”
Daisy sighed. “Pretorius?”
“Still here.”
“Cancel the exterminators. You don’t have bugs. You have…well…me.”
Justice hunkered down on the floor and peered at the insect. Then he shot her a look that should have fried her on the spot. He spared Noelle a quick glance that told Daisy whom she had to thank for her reprieve. A temporary reprieve, no doubt.
“Are you an alien bug or a domestic one?” Pretorius asked Daisy. “I mean, do I need to worry about you turning into a giant cockroach and eating us, or are you the homegrown garden-variety type of bug that nibbles on leaves and such?”
Daisy’s mouth twitched. “And such.”
“Then quit bothering me. Jett and I are working on a new program.”
Justice climbed to his feet and confronted her with eyes the color of sunshine, yet filled with the coldness of a subzero morning. “What have you done to my house?”
“I improved it. You said I could.”
“I do not recall saying you could paint bugs on my wall. Nor do I consider bugs, even virtual ones, an improvement.”
She glanced at the floorboard. “I’ve got news for you, Justice. Anything that covers up all that white is a definite improvement. And actually, it’s not a bug. It’s a caterpillar.”
“Which technically is an insect. That, madam, makes it a bug.”
She should have known better than try to outrationalize Mr. Rational, himself. Seizing a different tack, she offered a winning smile. “But a very pretty one, don’t you think?”
He pointed at her artwork. “That is the larva of an actias luna. Based on its orange shading, I assume it’s in its fifth instar.” He frowned at the busy little caterpillar. “You do realize that luna moths aren’t indigenous to Colorado? It isn’t logical. How would it have gotten here?”
Oh, for the love of… Daisy glared at Justice. Enough was enough. “It got here when I painted it on your wall.” She spared her daughter another glance. Noelle watched with far too much interest. “Could we discuss this in private? Your office, perhaps?”
“I don’t know.” He folded gorgeous arms roped with intriguing ripples and bulges across an equally gorgeous chest, also roped with intriguing ripples and bulges. “Are there any insects in there?” Technically? “No.”
“Fine. Come on, Red,” he said, using Jett’s nickname for his daughter. He scooped her up and settled her into the sling of his crooked arm. “I think we’ll both find your mother’s explanation highly interesting.”
Daisy trailed behind him in the direction of his office. “What part of ‘discuss this in private’ didn’t you understand?” she complained.
“My comprehension continues to be excellent, as I’m sure you’re well aware. I simply enjoy having my daughter with me whenever possible.”
Daisy released a sigh. How could she argue with that? With increasing regularity she’d catch Justice pausing in his various activities to describe what he was doing to Noelle. For a man who’d so unexpectedly discovered himself in possession of an instant family, he’d sure taken to it like a duck to water. Once she’d even caught him explaining he was about to go to work in his lab, refusing to leave until he’d satisfied himself that Noelle understood his departure was temporary, though Daisy had her doubts about how much their daughter grasped of his technical explanation. Still. It gave her hope for the future.
The instant Justice thrust open the door to his office, his gaze swept the walls. The absence of any actias lunas seemed to reassure him, and he relaxed. “Okay, what’s going on, Daisy?”
She shrugged. “All the white was getting to me. You gave me permission to make improvements. I made a few.”
“As I’ve already explained, painting bugs on my walls does not improve them.” He instantly realized he’d hurt her, that fact reinforced by Noelle’s indignant babble. He rubbed his daughter’s back in a soothing motion. “You’re right, Red. That was thoughtless. I didn’t mean it that way. There’s no questioning your talent, Daisy. You’re a stunning artist.”
“But you prefer I confine myself to canvas?” she asked tightly.
A frown creased his brow. “What’s wrong, Daisy? What’s going on?”
She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, to tell him the truth. Instead, she crossed to the window to stare out across a snowy, windswept landscape. White-capped mountains rose in the distance, a fitting backdrop for both the man and his home. “Like I said. All the white around here is making me uncomfortable.”
“Funny. I find it reassuring.”
Daisy turned and grabbed the opening he’d unwittingly provided. “Why is that, Justice?” At his hesitation, she offered an encouraging smile. “I’m serious. Why is all that white reassuring?”
He gave it a moment’s serious thought before replying.
Noelle squirmed in his arms and he set her at his feet. Instantly, she tugged at her clothing. No doubt she’d be naked as a jaybird in thirty seconds flat. Or would have if Justice hadn’t plucked a child’s version of Rumi he’d specifically designed for Noelle from a pile of toys he kept on his desk. He offered it to his daughter. Diverted from her striptease, she plopped down on the floor. After tasting it, her clever little fingers went to work pulling and tugging at the device, delighted when the pieces turned and twisted into different shapes.
Satisfied that she was adequately distracted, Justice shrugged. “I guess I find white reassuring because it stands for possibility,” he said. “I spend an inordinate amount of time sitting and thinking.”
“Yes, it’s part of the creative process.”
“No, it’s part of the analytical process.”
This time she didn’t bother to hide her amusement. “Heaven forbid anyone call you creative, huh, Justice?”
“I prefer you not.”
“Okay, so staring at a blank wall is part of your analytical process. Would that analytical process be interrupted if the walls were painted?”
“With bugs?”
“Not necessarily. With whatever I wanted to paint.”
He speared her with another look, one that struck her as far too perceptive. “I asked you this when we first walked in and I think I should ask again. What’s going on, Daisy?”
She didn’t want to answer the question. She really didn’t. It cut too close. Hurt too much. Still, he deserved an answer. She tiptoed to within splatter distance of the truth. “I just felt like painting.”
He shifted closer, trapping her against his desk. He was so strong. So powerful. So intensely male. And those eyes of his… They glittered with a gold as sharp and brilliant as his intellect. He slid his hand along the sweep of her throat to cup the left side of her face. Unable to resist she turned into the caress, allowed his warmth to seep into her pores and heat her blood. Want stirred, leaving her utterly helpless to resist.