She looked down. No, just chips, she thought on a sigh.
For nearly twenty years, sex had meant sex with Phil. Period. The idea of doing it with anyone else had simply been too weird to contemplate. Then, for the past three years, revisions and character interviews and doing the single-mom bit always crowded out worries about mundane things like whether or not it was normal that she didn't care if she ever had sex again.
Until a few days ago, that is.
So what was she contemplating, if anything? Not getting involved, certainly. And especially not with Hank Logan. Even if she were interested, the whole situation smacked just a little too much of convenience for her taste. And convenience was a lousy excuse for fooling around—a term she settled on since neither fling nor affair were working for her. As was horniness; certainly she had more control than that. And certainly, most especially, the absolutely worst reason in the world to get naked with somebody was being lonely.
And besides, there was Blair to think about.
So, no, this was one time when she wasn't about to go for it.
She reached into the potato chip bag and discovered to her horror it was completely empty.
* * *
Hank lay awake until something like three in the morning, listening to the taunting thunder and pondering a sizable portion of the approximately five hundred thoughts rattling around inside his skull. He'd managed to set aside what was quickly becoming an obsession with Jenna Stanton's mouth—which only went to show just how much control he could still exert over himself, when he had a mind—long enough to realize the way he'd been living for the past two years or so wasn't going to work much longer.
For starters, business was picking up, which was a good thing. But that meant it was getting harder and harder to get away for any length of time, because he never knew when somebody might need him for something. And now that he had Blair to think about, it was likely he'd need to take some time off now and again to go to D.C. to see her. Yes, he'd planned on selling the motel, once he got it fixed up, but nothing said he was going to find a buyer right off the bat.
So the first thing he needed to do was to find somebody to act as a manager for the place, maybe for a free place to live and a small salary. And since the ideal situation was that this manager person would live in the apartment in which Hank was currently lying sleepless, Hank would need someplace else to live. Which again—getting back to Blair—he'd have to do anyway, since there was no way that Blair could stay in this shoebox with him when she'd come to stay for the summer and vacations and what-all. Assuming she would, of course. Want to come stay with him.
From the rug beside Hank's bed, Mutt yipped.
"No, you can't come up. Dogs belong on the floor. Hell, dogs belong outside." Lightning lit up the room, followed almost immediately by a loud clap of thunder. Hank could just barely make out Mutt's hopping on his hind legs, now desperate to get up on the bed.
"I said no."
Pathetic whimpering followed.
Hank dragged himself up onto his elbow. "What kind of wuss dog are you, anyway?" Mutt yipped again; with a sigh, Hank reached over and hauled him up onto the bed. "This is just for tonight, though, you got that? Tomorrow, you get a doghouse."
With a blissful sigh, Mutt circled four times and curled up alongside Hank's hip, and Hank went back to his pondering. There was actually another cottage, a house actually, that Hank had bought up at the same time as the motel, since it sat on a lot adjacent to the motel property. He'd always planned on selling it off separately—it wasn't in too bad a shape, just needed some cosmetic stuff—and it would have made sense to unload it some time ago. Now maybe he knew why he hadn't gotten around to it yet. It wasn't fancy, but it was solid, and the one bedroom upstairs would be ideal for a teenaged girl.
Anxiety clawed at his insides, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he had by no means acclimated to the idea of being somebody's father. But maybe by concentrating on the logistics involved, like going over and taking a good, hard look at the house in the morning, the rest would fall into place. Hank was by nature a practical man. The few times he'd let his emotions get the better of him, he'd come to regret it.
Like the way being around Jenna stirred up all these feelings, feelings he'd thought he'd buried, wanted to stay buried, feelings that had less to do with sex than maybe he wanted to admit.
Aw, hell. He liked the woman, didn't he?
Grumbling, he flipped over onto his side. The dog readjusted himself beside him, releasing a long, heartfelt sigh.
It never did rain that night.
Chapter 7
The next day, Hank happened to mention to Maddie, when he returned the beef stew container to her, that he was in the market for somebody who might be interested in the manager's job. This was a far more efficient method for getting the word out than, say, placing an ad in the weekly Haven Herald. First off, Maddie had made it her business to make friends with every living soul in Haven since her move there less than a year before. But between her being the town doctor's wife, delivering her home-baked pies nearly every day to Ruby's Café, and hanging out with Luralene and the girls at Hair We Are, Maddie had her finger on the town's pulse better than anyone else he knew.
Even so, he didn't figure on results as fast as he got them.
He'd barely gotten back to the motel, one of Ruby's double cheeseburgers, a large fries and a chocolate shake calling to him from the take-out bag, when his phone rang.
"You got any age limit for this person you're looking to hire?" his sister-in-law said before he even got out a greeting. Hank set down the bag with his lunch in it, scowling at the pile of mail he'd picked up on his way in, including a big old Express Mail package addressed to Jenna.
"Old enough to vote. Why? You got a prospect?"
"Two, actually. Or they will be, once they get married." Then she lowered her voice. "Okay, I'm not supposed to be telling you this, because of patient confidentiality and all that, but I happen to know SueEllen Tibbs just found out she's pregnant, because the office door was open while I was in the back doing paperwork—"
Besides her pie-making, Maddie also helped Ryan out with his billing and such.
"—and she was going on about how this really messes up her and Danny's—you know Danny Andrews, right? Darryl's baby brother?"
"Of course I know Danny. Go on."
"Anyway, SueEllen's gettin' pregnant means they have to get married now instead of when he finishes up college, and he's gonna have to get some kind of job to support them, and the poor thing was just a mess, not knowing what they were gonna do."
Hank could imagine. High-school sweethearts, SueEllen had just graduated this past May, Danny the year before. Everybody and his dog knew that Danny, who wanted nothing to do with his brother's auto repair business, was going to school to become an architectural engineer. What SueEllen had planned on doing in the meantime, Hank had no idea, but clearly becoming parents this early had not been on their agenda.
"So I was thinking," Maddie was saying, "if they had a place to live for free, maybe Danny could stay in school, you know? Since maybe you all could work out some sort of schedule or something? And you know how sweet SueEllen is, she'd be perfect for the front desk, don't you think?"
Hank thought on that for a moment. Yeah, they were young, but they were both sharp as tacks. Both hard workers, too, holding down jobs all the way through high school and still keeping up their grades. And Hank didn't suppose it would be any big deal to add another room on to the apartment for the kid.
"You say anything to her yet?" he asked.
"Oh, no, uh-uh. Seeing as I wasn't even supposed to hear. But you know, maybe it's time I took my car in to have a tune-up, and I could mention to Darryl you're looking for somebody, y'know?"
Hank chuckled. A "fixer," just like his mother Mary had been, Maddie had a knack for untangling problems and seeing solutions and bringing people together to make it happen.
"I leave myself
in your capable hands," he said into the phone, just as Jenna burst through the office door, her cheeks positively glowing in contrast to the dull blue sweatshirt she wore over a pair of baggy jeans. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but all the little loose ends floating around her face, not to mention the wild look in her eyes, made her look slightly demented.
And, in fact, he no sooner had hung up with Maddie than she said, "I was awake half the night, thinking. About you and Blair. That maybe you and she should spend some time together on your own before we tell her?"
He waited out the twinge of panic that shot through him, then dug into the bag for the hamburger. "You want some of this?" he asked, popping open the foam container.
Obviously back in nervous mode again, she shook her head, all those little pieces of hair doing a hula dance around her face. She was a strange one, no doubt about it—jittery as a chihuahua one minute, rottweiler-tough the next. Not that Hank had room to talk. Good thing he'd stocked up on antacids last time he went to the store. Hell, he'd had to do things in the course of his police work that'd shave several years off the life of a lesser man, but nothing scared him more than the prospect of spending time alone with a thirteen-year-old girl.
Then he glanced over at Jenna and was powerless to fight being sucked into that oddball combination of strength and vulnerability in her big old worried blue eyes. This was scary. In fact, the only word he could think of that even came close to describing how he felt in Jenna Stanton's presence was terror—heart-stopping, throat-clogging, damn-close-to-wetting-his-pants terror.
Hank pulled out the shake, then stepped over to where he kept a stack of foam cups by the coffeemaker. He poured some of the shake into one of the cups and handed it to her.
"No, I couldn't—"
"You look like you could use a drink and this is the strongest thing I've got. Take it."
So she did.
Maybe if he went ahead and ate his lunch he could at least fake out his body, if not his head, into thinking everything was normal. So he forced himself to take a bite of his cheeseburger and said, "This is instead of you and me spending more time alone, I take it?" even though he already knew whatever her answer was, he probably wasn't gonna like it.
* * *
Jenna took a fortifying sip of the shake, trying to gauge Hank's reaction. She'd seen the flash of alarm in his eyes when she'd first suggested he and Blair spend time together, but now he was back in shuttered mode, his movements economical and controlled underneath his long-sleeved T-shirt. She felt almost feverish, her senses bombarded by the pungent aroma of the burger and fries, the skin-prickling, indefinable scent that was Hank, the perfectly mundane sight of a man devouring a hamburger. A man who, she realized with a spasm of regret, wasn't about to make the same mistake twice by being honest about his feelings.
Do not blush. Do not blush, dammit. "Not…necessarily." Sheesh, she was such a lousy liar. "It just occurred to me that it might be easier for both of you if she gets to know you before we spring this on her. Besides, I know you've got a lot to do and I don't want to waste your time…."
Her voice faded in direct proportion to his glare.
"You think we were wasting time last night?"
Her cheeks warmed even more. "No! I mean…no, of course not."
"Good, because nothing's more important to me than this." He set down his burger in the open take-out container and turned his attention to the stack of mail in front of him.
"Um, that one's probably for me," she said, pointing to the large envelope. "I told my editor to send my galleys for my next book here."
Hank wordlessly handed it over, then started sorting through the rest of the mail.
"Sooo…you're okay with my idea?"
His black eyes shot to hers, his expression unreadable. Or so he probably thought. If she looked closely, though…yep, there it was. The fear, peering out from behind the wall of macho pride he'd erected after their last tussle with "honesty." So why didn't she just come right out and tell him she wouldn't bite his head off if he admitted he was scared?
Eventually, his shoulders rolled underneath the Henley T, then he went back to his sorting, various pieces periodically thonking into what she guessed was a metal trash can behind the counter. "It could work. Might raise her suspicions, though."
"Not if you offered her a job."
The sorting and thonking halted, followed by a smirk. Two more pieces of mail bit the big one. "Oh, yeah. That'd go over big."
"No, I'm serious. She can't spend all her time with Libby, for heaven's sake. And there really isn't much for her to do otherwise. So if you've got some chores she could do around here…" She cleared her throat. "I mean, I could give you the money for her wages—"
His eyes burned into hers. "Excuse me?"
"Since it's my idea, it doesn't seem right to expect you to foot the bill. Especially as, well, business doesn't seem to be exactly booming."
That got a mirthless chuckle. "Honey, if I depended on this place for my income, I'd've been dead in the water long ago. I think I can swing paying a kid out of petty cash for a part-time job."
That he hadn't volunteered where his money did come from wasn't lost on her. However, since she wasn't after him for child support, she didn't suppose it was any of her business.
"In fact," he was saying, "I'm about to hire somebody to help me out. So I won't be tied down twenty-four hours a day."
"Oh?"
"Yeah." The mail apparently sorted to his satisfaction, the last bite of burger vanished into his mouth. "You weren't the only one up half the night thinking about things," he said, pulverizing a napkin in his big hands. He swallowed, then said, "I did something else today, when I was in town. I opened up a savings account in trust for Blair."
She blinked. "I told you, she doesn't need—"
"Dammit, maybe this isn't only about what she needs." He swiped the napkin across his mouth, tossed it into the garbage can. "Blair's the only kid I'm ever going to have, Jenna. Whatever I end up with, it's hers. So I don't figure it hurts to start plannin' for that now."
Jenna clutched the galleys in their slippery envelope to her chest, not entirely sure why his declaration irked her. Or why she felt impelled to say, "You don't know for sure she's the only child you'll ever have. You could get married, have other children—"
"No. I won't." The phone rang. "Anyway, you go ahead and sound Blair out about the job. She can start tomorrow. Can she handle a paint roller?"
"Oh, uh, sure. I suppose."
"Good. Tell her to be here by nine. And to wear old clothes," he finished, putting the ringing phone out of its misery by plucking it out of the cradle.
Since she'd more or less been dismissed, she left, the pup trotting expectantly at her heels. But the words I won't…I won't…I won't echoed painfully inside her head as she started back to the cottage, the mantra interrupted only when she spun around and irritably told Mutt to go on back to his daddy.
* * *
Blair couldn't believe her ears. "You said I'd what?"
"Mr. Logan said he could use someone to help him around the place," Jenna said, calmly shredding lettuce for a salad, "and I figured you could use the diversion. It's minimum wage, but since it's only for a few hours a week, he'll pay you off the books—"
"And you just happened to be together and this just happened to come up?"
Jenna turned to her, her mouth pulled down that way it did when Blair had pushed a little too far. "The man didn't offer me a job. Now would you please move beyond this hang-up or whatever it is about me and Mr. Logan?"
Except she bet her aunt had no idea how red her face was, a fact that was only making Blair get that funny feeling in her chest again, like what she guessed animals felt like when an earthquake was coming. She crossed her arms over her ribs, but she couldn't stop shifting from foot to foot. "Whatever," she said. "But I'm still not working for him."
"Yes, you are."
"You can't force me to work for
him! That's like total child abuse!"
Her aunt's laughter threw her. "He's not going to make you dig latrines for fourteen hours a day, honey. A few hours now and again is all we're talking. It won't kill you. And it's high time you started paying for some of your own goodies. Fifteen bucks a pop for a CD isn't peanuts, in case you don't know."
Blair just stared at her aunt in horror. "Why are you making me do this? And don't say it's for my own good."
"Okay. I won't."
"I can't believe you're being so unfair!" Blair stomped out into the living room, crashing onto the sofa. With worried mews, Meringue jumped up beside her, pawing her knee. Hot tears bit at her eyes, but damned if she was gonna let Jenna see them. Blinking furiously, she pulled the cat into her lap….
Waaait a minute.
Her heart jackhammering in her chest, Blair turned to her aunt and said, "Okay. If I have to work for Mr. Logan, you have to do that book signing."
They'd been cutting deals like this ever since Blair could remember—trading help with a school project for cleaning her room, home-baked cookies for a clean litter pan, two days of being left alone to meet a book deadline in exchange for a whole day spent together at the mall when it was done. The trade had to be equal and mutually agreed upon.
No way would Jenna ever agree to this, Blair thought smugly. No way—
"Okay, sounds fair to me. Something you don't want to do for something I don't want to do—"
"What?"
"—so I guess it's a good thing I decided to pack that dress at the last minute, huh?"
"Jenna, hey, I didn't really think…I was just kidding—"
"Too late. I've already agreed. No backing out now." Her aunt bent over to check on the macaroni and cheese casserole in the oven. "And by the way," she said, the oven door slamming shut, "Mr. Logan expects you at the office by nine. Wear your oldest stuff, too, 'cause it's probably going to get messy. Okay, you want ranch or oil and vinegar on the salad tonight?"
Fathers and Other Strangers Page 11
