Invincible

by Joan Johnston

  They trotted to catch up with Kristin and Flick. “Hold up,” he called to the two of them. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  Kristin ignored him, but Flick held up her mount until Veronica, posting with perfect posture in her English saddle, caught up to her.

  “I’ve always wanted a white horse,” Flick said, eyeing Veronica’s mount.

  “Actually, Blanca is dapple gray.”

  “Her name means white in Spanish,” Flick pointed out. “And she’s mostly white.”

  Veronica smiled indulgently. “Yes, it does. And yes, she is.”

  “Can I ride with you for a while?” Flick asked.

  “Of course,” Veronica replied.

  “That way my mom can ride with my dad,” Flick added. “Your dad?” Veronica turned to Max, her brows raised in patent disbelief, and said, “This is your daughter?”

  “Veronica Granville, I’d like you to meet Kristin Lassiter and her daughter—our daughter—Felicity, who goes by the nickname Flick.”

  “Is this woman your wife?” Veronica asked.

  Max choked, but Kristin said, “No. We’re not married.”

  “I see,” Veronica said, looking from one to the other. “Well, Flick. Shall we ride ahead?”

  “Okay,” Flick said. “But I can’t ride very fast.”

  “Walking will be fine,” Veronica said. “I’m in no hurry at all.”

  Max had to hand it to the reporter. She’d taken the news better than he’d expected. Of course, she’d also gotten herself a scoop. Max Benedict had just admitted to having a daughter, and that he and the girl’s mother weren’t married.

  Max exchanged a glance with Kristin, who shrugged and shook her head in equal disbelief at Flick’s maneuvering and Veronica’s savoir faire.

  As Veronica and Flick rode ahead together, Max joined Kristin behind them. He’d just opened his mouth to ask how she was enjoying the ride when Flick asked Veronica in a loud voice, “Are you my dad’s girlfriend?”

  “That’s a very good question, young lady,” Veronica said, glancing at Max over her shoulder. “One I think you should ask your father.”

  Max bit his tongue. The pain kept him from blurting an answer.

  Flick turned her horse around to face Max, while Veronica pulled her mount to a halt and turned to join her. Max and Kristin caught up to Flick, and the four of them sat on their horses facing each other.

  “Dad? Is Veronica your girlfriend?”

  There he was, on the spot, with no safe answer to Flick’s question.

  “Well, Max?” Veronica said with a sardonic smile. “I’d like to hear the answer to that question myself.”

  Max realized he was going to have to make a choice, one from which there was no turning back. He might have given a different answer yesterday, before he’d known he had a daughter. And before Veronica had chosen to abandon him last night in favor of a stately ambassador.

  He was slowly but surely realizing that his days as a carefree bachelor were over, even if he didn’t end up marrying Kristin. Being a father to his daughter was going to require some sacrifices. Sleeping his way across several continents was sure to be one of them.

  He met the reporter’s gaze and answered, “Veronica is my friend, Flick. Not my girlfriend.”

  He watched Veronica’s back stiffen and saw her mouth flatten into a hyphen.

  He’d made his choice. He wasn’t too sure just how deeply his rejection had cut. Maybe not as much this morning as it might have before the ambassador had come into her life. He didn’t think he’d done more than bruise Veronica’s ego. “How was the reception last night, Veronica?”

  “The ambassador is a man of many talents, Max,” she said. “If you know what I mean.”

  He did. She deserved the chance to remind him that she was a desirable woman, and that he was going to regret letting her get away. But he didn’t feel sorry. Except for having invited her in the first place.

  “I think I’ll ride ahead,” Veronica said. “I’d like to give Blanca a little more exercise than she’s gotten on this family ride of yours.”

  “We’ll see you back at the stables,” Max said.

  “I’m afraid I’ll be gone before you get back, Max. I’ve got other plans this afternoon. It was nice meeting you, Kristin. And you, Flick.”

  “Nice meeting you, too, Miss Veronica,” Flick said. “You have a really pretty horse.”

  “Thank you, dear.” Veronica rode over and kissed Max on the cheek. She leaned close and said, “Good-bye, Max. Thanks for the scoop.”

  Max watched Veronica canter her horse away, her form perfect in the saddle. He might have been able to bring pressure to bear to keep her from selling what she knew to some gossip rag. But he wasn’t ashamed of Flick. And maybe the publicity would push Kristin into his arms.

  “I think she likes you, Dad,” Flick said when Veronica was out of hearing. “Do you like her more than Mom?”

  “Flick!” Kristin said.

  “No, Flick,” he replied. “I like your mom the best of anyone I know.”

  Kristin shot him a surprised look. Quietly enough so Flick couldn’t hear she said, “Then why did you invite Veronica to come today?”

  “Let’s say it was a mistake and leave it at that.”

  “Can we trot now, Dad?”

  “I need to teach you how to post first.” He showed Flick how to lift her body off the saddle when the horse was jogging by standing slightly in the stirrups and then sitting in the saddle again in concert with the horse’s up and down stride, allowing for a smooth ride.

  “Got it!” Flick said. “This is neat, Dad,” she said, posting as she trotted ahead.

  Max turned to Kristin and asked, “How about you? You okay with trotting?”

  Kristin nodded. “I think I’ve got it, too.”

  They jogged along infamous Rotten Row, where Regency-era lords and ladies had driven their curricles in the afternoon to see and be seen, now a wide dirt path running along the outer edge of the park. Max corrected Flick’s form as she posted in the English saddle. When their horses slowed again, he nudged his horse close to Kristin and said, “You’re doing great.”

  She laughed nervously. “I wouldn’t dare fall off and ruin this outfit.”

  He eyed her up and down appreciatively. “You look amazing in it.”

  “Thank you. I’ve been wondering about something all afternoon.”

  “I’ll be glad to satisfy your curiosity.” He was glad to be talking to her at all, considering her threat yesterday not to speak to him for the rest of her life. “What is it?”

  “How did you know what sizes to buy for the two of us?”

  He chuckled. “That’s easy. I called my mother. She had Flick’s measurements because she planned to buy her a few things.”

  Kristin nodded in understanding. “And she had mine because I borrowed some clothing from Emily, and we’re the same size.” She met his gaze and said, “It was a thoughtful thing to do, Max. Flick is over the moon—with her outfit and with the chance to ride horseback.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m still going to pay you back.”

  “Look, K,” he said, trying to keep his voice from sounding as aggrieved as he felt, “you’re going to have to get used to me spending money on Flick. Sometimes, like today, it’s going to mean spending money on you, too.”

  “I’m used to taking care of Flick and myself by myself.”

  “You’ve got me now.” He didn’t say she would have had him from the start if she’d only told him she was pregnant. Mostly because he thought her fears about how he would have reacted at eighteen probably had some foundation. He had no idea what he would have done. She was right about one thing. It would have been hard to give up being a heedless teenager to be a father.

  He was older and wiser now, ready to shoulder the responsibility of being a father.

  And a husband? That, too. If he could get her to agree to marriage on his terms.

&nb
sp; While Flick rode ahead, Max said, “I wish you’d reconsider marrying me, Princess.”

  “You asked your girlfriend to go horseback riding with us, Max.”

  “If you were listening, you heard she isn’t my girlfriend.”

  She shot him a severe look.

  “Not anymore,” he added.

  “How many more girlfriends are waiting in the wings?”

  “None.”

  She cocked her head and said, “I’m supposed to believe you?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “I’d rather focus on the job we have to do, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Obviously we’re not going to be dating our way through the player roster anymore,” he said.

  She lifted a brow. “Why not? We’re both still single adults.”

  “The word is going to get out that we’re parents.”

  “So? We’re still single parents.”

  “Not for long, if I can help it,” Max muttered.

  “Have you figured out what excuse we’re going to use to get together with Elena and Steffan tomorrow?”

  “How about having a drink with us?” Max said.

  “You’re suggesting we invite potential coconspirators in an assassination to dinner?”

  “Why not?”

  “It doesn’t sound like you’re taking this threat seriously, Max.”

  “This is how I do my job, Princess. And I’m good at what I do. People say far more in social situations, when they’ve got a few drinks in them, than they realize.”

  “Well, this isn’t what I do. I’m relying on you to make sure we don’t foul up this investigation.”

  “Keep your chin up, Princess. There’s always the possibility they’ve sent us on a wild-goose chase. All the CIA had to go on was a couple of emails intercepted by Interpol. Someone could have had an idea to do the bad thing but never figured out how to make it happen.”

  “I hope it is a false alarm. I don’t want Irina and Steffan to be the bad guys. I wish I could take Flick and go home, but I’ve got to stay for the exhibition match. And Harry’s plane arrived early this morning. We helped him settle in at the rehab center before practice and he’s expecting Flick and me to come and visit him again later today.”

  “May I come, too?”

  “I can’t very well keep you away when you’re paying for everything,” she said.

  “I won’t go if you don’t want me there,” Max said.

  “I think Harry would like to see you.”

  “We have two weeks of Wimbledon competition after our exhibition match until the final matches,” Max said. “Will you stay until then?”

  “I signed up for the whole job, plus I don’t want to move Harry again too soon. So, yes, we’ll stay until the Gentlemen’s Singles Championship match on July 4.”

  July 4. America’s Independence Day. That meant he only had a few weeks to work out some sort of compromise on custody, if she wouldn’t marry him.

  Flick slowed her mount and said, “Can I ride with you, Dad?”

  “Sure.”

  “I have a question.”

  “Go ahead and ask,” Max said.

  “Are you and Mom going to get married?”

  Max’s glance slid to Kristin, who shook her head, apparently used to Flick’s candid questions. “I don’t know,” he said at last.

  “I like having a dad and a mom.”

  “I’m still going to be your dad, even if your mom and I aren’t married,” he pointed out.

  “Yeah, but if you and Mom get married, we can do more things together, like this.”

  “I can’t make your mom marry me, Flick,” he said.

  Flick stared at him with her mouth open in surprise. “You mean you’ve asked her?”

  Max couldn’t see the harm in admitting he’d proposed. “Yes, I’ve asked your mom to marry me. She wasn’t too keen on the idea.”

  He saw Kristin roll her eyes.

  “Why didn’t she want to marry you?” Flick asked.

  “You’ll have to ask her,” Max said.

  “Mom, why don’t you want to marry Dad?”

  Kristin glared at him over Flick’s head. Then she met her daughter’s gaze and said, “A man and a woman who get married should love each other, Flick. Your father and I aren’t in love. That’s why I said no.”

  “Oh,” Flick said. “I see.”

  Max watched her forehead furrow in thought. Then she lifted her chin, smiled at Max and said, “Well, Dad, you’re just going to have to convince Mom to fall in love with you.”

  25

  “Gramps!” Flick cried.

  Max stood back as his daughter barreled past him into her grandfather’s room. The rehabilitation center he had chosen for Harry was situated near the small village of Wimbledon, where the grass tennis courts of the All England Lawn Tennis Club were located, to make it easier for Kristin and Flick to visit him every day.

  Max watched as Flick climbed onto Harry’s bed, easy as you please, and hugged him tight around the neck. He was glad Kristin had warned him about her father’s appearance after his stroke. Harry’s face sagged badly on the right side. When he talked to Flick, Harry’s features contorted so he looked like some kind of made-up movie monster, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “I rode a horse, Gramps!” Flick told Harry. “And I have a father!” she added.

  Max realized the horse had come first. He’d been an afterthought. He had a lot to learn about the priorities of nine-year-old girls. “Hello, Harry,” Max said as he approached the bed. He turned to look for Kristin and realized she’d hung back by the door.

  Max noticed Harry reached with his left hand to shake the right hand Max extended to him.

  “Ih uh oo ee oo,” Harry said laboriously.

  “He says it’s good to see you,” Flick translated.

  “Aow ime.”

  “He says—” Flick began.

  “Never mind,” Max said. About time. He could decipher that for himself. Kristin had told him that Harry had known all these years that Max was Flick’s father. The old man must have resented the extra responsibility, although it was clear he adored his granddaughter. It seemed he was happy the secret was out.

  Max shot a look over his shoulder at Kristin and saw she’d moved into the room and was leaning against the side wall. He’d known about Harry’s paralysis. He hadn’t realized Harry’s speech was so bad.

  “They’ve got a great speech therapy program here,” he said to Harry.

  “Own ee ih.”

  “He says he doesn’t need it,” Flick translated.

  Max glanced back at Kristin and saw the despair on her face as she slumped back against the wall. No wonder she’d looked so distressed during the trip here. Harry might not want speech therapy, but he needed it. He saw her dilemma. How could you argue with a man who’d had a stroke? Especially when you couldn’t be sure whether upsetting him would cause another one?

  “I think your speech could use a little work,” Max said.

  “Max,” Kristin said in a warning voice, stepping away from the wall. “I don’t think—”

  “Because I can’t understand a thing you say until Flick translates for you,” Max finished.

  Max watched as Harry’s face got red. His glare blazed from one eye while the other drooped at half-mast.

  “Oo un itch!” Harry huffed out.

  “He said—” Flick began.

  “Don’t repeat what he said!” K said as she stepped between the two men. “That’s enough from both of you. Dad, you need speech therapy.”

  “No!” Harry barked.

  “You’re pretty good with the negatives, Harry.”

  “Shut up, Max,” K said without looking at him. She kept her eyes focused on her father as she said, “I’m not going to argue with you, Dad. I’m going to the speech therapist tomorrow morning, and if she tells me you’ve scheduled a therapy session, Flick and I will come visit you. If you haven’t, we won’t.”
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  “Mom, that’s coercion!” Flick complained.

  Max hadn’t known his nine-year-old was familiar with the word. But he personally applauded Kristin’s willingness to compel Harry to choose speech therapy by threatening to withhold his granddaughter’s visits.

  “I’d believe her, Harry,” Max said. “She means it.”

  “Eez a uffff irl,” he mumbled.

  “What’s that, Gramps?” Flick asked, for once not able to understand him.

  “He says your mom’s a tough girl,” Max said. He turned to see what Kristin thought about her father’s remark and felt his heart squeeze when he saw the tears brimming in her eyes. She blinked them back—like the tough girl she was—but Max was beginning to realize just how much Kristin had been dealing with on her own in recent months.

  He wanted to help. He was determined to help, whether the “tough girl” liked it or not. Better late than never, he supposed.

  His mother and her assistant, Emily Whatever, had moved to the Blackthorne residence in Berkeley Square on the West End of London, so Emily would be available every day to tutor Flick until she finished her class work for the current year. But he wanted his daughter in a good London public—which was England’s version of a private—school in the fall. Not necessarily a boarding school.

  Max had spent too much time separated from his parents growing up to be a big fan of sending kids away. He could understand it might have been the best choice when Kristin was on her own. But if he could convince her to marry him, he wanted them to live together like a family.

  Convincing her to marry him seemed impossible at the moment. Kristin wanted not just someone who loved her, but someone she could love. And he had no idea how to accomplish that feat.

  No woman he’d dated had ever loved him. Not for himself, anyway. Kristin had come closest to caring. But he’d ruined all that ten years ago. He wasn’t sure what he could do to make her start to care again. But he was going to do his damnedest to figure it out.

  “Time to go, Flick,” Kristin said. “Say good-bye to Gramps.”

  Max watched as Flick clung to her grandfather’s neck. “Get well, Gramps,” she said. “So we can go home.”

  Home. If Max got his way, she was already home. He suddenly realized that, while he’d worried how Kristin would make the transition from living in Miami to living in London, he’d never considered Flick’s feelings on the subject. He was going to have to readjust his thinking to keep her in the loop.