by Jean Oram
“Why couldn’t you have had that conversation in a safe place with lawyers present?” asked Maya. “Mistral doesn’t want Tigger as a daughter, he wants her as a pawn in this fight.” She waved her hand in the direction of Baby Horseshoe Island, where his company was buying up land and planning a massive resort.
“Mistral reached out to me a few weeks ago about being in Tigger’s life. I owe it to him to have a conversation without assuming he has less than honorable intentions.”
“He reached out because we’re attacking his company,” Maya stated simply.
“Everyone assumes that they know Mistral better than I do. I know the real man. You don’t.”
If given the chance, Daphne knew that under all the trappings of money and success, she’d still find the man she’d fallen for all those summers ago—not for herself, but for her daughter. “Tigger needs a father.”
“Finian adores Tigger,” Hailey said of her boyfriend.
“And Connor, too.” Maya nodded, eyes bright.
“A real father. A man who will be there always.”
“They’ll be there,” Hailey said.
“Right. Where is Finian now?” Daphne asked.
“Well, he has his movie…” Hailey trailed off, looking to Maya for help.
While the sisters’ new boyfriends had been amazing with Tigger, acting as surrogate father figures, the fact was they were influenced by new love, and it wouldn’t last. They’d forget about her daughter and move on when they had kids of their own.
“Tigger needs a father of her own, someone who will be a stable, constant presence in her life. Of all people, we should understand that, having lost our dad. And right now her biological father is reaching out. That isn’t something I can ignore just because the timing isn’t convenient. I’m going to assume the best until there is a reason not to.”
Her sisters opened their mouths to argue but she held up her palm, her body shaking with pent-up hurt and anger. Wordlessly, she fled to her bedroom in the cottage.
They didn’t get it and never would. Mistral may not have proven himself in the past five years, but she at least owed him the chance to try.
It was easy for her family to think Mistral would use Tigger as a pawn in his company’s fight against them, but Daphne knew him. She knew he was still the same man inside, wishing he could be more than a shrewd businessman, following the path that had been laid out for him by his parents. She believed in the old Mistral that she’d fallen for even if he hadn’t shown that side to anyone else.
And the fact was, he had reached out first. Then the papers had caught wind of the news and twisted it into something negative and judgmental, trapping Mistral behind a wall of publicity he couldn’t break through while still saving face. But if Daphne could find a way to be there…if she could get some positive press, then maybe he could find his way across to her. To them.
Her ex-boyfriend wanted and deserved to have the opportunity to be in Tigger’s life in all the ways his own father hadn’t been. Mistral could change the future. Their future.
But her sisters…how was she going to be patient with them until they saw what she could do?
* * *
Daphne parked in her driveway. She rubbed her eyes and stared at her small clapboard home until the minivan’s headlights turned off to save battery power, plunging the yard into near darkness. While Melanie had lived with them for only a few days before their disagreement over Mistral, the house felt emptier without her, and Daphne wondered if they would ever manage to get back to the place they’d once been—close and tight. At the picnic last week, Mistral had been trying to befriend Tigger, but then Tristen had misunderstood the situation and ended up nearly breaking Mistral’s nose. That had led to a difficult conversation with Tigger, where Daphne had tried to explain that the “bad man” was actually her father.
Contemplating spending the night in the van so she wouldn’t have to disturb her sleeping daughter and go through the whole I-want-Auntie-Mellie-Melon-to-come-over-and-tuck-me-in fight that always broke her heart, Daphne continued to gaze at her house. How could she get her five-year-old into the house without waking her? When the child was smaller, no problem. But now? She was just too big. Daphne was going to have to wake her, then go through the whole crazy process of dealing with a kid who’d just had a power nap and was ready to take on the planet for another two hours.
Daphne wanted her own bed. She wanted peace. She wanted quiet. She wanted to not think about how muddled and messed up her life had become over the summer. Which meant that she’d likely stay up most of the night painting sunflowers to keep her thoughts at bay.
This summer she’d been selling quite a few of her paintings at the local farmers’ markets and had earned over a third of what she needed for the cottage’s tax bill in order to prevent it from being seized. She could pull an all-nighter at her easel, then if inspiration was thick, skip the protest on watershed issues she planned to lead, maybe even the Bala market, and paint through the day until it was time for work in the afternoon.
A dark figure rustled past a bush along the side of her house. The person was moving with confidence that didn’t scream bad intentions, and Daphne quietly opened her van door. She slipped out, then locked it behind her. For a second she wished she had Evander at her side. He was powerful and intimidating. Amazingly muscular and yet nimble.
Her mind drifted to the rippled skin that ran down the side of Evander’s cheek. The scarring continued under the collar of his shirt and made her wonder if it was the reason he was no longer in the army. Undoubtedly it was responsible for that sharp, haunted look he carried in his hazel eyes.
Why was she thinking about him? He’d just escalate whatever this was into something awful. It was probably her neighbor wondering if Tigger had kidnapped his cat again to dress it up and have tea parties.
A squirrel raced across Daphne’s path and she held in a startled squeak, snatching Tigger’s Cabbage Patch doll from the lawn before sneaking around the corner of the house. The figure was gone and she let out an inaudible sigh of relief. She paused, listening. Nothing. She slipped off her flip-flops, the grass almost painfully cool under her feet.
Daphne held the doll by its legs, placing Maple’s hard plastic head on her shoulder. Maple would make an excellent weapon if need be. Daphne had experienced that firsthand when she was still figuring out that sugar made her daughter go absolutely bonkers. She’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time when Tigger and Maple had been having a dance party on the living room couch. Daphne’s cheek smarted just thinking about the way Maple had made contact with a bruise-causing crunch.
At the back corner of the house, Daphne took a quick peek, hidden by her John Cabot rosebush. Its soft fragrance filled the air as she watched an impossibly large man on the back step reach above the doorjamb, sticking something to the wooden clapboard. He stuck something else on the door itself. Leaning away from her, he arched his broad shoulders over the stair’s metal railing and repeated the process with the kitchen’s sliding window. Satisfied with his work, he turned, facing her from his elevated position.
“Hi, Daphne.”
Darn.
“Um, hi, Evander.”
“What are you up to tonight?” he asked.
“I’d like to ask you the same.” She marched out of her hiding spot, still clutching the doll, although she allowed it to drop from her shoulder. She joined him on the cement step and reached above him to yank the thick sticker she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t seen him apply it. She handed it back to him before turning to dismantle the rest. Evander caught her wrists in his hands. Not too tight, but enough to let her know she couldn’t get away.
“What are you doing to my house?” she demanded. “Other than trespassing.”
“Setting up a monitoring system to help keep you and your daughter safe.”
Daphne’s shoulders dropped, her righteous anger suddenly washed away. She was tempted to relax into his grip to see
if she could borrow his strength for a minute. One of the hardest things about being a single mom was having to be strong all the time. And right now, the thought of being unsafe in her own home made every bit of bravado and strength she’d built up over the years slip away.
“I don’t want to be spied on,” she said softly.
He was still holding her wrists, his grip warm and reassuring. His hands were massive and engulfed her so fully he could have held her just as securely with one hand instead of two.
“It’s not spying. It’s a warning system that will tell me if someone disturbs your windows or doors.”
“Spying,” she said, unable to help chuckling when he gave her an exasperated look. A rich, deep bubble of laughter moved up through her body.
“What?” Evander asked cautiously, as her laugh ripped free.
“You know how many times a day I open and close windows and doors?”
“Well.” He gave the house an uncertain glance. “I’m more concerned with disturbances at night, as I’ll be with you during the day and see when you are disturbing the security points.”
She pulled her wrists from his grasp, unable to argue with him no matter how uncomfortable the idea of being monitored made her feel.
“Why not get me an ankle thingy they put on people under house arrest?”
“I didn’t think you’d go for that, but I have one in my truck. I can go grab it.”
She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but she had a pretty good feeling he was. She turned, feeling off balance. “I have a daughter who needs carrying to the house. You keep playing with your rescue hero toys. I have real life to attend to.”
She left him on the porch, but was surprised to find him falling in beside her within seconds, a slight limp to his strides. Passing the front of the house, she propped Maple on the front step so she wouldn’t forget to bring her in, and Evander caught the doll as it began a slow topple to the ground. He righted it, then followed her to the van.
“Why did you leave the house?” he asked.
The way he was watching the street with a frown was annoying. Why didn’t he ever look at her? It wasn’t as though danger was lurking on the quiet, small-town street, just waiting to catch them unaware. She’d like to be looked at every now and then.
She sighed. “Don’t worry, safety in numbers.”
“I believe I told you to stay put for the night.”
“Yeah, and you also told me to hang out with large groups of people, which I did. So, fight your way out of that one.” She hushed her voice, placing a finger on her lips as she pulled on the van door, wincing as the old metal panel slid open. Before she had a chance to unbuckle Tigger, Evander had the girl in his arms, her small head of curls tucked against his shoulder, her eyelids not even fluttering with the movement.
He was good.
Daphne unlocked the front door, expecting him to try and maneuver the girl into her arms. Instead, he crossed the threshold, barely making it through the doorway without brushing the top with his short, sandy hair. In the entry, he paused, angling Tigger’s feet in Daphne’s direction as if they’d done this a thousand times before. She slipped the girl’s sandals off her grubby toes, completely in love with the perfect, clean imprint on her foot’s sole where the sandals rubbed them clean with each foot strike. Trying not to appear too sappy, Daphne refrained from kissing the toes, and guided Evander to Tigger’s room. He gently laid the girl on her bed, pulling up the blanket and tucking her in. He smoothed an unruly lock of hair off Tigger’s face before stepping back.
Daphne, eyes blurry with tears of fatigue and gratitude, played with the collar of her dress, hoping Evander didn’t see the emotions ruling her at the moment.
“Thank you,” she said through a thick throat.
“All part of the service.”
“You’re a horrible liar,” she said, and he smiled.
“It was my pleasure, Daphne.” He gave a little nod and let himself out. Turning on the front step, he passed her Maple, but didn’t release the doll until she met his eyes.
Feeling grateful for the gift of time alone to paint, she said softly, “Go ahead and rig the place up, Evander. Do your thing.”
“Lock your doors and don’t go anywhere until I’m back in the morning. Call me if you need to leave. You have my cell number as well as Tyrone’s. I’m going to wait here until I see Chuck on the street again.”
Daphne sighed. Give the man an inch and he turned into Mr. Bossy Army Pants who figured he had the right to rule her life as though he was the one in charge.
But she’d changed stubborn people’s minds about the environment, and she could change his, too. She just needed to apply steady pressure and keep on smiling.
CHAPTER 4
Evander waited at the stop sign behind Daphne’s flower-painted van. The woman was something, that was for sure. She’d just led an early morning awareness rally about protecting watersheds as sleepy-eyed hydroelectric workers trickled past her and into their building, avoiding her and her gang of protesters. He’d never seen anyone come alive the way Daphne had, shouting and whipping up the crowd, spouting off facts that had even him looking sideways at the power company. That woman needed to find a bigger platform, because if she could get a man like him to care about fresh water, she could change the entire world.
Which made her all the more dangerous for a group like Rubicore and, therefore, meant she was that much more in need of protection.
He followed Daphne into Bala, mindlessly steering his truck along the town’s curving streets. She hadn’t tried to shake him off yet today and he took it as a good sign. Maybe having a few hours to think over what had happened yesterday had given her a much needed introduction to reality. Although, possibly, she was simply using him as a buffer between her and the reporter who’d been quietly taking photos of her all morning.
Evander visually swept the quiet streets for signs of danger. Did he have enough security on Daphne and the girl? Carrying Tigger into the house last night had felt so very real. In that brief moment he’d allowed himself to wonder if he could ever have something like that—the privilege of carrying his offspring into the home he and the love of his life had created.
Then again, who was he kidding? Having offspring would ensure he’d be in a perpetual state of alertness, everything becoming a danger. The kid would either have no life due to his restrictiveness or Evander would die of stress.
War had ruined him. He no longer had the little piece of humanity that would allow him to be a husband or father who reacted the proper way.
Shuddering, he blasted the AC, hoping to prevent a horrid flashback from his first tour of duty, where he’d seen children…no, don’t let the memory in. Bury it. He was here. He was safe. That was in the past and he’d done all he could to improve the lives of others.
His head hurt as though rocked by an explosion and he lost the flashback battle, falling into a whirling pool of acidic horrors ranging across years of duty. He pushed his way out of it, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth were grinding together like broken rocks.
Evander unfolded his fingers from the steering wheel, regulating his breathing. The flashbacks were getting better. He hadn’t lost sight of Daphne. Hadn’t crashed his truck. He had to have faith that this wasn’t just a quick reprieve before the flashback roller coaster dunked him under again, causing him to fight with everything he had in order to see the light, to breathe and stay alive.
Daphne pulled up at the Bala farmers’ market, which hadn’t yet started. He was no good to her in this state. He needed to get it together.
She put her van in reverse, preparing to back into a parking spot, and he sighed in relief. Good. Ready for a fast getaway. At least one of them was with it.
However, she continued backing up until she was in line with a row of tables. Evander, unsure what she was doing, stopped his truck next to her. He would have preferred if she’d placed her van closer to the main entrance, but they could discuss
good parking habits once she was a bit more receptive. This was a fair enough start.
Evander leaped out of his truck and opened her van’s side door, noting that his hands were still trembling from the flashback jaunt through Memory Lane’s house of horrors. As soon as the door slid wide enough, Tigger bounced out. The girl was like a trick can. Open it and she sprang out.
“Thanks, mister,” she said as she bounded over to stand by her mother.
Daphne opened the back of the van, unloading paintings that smelled of fresh paint. She was a vendor. Which meant he was losing his edge. This should have come up in his background search, shouldn’t it?
He was stuck between worlds. No longer a JTF 2 with an edge sharpened to precision, ready to be used at a split second’s notice, and no longer a civilian able to chill out and blend in.
He leaned two tall canvases against the side of his truck. “Are you selling these?”
Daphne nodded.
“You painted them?”
She nodded once more.
Again, shouldn’t a hobby of this magnitude have come up?
“How do you find the time?” he asked.
She gave a wan smile and he gave her a closer look. He knew being a single mom was tough going, but today her weariness was similar to a heavy cloak pulling her down. It wasn’t bags under the eyes or paleness like most people, it was a waning of the larger-than-life vitality he’d come to know as purely Daphne.
“I haven’t been able to sleep much lately.”
He felt conflicted. If she wasn’t sleeping it could mean she was actually concerned about her welfare and might cooperate. However, he also knew sleep deprivation was an effective form of torture that he wouldn’t wish on anyone, and could result in poor judgment.
“Mom, can I get some cotton candy?” Tigger asked, tugging at her mother’s dress.
“No sugar this early in the morning. There are apples in the van.”
