And he hadn’t really minded. He’d actually enjoyed the day.
He was grinning as he finally strode into his room to get his own things taken care of. The room was old and worn, and there were water marks on the wall that gave credence to Clare’s claim about the deteriorating roof.
But the blue and red plaid quilt appeared to be hand-made, and the birch log lamp beside the bed was topped with a soft, white lampshade that cast a warm light over the room. There was a lake scene hanging over the bed, which he was guessing was the Black Bear Lake that edged up against the south side of town. Faded green curtains treated the windows, and the old dresser had a few dents, but everything was clean, neat and smelled fresh.
Griffin was accustomed to stainless steel fixtures, off-white walls with carefully selected artwork of the highest caliber, and glossy wood floors. But as he surveyed the room, something about it felt comfortable. It actually kind of reminded him of the way his mother had kept house. Old but with a charm and an elegance that couldn’t be found in a new high rise like the one he lived in.
He ran his hand over the door frame, noting that the joints were smooth and perfect, and the wood was beautifully grained beneath the stain. It was a house that had been made with skill and care, a personalization he hadn’t thought about in a long time, not since the days he and his dad had spent at their mountain cabin, building furniture and getting simpatico with the life of a woodsman.
Clare’s house fit her perfectly. Warm, natural, with an elemental beauty that could never be artificially created.
He smiled to himself as he walked across the room and retrieved his phone from the pocket of his jacket, which he then tossed on the bed. What was he doing staying in this place? He was a hotel guy, not a bed and breakfast guy. He liked his space. He liked his privacy. He liked people to leave him alone.
But this morning, in that store, with all the rumors of his murderous tendencies flying around, Clare had seemed like an oasis amidst the hell. Now that he was here, it still felt like the right call.
Griffin’s warmth faded as he contemplated the rumors that had been circulating at the store this morning. He was here to murder his ex-wife and daughter? What was that about? He was used to people not being fond of him, but a murder rap was new, and he wasn’t really liking it.
Had his ex-wife started it? Tension roiled through Griffin at the thought. That wouldn’t be unlike her. Doing anything she could to get his daughter to hate him. But a murderer? During their brutal divorce, she’d worked so hard to turn Brooke against him, and his battle to keep a connection with his daughter had been even more draining than the divorce itself. Once Hillary had met her new husband and taken off to Maine, his daughter had finally slipped out of his fingers completely, no matter how many times he’d called and emailed, trying to reach her.
It had been a year since he’d seen Brooke, but he was done being shut out. He was going to get his daughter back, and he wasn’t going to give up until he’d succeeded.
Swearing under his breath, Griffin picked up his phone and speed-dialed the number that hadn’t successfully connected with a live person in far too long. It rang. Not going directly into voicemail this time. Hope flared—
“Hi, this is Brooke. You missed me. Leave me a message, and maybe I’ll call you back.”
Griffin sighed at the familiar sound of his daughter’s recorded voice. “Hey, Brookie. It’s Dad. I’m up in Maine now. I’d like to swing by and take you to dinner tomorrow. How about I pick you up around six? If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume that works and I’ll see you at your place.”
He paused as he pulled a small, white jewelry box out of his pocket. He flipped the lid and studied the delicate gold chain with a single pink pearl. “Got a birthday present for you that I know you’ll love. I’m... yeah... I’m sorry I missed your birthday. I’ll make it up.” The image of Clare and her daughter hugging each other in the pouring rain flashed in his mind, and his throat suddenly thickened. He closed his eyes and pressed the phone to his forehead, blowing out a breath before continuing. “Anyway, yeah, hope everything’s going well. Talk to you tomorrow.”
He disconnected the call, suddenly feeling the emptiness of the room. Of the house. Yeah, he could hear Clare and Katie talking in the kitchen, and the clank of pots echoed through the house, but it wasn’t his daughter who was down the hall. Why hadn’t Brooke answered his call? He’d left at least six messages telling her that he was coming to town.
Scowling, Griffin strode across the room and raised the window sash. Warm, moist wind blew in, as if the lake was waking up from its winter nap and filling the air with its energy. He propped his boot up on the wooden sill and let the breeze rush into the room, filling it with life.
Keeping it fresh.
A hollowness settled upon Griffin as he watched the pine trees waving in the gentle wind, the leaves skittering across the lawn that spring had just barely touched with green. He shouldn’t have decided to stay here. In this home. With a mother and daughter bonding. It made him remember what it felt like to be alone in his own home. In his office, while he heard Hillary and Brooke giggling in the other room.
He’d been an outsider in his own home, and now he was there again.
Shit.
His phone rang and he jumped to answer it before the caller could change her mind. “Brooke?”
“No, sorry, it’s Phillip. Have you spoken to Brooke yet?”
Griffin swore under his breath at the sound of his business partner’s voice. Phillip Schnur had been his number two guy at Free Love Slippers, and they’d broken away from the slipper biz together, ready to pursue new ventures, several of which Phillip was currently investigating while Griffin was tracking down his daughter.
“I haven’t reached her.” Griffin turned away from the window and grabbed his briefcase off the floor. “I’m going to see her tomorrow.” He unzipped it and removed his laptop.
“Well, you better step it up. Things are moving faster here than we anticipated.”
Griffin set his laptop on the card table that Clare had set up as his desk. “What’s going on?” The sale of Free Love had been completed only last week, and it had taken Griffin too long to get everything organized for his trip up here. He’d left Phillip in charge of due diligence for several businesses that they’d been tracking for a while, but he hadn’t expected anything to happen so soon.
“In Your Face, that family business with the designer jeans for the teen market, is more viable than we’d even hoped,” Phillip said, his voice fired up with excitement. “It’s a strong product, and they have great designs for some future expansion.”
Griffin nodded. “I expected that.” He’d been watching In Your Face for several years, and that company was part of the reason he’d decided to divest himself of Free Love, so he could be in a position to acquire it.
“Here’s the deal,” Phillip said. “They want to sell, and they’ve already got a lot of interest. We’ll have to move fast. I sent you an extensive report on their financials. Can you look at it tonight?”
“Yeah, I’m on it.” Griffin booted up his computer, and the electronic beeps felt discordant with this woodsy setting. He should be back in his office, dealing with work, not languishing in Maine. “But I’m not rushing just because there’s someone else interested.”
“Agreed, but this is a good one. It’s hot, and we need to move now.”
Griffin swore. He couldn’t return to Boston until he’d retrieved Brooke. “I can’t go back yet.” He opened his email program and saw the messages from Phillip.
“Then get your daughter and get down here. We don’t want to miss this.” Another line buzzed, and Phillip said, “I need to take that call. Call me back after you’ve looked at the file.”
Griffin disconnected without replying as he opened the first email from Phillip. He wanted that company. He needed to step it up, but he was not leaving town until he had his daughter—
A loud shriek of laug
hter from Katie jerked his attention back to the present, and he felt a stab of frustration. No doubt Hillary and Brooke were having that same kind of bonding moment that Katie and Clare were having, and that was why Brooke hadn’t answered the phone. Hell, for all he knew, Hillary had taken Brooke’s phone so he couldn’t reach her. Dammit. He needed to at least talk to his daughter—
He suddenly noticed the landline sitting beside the bed. He contemplated it for a moment, then he looked down at his own phone. Would it be that simple?
He tossed his phone on the bed, picked up the landline, and dialed Brooke’s phone. She answered on the first ring. “Hi, Katie.”
The sound of his daughter’s voice was like a sling straight to the gut. For a moment, Griffin couldn’t even speak, so overwhelmed by the realization that his daughter was there, talking to him, connecting with him. Then he realized the implications of her answering the phone when he’d called on Clare’s land line. Son of a bitch. She’d been screening his calls. That familiar ache jabbed his chest, but he shoved it aside and kept it light. “Hi, Brookie. It’s Dad.”
There was silence.
“Brooke?”
“Why are you at Katie’s house?” she asked without preamble. No greeting. No reaction at all to hearing his voice for the first time in months. She actually sounded a lot like Hillary. Cold, unemotional, distant.
He gripped the phone tighter, frustration mounting. “I’m in Maine, Brookie,” he said, keeping his voice casual, not wanting to give her an excuse to shut him out. “How about dinner tomorrow night? I’ll be by around six—”
“I can’t,” Brooke interrupted. “I’m busy.”
Griffin set his hand on the bedpost and dug his fingers into the wood. “Then what time? I can come earlier. Later. What works?”
“Nothing works! I’m busy!”
“Brooke—”
“Hello, Griffin.”
He stiffened at the sound of his ex-wife’s cool, emotionless voice. He’d forgotten how low and hard her voice was, or maybe it was just in comparison to Clare’s light, warm tones. “Hillary.”
“Brooke has a life now,” Hillary said. “She has a family now. Let her go.”
Griffin’s hand slipped off the bedpost, and he swore as the tightness crushed harder in his chest. “She’s my daughter, Hillary. You can’t take her away from me.”
“You haven’t seen her in a year,” Hillary said. “I’m not taking her away from you. She doesn’t want you. She wants this life, and this family.”
Griffin ground his jaw and paced over to the window, but the breeze was no comfort now. “I haven’t seen her because you took her away from me, carting her off to Maine—”
“It’s okay, Griffin. You don’t need to feel obligated.” Hillary’s voice became softer, almost gentle. Not like Clare’s, of course, but there was an element of acceptance he hadn’t heard from her before. He barely recognized it. She’d never spoken that way to him before, as if she actually recognized that he was a human being.
“I’m not obligated,” he said. “I want to be with her—”
“You’re free now,” Hillary said, her words devoid of acrimony, judgment or recrimination for the first time in years. “Brooke has a father. I have a husband. We are loved, and we are taken care of. Your daughter is good, Griffin. She’s found her peace. Go live your life. You don’t have to play the role anymore. We grant you your freedom.”
“I don’t want my freedom,” he snapped. “I want my daughter—”
“Do you?” A familiar challenge returned to Hillary’s voice, the edge that had grated on him for so long. “Do you want that beautiful spirit that belongs to Brooke, or do you simply want to be able to claim success at fatherhood?”
“I—”
“Griffin,” Hillary said firmly. “You aren’t meant to be a husband, and you aren’t meant to be a father.” She sighed. “I’ve finally accepted that, and it’s okay. It really is. You’re great at business, but you’ve got nothing when it comes to family.” Those were the words she’d thrown at him for years, but this time, there was no hate or anger behind them. Just acceptance, like she’d given up on him.
Screw that. She wasn’t going to manipulate him into walking away from his daughter. “I’m a good dad—”
“You’re not, and it’s time for you to accept it. I have. You won’t be happy as long as you’re trying to force yourself to be the man you aren’t. Let yourself go back to Boston. You deserve to find peace, and so do we. Good-bye, Griffin.
And then she hung up on him.
The phone buzzed in his ear. What the hell had just happened? In their sixteen-year marriage, all he’d gotten from Hillary was grief about his work schedule, and now she was saying it was okay? She was telling him he had no chance to be a decent dad? Screw that. He was Brooke’s father, and he wasn’t some washed up bastard who didn’t deserve her. Griffin scowled and began to dial Hillary back—
A light knock sounded at the door, and he looked over to see Katie standing in the doorway. She grinned at him, her eyes gleaming with delight. “Dinner’s ready,” she said. “Jeremy and Sara are here. Mom made lasagna and garlic bread.”
The teen was wearing a faded gray sweatshirt, and her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, just like Brooke used to do. Sudden sadness bit at him, a sense of loss so deep it almost staggered him. He remembered how Brooke had answered the phone, asking him why he was at Katie’s house. If they were friends, maybe Katie could give him some insight on how to reach her. “Do you know Brooke Friesé?”
“Of course, I do—” Katie paused, and her eyes got wide. “Brooke is your daughter? You’re the dad who took off on her?”
“I didn’t take off on her,” he snapped. What the hell? Was there no such thing as privacy in this damned town? “How do you know her? Are you good friends with her?”
Katie’s eyes narrowed, and there was no mistaking the sudden coolness of her tone. “She lifeguarded at the Wenopequat Beach last summer, and I hung with her at some of the lifeguard parties.” She gave him an accusing look. “She said you abandoned her.”
Griffin swore. “I was working—”
“You left.” Katie lifted her chin, an old, deep-seeded loneliness flaring in her eyes. “You had a daughter who wanted you, and you walked away. Maybe you should have traded spots with my dad, who actually loved me but didn’t get to hang around.” The accusation in her voice was bitter, too damned similar to what Hillary had flung at him for so long. “If you were dead, at least you would have an excuse for ditching your own daughter. My dad at least had a reason for leaving me.” Then she spun around and flounced off, her pony tail bouncing as she strode down the hall.
Son of a bitch. What was it with all these people? He hadn’t left. They’d walked out on him.
Griffin scowled as he heard Katie stomp back to the kitchen. Her laughter with her friends and Clare drifted down the hall, a world he didn’t fit into. He’d walked into a thousand boardrooms in his life, but he had no idea how to walk into that kitchen with all those people.
And he didn’t need to. Not anymore.
He wasn’t in Maine to play family time with people who judged him. He was there to get his daughter back. Hillary didn’t know what she was talking about. Katie didn’t know him. He would be there tomorrow at six to reclaim his daughter. Period.
And in the meantime, he was getting his business back on track. When Brooke came home with him, he was going to show her that he could give her anything she wanted. Anything. He looked at the necklace again, and set it on the bed. Tomorrow she would see. Tomorrow she would realize that she was wrong about him.
Of course he wanted to be her father.
Of course he saw the beauty of her soul.
He always had, dammit. Just because he worked long hours didn’t mean he didn’t get it.
As more laughter drifted down the hall, Griffin grabbed his laptop, his briefcase and his phone, then walked out his door. He paused in the hallway just outside t
he kitchen. Three teenagers were sitting around the table, munching on French bread, but he barely noticed them.
All he could focus on was Clare. Her hair tucked in an adorable, messy bun, she was unwrapping foil from what smelled like hot garlic bread. She looked domestic and happy, her eyes dancing as she chatted with the kids. He almost smiled, drawn in by her obvious peace with the moment. He didn’t remember Hillary ever looking that soft or appealing. He felt like he could stand there all night and watch her.
“When’s Griffin coming?” Jeremy asked. The kid was wearing jeans and a red tee shirt, and he was watching Katie with an interest that made Griffin want to go in there and toss the kid out on his underwear-clad ass.
Katie looked up and saw Griffin. Her face hardened. “Griffin isn’t coming to dinner,” she announced.
Clare turned quickly to her daughter. “He’s not coming to dinner? Why not?”
Griffin’s sense of peace retreated swiftly. It was the same thing all over again. Why wasn’t Griffin coming to dinner? Why wasn’t he participating in the family event?
Dammit. Hillary was wrong. She was wrong. He deserved his daughter, and he was going to get her back.
“Is Griffin sick?” Clare wiped her hands on her jeans. “I’ll go check on him—” She turned toward the door, and Griffin ducked out of sight.
He booked it out the side door and was already at his truck by the time Clare pushed open the screen door and came out on the back stoop. He met her gaze, and for a moment he hesitated. There was no recrimination on her face, just concern.
But that was how it started.
The hostility and accusations always came eventually. He didn’t have time to be reminded of his failings. He had a daughter to rescue, a business to buy, and a life to reclaim.
No Knight Needed Page 8
