by Abby Gaines
Kyle found his father in the crowd and handed Daisy over with a promise to join the mourners for refreshments at his dad’s house as soon as he could.
Just as soon as he could get through the reading of Lissa’s will and deal with whatever curveball she’d thrown him.
Roger Hurst’s office was in the heart of Pinyon Ridge’s historic center, tucked between one of the many outdoor stores lining the main street that catered to hikers in summer and skiers in winter, and the Eating Post café on the corner. Micki Barton, the café’s owner, waved through the window as Kyle passed. She’d been a couple of years ahead of him in high school, and they were good friends, just as their parents had been. Micki had attended Lissa’s funeral, then hurried back to the café so Margaret, her employee, could attend the wake.
In the lawyer’s office at the back of the narrow building, Barb was already seated on a maroon leather couch. Her brave smile reminded Kyle of Lissa when he’d first met her, near the end of her chemo. He’d fallen in love with that smile.
Though he hadn’t loved Lissa in years, they’d remained on good terms, committed to maintaining a positive relationship as Daisy’s parents. He would miss her. Why didn’t you refuse to get in that car, Lissa?
The air in the office felt stale, too hot. Kyle loosened the knot of his tie and unbuttoned his collar. He was about to sit down when Jane came in.
“Jane, dear, I didn’t get to talk to you at the church.” Barb stood and hugged her.
Almost immediately, Jane pulled away. “I’m sorry I made such a public entrance.” Though she sounded apologetic, there was also an edge of confidence in her voice he hadn’t heard before. But then, he hadn’t seen her in, what, five years? He wasn’t sure when Lissa had last seen her—maybe that trip to Denver with Daisy. Daisy would have been two.
Jane looked entirely respectable in her black jacket, cream-colored blouse and slim skirt ending just above the knee. Kyle’s gaze dropped lower, down shapely calves to her high-heeled shoes with a peep of scarlet-tipped toes. He jerked his eyes up.
“No problem, dear,” Barb said. “I’m just glad you could get here. We’re having a private burial for Melissa later—you’ll stay, won’t you?”
“Where’s Hal?” Jane asked. “I didn’t see either of you at the church.”
“Oh, dear.” Barbara blinked, hard. “I assumed Lissa would have...” Her voice quavered.
“Hal had a stroke, a few months ago,” Kyle said. “Surely Lissa told you?”
“We haven’t been in touch for a while.”
Really? He’d assumed they’d at least continued emailing—Kyle had more than once been tempted to sneak a peek at those emails Lissa used to delete immediately upon replying. “Why not?” he asked. “What happened?” Which, come to think of it, was the same question he’d asked last time they spoke.
He wasn’t about to get an answer this time, either, it seemed.
“I’m so sorry about Hal,” Jane said to Barb. “How’s he doing?”
“Not great,” Barb admitted. “We sat at the back of the church—it’s the best place for his wheelchair. He’s very self-conscious, poor dear.”
Roger Hurst cleared his throat. “Folks, I have Melissa’s will here.” The single sheet of white paper he held immediately caught their attention; they settled into their seats.
Hurst began to read aloud. “‘I, Melissa Eve Everson...’”
Kyle let the standard jargon wash over him. It took less than a minute for Roger to reach the meat of the will. Besides leaving her pearls to her mother—not to Jane, then—Melissa had bequeathed all of her money and material possessions to Daisy, with Kyle to serve as trustee until Daisy turned twenty-one. No problem there, though Kyle felt twenty-five would be a better age for Daisy to come into her inheritance.
Roger paused. “The next section pertains to guardianship of Daisy,” he said.
Barb sat straight. Jane glanced at her watch.
“‘If Kyle Everson should predecease me,’” the lawyer read, “‘I appoint Jane Slater as guardian of my daughter, Daisy Patricia Everson.’”
Jane’s head jerked back, her eyes wide. Barb made a sound that indicated her surprise.
Foreboding held Kyle very still. “Since I didn’t predecease Melissa, the clause isn’t relevant,” he pointed out.
“Correct,” Roger said. “Let me read on. ‘If Kyle Everson does not predecease me, he will have automatic full custody of Daisy. However, it is my deepest wish that Jane Slater establish a meaningful relationship with Daisy, with a view to providing a positive female influence on her life.’”
“No!” Kyle said. The word seemed to echo oddly—then he realized Jane had said it a scant second after him. Quite possibly the first time they’d agreed on something.
“You’re under no legal compulsion to consider Melissa’s wishes, either of you,” Roger Hurst said, flustered. “But morally...”
“I live in Denver,” Jane said. “There’s no way I can get involved in Daisy’s life.” She looked horrified.
Which seemed like an overreaction to Kyle, even though she was the last person he wanted having a say in Daisy’s upbringing. Not because she was a Slater—though people like his father would see that as an insurmountable problem—but because she’d been instrumental in the breakdown of his marriage.
He didn’t know how, but he was certain she had played a part.
“I can’t come back here, which is what I’d need to do to have a meaningful influence,” Jane said. “I have a job, an apartment.”
Kyle noticed she didn’t mention a boyfriend, friends, or any other personal tie to the city. She must be thirty-one, the same age as Lissa; strange that she should have so few connections. Not my problem.
“Thanks for sharing Melissa’s wishes,” he told Roger. “We’ll certainly take those into consideration as we make our plans.” As in, we’ll consider them, then ignore them. Lissa must have made that will back when she and Jane were close. The woman was a stranger to Daisy.
Barb cleared her throat. “What rights do Hal and I have as grandparents, Roger?”
“You don’t need rights,” Kyle said, startled into speaking too loudly. “You’re Daisy’s Nana and Pop. You’ll always be able to see her.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Barb straightened her spine. “It seems to me you and Daisy don’t get along.”
Kyle darted a glance at Jane. She was inspecting her fingernails, but he sensed her alertness. She could stay out of this, thank you very much.
“Daisy and I get along,” he said. “I mean, sure, she’s reserved by nature....”
“Not when she’s with me.” Barb looked exactly what she was—a small-town librarian, soft-spoken and plump with life’s comforts. But she had a core of steel, one that Melissa had inherited. “Kyle, I can’t give her the attention she needs right now and you’re a busy man—I think it’s a great idea for Jane to get involved.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Kyle said, his voice clipped. If he could run this town—which, despite his rival’s claims, he’d done successfully for the past four years—he could manage one five-year-old girl. “Besides, Jane’s virtually a stranger to Daisy.”
According to Lissa, Jane had never gotten over not being invited to be Daisy’s godmother. She never even showed up to the christening. Not the behavior of a true friend. And with Jane’s past, he couldn’t imagine why Lissa thought she’d be a positive influence for
their daughter.
“Sometimes grandparents share custody, is that right?” Barb asked the lawyer.
What the hell?
“Uh...” Roger ran a finger around his collar. “Usually only if a parent is considered unfit.”
“Hmm,” Barb said. “That’s not exactly... I’m not saying you’re a bad father, Kyle. The one day a week that you have Daisy, you do okay.”
Ouch. Talk about being damned with faint praise.
“But you don’t know her,” Barb finished.
Kyle unclenched his fingers. “Of course I know her. And I often have her for two days.”
Okay, so weekends with his daughter were occasionally whittled down to one day. Maybe more than occasionally. Did that make him the world’s worst dad? I’m a good father, dammit.
Not only did the criticism sting, but the last thing he needed going into his reelection campaign was a custody battle with the town’s extremely popular librarian. This election needed to be about what kind of community Pinyon Ridge should be in the long-term, not the mayor’s private life.
“Like a lot of fathers, I’ve let Daisy’s mom do most of the work,” he admitted in an attempt to be conciliatory. “I plan to be more hands-on from now on.”
Barb nodded encouragement, but concern creased her forehead. Jane checked her watch. All those tears in church, and now it seemed she couldn’t wait to get away. She annoyed the hell out of him.
Jane Slater is irrelevant. What mattered was doing his job as a dad and as mayor.
“I intend to do this right,” he told Barb. Then he corrected himself. “I will do this right.”
* * *
JANE STIFLED A SNORT, out of respect for Barb, not Kyle. She might not have much personal experience of how functional families operated, but she did know that Kyle should be saying he loved Daisy and would do anything for her happiness. Instead, his tone said, I’ll do the right thing if it kills me.
She remembered Lissa, pregnant with Daisy, tearfully confessing that Kyle hadn’t wanted to try for a baby again. They’d undergone three rounds of IVF already, using eggs harvested and frozen before Melissa’s chemotherapy. Jane had assumed Kyle would outgrow his lack of enthusiasm once his daughter was born. But maybe that was another thing that hadn’t changed, along with his self-righteous arrogance.
It’s none of my business how he and Daisy get along. If asking me to get involved was an attempt to make amends, Lissa, you couldn’t have chosen a worse way to go about it.
“Barb, this talk of custody, it’s not wise,” Roger volunteered. “You have your hands full with Hal. No judge will deem you capable of looking after a five-year-old.” He capped and uncapped his pen. “I’m sure Kyle will put in whatever time Daisy needs, even if Jane isn’t willing to comply with Melissa’s wishes.” He gave Jane a pointed look, which said that although she might dress nicely and have a decent life in Denver, here in Pinyon Ridge she was still a Slater and she wasn’t fooling anyone.
He seemed to conveniently overlook the fact that Kyle was equally reluctant to comply with Lissa’s wishes. But Kyle was an Everson. Pinyon Ridge royalty, just like Lissa and her family.
It wasn’t as if Jane had expected anything different.
“But if Kyle can’t cope,” Barb began.
“I can cope,” Kyle snapped.
For Lissa’s sake, maybe Jane should... No. I’m out of here. Lissa had no right to her continued loyalty. But old habits were hard to break.
“Whatever you decide,” the lawyer pointed out, “we should all be careful not to say things we’ll regret later. Very, very, very careful.”
Good advice, even without the triplicate. There was no need to panic, Jane told herself. Kyle must surely love his daughter. There might be teething problems, but as he spent more time with Daisy, they’d grow closer.
Barb looked as if she was about to argue, so Jane spoke up. “Kyle, it sounds like you’re committed to giving Daisy the time and attention she needs.”
Instead of looking appreciative, his dark eyes narrowed.
We’re on the same side, for once, jerk. “I need to get back to Denver, but let’s keep in touch.” Just mentioning the city made her hunger to be back where no one thought Slater was a dirty word. In Denver, people accepted her for who she was today.
At last, Kyle caught on that she was helping him out. “That’d be great. Thanks for coming,” he said insincerely.
Jane gave him an equally fake smile, and picked up her purse from the floor.
“Stop!” Barb barked the word, causing Jane to freeze half out of her chair. “Do you really plan to ignore my daughter’s wishes, Jane?”
The way your daughter ignored me the past few years? Jane tamped down the long-stifled hurt. “I’m thinking I’ll give Kyle and Daisy some time to adjust. I’ll check in with them in a couple of weeks.” By phone.
“Sounds good,” Kyle said.
Barb’s steely gaze held Jane’s.
Damn. “I’ll come back for a visit in a month or so,” Jane conceded grudgingly.
“I’m surprised at you, Jane,” Barb said.
She didn’t say, “After all I did for you.” Jane filled in that blank herself. If Jane owed anyone in this town anything, it was Barbara Peters, who’d accepted Lissa’s friendship with a girl from the wrong side of the tracks. More than that, she’d welcomed Jane into her home, allowing her to see what family life should be and encouraging her to aim for a different kind of life for herself.
She swallowed. “You can’t expect me to stay, Barb. My clients need me.” She’d recently hired an associate into First Impressions—the business she’d founded to help women who wanted to change their lives—but Jane was still the driving force.
“I’m not asking you to stay forever.” Barb’s mutinous look reminded her of Lissa. “Just long enough to help Daisy adapt to a new routine with her father. Exactly what I’d do, if I wasn’t occupied with Hal.”
“Daisy and I don’t need her help,” Kyle said.
“Daisy doesn’t know me,” Jane protested. “Before today, I hadn’t seen her since she was two.” Since Lissa had decided their friendship was too risky.
Barb leaned forward, hands clasped. “Stay, Jane. Please.”
“It really isn’t necessary,” Kyle said.
“You can have some respect for Lissa’s wishes, too,” Barb snapped.
Kyle folded his arms across his chest, lips clamped as if he were biting down on further comment. But the glower in his dark eyes sent Jane a clear message: leave.
She was fed up with being made to feel she had no right to be here. I should get out and not come back. And yet...even without Barb’s entreaty, the fact was, Jane had never been able to refuse Lissa. Isn’t that what had gotten their friendship into trouble in the first place? Now, the ingrained urge to help her friend overrode the voice of reason reminding her nothing good could come from a return to Pinyon Ridge.
“I’d need to go back to the city first,” she said to Barb. Kyle’s hiss of annoyance gave her surprising satisfaction. “I’ll have to make arrangements to work with my clients remotely.”
“Of course, dear,” Barb said, gracious in victory, once again the cuddly small-town librarian. “Do whatever you need to. I’ll expect you back here in, shall we say, a week? And you’ll stay a couple of weeks?”
“I guess.” A flood of reservations kicked in. Too late.
Jane met Kyle’s glare head-on. I don’t care
if you don’t want me here, she tried to transmit. It was never about you, always about Lissa.
Okay, so two hours in Pinyon Ridge had morphed into two weeks, and she suspected they might feel more like two months. Not a problem, not really. And though Lissa’s will might require her to stay in touch with Daisy—rather ironic after the past few years—that didn’t mean she had to be here in Pinyon Ridge or deal with Kyle any longer than necessary.
When this stint was done, she would leave, and this time she wouldn’t come back. Two weeks. I can handle it. No need to panic.
CHAPTER TWO
IF ANYONE HAD TOLD KYLE he’d be desperate for a break after just seven days of full-time parenting, he’d have laughed them out of town.
He’d been a dad for nearly six years—he knew what it was about.
But here he was, holding open the door of the Eating Post café for Daisy early Saturday afternoon, hoping like heck his dad would take her off his hands for a few hours. He felt like a jerk, but that didn’t stop him pointing out his father to Daisy. “Look, there’s Grandpa.”
Daisy nodded. She’d barely said a word to him since he’d taken her home to the house she’d shared with Melissa. The house where they’d once lived as a family.
No matter that he understood she was sad and probably disoriented, he still found her silence hard to handle.
Kyle followed her across the café, crowded with tourists and locals. Spring and fall were supposed to be quieter times in Pinyon Ridge, but the unseasonal warmth had brought a much-needed influx of visitors.
As they approached his dad’s regular booth, next to the window overlooking Clark Street, Kyle realized his brother was there ahead of him. He hesitated. Gabe was altogether too intuitive these days; the last thing Kyle wanted was his brother figuring out what a crap job he was doing as a father. Growing up, Kyle had always been the responsible son, the high achiever. Gabe hadn’t exactly been bad, but he’d given their parents one or two scares. Kyle didn’t like the current role reversal.
