New York Times bestselling author Susan Mallery’s beloved story about how the hardest mistakes can sometimes lead to the best surprises…
From the moment a baseball smashes through his window, banker Adam Barrington’s life is never quite the same. The guilty party, an eight-year-old tomboy, soon turns his household upside down. But that shock is nothing compared to when Adam discovers who Billie’s mother is…
Jane Southwick knows that coming back home won’t be easy, and that living next door to Adam again will be sweet torture. But it’s pure joy to see the delightful bond growing between him and her daughter—despite the guilty secret that clutches at Jane’s heart.
Susan Mallery
A Dad for Billie
Dear Reader,
As a published author, one of my most frequently asked questions is: Where do you get your ideas?
I remember exactly what inspired me to write A Dad for Billie. It was a beautiful spring day. The sort of day that calls us to be outdoors having fun. I could hear several kids playing next door. I reminded myself that I was an adult and that I had a deadline, so I was going to stay at my computer until my pages for the day were finished.
I nearly managed to lose myself when I heard it. The sharp crack of a bat, a collective gasp, the unmistakable tinkle of broken glass followed by a loud cry of “Billy, you’re in trouble!”
This particular Billy was a young boy in the neighborhood. But in that split second my writer’s brain kicked into gear. I changed the boy to a girl, shifted the location to the other side of the country, put a computer in the way of that wayward ball and started asking questions. Who was that little girl? Why was she throwing that ball at that particular moment in time? Where was she from? Was she happy?
A Dad for Billie was born. I hope you enjoy this story. It was one of my favorites when I first wrote it and it still is.
Sincerely,
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
Crash!
Adam Barrington glanced up as a softball flew through his window, arced in a perfect half circle across the room, then thunked onto the center of his desk. As it rolled over the loose papers and spread sheets, he put out his left hand. The ball dropped off the side of the desk and directly into his palm.
Except for the tinkle of falling shards of glass, the room was silent. Adam leaned back in his chair and waited.
It didn’t take long. About thirty seconds later a small face appeared at the broken window. A red baseball cap hid the child’s hair and shadowed the eyes.
“You caught my ball.”
“You broke my window.” He rose to his feet and approached the mess.
“Yeah. I see.” The kid glanced at the remaining bits of glass and the other intact panes. “What if I tell you it wasn’t my fault?”
“Was it?”
There was a heavy sigh. “Probably. I mean I’m not playing catch with anyone, so I can’t say someone else threw it. This window costs a lot. More than my allowance for a month, I bet.” Another sigh. “My mom’s gonna kill me for sure.”
Adam fought back a grin. “Wait there. I’ll be right out and we can discuss reimbursement.”
The child slumped visibly. “It’s never good when adults say discuss, then a big word you can’t understand.”
He chuckled as he walked through the hall and out the front door. The kid stood on the wide expanse of lawn beside the window and stared glumly at the shattered pane. At first Adam had assumed he was a boy, but as the child turned and pulled off the baseball cap, he saw “he” was a “she.”
Short dark hair clung to her head; bangs, mangled by the cap, stuck out in uneven spikes. Wide and somber brown eyes watched him like a prisoner waiting for execution. Shorts and a grubby T-shirt covered a sturdy tanned body. She was somewhere between six and ten, he guessed. He’d never had much experience estimating children’s ages.
“It looks bad,” the girl said. “I’ll pay for it, I swear. And even if you don’t believe me, my mom will make sure. She’s big on me assuming the ‘proper responsibility.’” The last two words came out in a stern falsetto.
“I can’t say I blame her, if you go around breaking people’s windows.”
“Well, I don’t.” The girl planted her hands on her hips.
“You broke mine.”
“It was an accident.”
“Somehow you strike me as the kind of child who has a lot of accidents.”
Her lower lip thrust out mutinously. “I do not!” The lip curled up. “Okay. Some. A few. But not lots.”
For the second time in as many minutes, Adam had to fight the urge to grin. “What’s your name?”
“Billie.”
“I’m Adam.” He thrust out his hand. They shook solemnly. He gave her the softball. “I haven’t seen you before, Billie. Are you from the neighborhood?”
“No. San Francisco. We just moved here. It’s a long drive. How come you don’t talk funny? I mean, you kinda do, but not like that lady in the store. But she was nice. She gave me candy.”
Billie pulled a half-eaten sugar stick out of her shorts pocket. After picking off a loose thread, she stuck it into her mouth.
“Well?” she asked, after a moment.
“This is South Carolina, Billie. As far as we’re concerned, you’re the one who talks funny.”
“I do not!” She gave the candy a last lick, then thrust it back into her pocket. “Can we play catch until my mom comes out? She’ll want to apologize for my reptile behavior. Are you mad? We’ll be neighbors. I don’t want you to hate me or anything. I’m basically a good kid.” She grinned, an impish light dancing in her wide brown eyes. “At least that’s what my mom says when she doesn’t know I’m listening. Do you have any kids? Mom didn’t know if there were any on the street. I prefer boys. Mom says she’s glad I’m a girl, but I don’t know if it’s so great. Have you ever had to wear a dress and then keep clean? Yuk.” She pulled the baseball cap over her head.
Adam blinked several times. He didn’t know where to begin. Reptile behavior? It seemed easier to focus on the obvious. “Neighbors?”
She pointed to the house next door. The Southwick place. “We’re moving in. The furniture’s not here yet, so we might have to camp out—on the floor.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the house in question. The two-story structure, a smaller version of his own home, stood where it had for eighty years. In the last couple of months the old tenants had moved out and a string of workmen had taken over. The outside had been painted, the inside as well. Carpeting had been replaced and an electrician had fixed several old circuits. It hadn’t been sold, that he knew. The only real estate office in town used his bank, as did the local escrow company. New tenants, he told himself. Another family. He didn’t mind. It’s not as if he’d for a moment thought Jane might move back. Her parents had retired to Galveston and she had—
He frowned as he realized he didn’t know what she’d done. But it didn’t matter. They’d been old news for a long time.
“Are you ready?” Billie asked.
“Ready for what?”
“To play catch. Mom’ll be right out. She’s trying to figure out what furniture goes where. If it ever gets here. I won’t throw hard.”
She tossed the ball with an easy underhand.
>
He caught it instinctively and threw it back. “Young lady, you do not have to worry about throwing too hard for me.”
“I don’t know. I’m the pitcher on my softball team. I have a mean curve ball.”
Adam glanced at the broken window. “That I believe. How many wild pitches last year?”
She wrinkled her nose. “We won our division.”
“How many?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Let me guess. Not some or a few, but a lot?”
She laughed. The sound reminded him of something, but before he could place it, she threw the ball, harder this time. “Yeah, a lot. Coach says I’ll develop more accuracy as I mature.”
“I hope that’s soon. I have a lot of windows.”
Billie tugged the cap over her eyes, and bent in a crouch. “Here she is, ladies and gentlemen, the National League’s first female pitcher. Not only has she pitched a record six shutouts in a row, but her batting average is close to five hundred.” She cupped her hands over her mouth and breathed heavily to sound like background crowd noise. “She’s pitching to her favorite catcher, a champion in his own right, Mr. Adam—” She paused and looked expectant.
“Barrington. Adam Barrington.”
“Adam Barrington, one of the old-timers. He can still catch a mean curve ball.”
“I’m honored,” he said dryly.
She wound up and threw. The curve ball started out steadily enough, then lost its speed and direction. He lunged to the right, but it rolled past him and into the bushes.
“I gotta work on that curve,” she said.
“Try the backyard.”
“Why?”
With a flick of his wrist, he sent the ball toward her. “There’s a screen of bushes and trees between you and my windows.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t usually—”
“Billie.”
The woman’s call came from the house next door. Adam stiffened. That voice. It couldn’t be. He glanced at Billie.
“Moms.” She shrugged. “They always know when you’re having fun. Over here,” she yelled. “Next door.”
“Billie, there you are. We need to go into town and use the phone.”
He turned slowly. The woman came around the hedge and stopped dead when she saw him. Her gaze darted between him and the child. Twilight had fallen upon the steamy South Carolina day, turning bright sky dark, softening the light. Sweat beaded on his brow and coated his back, but she looked as fresh and inviting as a Carolina sunrise. A loose flowing skirt and pale blouse hid all but the general outline of her body. Hair, true brown without a hint of red, had been pulled away from her face into a braid. Her bangs hung low, almost to her lashes.
From this distance he couldn’t see her eyes, but he knew the color—hazel. Brown and green and gold. Wide and slightly tipped at the corners. He glanced back at Billie, still holding the softball. A band squeezed his chest, making it tough to breathe.
“Hello, Adam,” the woman said quietly, slowly moving past the hedge and onto the lawn. “I see you’ve met my daughter.”
Her daughter? The band tightened. He dropped his gaze to her left hand. No ring. So she’d married and divorced. He wasn’t surprised.
Billie frowned at her. “How’d you know his name?”
“I grew up in this house, honey. I told you that.”
Billie looked at him. “You lived next door to my mom?”
He couldn’t speak. Slowly his gaze was drawn back to the woman. A longing swept over him. Hard and powerful, it crashed through his body, the need like an undertow pulling him down. But on its heels burned a rage so hot, the longing evaporated into mist and blew away. His hands tightened into fists at his sides. How dare she come back?
The depth of feeling startled him. He forced himself to take a deep breath, then release it slowly. It had been over for years, he reminded himself. His body relaxed; the fists uncurled. He felt nothing. That had been his choice then; it still was.
Emotions flickered across Adam’s face. They passed so quickly, Jane didn’t have time to label them. No doubt he was as stunned as she. Despite her expectations—she had known she was moving back to Orchard—this wasn’t the meeting she’d planned.
“Hello, Jane.”
How calmly he spoke, she thought, wondering if he could hear the pounding of her heart. His momentary loss of control had been squashed; she stared at the handsome but unreadable face of Orchard, South Carolina’s leading citizen. Adam Barrington, bank president, favored son and brother.
He hadn’t changed much. Still a hair over six feet, still lean yet strong, still sophisticated. Even in twill shorts and a T-shirt, he looked like an ad for a men’s magazine. The caption would read something along the lines of “The Executive at Home.” But in this picture there was no happy family. She’d asked. He hadn’t married.
He continued to look at her, seeing she could only guess what. But she couldn’t read him. Was he angry? He had every right to be. Her mind screamed at her to turn and run back to the safety of her house. It would only be a temporary solution; they were neighbors. The truth would come out eventually. Small Southern towns were notoriously bad at keeping secrets. For now she was safe. If he’d known, if he’d suspected—even Adam Barrington wouldn’t have been able to stay that controlled.
On the long drive from San Francisco to South Carolina via southern Texas, she’d had many opportunities to plan the right thing to say when they met for the first time in years. Perhaps a casual conversation at the bank when she opened her account or an accidental meeting picking up the Saturday morning papers on fresh-cut green lawns. In every scenario, she’d imagined herself as detached, distant but friendly and well-groomed. Hot, wrinkled and frazzled didn’t fit the picture at all!
“It’s been a long time,” she said, forcing herself to smile and walk those last few feet until she stood directly in front of him. She thought about offering her hand, but that seemed too strange. And as for a welcoming hug—he didn’t look all that welcoming.
“How many years?” he asked.
“Nine,” she said immediately, then cursed herself for her rapid response. He would probably think she’d counted the days. That she’d missed him and regretted her impulsiveness. She had, dammit, but he didn’t need to know.
“So you guys were friends?” Billie asked, her head moving back and forth as she watched them intently. “Like you played baseball together?”
Jane forced herself to look away from Adam’s mesmerizing gaze. Those brown eyes had always had a power over her, she thought as she brushed her damp palms against her skirt. Tall oak trees shielded them from the main road and the curious stares of neighbors. Word of her return had already begun to spread. At least no one would witness this awkward reunion.
“We dated,” she admitted.
Billie paused, then continued to toss the ball in the air and catch it. “Oh.” Her disappointment was obvious. At eight, her daughter had yet to find boys interesting for anything other than beating in sports.
“Briefly,” Adam added.
He called two years brief?
“What happened?” Billie asked.
“Your mother went away.”
Again the words were spoken with no emotion. He was telling a story that didn’t matter to him anymore. If it ever had. The abridged version of life with Jane and Adam. Short, sweet, and while missing the point completely, it did convey the basic facts if not the mood of the whole event. A finality. It had been over for a long time.
“You’re moving back?” he asked.
“That’s the plan.” She smiled brightly, not daring to meet his eyes. God knows what he would read there. The pocket on his T-shirt became fascinating. “My parents have settled down in Galveston, and the tenants living in the house here decided not to renew their lease. I, ah, there was a job opening at the junior high, so here we are.”
“You’re a teacher?”
“English!” Billie made a gagging no
ise. “The worst. You should see the books she’s always trying to get me to read.”
“You only like stories with blood and killing. That’s not literature or even suited for children. There are lots of classics that—” She stopped and shrugged. “It’s an old argument.”
“Who’s winning?” Adam asked.
Jane smiled at her daughter and pulled on the bill of her cap. “She is, but I’m determined to hang in there.”
“You never told me you wanted to be a teacher.”
She searched his face. The familiar lines, high cheekbones, strong, square jaw, hadn’t changed much. He’d been a man when she’d left. He would find differences in her though: the last time he’d seen her, she’d only been a girl. Legally a woman, but at heart, emotionally, still very young. Time had changed her, both inside and out.
“I did. Several times. You didn’t listen.”
The lines of the jaw she’d been admiring tightened with her words. Fire flashed in his brown eyes. A wavy lock of hair fell over his forehead, the only wayward thing about him. “I listened. You were the one who—”
He stopped and looked at Billie. Her daughter stood openmouthed.
“Who what?” Billie asked.
He shook his head, withdrawing from the heated conversation. “It doesn’t matter. The repairmen have been fixing up the house for weeks. I’m sure you’ll be pleased with their work.”
Who what? Jane asked silently, repeating her daughter’s question. Left? She’d admit to that. Left badly? Ditto. To understand why, he might do well to look to himself.
“Everything looks terrific,” she said. Billie tossed her the softball. She caught it, then threw it back. “The upstairs bathrooms have been remodeled.”
“That was a couple of years ago,” he said.
Part of her marveled at the surface calm of their conversation. She wanted him to say something, do something, not just stand there like a polite acquaintance. He would have gone on with his life, might even have forgiven her, but forgotten—no way. Neither of them had. So he would pretend it didn’t matter, and she would pretend not to feel guilty. A fair exchange, she thought. Except for one small eight-year-old problem.
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