A Dad for Billie

by Susan Mallery

  “Typical,” he said, shaking his head. “The going gets tough and you cry. You haven’t grown up at all.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Don’t talk to me about fair. What do you know about it? Did you ever give any thought to what you left behind? You squawk about my not coming after you. Lady, even if I’d wanted to, I didn’t have the time. Someone had to handle damage control. I know all you were interested in was seeing how easily you could wrap me around your little finger, but I had—and, no thanks to you—still have a position to think of in this community. I do business with most of the town. I was putting my sister and brother through college. Did you ever stop to think that the fine people of Orchard might not want to trust their money to a bank president who’d been stood up at the altar? That they might begin to wonder if there was some flaw only you knew about?”

  Despite the embarrassment staining her cheeks, she paled. “They wouldn’t have.”

  “Think again.”

  She raised her arm as if offering an apology. “I didn’t know.”

  He glared at her and she dropped her arm to her side. “You didn’t bother to find out,” he said. “All you could think of was yourself.”

  “It wasn’t like that. I tried to tell you—”

  “When? I was standing there in the front of the church. Like a fool. When I figured out something was wrong, I was pretty much a captive audience. If you were trying to get my attention, you got it. But you didn’t have the guts to stay and talk. That’s what gets me the most. Not one word of warning.”

  “I did try to talk to you. Before the wedding. You wouldn’t listen.”

  He reached for the T-shirt hanging over his shoulder and pulled it down. She jerked her head at the movement, as if she’d suspected he would hit her. Her reaction inflamed him. Despite her actions, he’d never given her reason to fear him.

  “I listened but all we talked about was the wedding,” he said, his jaw tight with suppressed emotion. “Do you want pale pink or blush for the napkins?” He raised his voice mockingly. “Wild rice or steamed potatoes?”

  “If you disliked my conversation so much, why did you want to marry me?”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “Everybody’s entitled to one mistake.”

  She closed her eyes and swallowed. Another tear rolled down her cheek. “And I’m yours?”

  “You said it, lady, not me.”

  She looked at him. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “Is that supposed to make it better? That you acted out of ignorance?”

  She shook her head. “Of course not. I’m just saying that I was very young.”

  “I guess that works as well as any excuse.” He fingered the shirt in his hands. “It’s my fault, I suppose. I’m the one who tried to make you more than you could be.”

  She flinched as if he’d slapped her. “I knew you’d be angry, but I never really expected you’d hate me so much.”

  “You’re not worth hating.” He looked over her head. “I don’t care anymore.”

  She reached out her hand again and this time touched his bare forearm. The physical side of him—that masculine self that had never been able to get enough of her—reacted to the slight touch. Awareness quivered as the imprint of each finger burned into his skin. It wouldn’t take much, he acknowledged, despising the weakness inside and her for causing it.

  With a slow gesture, too deliberate to be ignored, he pulled away from the contact. Jane bit her lower lip and stepped back. It wasn’t even close to a draw, he thought. He’d hurt her, but nothing like what she’d done to him, all those years ago.

  “If you could just let me explain,” she said, twisting her fingers together. “I never meant to—”

  “I don’t give a damn about your explanations. Or you.”

  Her hazel eyes studied him. Tears threatened again, but she brushed them away impatiently. “You’re too angry to not care, Adam. Your temper gives you away.”

  One point for her, he thought grimly. “All right. I care enough not to want you in my life. How’s that?”

  She turned and walked toward the hallway. When she reached the door, she looked back over her shoulder. “Be careful what you throw away, Adam. You may find you need it after all.” After she fled into the quiet morning, he stood alone in the kitchen, drawing deep breaths into his body. Once lost, the control was difficult to recapture. Random thoughts raced through his mind. Memories from the past—lost dreams, half-forgotten moments. He’d offered her all he had and she’d turned him down flat. Publicly. Now she expected exoneration for her behavior. Hell would freeze over before he’d ever—

  “Was that a discussion you’d want her daughter to hear?”

  “What?” He spun toward the back door.

  Charlene stood in the pantry. “I could hear you clear outside. Now I’ve sent the child off to find the berry patch. If you two are going to quarrel, please find a more suitable location.”

  “We weren’t arguing.”

  “It sounded like an argument.” Interest sparkled in her blue eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No,” he said curtly, then instantly regretted his sharp tone. “It doesn’t matter, Charlene. Jane just wanted me to get in touch with my feelings, and I did.”

  *

  Stupid, Jane thought as she pulled the brush through her long hair. Just plain stupid. She’d been stupid to think about coming back to Orchard, stupid to think she and Adam might be able to resolve anything by discussing the past, and stupid to plan to let him know about his daughter.

  “Not my finest hour,” she muttered, as she dropped the brush, then reached back and began braiding her hair. Her fingers moved efficiently, weaving the long strands into a French braid. The mirror over the dresser reflected her image. She averted her eyes, not wanting to see the guilty flush on her own face. Morning light filtered through the lace curtains and onto the carpeted floor. Like the room Billie slept in, this guest room had been decorated with warm colors and cozy prints. A handmade quilt covered the bed she sat on. The bright yellows and peaches blended in a star-shaped pattern. It should have been soothing. Despite the room, the cool shower and the stern talking-to she’d given herself, her heart still thundered in her chest. Her hands shook from the recent exchange with her former fiancé, and a strand of hair slipped out of her grasp, causing her to release the half-finished braid.

  “Stupid.” She picked up the brush and began vigorously stroking.

  “You’re gonna pull it all out,” Billie said as she walked into the room.

  “What?”

  “Your hair. You’re brushing too hard. Are you mad at me?”

  “No, honey.” Jane set the brush on the bed and held open her arms. “Come here.” Her daughter stepped into her embrace and they hugged. “I’m not angry at all.”

  Billie had managed to stay reasonably clean, despite a quick trip to the berry patch. Jane held her at arm’s length and studied her. The peach-and-cream floral print sundress brought out the tan on her face and arms. Her hair showed signs of recent contact with a comb. Brown eyes, so much like Adam’s that it hurt to look at them, glared back mutinously.

  “I’m not wearing that hat,” Billie said. “And you can’t make me.”

  “Your grandmother went to a lot of trouble to find one that matched that dress.”

  “I know, but it’s dumb looking.” Billie planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t think God cares if I wear a dress to church or not.”

  “We dress nicely to show respect,” Jane answered, trying not to smile at the familiar argument.

  “Maybe.” Her daughter brushed her bangs out of her face. “But I know he doesn’t need me to wear a hat.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s got ribbons and flowers. People will laugh at me.”

  “You’d look very pretty.”

  Billie opened her mouth wide and made a gagging noise, showing exactly what she thought of looking pretty.

  Jane sighed. Compromis
e. It was the first rule of parenting. “You don’t have to wear the hat.”

  “Whew. Thanks, Mom.” Billie spun in a circle. The hem of her dress flared out exposing the denim shorts she wore underneath. “I’ll even leave my softball at home.”

  “Thank you.” Her gaze drifted past her daughter’s bare legs down to sneaker-clad feet. “But you have to change your shoes.”

  “I’m not wearing those patent leather things. Yuk.”

  “Sandals are fine.”

  “Okay.” Billie dashed from the room.

  Jane picked up the brush. She’d given up trying to get Billie not to run in the house. As long as nothing terribly expensive was in danger of being broken, it wasn’t worth the fight. Besides, the kid had way too much energy.

  She smiled fondly as she remembered her own childhood. Being a tomboy had never been a question, let alone a problem. No, she had been a typical girl. Dolls and books, quiet games with two or three friends and little time outdoors. She hadn’t even learned to swim until she was almost twelve.

  Her fingers nimbly worked with her hair as her eyes drifted half-closed and she remembered the muggy heat of that summer, when the temperature alone had driven her to the local swimming hole. The big kids—the teenagers—had taken over one side, but the rest belonged to everyone else. Jane had stayed in the shallow part, dangling her feet while she sat on a fallen log. The combination of sun and friends and laughter had wooed her into relaxing. Then she’d seen him.

  Goose bumps erupted on her skin as she remembered looking up and seeing a boy—a young man really—poised at the top of a platform one of the fathers had constructed. With the sun in her eyes, she hadn’t been able to see his face, but she’d watched him dive cleanly into the water, barely making any splash at all. He’d surfaced close to where she sat.

  When he’d gotten out, water streaming off his developed and tanned body, and laughed, she’d found herself giggling with him. Their eyes had met. Adam, she’d thought with some surprise. The boy who lived next door. But he wasn’t a boy anymore. He’d shaken himself then, spraying her with water, and had invited her to jump off the platform with him.

  She refused. She couldn’t swim. Instead of mocking her like the other boys had, he’d held out his hand and led her to a quiet cove. He’d taught her to swim that summer, Jane remembered, finishing the braid and clipping a silk rose at the bottom. Slowly, patiently. He’d been a football player in the fall, a swimmer in the spring at high school. He’d been to the state championships once. A jock. Nothing like her. At eighteen, he’d been a prize catch in a small town like Orchard. She smoothed down her dress and allowed herself a bittersweet smile. He would have been a prize catch anywhere. And despite the other teenage girls ready and willing to spend their days with him, he’d taken the time to teach his twelve-year-old neighbor to swim.

  A scholar, an athlete and a gentleman. Her heart never had a chance. He was her first crush. It had been as inevitable as the coastal tide. Her desires had been unfocused, just vague longings that had made her heart beat faster whenever she saw him. It wasn’t until high school that she’d recognized the feelings for what they were. Love had quickly followed.

  And she’d thrown it all away.

  Jane rose from the bed and walked to the doorway of the guest room. The thick carpet muffled her footsteps. It seemed another lifetime ago that she’d been engaged to Adam. They were both so different now. Coming home had been—stupid.

  “I just want you to know that I hate these,” Billie said, joining her in the hall. She flexed one foot and glared at her sandals. “When I’m grown up, I’m never going to wear a dress again.”

  The shaft of pain caught her unaware and ripped through her heart. Billie was, if nothing else, her father’s daughter. Adam had rebelled at dressing up. He’d been active in sports. He’d been—

  She drew in a breath. He’d been the one she’d left standing at the altar. Oh, why on earth had she thought returning to Orchard would be a good idea? And if that wasn’t bad enough, why had she insisted on pushing him to reveal his feelings about her walking out on him? It accomplished nothing except to bring those awful memories to the surface. If being in the same room with him before had been difficult, now it would be impossible. She’d have to think of an excuse to leave or move or—

  “Jane! Billie! It’s time to go. What are you two doing up there?” Charlene’s voice sailed up the stairs.

  “We’re coming,” Billie called down. “You ready, Mom?”

  “Sure,” she said, trying not to clench her teeth. If she was uncomfortable now, it was her own fault. Bearding the lion in his own den had been foolish. Maybe Adam would chicken out. Maybe he’d stay home from church. Maybe—

  Maybe it was her fate to be punished for the rest of her days. She took Billie’s hand and together they descended the stairs. Waiting at the foot stood Charlene in one of her bright voluminous dresses, and Adam. His dark suit emphasized the lean strength of his body. Damp dark brown hair gleamed. The slight waves had been tamed with water and a brush, but soon one or two locks would tumble over his forehead.

  She felt heat climb her cheeks and prayed he wouldn’t notice. He didn’t. He wasn’t looking at her, but at some spot over her head and to the left.

  “Are you ready?” he asked quietly. Nothing in his voice hinted at the conversation they’d had not two hours before. Only the slightly clenched fists and the stern set of his mouth showed that emotions lurked below the calm facade.

  “My tummy hurts,” Billie said.

  Jane glanced down at her and raised one eyebrow.

  The little girl rubbed the top of her right foot against the calf of her left leg. “Okay. It doesn’t.”

  “Billie isn’t too fond of church,” she explained to Charlene, careful to avoid looking at Adam again.

  “I don’t mind it too much, but they make you sit still so long.” Billie drew in a deep breath and let it go in a sigh. “I like God and everything. The songs are okay. But there’s always some old lady telling me to sit still.”

  “Charm school,” Charlene said, taking Billie’s other hand, and ushering her toward the front door.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Jane said. “She’s awfully young.”

  “This is Orchard, dear. We strive to turn girls into ladies, at any age.”

  “What’s charm school?” Billie asked suspiciously.

  “You don’t want to know,” her mother told her, keeping step with them. Adam brought up the rear.

  As they walked outside, toward the dark sedan parked in front, she tried not to think about him. It was only for one more night. Her furniture would be arriving sometime tomorrow. If she worked at it, she’d never have to see him again.

  Yeah, right, she thought as he held the rear door of the car open. What about her plans for an eventual father-daughter reunion? She still owed them both. Before Jane could make her move, Billie had ducked inside the car, with Charlene quickly on her heels.

  “You sit in front,” the older woman told her.

  Jane swallowed uncomfortably. Adam closed the rear door and opened the front. She murmured her thanks as she slipped in past him. The scent of his body—soap, shaving cream, and some essence of male—taunted her. She wanted to breathe deeply and savor the fragrance. It made her think of sultry Southern nights and velvet-on-silk passion.

  The door slamming shut with a bang caused her to jump slightly. In the back seat, Charlene and Billie chatted. Charlene spoke glowingly about charm school, but Jane could tell that her daughter was becoming more and more disenchanted by the second.

  “Do I have to?” she asked, leaning over the front seat. “I don’t want to learn how to drink tea and dance. And I already know how to walk.”

  “Not like a lady,” Charlene said. “You’ll like it.”

  “I won’t!”

  Adam slid into his seat. She half expected him to take part in the conversation, but he just started the car and shifted into gear
.

  “Mo-om!”

  Jane drew in a deep breath. “Billie, you don’t have to go to charm school if you don’t want to. Charlene, she is only eight.”

  “It’s never too early to learn how to be a lady.”

  “I’m going to be a pitcher.”

  Jane bit back a smile and tried to relax in her seat. The conversation between Billie and Charlene continued as they debated the merits of their positions. She didn’t glance to her left, but she was aware of him sitting so close. Except for asking if she were ready, he hadn’t said a word. Not that any of this was his fault. It had all been a big mistake and she only had herself to blame.

  The drive to church took about six minutes. As they pulled into the parking lot, Jane tensed and waited for the rush of memories to envelop her.

  “Did you used to go to this church?” Billie asked.

  “Yes, until I—” She cleared her throat.

  “Moved away,” Adam offered helpfully. She knew she was the only one to hear the sarcasm in his voice. She didn’t dare look at him.

  “That’s right,” she said softly. “Until I moved away.”

  A large crowd mingled on the edge of the lawn. One woman glanced at Adam’s car as he parked it. She did a double take and nudged her neighbor. Jane couldn’t hear what was being said but she watched as the news rippled through the group. The prodigal daughter had returned.

  Oh, no! She’d never given a moment’s thought to what it would look like if she arrived at church with Adam and Charlene. And Billie. What would people think? Say? She was doing it again! Acting without thinking and leaving Adam to deal with the consequences.

  Darting a quick glance to her left, she waited for him to comment on the interest they’d generated. Instead he opened the car door and stepped out. She fumbled with the handle, anxious to exit before he made his way around to help her. Nervous fingers slipped. He reached her door. When it opened, he held out his hand. Politeness demanded that she accept the gracious gesture. Her fingers brushed his palm. Sparks flew in all directions, landing on her skin and midsection, creating a warmth that threatened to make her tremble. His touch had always affected her. The flash of familiar electricity comforted as it excited. Was there still something between them?