A Dad for Billie

by Susan Mallery

  Her hazel eyes met and held his. What was she searching for as she looked so intently, he wondered. Her mouth, wide and soft, shaped to looked innocent, but designed for pleasure, trembled at one corner.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked softly, not wanting Billie to hear. The rain trapped the tomboy inside and she had reluctantly settled down in front of the TV.

  Jane glanced down at the papers she was holding. “Nothing important.” She stuffed them into her briefcase. “Just remembering something Charlene told me about you.”

  He grimaced. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

  “It was all good.”

  “I doubt that.”

  She straightened and shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. “Adam, if your parents hadn’t died, would you have come back to Orchard after you graduated from college?”

  “No.”

  She smiled, but didn’t look especially happy. “Just like that? You don’t have to think about your answer?”

  “Why would I? I’d already started making plans.” He shrugged. “I wanted to try a big city. New York, Chicago. Dallas.”

  “Dallas?” She raised her perfect eyebrows. “Really?”

  “Don’t you think I’d make a good cowboy?”

  Her gaze swept his body. Her attention was as tangible as a touch, and heat flared inside. “You’d look great in jeans.”

  “Thanks,” he said wryly. “That’s always been a priority in my life.”

  “I’m serious,” she said, looking up and smiling. He saw the laughter lurking in her eyes.

  “So am I.” He moved closer to her, stopping when he was only inches away. Her chest rose and fell in time with her breathing. “Why all the questions?” he asked.

  “I only asked one.”

  “Today.” A strand of hair had escaped the confines of her braid. He tucked it behind her ear. “Over the last few days, you’ve done nothing but ask questions.”

  She stared at his shirt collar as if it were the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Liar.” He grinned.

  She made a fist and tapped his arm. “Don’t call me names.”

  “So why all the questions?”

  “I’m taking Charlene’s advice.”

  “Now we’re in trouble.”

  She shook her head. “She told me to get to know you. That’s what I’m trying to do.”

  Get to know me in bed, he thought, but didn’t speak the words. Since the evening he’d made her cry, they’d slept apart. In separate rooms in separate houses. He longed for her as a thirsty man longs for water. He thought of nothing but her. But he wouldn’t ask and she didn’t offer. He wanted her to get used to him, to them. He’d apologized and she’d accepted that apology. Now they were feeling their way through a mine field of emotions. It would have been easy, he thought, seeing the need on her face. But he wanted her to be as hungry as he was. In the past, he’d pushed her farther and faster than she was willing to go. He wasn’t going to do it again.

  “Why?” he asked, stepping back.

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you getting to know me?”

  She lowered her eyes. “Because I’m not sure I ever did.” She picked up her briefcase. “I’ve got to run. Billie should be in bed by eight-thirty. She’ll probably hassle you.”

  “I can handle it. Drive safely.”

  “I will.”

  Jane offered him a tentative smile, then escaped out the back door. The rain pounded on the roof of the house. He waited until he saw the headlights of her car sweep down the driveway and disappear.

  “Adam, this TV show is dumb,” Billie called from the family room. “Can we play a game?”

  “Sure,” he answered. Something physical, to tire her out. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Hide-and-seek?”

  She appeared at the doorway to the kitchen. The once-white T-shirt had been stained with an assortment of colors. Despite being trapped indoors all day, her shorts were equally dirty. He’d seen her first thing in the morning and knew that she’d started out with clean clothes.

  “How do you do that?” he asked.

  Billie frowned. For once, her hat had been left in her bedroom. Her brown hair, exactly the color of his, hung around her face. “Do what?”

  “Get so dirty.”

  She glanced down at herself and shrugged. “I’m a kid.”

  He picked her up and swung her in the air. She laughed and clung to him. “More!”

  He continued until they were both dizzy. “All right, kid. I’m going to count to twenty.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Twenty! How about a hundred? Give me some time to hide.”

  “Thirty-five,” he countered.

  “Fifty.”

  “Forty.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Forty-five.”

  “Done.” He closed his eyes. “One, two—”

  “Don’t peek.”

  “You’re wasting time. Three, four—”

  With a screech, she ran out of the room. Adam continued to count. She was an indescribable joy. He’d been blessed many times in his life, but never with anything like her. He regretted the time lost, he acknowledged. When he was alone, usually late at night, he hated what Jane had deprived him of. But the emotion decreased slightly each day and had recently become tinged with sadness.

  Some part of the blame was his. He had underestimated the needs of the frightened young woman he had asked to marry him. Instead of a relationship, he’d offered maintenance. She’d left him, yes. She’d been wrong not to tell him about Billie, but he shared some of the responsibility.

  “Forty-five!” he called out loud, then gave her a couple of seconds for good measure.

  He’d heard her go upstairs, but had then heard a soft whooshing noise. Had she slid down the banister to trick him? He crept along the hallway, stepping on the edge of the carpet to avoid the creaking boards. In the parlor, he checked behind the sofa and inside the armoire. A slight breeze blew in from the rainy night. He stepped closer to the window to close the shutters. A flash of white caught his attention. She’d tucked herself in the corner, behind the wing chair. He took another step toward the window. Billie huddled deeper into the shadows and kept her eyes closed, as if her not seeing him would mean he couldn’t see her.

  He was about to speak her name, when he realized it would spoil the game if he found her so easily. He closed the shutter, turned his back on her and walked out of the room.

  Several minutes later, after combing the house, he called out to concede his defeat. Billie emerged from the parlor.

  “You walked right by me,” she said triumphantly. Her brown eyes glowed. “I was in the corner.”

  He pretended dismay. “I thought I heard you go upstairs.”

  “I did, but then I changed my mind.” She covered her eyes. “Okay, your turn.”

  They continued to play for almost an hour. Adam called it quits and started to fix cocoa. Billie turned on the TV in the other room. He’d just taken the milk off the stove when there was a crash. He set down the pot and sprinted toward the noise.

  Billie stood in the hallway. Beside her, a small table lay on its side, along with the smashed remains of a vase. He crouched down beside the mess. On top of the broken china rested her softball. He picked it up and carefully wiped away the glass. Now what? He wanted to go get one of his child rearing books and read the chapter that covered this, but there wasn’t time.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Billie said, thrusting out her lower lip.

  He raised one eyebrow. “I don’t see anyone else here.”

  “I wasn’t throwing it. It slipped.” She planted her hands on her hips. “I’m not in trouble.”

  “Are you allowed to play with your softball indoors?” he asked, knowing the answer.

  “Yes.”

  “Billie?”

  “No.” She hung her head.

  “You kn
ew the rules and you broke them.”

  “You gonna tell my mom?”

  “Yes.” Why couldn’t Jane be here now? What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t bring himself to spank Billie. So how did he punish her? A vague thought passed through his mind. Something about time-outs and—“I want you to sit in the corner for twenty minutes,” he said, hoping he was doing the right thing.

  She stared up at him, her expression outraged. “No way.”

  “Yes, way. Now.” He took her by the shoulder and guided her to a corner in the dining room. He pulled out a chair and slid it behind her.

  “Sit.”

  “I’m not gonna stay here. You can’t do this. You’re not my mom.”

  Her words hurt, he acknowledged, but that didn’t change a thing. “You’re right. I’m your father. You’ve disobeyed and now you must face the consequences.”

  “You can’t make me.”

  He looked at her. Slowly Billie lowered herself into the chair. He pushed it until the edges touched the wall. She bounced her feet on the rung. “I’m not going to stay here.”

  “Then you’ll have to be punished for that, as well. It’s your choice.”

  She turned her head away from him.

  He left the room. His heart pounded in his chest and his palms were damp. Was he doing the right thing? Was he scarring her for life?

  He cleaned up the glass then put the milk back on the stove. The time passed slowly. He heard Billie hitting the toe of her athletic shoes against the wall. He wanted to tell her to stop, but wasn’t sure of all the rules for a time-out.

  When the twenty minutes were up, he walked into the dining room. Billie sat hunched in the chair. “You may get up now.”

  She slid the chair back and climbed down. Her dark eyes accused him. “I thought you were my friend.”

  He wanted to be. But more than that, he needed to be a parent. This was the fine line those books he’d read had talked about. The reality of caring about someone enough to do what was best, even if it made her unhappy. “I’m your father.”

  “I don’t want you for my dad.”

  He’d seen it coming, but that didn’t stop the pain. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Billie,” he said quietly. “Come into the kitchen.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re going to write a letter to your mother explaining what you did and that you’re sorry. I’ll give it to her when she gets home.”

  Billie followed him silently. When he placed a sheet of paper and a pencil on the small table, she sat in the chair without saying a word. He poured cocoa and set a mug next to her. She ignored it.

  He wanted to say something. But what? She deserved the punishment. Didn’t she? His chest ached from the hurt inside. It seeped all through his body, making him feel beaten. It was happening, just as he’d feared. He cleaned up the pot he’d used and put away the ingredients. Behind him, Billie wrote on the paper. Her pencil scratched slightly with each letter. He heard a sniff. He turned around, and she was brushing away her tears.

  “Billie?”

  She didn’t look up. God, he wasn’t ready for this. Before he could decide what to do, she pushed back the chair. “I’m done.”

  “Fine. Would you like—”

  “I’m going to bed.” She wouldn’t look at him.

  “I’ll come up and tuck you in.”

  “No!” She raised her head and glared. “I hate you. You’re not my dad. My dad would never do what you did. Go home.”

  With that, she marched out of the room.

  He’d lost her, he thought grimly. He’d had her for less than two weeks and now she was gone. “I hate you.” The words repeated themselves over and over in his mind. He could see the tracks of her tears, hear her voice, see the rage in her small body. He’d lost his child. If he’d ever had her.

  Was it all an illusion? Jane, Billie, the chance to be part of a family—his family? Everyone left eventually. Why hadn’t he learned that lesson? Billie was gone; Jane wouldn’t be that far behind. He took Billie’s untouched mug and poured the cocoa into the sink. He couldn’t let it happen, he realized. He couldn’t let Jane go. He had to hold her with him. Being left a second time—he shuddered—he would never survive.

  He turned off the lights in the kitchen and walked toward the parlor. There was only one way to convince her to stay.

  *

  Jane arrived home a little after nine-thirty. Adam heard her car in the driveway.

  “Hi,” she said, as she swept into the kitchen. Drops of rain glistened on her smooth hair. “It’s still raining.”

  “So I noticed.” He smiled slightly and wiped the moisture from her cheek. “You should have taken a jacket.”

  “You sound like my mother.” She wrinkled her nose. “Besides, it’s too hot out there. I won’t melt.” She set her briefcase on the counter. “Is Billie asleep?”

  “Yes. I just checked on her.” He didn’t mention that he’d spent the better part of an hour sitting in the dark and watching his daughter sleep. She clutched her teddy bear so tightly to her chest. Was that her normal position, or was she still traumatized from what had happened before? He knew he was. His stomach clenched tight as her words again echoed. “I hate you.”

  “How was the meeting?” he asked.

  “Great. I really like several of the programs they have here for the students.” She slipped out of her jacket and hung it over one of the chairs, then sniffed the air. “Coffee?”

  “Decaf.” He motioned to the pot. “Want some?”

  “Thanks. Anyway, they have a real commitment to education. And a few surprises. I heard about the Barrington scholarships.”

  He walked over to the cupboard and pulled down two mugs. “So?”

  “So? It’s wonderful. You’re offering ten scholarships to kids who otherwise wouldn’t have a chance.”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  “Of course it is.” She moved to stand next to him. Even more hairs had escaped from her braid. They drifted around her face and tempted him to touch her. Her hazel eyes glowed with admiration. “Ten regular students. Not the most athletic, not the brightest, just ten kids that have the grades but not the money to go to college. I think it’s terrific.”

  He shrugged off her praise. “Super smart students get academic scholarships and jocks go on athletic ones. I wanted to help the students that fell in between. Like I said, no big deal.” She leaned closer and kissed him on the cheek. “I don’t care what you say, I’m impressed.”

  Her scent enveloped him. It was late in the day and the fragrance should have faded by now, but it hadn’t. Her hand, resting on his shoulder, provided a warm connection between them. He turned slowly until he faced her. Behind him, the coffeepot hissed. He ignored it. Hazel eyes, wide with no hint of blue, met his. Her mouth curved up at the corners. Lipstick stained the sweet flesh, darkening the color to a deep rose.

  He had forgotten. All the time she’d been gone, all those years, he’d let himself forget. The work, his responsibilities, the women who came and went without touching past the first layer of skin, had allowed him to pretend that it didn’t matter anymore. To have come so close a second time and then to have lost it all. How was he going to survive?

  “What is it?” she asked, smiling up at him.

  “Nothing.”

  She swayed slightly, toward him. He read the invitation. He wasn’t sure she knew what she was asking. He’d promised himself not to push her, that he’d let her say when. But could he wait? Could he risk it all?

  No! Not if there was a chance of tipping the scales in his favor. He reached up and placed his hands on her shoulders. Slowly, so that she would know what he intended, he lowered his mouth to hers. She didn’t back up or pull away. Instead she rose onto her tiptoes and met him more than halfway.

  He’d planned a gentle kiss. His partially formed idea had included seducing her with soft touches and gentle words. Instead, the moment their lips touched, he lost control. He had to have h
er. All of her.

  His mouth angled against hers. Without asking, he swept forward with his tongue. Instantly she parted her lips to admit him. Instead of shying from his assault, she counterattacked with her own plunges. They began a different sort of hide-and-seek with pleasure being the prize for both players.

  Jane strained against him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him toward her. Their bodies touched from chest to knee, but it wasn’t enough.

  He reached for her braid and yanked off the ribbon. The elastic band quickly followed. Raking his fingers through the long silky lengths, he combed her hair free. When it was loose around her shoulders, he buried his hands in the warm satin. It tickled his skin and aroused him. His groin already throbbed with painful readiness, and the feel of her hair slipping through his fingers, trailing along his arms, made him grind his hips against hers.

  She pulled back slightly and looked up at him. He read the questions in her eyes.

  He could lie. He could confess his fears. He could even tell her what had happened with Billie. Each would require more explanation than he could provide right now. He released her hair and stepped back. A voice inside said that she must come to him of her own free will. If he didn’t allow her that, all would be lost.

  “I need you,” he said simply.

  She bit her lower lip, then smiled. “That’s all you ever had to say.” Lacing her fingers with his, she led him out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her bedroom.

  In the darkness, with only the sound of the rain to distract them, he undressed her. When her clothes fell to the floor, he lowered her onto the bed. He touched each inch of her. His fingers traced the delicate skin on the inside of her elbows and behind her knees. He tickled her insteps until she begged her surrender. When her hands reached to caress him, he captured them and held them above her head. This was for her.