Sasha’s Dad

by Geri Krotow

  “Is that why you came in here, to tell me the llamas don’t need as much vet care?”

  “No, actually, I have a favor to ask.”

  This was interesting. Dutch, asking her for a favor?

  “Okay. Shoot.” She leaned the mop against the wall and shoved her hands in her jeans pockets.

  “Sasha really wants to spend more time out here with the llamas.”

  “With the llamas?”

  “Yes, and well…with you.” His reluctance hurt a little.

  “That’s perfectly fine, Dutch. You don’t need to ask me as a favor—it’s my honor to spend time with Natalie’s daughter. And yours.” She hastily added that when she realized how sharp her reply sounded.

  Dutch held up a hand.

  “It’s not just about the llamas, Claire.” Dutch looked somewhere past her shoulder, then back into her eyes. His discomfort was palpable. “Sasha’s thrilled that you knew Natalie so well as a kid. Let’s face it, I didn’t really come into Natalie’s life—except as a friend—until the end of high school.”

  Claire prided herself on not wincing. “And?”

  Dutch cast her a bemused expression. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?” He grimaced. “Hell, why should you?”

  He ran his hand across the back of his neck. “As much as I have my reservations about all of this, I realize it’s a good thing for Sasha to have relationships with other adults. For her to trust an adult other than family. And you did know Natalie at her age, so you can fill in a lot of details for her.”

  “Dutch, Sasha is welcome here anytime. You don’t have to ask me about it again. You and I—” Her breath caught on the last word, then she cleared her throat. “You and I don’t need to rehash the past or even talk to each other very much. You can drop her off, or I’ll come and get her, and we can hang out here. She already told me the last time you were both here that she’s interested in doing her 4-H project with the llamas.”

  Dutch’s face was relaxed again.

  “Thanks for understanding.” Although his voice was gruff she sensed he was sincere.

  “Sasha said she can get off the bus near your place, if that’s okay with you. I’ll pick her up an hour or so later. I’m thinking maybe once a week.” He was hesitant, as if he was asking her for a date.

  “By the way, this is entirely Sasha’s idea, Claire.”

  “And you do anything you can for your daughter.” She looked at his lips as she spoke. They were tightly pressed together.

  “This is for Sasha,” he muttered.

  “I get it, Dutch. Don’t worry, you haven’t given me the wrong impression.” He’d never let up on reminding her of his distrust.

  She took a deep breath and raised her chin. She met his gaze and kept her voice steady. “Why don’t we decide on two days a week so it’s a regular part of her schedule? If you’re tied up with work, I’ll run her home or she can wait for you here. I rarely go out in the evenings.”

  Darn it! Not something she wanted Dutch to know. The last thing she needed was for him to think she was pining away for lack of a love life.

  You don’t have a love life.

  “And if I have an evening date I can let you know ahead of time.” There. Let him chew on that.

  “I’m sure you will.” Dutch looked as if he was going to turn away, but he paused. “Claire, I want it clear between you and me that there is no ‘you and me.’ I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lead Sasha to assume anything different.”

  Heat rushed into her cheeks.

  What the heck had she thought, making that comment about a “date”? She sounded as though she was out on the prowl. Way to reinforce Dutch’s low opinion of her morals.

  “That’s all in the past, Dutch.”

  “Yes, but Sasha doesn’t know you as anyone other than her mother’s childhood friend. She doesn’t need to know any more. Nor do I want her to get any silly ideas that’ll only break her heart later on.”

  “I got it,” she said again.

  With that he pivoted and walked out of the cottage.

  Claire wanted to throw the mop at him. Or better yet, the bucket of soapy water. Typical Dutch—come in all charming and then leave her feeling like a complete loser.

  She grabbed the mop and went back to her cleaning. If she focused on her desire to make amends to Natalie for abandoning their friendship, she’d be fine. She’d be here for Sasha, regardless of her relationship with Dutch.

  The problem was that whenever Dutch was around she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. Her hands itched to touch him. And a few minutes earlier she’d thought he was going to kiss her. And she would’ve kissed him back—hard.

  Don’t lose sight of your goal. She’d finally rebuilt her reputation in Dovetail and even Dutch would acknowledge that she ran a decent llama farm.

  A romance with him was not a possibility.

  “DECAF?”

  “Sure. You got any of that Easter cake left?” Dutch smiled at Dottie as she poured his coffee.

  “Let me check. We ran out last night, but Mel was supposed to have another one ready by lunchtime.” Dottie frowned, the coffeepot held in one hand. “You’re not getting lunch first?”

  “Nope. I have three farms to visit before Sasha gets off the bus.”

  “You can’t survive on sweets, Dutch.”

  “Aw, Dottie, I don’t do this that often.”

  “True.” She eyed him. “Only when you’re upset. What’s got you going this time? Or should I say who?”

  Dutch jerked on his stool, as if Dottie’s slap had been physical.

  “No one’s got me going, Dot.” He threw back half the coffee and groaned.

  “Burned your mouth, did you?” Dottie smiled and sauntered off to serve a new customer.

  Dottie was right, but he’d never admit it, not to her. Yeah, he was definitely stirred up. By Claire Renquist.

  He’d acted like a teenager. His brain had gone straight to his crotch the minute he saw her on the stepladder in her tight jeans. She was no longer a girl; she was a woman with a body that didn’t quit. It was hard to ignore her sexiness, despite the dumpy sweaters and old jeans she wore.

  The chemistry between them had only intensified. He wondered if what he felt today had anything to with how he’d felt about her as a teenager. But this was deeper, stronger.

  He’d had his share of dates since Natalie died, and he didn’t want for companionship—it was there if he asked for it. But he’d never brought a woman home, never got involved enough to necessitate introducing Sasha to his date. He made sure the women he saw weren’t from nearby. The Internet was good for that sort of thing.

  He sighed and sipped his coffee. It had cooled, but his desire hadn’t. He didn’t want another date, a one-night stand to ease his physical needs. He wanted someone he could share his life with. Someone who could be a mother to Sasha.

  The realization that it was time to look for more in a woman than an evening’s companionship—or a warm bed—suddenly hit him. Coffee sloshed over the side of his mug as he set it down.

  Why did it have to be Claire who’d made him aware of his need for a life partner?

  He could never be with Claire. Even if he was able to forgive her for hurting Natalie, he’d never shake the feeling that Claire was going to catch the next train out of here.

  “You’re thinking way too hard.” Dottie slid the porcelain plate with its huge piece of hummingbird cake that Mel, her baker, always made for the spring holidays.

  “This will cure it.” Dutch grinned and forked up a large bite. He usually didn’t give in to his sweet tooth, but every now and then it was worth it.

  “Mel has the touch, that’s for sure.” As if hearing her own words, Dottie’s hands stilled and her face flushed.

  “Dottie, do you have a thing for your baker?” Dutch teased.

  “Me? You’ve got to be kidding! I’ve been widowed for over ten years. Why do I need a man in my life now?”

&n
bsp; “Why not?” He didn’t point out that she’d avoided the question.

  “Because I’m happy on my own, that’s why.” She stared at him. “What about you, Dutch? You and Sasha could use someone—for both of you.”

  “When the time’s right.” He swallowed some coffee with the last bite of cake. “And when it’s the right person.”

  Dottie watched him wolf down the last of the cake. “Sometimes the right person isn’t of your choosing, Dutch. And don’t expect her to show up on your time line, either. Life has a way of giving us what we need rather than what we want.”

  Before he could respond, she added, “Or what we think we want.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE NEXT DAY, Dutch and Sasha pulled into Claire’s driveway at four-fifteen. He immediately swerved to miss the person walking in the middle of the drive.

  He stopped and lowered his window.

  Claire’s eyes were wide. “I thought Sasha was coming on the bus—hi, Sasha!” She waved at the girl who bounced in the front passenger seat. So Claire had intended to meet Sasha at the end of the drive, right where the bus would have dropped her.

  Well, that was one point for Claire. She showed the same protectiveness toward Sasha that he did.

  “Hi, Claire!” Sasha screamed her greeting in Dutch’s ear. He turned and looked at his daughter, the only reason he was back at Claire’s place. After coming dangerously close to blowing his resolve about keeping his distance from Claire, he would’ve preferred to visit the llamas when Claire wasn’t around.

  Yeah, right.

  “I’m getting out—wait!” Sasha yelled to Claire, again through Dutch’s head.

  “Would you mind sparing your dad’s hearing, Sash?”

  She giggled. “Sorry, Dad.” Then she asked, “Can I get out and walk with Claire?”

  “Sure. I’ll bring your bag up to the house.”

  “Thanks.” Sasha slid out of the cab and slammed the door behind her. He waited for her to clear the hood and start walking alongside Claire.

  Sasha reached up and grabbed the knit cap off Claire’s head. He didn’t recognize the emotion that clenched his gut. What did Sasha see in Claire?

  He groaned. Was he actually jealous of Claire—and Sasha’s growing adoration of her?

  He felt as low as a toad in a ditch. Sasha was his daughter, and he was doing this for her sake. He didn’t need to feel envious of anyone else’s relationship with her, at least not until she brought home her first boyfriend.

  Still…Dutch didn’t like how this was going. Claire and Sasha bent toward each other as they examined Claire’s hat. It was a pretty miserable attempt at a hat; even he could tell that.

  Yet Sasha’s hands were near Claire’s, feeling the stitches Claire had knit. As if she’d known Claire her whole life. As if Claire had never hurt her father or her mother.

  In his mind he saw Claire’s hand holding a crochet hook when they were juniors in high school. Her hand—hell, all of her—had mesmerized him back then. He clearly remembered her working with the bright blue yarn that was their school’s color. He’d thought Claire was making herself something to wear to the Dovetail Dogs games, but she’d given it to him at Christmas—a scarf.

  That was a long time ago, man.

  He shook the memory off.

  Stopping the truck, he waited for them to catch up, then leaned out the window. Rascal, who’d come along for the ride, poked his head out alongside Dutch.

  “Sasha, I’m sure Claire has work to get done. Why don’t you sit in the truck while I examine the llamas?”

  “Dad.” Sasha gave him a “what, are you nuts?” look, not unlike Natalie used to.

  “Sasha.” His voice came out firmer than he’d meant, but it didn’t appear to faze Sasha.

  “I don’t want to get back in the truck, Dad. I’m here to see Claire and the llamas, remember? Plus, I’m helping Claire with her knitting.”

  “It’s fine with me, Dutch.” Claire didn’t meet his eyes, gazing down at her hat instead. Her tone was neutral for Sasha’s sake, but he caught her innuendo. He’d been the one who’d asked to bring Sasha out here; now he was acting like…like some kind of psycho.

  Dutch nodded, rolled up the window and drove past them toward the barn. He’d lived long enough to know that a wise man didn’t argue with two women at once.

  Anger roiled deep in his gut. Who the hell did Claire think she was, saying, “It’s fine with me,” as if she had a role in any kind of decision-making where his daughter was concerned?

  You came here, he told himself. You allowed Sasha to spend time with her. Move on, man.

  They said raising kids was tough. He realized growing up wasn’t easy for Sasha, either. But right now he felt as though he was the one with growing pains.

  GO STICK YOURSELF in the mud, Claire thought as she watched Dutch slowly drive away. It wasn’t like she had some communicable disease, for heaven’s sake. And she was the last person who’d ever do anything to hurt Sasha, the daughter of her dearest childhood friend.

  “Tell you what, Sash. It’s cold out here and your dad’s going to be a while. Why don’t we go inside and stay warm? You can see the llamas before you leave.”

  “Great!” Sasha trotted next to Claire. When they passed the barn, Claire glanced over to see Dutch standing next to Stormy, who’d been out in the field all day. She was definitely getting stronger.

  He looked up, and Claire turned back to Sasha. They’d reached the gravel path to the house’s side steps.

  “Careful, these are tricky. I plan to rip them out and extend the front porch to a wraparound as soon as I can afford to.”

  Sasha gave the farmhouse an assessing glance.

  “I think a big porch would be cool. Will you screen it in? Our back deck isn’t screened and we can never sit out there in the summer. The mosquitoes are terrible!”

  Claire laughed. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but you’re right—no sense having a nice porch if you can’t enjoy it. I’ll have to add screening to my budget.”

  As soon as she started making some serious money from the farm. If it wasn’t for her freelance consulting work, she couldn’t afford to continue living here and running the farm.

  Claire opened the door and ushered Sasha into the kitchen.

  “But didn’t your reporter job make you rich?” As she spoke Sasha’s eyes moved from side to side, taking in every detail.

  Claire pulled out a heavy oak chair from the farm table she’d found on consignment last summer. “Hardly. I mean, I had a bit of a nest egg that enabled me to buy the house and farm and the first few llamas.” In fact, she’d barely covered the costs of the past year with the beginnings of her llama fiber business. If she hadn’t met a woman willing to hand-spin some of the fiber so Claire could sell it out of the barn, her finances would’ve been quite dismal.

  “So how do you make money?”

  “I’m still working as an independent contractor for various government agencies. They ask for my opinion on different issues, and I write a report.” She took out the ingredients for hot chocolate and two mugs. Then she added a third mug; Dutch was bound to be chilled when he came in from the barn.

  “Eventually, I hope to have a full stock, everything from roving—” she referred to the raw fiber product “—to yarn, in all colors. I’ll sell all kinds of fibers, from suppliers all over the world, but the only llama fiber I want to sell is mine.”

  Sasha nodded thoughtfully.

  “I think a llama blend is best, and I’d like to have different types for sale,” Claire explained. “Llama’s the most successful when it’s blended with other fibers that hold their shape better—like soy, silk or merino. I might also invest in alpacas.”

  “Alpacas are neat. I saw one at the state fair last year.”

  Claire agreed. The smaller, gentler version of the llama also produced a finer fiber, one that sold at more lucrative prices.

  “Yeah, well, it all takes time.” Claire me
asured the cocoa powder into their mugs while they waited for the kettle to whistle.

  “Did you notice that small building closer to the road when you came in?” she asked.

  “The haunted cottage?”

  Claire raised her eyebrows. “It’s haunted?”

  “We drive by it on our school bus in the afternoon, and everyone says it’s been haunted since forever.”

  “Really?” Claire smiled at how the building seemed so old to the young kids. It hadn’t seemed that old when she, Dutch and Natalie were kids.

  “The daughter of the owner before me tried to turn it into a B and B.” At Sasha’s blank look, Claire explained, “Bed and breakfast.”

  Claire stirred the hot chocolate as she poured hot water over it. “But they got ill before they could realize their dream. It was never even remodeled. I’m turning the cottage into a yarn shop.”

  “Cool.”

  Based on her expectant look, Sasha seemed happy just to be in a conversation with her, even if talk of Claire’s business bored her.

  She decided to change the subject. “What’s your favorite subject in school?”

  Sasha tilted her head. “I like Social Studies, especially when we learn about a really different country. But I really love Earth Science. I love stuff about the planets and space.”

  “Hmm. You could become a meteorologist.”

  “Yeah, but the math part isn’t so fun. I mean, math’s easy for me, but kind of dull, you know?”

  Claire couldn’t imagine anything Sasha didn’t excel at. The bright intelligence in her gaze was familiar. Dutch had held the number-one spot in their high school class all four years.

  Dutch.

  Claire ignored the voice that told her she was crazy for going anywhere near Dutch or Sasha.

  She’d been Natalie’s best friend for most of their lives—at least until Dutch had connected with Natalie. Claire could share her early history with Sasha, fill in some details about her mother….

  “What did my mom want to be when she was my age? Do you remember?”

  “Let me think.” Claire blew on her hot chocolate. “When we were younger, in third or fourth grade, she wanted to be a nurse. She’d read about Florence Nightingale in Social Studies and because she liked the smell of brand-new Band-Aids she figured it was the job for her. Then she read Nancy Drew—”