A Father's Promise

by Helen R. Myers

  “Oh, please. I suppose this disaster happened while you two were discussing next week’s menu? To think I was beginning to believe you actually could change, Paladin.” She shook her head and headed back toward the door. “I only came over to tell you that your attorney phoned,” she said over her shoulder. “He’d like you to call him as soon as possible.”

  “Dana!” John rushed outside after her, Durango’s hoot of pleasure following him. The mid-November morning had a bite to it, but it wasn’t anything compared to the chill that went through him at the thought of what she might do. What if she quit? What if she refused to listen?

  He caught up with her in his own kitchen. “Dana, will you give me a second to explain?”

  “More excuses, Paladin? I know I’m a soft touch, but don’t push your luck.”

  She kept her back to him and reached for the hamper of baby clothes he’d put into the dryer earlier. It reminded John of how much she was sharing in the work around here, even though he’d insisted that dealing with the baby’s laundry wasn’t part of the bargain. She’d dismissed his protests by pointing out that it wasn’t as if she had to spend hours beating them on a rock by the spring.

  “You’ve got it all wrong,” he said, circling the center island from the other direction in an attempt to head her off.

  “Move, mister.” Fire flashed in her eyes. “I have to get back upstairs to check on J.J. He should be waking soon.”

  It was a risk, but John knew what he had to do. “Whoa,” he ordered, reaching around her waist and drawing her back as she tried to escape through the swinging door. “Just one minute,” he said into her ear, aware that it was important she know the truth now. “What you think you saw back there and what happened are two different things. If I was guilty of getting rough with Durango, I’d confess right here and now. You’ve got to believe that. But, Dana, this time you’re jumping to the wrong conclusions.”

  When he realized she’d stopped trying to twist free of his hold, he released her and gave her the space he knew she wanted. He could see they were both remembering the last time he’d done that, and the terror it had spawned in her…the regret in him.

  He held up both hands and smiled grimly. “I only wanted to explain. Durango got the utensil drawer stuck. Again. He does it every couple of months or so. He’s a great cook, but he’s hell on appliances and furnishings.”

  The look on her face went from doubtful to mortified. “You mean you weren’t going overboard over some petty misunderstanding or agreement?”

  “Nope.”

  “But I thought…it looked awful. You seemed so angry.”

  “Try landing on your butt on hard tile and have a dozen stainless-steel sharp objects attack you.”

  “Oh, Lord. I was positive it was worse.” She pressed a hand to her mouth. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “It was an honest mistake.”

  “Don’t be overly generous. I jumped to conclusions.”

  She looked so sweet. Devastated. Lost. It was all John could do not to take her in his arms. But one apology did not make a windfall, he reminded himself; nevertheless, he couldn’t resist reaching out to stroke her hair. “Hey, it’s enough to know you’re not angry with me. It would hurt like hell to know I’d disappointed you for—what? The umpteenth time?”

  “Instead the shoe’s on the other foot.” She moistened her lips, her gaze not quite able to meet his. “I should have known better…John. You’ve been trying so hard these past weeks.”

  His pleasure reminded him of a rare nonworking Christmas, his sixth, when his father had presented him with his first saddle. Somehow he’d secured it to a dining room chair and his pancakes and sausages had never tasted better.

  “You think so? I wasn’t sure you’ve been noticing.”

  “Of course I’ve noticed. I’ve just been—”

  “Cautious.” John didn’t know all the gory details about what life in the Dixon household had been like, but he had a good idea. This, added to the grief he’d put her through during his salad days, made him wish he could convince her to put down the basket and let him hold her. That’s all, simply hold her. “I know. It’s okay.”

  “No. I mean, it’s not entirely okay. I’m beginning to see that it’s not fair to make someone pay for someone else’s mistakes. In the future I’ll try my best not to prejudge.” She looked everywhere but at him. “That’s not much, but—”

  “It’s a lot, Irish.”

  “You think so?”

  Her uncertainty brought a lump to his throat and desire surging through his blood, until his skin felt too hot, too tight to contain him. But the longer their gazes held, the easier it was to believe he would have suffered almost anything to experience this moment.

  “Yeah. You bet.” Dear God, he needed to keep from disappointing her again, almost as much as he needed to reexperience holding her again. It was an ache that gripped him like a merciless fist and made breathing virtually impossible.

  “I really should be getting upstairs,” she murmured, after countless seconds passed. “J.J…. um…”

  “In a minute.” His voice sounded as thick as hers sounded shaky. “There was something I wanted to ask you.”

  “Yes?”

  She looked pleased. That gave him courage. “It’s almost Thanksgiving. J.J.’s first.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. All those firsts, I mean. It’s mind-boggling.” Her smile began in her eyes but quickly, sweetly curved her lips into a luscious bow. “It’ll be a special time for you.”

  “I thought that maybe, if you didn’t mind…” He lost his train of thought while rubbing her hair between his fingers, hypnotized by its silky texture. Nothing had a right to be this lush, this rich in color. “Maybe if you had nothing else planned…”

  “No, nothing. To be perfectly honest, I’ve gotten to the point where it’s just another day. I suppose that’s a shameful thing to admit.”

  “Well, we can’t have that. You have to eat, and we always have more than enough.”

  He couldn’t help it; he had to get closer, or die. He lowered his head until they were both protected by the shadow of his hat. The air grew thick and humid like a hot summer day.

  “Does that mean you’re inviting me?” she whispered, her breath still teasing his cheek even though she leaned back slightly.

  “Yeah. Yes. Please. It wouldn’t be the same here without you.”

  “I suppose I could be of help with J.J.”

  He wanted her to understand that this wasn’t by any means another day like all the others, that her presence meant more than merely a baby-sitter for J.J. But he couldn’t find the words. They got lost in the bale of cotton suddenly filling his head. “Is that a yes?” he asked, almost afraid to pose the question for fear it would break the aura between them. “It’s gotta be a yes, Irish.”

  How could she have said anything else? Nevertheless, as Dana descended the stairs with J.J. a short while after noon on Thanksgiving day, she was conscious of the butterflies in her stomach. When she was helping Durango set the table earlier, his unfamiliarity with the location of the good china and silverware gave her a strong suspicion that this was the first time John had invited his men into his formal dining room. That made it feel all the stranger to be here bearing his son in her arms.

  It had made her dress with extra care for the occasion. Nothing too loud or blatant. But nothing too meek, either, in order to instill in herself some much needed self-confidence. In the end, she’d chosen a sapphire blue jersey shift, sophisticated but washable—in case of an accident, she’d reminded herself. The faux pearl and blue topaz necklace and matching earrings softened the look; they also created a diversion for the baby in case he got restless.

  The important thing, as far as her own confidence was concerned, was not to end up looking like “the other woman.” Not that she needed to defend herself. But that phone call from John’s attorney had been about Celene. She’d been located in Atlantic City
where she’d been taking lessons to become a blackjack dealer at one of the casinos. Divorce papers were said to be in process, and if ever there was a time for Dana to keep herself distanced from a situation, it was now.

  As she approached the bottom of the stairs, John appeared from the dining room. Dressed in an ivory suede shirt and gray leather vest over matching dress jeans, he epitomized every female fantasy of a successful, virile rancher. But what made Dana’s pulse become erratic was remembering how, in the days since he’d invited her, he’d taken enormous pains to assure her that she’d made the right decision to take their relationship to this next, closer level. Nothing blatant—only warm glances, tender smiles and fleeting touches. This was not like the charismatic but overbearing man she’d known before. She definitely had her work cut out for her.

  “Wow,” he said softly, as she reached the bottom step.

  Completely at a loss what to reply, she murmured, “Same to you.” She hated the way he made her tonguetied, and being reminded of how little she’d dated before her father’s death. How things hadn’t changed much afterward because she had her mother to care for. What did you say to a man who took your breath away without giving the wrong signals?

  “I’m not sure it’s safe to let the rest of the guys see you.”

  “Maybe we should call this off? I can go back upstairs and just sit with the baby.”

  John shook his head and lightly touched his hand to the small of her back urging her in the opposite direction. “And break everyone’s heart? They’re acting as if it were Christmas in there. Wish I could say the same for Durango. I have a feeling he’s going to paint the kitchen blue before the day’s over.”

  “Blue?”

  “Not literally. He was trying to impress you and burned his pecan and sweet potato pies. It’s his language that’s—colorful.”

  Dana couldn’t imagine anyone’s nerves being stretched more than hers. “This isn’t fair. You should have let him work with his own appliances.”

  “Now don’t you get any ideas about encouraging him,” he said, tickling his son’s chin. “He’s already threatened to quit twice. As soon as the bird is on the table and he starts hearing the raves, he’ll be fine. He always is.”

  It was nice to see John relaxed, to see the maturity and mellowing creating a new persona. Dana was able to enter the dining room with a renewed sense of confidence—a good thing, too, since they were greeted with dead silence the moment they entered.

  There were four men besides John and Durango. One by one they either cleared their throats or swallowed, then sprang to their feet, each looking toward the other for a clue what to do and say. Dana knew she was no help. She could discuss floating drafts and estimated tax ratios with anyone, but she felt at a complete loss when someone reacted to her as a woman.

  My goodness, she thought, they’re as afraid of me as I am of them. Small wonder, she realized a moment later when she cast a curious glance at John. He was staring at the men with a look that could only be described as impaling. Did he think he could bully them into making her feel welcome? Or was this more an act of possession?

  Deciding it didn’t matter as long as things didn’t get out of hand, she summoned the best smile she could. “Please, everyone be comfortable,” she added, taking her own seat and setting J.J. on her lap. Because John hovered close to assist her, she had the opportunity to glance up at him and whisper, “Behave yourself.”

  She’d seen most of the men before, but one by one they introduced themselves. Zeke…Hap…T.J…. Fred…They were leather-faced, wary-eyed lonely men, whose best attire appeared to be pressed flannel shirts and the newest jeans they owned. The creases in those jeans looked nearly as perfect as the parts in their slicked-back hair. Dana didn’t assume she knew a great deal about men, but she had a hunch she was being paid the ultimate compliment.

  It took Durango to lighten the atmosphere. The moment he entered with the huge laden platter talking to the bird as though it were about to be presented at court, a roar of laughter and applause filled the room. It was enough to startle J.J. from a light slumber and he stared around the room with wonder and a snort of censure.

  “Listen to him,” T.J. said, pointing a callused and bony finger. “He’s already got his old man’s growl down pat.”

  “At least the little pistol’s a lot better-looking,” Zeke replied, making faces across the table at the baby.

  “Well, he better like charcoaled dessert,” Durango added, his tone no-nonsense, “cuz that’s all I got, and I’ll burn more if y’all don’t get yourselves settled and start digging into this grub.”

  As he began shuffling back to the kitchen, Dana looked at his flushed, shiny face and felt immediate sympathy. “Do you need help?”

  “Of course he doesn’t,” John replied, before the cook could answer. “He does this all the time. He’s used to it.”

  “I’m used to it,” Durango replied dutifully with a sour smile, “but thanks kindly for the thought.”

  Despite his mood, apparently he was, for the next hour passed in a blur of activity and conversation, while Durango delighted them with platter after platter of delicious food. Dana decided even a starving cavalry couldn’t have done justice to the bounty that had inundated them.

  It was an hour later when the sated group leaned back in their chairs and waxed eloquent about the feast and football games. John had already relieved Dana of J.J.—after the baby had enjoyed his bottle, of course—so she could finish the cold but tasty morsels on her plate. He was burping the boy, still involved in an energetic discussion with T.J. regarding the weaknesses of one particular team scheduled to play, when suddenly the baby accented the cowboy’s scathing opinion of the quarterback by hiccuping a mouthful of formula into the V-neckline of his father’s shirt.

  Dana had to press her napkin to her mouth to keep from joining in the roar of laughter that rose around the table. The horrified grimace on John’s face helped her suppress it. She reached for the baby. “C’mon, young man. This is what’s known as ‘the perfect time for a hasty retreat.’”

  Her departure was followed by laughs and encouragement.

  “Aw…just make the boss go. He’s the one who looks gross.”

  “See you around, Miz Dana.”

  “Thanks for the company, ma’am.”

  It was lovely to feel part of the group, but what made her heart really go into overdrive was realizing John was following her upstairs. Well, funny, too, she thought, laughter finally bursting free as she glanced back and found him with a handful of napkins still wiping himself off.

  “Let’s get you both out of those stained things, and I’ll rinse them out,” she said at the top of the stairs.

  “Heck no,” John replied, although his sculpted face looked permanently frozen in a grimace. “You’ve done more than your share. Let me get this shirt off and I’ll do it.”

  Dana thought he would go to his own room to change. Instead he followed her into the baby’s room and stripped off his shirt as he watched her undress J.J. She tried not to pay attention, instead making a bigger fuss than usual over a very pleased-with-himself infant. But when John insisted on holding his son because she wanted to take their soiled things to the bathroom, she couldn’t help facing up to his bared chest and all that still-tanned, toned muscle. It was just a reminder that she’d never seen him this way before.

  “Something wrong?” he asked, as she realized she was spending far too much time focusing on the dense thatch of hair bisecting his chest.

  She had to wet her lips to reply. “Not at all. Um, why don’t you bring him to the bathroom, so I can wipe him off at the same time.”

  Self-conscious, she hurried across the hall and quickly filled the sink full of warm, soapy water. It became a test of wills not to look in the mirror for fear of what she would see in her own eyes, let alone his. Did he know how he affected her? Of course he did. But did he have a clue as to how every argument she’d ever made about why she didn�
��t want to get involved with anyone, let alone him, suddenly flew out of her head?

  “Does this go in there?” he asked, holding up his shirt, as she wet a washcloth and stepping closer to John carefully dabbed it against J.J.’s angel-soft skin.

  “Not unless you want to ruin it. Just put it on the counter and I’ll wipe away what I can when I’m done with the baby. We’ll hope the cleaners can do the rest.”

  She could feel the heat of him against the back of her hand as he stretched to do as she’d instructed. When a tiring J.J. decided he could do without his daddy’s movements he kicked impatiently, knocking Dana’s hand flush against John’s chest.

  As quickly as it happened, she recoiled. “Sorry,” she murmured, turning away from the two of them, intent on rinsing out the washcloth.

  “Why? I’m not.”

  His husky baritone sent a wicked, delicious shiver down her spine. Helpless to resist, she glanced up and met his gaze in the vanity mirror. Awareness, like a waft of intense heat bursting from a furnace, singed her from the roots of her hair to the soles of her feet, and Dana knew if she didn’t do something, they would all suffocate from the lack of oxygen in the room.

  “John…” she whispered, feeling her own helplessness—and no small fear.

  “Easy, Irish. I’m not doing anything. Just looking.”

  “That’s the problem.”

  “Lots of guys have looked at you, Dana.”

  “Maybe. But none of them have scared me the way you do,” she admitted, lowering her gaze to finish rinsing the cloth.

  He drew in a sharp breath. “Why?” he demanded a bit more forcefully.

  She knew she’d hurt his feelings. Knew he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly, or that he wanted to. But she also knew it was important to be honest. As honest as she could be. “There’s no real answer. Not an easy one, at any rate. You’re just different, Paladin.” Bigger. Stronger. More.

  “I like it better when you call me John. It doesn’t make me feel as though you’re holding me at arm’s length.”