"She's something, isn't she?" Brady said. He seemed to have recovered his composure.
Another pang squeezed Haven's heart at the fatherly pride in his voice. Whether he knew it or not, he was rapidly falling under Anna's spell. Would there come a time when, despite his promise, he would decide he couldn't live without her? What would Haven do then? The thought was unbearable.
"Yes," she agreed quietly, "she is."
A few minutes later she was seated in a booth directly across from Brady, her hands wrapped around the steaming cup of coffee he'd insisted on buying. Ten feet away, Anna played happily in a tent filled with brightly colored balls, her orange juice and cheese Danish untouched.
"For someone who's not quite three, she seems pretty mature," Brady commented.
Haven nodded, her gaze on the little girl. "That's because she's always been around older children. She took her first step and spoke her first word at nine months. Josephine's fond of saying that she hasn't stopped running off at the legs or the mouth since."
Brady chuckled, and Haven's gaze flew to his face. "You do know how," she said in wonder.
"How to what?"
"Laugh."
"You seem surprised."
"I am. I got the impression yesterday that it's been a long time since you laughed."
He seemed to think it over. "It has been."
"So you always take life seriously?"
"Life's a serious business. Certainly my reason for being here with you is."
"Yes," she agreed. "Still, everyone needs to laugh a little now and then."
"Really?"
His expression was deadpan, but the light of laughter twinkled in his eyes. So he had a sense of humor, too.
After a pause, he asked, "Who's Josephine?"
Gray eyes returned her regard unflinchingly, and she was struck once again by their uncanny intelligence, a gift he'd obviously passed on to his daughter. If Anna was his— She halted midthought. It was time to stop hiding behind false hope. In all likelihood, the man sitting across from her would prove to be Anna's father. Why would he go to all this bother if he wasn't certain of the outcome?
"Josephine was my nanny when I was a little girl. She helps me now at the center, and at home with Anna."
"Why does Anna call you 'Binny'?"
She was uncomfortably aware of the intentness of his gaze and overwhelmingly aware of his every movement. He was so close that, even though they weren't touching, she could feel the heat rising from his arms and smell the spiciness of his aftershave. She lowered her gaze and saw a pulse beating in the hollow of his throat, and caught a glimpse of the fine gold hair matting his chest. Her fingers tightened around the foam cup, then loosened when hot liquid threatened to spill over the rim.
"When she first started talking, she had trouble with her v's and called me 'Haben.' Somewhere along the line she shortened it to 'Binny.'"
"So she doesn't call you 'Mommy.'"
His words probed at a wound that refused to heal, no matter how hard she wished it would. "I'm not her mother," she said slowly, training her gaze at a point over his shoulder.
"Does she know about her mother?"
Haven nodded. "I've told her all about Melinda."
"What about me? Does she know anything about me?"
She looked at him then. "If you're asking if she knows anything about her father, the answer's no. She hasn't asked, and I haven't volunteered."
"Time's running out," he said. "We should have the test results in three to four weeks. When they prove my claim, you're going to have to tell her something."
She stiffened. "I'm aware of that."
"Watch me, Mistuh Woss!" Anna called. When she had his attention, she turned a somersault in the balls.
"That's wonderful, Anna," Brady praised.
Obviously, Anna didn't share Haven's reservations about him. But then, Anna trusted that everyone had her best interests at heart, because that was her experience of the world.
Haven sought for something sensible to say, but her mind wouldn't work along sensible lines. Her emotions were in too much turmoil.
"I think we should get to know each other," she blurted, then inwardly groaned. Lack of sleep had obviously addled her brain.
Brady raised an eyebrow in sardonic inquiry. "Know thy enemy?"
She shrugged. "Something like that."
An uneasy silence settled between them, and Haven busied herself stirring her coffee. When she looked up, she found herself staring straight into his eyes. Eyes that first questioned, then darkened with an awareness as old as time, their expression as searing as a touch. For a long minute, she couldn't think, couldn't even breathe. Hard as she willed herself to, she couldn't look away.
Brady broke the contact first, his gaze roving to Anna. When he looked back at Haven, a change had come over him. To her surprise, a teasing light had replaced the awareness in his eyes.
"What do you want to know?" he asked lazily.
Everything, unfortunately. Haven bit her lip in dismay and willed her heartbeat to return to normal. This uncontrolled attraction to the man was growing totally out of hand and rapidly turning her from a self-assured, responsible, mature woman into an insecure, trembling, blathering wreck. The only answer was to keep their dealings as impersonal as possible.
"I suppose we should start with what you do for a living," she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral.
He folded his arms behind his head and leaned back against the booth. "Nothing. I'm currently between jobs."
Since none of Anna's other so-called fathers had mastered the art of steady employment, she should have seen that coming. "When you did work, what did you do?"
"I was in the army."
She eyed him skeptically. "What rank?"
"Major." Her surprise must have shown on her face, because he added, "Is that so hard to believe?"
Only that a man like him had advanced so far through the ranks. Judging by the length of his hair, he and the army had parted company some time ago. She wanted to ask if that was where he'd received the injury that had left him with his limp, but decided the question fell under the heading of personal information.
"Are you married?" It wasn't a personal question. If there was going to he another woman exercising an influence over Anna, she had the right to know.
"I'm not into commitments."
Then why was he here? "What about Anna? Isn't she a commitment?"
"No. She's a responsibility."
At the moment, his responsibility was giggling with someone else's responsibility as they played tag in the balls. "To me, they sound like one and the same," she said.
"Actually, they're not. A commitment is something you enter into willingly. A responsibility is often thrust at you—something you have no choice but to fulfill the best way you know how."
She really wasn't attracted to him, Haven thought as she gritted her teeth and counted to ten. She never could be attracted to such an infuriating man.
"That's all Anna means to you? A responsibility you have to fulfill?"
He had the grace to look uncomfortable. "My feelings for Anna are a little more … complex than that."
After a pause, she asked, "So, do you plan on getting a job soon?"
The teasing light back in his eyes, he shrugged. "If the right one comes along."
"But you're not actively looking."
"At the moment, no."
And he wanted her to believe he wasn't after Anna's money. Her voice hardened. "Where have you been since Melinda wrote you that letter?"
The laughter in his eyes died, and a nerve pulsed in his cheek. "Away from Pittsburgh."
The man was impossible. Gritting her teeth, Haven stood up. She had to get out of there. Before she said something she'd regret, something that would alienate him totally and have repercussions she hadn't planned.
"I really do have to get back to the center," she said, grabbing her purse. "Thanks for the coffee."
* *
*
Chapter 3
« ^ »
It was midafternoon when Brady followed a woman out one of the day care center's rear doors to an open area covered by grass, trees and playground equipment. Cries of children at play filled the air. The woman pointed to a spot about a hundred feet away, and he saw Haven pushing a boy on a swing.
Murmuring his thanks, he set off across the grass, which was worn away in spots from the trampling of feet. Threading his way past slides and sandboxes, he deftly sidestepped the hurtling bodies that chased into his path. As he walked, he mentally rehearsed the speech he'd prepared on the drive over. A speech he promptly forgot when something hit him in the back of the head. Hard.
Wincing, Brady rubbed at the sore spot. When he looked down at his feet, he saw a football.
"Thorry, mithter."
He glanced from the football to a little girl whose thick-lensed glasses made her look like a wise old owl. She stared back at him, arms extended expectantly. Chuckling, Brady picked up the football and tossed it to her. She immediately ran back to her friends.
He turned his attention to Haven. The sunlight transformed the riot of curls on her head to liquid fire at the same time it turned the tip of her nose and her shoulders pink. The sleeveless yellow dress that had seemed so fresh and springlike this morning was now hopelessly wrinkled. A stain on the bodice looked suspiciously like cherry Kool-Aid.
His heart thudded painfully. Lord, but she was beautiful. He'd seen so little beauty over the past few years that she totally dazzled him.
The little boy she was pushing said something, and Haven brought the swing to a halt. A tender smile curved her lips as she watched the child scamper over to the slides. Brady knew the exact moment she saw him, because her smile abruptly faded. Her body grew rigid, and she held her arms stiffly at her sides. With her chin thrust out, she regarded his approach through wary blue eyes.
"What are you doing here?" she asked in a low voice when he drew even with her.
"We need to talk."
The look she sent him was not encouraging. "I think we've done enough talking for one day."
He didn't blame her for being angry. Nor did he blame her for walking out on him earlier. He'd acted like a jerk. A complete and total jerk.
Vividly, he recalled the feelings that had washed over him in front of the lab when Anna had walked up to him and introduced herself. Unable to speak, he'd stood staring at her, sheer panic pulsing through his veins. He hadn't had the vaguest notion of what to do, what to say. She was his daughter. His daughter.
Never had he felt more inadequate. He'd jumped out of airplanes into enemy territory without batting an eyelash. He'd planned and led raids on enemy installations, and his pulse had remained steady. He'd survived the torture meted out by the most sadistic SOBs he'd had the misfortune to meet, and he hadn't lost it—well, hardly ever. Yet there he'd stood in front of his daughter, paralyzed by doubt and insecurity.
Like the cavalry, Haven had come along and rescued him. And he'd repaid her by deliberately goading her until she'd been so furious she'd walked out.
He'd had no choice. She made him feel too vulnerable. With just a smile, a mere look, the woman could do things to his heartbeat that should have been illegal. He didn't dare think of the effect she'd have on him if he actually touched her. She'd probably send him into immediate cardiac arrest.
To make matters even more complicated, she was as drawn to him as he was to her. He'd felt it in the air, seen it burning in her eyes, as they sat so close to one another in that booth. That she was fighting it as hard as he was, was equally apparent. Which was why he'd decided to give her the ammunition that would make her keep him at arm's length. If the way she was looking at him now was any indication, the tactic had been enormously successful. The fire was out. Too bad it still smoldered deep inside him.
There was a solution. By most anyone's standards, it had been a long time since he'd taken a woman to his bed. Obviously, his fixation on his daughter's guardian was a direct result of his forced celibacy. Eliminate the celibacy, and the fixation would disappear.
Still, when he thought about going out and searching for a willing woman to satisfy his need, the idea held little appeal. Even though he'd never intended on settling down, his past relationships had all been long-term, with women who knew the score and who'd usually been content not to ask for more than he could give. For practical, as well as health reasons, he'd abandoned casual sex long before his capture. He saw no need, other than the temporary release it would bring him, to resume the practice.
The only other solution—embarking on a long-term relationship—was out of the question. Right now, he had nothing to offer any woman. He had no time for anything or anyone but his daughter and his search for a purpose for the rest of his life.
Summoning the rigid self-control he'd cultivated as a child and mastered in captivity, Brady shoved his unwilling awareness of Haven Adams to the back of his brain. His attraction to her wasn't important. His daughter, however, was.
"I know things haven't exactly gotten off on the right footing with us," he said, threading his fingers through his hair. "That's my fault. From the beginning, I've handled this whole thing badly. You may not believe it, but I didn't come here to antagonize you."
Her eyes filled with disbelief, a disbelief that turned to sarcasm when she spoke. "Yesterday you marched into my office, all stern and forbidding, and without warning announced you are Anna's father. Then this morning you act like having a job is about as desirable as catching the bubonic plague. Forgive me if I have a hard time believing you didn't set out to deliberately antagonize me."
He wondered if she knew how expressive her eyes were, how they mirrored her every thought. Despite his rigid self-control, he couldn't help wondering how they would look after making love, wide and filled with carnal knowledge, her lids heavy with satisfaction.
When his body started to automatically respond to his thoughts, Brady gave himself a mental kick in the backside. Now was certainly not the time for such thoughts. In fact, where his child's guardian was concerned, there never would be a right time. His life was chaotic enough. He didn't need any messy complications.
What he did need was to tell her that, although he was unemployed, he wasn't without resources. That he was, in fact, richer than Anna. On second thought, he decided against it. While he wanted to heal the breach between them, it would be better all around if Haven remained wary of him until such time that their only contact occurred when he stopped by to pick up and return Anna. Nurturing her belief that he was an aimless drifter would go a long way toward maintaining that wariness.
"It's not easy for me to let down my guard with other people," he said, instead. "I'm a private person, Haven, I don't give my trust easily. I don't think you do, either."
He waited for her to say something, but she just stood there, staring at him.
Inwardly, he sighed. This wasn't going at all well. "You have every right to be skeptical of my motives. Hell, if I were you and someone like me waltzed into my office the way I did into yours, I probably would have tossed him out on his ear. I never should have made my announcement that way. I should have prepared you first. It's just … I've been as knocked off my feet by this whole thing as you have. I didn't know how to react. Believe me when I say, all I want is what's best for Anna."
She said nothing for a long moment. "What if I tell you that I think your leaving is what's best for Anna?"
He shook his head. "I can't do that."
The tilt in her chin turned mutinous. "Because she's your responsibility."
Responsibility. What an understatement that word was. And totally inadequate regarding his feelings for his daughter.
"Partly," he acknowledged with a nod. "But I also want to get to know Anna, to be there when she needs me. I want her to know me, too. And I want us to find a way to make this possible without turning her life upside down."
Shading his eyes, he looked around
the crowded playground. "Where is she, by the way? I don't see her out here."
"Napping. The threes and under always nap this time of day."
"I see." He dropped his arm. "Like it or not, Haven, I'm not going anywhere any time soon. Somehow, we have to find a way to work together. For Anna's sake, if for no other reason. I know I'm asking a lot, but could we start over?"
All the fight seemed to go out of her. Her shoulders slumped, and she looked down at the ground.
"When I got home last night, I compared the letter you gave me with other letters Melinda wrote to me."
She spoke so softly he had to strain to hear. "And?"
Her shoulders rose and fell in a tiny shrug. "If it's a forgery, it's a very clever one."
"It's not a forgery, Haven."
She looked up at him then, and he saw torment in her eyes. "Melinda said you'd never come. She said you wanted nothing to do with Anna."
"Melinda was mistaken." His gaze held hers as, silently, he tried to reassure her that he wasn't a threat to her. "What about it, Haven? Can we start over?"
A long, sighing breath left her. She extended her hand. "Haven Adams," she said solemnly.
"Brady Ross," he replied, equally solemn.
"Nice to meet you, Brady."
"Nice to meet you, too, Haven."
She opened her mouth to say something more, and was interrupted by a commotion off to her right. Brady heard the sound of angry voices, followed by a cry of pain and a high wailing. When he looked over, he saw a group of children quickly forming a circle around a little boy who lay huddled on the ground.
"Excuse me," Haven said. She hastened to join another woman, who was already crouched at the side of the child on the ground. He'd lowered his arms, and tears streamed down a face sprinkled liberally with freckles.
Outside the circle the children had formed protectively around their fallen comrade stood a young boy, fists balled at his sides. It was this child who drew Brady's attention. He looked to be about six. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was the cause of his classmate's distress.
The boy had pale-blond hair and blue eyes set in the face of an angel. There was nothing angelic, however, about the look in his eyes. They were jaded and old before his time. And filled with rage.
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