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“Are you angry with Aunt Leah, Daddy?” Gracie asked, her concern evident in the hush of her voice and the frown furrowing her brow.
Mentally cursing himself for upsetting his daughter on her first night back at home, John tightened his hold on her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“No, Gracie, I’m not angry with your aunt Leah,” he said as they made their way up the staircase to the second floor.
Well, not any angrier than he’d been with anyone else intent on interfering with his life lately, he admitted to himself, not counting Gracie of course. But then, his daughter wasn’t any interference at all, never had been, and to his way of thinking, never would be. From the moment of her birth, she had been the light of his life.
“But you sounded kind of growly when you talked to her, Daddy,” Gracie insisted.
“Growly, huh?” he replied with a wry smile.
What a way she had of describing how he’d sounded! He smiled slightly, musing that his verbal release had resulted from the unfortunate mix of emotions he’d been experiencing all afternoon. Since Leah’s father had first advised him earlier that day that Leah was the so-called nanny they had found to help him look after Gracie for the summer, John had been angry and resentful and, to his consternation, oddly unsettled, as well.
He was used to the anger. It had gone hand in hand with the pain of losing Caro in such a tragic, senseless, unexpected way. Resentment, too, had been a good friend in the months since his wife’s untimely death. He didn’t want sympathy, because to his way of thinking he didn’t deserve it. He, and he alone, had been responsible for Caro’s death. He had earned every agonizing moment he’d lived since that fateful night, and then some.
The restiveness he had been battling the past few hours was something else altogether, though—a feeling he most definitely didn’t want to indulge in, especially in regard to Leah Hayes.
A heart thrum of tension had lanced through him at just the thought of having her in his life again on a daily basis—close enough to see, to touch. He’d wanted to roar like the caged and wounded beast he’d felt himself to be for far too long. When he’d actually had to open his door to her and meet her clear, level gaze face-to-face for the first time in eight years, he’d been stirred by a nearly uncontrollable urge to pull her into his arms, hold her close and confess, without any constraint, the many sins he’d committed.
It was lucky for all concerned that he had only come across as “growly.” And he would have to put a lid on even that particular tone of voice, at least whenever Gracie was around, he thought as he set her down just inside the bathroom doorway and switched on the overhead light.
“Yes, Daddy, very growly,” she assured him. Then, tugging at his hand, she added gravely, “We can go back to Grandpa and Grandma’s house if you need some more private time. Only, we’ll have to come back here again tomorrow ’cause somebody else is going to be staying there while they’re gone on their big trip.”
Squatting on his heels in front of his daughter, his heart twisting at the painfully tentative look in her eyes, John smoothed a hand over his daughter’s tumble of blond, silky curls.
“I’m so glad you’re home again, Gracie, even if I didn’t exactly sound like it when I came to the door. And you’re staying right here with me from now on,” he vowed. “I’ve had enough private time the past few weeks to last a very long while.”
“What about Aunt Leah? Are you glad she’s here, too?”
“Are you glad, Gracie?” John asked, attempting to avoid telling the little girl an outright lie.
“Oh, yes. Really, really glad.”
“Then I’m glad that you’re glad. Now wash your face and hands and put on your pajamas while I turn down the blankets on your bed, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy.” As he stood upright again, she asked shyly, “Will you read a story to me?”
“I most certainly will. Any special requests?”
“You choose tonight.”
Leaving Gracie to get ready for bed on her own—something she had insisted on doing now that she would be starting first grade soon—John walked slowly down the hallway to the little girl’s room. It was just across from the bedroom he’d shared with Caro, and unlike most of the rest of the house, it was clean and tidy. The cherry furniture was freshly polished, there were clean linens on the canopy bed, Gracie’s books, dolls and stuffed animals were neatly arranged on the built-in shelves, and her toys were stored in the hope chest that matched the bed, dresser and nightstand.
Everything in the room was impeccably tasteful, everything chosen by Caro to suit a little girl as she grew into young womanhood. A transition Caro would have delighted in overseeing, but now never would, thanks to him.
Willing away that particularly unprofitable train of thought, John crossed to one of the two windows facing out over the front lawn, meaning to close the wide-slatted blinds. He saw that Leah had turned on the porch light, and at the edge of its glow, he saw her opening the trunk of her car, then reaching for a suitcase.
In the years they’d been apart, he’d forgotten how truly lovely she was with her dark hair falling softly against her shoulders, her green eyes flashing with intelligence. Her tall, slender body, once girlish, was now womanly in intriguing ways. She still seemed to have her own brand of inner beauty, as well—a steadfast heart that complemented the serenity of her soul.
Too bad he hadn’t valued all that she was when he might have been worthy of her attention. Now…
Now John hoped she didn’t plan to make herself too comfortable in his house, especially since she wasn’t going to be staying long. There were too many things he’d rather she not know about him, things he would have much too hard a time hiding from her if he allowed her into his life again on a regular basis.
He was more than capable of taking care of Gracie on his own. He’d have to pull himself together of course, but it was time he finally made the effort. The alternative—having Leah around for the next three months, a constant reminder of the lie he’d been living and would continue to live—was just the spur he needed.
“Daddy, you didn’t turn on the lamp,” Gracie chided gently as she joined him in her bedroom.
“I didn’t expect you to be ready for a story so soon.” With a flick of his wrist, John closed one set of blinds, crossed to the other window and closed the second set, then faced his daughter with a teasing smile. “Are you sure you gave your face and hands a really good wash?”
“A really, really good wash.” She smiled back at him as she turned on the nightstand lamp, then hoisted herself onto the bed. “I even put my clothes in the hamper. I brushed my teeth and my hair, too.”
“Need help with the brace?” he asked, striving for a casual tone.
“No, I can do it myself,” she replied as she worked at releasing the first of several Velcro straps that held the brace firmly in place around her left leg.
“Then I guess I’d better get busy and choose a story.”
Gracie had been good about wearing the ungainly brace, or at least she’d put up a good front in her own matter-of-fact way. She’d also worked hard during the daily, then weekly physical-therapy sessions following the surgery to mend the broken bones and torn ligaments, and she’d been rightfully proud of every small achievement she’d made.
She had been able to walk on her own in the bulky, metal contraption for a couple of months now. And according to the orthopedic surgeon’s most recent prognosis, she would soon be able to dispense with the brace altogether.
Gracie had also worked toward accepting the finality of her mother’s death, aided by a skilled psychologist and her loving grandparents. Slowly but steadily, she was returning to the happy, healthy and adventurous little girl she’d been a year ago.
John wished he could say that he’d had a hand in her recovery, but in truth, he had been too busy wallowing in his own brand of self-pity—one laced with self-contempt—to be of much help to anyone, even his beloved little girl. No more, though, he promised himself. The time had come for him to get past the anger, bitterness and pain and try to be the kind of father Gracie deserved.
Time, too, he acknowledged, to try to forget the words Caro had spoken to him those last moments they’d spent together, and what he had done to make her say them. Those awful memories only reinforced the cycle of unhealthy emotions that couldn’t change the past, but had already come much too close to destroying his future.
“How about Goodnight, Little Bear,” Gracie prompted softly, reminding John of why he stood in front of the bookcase that filled one entire wall of her room.
“An excellent choice,” he said as he reached for the slender volume. “I can read another one, as well, unless you’re feeling too sleepy.”
“Too sleepy tonight, Daddy.”
“Then it’s Goodnight, Little Bear and good night, little Gracie. How does that sound?”
“Oh, Daddy, you’re so silly sometimes.” Snuggling into her pillow, she giggled as he stretched out beside her atop the pretty, pink-and-white patchwork quilt.
“Sorry, I meant to be serious,” he teased, opening the book. “Guess I’d better use my growly voice again.”
“Oh, no, don’t do that. I don’t like your growly voice at all.”
“Then I’ll lock it up in a box.”
“And throw away the key?”
“Well, I might need the growly voice again sometime. I might have to use it with other people.”
“But not with me, right, Daddy?”
“Right, Gracie, not ever with you.”
“Not with Aunt Leah, either,” she instructed, then yawned and closed her eyes.
John said nothing for several seconds, unable to lie to the little girl in any way. More than likely, he would have to use his growly voice and then some to get Leah Hayes out of his house. But he’d make sure Gracie wasn’t within hearing distance when he did. In fact, he had every intention of dealing with Ms. Hayes just as soon as Gracie was asleep.
“Hey, are you sure you’re going to be able to stay awake for even one story?” he asked, putting his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and giving her a quick hug.
“Mm, yes, I can stay awake.”
“Okay, then…”
Focusing on the words of the story, words he practically knew by heart after reading the book to Gracie so often, John set aside all other thoughts. Content just to be in the present moment—at home with the little girl he loved more than he could say—he began to read.
In one hand, Leah carried the suitcase that held items she’d need most her first night in John’s house, in the other, Gracie’s bag filled with the clothes, books and a favorite stuffed animal she’d taken to her grandparents’. Trudging back up the brick walkway, she saw a light go on above her, shining through two of the front-facing windows and adding to the glow of the porch light.
Gracie’s room, she thought. John was probably putting his daughter to bed. By the time she had dumped the suitcases and taken a few minutes to freshen up in the bathroom, her niece should be tucked away for the night, perhaps already asleep. There was no reason she couldn’t get a few things straightened out with John then, except her own dread of squaring off with him. It wasn’t a happy prospect, by any stretch of the imagination, but an immediate, top-of-the-list must-do nonetheless.
Once inside the main entryway, Leah dropped Gracie’s bag at the foot of the staircase, then, turning on lights as she went, proceeded in the direction of the room she’d be using during her stay.
The formal living and dining rooms, one opening onto either side of the entryway, obviously hadn’t been used in a long time. Nor had they been cleaned recently. Dust clung to the furniture and balled up in the corners of the polished oak floors, and a cobweb hung among the crystals on the chandelier over the dining-room table. Not that bad, though, when compared to the mess she found in the kitchen and den.
Her bewilderment quickly turning to dismay, Leah halted in the center of what could have been a very cozy kitchen. With a delicate shudder, she gazed at the stacks of unwashed dishes on the countertops and in the sink and grimaced at the empty pizza boxes and Chinese-food containers piled high in the trash bin. Books and papers were scattered over the kitchen table, much as they were over the coffee table and end tables in the den.
Needless to say, this slovenliness—and that was putting it kindly—had to have been one of the reasons her father and stepmother had asked for her help. Dealing with the disarray in other people’s lives—usually emotional, but occasionally physical, as well—then fading quietly into the background had become something of a specialty for her the past couple of years, she acknowledged. Longer than that, counting the lonely days she’d looked after her father following her mother’s death, and the times she’s sat without speaking while John poured out his heart during his parents’ bitter divorce.
Then her father had met Georgette, and knowing her help was no longer needed, Leah had willingly stepped to the sidelines. She’d done the same when she realized it was Caro that John loved enough to marry. And she would do the same once more when her father and stepmother returned at the end of summer and could again keep a watchful eye on Gracie.
But August was a long way off, and she had work to do in the meantime, Leah reminded herself as she continued on to the room off the den that she assumed would be hers during her stay there.
She’d thought she’d seen the worst possible mess in the kitchen and den, but the so-called nanny’s room, a fair-size bedsitting room with its own private bath, had even more horrors to offer. The bed had been left with sheets, blankets and pillows in disarray, as if the prior occupant had tumbled out, packed her bags and gone. Empty drawers gaped open in the chest and dresser, and in the bathroom used towels hung stiff as boards on the racks.
“What has been going on around here?” Leah demanded angrily of no one in particular, then answered with a twinge of sarcasm, “Apparently not much in the way of housekeeping.”
Dropping her suitcase on the serviceable gray carpet, she noted that it, at least, appeared to be clean.
In the bathroom, she opened cabinet doors until she found a stack of clean towels, then washed her face and hands. Feeling a little better, she retraced her steps to the staircase, grabbed Gracie’s bag and headed upstairs to the little girl’s bedroom.
On the landing, Leah saw that the first two rooms on either side of the hallway stood with doors closed. The room facing the back of the house was John’s study, she recalled from the photographs Caro had sent her, while the other was a guest room Caro had used mainly for storage. Farther along, two more rooms stood with doors open—the master bedroom and Gracie’s room, from which the faint illumination of a night-light glowed.
Postponing her confrontation with John just a little longer, Leah walked down the hallway and peeked into her niece’s bedroom. With her blond curls tumbled on the lace-edged pillow and her long eyelashes dark against her pale skin, Gracie looked like a princess peacefully sleeping under the canopy of her bed.
Leah set the bag on the floor, then tiptoed across the room. But as if sensing her aunt’s presence, Gracie stirred, opened her eyes and smiled sleepily.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Leah said, sitting on the bed beside her.
“You didn’t,” Gracie replied. “I was waiting for you to come and say good-night.”
“Well, then, good night, Gracie.” Leah smiled as she gently stroked the little girl’s curls, then bent to kiss her cheek.
“Good night, Aunt Leah.”
“Sleep tight…”
“…and don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Gracie finished with a giggle. Then, her sweet smile fading, she added more seriously, “I had a little talk with my dad.”
“Oh, you did, did you?”
“He promised not to be growly anymore.”
“Well, that’s nice to know.”
“I thought so, too.” Gracie closed her eyes again and snuggled more deeply under the quilt. “See you in the morning?” she asked softly.
“Count on it,” Leah said as she tucked the covers around the little girl’s shoulders.
She might not have had a warm welcome from John, much less a clean bed in which to sleep, but she wasn’t going to desert her niece under any circumstances.
Out in the hallway again, Leah paused. She was tempted to go back downstairs and set to work making her room habitable for the night. It was a perfectly good excuse to put off talking to John until the following day. But she knew that the sooner she faced him, the better it would be for all concerned.
She didn’t want him thinking she was going to creep around his house, giving him a wide berth and staying out of his way like a frightened puppy. She’d stood up to him often enough in the past without any serious repercussions. Granted, they had been children rather than adults then, but surely their maturity would work in her favor now. After all, he’d promised Gracie he wouldn’t be growly anymore, she told herself with a slight smile. She hoped the promise had included conversations with her, as well as his daughter.
Leah rapped firmly on the door to John’s study. Then, throwing caution to the wind, she walked in without waiting for an invitation. The room was as dark as the rest of the house had been. Only a glimmer of outside light coming through the blinds at the windows delineated the placement of the furnishings—a large desk and chair, bookshelves, a small leather sofa. Surprisingly well ordered, she noted, considering the condition of the rest of the house.
John stood by one of the windows, his back to her, making no effort to acknowledge her presence. Hands in the pockets of his jeans, his shoulders slumped, he gazed out at only he knew what.
Leah had been determined to stand up to him, to speak her mind about his earlier behavior and lay some ground rules. But the sight of him looking so…forlorn stole away the words she’d been prepared to say. Instead, she moved toward him quietly, wanting only to put her arms around him, to hold him close and assure him that everything would be all right.
Yes, his beloved Caro was dead, but he had Gracie to consider. And now she was there—his once and always friend—to help him begin to heal.
“Get out of here, Leah.”
Though pitched low, John’s voice lashed like a whip across the room, halting her in midstep. Momentarily stunned by the depth of his animosity toward her, Leah gripped the edge of his desk to steady herself. She saw in an instant how his shoulders had straightened, how he now held his hands at his sides, clenched into fists.
He was ready for a fight. More than that, he wanted one. But why? she wondered. She’d never been his enemy—
“Are you deaf, Leah? I told you to get out,” he repeated, this time honoring her with a pointed glance over one shoulder.
“John, please, I’ve come here to help,” she began, trying to get him to be reasonable.
“I don’t want or need your charity,” he muttered darkly, turning away again.
“I’m not sure what you mean by charity.” Truly puzzled by his comment, she eyed him silently, waiting for some further explanation. When he offered none, she ventured softly, “You obviously need some help around here and I’m more than willing to provide it. I thought you understood. More than that, I thought you agreed—”
“Me, agree? Not likely, Leah. And as for you being willing?” He laughed softly without any humor. “You’re only here because Cameron and Georgette played on your sympathy.”
“How can you say that?” she demanded, unable to hide her dismay. “Surely you know how much I care about you and Gracie.”
Her father and stepmother had played on her sympathy, but John had to know that that alone wouldn’t have brought her home again. Why, then, was he treating her like an adversary?
