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“Nice compliment. For a marine.”
His smile indicated his appreciation for her quick comeback. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”
She’d thought so at one time. But not now, not again. Not in this lifetime.
Curt frowned at the pile of books strewn across the living-room couch. Who knew there was so much to learn about a three-year-old?
He shuddered with relief that he didn’t have to deal with the chapters marked Potty Training. He was sure that would have brought even a tough guy like him to his knees. He could have managed if Blue had been a boy. Heck, the suggestions for boys had sounded like target practice, only this time the targets had been floating Cheerios in a toilet bowl instead of enemy forces in a battlefield.
But girls were different. different in so many ways that it was all he could do not give in to the doubts prowling around the pit of his stomach, just waiting for him to screw up as he’d done so many times as a teenager. Being in the marines had rid him of those feelings, or so he’d thought until Blue had shown up on his doorstep.
He refused to surrender to fear. Marines never surrendered. They survived. They overcame. They succeeded. Over all odds.
Or they re grouped to fight another day.
Jessie the Brain was coming here tomorrow. He tried to view the place through her eyes. It was clean. Scrupulously so. No easy feat with a kid who seemed determined to leave her toys all over the place, even stuffing things in his shoes and his brief case.
At first he’d been pleased that she’d liked the set of small trucks he’d bought her. It wasn’t as if trucks were a girly thing. Maybe he should have gotten her dolls or stuffed animals. But she’d liked the trucks and had played with them for hours. When she wasn’t hiding them in his shoes or brief case.
One thing was for sure, Jessie wouldn’t be able to give him any demerits on the safety front. He’d had the entire place child proofed—from the kitchen and bathroom cabinets and drawers to the electrical outlets and the pull strings on the venetian blinds covering the windows.
Of course he had yet to master the art of by passing the kid proofing to open some of the cabinets or drawers himself, but he’d learn. Just as he’d learned how to open child proof bottles of aspirin without taking a hacksaw to them.
Who knew an apartment could hold so much danger for a curious kid? And Blue was certainly curious. He couldn’t even count the number of questions she asked him each day. How do tigers roar? Why are we people and not tigers? Why does your mouth go up when you smile? He just told her to ask her teacher.
Which led him back to Jessie again. It seemed a majority of his thoughts led him back to her. Looking down at the book on his lap, he tried to focus on the words. Play patterns. Good manners. Social graces. Yeah, right.
Turning the book over, he gazed at the title again. The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Pa renting a Preschooler and Toddler, Too. Was this Jessie’s way of telling him he was a complete idiot? He supposed when it came to pa renting, he was. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. He was accustomed to giving orders, not taking them. Read these books. She’d issued the order like a drill sergeant.
As for this Daddy Boot Camp thing, he hoped she didn’t expect him to hop to it like some raw recruit. Because he had no intention of playing that game. A man had his pride. And a marine had ten times that much.
That was one of the reasons he loved being a marine. His fellow officers under stood him. His recruits obeyed him. Rules and regulations left no wiggle room for things like taming tantrums. And a part of him still didn’t see why he couldn’t apply the marines way of doing this to this pa renting deal. Discipline and order were good things. Things that needed to be learned early in life.
Maybe if his father had had a little dis ci pline he wouldn’t have abandoned Curt when he was born. There were times he wondered about the blood he’d inherited from his unknown father. What kind of man walked away from his responsibilities that way?
A man not worthy of the name.
Which didn’t change the fact that Curt not only had no pa renting experience, but he had no family-life experience. Not that there was necessarily such a thing as a normal family in today’s world of divorce and step-families. But even those families had some kind of experience of love.
Curt had no such experience. His mother had considered him to be a burden, she’d told him so often enough before the state had stepped in and put him in foster care when he was nine.
He’d never thought of being a parent himself. Absently rubbing his aching leg, he refused to be intimidated by the prospect of what might lay ahead. He’d pick up some pointers from Jessie and move on.
All he had to do was think of this as a new form of training. As a marine, he’d completed boot camp when he’d first enlisted. Since then he’d completed additional training in everything from surviving behind enemy lines to advanced infantry training schooling.
He knew that fear of the unknown was the greatest fear of all. So all he had to do was learn the tricks of this pa renting thing, and he’d be home free.
During the Sunday morning drive to Curt’s apartment complex, Jessica almost turned around and headed back home about a dozen times. She had to keep re minding herself that the faster Curt learned a few pa renting skills, the sooner he’d become self-sufficient and not be requiring her assistance. Not to mention that it would make things easier for little Blue if she had a father who knew how to express his love for her.
Not that Jessica was an expert on affection ate dads. Heaven knew her own father had always been a complete enigma to her. An autocratic man, he did not know the meaning of the word compromise.
Sighing, Jessica stole a quick glance in her Ford Taurus’s rearview mirror to check two things—first, if she’d nibbled off all her lipstick and second, if the left lane was clear for her to move into it. The lipstick was long gone and the traffic was solid.
Flicking her turn signal, she managed to slip in between a truck and minivan. Curt’s directions had been precise down to the mile with everything listed with military precision—turn north on Foster Avenue, proceed for 5.6 miles then turn east at next inter section. There hadn’t been any additional colorful play-by-play, like turning left at the doughnut shop on the corner. The directions were like the man himself. No-nonsense.
She wondered what had happened to the bad boy she’d known as a teenager? Had he changed that much?
Her curiosity wasn’t personal. She was merely interested in human nature, that’s all. The silent assurance made her feel less jittery as she pulled into the apartment complex’s parking lot. The pale brick building was a new one and in good shape. All the windows had screens, im por tant for preschooler safety.
Before getting out of her car, she touched up her lipstick, a re strained mauve that drew attention to her lips without making her look made-up. The periwinkle-blue pants and matching tunic-length top she wore were casual enough to make it appear that she hadn’t dressed up for today, but fit her well enough to be a confidence booster. Her hair was gathered up and piled on top of her head, held in place with a silver hairclip given to her by a parent last year.
She’d brought a tote bag filled with materials to assist her with today’s lessons. There was no assisting her racing heart as she knocked on Curt’s door.
He yanked the door open and pulled her inside before she could say a word. She no longer had to wonder what he’d look like in a black T-shirt and jeans. That’s what he was currently wearing, and the result was simply too darn sexy for comfort.
“What took you so long?” he demanded.
She frowned at him, her gaze having traveled up his muscular body to his face. “Is that a cherry you’ve got on your chin?”
Grabbing the kitchen towel he had slung over his shoulder, he hurriedly swiped his face. “I was giving her toast, and I let her spread a little of the jam around.”
“She seems to have spread it more than a little,” she replied, trying not to laugh at the picture of what appeared to be a rattled Curt.
He glared at her. “Aren’t you supposed to teach her how to eat in school?”
“She eats just fine in school,” she solemnly assured him.
“Then teach her how to eat just fine at home.”
“Jessie, Jessie, Jessie!” Blue shrieked and came racing into the room, her hands smeared with cherry jam.
“Halt!” Curt barked. “Sit!”
“She’s not a dog,” Jessica said, her voice making it clear she dis ap proved of his tactics.
But they did work.
Blue stopped in her tracks and sank onto the floor.
“Hands out,” Curt ordered.
Blue obediently stuck out her messy hands.
Using the towel he had slung over his shoulder, he tried to wipe her hands. Jessica could have told him that he’d need a damp cloth to get rid of all the stickiness, but she let him find that out for himself.
“I’s not a dog. I’s a girl,” Blue declared.
“No kidding,” Curt muttered.
The little girl tilted her head to look up at her father. “Would you like me more if I was a dog?”
Jessica’s heart just about broke there and then. Kneeling on the floor beside Blue, she quickly assured her, “Oh, honey, we like you just the way you are.”
Curt hunkered down beside them, still intent on cleaning up Blue’s sticky hands and apparently blithely unaware of his daughter’s emotional needs.
Jessica gave him a discreet poke in his side, right between the ribs. Her meaningful look finally spurred him into speaking.
“Yeah right. Just the way you are,” he told Blue. “Only cleaner. Now march back into that kitchen, young lady.”
Blue almost poked his eye out as she saluted him, leaving a smear of jam on her forehead and then on his. But she showed no signs of heading for the kitchen.
“Help me out here,” Curt growled in Jessica’s direction.
“I’m just here to observe,” she replied, wanting to tell him that Blue needed his un conditional love, not a love that was dependent on her being a spotlessly clean, good girl. But it wouldn’t be appropriate now, not with Blue present.
“To observe?” he repeated in disbelief. “How useless is that?”
“If you’d rather I went home…” Jessica turned as if to leave.
“Stay.”
“I’m not a dog, either,” she replied over her shoulder, one hand on the doorknob. “So don’t try ordering me around as if I were one.”
“Please stay.”
He wasn’t happy about having to ask politely, there was no mistaking that in the taut line of his jaw. But he did it.
She sighed. “Let’s get to work.”
“Let’s play,” Blue said.
“First you need cleaning up.” Curt gingerly picked his daughter up, as if she were a package he was hauling from one room to another. He didn’t prop her against his shoulder or hold her in the crook of his arm. He simply lifted her—his hands spanning her waist, his arms outstretched—and marched her into the kitchen.
Jessica followed him. The living room only had a colonial-style couch in a beige-and-orange plaid that had either been a garage sale find or a sign that Curt was totally style-deprived. The only other piece of furniture was a large TV set. The man clearly traveled light. She wondered how long he’d been in Chicago? When he’d gotten the leg injury that caused him to limp? Why he’d made love to her and then acted like nothing had ever happened between them?
All off-limits subjects, she warned herself as she stepped into the kitchen.
Morning sunlight streamed through the large window over the sink. The cabinets were white, as were all the appliances and the counter top, which had nothing but a coffeemaker on it.
Seeing her interest, he said, “I child proofed all the cabinets so she’d be secure in this residence.”
“That’s good.” So Blue would be secure, but would she ever know what it felt like to have her father give her an affection ate bear hug? Or would she forever be taking orders barked out in a curt voice? Forever falling short of expectations set too high to ever be accomplished.
Jessica certainly knew how that felt. She didn’t want the same thing happening to Blue. Didn’t want to see the little girl’s natural exuberance drained right out of existence. Blue had already had enough tragedy in her life, what with her mother dying. What she needed now was stability, under standing and lots of love.
Jessica’s arms ached to hold the little girl, to give her the loving she needed. The only thing that held her back was the knowledge that she was already in way over her head. Besides, the bottom line was that she was merely Blue’s preschool teacher. Curt was the parent in this scenario.
Which only served to remind her of how she’d once day dreamed about what kind of father he’d be. During that pregnancy scare so long ago, she’d anticipated his reaction to hearing they’d made a baby together when they’d made love in the back seat of his Mustang. In her teenage fantasy he’d been surprised, and then he’d taken her in his arms and asked her to marry him. It wouldn’t matter that he’d just joined the marines. She’d wait for him.
How foolish she’d been. How dangerously naïve. She’d badly wanted a baby, wanted someone of her own to love. That hadn’t changed. What had changed was Jessica.
She no longer had to worry about pregnancy scares. Not after being gently told a few years back by her elderly family practitioner that she had a badly tipped uterus, so badly tipped that it was extremely doubtful she’d be able to conceive.
So she’d closed the door on one dream and focused her attention on her work teaching preschoolers, never thinking that one day she’d be teaching Curt how to deal with his own daughter.
Chapter 3
DISMAYED AT THE direction of her thoughts and at the unexpected sting of threatening tears, Jessica mentally changed gears. This wasn’t about her or Curt, it was about Blue.
Tugging out the yellow legal pad of paper where she’d written up her notes, she consulted the first page. “Most Daddy Boot Camps are designed for new fathers with infants,” she told him. “I’ve adapted a program to your special needs. I thought we’d cover the basics—eating, getting dressed, bathing and bedtime.”
Startled, Blue looked out the window and practically howled, “Noooo! Not bedtime now.”
“That’s right, it’s not bedtime now,” Jessica agreed in a soothing voice. “Let me see your beautiful clean hands.” Blue eagerly held them out for her appraisal. “Very nice.”
“Very nice,” Blue agreed with a nod.
“Looking good,” Curt said, tossing the dirty towel into the sink.
“Looking good,” Blue repeated.
“Is there any one of the areas I’ve listed that you’re particularly having trouble with?” Jessica asked Curt.
All of them. But he wasn’t about to admit that. Instead he said, “You might as well go over all of them. But I have a few questions for you first.” Picking up a notebook of his own, he listed them in rapid-fire succession. “How often do you have fire drills? Are you trained in CPR and pediatric first aid? Is the school registered or licensed with the state?”
She appeared to be im pressed by his questions. “I see you’ve been doing some reading as I suggested.”
“That’s right.” He hated feeling in com pe tent, so he’d made it a point to find out as much as he could in the past few days. A lot of what he read he considered to be psychological babble. He was a bottom-line kind of guy. But he was encouraged to read that kids needed schedules and routines. So did marines. The recruits he trained needed the discipline to follow orders.
Having a raw recruit overcome their fear of heights enough to finally rappel down a tower gave him a feeling of accomplishment. Maybe this was Curt’s chance to overcome a fear of his own—the fear of being a parent. Over coming fear was another big deal for a marine.
Yeah, he liked looking at the process that way.
“Did you hear anything I just said?” she asked him in exasperation.
“Yes. You said you were trained in CPR and pediatric first aid, that the preschool is licensed by the state and that you have the required number of fire drills.” Learning to concentrate on more than one thing at one time was another advantage he possessed over an average dad. Another thing the marines had taught him. “Now tell me the secrets of dressing.”
“Secrets, huh? You make it sound as if there’s only one way of accomplishing these goals. There isn’t. Some times it’s learning by trial and error. What I can do is give you some suggestions. First off, I’d mention that Blue here is a little girl, not a sack of potatoes.”
“Blue is a little girl,” Blue repeated proudly. “Is not potatoes. Is not a dog.”
“Your point being?” Curt demanded of Jessie.
“Just that you seemed a bit un com fort able carrying her.”
That’s because he was a man more accustomed to carrying an M-16 rifle than a kid.
“Show me. Please,” he added.
