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As for Catherine…
The clock chimed twelve times. He hesitated, then shrugged and scooted the chair back. “I had better get Cassie and head home.”
Sharon studied him briefly, shook her head with a sigh.
He knew the argument was not over. Sharon never gave up that easy.
“It’s too late to argue. I’ll bag some cookies for you to take,” she finally said.
Grant nodded, then left her to the task.
The bedroom was dark except for the faint illumination from a night-light washing across Cassie. She was sleeping on her back, mouth slightly parted, one arm flung to the side, the other wrapped around Brittany’s neck.
The pup cracked an eye, head nestled across Cassie’s chest. Her tail began to thump, slow, then fast and faster, as Grant walked into the room.
He knelt by the bed and reached to touch Cassie’s cheek. A soft, reverent touch. This child of his, so tiny and perfect, with a fragile beauty and a hold on his heart so strong that it sometimes terrified him.
“Daddy?” Her eyes fluttered open.
“Hello, pumpkin,” he whispered.
He gently lifted her, her thin arms squeezing round his neck in a vise-grip hug that defied efforts to breathe. Breathing wasn’t important. Nothing was important except for the little girl in his arms. He closed his eyes, bathed in her scent and reveled in the silken cheek pressed against his, in the warmth that rushed through him. The feeling of coming home, of rightness, when he held his daughter.
He finally relaxed the hug, then sat on the bed, Cassie in his lap, to greet Brittany, who wiggled and whined with impatience. She leaned into Grant, head planted in Cassie’s lap, while he scratched behind a silken ear.
“Brittany is my best friend,” Cassie said sleepily against his chest. “Except for Sharon. I love Sharon the best—no, I love you the best, Daddy. And then Sharon. And then Brittany.”
Grant swallowed hard. “I know you do, pumpkin,” he said in a husky voice.
Sharon waited in the living room, Cassie’s small suitcase standing by the door. “I put the cookies in the suitcase, she said. Cassie bent toward Sharon, hooked a small arm around her neck and dragged her against Grant’s shoulder for a goodbye kiss, while Brittany leaned into his legs.
Sharon’s head stopped at his jaw. She was no taller than she’d been in ninth grade. She smelled of soap and lemon-scented shampoo, and her warmth burned through his jacket.
“I love you, Sharon,” Cassie whispered loudly.
Sharon hugged back with a gentle laugh, then disentangled herself. “I love you, too, little goose.” She handed Grant a blanket to wrap around Cassie. .
Grant finished the task, then reached to ruffle Sharon’s curls. “I owe you, once again.”
Sharon pushed his hand away with a grin. “Hey, you know I spent hours fixing that do! And you know you don’t owe me anything except…well, maybe dinner out next week. Chinese?” Her grin faded. “Seriously, Grant, you know I don’t mind helping out. It’s all part of being friends.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve been pretty friendly lately,” he said softly. “And I will be grateful if I want to.”
He turned toward the door and picked up Cassie’s suitcase. “Call me tomorrow,” Sharon said, then pulled the door open and ushered them out. She stood in the glow of the porch light, shivering, watching until they pulled out of the drive and started down the road.
Though it was only a few miles, Cassie was asleep by the time they drove up the hill to the house. The house he had built to try to make Catherine happy. And now lived alone in with his daughter.
Not that he could blame Catherine for her death; even he could not be so heartless. But before—
Steely resolve clamped a fist on the thought and squashed the life from it before it was completed. Grant did not have time to wallow in the past. Streetlights washed the other lots, empty except for four feet of snow, before finally capturing his house at the end of the cul de sac, standing alone in the shoulder of the mountain overlooking town.
The few lights on in the town below seemed to flicker, one or two here, a handful over there. Startled bursts of yellow-white against the swirling snow, which was now slowing, thinning to a mere flurry. Light from the Alyeska Pipeline Marine Terminal reached from across the arm of Prince William Sound. A faint light that stretched upward with long, buttery fingers to brush at the dark shadows of snow-filled mountains slowly materializing as the clouds began to lift.
The door to the three-car garage slid open. The far stall was filled with snow machines, snow blower and an assortment of skis and garden tools, bicycles, gas grill and lawn chairs, fishing poles and hip-waders that had cracked from age and disuse. The other two stalls were unoccupied until Grant pulled the pickup in.
They were a reminder the house was empty, as if he needed one. That he alone was responsible for the health and welfare of the tiny girl slumped against his side in sleep. And once again, that he was without a baby-sitter.
Frustration swept him, so sudden and strong that he wanted to slam a fist against the steering wheel. What did he have to do to find someone who wasn’t more interested in him than his daughter? Instead of abusing the pickup, he pushed the automatic opener and listened to the door grumble to a close. Taking a deep breath, he gathered Cassie in his arms and made his way into the cool, silent house to her room.
He pulled blankets close up under her chin, then brushed a knuckle against her silken cheek. He had to find another baby-sitter, one who would fill their needs without wanting to occupy his bed. In the meantime, Cassie would keep on going to day care during the day. And he would continue to rely on Sharon for help.
Three days later, Grant learned he needed to go to Southern California for a week. He called on Sharon once again.
“Of course I will watch her,” she immediately agreed.
“I’m sorry to have to be a bother—”
“Don’t be silly, Grant. You needn’t worry about me. It’s Cassie you should be worried about.” She paused, then quietly added, “You’re spending too much time away from her.”
“I have to go,” he said, and wasn’t sure whom he was trying to convince.
“I don’t want you to.”
Cassie’s lower lip was thrust out, trembling, when he told her that evening. Pain squeezed his heart at the sight of tears shimmering in her eyes. “Hey,” he said softly, drawing her to him with a hug. “You’ll get to be with Sharon for a whole week. Plus your buddy Brittany. And I’ll bring you something really special.”
She brightened a little at that, but still cried when he dropped her off at Sharon’s Sunday evening.
Guilt clung to him like a dark shroud as he flew from Valdez to Anchorage, then Seattle and on to Irvine. Guilt that once again he was asking Sharon for help, and once more he was leaving Cassie behind.
Yet his job as construction manager demanded it. This very job allowed him to provide Cassie with anything she needed and then some. He would give his daughter the world if he could, and if that demanded sacrifice, he would sacrifice.
A fact his father-in-law was quick to point out the following evening.
“We both know without question that you are trying, that you are doing the best you can for Cassie…under the circumstances.” Hugh leaned into the restaurant table toward Grant, while the murmur of voices filled the air around them.
“I appreciate that,” Grant answered as a prickle of apprehension raced along his spine. Perhaps it was the way that Hugh reached for Dorothy’s hand, as if to reassure her or maybe gain support. Perhaps it was the way that Dorothy would not meet Grant’s gaze, but instead nervously toyed with the linen napkin. Or maybe it was the unbidden memory of how they had pushed him away during Catherine’s illness. Whatever, Grant suddenly wished he hadn’t told them he was going to be in town for business. He should have dissuaded them from driving up from San Diego to meet him for dinner.
The conversation died, and silence held sway while the waiter cleared their dinner dishes and poured coffee. Then they had to talk, had to do something other than sit mutely, separated by far more than just a table.
Hugh drained his wineglass, cleared his throat. Then he squared his thin shoulders and met Grant’s gaze. “We were wondering if…thinking that maybe Cassie would be better off with us.”
Grant arched a brow, choosing his words with care. “I appreciate the offer, but I think it’s best that she stay home for a while, until we get better adjusted to the situation. Maybe this spring she can come and spend a few days.”
“And how many baby-sitters will you have gone through by then? How many business trips?” Red slowly climbed Hugh’s neck.
Grant stiffened. “I can’t—”
“Son, we aren’t suggesting that you don’t love Cassie. We aren’t suggesting she come for a visit, either.”
He said the words so quietly that for a minute, Grant thought he’d heard wrong. Until Hugh continued.
“I think we can offer her a more stable home than you seem able to do.”
Shock washed through Grant with a coldness that left him speechless. He could only stare at his father-in-law, and feel every ounce of blood drain from his face.
Then anger swept him, so overwhelming he gripped the edge of the table to force himself not to physically strike the man who sat before him. A man he had admired and thought of as being the father Grant had lost to a fishing vessel accident when he was a child. The man who had the nerve to suggest, for even a minute, that he give up Cassie.
He should have expected something like this after the way they’d acted while Catherine was ill, but he hadn’t. He didn’t dare release his hold on the table while he fought to remain silent, to remain seated until he had a semblance of control over the rage roaring through his veins.
Finally, he swallowed hard, then slowly stood until he towered above Hugh and Dorothy. He placed both hands flat on the tabletop and leaned slightly toward them. “Icicles will grow in Hell before anyone takes Cassie from me,” he said quietly.
He turned and walked away without a backward glance.
By the end of the week, the bank lobby was a hub of activity. Customers rushed in to take care of last-minute business just prior to closing. Phones rang; voices rose in a murmur, punctuated by a shouted greeting or burst of laughter.
Sharon looked up from her office and watched with pleasure the swift efficiency with which the tellers handled the customers’ needs. The past week had been good for business, Cassie a pleasure to have, and now Grant was home, a day early.
She frowned. Grant. She worried about him, about the effect his absences were having on Cassie. About—
The phone rang, jerking her from her thoughts. “Sharon speaking.”
“Sharon, Grant here. Hey, I need a favor. I’m in the middle of a meeting and—”
“You’re going to be late—could I pick Cassie up, Sharon quietly finished for him. “Grant, you just got back. Don’t you think—”
“There is nothing I can do about it,” he said. “Can you help me out?”
She sighed. “You know I can, but you owe Cassie, bigtime. I’ll take her to my place and bake cookies or something.”
“Don’t do dinner. I’ll pick up pizza.” He hung up.
“Pizza!” Sharon slapped the receiver down harder than necessary, glaring at it as if she could somehow conjure Grant in its place. She pushed back her anger, then stood and reached for her coat. Cassie was going to be disappointed.
Cassie was nowhere in sight when Sharon stepped into the brightly lit room at day care. Jean Simon, the owner, walked over to greet her.
“Cassie is in the time-out room.”
Sharon’s heart sank. “That’s the third time this week.”
Jean nodded, mass of blond curls bouncing, as they turned toward a small hall. “I tried calling Grant, but he’s been in meetings all day. This has been a bad week, although, to be honest, I almost prefer a Cassie with a temper to the silent little ghost she was for a while. Anything different going on at home?”
Other than an absentee father?
Sharon didn’t say the words they were probably both thinking. Instead, she replied, “Not that I know of. What happened this time?”
“She got into a fight with Johnny Whitaker.”
“He’s twice her size!”
“Yeah, well.” Jean shook her head with a small smile. “All I can say is, she’s got a future in boxing if she wants it.” They paused at the door. “She looks pretty bad, but if it helps, he’s got two shiners. And his parents aren’t going to cause any problems. I think they were both so embarrassed he got beaten up by a girl they would just as soon forget it happened.” She swung the door open, then left.
Cassie sat in an orange plastic chair, shoulders hunched, head hung, legs slowly swinging.
“Cassie?” Sharon walked toward her. Cassie slowly raised her head, right eye nearly swollen shut, circled with black and blue, with a little green and purple thrown in. Sharon swallowed a gasp and forced herself not to rush forward, instead folding her arms across her chest.
“He called me a name,” Cassie said, chin thrust out, good eye narrowing.
“And you couldn’t have just ignored him?”
Silence answered the question they both knew wasn’t really a question.
“Daddy working late tonight?” Cassie asked defiantly.
She looked small and defenseless. Pain pinched Sharon’s heart.
“Yes,” she answered, then opened her arms. “Come on over here for a hug.”
Cassie hesitated a second, then slid from the chair. Sharon squeezed the little girl tight, wanting, wishing, aching. She swallowed the urge to scream. If Grant had been standing next to her, she would have choked him. Instead, she hugged tighter and said, “He’s bringing pizza for dinner, so he shouldn’t be too late.”
An hour later the front door opened and Grant hollered, “Anyone home?”
Cassie rushed from the kitchen, Brittany bouncing at her heels, and Sharon was left to put the last of the cooling cookies away. She forced herself to slowly wash and dry her hands, and carefully compose her face before she turned and greeted Grant when she heard him walk into the kitchen. Cassie walked quietly at his side, clearly suffering from a scolding. Only the pup looked happy, eyes bright, whole body wiggling with excitement.
Sharon forced a smile. Grant met her gaze, then said, “Cassie, go wash up.” He waited until the little girl was out of earshot. “Shall I lie down on the floor so you can stomp on me now?” His voice was quiet, tinged with weariness.
Sharon tried not to notice the dark shadows beneath his eyes, the hollows in his cheeks that had deepened since last week, the way he held himself so tensely, almost rigidly, though exhaustion clearly etched his face.
Anger fled as quickly as it had come. “Oh, sit down, she said quietly. “Stomping is too good for you. Besides, you know as well as I do that I never can stay mad at you. Even when you deserve it.”
A smile curved his lips but didn’t erase the weariness in his eyes. He set the pizza on the table, walked to the fridge and pulled out a soda. Snapping the can open, he turned to face her. “I’m sorry I had to call you at the last minute like that.”
“So am I, but only for Cassie. You know I enjoy having her.”
He nodded, then tipped the can to take a long swallow of carbonated drink. Then he set the soda on the counter he now leaned against. “I don’t mean to take advantage—”
“That should be the least of your worries,” she said.
He paused. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Maybe you should have bowed out of the meeting.”
“I couldn’t.”
“And if I hadn’t been able to pick Cassie up?”
He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and didn’t answer. He bowed his head slightly, and his dark-blue eyes suddenly filled with a bleakness that sent chills along Sharon’s spine. He seemed so very alone.
She stepped closer, laid a hand against his chest in unspoken support. Grant lifted his head, dark gaze intense.
