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Sophia nodded thoughtfully. “If he doesn’t voluntarily agree to walk away, you could be talking about a legal battle.”
“I know.”
“It could get expensive,” her friend pointed out. “No could about it. We’re talking lawyers and protracted legal proceedings. All of that can add up fast.”
“I get it.”
“He’s got unlimited funds and you—”
“Don’t,” Libby finished for her.
But technically she was working two jobs and saving every penny possible. Just in case.
Sophia studied her for several moments. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
But Libby wouldn’t run away from it either. If she decided to go that route, it would be because that’s what was best for Morgan.
“I have to go. So much paperwork, so little time.” Sophia stood and looked down. “I have just one thing to say.”
“Do I want to hear this?”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s not directly about you.” She smiled. “Morgan is a lucky little girl.”
That surprised Libby, what with losing her parents and all. “Why do you say that?”
“Two good people care enough to be there for her. You and Mr. Donnelly are ready and willing to make sure she’s got everything she needs. He’s got the money, you’ve got the emotional thing going on.”
“That’s what Ginger said. It’s how I came up with the idea to be his nanny in the first place.”
“There are an awful lot of children that no one wants.” Memories turned Sophia’s eyes stormy and sad.
Libby wondered, not for the first time, about Sophia’s past, but when she looked like she did now, bringing up the bad stuff just seemed wrong. “Thanks for stopping in. It really helped to talk.”
Libby finished up her work, then left the classroom and locked the door before stopping by the day-care center to pick up Morgan. They were on the way to the car before she realized she’d forgotten the folder for a project that she’d wanted to look over for the next day. When they rounded the corner a man was standing there, peeking into her classroom window. She recognized him immediately and her stomach knotted.
Speaking of people who’d like to dip into the bank account of the wealthy, or the not wealthy. Just anyone he could use for his own selfish reasons. Including his own daughter—especially his daughter.
“What are you doing here, Dad?”
Chapter Six
Libby stared at Bill Bradford’s charming smile and the crinkly lines around his pale blue eyes. It seemed wrong that her father’s dark hair was sprinkled with gray. That should be earned by hard work and worry, neither of which the man had ever done. This was the first time in months that she’d seen him, not since her younger sister Kelly had graduated from high school.
That meant he was up to something.
“What do you want?” she asked, pulling Morgan close to her.
“How are you, Lib?”
“Fine.”
“Who’s this?” he asked, looking at the little girl.
“Morgan,” she answered. “Charity’s child.”
He nodded. “I heard. Kelly mentioned it. I’m sorry.”
Libby didn’t answer. This man didn’t give a rat’s behind about anyone but himself. “What do you want?” she asked again.
“Can’t a father say hello to his kid?”
“Of course. But when you do, there’s an ulterior motive.”
The charming smile disappeared and the crinkly lines just made him look old. “Have you talked to your sister?”
“We e-mail all the time. She loves UCLA.”
He nodded. “Now that she’s away at college, Cathy’s parents have suggested I should make other living arrangements.”
A nice way to say get out, and about darn time, she thought. The man had mooched off Cathy’s family for years, ever since Libby was a little girl. There was nothing that tugged on heartstrings more than a motherless child. About the time her folks had his number, Cathy turned up pregnant. She’d lost a child to a debilitating disease and descended into despair and drugs. She’d been on the street when she’d hooked up with Bill Bradford. All Cathy had ever wanted was her own baby to love and her parents would do anything to give her that, even if they also had to take in the baby-to-be’s worthless father and his kid.
“What about Cathy?” Libby asked.
“She’s staying.”
So they were splitting up, which meant Cathy had finally had enough, too. At least the woman had been smart enough not to marry him.
He slid his fingers into the pockets of his jeans. “They didn’t give me any warning, so I haven’t had a chance to put together a plan. Other living arrangements take money and I haven’t had time to save up.”
She didn’t say it out loud—that he’d had the last eighteen years to put away money, but that took ambition. “I don’t have any cash to spare.”
“I understand. Just thought I’d check.” He looked at Morgan. “I know how expensive it is to have a kid.”
Play the guilt card and fishing for information at the same time. Classic manipulation.
“I’m her nanny,” Libby explained. “Just a working girl.”
“I live with my Uncle Jess,” Morgan added. “He has a big, big apartment in a very high building.”
Bill forced a smile. “Sounds really nice.”
“It is. And he bought me a new bed, with princess sheets.” She held up her bandaged hand. “I didn’t cry when I got stitches yesterday and he took me to the toy store and got me lots of stuff.”
“Your Uncle Jess did that?” Bill Bradford’s eyes gleamed with interest.
“Don’t even think about it,” Libby warned. “Jess Donnelly isn’t someone you can—”
“The Jess Donnelly, billionaire resort builder?”
Darn. Darn. Darn.
“Look, we have to go.” She took Morgan’s uninjured hand and led her away.
From behind she heard him say, “Goodbye, Morgan.”
“’Bye.”
When the little girl slowed to look back, Libby tugged her along.
“See you later, Lib.”
Not if she saw him first.
Libby kicked herself for letting anger squeeze out common sense. She was trying so hard to leave her past in the past and didn’t want it to spill over into her present. All she wanted was what every woman wanted—a family, someone to love who would love her back. She didn’t want to be associated with the man whose DNA she was trying so hard to overcome.
At dinner around the kitchen table, Jess had Libby on one side and Morgan on the other. She was eating fish sticks and fries, picking them up with her left hand because her right one was wrapped in white gauze. Because of him, her trauma had stretched out far longer than necessary.
He felt like pond scum. Actually worse. Scum was on top of the water. What he was settled lower, deeper, darker and slimier, at the bottom of the water. Because of him, the experience had been worse for Morgan, and remembering the way Libby’s voice cracked and her struggle not to cry ripped him up even now. Fear had been starkly etched on her face and bothered him more than he would have believed possible.
When he stopped beating himself up, Jess noticed that the girls were quieter than usual. No small talk tonight to fill the silence. Normally Libby picked up the slack, but tonight she looked different. The sunshine was gone and he wondered why. It was best not to consider why he noticed at all.
He looked at her, then Morgan. “So, how was your day?”
“I didn’t have to go to the hop-spital.”
“I’m glad about that,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. Obviously she remembered his boneheaded attempt to distract her from the upsetting situation with her hand.
“But I didn’t get to play outside,” the little girl added.
“Why?”
“’Cuz of my hurt hand.” She chewed a French fry. “Miss Connie didn’t want me to make it worser.”
He glanced at Libby, who would normally have corrected the grammar slip, and was surprised when there was no comment. Definitely preoccupied.
“So what did you do inside?” Jess persisted.
“I colored. But not very good.”
“How come?”
He directed the question to Morgan, then glanced at Libby, who was passive-aggressively multi-tasking. She was pushing fish stick bites around her plate and brooding at the same time.
“It was hard to hold the crayons in my other hand.” She picked up a green bean and popped it in her mouth. “But Miss Connie said it was art stick.”
“Is that scholastic terminology? A secret word between students and teachers?” he asked Libby.
“What?” she hadn’t been paying attention.
“Her teacher called her coloring ‘art stick.’”
“Artistic,” she translated.
“Ah. That means it was good,” he told Morgan. “Sometimes it’s hard to be objective about our own work.”
“Huh?”
“It means that we always like what we do so it’s not easy to tell whether or not other people will like it, too.”
“Oh.” But she still looked confused.
“The good news is that while your right hand is getting better, your left got a chance to be a star.”
“I guess.” Her look was doubtful.
“So you had a quiet day?” He couldn’t shake the feeling something had happened.
“Yup.” Morgan nodded emphatically. “Then me and Aunt Libby came here.”
He noticed she didn’t say home and on some level it bothered him. “After yesterday, I’m glad everything was peaceful. So, that’s all that happened?”
Morgan scrunched her nose thoughtfully. “I forgot. A man came to see Aunt Libby and asked if he could say hello to his kid.”
That sent his “uh-oh” radar into on mode. “Who was he? Libby?”
“Hmm?” She glanced at Morgan and the conversation must have registered on some level because she said, “Oh. Just my father.”
Jess realized he didn’t know anything about her family and suddenly wanted to. “That’s nice. Him stopping by, I mean.”
“Aunt Libby didn’t look happy. She s’plained to him that she’s my nanny.”
And had been for a while, Jess thought. That meant she wasn’t communicating with him regularly.
“I told him I live with you,” Morgan continued. “And that you bought me a new bed even before I hurt my hand. But when I didn’t cry you took me to the toy store for a ‘ward.”
“Reward,” Libby clarified, tuning in to the conversation now.
“Right,” Morgan said. “I told him stuff about you and Aunt Libby said for him not to think about that. But I don’t know what that means.”
“It was nothing,” Libby said. “He just stopped to say hello.”
“But you were mad, Aunt Libby.”
“I wasn’t mad, sweetie.” Libby looked startled. “What makes you think I was mad?”
“’Cuz you squeezed my not-hurt hand very, very tight and made me walk away kind of fast. And you didn’t even say goodbye to him, which wasn’t p’lite.”