That Man Matthews. Ann Evans

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      “’Cause I asked her to.”

      That grabbed Cody’s attention. “What? You didn’t tell me that.”

      “I went up to her after the workshop and told her how much I enjoyed her speech. We got to talking, and before I left she said she’d be happy to discuss Sarah’s problems with you.”

      “How could you do that?” Cody asked. He dragged a hand through his dark hair, striving for patience. “Look, Pa. Sarah is my problem. I don’t want or need any stiff-necked, tight-assed schoolmarm telling me what’s wrong with my kid. I haven’t done such a bad job for twelve years that I need to call in reinforcements now.”

      “I’m not saying you have. But what’s wrong with asking for a little help? And come to think of it, have you done anything about hiring a nanny yet?”

      “I haven’t had time to call an agency.”

      “You haven’t made time.”

      Unfortunately that was true. Cody had stalled on that suggestion. The idea of hiring full-time live-in help to raise Sarah rubbed him the wrong way. Sarah was twelve, for God’s sake, not a baby who needed her diaper changed. Which was, by the way, the kind of thing Cody had done for her when she’d needed it. That and a lot of other things. Now, suddenly, he couldn’t handle his own daughter?

      “You didn’t have help raising me after Mom died. I didn’t turn out so bad.”

      His father shook his head. “No, but I shoulda worked harder on that ornery streak of yours.”

      Cody grinned. “I got it from you, didn’t I?” He headed for the door. “I’ve got to go, or I’ll never make the plane. We’ll talk when I get back.”

      “Son?” His father’s serious tone brought him up short. “Here’s something else you need to consider. How will you explain Sarah’s behavior to her other Grandpa, if he decides he wants to become part of her life?”

      Cody felt his heart drop. He couldn’t admit it to his father, but that worry had been nibbling at him ever since Edward Ross had reentered their lives. So far, the Connecticut millionaire had kept a low profile, but if the old man ever decided to investigate the circumstances of his granddaughter’s birth…Cody shuddered at the thought.

      “He won’t interfere in our lives, Pa,” Cody said in a determined voice, more to convince himself than his father. “He’s too busy hobnobbing with senators and movie stars. He doesn’t have time for twelve-year-old girls who only want to talk about horses and how soon they’ll get to wear makeup.”

      “Don’t you believe it, son. What’s Edward Ross been doing with his time since he’s retired? His only child killed in a plane crash years ago. His wife dead, too. Then he finds out he has a grandchild—a girl who looks a heck of a lot like Daphne. You think he’s not gonna want to be a part of her life? A big part?”

      The older man slipped one arm out of his metal crutch support and rubbed his hip absently. “You’re foolin’ yourself, son. Believe me, at that age, a man looks back on his life and starts thinking maybe he should have done things differently.”

      Cody frowned, a little surprised by the remorseful tone in Walt’s voice. His father had few regrets about the way he’d lived his life. The accident that had robbed him of the full use of his legs was about the only thing he might want to change. How different everything might have been if he’d never climbed up on that bull.

      “Pa?”

      His father seemed to snap out of his reverie. He straightened, fixing Cody with a hard stare. “So maybe you’re right, and Edward Ross leaves us alone. That still takes me back to the point I’ve been trying to make. You know everything there is to know about raising cattle, Cody. Making land deals. Playing the stocks. But what do you really know about what goes on in a little girl’s head?”

      “I know she doesn’t have attention deficit disorder, damn it.”

      “Let’s be sure. I have the number for the private school where this gal teaches in Virginia. Alexandria’s not that far from D.C., is it? You could stay over. I’ll set it up for you.”

      Cody glanced at his watch. Only way he’d make the plane now was if he ran into no traffic at all and sprinted through the airport like a long-distance runner. Conceding defeat, he sighed heavily and nodded. “All right. Make the call to her. And set up all the appointments for nannies you want. Call me tonight at the hotel and tell me where and when to show up.”

      His father grinned. “You won’t be sorry.”

      “I already am.”

      “This woman’s sophisticated, intelligent. Did I mention her father was Alistair Paxton, the diplomat?”

      “Ah, jeez, a blue blood. You know how I feel about that kind of woman.”

      “You’re not fixing to make her your wife.”

      “You know what I mean. Just the thought of being around another Daphne-type, even briefly, makes my gut ache.”

      “All right,” Walt said hurriedly, apparently eager to shore up any damage his words might have done. “You don’t like her, you cut the conversation short and come on home. I’ll have a dozen nannies waiting for you, ready to be interviewed. One of them is bound to please you.”

      “I can hardly wait,” Cody said without enthusiasm and rushed to his car.

      PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE mentioned her resemblance to Daphne, Walter thought, as he waved the Rover away from Luna D’Oro’s front drive. But Cody was already riled up enough about being strong-armed into agreement, and he’d turn as prickly as a desert cactus if he thought he was being manipulated, as well.

      Of course, everything else aside, meeting Joan Paxton would still be a good thing for Sarah. The woman was razor sharp when it came to kids. If Cody didn’t let his ego get in the way, she might be able to help him cope with Sarah. God knows, reprimands, incentives and being sent to her room hadn’t done any good with the girl lately.

      Walt made his way slowly back to the rear of the house, where the hacienda’s courtyard portal offered peace and quiet and a great view of the setting Texas sun.

      He was worrying for nothing. When Cody met Joan, he’d see reason. He just had to listen to her for a few minutes, give her half a chance. And he would, because she was a looker, and Cody had always had an eye for pretty blondes. The fact that she bore a passing resemblance to Daphne, Sarah’s mother, wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, was it?

      Walter frowned as he settled down on a chaise longue with a weary groan. Oh, well. Too late now.

      Gently he lifted his legs onto the lounger. If he got his right hip to stop giving him fits in a few minutes, he’d call her, set up a time when she and his son could get together. It was short notice, but Walt still had a little of the old Matthews charm in him. He could make it happen. Could be that by this time the day after tomorrow, Cody would either have hated her on sight and come home, or he’d be convinced she’d hung the moon.

      Even with that damned resemblance to Daphne, Walter was betting on the latter.

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