A New Life. Dana Corbit

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СКАЧАТЬ and snapshots on side tables and walls. All but the most recent shots featured a rusty-haired man with a friendly smile. Brett tried to keep a cool, mental distance from the pictures, only observing that he’d found the origin of the boys’ hair color. But he couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched.

      “That was my daddy. He died,” Lani said, pointing out the obvious, as she showed up beside him wearing fuzzy pink pajamas and smelling of baby shampoo.

      “They’re nice pictures.” He hoped it was enough because he could find nothing better to say.

      It must have been because the child then skipped around the partial wall that separated the living room from the eat-in kitchen, and rolled the die for her turn, adding a leg to her bug’s body in the game. Next to her, Rusty, Jr. pointedly refused to glance at the guest in the living room.

      Out of the corner of his eye, Brett saw movement from the hall, and when he would have expected a petite brunette, he saw only an even tinier Cindy Lou Who look-alike with blond ponytails and huge, dramatic green eyes.

      Something in his gut clenched. Four? He was having a hard enough time reconciling the idea of going out with a woman who had three kids. But four?

      “She’s mine,” Hannah said quickly. “That’s Rebecca.” The child looked up at her name being spoken but scrambled off to play under the kitchen table.

      “Oh.”

      He wondered how he could have missed the resemblance now that she’d clarified it. Relief must have registered in his expression because Hannah smiled. He would have taken time to study the young woman, who couldn’t have been old enough to be that child’s mother, if not for the second person who appeared in the hallway.

      Tricia wasn’t dressed particularly fancy, just a pair of fitted jeans and a prim, turquoise sweater set. It pleased him that she had taken extra effort with her makeup—which she didn’t need—and had clipped her hair back at her nape. Her hairstyle revealed a long expanse of perfect, fair skin on her neck.

      Brett’s mouth went dry. Until she shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, he wasn’t even aware he’d been staring. What was he doing, acting like an infatuated teenager? He was neither, so he’d better get a grip before people started making mistaken assumptions.

      She cleared her throat and glanced at the children playing in the kitchen before turning back to him. “Am I dressed okay? I’ve never been to a hockey game.”

      Okay enough to turn every male head at Joe Louis Arena, he figured. But he only said, “Sure, that’s fine, unless you have a Steve Yzerman or Gordie Howe jersey.”

      He glanced down at his jeans and navy cardigan over a white turtleneck, trying not to grin at how long it had taken him to pick his outfit. “I left my jersey at home.”

      “You two had better get going,” Hannah said as she rushed them toward the door. “Traffic’s going to be terrible on the Lodge.” The young woman didn’t look at either of them, but a small smile appeared on her lips when she handed Tricia her coat.

      Because Hannah was probably right about traffic on the John C. Lodge freeway, he hurried Tricia toward his SUV. He was relieved when she didn’t comment on his luxury transportation, a concession to his former life.

      He closed her door and crossed to the driver’s seat. “Do you feel like we’ve just been dismissed?”

      Tricia shot a glance at the closed curtains of the picture window and then turned to stare out the windshield. “Hannah just didn’t want us to be late.” As they pulled away from the curb, she sneaked another peek back, using the side-view mirror. “She’s a great sitter. The kids will be fine. They’ll have a great time, especially since she and Rebecca are spending the night.”

      Was she trying to convince him or her? He was tempted to reach over and squeeze her hand to reassure her, but he hesitated, worried she’d climb out of her skin if he touched her. Instead, he concentrated on merging onto Interstate 96 and tried changing the subject.

      “I was surprised the little girl was hers. Hannah doesn’t look old enough to be a mom.”

      “She isn’t—or wasn’t—really old enough, but she’s a wonderful mom.” Tricia settled back into the seat, finally relaxing. “Hannah was just seventeen when she got pregnant, but she’s worked so hard to make the best of her difficult situation.”

      “I take it the dad isn’t in the picture?”

      Tricia shook her head but turned to face him. “She refused to name the father, even under pressure from some church members. I think it was especially hard on her, being the P.K.”

      “P.K.?”

      “Preacher’s Kid. She’s the daughter of our minister, Reverend Bob Woods.”

      “I’d bet that was a huge church scandal.” He hated it when Christians were the first to judge others. The poor girl had probably first been betrayed by a boy and then by the people in her church, the people she trusted. He knew what it was like to have the foundations of one’s life—and even faith—ripped away. It tended to jade a person. He was proof of that.

      “It was scandalous at first, but the church has been so supportive of Hannah, even of her decision to keep the baby instead of giving her up for adoption.” Tricia was smiling when he glanced her way. “And you couldn’t find a more devoted grandfather than Reverend Bob.”

      “Sounds like Hannah was pretty fortunate.”

      “She does her part, too, working hard to get her college degree and still being a great mom to Rebecca. She’s pretty amazing.”

      “Yes, she is.”

      But he was no longer talking about the other young woman’s situation, and he wondered if Tricia realized it. His date might have been amazed by Hannah’s determination, but he was equally impressed with Tricia’s. How had the woman beside him faced everything that had been thrown at her? Without trying to sound too interested, he’d plied Jenny for details about Tricia this week. How she’d survived her horrible loss two years before astounded him. His own injuries seemed trivial when compared to hers.

      As if she, too, wondered where his thoughts had traveled, Tricia changed the subject again. “So you’re Brett Lancaster. Are you any relation to the old movie star Burt Lancaster?”

      Brett looked at the dash clock. “That’s seventeen minutes. I wondered how long it would take you to ask.”

      “Was my time good or bad?”

      “Pretty good. For the record, I’m not related to Burt Lancaster, and I’ve never seen From Here to Eternity beginning to end.”

      Tricia’s laugh was so sweet and musical that he wanted to come up with a comic monologue to make her do it again.

      “I’m glad you made that clear.” She paused. “Hmm, next subject. How’d you manage to get these tickets, anyway? I’d always heard it was impossible to get Detroit Red Wings tickets.”

      “Ever heard of Lancaster Cadillac-Pontiac-GMC in Bloomfield Hills? I am related to that Lancaster. He’s my dad.”

      “I think I’ve heard of it.”

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