Daddy, He Wrote. Jill Limber

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      Trish lit the fire in the huge stone fireplace, then got out blankets from the linen closet and settled Emma and herself for the night, sinking into the soft cushions of the couch and savoring the luxury of sleeping in a warm room.

      Exhausted, she didn’t even turn on the television and drifted off to sleep almost immediately, the sound of the storm howling around the house strangely soothing.

      Tollie’s furious barking woke her up. Groggily she raised her head and looked around the dark room, wondering what had set the mutt off. Then she realized she wasn’t at home, she was at the main house.

      She had no idea how long she’d been asleep, and the red glowing numbers of the digital clock on the microwave flashed 12:00. She hadn’t reset it after turning the generator on.

      Just as she was about to get up and investigate what might be upsetting her normally placid dog, the overhead lights went on, blinding her.

      She peered over the back of the couch, squinting into the bright light. To her horror, Ian Miller stood in the doorway to the great room. The shoulders of his coat were thick with snow, and there was a thunderous expression on his face.

      He took his gaze off her for just a moment to glance over at Tollie, who stood stiff-legged and growling, all the hair raised on his back.

      “What are you doing here?” she blurted out without thinking. He wasn’t due for two more days.

      He set his bag down with a thud. “I might ask you the same question,” he fairly growled at her.

      Trish felt her heart sink. He’d fire her. Probably tonight, considering the furious expression on his face.

      She told Tollie to hush and wondered where she could go. What was she going to do? She had no money, no marketable skills and no family. She still owed the hospital and the funeral home. She’d been homeless before, and she wasn’t going to let her baby live that kind of life. Ever. She looked down at her sleeping daughter, overwhelmed with dismay.

      Ian stared at the tousled, delightful-looking woman curled up on his couch, her big blue eyes blinking against the light. He felt like Papa Bear come home to find Goldilocks in his bed.

      Except he didn’t think Goldilocks had had a demented-looking mutt. At her command the dog had downgraded his barking to growls, and his spooky white eyes were staring past Ian. Ian watched Trish, but didn’t take his full attention off the dog.

      She appeared to be confused and scared and still managed to look utterly enchanting.

      Just what he needed, he thought, rubbing the tense muscles in the back of his neck. His dream of utter solitude dissolved in annoyance.

      He was exhausted from fighting the storm all the way from Philadelphia. He’d decided this afternoon when he’d heard the weather predictions that if he waited to leave he’d be forced to delay the trip, possibly for days, and he couldn’t stand the thought of being stranded in the city when he could be at Blacksmith Farm. So he’d decided to come early.

      He should have called to warn her, but it hadn’t occurred to him she’d be in his house.

      “Well?” He was still waiting for her explanation.

      She swallowed hard and made a helpless little gesture with her hand. “The power went out. No lights or water.”

      He glanced up at the ceiling fixture. Did she think he was an idiot? “Looks like it came back.”

      She shook her head full of tousled, blond curls. “This house is on a generator.”

      “No generator at the stone house?”

      She shook her head again and continued to stare at him as if he were Attila the Hun.

      Just then a cat that looked as though it had gotten its head and tail caught in a piece of farm equipment sauntered into the room and jumped up onto the arm of the couch. Absently she scratched it under the chin, and Ian could hear the rumbling of its purr all the way across the room.

      He looked around, wondering how many other animals might be lurking in the corners. At least the dog had settled down. The sound of her voice caught his attention.

      “Mr. Miller?” She put the cat aside, struggled out of her nest of blankets and stood up. She was wearing pink flannel pajamas printed with yellow rubber ducks.

      She looked as though she might cry. “I’m sorry to be here,” she said, her voice hitching, “but the baby has a cold and I needed to keep her warm.”

      Baby? What baby? Ian looked around the room again, wondering how he had managed to stumble into this weird nightmare. “Baby?”

      She pointed to a wash basket beside the couch. Ian took a step forward and saw a miniature version of Trish asleep in the basket.

      He was hit with a punch of emotions that left him speechless and angry. He didn’t want the confused feelings that welled up and took him completely by surprise. She had a baby. This woman who looked like a child herself was a mother.

      She started folding up the blankets with jerky movements. “I’m really sorry about this, Mr. Miller. I’ll get dressed and go home.”

      She obviously hadn’t looked outside recently. They were in the beginning of a whiteout.

      “No,” he said sharply, appalled at the idea. She couldn’t take a baby, sick or otherwise, out in this weather, not to mention live without power.

      She probably wouldn’t even be able to find the stone house, even though it was only a short distance away.

      She stopped folding the blankets and stared at him, her chin trembling. “No?”

      Feeling uncharacteristically protective, he said, “Absolutely not.” He wasn’t going to let her take a step outside. She was such a little thing the drifts would come up to her waist.

      She began blinking rapidly, as if she had something in her eye. “But where am I supposed to go?”

      He wondered how sharp a brain she had under all those blond curls. Usually he didn’t have so much trouble communicating, but for some reason she didn’t seem to understand. Annoyed, he said, “Nowhere. You’ll stay here.”

      He told himself he didn’t care if she was unhappy, but the misery on her face made him want to take her in his arms. Oh, yes, he definitely needed to get her back to the stone house as soon as possible. He’d order a second generator in the morning.

      “Oh.” She sat back down on the couch, hugging the half-folded blanket to her chest. “Thank you.”

      Ian glanced out the window. “Where is the baby’s father?” His voice sounded gruffer than he had intended. It was none of his business, but he needed to know, and that irritated him.

      She swallowed hard and got a very strange look on her face. After a long pause she said, “Not here.”

      Odd answer, he thought. The father should be the one worrying about her and their child, not him. He didn’t want the entanglement. “I have my cell phone. Can you call him?”

      She СКАЧАТЬ