Daddy, He Wrote. Jill Limber

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      Chapter Four

      Trish couldn’t look at Mr. Miller. She stared into the fire, sure that when he got over the shock of hearing about Billy’s death he’d come to his senses and fire her.

      She was so lost in her misery that when he spoke she jumped. She hadn’t heard him walk up beside her.

      “Do you need any help with the arrangements?”

      Her mind went blank. Arrangements? What was he talking about?

      He waited patiently for a moment. “The funeral. Do you need me to call anyone for you?”

      Of course. He thought Billy had just died. He didn’t know she’d been widowed for two and a half months—because she’d been afraid of losing her job so she’d covered it up.

      His kindness nearly undid her. She shook her head. “No. It’s all over.”

      She hadn’t been able to afford a funeral. There really hadn’t been anyone to attend, anyway. She’d asked Billy’s best friend to get his ashes from the funeral home because she didn’t have a car to go and pick them up.

      A few days later he’d called to tell her Billy’s drinking buddies had had a memorial service for him down at the Stumble Inn, their favorite establishment. Apparently, it didn’t occur to them to ask her to come. She’d never asked him what he’d done with the ashes.

      “When did he die?”

      She would have to tell him, then he’d know she’d been lying to him all along. “Two and a half months ago.” She looked up into his startled face.

      “I see.” He picked up his bag and, without another word, turned and left the room.

      She watched him go, then choked back tears as she looked down at her sleeping daughter and whispered, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She could actually feel her security slip away.

      She had been foolish to think she’d be able to deceive everyone and keep both their jobs so she’d have the old stone house. Swallowing a sob, she stared miserably into the fire. What was she going to do?

      Trish hated feeling sorry for herself. She’d learned a long time ago it was a waste of time and got you nothing.

      Knock it off, she told herself fiercely. He hadn’t actually said he was going to fire her, and she had been taking care of things since Billy died.

      Heck, she’d taken care of things since she’d discovered she was pregnant and moved in with Billy.

      He’d usually been hung over in the mornings and stayed in bed, then he would take off in the afternoon to drink beer with his buddies or fish or go hunting.

      Trish decided to go and talk to Mr. Miller and present her case before he had too much time to think about what he had just learned. She had to convince him to keep her on. She’d proven she could do the job, hadn’t she?

      She tucked the blanket around Emma and then raced into the utility room behind the kitchen. She couldn’t go talk to him in pajamas with ducks all over them. She pulled her laundry out of the dryer, yanked off her pajamas and scrambled into a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt.

      She checked on Emma again, banked the fire and then headed up the stairs to the bedrooms. She paused at the first door with the light on. There was a black case on the big worktable under the window, and his wet overcoat was draped over the chair, dripping water all over the floor, but no Mr. Miller.

      She continued on down the hall to the next room and stopped dead in the doorway. He was standing at the closet with his back to her.

      His bare back.

      Her eyes lingered on the smooth expanse of skin covering his broad shoulders and tapering down to a trim waist.

      Trish felt her mouth go dry. The man was built like a Greek god. Who knew that much male perfection lay under his beautiful clothes?

      She must have made a noise because he glanced over his shoulder at her before she could back away.

      “Do you need something, Ms. Ryan?” he asked, sounding thoroughly annoyed, his words muffled as he pulled a sweater over his head.

      She could feel the color burn in her cheeks. He turned and watched her as she tried to remember why she had charged up the stairs.

      She’d been too impulsive and hadn’t given herself time to think about what she was going to say. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to bring up her future employment. She needed to be really sure he was in a good mood before she broached the subject.

      Desperately she searched for a reason to be standing in the door to his bedroom. “I was, ah, wondering if you needed, that is, if you wanted anything to eat?”

      Absently he rubbed his hand over his flat stomach, now covered by a soft sweater that brought out the incredible blue of his eyes. “Can you make me a sandwich?”

      Trish brightened. She knew her way around the kitchen. A full stomach would put him in a good mood. “Of course. Ham? Turkey?”

      She had shopped yesterday when a neighbor had offered her a ride to the market. Gratefully she had accepted. It was so much easier than dragging Emma and the groceries on the bus, so she had stocked up.

      He seemed to carefully consider his choice. “Ham. With everything on it. And coffee if you have it.”

      She nodded and turned to leave. “Ms. Ryan?”

      “Yes?” She had to brace herself not to flinch as he studied her. She couldn’t read his face. Was he going to give her notice before she could even make him supper?

      “I’ll eat up here. I’m going to use that first room as an office after I move some of the stuff out of it. Would you bring the sandwich up here?”

      “Sure.” Trish exhaled a long breath as she turned to leave his bedroom.

      “And, Ms. Ryan?”

      She СКАЧАТЬ