Single Dad. Jennifer Greene

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СКАЧАТЬ the owner of this place? Ariel Lindstrom?”

      He sounded so doubtful that she was tempted to offer him ID. “Yes.”

      “Well, I’m Josh Penoyer. Patrice’s father.” With two firm hands on her shoulders, Killer was ousted from the safe hiding place behind his legs. “My daughter has something to say to you.” Killer clearly wasn’t fond of this plan, because she burrowed straight back for her daddy’s arms. “Patrice.” There was no meanness to his tone, but it wasn’t hard to identify the immobility of rock. Dad wasn’t gonna budge. The little one lifted dread-filled eyes. Sotto voce, he prompted her, “We’re sorry....”

      “We’re sorry. Very sorry we took your unicorn.” Said-offending unicorn came out of a shorts pocket, wrapped protectively in several miles of tissue, and was placed on Ariel’s workbench.

      “Oh, sweetheart...” Ariel started to say, but she was cut off.

      “We have a little more to say than that, don’t we, Patrice?”

      “Yeah.” Killer had to take a huge breath before she could get out the rest of the prepared speech. “We unnerstand that you could call the cops and put me away for the rest of my life, but we’re hoping you won’t. Because I would never steal anything again as long as I live. And because I’m real sorry. And because you were nice, and that makes it extra bad that I stole something from you, and I’ll probably never be able to forgive myself, even in my whole life.”

      Ariel couldn’t wait another second before pushing off the stool and crouching down to the child’s level. “Well, we certainly can’t have you feeling that bad. It takes a big person to own up to her mistakes, Killer, and it means a lot to me that you did that. You brought the unicorn back, and you apologized. That squares things with me just fine.”

      She raised her eyes to Killer’s dad. “Really. The whole thing’s forgotten as far as I’m concerned, Mr. Penoyer.”

      “Josh,” he corrected her, which was about the last word he said. His parental mission accomplished, he scooped up his daughter and gave her a riding seat on the back of his shoulders—where the little one was prevented from touching anything else in the shop, Ariel noted humorously. Less than a minute later, the two exited the store in a tinkle of bells.

      From the window, Ariel watched him strap Killer into a dusty red Bronco, then take off. As hot and tired as she was, she stood there for a few more minutes. Belatedly she recognized that Josh had looked exhausted and hot, too, but that hadn’t stopped him from making his child’s problem a priority. That said a lot about his values as a dad. It said even more about him as a man.

      She’d pegged him as a hard-core realist—positively her opposite in temperament—but Ariel had no problem admitting that she’d been charmed. Seriously and sincerely charmed. Killer’s behavior with her dad had been as revealing as a blueprint. Even when Josh had looked intimidatingly ready to blow the lid off that temper, the urchin had burrowed straight for his arms. He might get mad, but no way was his daughter afraid of him. The strong, loving bond between the two had been rich and rare, a measure of the man and his ability to love. Ariel hadn’t met a special man like that in a long time.

      She abruptly turned around and headed for the back stairs. It was tempting to mull and muse all night about Josh—but far more sensible to force her mind back on butter-brickle. Her stomach was growling—a problem she could easily fix. And she’d learned young to steer clear of problems that she couldn’t. The chances of her seeing either of the Penoyers again seemed doubtful. It was best to forget them.

      * * *

      “She was pretty, wasn’t she, Dad? Didn’t you think she was pretty?”

      Since it was the fourth time Killer had asked the question during the drive home, Josh figured he wasn’t going to get out of an answer. “Yeah, sure,” he said flatly. Truthfully, he thought that descriptive epitaph was an awfully pale peg for Ms. Lindstrom. Sexy. Wild. Flighty. Those were more like it.

      “Did you like her, Dad?”

      “Sure, I liked her.” He liked fireworks. He liked race cars and storms. And just because he was thirty-four and divorced didn’t mean he was dead from the waist down. He liked long-legged, long-haired blondes built with a memorable upper deck just fine. But a grown man didn’t have to dip his hand in flames to know there were unpleasant consequences to playing with fire.

      “Wasn’t she nice? Didn’t you think she was nice?”

      “Yeah, Ms. Lindstrom was nice. But if you think talking about her is going to distract me from what you did, you’re dreaming. I’m still mad at you. What you did was real, real wrong, Patrice.”

      “I know.”

      Aw, hell. Her lower lip was starting to tremble. Dammit, he hated it when the squirt did that.

      Josh jammed a hand through his hair as he turned the corner. Calvin was fourteen, Bruiser thirteen. God knew they got into all kinds of mischief, but it was boy trouble, the kind Josh understood. The kind of stuff his daughter got into confused him. He was just no expert at six-year-old girls, and pretending he was qualified to be both Mom and Dad was a full-time challenge.

      He sneaked another peek.

      The lip was still trembling.

      “Look, I can’t just forget it.”

      “I know,” Killer said pitifully.

      “We’ll go home. Have dinner. But after that, you go straight to your room. No playing. And no TV tonight.” His voice was stern, but he checked her face again. Was the punishment too mean?

      “Okay.” A single tear dribbled down his daughter’s cheek, caught on a smudge of dirt, then drooled the rest of the way down her neck.

      Josh glanced at traffic behind him, then reached over and gently wiped the tear away. “You have to have a punishment when you do something this serious. Could you try and understand that? It’s my job as a dad, for Pete’s sake. I have to do this, Killer.”

      “I said okay.”

      Maybe it was “okay,” but he saw another tear welling. Nothing with Calvin or Bruiser had ever been this complicated. He’d never hesitated to give the boys a swat on the behind at this age—like if they’d run in the street or broken a window—and for sure, stealing rated up there as a spanking offense. But somehow he’d never managed to lay a hand on Killer. Even when he was mad enough to strangle her—and God knew, the squirt could be exasperating—he had to work like a dog to even raise his voice. Something in those big brown eyes sabotaged him every time. They made him feel like melting. They made him feel like mush. They made him feel guilty.

      Josh swung into the driveway, mentally damning Nancy for taking off on him and the kids. The divorce had been final for a year now. Whatever had gone wrong in the relationship, he hadn’t had time to figure out. He was too busy coping with work, bills, dishes, cooking, laundry, two teenage sons and a six-year-old daughter.

      Still, as long as he ran sixty miles an hour, he’d really believed that he’d been coping—until a problem like this happened. “I still don’t get it. What possessed you to take that unicorn thing?” he asked his daughter.

      “It was pretty.”

      “Yeah? СКАЧАТЬ