Daniel's Daddy. Stella Bagwell

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      “Would you like to join us, Hannah? I was just making Daniel a sandwich.”

      Join them? All sorts of thoughts ran through Hannah’s head as her gaze skittered over Jess’s face. This morning, she hadn’t really planned to do more than attend Frank Malone’s funeral. She hadn’t thought it prudent to come over to the Malone house and offer her condolences to Jess and his son in person. But as she’d waited for her coffee to brew, she’d looked out the living-room window and noticed that not one car was sitting in the driveway to the old house. The man had just lost his father, and it looked as though no one cared. She didn’t like to think of anyone so alone. Not even an outlaw like Jess Malone.

      “Well, I suppose I could. Mrs. Rodriguez gave me the rest of the afternoon off. She runs the child day-care center I work for.”

      Jess motioned his head toward an open doorway just behind them. “The kitchen is through here.”

      Hannah followed him, glancing tentatively around her as she did. The house was in bad shape. There was no other way to put it. She wondered what Jess thought about the place, then wondered even more how he’d felt about his alcoholic father.

      In the kitchen, Daniel climbed upon a chair and scooted eagerly up to the table. Jess set down the thermos and package, then reached to help Hannah off with her raincoat.

      She’d never had a man help her with such a personal task. Hannah felt heat flush her face as his hands lightly brushed her shoulders.

      “I’m—sorry about your father,” she said quietly, not really knowing what to say to this man who’d rarely spoken to her during the years he’d lived in Lordsburg.

      At that moment, Jess realized she was the first person who’d said that to him and really meant it. A few of the border patrolmen who worked with him back in Douglas had mouthed the words. But they hadn’t known Frank Malone and they’d merely expressed sympathy out of courtesy. He had a feeling Hannah was too reserved to bother saying something she didn’t mean.

      “I am, too, Hannah.” In fact, he was sorry about a lot of things, he thought wearily.

      He pulled out a chair for her, and Hannah dropped gracefully into it.

      “I have to confess I hadn’t seen your father in several months. The last time I tried to visit with him—well, he was—”

      “Drunk?” he asked, one dark eyebrow arched mockingly at her embarrassed face.

      Nodding, she shifted uncomfortably on the wooden chair. “I was going to say inebriated.”

      “A different word doesn’t make it any less ugly,” Jess told her.

      Bitterness laced his words, making Hannah feel even more awkward. She’d been crazy to think she could offer a man like Jess Malone any sort of sympathy. He’d been around and she’d been nowhere. What could she say to him that might help or make a difference?

      He set a sandwich and a glass of milk in front of Daniel. “There you go, sport,” he told the boy. “We’ll have a big supper tonight.”

      “Pizza,” Daniel said hopefully.

      Jess shook his head. “No. Not pizza. You’d eat that stuff three times a day if I’d let you.”

      Watching Jess and the child, Hannah once again wondered about Daniel’s mother. Where was she? Or had Jess simply adopted a child on his own? She quickly discounted that notion with a mental shake of her head. Daniel resembled Jess very closely. He had the same dark hair and green eyes. Even the dimple in his left cheek was a carbon copy of Jess’s.

      After setting two thick coffee cups on the small chrome and Formica table, Jess opened the thermos Hannah had given him.

      She watched him pour out the hot drink before she ventured to speak. “You know, alcoholism is ugly but you need to remember it’s an illness,” she said quietly.

      “Yeah. An illness,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

      Hannah watched him keenly as he took a seat beside Daniel and directly across from her. The pain on his face was at complete odds with the tough-guy image of him she’d always held in her mind.

      He pushed one of the cups across the table to her. “The old man should have been strong enough to overcome it,” he went on after a minute.

      Hannah took a sip of the coffee, then decided she might as well be frank. That was often the best way to help a person. “Perhaps you should have been strong enough to help him.”

      Jess stared at her. Where did this timid woman get off saying such a thing to him? “Me strong enough! You think I didn’t try to get my father off the booze? Let me tell you, Hannah Dunbar, I tried to help him. My father didn’t want to be helped!”

      She looked at him, her gray eyes full of compassion. “Then you have nothing to feel guilty about.”

      Jess couldn’t believe this woman. How had she known he’d been feeling guilty about his father’s death? And how had she found the nerve to tell him so? During high school, he couldn’t remember her saying much to anyone, and when she’d spoken to him, he figured that was because they were neighbors. Mostly, she’d been a loner with her nose constantly stuck in a book.

      “What did you do after we got out of high school, become a part-time psychologist?”

      Hannah’s spine stiffened at his mocking question. Maybe she hadn’t gone places and maybe she did still live in the same little stucco house she’d shared with her mother. That didn’t mean she wanted to be insulted by the likes of him!

      “Hardly,” she said crisply.

      “This was my grandpa’s house,” Daniel spoke up, interrupting the tension between the two adults. “He was old and sick. But I wish he was here.”

      Hannah’s heart went out to the child who was still too small to understand what losing a loved one was all about. She longed to move around the table and hold him in her arms.

      “Yes, I wish he was here, too,” Hannah agreed softly, then offered him a smile. “How old are you, Daniel?”

      He held up three fingers. “Daddy says I’ll be four soon.”

      “February,” Jess told Hannah with an indulgent grin for his son.

      “That old!” Hannah exclaimed, always finding it easy to talk to children. “Why, you’ll be in school soon.”

      “I can say my ABCs already,” Daniel told her between gulps of milk. “And I can count, too!”

      “Really? You must be a smart little boy,” Hannah said.

      His head bobbed up and down with childlike conceit. “I am. Wanna hear me count?”

      Jess looked at his son with mild surprise. He’d never seen him open up to a stranger like this. Especially a woman. “Not now, Daniel. Eat your sandwich and let Hannah drink her coffee.”

      Hannah gave Daniel a conspiratorial wink, then reached for the small loaf of pumpkin bread she’d carefully wrapped in aluminum foil. СКАЧАТЬ