Dad's E-mail Order Bride. Candy Halliday

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      He didn’t mention that second kiss.

      Neither did Courtney. She’d analyze the kiss later. At the moment, her only concern was Rachel.

      “I had no idea Rachel would be so upset when I talked you into teasing her, Graham. I need to go apologize.”

      “Apologize? Don’t be ridiculous. Rachel’s the one who needs to apologize to you.”

      “And I’m sure Rachel will,” Courtney said. “But I’m not very proud of myself right now for making her cry.”

      He started to object again, but Courtney stopped him.

      “Please, let me talk to her. If you don’t, it’s going to be a miserable weekend for all of us.”

      Graham kept staring at her.

      Courtney held his gaze.

      “Go through the kitchen,” he finally said, pointing across the great room to the saloon-style doors. “There’s a hallway off the kitchen. Rachel’s bedroom door is the first door on the right.”

      “Thank you,” Courtney told him sincerely.

      “But when you’re through talking to her,” he said, “tell Rachel I want to see her in my office. No excuses.”

      Courtney nodded and started toward the kitchen. When she reached the hallway, she could have found Rachel’s room without Graham’s directions. Broadway was stretched out on the floor, guarding the door.

      Courtney bent and gave the big dog’s head a fond pat. And only after Broadway wagged his tail in permission did she stand up and place a gentle knock above a sign that read: Teenzilla Inside—Enter at Your Own Risk.

      The first knock failed to produce a response.

      Courtney knocked again. “Rachel, it’s Courtney. Can I come in for a minute?”

      “Go away!”

      This time Courtney turned the doorknob and Broadway saw his chance. By the time Courtney stepped inside the room, Broadway had already launched himself onto the bed beside his mistress.

      Rachel’s tearstained face made Courtney wince.

      “I owe you an apology, Rachel. It was my idea to play a joke on you, not your father’s. It was a mean thing to do and I’m sorry.”

      “It doesn’t matter,” Rachel said, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I played a mean joke on you. I deserved it.”

      Courtney walked across the room. Without being invited, she sat on the edge of Rachel’s bed. “If it makes any difference, I’m still glad I came. I wouldn’t have missed meeting you for anything.”

      Rachel’s chin came up. “Really?”

      “Really,” Courtney said, reaching for her hand. “After all, you and I have more or less been dating for three months now.”

      That comment at least got a half smile out of her. Then Rachel’s face clouded over again, reminding Courtney how much she looked like her father. Same ink-black hair. Same brown eyes with the same hint of sadness if you looked closely enough.

      Rachel sniffed and said, “Dad’s really pissed at me, isn’t he?”

      Courtney nodded. “And I’m afraid I only made things worse. I’m sorry, Rachel. I printed out some of the e-mails you sent me that I thought were from your dad.”

      Rachel gasped. “And you showed them to him?”

      “Sorry.”

      Rachel flopped back against her pillow with a loud groan. “Now he really is going to kill me. I took stuff from his journal.”

      “I know. Graham told me,” Courtney said. “And I hope you realize how wrong that was. Everyone deserves the right to privacy.”

      Rachel sat up. “And what about my rights? Every day Dad keeps me here he’s violating my right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”

      Courtney smiled knowingly. “How’d you do on your American history test, by the way?”

      “Aced it, of course,” Rachel said, but her tone was still surly.

      “Do you really hate living here so much?”

      “Wouldn’t you?”

      Courtney shrugged. “Actually, I think living here might be a nice change from the city.”

      Rachel snorted. “Yeah, but we’re not talking about a nice change. Dad would keep me here permanently if he could.”

      “Only because he loves you, Rachel. And he wants to keep you safe.”

      “I’m sick and tired of being safe!”

      But neither of them mentioned what had led up to Graham moving them to Alaska. It was easier to talk about things like that on the phone than it was in person. The phone provided the barrier a person needed to keep anyone else from seeing their pain.

      In one of their more serious conversations, Rachel had told Courtney that her mother had been shot and killed in a robbery outside their apartment building when Rachel was only ten. She’d said Graham had quit his brokerage firm on Wall Street, put their apartment on Park Avenue up for sale and had moved them to Alaska immediately after the funeral, despite strong objections from Graham’s parents and his in-laws.

      In fact, now that Courtney thought about it, not once had losing his wife been mentioned in any of the e-mails that were supposedly from Graham—another red flag that should have warned her something wasn’t right. Instead, Courtney had assumed talking about the tragedy was still too painful for him.

      But now Courtney understood.

      Rachel hadn’t tried to express her father’s feelings because she had no idea how her father felt about her mother’s death. Graham obviously hadn’t shared those feelings with his daughter.

      “You don’t really agree that Dad should keep me here all through high school, do you?”

      The question pulled Courtney back from her thoughts.

      “Something could happen to me right here in Port Protection, you know. I could get eaten by a bear. Or attacked by a wolf. Or I could drown if a whale turned the skiff over and spend eternity in a watery grave at the bottom of the ocean. I could even have my eyes pecked out by a hungry eagle.”

      Rachel sighed a dramatic sigh.

      “Or,” she said with a pitiful look on her face, “I can continue to die a slow and painful death the way I’m doing now.”

      Courtney had to laugh. “You certainly know how to paint a grim picture.”

      “Living here is a grim picture,” Rachel mumbled.

      “Then СКАЧАТЬ