Fathers and Other Strangers. Karen Templeton

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      “This was a really stupid idea, Jenna.”

      Jenna looked up and saw the tears cresting on her niece’s lower lids. On a sigh, she closed the gap between them, pulling the girl into her arms.

      “I’m sorry things started out so badly,” she whispered into her niece’s soft, slippery hair. “But it’ll get better. I promise.”

      Then she left before the hysterical laughter escaped.

      Even after more than two years, Hank still occasionally had mornings where he’d jerk awake in a sweat, gasping for air as though somebody’d dumped a load of wet cement on his chest.

      Shutting his eyes against the almost painful pounding of his heart, he rolled himself up to sit on the edge of his bed, fumbling for his cigarettes. His hands shook so badly it took him three tries to get the damn lighter working. He’d actually quit for several months a year or so ago, but between the memories during the day and the night terrors…well, the smoking seemed the lesser of the evils, frankly.

      He took his first drag of the morning and waited for his heart rate to settle down. Ryan, his pain-in-the-ass brother, who happened also to be Haven’s sole M.D., ragged on Hank whenever he saw him about the smoking. Which was one reason Hank tended to stay out of Ryan’s way. Besides—damn, how long was it gonna take for the nicotine to kick in, already?—it wasn’t like he had any real reason to prolong his life….

      Aw, hell. Who was banging the crap out of the office bell this early?

      He swore, took a last pull on the cigarette and stamped it out, then yanked on the pair of jeans he’d left by the bed the night before. Didn’t bother with underwear. The way he figured it, if this was who he figured it was at—what the hell time was it, anyway?—seven-fifteen in the morning, she should be grateful he bothered getting dressed at all.

      For some reason, the image of Jenna Stanton’s expression at the sight of him in the altogether brought a glimmer of sunshine to what was undoubtedly fixing to be a rotten day.

      “You can lay off the bell now,” he said, jerking open the door between his apartment and the front office. Predictably enough, she jumped back, her eyes huge underneath the brim of her ball cap, her breasts straining against the fabric of her tucked-in T-shirt like a pair of little—very little—kids’ faces pressed against a candy shop window.

      “Mr. Logan! What if this had been Blair?” She flapped her hands at him; he bet she’d be fit to be tied if she realized how red her cheeks were. “Please—g-go back and finish getting dressed. I’m not in that much of a hurry.”

      Hank’s accession to her demands extended as far as snapping his jeans’ waistband. And while he wouldn’t go so far as to say he was enjoying watching her watching him, he did have to admit he was getting a perverse sort of pleasure out of ruffling Ms. Stanton’s very ruffleable feathers.

      “You come knockin’ before 8:00 a.m., Ms. Stanton, you take me as you find me. Now am I correct in assuming you’re not here to invite me to breakfast?”

      Her eyes snapped to his. “The t-toilet was overflowing. In the cabin. I turned off the main valve to the cabin, but now we obviously have no running water. So it needs to be fixed right away.”

      Hank scratched his chin, thinking maybe he’d get around to shaving today. Or maybe not. He’d have to think on it for a bit. “No water, huh? You need to use my can?” He nodded toward the apartment.

      “No, I don’t need to use your…bathroom. We, um…”

      In spite of himself, he felt a grin tugging at his mouth, if not chasing away what was left of the nightmare, at least dulling its effects somewhat. Lord, but it had been a long time since he’d had this much fun yanking a woman’s chain.

      “I take it, Ms. Stanton, you have enough sense not to use leaves to—”

      “Blair and I are going into town for breakfast,” she interrupted, her cheeks full-out blazing now. “I…I’d appreciate it if you could see to the problem before we get back?”

      Then she turned on her heel—rope-soled shoes today—and stormed out, her fanny not daring to move a single extra muscle as she went.

      “Ms. Stanton?”

      She turned, brows hoisted. Hank dug in his jeans pocket and extracted a five-dollar bill. “Since you’re going into town anyway, d’you suppose you could bring me back a bacon and egg sandwich from Ruby’s? With a side of hash browns? Oh, and while you’re at it—” he went on a second excavation for another five “—get me a chocolate shake, too.”

      For a good two or three seconds, she regarded him with what could only be described as a cross between stupefaction and profound pity. But she tromped back over to the counter and snatched the bills from Hank’s hands. “I suppose that’s the least I can do in exchange for your checking out my plumbing so early in the morning.” In rapid succession, she blushed, cleared her throat, and said, “You drink milk shakes for breakfast?”

      For some dumb reason, a big old smile stretched across Hank’s face. “Spoken truly like somebody who’s never had one of Ruby’s chocolate shakes.”

      She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, only to spin around again. This time, he let her make it all the way outside, thinking he sure did like that indignant little backside of hers.

      Yep, Jenna Stanton might be a priss, but she was a damned attractive priss. In fact, she was the kind of woman that set a man’s hands itching to stroke some of the starch right out of her, to back her up to whatever was handy and kiss her senseless. Just for the challenge, y’know?

      And Hank was damned grateful that he was old enough, and, he hoped, smart enough, to know that he had no business thinking he might be that man.

      Chapter 2

      Jenna had read about places like this—hell, she’d written about places like this—but before this morning, she’d never experienced one live and in person. Judging from Blair’s owl-eyed expression, her niece wasn’t exactly sure what to make of Ruby’s Café, either.

      Blair leaned forward. “God, it looks like a movie set or something.”

      Jenna leaned over as well. “I know. And don’t say ‘God.’ It’s tacky.”

      Blair made a face, then slouched back against the seat. A pretty brunette waitress in standard-issue pink sleaze had already given them menus and poured Jenna a cup of decaf. The place was crowded, mostly with men in various permutations of denim and cotton jersey. Over a constant stream of good-natured insults and laughter and you-reckon-it’s-ever-gonna-rain-agains?, dishes clattered and bacon sizzled on the grill behind the counter. And, despite the inauspicious start to the morning, Jenna started to feel better. A little.

      Then she picked up her cup. And there, shimmering like a mirage in her decaf, stood Hank Logan, half-naked and freshly aroused. Awake. Awake, she corrected herself, quickly lowering the heavy ceramic cup back into its saucer.

      Blair frowned. “What’s the matter? Your cheeks are all pink.”

      “Nothing.” Jenna tried a smile. “Did you sleep okay?”

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