Daddy In Dress Blues. Cathie Linz

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СКАЧАТЬ the Sunday morning drive to Curt’s apartment complex, Jessica almost turned around and headed back home about a dozen times. She had to keep reminding herself that the faster Curt learned a few parenting skills, the sooner he’d become self-sufficient and not be requiring her assistance. Not to mention that it would make things easier for little Blue if she had a father who knew how to express his love for her.

      Not that Jessica was an expert on affectionate dads. Heaven knew her own father had always been a complete enigma to her. An autocratic man, he did not know the meaning of the word compromise.

      Sighing, Jessica stole a quick glance in her Ford Taurus’s rearview mirror to check two things—first, if she’d nibbled off all her lipstick and second, if the left lane was clear for her to move into it. The lipstick was long gone and the traffic was solid.

      Flicking her turn signal, she managed to slip in between a truck and minivan. Curt’s directions had been precise down to the mile with everything listed with military precision—turn north on Foster Avenue, proceed for 5.6 miles then turn east at next intersection. There hadn’t been any additional colorful play-by-play, like turning left at the doughnut shop on the corner. The directions were like the man himself. No-nonsense.

      She wondered what had happened to the bad boy she’d known as a teenager? Had he changed that much?

      Her curiosity wasn’t personal. She was merely interested in human nature, that’s all. The silent assurance made her feel less jittery as she pulled into the apartment complex’s parking lot. The pale brick building was a new one and in good shape. All the windows had screens, important for preschooler safety.

      Before getting out of her car, she touched up her lipstick, a restrained mauve that drew attention to her lips without making her look made-up. The periwinkle-blue pants and matching tunic-length top she wore were casual enough to make it appear that she hadn’t dressed up for today, but fit her well enough to be a confidence booster. Her hair was gathered up and piled on top of her head, held in place with a silver hairclip given to her by a parent last year.

      She’d brought a tote bag filled with materials to assist her with today’s lessons. There was no assisting her racing heart as she knocked on Curt’s door.

      He yanked the door open and pulled her inside before she could say a word. She no longer had to wonder what he’d look like in a black T-shirt and jeans. That’s what he was currently wearing, and the result was simply too darn sexy for comfort.

      “What took you so long?” he demanded.

      She frowned at him, her gaze having traveled up his muscular body to his face. “Is that a cherry you’ve got on your chin?”

      Grabbing the kitchen towel he had slung over his shoulder, he hurriedly swiped his face. “I was giving her toast, and I let her spread a little of the jam around.”

      “She seems to have spread it more than a little,” she replied, trying not to laugh at the picture of what appeared to be a rattled Curt.

      He glared at her. “Aren’t you supposed to teach her how to eat in school?”

      “She eats just fine in school,” she solemnly assured him.

      “Then teach her how to eat just fine at home.”

      “Jessie, Jessie, Jessie!” Blue shrieked and came racing into the room, her hands smeared with cherry jam.

      “Halt!” Curt barked. “Sit!”

      “She’s not a dog,” Jessica said, her voice making it clear she disapproved of his tactics.

      But they did work.

      Blue stopped in her tracks and sank onto the floor.

      “Hands out,” Curt ordered.

      Blue obediently stuck out her messy hands.

      Using the towel he had slung over his shoulder, he tried to wipe her hands. Jessica could have told him that he’d need a damp cloth to get rid of all the stickiness, but she let him find that out for himself.

      “I’s not a dog. I’s a girl,” Blue declared.

      “No kidding,” Curt muttered.

      The little girl tilted her head to look up at her father. “Would you like me more if I was a dog?”

      Jessica’s heart just about broke there and then. Kneeling on the floor beside Blue, she quickly assured her, “Oh, honey, we like you just the way you are.”

      Curt hunkered down beside them, still intent on cleaning up Blue’s sticky hands and apparently blithely unaware of his daughter’s emotional needs.

      Jessica gave him a discreet poke in his side, right between the ribs. Her meaningful look finally spurred him into speaking.

      “Yeah right. Just the way you are,” he told Blue. “Only cleaner. Now march back into that kitchen, young lady.”

      Blue almost poked his eye out as she saluted him, leaving a smear of jam on her forehead and then on his. But she showed no signs of heading for the kitchen.

      “Help me out here,” Curt growled in Jessica’s direction.

      “I’m just here to observe,” she replied, wanting to tell him that Blue needed his unconditional love, not a love that was dependent on her being a spotlessly clean, good girl. But it wouldn’t be appropriate now, not with Blue present.

      “To observe?” he repeated in disbelief. “How useless is that?”

      “If you’d rather I went home…” Jessica turned as if to leave.

      “Stay.”

      “I’m not a dog, either,” she replied over her shoulder, one hand on the doorknob. “So don’t try ordering me around as if I were one.”

      “Please stay.”

      He wasn’t happy about having to ask politely, there was no mistaking that in the taut line of his jaw. But he did it.

      She sighed. “Let’s get to work.”

      “Let’s play,” Blue said.

      “First you need cleaning up.” Curt gingerly picked his daughter up, as if she were a package he was hauling from one room to another. He didn’t prop her against his shoulder or hold her in the crook of his arm. He simply lifted her—his hands spanning her waist, his arms outstretched—and marched her into the kitchen.

      Jessica followed him. The living room only had a colonial-style couch in a beige-and-orange plaid that had either been a garage sale find or a sign that Curt was totally style-deprived. The only other piece of furniture was a large TV set. The man clearly traveled light. She wondered how long he’d been in Chicago? When he’d gotten the leg injury that caused him to limp? Why he’d made love to her and then acted like nothing had ever happened between them?

      All off-limits subjects, she warned herself as she stepped into the kitchen.

      Morning sunlight streamed through the large window over the sink. The cabinets were white, as were all the appliances СКАЧАТЬ