The Husband Show. Kristine Rolofson

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СКАЧАТЬ sure her seat belt was fastened correctly.

      “The woman has a big imagination.”

      Winter turned that serious blue-eyed gaze upon him, a look he’d grown used to in the four and a half days since he’d become her father. “She said she’d keep me safe and call the police. No, the sheriff.”

      “That was nice of her,” Jake said, impressed that a stranger would go to the trouble. She would have rescued a little girl and risked missing that important wedding she was in such a hurry to get to.

      “I liked her hair. Maybe I should grow mine long.”

      “You could.” Ah, yes. The hair. Silver-blond and fashionably long and straight. Dangly earrings that appeared to be flowers, the same flowers on her dress. A body that stood out, despite being covered by a puffy vest. Even the ugly suede boots did nothing to detract from the woman’s beauty.

      “She looked like a movie star. Like someone famous.”

      “Maybe she is.” He’d seen that long, silver-blond hair before, he thought. Onstage where he’d performed? No, he couldn’t picture her singing country. Or rockabilly.

      His serious child thought for a moment. “What would she be doing here? Would someone famous own a bar?”

      “Probably not,” he conceded. “Someone famous might own a bar, I guess, but not work there. She looked like she worked there.”

      “I guess.” Then she paused. “I want to go home.”

      “Yes,” he said, keeping his eye on the red Subaru SUV flying along the road. “You’ve said that before.”

      “I don’t want to be on a road trip.”

      “I know.”

      “I don’t know you.”

      “Which is the point of the trip.” He thought about the virtue of patience, and how he’d never known he’d had any until two weeks ago, when he got the phone call from Merry’s lawyers. Another short week came and went and then he’d gassed up the truck and ushered his new daughter into the front seat.

      “I want to go home,” she repeated, this time louder.

      “Which is a problem,” he pointed out, hoping he sounded paternal and calm.

      “You don’t have to rub it in,” she muttered. “I know I’m a problem.”

      “I didn’t mean it like that.” Jake despaired of getting this fatherhood thing figured out. “I meant the fact that you want to go home is a prob—an issue—something to figure out.”

      “I’m sorry.” She fiddled with the zipper on her jacket. When she was stressed she couldn’t keep her hands still. He wondered if she’d ever picked up a guitar.

      “You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” He was sorry for her. Winter. And why had Merry named the child after a season?

      As for Merry Lee, ambitious and beautiful, it was hard to empathize with the woman who had kept his child’s existence from him for eleven and a half years.

      Merry’s first album had gone platinum, as had the second. She’d married someone in Europe, had a child, was rich, he’d heard. But Jake hadn’t paid much attention. They’d had a three-month affair when he filled in for her guitar player on a summer tour, ended up married in Vegas and then they’d gone their separate ways. Merry wasn’t so merry and had a mean temper when she wasn’t in front of an audience. The quick divorce had been a relief, and the brief marriage to Merry Lee was something in the distant past.

      Until now.

      Winter was now digging through the console. “What about the GPS?”

      “Try it,” Jake said, grateful for the change of subject. “Maybe the Triple M Ranch is on there.”

      “Like an address?” She reached into the console between the seats and retrieved the GPS.

      “Yeah. If not, look it up.” He gestured toward his cell phone, a state-of-the-art iPhone he’d bought for the trip. “Try texting Sam again. Maybe he’ll answer and give us directions.”

      “I don’t think it’s right to crash a wedding,” Winter huffed, typing into the device. “We could be escorted from the premises.”

      “Excuse me, Miss Manners,” he said, making her smile just a little bit. “If you can find a store between here and this ranch, we’ll buy a gift and make the whole thing legitimate.”

      They both eyed the expanse of open land ahead of them.

      “Fat chance,” she muttered, frowning at the screen. “There’s nothing between here and the Triple M. It’s a historic ranch and was founded by a man from Scotland named Angus MacGregor. There’s even a picture.” She held the phone up so he could see.

      “MacGregor,” Jake repeated. “That’s the name of the groom, so we’re heading to the right place. Are there directions?”

      Winter looked stricken. “We can’t go there. We really could get in trouble.”

      “We won’t get in trouble,” Jake promised his overly serious child. “We’ll owe them a gift, which we will buy tomorrow. You can pick it out. We won’t stay for the food or the dancing. We’ll find Sam, get the key to his house and get off the road. We’ll ask the butler to give him a message.” He grinned. “What do you say?”

      “Not funny. I’ll text him again. Getting off the road would be okay,” Winter agreed, setting the GPS device into its dashboard cradle. “But we’re not going into the reception.”

      “Unless the bride requests a song,” he added, and then wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He’d learned, over the past six days, that she didn’t care much for teasing. She didn’t think he was all that funny, and she had little use for music. He suspected she was tone-deaf, which was odd considering that her parents were musicians.

      His daughter rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”

      “Hey,” he protested, “she might be a fan.”

      “You are so not going to sing.”

      Trying to make her laugh, Jake broke out in a bluesy, off-key version of a seven-year-old hit song.

      She ignored him, something she was good at. She didn’t care to answer too many questions. In fact, in the week he’d known her, she’d said little about her mother, even less about her childhood. Apparently her mother’s cousin had acted as nanny early on, but she’d married and had her own children. Winter had spent the past six years in boarding schools and summer camps.

      Except for this year.

      This year she had a father.

      For better or for worse.

      And whether she wanted one or not.

      * * *

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