A Better Father (Harlequin Super Romance) (10 page)

His son must have arrived.

She was ready for this. She had spent half the night talking
herself into some form of preparedness. So he had a child. Big deal. He was
thirty, just a few months older than her. Okay, so no one had ever mentioned him
having a kid, and she hadn’t ever heard of him getting married or being involved
with anyone longer than maybe thirty seconds—and with everything else, she had
never thought to ask about the kid’s mom—but then, many people had a baby or two
by the time they turned thirty. Just look at Dani. She was a good four, maybe
five years younger than Libby, and she had three of them.

Hmmm. Maybe Dani wasn’t the best comparison.

In any case, by the time the session ended and Libby headed
toward the office to sneak in some paperwork before lunch, she was sure that she
was ready. Really, the fact that Sam had a child was good. It was a vivid and
undeniable reminder that the past was in the past, they had both moved on and
from here on out theirs would be a strictly platonic business relationship.

Not that she had ever had any intention of forgetting that in
the first place, but a well-placed reminder was always helpful.

“Hey, Libby.” Phoebe scooted up beside Libby, halting her
progress toward the office. Tanya, of course, was right behind Phoebe, but
unlike her, Tanya wasn’t looking anywhere near Libby. No, Tanya’s big blue eyes
were dancing a jig between the office and the path up the hill to Sam’s place.
Looking for her new true love, no doubt.

Libby sighed. God protect her from overactive imaginations and
hormones.

“What’s up?” she asked Phoebe.

“You’re going to eat lunch with us, right? I know you have to
go check on the office stuff, but I had some ideas for the opening campfire that
I want to run past you. So when you come back, make sure you— Hello, who’s
this?”

Libby followed Phoebe’s gaze to the crest of the hill, where a
pretty brunette in a swirly blue-dotted sundress was double-timing it down the
path.

The mother?
she thought, and
something hard and hot twisted inside her until the brunette waved and burst
into a jog.

“Libby!” she called. “Oh, my gosh, Libby, is that really
you?”

It took a moment. A moment and a squint and a fast readjustment
of old memories with the reality of the woman running toward her with open arms.
Then recognition kicked in and laughter bubbled out as Libby recognized Sam’s
little sister.

“Brynn! What are you doing here?” Libby met Brynn for a
squealing hug, then released her for a long inspection. “Let me see you. Wow.
You look fabulous!”

From the corner of her eye, Libby saw Phoebe nudge Tanya in the
ribs and nod in her direction.

“You, too,” Brynn said. “Which is, you know, totally amazing.
Since you’ve had to put up with my beast of a brother, I mean.”

Libby wouldn’t even dream of challenging Brynn’s assessment.
“Where is the beast, anyway?”

“Right behind me. He had to tie up the dog. I told him, look,
mister, if you think I’m wrestling that damned dog for one more minute after I
drove all this way in your boring grown-up car with it slobbering all over me,
then you can—”

Brynn stopped as Sam crested the hill. At least, Libby thought
Brynn stopped talking. It was hard to be certain over the sudden rush of blood
pounding in her ears. Her jaw sagged and she jerked forward at the sight of Sam
walking toward her, for once moving slowly as he matched his steps to those of
the child whose hand he held.

Wisps of strawberry-blond hair danced like dandelion fluff
across the little one’s head. Deep brown eyes peered at her above cheeks that
were flushed from sleep. Chubby arms and toes that poked out from denim shorts
and a miniature Overlook shirt simply begged to be tickled.

Beside her, Phoebe let out a soft
meep.
Tanya clapped her hands to her mouth and fled.

Libby took in the hair, the eyes, the full mouth, and let her
clipboard sag to her side.

The child paused and looked down the hill, over the camp and
toward the river. His eyes doubled in size. His bottom lip shook. Even from
where she stood, she could see the way his grip on Sam’s hand tightened, the way
he edged closer to Sam’s leg and looked up at Sam with an expression that said
I’m lost and scared but I know you’ll make it
okay.

And she remembered when she had been the one who was lost and
scared. After the accident that left her mother too silent in the crumpled front
seat of their car, after the police officer had lifted Libby out of her car seat
in the back, after the sirens and the flashing lights and the hours when no one
would tell her when she could see her mommy. Gran had walked into the police
station and taken Libby’s hand, and Libby had held on tight. She knew that Gran
was the only person standing between her and a world that had suddenly turned
inside out. She had gripped Gran’s hand and refused to let go, clinging to her
the way this little one was clinging to Sam.

It’s okay, sweetheart. Casey. I know how
you feel. I promise you, you’ll be okay.

But as heart wrenching as Casey was, he wasn’t the reason for
the way her heart seemed to have reached up into her throat and yanked
everything tight and closed. No, that honor went to Sam.

No matter what Sam had put her through, she knew that he could
be tender and caring. She’d seen him console homesick campers and talk a kid
through a panic attack and keep a straight face while holding tight to a boy
being readied for stitches. She’d seen him in the moonlight, his eyes filled
with wonder and want as he pulled her close and kissed his way down her
body.

But she had never seen anything that came close to the fierce
love in his face as he swooped this little one into his arms and cradled him
tight while walking closer.

“Casey,” he said in a voice that was lower and gentler than she
had ever heard, “this is Libby. She’s going to be at the camp for the summer.
That makes you a lucky little guy, because she’s a very special lady.”

Sam tore his gaze away from his child to look at her, and her
breath froze in her chest. He shifted the boy higher on his shoulder, tightening
his grip.

“Libby, this is Casey. My son.”

* * *

O
NE
LOOK
AT
THE
SHOCK
that had claimed Libby’s face
when she saw Casey, and Sam knew things were still not right. Especially when,
as soon as she had fussed over the boy and said all the right things, she
slipped away from the crowd that had gathered and headed for the office.

He wanted to follow her. But sense told him that the best thing
he could do would be to give her some time, then get everything straightened out
during their meeting.

He took Casey into the kitchen and introduced him to Cosmo, who
gave Sam an assessing look, grunted and immediately offered Casey a hunk of
cheese that was almost as big as his head. Sam carried Casey and his giant wedge
of cheddar into the main part of the dining hall and gave everyone on staff a
few minutes to coo and fuss over the boy before announcing that it was family
time. The counselors laughed and waved him off with promises that they could
handle things for the afternoon. His job was to spend time with Casey.

And he did. He talked to Brynn and cooked Casey’s favorite tiny
pasta and helped his son see that, look, here’s your high chair, and here’s your
Sesame Street
plate and here’s your daddy
shooting peas into the net just like always. He changed Casey’s diaper and sang
“Three Little Monkeys” while rocking him in the regular chair, and when he
settled Casey in his crib for a belated nap, he made sure that Casey noticed the
picture of Robin on the dresser, just like always.

There. Not even Sharon could say he wasn’t doing everything he
could to make this transition as easy as possible for his child.

Too bad he hadn’t given as much thought to other people’s
feelings.

No sooner had he come downstairs after dropping a final kiss on
his son’s velvet cheek than Brynn met him in the living room with a pitcher of
iced coffee.

“Here.” She pressed it into his hands. “Take this out to the
porch. I already set out some glasses and cookies.”

“Why?”

“Because Libby will be here in five minutes, and you’re going
to have to work very hard to make up for whatever bomb you dropped on her.”

“Crap.” His shoulders sagged. “I wasn’t imagining it, huh?”

“Nope. Please tell me that Casey wasn’t a surprise to her.”

“Not totally.”

“So what do you think made her look like she’d been sucker
punched?”

He had a suspicion. Or maybe that was just his own guilty
conscience, still blaring the Libby-Robin tango at such a high volume that it
drowned out all other possibilities.

He was ready to explain things to Brynn but the beep of an
incoming text message made him stop. He checked his phone. His heart rate
spiked.

“Libby’s on her way,” he said.

“Sucks to be you.”

“Want to play mediator?”

Brynn shook her head, rolled her eyes and pointed to the
porch.

“Go practice your groveling,” she said. “You’re gonna need
it.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

H
OW
THE
HELL
had she ever thought
she was ready to see Sam as a father?

Libby stood at the door to the office, forcing herself to
breathe slowly in an attempt to steady the racing of her heart. Thus far, it
wasn’t working.

She thought—hoped—she had covered her reaction well enough to
keep from becoming the latest buzz on the Overlook gossip line. She had said
hello to Casey and made what she hoped were the appropriate noises about how
gorgeous and strong he was, and asked Brynn what she was doing these days, and
laughed along with the others when Casey demanded to be put down then promptly
fell on his well-padded little rump. She thought she had even congratulated
Sam.

Then she had made an excuse about work and fled into the
office, through the door Sam had left open
again,
where she closed herself off from the world and leaned against the wall and
groaned.

Sam was a parent. Somehow, she had been so fixated on the
presence of the child that she had managed to gloss over the fact that she would
be looking at Sam through a different lens. He was a
daddy,
and probably a very good one, if the love in his eyes and the
way little Casey had clung to him were any indication.

Maybe that was the difference. When she had thought of him as
simply a father, well, that implied a level of involvement she could handle.
Remote. Not too hands-on. Possibly even Victorian.

But Sam was a daddy.

Libby didn’t have much experience with daddies. The “father”
space on her own birth certificate was a taunting blank. According to Gran, her
paternal DNA came from a tourist who “blew through town one weekend and left
your mother with an extraspecial souvenir.” The closest thing she had ever had
to a father figure was probably Cosmo, and if that wasn’t a thought to leave a
gal gasping, she didn’t know what was.

A daddy, though... That was a whole other story. Daddies took
care of their children and put them first and turned themselves inside out to
make sure their children always knew they were loved and wanted. At least, that
was how it had looked to her as a little girl when she watched her friends with
their families. Daddies stood between their kids and the world, keeping their
lives safe and secure and stable.

She hadn’t known that Sam had that in him.

Or—was it just that she didn’t want to believe it?

The ringing of her phone cut through her confusion. She shook
her head, pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the display. Dani.

Oh, goody.

“Hi, Dani. What’s up?”

“I need a favor.”

Libby frowned, not at the request, but at the unusual huskiness
in Dani’s voice. “You sound awful. Are you sick?”

“Nah, though I probably will be if I don’t get some sleep soon.
Liam came down with a bad cold, and now Aidan has it, and—Aidan, stop hitting
your brother!—and I’m just waiting for it to turn into tonsillitis. Plus one of
the women at work quit without notice, so that’s been insane, and...anyway. My
lawn mower died, and I can’t deal with fixing it right now.”

Translation: she probably couldn’t afford to fix it right now.
“Mine is in the shed behind the house. You have my house key, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay. The key to the shed is hanging by my back door. It’s the
one with the key chain that looks like an outhouse. There should be plenty of
gas in the mower.”

“Thanks,º Libby. You’re the—”

Whatever Dani was about to say was cut off by a loud crash.

“Liam! Damn, you know better than to—Libby, sorry, I have to
run. There’s marbles all over the floor. Thanks a million.”

Libby ended the call, checked the clock and saw that it was
time for her to meet with Sam, to hash out the details of meshing his job at
camp with his job as Daddy. Quickly, before she could let herself hunt up an
excuse, she sent him a fast text that she was on her way.

There. She’d committed herself. She had to talk to him now.

She just hoped she could get through it without making an even
bigger idiot of herself than she probably already had.

* * *

S
AM
CARRIED
THE
PITCHER
of iced coffee to the porch, setting it
beside the plate of little sugary things Brynn had set out.

A soft knock sounded from the front of the house. Libby had
arrived.

He inched the plate closer to the center of the table—then back
to the first place—then over to the far edge before giving up in defeat and
moving to stare out at the river while Brynn exclaimed over Libby’s hair,
efficiency and ability to put up with him. Between the two of them, he was
doomed.

Finally, he sensed more than saw Libby hovering at the entry to
the porch.

“Hi,” she said carefully. “Did Casey go down for his nap
okay?”

Casey.
That was who he needed to
focus on right now. Not himself, not Libby, though she definitely deserved some
attention. Casey.

“Out like a light.” He pulled himself from the screen and
returned to the table, where he poured two glasses of coffee.

Ice clinked.

Liquid sloshed.

No one spoke.

He handed a glass to Libby, taking great care to avoid brushing
her fingers, then forced himself to face her.

A casual observer would never know she’d had the stuffing
yanked out of her. But he knew that her eyes didn’t usually hold that wariness,
that her grip on her clipboard didn’t usually leave her knuckles white.

It was the pinched look around her mouth that finally made him
man up and speak.

“I owe you an explanation. Among other things.”

She pulled the clipboard closer to her chest. A small movement,
barely visible, but he had to force his feet to stay planted where they were
instead of carrying him across the porch to wrap her in a hug and rock her back
and forth until all the tension slipped out of her.

Yeah, that would go over really well.

Lucky for him, any inclination to move was halted by a sudden
tickle in his nose. He ducked his face into his elbow and let loose with a
sneeze that could have rattled the windows if they’d been closed.

“Bless you,” she said automatically, then frowned and took a
step back.

“Are you catching a cold?”

“No,” he said with a sigh. “It’s allergies. The dog.”

As if on cue, Finnegan strolled into the room and dropped a
rubber chicken at Sam’s feet.

“Libby, meet Finnegan,” he said before another sneeze set in.
Finnegan sat and waited for the silly human trick to be done, then whined softly
and pushed the chicken forward with his paw.

“Sorry, fella.” Sam picked up the toy, tossed it out of the
room, then quickly shut the porch doors. Too late; another sneeze nabbed
him.

“Sorry about that,” he said after blowing his nose. “It’s
usually not this bad. Every time I’m away from him for a few days, I have to get
used to him all over again.”

“Why do you have a dog if you’re allergic?”

He waved her into a chair before seating himself beside the
table. He plucked one of the sugary things off the plate before realizing that
if he tried to eat anything, he would probably end up choking on his own
nervousness.

“He’s Casey’s dog. When Casey came to me, Finnegan came,
too.”

A thousand questions flitted across her face, all in the space
of her simple “Oh.”

He sighed and dropped into a chair. “Let me give you the
condensed version. A few years ago, I had a very nice neighbor named Robin. We
were friends. Then for a while, we were more than friends, and we had
Casey.”

Libby perched on the edge of her chair, the clipboard balanced
on her knees.

“We never—well. It’s complicated.” And could lead to an
inadvertent revelation about Sharon, which was a step he was not prepared to
take. This discussion was difficult enough without throwing in a mention of the
lawsuit. “Robin and I had a system that worked for us. Casey lived with her not
far from Halifax. I visited whenever I could. It was all very adult and
reasonable, and we were managing just fine.” He drew in a deep breath. “Then
six—no, seven months ago now—Robin died.”

“What?”

Libby looked as if she wasn’t sure whether she should fall back
in her chair or jump up and run away. Pretty much the way he had reacted when he
got the news, come to think of it.

“It was one of those freak things. Aneurysm. One day she had a
headache, then she was in the hospital, then she was gone.”

She cupped her hands over her mouth. Her eyes, barely visible
above her fingers, were soft and disbelieving.

At last she dragged her hands back down and shook her head. “I
am so, so sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“So that was when Casey came to you. With Finnegan.”

“Sort of.” He backtracked quickly before the curiosity on her
face could lead her to questions he didn’t want her entertaining. “I was near
the end of the regular season, and we were fighting for a play-off berth. I had
a responsibility to my team. Brynn was able to take time off and come help me
while I finished things up.”

“And while you were getting everything set here.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re lucky you have her.”

“Don’t I know it.”

She nodded, but the action was hollow. More of a time-marker
than an agreement, he could tell.

Then she looked over at him, and he felt like he’d just taken
an elbow to the head. “Why the big secret?”

The seventy-five-million-dollar question, and he couldn’t
answer it.

“That was a mistake.”

“Agreed. But that wasn’t my question.”

“I’m sorry. It’s personal.”

As if she had expected the answer, she pushed out of her chair
and took the place he’d occupied by the screen, staring out over the campground
without seeing, much the way he had.

“I should have been told.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, small pink spots forming on her cheeks.
“No, Sam. No. You’re not getting out of this one with a simple ‘I’m sorry,’
okay? I should have known.”

“I had reasons, Lib. Good reasons.”

“I’m sure you did. You’re an old hand at doing what you want
and then skipping away without a word of explanation, aren’t you?”

Oh, no. He wasn’t going there. The last thing he needed was to
get her thinking of old wounds once again. “Don’t drag the past into this,
Libby.”

“Don’t...” She looked to the walls, exasperation practically
pouring off her, her free hand reaching up to fist in her hair. She breathed in
deep and held it for a second. Probably trying to calm herself, for when she
spoke again, her words were clipped and tight. “Fine. Setting aside everything
that happened once upon a time, Sam, you still should have told me.”

She should have known about the dog and the scheduling. No
question about that. But was she entitled to more? She wasn’t part of his life.
She was his employee. A very enticing employee with whom he had a tangled
history, sure, but that was it. It wasn’t as if he were trying to pick up where
they had left off. Even if she’d made it abundantly clear that there was no
chance of that, well, heck. In a showdown between the camp and Casey, her heart
would fall to the camp. He was sure of it.

He studied her, trying to figure out what lay behind that
shield of a clipboard. She flushed a bit but held his gaze as he tried to
decipher what she was hiding. There was more than anger there, he could tell. It
was more like she was...hurt.

He’d hurt her.

Ah, crap.

“You have a point,” he said with a sigh.

She jerked back. Not much, just enough to make her cheeks flush
and bring a small smile of surprise to the corner of his mouth.

“Here’s the thing, Lib. I got shoved onto the full-time parent
track without warning. I’m not complaining, believe me. I thank God every day
that I was able to make the changes I had to make when Casey needed me.” He
picked up his glass and absently rubbed his finger around the edge. “But I’m
still learning how to balance it all, you know? Everything I do now goes through
the Casey lens. Is this what’s best for him? What will he need?”

“I understand that. But—”

“Lib.” He scooched forward, hoping and praying she could see
that he really meant this. “I... Sometimes, when I’m juggling lots of different
people, lots of different needs...sometimes I make the wrong decisions. Ones I
regret, even years later.”

She reached for her clipboard.

“I figured out how to make the camp work for Casey. I forgot
about making him work for the camp. And for you.” He looked her straight in the
eye and added, softly, “For that, I’m sorry.”

She seemed to be in some kind of inner debate. He held his
breath while she bit down on her lip and looked at the ceiling, the naked wall,
anywhere but at him.

She sighed. “No more surprises. At least nothing like that,
okay?”

The matter of the lawsuit flashed through his mind. Should he
tell her?

No. There was no need. Court wasn’t until September, when she
would more than likely be gone. There was no reason for her to hear about it. No
reason to put himself through the unpleasantness of telling her, of having it
hovering between them each time they spoke, of having her wonder if he could do
his job with that hanging over his head. He was doing enough of that on his
own.

“That’s all I’ve got.”

She bit down on her lip and looked away.

He held his breath.

Then, at last, she met his gaze again, nodded and offered him
the barest bones of a smile.

“Thank you.”

It wasn’t much. A whisper and a quirk of the mouth before she
focused on the clipboard and started talking schedule. That was it.

But Sam could swear the earth shifted a little on its axis when
Libby smiled at him, no matter how reluctantly.