“She’ll get over it.”
She smoothed her skirt over her knees. “That depends on you. Are you going to say things?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Are you going to tell her that I’m the worst mother since the invention of the institution, that I’ve deprived her of her birthright and family?” She closed her eyes and waited.
“You must think I’m a real bastard.”
Now it was her turn to be surprised. “No. Why would you think that?”
He shook his head. “You don’t have a very high opinion of me.”
“You’re still angry and I thought you might—”
“I don’t plan to bad-mouth you to Billie. She’s the innocent one in all this. She might be pleased to take my side at first, but in the end it would only confuse her.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not doing it for you.”
Right. She couldn’t allow herself to forget that.
“What about her name?” he asked.
“You don’t like Billie?”
“Her
last
name. You didn’t give her mine.”
“I didn’t want you to know. It would have been pretty obvious if I’d named her Belle Charlene Barrington.”
He sprang to his feet. “You named her Belle Charlene? After Aunt Charlene?”
“Yes. Is that okay?”
He jammed his hands into his pockets. “I don’t even know my kid’s name.”
Jane wanted to bite off her tongue. She’d already hurt him enough—couldn’t she stop saying things without thinking? “Adam, I—”
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t say anything. We’ll deal with the name thing later. What about custody? We live next door, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Am I listed as a father on the birth certificate?”
He was moving too fast. All this talk about living arrangements and legalities. “Yes, but we need to deal with this later.”
“Why? Are you going to disappear again?”
“I didn’t come all the way back just to leave. I had planned to have a life here with my daughter.”
“My daughter.”
“Our daughter.” What was going on with him? Why did he have to—
Control. He was trying to control an uncontrollable situation. Of course. What else would Adam do?
She rose to her feet and moved next to him. When he didn’t step back, she risked putting a hand on his arm. His skin felt warm to the touch. Alive. The black hairs tickled her palm. Stubble outlined the strong line of his square jaw. The young woman who’d left him would have been allowed to touch that skin and stubble, but she wouldn’t have appreciated the contrast of smooth and rough, warm and cool. She wouldn’t have noticed the shape of his mouth, or that his muscles coiled when he was tense. She hadn’t learned that losing, even if by choice, was hard to get over.
It had been nine years and Jane still hadn’t gotten over Adam.
“Billie is our first priority,” she said. “We have to tell her that you’re her father.”
He stiffened. “Father. How am I going to be her father? I don’t know how.”
“You’ll be fine.” She was about to go on with the logistics of where and when to tell Billie, when he cut her off.
“What if I say something wrong? What if she decides she doesn’t want me for her dad?”
She stared at him. Adam Barrington,
the
Adam Barrington, expressing doubt?
He shrugged out of her touch. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m surprised you’re worried.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I don’t know Billie that well and she doesn’t know me. What if she doesn’t like me?”
“She adores you.”
“Maybe.”
She shook her head.
“What?” he asked.
“I was just thinking I wish you’d been like this nine years ago.”
“Like what?”
“Insecure. Scared.”
His eyes met hers and for the second time that night she saw into his soul. “You scared the hell out of me, Jane.”
The confession came nine years too late.
“Hell of a day,” she said, blinking frantically and ordering herself not to cry.
“You’re telling me.” He sighed. “Tomorrow, over breakfast?”
“Okay.”
“What do you want to say?”
“I haven’t a clue.” She forced herself to smile. “Maybe we should wing it.”
He nodded. “Nine. My kitchen.”
“I’ll be there.”
She stood in front of her house until he walked through the hedges that separated their properties. Her mind raced. Thoughts of Billie and what her daughter would say competed with those eight simple words. “You scared the hell out of me, Jane.”
Had he been frightened of losing her? Had he cared? Had she destroyed three lives to get away from a demon that didn’t even exist?
*
Adam stepped quickly through the dark night. He’d grown up on this land, he knew every inch of the path from his house to Charlene’s. Even without the moon to guide him, he made his way through the trees and up the brick-lined walkway to her back
door. He knocked softly and waited. She’d still be up. They had a lot to talk about.
“Come in,” she called.
He opened the door and stepped into her kitchen. Charlene stood at the stove stirring a pot. Long red hair tumbled around her shoulders. Her full-length burgundy robe clashed with her hair color. Usually he teased her about the combination. Not tonight.
“Is Billie asleep?” he asked.
“Yes.”
She didn’t turn around to look at him. The silence between them lengthened. “You knew,” he said at last.
“Yes.”
“She told you?”
“I guessed.”
“When?”
With a sigh she tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot, then placed it on the counter. Turning slowly, she raised her chin and looked up at him. “The day she arrived.”
He cursed. All the emotion of the past few hours had left him feeling drained, as if someone had pulled the plug on his energy. He didn’t have enough in him to sustain anger. He could only feel disappointment and hurt.
Charlene continued to watch him. Her blue eyes, less vivid without any makeup to accentuate the color, didn’t show remorse. “I didn’t tell you,” she said as she leaned against the counter. “Because that wasn’t my decision to make. I warned Jane she didn’t have much time. If she didn’t say something you’d figure it out.”
God, he was tired. “You betrayed me.”
“How?”
“You’re my aunt. You should have been looking out for me. How dare you keep Billie a secret?”
“Adam, I understand your pain. Believe me, this was not an easy thing to keep quiet about. Yes, you’re family. But by virtue of having Billie, so is Jane. It wasn’t my secret to share or not. It was hers.” She picked up the spoon and began stirring the pot again. “Do you want some cocoa?”
“You can’t fix this problem that easily,” he said, moving into the kitchen and pulling out one of the chairs in front of the window. “I’m not a kid anymore.”
“You haven’t been for much too long. But cocoa can still make you feel better. Trust me.”
He looked at her.
“Adam, I love you. I also love Jane and Billie. Please don’t trap me in the middle.”
He wanted to hate her, but he couldn’t. There was too much at stake. “I don’t know what to do.”
“About Billie?”
“About all of it. What am I supposed to say when she finds out I’m her father?”
“When are you going to tell her?”
“Tomorrow. At breakfast.”
Charlene took down two cups, then measured out cocoa and sugar. “You’ll think of something. Billie is a bright girl. She’ll handle this better than you imagine.”
“I hope so.”
She poured the steaming milk into the mugs and stirred. After handing him one, she took the other and sat opposite him at the round oak table. “You’ll be a fine father.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know the kind of man you are, Adam Barrington. Have a little faith in yourself.” She picked up her cup. “To fatherhood and one more generation of Barringtons.”
They tapped mugs. In the corner of her kitchen, the CB unit squawked. “Breaker, breaker, I’m lookin’ for my redheaded Southern belle. Charlene, you listenin’ to me, darlin’?”
Adam raised one eyebrow.
Charlene tossed her head as she rose to her feet. “I’m just keeping busy.”
Chapter Ten
A
dam laid out the dozen cinnamon rolls Charlene had brought over, then set the plate in the center of the kitchen island. He moved them slightly to the left. Next he put out place mats, some fruit and napkins. He was about to check the front window to see if Billie and Jane were coming over yet when he remembered that he had to start the coffee.
He hadn’t been this nervous since he—He shook his head. He’d never been this nervous. It wasn’t every day a man was introduced to his child. Usually it happened in the hospital while the kid was an infant and too little to make judgments about liking and not liking. Billie was eight and very opinionated. What if she decided she didn’t want him for her father? He couldn’t force himself onto her. It hadn’t taken a hell of a lot of soul-searching to realize how very much he wanted to be part of her life.
He gave the kitchen a quick once-over, realized he’d forgotten plates, then set them on the place mats. As he straightened the napkins, he heard a knock on the back door.
Billie didn’t bother to wait for him to answer. She barreled
into the room and grinned. “I
told
her we didn’t have to knock. We have breakfast together almost every day. I said you were ‘specting me.”
“
Ex
pecting,” he answered, before bending over and giving her a hug.
“Whatever,” Billie said as she hugged him back, then wiggled out of his embrace and climbed up onto a stool at the center island. “All right! Cinnamon rolls. My favorite.” She picked one up and began licking the icing.
“Good morning, Adam,” Jane said as she hovered in the doorway. The shadows under her eyes told him she, too, had had a sleepless night.
The nervousness, anticipation and concern swirling in his stomach didn’t leave any room for other emotions like anger or resentment. He and Jane were in this together. The first order of business was to tell Billie the truth. Once that was taken care of, he and Jane would have plenty of time to work through everything else. He knew he’d have to come to terms with what Jane had done. He couldn’t continue to hate the mother of his child; not without hurting Billie. And she was his main priority.
“Morning.” He waved toward the chairs. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you.”
She sounded as awkward as he felt. As she walked by him, the hem of her floral-print skirt brushed his bare leg. The cotton tickled. He’d thought about dressing up for their talk with Billie, but had decided shorts and a polo shirt would look less as though he was interviewing for the job of father.
“I made coffee. It’s almost ready,” he said. “Would you like some juice?”
“That would be nice.” She seated herself next to Billie, leaving the chair at right angles to the girl for him.
He poured one glass. “Billie?” he asked, holding up the pitcher.
“Sure.” She grinned. “And milk, please.”
Icing coated her face from her nose to her chin. Crumbs collected at the corner of her mouth. The ever-present baseball cap had been abandoned on the counter and her bangs stuck up along her forehead. She looked adorable.
Her hair—He stared at it for a second, then glanced at Jane. They didn’t have the same color. Jane’s was darker, a true brown with no hint of blond or red. Billie’s hair was lighter. He finished pouring the juice and gave them each a glass. She had
his
hair color. He peered closer. And his eyes. His heart clenched in his chest, as if a giant fist squeezed it tight. It was real. He couldn’t believe he’d never noticed.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Billie asked.
Adam shrugged an apology, but couldn’t take his eyes from the girl. The freckles on her nose looked just like Dani’s. Her mouth—he glanced at Jane, then back at Billie—belonged to her mother.
Billie leaned across the counter until their faces were inches apart. “You’re still staring at me.”
He kissed her forehead. “I’m done.”
“Good.” She grabbed a piece of watermelon and bit into it. Juice ran down her chin. She caught it with the back of her hand.
“Billie, we have to talk,” Jane said.
Instantly Billie set the fruit down. Her smile faded and she looked at Adam.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No.” He took the seat on the other side of her. He sat on the end of the island, at a right angle to her. He could see Jane over her head. Their eyes met for a brief moment. He saw Jane’s uncertainty. He wanted to promise her that it was going to be okay, but he didn’t know
how
the situation would end up.
Jane angled herself toward her daughter and rested one arm on the counter. “Adam and I—”
“I slid down the banister,” Billie said, staring at her plate.
“What?” he asked.
“Last week, when you got that phone call from the bank, I sneaked out of the kitchen and slid down the banister.”
Adam frowned. “I told you not to do that. It’s very high and you could get hurt.”
She thrust out her lower lip. “I didn’t fall.”
“That’s not the point. The point is—”
“Adam.” Jane shook her head. “Billie, you know better, but that’s not what we want to talk about.”
She nodded and pushed her half-eaten piece of watermelon across her plate. “I know. I didn’t
mean
to. It just happened. I was going to say something.” She looked up at Jane. “Honest.” She turned back to Adam. “You weren’t home, so I couldn’t tell you. Then when I came to breakfast, I didn’t want you to get mad at me. I’m sorry.”
He stared horrified as a fat tear trickled down her cheek. “What the hell are you talking about?” he said loudly.
Billie jumped.
“Adam, don’t swear,” Jane said.
“Mom, he said a bad word.” Billie sniffed. “Adam, you shouldn’t say
hell.”
He’d lost control, he thought as he struggled to stay sane. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had it, but it was gone now. He slid off the stool and grabbed the coffeepot. After filling two mugs, he handed one to Jane, then resumed his seat. “Okay, let’s try this again. Billie, you’re right. I shouldn’t say—”
Jane raised her eyebrows.