The Setup (14 page)

Why wasn’t he answering his messages? A blackout wouldn’t have affected her ability to get through to him. Telephones and cells didn’t use electricity. But when she’d called his room last night, there had been no answer. She assumed it was because he wasn’t there. But he hadn’t picked up first thing in the morning, either.

Something wasn’t adding up. Her father was the most dependable person on the face of the earth. Why wasn’t he checking his messages?

Emily had the uneasy feeling that her father needed her. He was brilliant at what he did, but he
didn’t fare all that well on his own away from home, she thought, shaking her head.

Trying to call her father between classes today just wasn’t going to cut it. She would only become more and more frustrated. What she needed to do was be there. She made up her mind so fast her brain almost had whiplash, but she knew exactly what she had to do. She had to ditch her classes for the day and fly down to New Orleans. She knew exactly where he was staying. She’d been the one to help make the online reservation.

Reaching into her back pocket, she took out her wallet. She flipped it open and looked inside. The credit card her father had given her for emergencies was right where she had left it. So far, she’d only used it to pay for small items, like books she needed for school or a pair of jeans. Although neither constituted an emergency, the purchases had been okayed by her dad.

This, however, was something completely different. A missing father really was a bone fide emergency.

Emptying her backpack onto the bed, she dumped out her books and hastily threw in a change of clothing and a few necessities. She zipped the backpack up again and gave it a once-over. It looked as if it were still packed with books. Good.

“Bye, Grandma, I’m leaving,” she called out cheerfully a few minutes later as she headed out the door. “Gotta dash or I’ll be late for the bus.”

“Have a good day, Emily,” her grandmother called.

Emily felt guilty about lying. But she knew she would feel worse about not doing anything if it turned out something
had
happened to her father. As she hurried away from the house and down the block to the bus stop, she tried her father on her cell one last time. Still no response.

Because she believed in covering all bases and was an optimist at heart, Emily redialed her godfather.

“Talk to me,” he said when he answered the phone.

At least she had gotten through to someone. “Uncle Blake, where is he?”

“Emily. Hi.” He sounded surprised. “Your dad? He’s enjoying himself I guess. The last I saw, he was driving off into the night in a horse-drawn carriage with Sylvie Marchand, the date we hooked him up with. She seems to like him.”

“Thanks, Uncle Blake, I gotta go. My bus is here. Bye.” She closed the cell before he could say anything. She deliberately didn’t tell him about her plans, because, after all, Uncle Blake was an adult and he’d probably try to talk her out of it.

There was no way that was going to happen. Her father driving a carriage? From the sound of it, he might be getting serious about this woman. Why else would he do something so out of character? She frowned. She’d just wanted him to have a little fun, to get back into dating, maybe eventually start seeing someone on a regular basis. But this was happening much too fast. God only knows what he was doing right now.

The bus arrived and Emily boarded it quickly. A sense of urgency was compelling her. She needed to reach her father before he did something they were both going to regret.

Taking a seat, Emily sighed. It was obvious to her that she wasn’t through raising him yet.

S
YLVIE FELT
as if her head were splitting. How could so much go wrong in such a short period of time?

A day ago, her biggest concern had been choosing which paintings she was going to lend Maddy. At least those, mercifully, were still where they were supposed to be. She’d verified that nothing had happened to them with a quick call to her friend a few minutes ago. Maddy had assured her the paintings were fine and that she would be sending them back before the afternoon was over.

But now she suddenly found herself having to deal with the theft of an exceedingly expensive painting on one front and a potential custody battle on the other. And that didn’t even begin to take in wrestling with her conscience because of what had happened with her “blind” date.

She might have the soul of a neo-flower child, but she’d never been careless about who she slept with. Even at the height of her free-spirit period, she had been monogamous in her relationships. Once she became a mother, that was her most important job, and her most important relationship was with her child.

Granted, the earth had moved for her last night, but that could have been for so many reasons. A long spell of celibacy could have colored her perception of events and her reactions. The bottom line was, there was no possibility of a future for her with a lawyer who hailed from the New England area.

What in God’s name could she have been thinking, making love with him?

She turned toward Jefferson abruptly. They were in the restaurant, and although it was way past breakfast time, the chef had made Mickey Mouse pancakes to please Daisy Rose, who was at present happily divesting Mickey of one of his ears.

The little girl was sitting between them. When they had taken their seats, the thought of how idyllic this scene was had flashed through Sylvie’s mind. This was the way she would have liked things to be. For Daisy Rose to have a father, a real father. Someone who would also be there for her, not so much to slay dragons as to tell her that the dragons didn’t matter. That all that mattered was love.

But that was as much a fantasy as dragons were and she had to stop thinking that way. She needed to have her feet planted squarely on the ground and get her head out of the clouds. Starting now.

“This isn’t going to work,” she told Jefferson without preamble.

Jefferson raised his eyes to hers. He had just picked up the creamer and was about to pour. “The
creamer?” He tipped it. Cream swirled into his coffee. “Seems to work just fine.”

“No, not the creamer,” she said impatiently, keeping her voice down. Wishing she could keep her feelings in check as easily. “This,” she hissed, waving a hand to include the two of them.

Jefferson did not respond immediately. He’d always been fairly good at reading people. And they’d made a connection last night, he and Sylvie, one that transcended the physical. A connection that he never thought he’d make again. It enabled him to read between the lines.

She was afraid, he realized. Bohemian, gypsy-like, a free spirit by every possible definition, Sylvie was still afraid. Afraid of what had happened between them. Of what it meant. And he, the man whose daughter had accused him more than once of wearing both a belt and suspenders when it came to life, wasn’t. He wasn’t afraid. A little stunned, maybe, but more than willing to take the next step. And the next. To see where this was going.

And to hope.

“Us,” Sylvie explained, bordering on exasperation when he said nothing, when he just kept looking at her with those large, calm eyes of his.

“How do you know?” he asked mildly. “You haven’t given it much of a chance to survive. Why don’t you just watch and see what happens?” he suggested.

She could feel his voice undulating under her skin, could feel herself weakening when she was
used to being so strong. It made her feel vulnerable, a state she had vowed never to be in again. “I’ve got too much to deal with, too much to handle.”

He wondered if she saw herself that way, as an isolated entity. “You don’t have to do it alone, you know.”

“She’s not alone,” Daisy Rose piped up, a tiny stream of honey trickling down her chin. “Mama has me.”

Sylvie could feel tears welling up inside of her, coming from nowhere, threatening to spill out. Oh God, she was falling apart, she thought, trying to quell the onslaught of panic. What was wrong with her? She was acting as if she’d never made love before.

“Yes, I do, baby,” she whispered to the child. Raising her eyes to Jefferson, she bit back a plea for help. “I’m coming apart.”

“You’re not coming apart, Sylvie.” There was nothing but sympathy in his eyes as he reached for her hand. “You’re having an anxiety attack.”

She tried to pull her hand back, but he held it fast. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he countered firmly. “Nothing to be ashamed of. It can happen to anyone. Your system’s on overload and you’re panicking. Just remember, no matter how bad it feels, it’ll pass.” He smiled at her, releasing her hand. “That should help.”

She tossed her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Daisy Rose mimicking her.

“What would you know about panic attacks?” It wasn’t a question, it was an accusation.

Another man might have hedged, but Jefferson saw no reason not to tell her the truth. “I had one three weeks after my wife died. I was sure I couldn’t make it without her. And damn sure I couldn’t handle being a single parent to an eight-year-old.” He smiled, thinking how much harder losing Donna would have been if he hadn’t had Emily to care for. “Emily’s sixteen now. Still alive. And she’s turned out pretty well.”

Holding her fork in her hand like a scepter, Daisy Rose paused in her final assault on her pancake, which no longer resembled Mickey in the least. She looked up at Jefferson. “Is Emily your little girl?”

“Yes, she is.” This one was a sponge, he thought. Very much like his Emily had been. “Would you like to see what she looks like?” When Daisy Rose enthusiastically bobbed her head up and down, Jefferson took his wallet from his pocket and opened it before the little girl. “There.” He pointed to a recent photograph he’d just put in last week. “That’s Emily.”

Taking the wallet into her hands, the three-year-old studied the photograph, then looked up. Very solemnly, she handed the wallet back to him. “She looks like that girl,” she declared, pointing a slender finger toward the entrance of the restaurant.

To be polite, Jefferson humored her and turned in his seat to look.

Following the direction that Dairy Rose pointed, he found himself staring at a young woman who
looked exactly like his daughter. Who dressed exactly like his daughter.

But he had left Emily back in Boston, his mind insisted. He must be looking at a carbon copy.

S
TANDING IN THE DOORWAY
, Emily scanned the interior of the restaurant slowly, checking the occupants scattered throughout. The desk clerk had told her this was where her father had gone. It was close to two o’clock and most of the lunch crowd had departed, but more than a few couples lingered.

And then she saw him. He was with a woman and a little girl. Waving, Emily hurried over.

“Dad!” she cried. Her father had just enough time to stand up before she launched herself into his arms, backpack and all. “Dad, you’re all right.”

“Of course I’m all right.” Releasing Emily, he tried to make sense of the situation. “Why wouldn’t I be? What are you doing here? Don’t you have classes?” He looked behind her, half expecting to see his mother-in-law in Emily’s wake, but there was only a waitress passing by, bringing someone a huge dessert. “Is your grandmother with you?” Independent though Emily was, he still wouldn’t have thought she would just hop on a flight for New Orleans by herself.

After pausing for just a second, Emily tried to answer the questions in the order received. “Looking for you. Yes, but they don’t matter, and no, she’s not.” Satisfied that she had covered everything, she had one crucial question of her own. “Why aren’t you answering your cell phone?”

He looked at her blankly. “My cell?”

“Yes.” Emily saw the little girl looking up at her, and she smiled at her before reading her father an abbreviated form of the riot act. Now she knew how
he
felt when
she
didn’t call in, but that was an observation to save for another time, when she might need it. “I’ve been calling since last night. There was this story on the news that half of New Orleans was engulfed in some kind of massive power failure.” She lowered her voice dramatically. “One of the reporters suggested it might even have been another terror attack.” Her eyes narrowed as she fixed him with an accusing look. “And you weren’t answering your phone.”

Three pairs of female eyes were on Jefferson as he took his cell phone out and examined it. The light was lit. He held it up for Emily to see.

“It’s on,” he protested.

Emily knew better. “Give me that,” she huffed. Taking the phone from him, she pressed a few buttons to scroll through a menu as she checked out her suspicions.

She rolled her eyes. “You have it set on vibrate, not ring,” she accused.

Jefferson looked at the silver object, mystified. He had no idea when that had occurred, only that he hadn’t been the one to do it—at least, not on purpose. Gadgets were definitely not his thing.

“Must have happened the last call I made,” he speculated. “I must have accidentally hit something.”

Pressing a few buttons, she returned the phone to its normal mode. A ring echoed before she flipped the phone closed and held it out to him.

“So you’re okay.” It was more of a statement than a question.

Where he came from, parents worried about kids, not the other way around. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t called her when he landed. They’d even talked early last night. Emily worrying about him had been the furthest thing from his mind.

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

“I’m Daisy Rose,” Daisy Rose announced, tugging on Emily’s backpack. She must have felt that she had been patient enough during this exchange. When Emily looked at her, she said, “You’re pretty.”

Surprised by the compliment, Emily took a second to get her bearings. And then she grinned. “You’re pretty, too.”

“I know,” Daisy Rose replied with confidence. “That’s my mama.” She pointed to Sylvie. “Her name’s Sylvie.” With a guileless look, she went on to ask, “Are you going to be my big sister?”

Jefferson had just taken a sip of coffee, and barely managed to swallow as Daisy Rose’s question to his daughter blindsided him. He was only grateful that he hadn’t spit the liquid out.

Taking a breath to steady himself, he looked at Daisy Rose in disbelief. He hadn’t thought the little girl was listening to anything being said around her. Obviously, he’d been wrong. She’d picked up a great deal and had interpreted the information in her own way.

Emily looked at her father, waiting for some kind of denial. Afraid that he might be on the verge of choking, she pounded him on the back until he held up a hand to make her stop.

“Dad?”

“I’m okay,” he told her hoarsely. “Although I might need a new back.” Before anything else, introductions were in order, he thought. “Emily, this is Sylvie Marchand and her daughter, Daisy Rose. Ladies, this is my daughter, Emily, doing her best imitation of Nancy Drew.”

“I was worried,” she reminded him.

“You could have called the hotel front desk, or better yet, Blake.”

“I did call Uncle Blake.” She slanted a look at Sylvie. “He said he thought you were getting serious.”

He saw another flash of panic in Sylvie’s eyes. Damn Blake, anyway. He always did move his mouth before his mind was engaged.

“No decisions about anything have been made yet,” he told her, then looked at Daisy Rose. “And that goes for your question, as well. I promise, you two will be the first to know.”

“Oh.” He couldn’t tell if Emily was relieved, or disappointed.

“Oh,” Daisy Rose echoed, imitating Emily. It was clear by the expression on her small face that she’d instantly taken to Emily and had appointed her a role model.

Jefferson probably wanted some time alone with
his daughter, Sylvie thought. Seeing the girl, seeing how old she was, reinforced her conviction that this attraction she felt for Jefferson didn’t have a prayer of going anywhere. The sooner she backed away, the sooner she could turn her attention to everything else.

She glanced down at her daughter. “Daisy Rose, honey, I think—”

But Sylvie had no opportunity to finish what she was about to say. From out of nowhere, Shane materialized, bringing with him a woman who looked to be only a few years older than Jefferson’s daughter.

She couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, Sylvie thought. Obviously, Shane was trying to hang on to a youthful image. There was no way he was going to bring her daughter into this.

“Hello, luv, told you I’d be back,” he announced. His attempt to brush a kiss against her cheek had him kissing air instead. At the same time, Sylvie clamped her hand on the only remaining chair at the table, offering it to Emily.

Unfazed, Shane grabbed a chair from another table and dragged it over. Straddling it, he looked directly at Daisy Rose, unmindful that he had left his fiancée standing behind him.

Jefferson rose and offered the young woman his chair. It earned him a small smile that was tinged with embarrassment. It was obvious that Shane’s fiancée wasn’t accustomed to being slighted. Jefferson retrieved one more chair for himself. The small, round table was becoming very crowded.

Sylvie glanced toward Jefferson as he sat down, her eyes silently begging him not to leave. He had no intention of going anywhere. Especially not when his own daughter was looking at the former rock musician as if he were the Second Coming.

For now, though, Shane’s attention was on the smallest member of their table. “Know who I am, luv?” he asked Daisy Rose.

Sylvie was about to say that if his brain had not eroded from all the drinking he’d done, he would remember that she’d written him about that. She’d told Daisy Rose as much as she felt a three-year-old could understand about her father. She’d shown her photographs, not to establish a beachhead for Shane, but to let the little girl know that, like everyone else, she had both a mother and a father.