Chapter Three
“Hi. You’re up. I thought I’d be the only one. Mom’s still in the shower. What’s for breakfast?”
Adam bent the corner of his paper and stared at Billie as she bounced around the kitchen.
Today’s outfit was an exact duplicate of yesterday’s except her T-shirt and shorts hadn’t had time to get dirty.
Yet. The red baseball cap covered most of her hair, the bill had been tugged down to her brows.
A softball bulged from the oversize pocket of her denim shorts.
“You wanna play catch later? Mom says we have errands in town. Shopping, that kind of stuff. Oh, and to see about glass for the window. Did I tell you I was sorry about that?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“I am. Really.” She stopped in front of the table. “Whatcha reading?”
“The paper.”
“Did the Giants win?”
“Who?”
“The San Francisco Giants. They’re my favorite team.”
He set down the financial section and flipped through until he found the sports page. “Here.”
Billie sat next to him at the bleached oak table. “Thanks.” She peered at his cup. “Do I get coffee?”
“No.”
“Toast?”
He pushed his plate toward her and picked up the paper.
“Milk?”
“It’s in the refrigerator.” He scanned the columns until he found the article he’d been reading.
Lack of sleep made his eyes burn. The house had been still.
Jane and Billie’s rooms were far enough away that he couldn’t hear them, but he’d known they were there.
Despite reading the most boring financial newsletter he could find, despite the shot of Scotch and the cold shower close to midnight, he’d been awake until dawn.
That was the hell of it. He could force his mind to forget, but his body was less willing to cooperate.
There was a dragging noise behind him. He tried to ignore it. It was the “whoops” followed by mad scrambling and “I got it, don’t worry” that caused him to look up.
Billie stood on top of a stool. One foot rested on the seat, the other on the counter. A glass balanced precariously in her grasp.
“What the—What are you doing?”
“Getting a glass. Mom told me not to bother you. She said we have to be quiet and stay out of the way.” She climbed down. “I’m pretty sure I can stay out of the way, but the quiet part is gonna be tough.”
“No kidding.” He gave up and tossed the paper onto the table. “What do you normally eat for breakfast?”
She grinned. “Donuts?” she asked hopefully.
“Not a chance. How about cereal?”
“What kind you got?”
He opened the cupboard and scanned the contents. All the boxes contained sensible multigrain products. He glanced at Billie. “Somehow I don’t think you’ll approve of the selection.”
“Then toast is fine.”
She picked up a slice and nibbled on the corner. Her mouth twisted into a grimace as she tasted the marmalade.
He chuckled out loud, surprising her and himself. “I’ll make you fresh. There’s peanut butter in the fridge. Or honey.”
“Great.” She crossed to the fridge.
“Oh, and grab that bowl of fruit salad and the milk. Are we hitting all the major food groups here?”
“All of ’em except donuts.”
“That isn’t a major food group.”
“Okay, a minor food group. But it’s still my favorite.”
Billie held the bowl of fruit and the milk in her arms, then bent over and reached for the peanut butter.
Milk sloshed onto the floor and three grapes slipped from the bowl to land in the puddle.
She straightened, the peanut butter jar clutched in her free hand, then used her hip to shut the door.
He waited, but she remained oblivious to the mess on the floor.
They assembled breakfast together. Billie spread a thick layer of peanut butter on her toast, then looked around. “You got any bananas?”
“I think so. Why?”
“To put on the bread. It’s yummy.”
His stomach lurched. “I’ll pass. You go ahead.”
She handed him the fruit to cut, then she mashed the slices onto the flattened toast. While he poured the milk, she dished out two bowls of fruit. They each got a serving, as did the table. Only a couple of chunks hit the floor. He stepped around them and resumed his seat.
“Good, huh?” A milk moustache outlined the top of her mouth. Crumbs stuck to the peanut butter on her cheek.
Ignoring her engaging grin would require a man stronger than himself. “Yeah, it’s good.” He folded the newspaper and set it on the extra chair.
They chatted through their meal. Billie discussed the school she’d left behind and her friends. Although she must miss them, her outgoing nature would make it easy to settle in.
“There’s a couple of softball leagues in town,” he said. “Perhaps I could have a word with the coaches and see if there’s any room for another player.”
The last bit of her toast fell back to the plate untasted. Big brown eyes got bigger. “You’d do that? For me? After I broke your window?”
Adam cleared his throat. “It’s no trouble. Besides, I have a lot more glass to worry about. If you’re off playing on a team, I’ll rest easier.”
“You’re the best.”
She flew out of her seat and around the table, then flung herself against him.
Thin arms, small but surprisingly strong, tightened around his neck.
She smelled of soap and milk and peanut butter.
The kiss on his cheek was sticky and wet, but he didn’t pull back.
Little girls and their dreams were out of the realm of his expertise but there was something about Billie that would be easy to get used to.
“I promise I’ll never break a window again,” she said.
“That’s some promise.”
She giggled. “Okay. I’ll try never to break a window again.”
“Better.” He laughed.
“You’re up early.”
Adam stiffened at the sound of a new voice and glanced up. Jane hesitated in the doorway to the kitchen. Her eyes flickered from Billie, still standing next to him, to the table and back.
“We had breakfast together,” her daughter said. “Adam helped. And he’s going to see if I can play softball this summer. Isn’t that cool? I’m gonna go tell Charlene.” She turned to run out the back door. With her hand on the knob, she paused. “Is this the way?”
“Her house is down the path about two minutes. There’s only one. You can’t miss it,” he said.
“Bye. Oh, morning, Mom.” The door slammed shut behind her.
“All that energy first thing in the morning.” Jane offered a tentative smile. “I’ll just grab a cup of coffee, then leave you in peace.”
“There’s no need to rush off on my account.” Even to his own ears, the words sounded stiff. He wanted her out of his sight—out of his life—as soon as possible, but he’d be damned if he’d allow her to figure that out. “Help yourself to breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry.” Jane walked over to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. “You’ve made a friend for life.”
The sundress she wore fit tightly across her back, then flared out to fall in soft folds just at her knees. The bright magenta fabric added a glow to the light tan on her shoulders and arms. Once again, her hair had been pulled back in a thick braid. The slightly damp rope gleamed in the light.
He hated the way his fingers curled, as if to encircle the braid.
His gaze drifted down past the curve of her calves to bare feet with painted toenails.
With a suddenness that surprised him, his mind filled with a picture from another time, so long ago.
She’d been getting ready for a date with him.
He’d dropped by unexpectedly and had caught her in the middle of her preparations.
Fat pink curlers had covered her head. A ratty shirt, stolen from her father’s closet, concealed her body to mid-thigh.
She sat on the floor, her long legs bent, a tissue woven between her toes.
Even now he could inhale the acrid scent of nail polish, see the tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated, hear the shriek when she’d looked up and seen him watching her.
Her blush had climbed clear to her hairline, then dipped to the cleavage showing in the V of the white shirt.
She tried to run from him, but he caught her easily.
His body heated at the memory. Her protest had died amid roving hands and joined mouths.
Later that night she’d been beautiful. A woman.
But what he remembered was the teenager in curlers, shy but eager, trying desperately to please.
He’d wanted more, he’d realized that day.
Had wanted it all. So that had been the night he’d made his decision. It had changed everything.
The hiss from the coffeemaker as she replaced the pot recalled him to the present.
“My desire to get Billie on a softball team is purely selfish,” he said. “Just looking out for my property.”
“I’ll take care of that window today. I know you’re working, so I’ll go to the hardware store.”
“Working?” He frowned. “It’s Saturday.”
“I know. But you usually worked…I thought you’d still.” She turned to face him, her eyes averted. “My mistake.”
“One of many.” He tried to call the words back, but it was too late.
The first crack in the armor, he thought.
There wouldn’t be another. She couldn’t get to him anymore.
“When we were—” He paused and searched for the correct phrase.
He didn’t like the one that came to mind, so he tried another tack.
“It was never my intention to continue that schedule. I did what I had to in order to get the bank healthy. While I don’t keep what people refer to as ‘banker’s hours’, I do only put in the usual forty or so.
” Another crack. There, in the sharpness of his voice.
Jane set her coffee on the counter and walked toward him.
“Adam, I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize.”
“You must feel—”
“Nothing.” He cut her off before she could voice what he was doing his damnedest to ignore. “Not a thing. I don’t want your apologies. I don’t want—” A burst of anger struck the side of his soul. The blow caught him off guard. He took a deep breath. “Let it go. I did.”