Читать книгу All-American Father - Anna DeStefano - Страница 9

SHRUGGING OFF the admiring glances of women was nothing new. Derrick was a large man who, whether he wanted to or not, enjoyed the even larger public persona that came with having been a pro football prospect. Even after his NFL dreams tanked, compliments of a near-crippling back injury, the Mighty DC still got noticed.

While married to Amanda, random female attention never tempted him to do more than look back. Since she left him for his ex-best friend, Rodney Canton, life had been too raw for Derrick to give a damn.

Until roughly sixty seconds ago.

The pixie-like woman sitting behind the shabby desk had devoured him with her eyes before he’d made it through the door. When she’d whispered his name in that husky voice, every muscle below his waist had clenched with the instinct to get closer. Soft, curly chestnut hair held back with a rubber band, a heart-shaped face completely devoid of makeup, she’d looked both familiar and different at the same time.

Though different from what was anyone’s guess, since as far as he knew, they’d never met.

He’d bet his Reynolds-Allied bonus she wouldn’t make five-two stick in heels, and his tastes usually veered toward leggy blondes with mischief in their eyes. The woman now looking everywhere but at him had the air of someone too harried to give mischief a second glance.

So why did he have the urge to get her on her feet to see if the waist half-hidden behind the desk was really as tiny as he imagined it would be?

“Dad!” His mortified preteen glanced between him and the stranger he’d been gaping at.

Sinking into the agony of watching his oldest daughter spiral into a dark place he couldn’t protect her from, Derrick gave his fear and anger free rein.

“Get your butt in the car.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “There’s no chance of talking the shop owner out of pressing charges, but the cop said you’re sprung until you go before the judge. Do yourself a favor and work up the necessary enthusiasm to say you’re sorry on the way out the door.”

Before a year ago, he’d never said anything harsher than boo to his children. They’d been daddy’s girls from birth. So eager to please, just like Amanda. He’d eaten up every smile and I love you, Daddy, not for a second realizing how elusive that kind of adoration could be—in both daughters and wives.

“I already said I’m sorry,” Leslie mumbled. “Two hours ago, when that cop called you.”

Her scowl trembled, then she tightened that traitorous lower lip that turned Derrick’s heart to mush every time she fought not to cry. Staring down at the stiletto boots she’d shown up in a week ago, with no explanation of where they’d come from, she slinked out of the office like a shadow of the good kid he knew still lurked inside.

“She’s crying out for attention.”

Derrick whirled on the woman who’d finally risen to her feet.

“Excuse me?”

Judgment and disapproval had replaced her blatant admiration. She tucked the hem of her T-shirt into well-worn jeans no woman should look that spectacular in. Then she and the waist that was even tinier than he’d envisioned stepped around the desk.

“The longer you took to get here, the more belligerent your daughter became.”

“Traffic over the bridge was a bitch, not that it’s any of your business.”

Bailey, or so her name badge read, twirled a tendril of hair between nervous fingers. She started to speak, stopped, then shrugged as if to say, what the hell.

“Your daughter’s getting in over her head.” She met his gaze dead-on, which took guts considering he was ready to explode and his expression no doubt showed it. “Stealing is bad enough, but—”

“I’m a lawyer. I don’t need a convenience store clerk to tell me that shoplifting is a serious offense. I just got an earful from the cop outside.”

“Did he bother to mention what your daughter took?” Her eyes narrowed.

“No. Stealing is stealing.”

“Not if you’re a twelve-year-old girl.” She reached for a purse and a familiar-shaped box. “You don’t remember me, Derrick, but you seemed like a pretty good guy in high school. When you find the time in your busy schedule, you or your wife might want to have a talk with Leslie about birth control.”

He stared at the twelve-pack of condoms. His mouth opened to fire a dozen questions at the departing Bailey, but he couldn’t find the words.

His baby girl was apparently flirting with the idea of being sexually active, and the sassy clerk at the Stop Right, the crotchety owner and even Detective Oaks had known before Derrick had.

“I KNOW I’M LATE,” Bailey blurted as she hustled into Margo’s Bistro.

Giving up on heading home to shower and change, she’d raced away from the Stop Right—and Derrick Cavenaugh’s domestic problems—and headed straight for the bistro.

“It’s slow for a Thursday night.” Margo Evans motioned toward the group of women she’d been sitting with at a corner table. “A few friends popped in. Nothing Robert and I couldn’t handle.”

Margo and her husband’s bistro had become the latest trendy meeting spot for the residents and business people who milled around San Francisco’s South of Market Area. A month or so back, Bailey and Margo had bumped into each other, literally, while Bailey bussed tables and circulated trays at a wedding the other woman attended.

Margo had needed weekday help in the evenings, which was perfect for Bailey. Her hands were full at her family’s bed-and-breakfast all morning. Every day. And the bistro’s pay beat the minimum wage Drayton grudgingly doled out.

“Get back to your friends.” Bailey slipped behind the counter. “I’ll see what Robert needs.”

Pushing through the double doors to the kitchen, she clocked in and grabbed her apron. Bailey had been embroidered in sunny yellow on the apron’s apple-green fabric. As if she belonged there, when Margo’s was just one more part-time job in the endless string she’d had since high school.

Dead-end jobs were necessary. They kept the bills paid. They weren’t anything close to the exciting life she’d dreamed of, but that was fine. So was arriving at her second part-time gig of the day, rumpled and twelve hours past shower-fresh. Whatever she had to do, however she looked doing it, Bailey didn’t mind, as long as she kept her grandmother’s business afloat.

“You want to take these out while I get the ladies their drinks?” Robert handed over a plate filled with specialty muffins and scones that were typically sold out after the breakfast rush. For Margo and her friends, he’d broken into tomorrow morning’s stash.

Bailey smiled and nodded, heading into the other room with the platter. Robert co-owned the bistro with Margo, and he had some big-time job in finance or banking. But nights and weekends, when he wasn’t hanging out with Margo’s kids, he was in the bistro lending a hand wherever she needed him. They were one part newlyweds, married just since August, and one part old married couple. The kind of couple that finished each others’ sentences and slipped into both romantic and silly moments as if they’d never known any different.

Their happiness would be enchanting to watch if their ready-made family didn’t reek of the kind of too-good-to-be-true situation that Bailey typically avoided.

“Here you go.” She set pastries in front of her boss and the other two women at the table.

“I tell you, he’s not going to come,” said the brightly dressed woman beside Margo who looked vaguely familiar.

“He’s in over his head.” Margo’s other friend managed to look both tough and gentle as she contributed to the evening’s gossip.

Margo chuckled. “That’s usually when most people think they have it all figured out.”

“Can I get you anything else?” Bailey asked, maintaining the illusion of privacy while she stood close enough to take their next order. She was there, but she was invisible.

The service industry is in our blood, Grams kept saying, passing off the Greenwood family’s legacy of perpetually serving, while others relaxed and took a break from their lives, as a magical gift bestowed upon only the chosen few.

“No, thank you, Bailey. This looks lovely.” Margo smiled, as if the way Bailey had placed the plate of desserts on the table was a slice of heaven on earth.

“I’ll get your drinks.” Bailey backed away, her return smile forced.

She needed this job. To keep the Gables Inn out of the red, she’d take two or three more just like it. Her new employer’s overly exuberant appreciation was a small cross to bear, even if it held a hint of pity for how much Bailey and her grandmother were struggling.

“Drinks ready?” Bailey picked up a tray at the counter Robert was now working behind.

The door chimed behind her. Robert nodded his head in greeting to whoever had come in.

“Selena gets the espresso, straight up.” He loaded Bailey’s tray. “And Margo likes her lattes.”

“Selena?”

“The artist.”

Ah.

The woman wearing the vibrant combination of a deep plum tunic and sage-green skirt, who Bailey could have sworn she’d met somewhere before.

“You came!” She heard Selena exclaim.

Bailey turned. Her experienced hold on the tray of steaming drinks deserted her at the sight of Derrick Cavenaugh holding the beautiful artist’s hand and smiling as he chuckled—genuinely chuckled—at something she was saying.

Crash!

Then everyone was staring at Bailey and the broken pottery littering the floor.

BAILEY GREENWOOD…

Derrick had wrangled her name out of her boss, while he’d failed once again to talk the irritated man into dropping the shoplifting charges.

Little Bailey Greenwood…

The name was vaguely familiar, but besides the heather-green eyes, he had only a distant memory of an overly bright kid who, as a freshman, had kicked his and everyone else’s butts in senior calculus class.

And now she was working the counter at a suburban minimart?

The kid behind the Stop Right register hadn’t blinked before spilling that his coworker wasn’t on her way home at six in the evening.

Bailey’s always scrambling for work. I think she’s hooked up with some coffee place in SOMA, something like two nights a week….

Leslie had shot into her room and locked the door after their silent drive home. The sitter was already paid for, since Derrick had planned to stay at the office late to work on Reynolds-Allied briefs. He’d made sure Savannah was settled, then he’d headed back to town, to track Bailey down. Maybe to talk her into…

Into what?

After he’d treated her like a nobody back in Langston, he had no right to ask for anything.

“Oh, dear.” One of the women sitting with Selena set off to help Bailey clean up.

“I’m sure babes swoon at your feet on a daily basis,” teased Selena, his only friend from high school who’d never been impressed by his impending greatness. The only Western alumni he’d kept up with over the years. “But I bet having one throw food is a new twist.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t at my charming best when we met a little while ago.” Derrick winced. “I didn’t expect her to be excited to see me again, but—”

“Wait. You followed Bailey Greenwood here?” Selena glanced at her remaining friend. “I should have known it would take a woman to get him to come.”

“Come where?” He was only half listening.

Bailey had hustled the dripping tray into what looked like the kitchen. He glanced at the clock on the wall. He had a preteen at home on crime watch.

“Derrick, this is my friend Nora Clark,” Selena said. “She’s one of the parents I’ve been telling you about. You know, the group that might be able to help you work things out with Leslie and Savannah.”

Group?

Derrick groaned.

He’d stumbled into the middle of the single-mother gabfest Selena had been pimping for the last few months. Panic didn’t begin to describe the sudden urge to make himself scarce.

Selena was a successful installation artist. She had her own kid to keep track of. Where did she find the time for a sorority-esque coffee klatch?

“If you’ll excuse me.” He left as the woman he’d heard someone call Margo headed back their way.

Pushing through the swinging door Bailey disappeared behind, he found a brightly lit industrial kitchen that looked like it turned out a lot more than the simple desserts offered at other San Francisco coffee houses. The sound of running water led him around a corner.

“Employees only back here, buddy,” the dynamo scouring the tray said without glancing up from the sink. “Health department regulations.”

Bailey looked even more exhausted than she had back at the store. Embarrassed, too, which had clearly upped her determination to avoid him.

“I’m sorry.” He held up his hands. “I had no right to jump down your throat earlier. My only excuse is that it was my first stint picking my child up at a crime scene, and I was too worried about Leslie to thank you for your help. Someone mentioned you might be here tonight. I came to apologize.”

“But I thought you and Selena…” She wiped at the wisps of hair that had curled free of her ponytail, then dove back into scrubbing, even though the last of the coffee had already swirled down the drain. “Never mind. If you’re so worried about your daughter, shouldn’t you be home, sharing your concern with your family, instead of me?”

“Well, I also wanted to…”

He was talking to the top of her head.

“Bailey—” He reached over her shoulder and turned off the tap.

“Hey!” She spun around to push him away with soapy hands. Moisture seeped through his shirt. “Back off.”

She was barely tall enough to reach his chest. The soft, brown hair she wore in a ponytail smelled like cinnamon.

Taking several steps back, he cleared his throat.

“I wanted to ask if you’d consider helping my daughter just a little more,” he forced himself to say. “Leslie’s a good kid who’s confused and trying to deal with everything that’s changed in her life over the last couple of years. She needs time. She needs a chance to start over, but your boss is determined to make an example of her. If you could help change his mind, you’d be making a huge difference in a young girl’s life.”

Bailey’s eyes drained of the promise to slap him if he invaded her personal space again. The spunk she’d been running on seemed to fizzle, along with the soap bubbles oozing down the sides of the sink.

“I had a few minutes back at the Stop Right.” She wiped her hands on her apron. Smoothed them over the tendrils of hair framing her delicate cheekbones. “Beyond that, I’m fresh out of time to make a difference in anyone’s life.”

The hitch in her voice, the tears in her eyes as she brushed by, was a new low Derrick hadn’t thought his day could sink to. He had somehow hurt her. And that was dirty pool.

If Bailey were still just pissed, that would be one thing. Having to ask a near stranger for help wasn’t his strong suit, but if she’d fired off another put-down, flashed another of those scathing looks, called him an inept father, he would have followed her back into the bistro and tried to reason with her some more.

But causing Bailey Greenwood even more distress tonight was out of the question, no matter how desperate he was.