Читать книгу Marriage Is Just The Beginning - Betty Sanders Jane - Страница 8

Six-year-old Cassie’s giggles spilled down the hall, easily reaching the kitchen. Sharon paused, a plate in hand, to savor the sound. Brittany barked—a puppy yelp. It was followed by a sudden splash of bathwater. Cassie squealed, Brittany barked again and Sharon cringed. She quickly put the last of the plates in the dishwasher, then hurried down the hall.

Fragments of bubbles floated in the bathwater. Cassie had soap in her hair and brows, while foam clung to her chin like a small goatee. Brittany lay in the tub in front of Cassie, a puff of soap perched atop her head. Sharon groaned. The puppy cocked her head and cracked her jaw in a doggie smile.

Sharon fought a grin and dropped her hands to her hips, trying to scowl fiercely. “Cassie Parker! What am I going to do with the two of you?” She arched a brow at the little girl, and Cassie laughed in answer—a bubble of pure joy that filled the room. Laughing was something the child hadn’t done often enough the past few months. Warmth flooded Sharon’s heart at the sound.

“I didn’t tell her to, Sharon. Honest. She just jumped in when I wasn’t looking. All by herself.”

Sharon shot a stern look at the nine-month-old springer spaniel. The dog’s long ears floated on top of the water. With her bright eyes, she appeared anything but repentant. “You are hopeless, the both of you. I can’t even turn my back on you for a minute,” she mock-scolded.

Brittany reached over, licked the soap goatee from Cassie’s chin and barked, bubbles spilling from her mouth. Cassie sputtered with laughter, then she grabbed the liverand-white puppy to her bare chest in a hug.

“Don’t be mad, Sharon. Brittany didn’t mean to be bad.” Her shining eyes—Grant’s eyes—begged forgiveness. Just as his had countless times throughout the years, and just as easily melted Sharon’s heart.

Perhaps it was her destiny to be won over by those thickly lashed Parker eyes, so dark blue they bordered on black, be it father’s or daughter’s. She shook her head with a sigh, leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, and just watched, as a rush of love flooded her.

“Brittany is my very best friend. I love her,” Cassie declared, pink coloring her cheeks. Black hair the exact shade of Grant’s slipped from where it was pinned at the top of her head.

Sharon smiled, then went to kneel next to the tub and tuck a strand of hair beneath a pin. “Well, best friends or not, we had better get her out of the tub and dried. Otherwise you won’t be able to have her on the bed tonight.”

As if she understood, Brittany leaped from the tub, then shook herself, spraying water and soap every direction. “Brittany,” Sharon gasped.

Brittany ducked her head and woofed. Cassie snorted and choked, trying to swallow her laughter, while Sharon rolled her eyes, then grabbed a towel and began drying the pup. Then she turned to Cassie, fresh towel in hand. “Your turn, little goose.”

Cassie giggled and climbed out of the tub with a splash of water and a flurry of slim arms and legs. Bittersweet warmth spiraled through Sharon at the way the little girl snuggled into the thick bath towel and leaned against her, hungry for contact from a woman and for a hug or a kiss, which Sharon happily gave. The child needs a mother, she thought with a sudden ache of heart. An ache that lessened only slightly when she squeezed Cassie.in a tight hug, as if she were able to somehow make up for the loss.

If only she could.

She slowly released the girl and reached for a soft, flannel nightgown that swallowed Cassie, the little girl’s bony ankles poking out below the hem. She stood and turned, and came face-to-face with herself in the steam-rimmed mirror.

Her thick, russet curls corkscrewed in every direction, as usual, heedless of attempts to tame them. Her round cheeks were flushed, her brown eyes wide and full of suppressed good humor.

At one time she would have grimaced and wrinkled her freckled nose in despair, but now she just shrugged with a grin. She had long accepted that no one would ever beat down the door to put her on the front of a glamour magazine, and that there were worse things in life than being plain.

Two bedtime stories and one damp pup later, Cassie raced from the living room to the spare bedroom, Brittany galloping at her heels. They jumped into bed as one as Sharon entered the room. Cassie turned with outstretched arms for a soap-scented hug and a slightly wet kiss that wrapped an iron-clad fist of love around Sharon’s heart and promised no relief.

She wanted no relief.

A little over a year ago her childhood friend, Grant, had returned to Valdez with his wife, Catherine, a tall, elegant blond beauty with a cool manner. Everything that Sharon was not. And with them was their tiny daughter, Cassie, the image of Grant when he was young.

Sharon had fallen in love with Cassie, as she had fallen in love with Grant years ago. But this time it was a love eagerly returned, making Sharon ache with happiness and long with all her heart for a little girl, a child of her own. And mourn once again the fact that she would never be a mother.

She pushed the dark thought away and dropped one last kiss on Cassie’s warm cheek. She left the little girl, covers pulled to her chin, whispering to Brittany, who snuggled next to her and was doing her utmost to hog the pillow.

Sharon probably shouldn’t let the dog sleep there, but Brittany had been a highlight in Cassie’s life in the several months since Catherine’s death from cancer. So much so that Sharon had considered giving Brittany to Cassie as a gift. But her own heart had been so totally won by the puppy that she couldn’t bear to part with her. Instead, she made sure that Cassie had lots of time to spend with the dog. Sharon refused to deprive Cassie of anything that made her happy.

Wind moaned around the eaves as Sharon paused at the living room window. Snow swirled and danced in the night, captured by streetlight, while naked tree branches bent and swayed with the storm.

Not the best of nights to be driving back from Anchorage, she thought, and hoped that Grant would get in soon. Three hundred miles of often winding, steep roads made more dangerous by darkness and thickly falling snow. It was hard not to worry.

He could probably make the drive with his eyes closed, she reminded herself, then pulled the drapes, able to shut the storm out but not her concern. No doubt because she had been worrying about Grant most of her life, off and on. She shook her head at the thought. Old habits were hard to break.

She flipped the front porch light on, then padded down the hall to check on Cassie. The house seemed warmer, snugger, more a home with the child there. Cassie lay on her side, one hand folded beneath her cheek, the other nesting on Brittany’s neck. Nose to nose, sharing the pillow.

When she was fourteen, Sharon had dreamed of doing this very thing, except the child she would be checking on would be her own. And the father, Grant, would be at Sharon’s side.

Stuff that fantasies were made of, little to do with reality, she thought with a soft smile. Even as a teenager she should have known better. It hadn’t taken long to figure out that Grant, with his dark good looks, was not interested in his childhood friend. Hope died hard, but a few years later she finally accepted that he never would be hers, and she settled for friendship, instead.

Sharon shrugged memory aside and turned back toward the living room to curl on the couch in a puddle of lamplight. She pulled an afghan over her lap, book in hand, to listen to the groan and whisper of the storm at the windows. And to wait for Grant.

Thick snow swirled through the black of night, quickly adding depth to the eight inches on the ground, coating the windshield almost faster than the wipers could push it aside. A gust of wind rocked the four-wheel drive. Grant slowed his speed. January. The heart of another dark Alaskan winter that had settled with a vengeance over the land.

Not that it mattered to him. Seasons and weather were something out of his control. He had learned, while growing up, that winter in Valdez meant short days, long evenings, delayed or canceled flights, which was why he was driving back from Anchorage. There would be over three hundred inches of snow by spring if Valdez got her average snowfall. They were well on their way to the average. All a fact of life that no amount of complaining could change.

He used to look forward to winter, the first snow, skis waxed, snow machines tuned. Now the skis were covered with dust, the snow machines untouched, and likely to remain that way.

He wheeled the pickup into town, streetlamps casting light and shadow along empty streets. A neon pink-andyellow sign flashed from a bar window, washing brilliant color across the snow. The grocery store was darkened, the parking lot vacant except for one lone, battered sedan quickly being covered with fresh snow.

Sharon’s front porch light reached through the darkness in welcome. The soft glow of a lamp behind the living room curtain told him she was probably up, waiting, though he had told her not to. He should have known to save his breath.

Grant smiled in spite of himself, tension easing as he pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. He slid from the pickup, weariness fading as he strode to the front porch. The door swung open as he reached for it.

“Grant.”

Sharon’s voice was soft, her hair a riot of curls. Baggy gray sweats hung from her slender frame.

“You made good time. Come in. Come in.”

She pulled him through the door, snow swirling behind. And reached for his coat even as he shrugged out of it, an action for both them as natural as breathing.

“Would you like some hot chocolate? I just put some on.”

“Got any chocolate chip cookies?” he asked. She grinned, eyes warm with humor, pulling a smile from him in answer. She always baked cookies when Cassie was around. And they were always chocolate chip, both his and Cassie’s favorite.

They headed into the kitchen together. There Sharon filled stoneware mugs while Grant piled a plate high with fresh-baked cookies. She settled across the table from him, and a comfortable silence surrounded them, broken by the murmur of the storm outside, the steady tick-tick of the kitchen clock, Sharon sipping her hot chocolate.

Grant could close his eyes and re-create the familiar scene. The sounds. The scent of her house. Sharon’s soft, red-brown curls framing winter-pale skin sprinkled with freckles; the darkness of her velvet brown eyes.

Eyes he suddenly realized were fixed on him, a frown creasing her brow. He put down his mug, recognizing that look.

“Problems?” he asked, not certain he really wanted to know.

She started to shake her head, then stopped, setting her mug aside. “I’m worried about you.” She held out a hand when he started to protest. “You work too much, Grant. When do you have time for fun anymore? When was the last time you wanted to have fun?”

The words spilled from her faster than he could stop them.

“Two sitters in three months. I know it’s not your fault these women seem to think Cassie is a way into your bed and your heart, but what are you going to do, Grant? I know you are still grieving, but—”

He placed a finger against her lips. A brief touch that stopped the flow of words better than argument could.

Grieving? Yes and no, but he wasn’t about to correct her. There were some things he couldn’t talk about, even with Sharon.

“I know you worry, Mom,” he teased gently. “Things should slow down at work one of these days, and I will find a sitter.”

As for Catherine…

The clock chimed twelve times. He hesitated, then shrugged and scooted the chair back. “I had better get Cassie and head home.”

Sharon studied him briefly, shook her head with a sigh.

He knew the argument was not over. Sharon never gave up that easy.

“It’s too late to argue. I’ll bag some cookies for you to take,” she finally said.

Grant nodded, then left her to the task.

The bedroom was dark except for the faint illumination from a night-light washing across Cassie. She was sleeping on her back, mouth slightly parted, one arm flung to the side, the other wrapped around Brittany’s neck.

The pup cracked an eye, head nestled across Cassie’s chest. Her tail began to thump, slow, then fast and faster, as Grant walked into the room.

He knelt by the bed and reached to touch Cassie’s cheek. A soft, reverent touch. This child of his, so tiny and perfect, with a fragile beauty and a hold on his heart so strong that it sometimes terrified him.

“Daddy?” Her eyes fluttered open.

“Hello, pumpkin,” he whispered.

He gently lifted her, her thin arms squeezing round his neck in a vise-grip hug that defied efforts to breathe. Breathing wasn’t important. Nothing was important except for the little girl in his arms. He closed his eyes, bathed in her scent and reveled in the silken cheek pressed against his, in the warmth that rushed through him. The feeling of coming home, of rightness, when he held his daughter.

He finally relaxed the hug, then sat on the bed, Cassie in his lap, to greet Brittany, who wiggled and whined with impatience. She leaned into Grant, head planted in Cassie’s lap, while he scratched behind a silken ear.

“Brittany is my best friend,” Cassie said sleepily against his chest. “Except for Sharon. I love Sharon the best—no, I love you the best, Daddy. And then Sharon. And then Brittany.”

Grant swallowed hard. “I know you do, pumpkin,” he said in a husky voice.

Sharon waited in the living room, Cassie’s small suitcase standing by the door. “I put the cookies in the suitcase, she said. Cassie bent toward Sharon, hooked a small arm around her neck and dragged her against Grant’s shoulder for a goodbye kiss, while Brittany leaned into his legs.

Sharon’s head stopped at his jaw. She was no taller than she’d been in ninth grade. She smelled of soap and lemon-scented shampoo, and her warmth burned through his jacket.

“I love you, Sharon,” Cassie whispered loudly.

Sharon hugged back with a gentle laugh, then disentangled herself. “I love you, too, little goose.” She handed Grant a blanket to wrap around Cassie. .

Grant finished the task, then reached to ruffle Sharon’s curls. “I owe you, once again.”

Sharon pushed his hand away with a grin. “Hey, you know I spent hours fixing that do! And you know you don’t owe me anything except…well, maybe dinner out next week. Chinese?” Her grin faded. “Seriously, Grant, you know I don’t mind helping out. It’s all part of being friends.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been pretty friendly lately,” he said softly. “And I will be grateful if I want to.”

He turned toward the door and picked up Cassie’s suitcase. “Call me tomorrow,” Sharon said, then pulled the door open and ushered them out. She stood in the glow of the porch light, shivering, watching until they pulled out of the drive and started down the road.

Though it was only a few miles, Cassie was asleep by the time they drove up the hill to the house. The house he had built to try to make Catherine happy. And now lived alone in with his daughter.

Not that he could blame Catherine for her death; even he could not be so heartless. But before—

Steely resolve clamped a fist on the thought and squashed the life from it before it was completed. Grant did not have time to wallow in the past. Streetlights washed the other lots, empty except for four feet of snow, before finally capturing his house at the end of the cul de sac, standing alone in the shoulder of the mountain overlooking town.

The few lights on in the town below seemed to flicker, one or two here, a handful over there. Startled bursts of yellow-white against the swirling snow, which was now slowing, thinning to a mere flurry. Light from the Alyeska Pipeline Marine Terminal reached from across the arm of Prince William Sound. A faint light that stretched upward with long, buttery fingers to brush at the dark shadows of snow-filled mountains slowly materializing as the clouds began to lift.

The door to the three-car garage slid open. The far stall was filled with snow machines, snow blower and an assortment of skis and garden tools, bicycles, gas grill and lawn chairs, fishing poles and hip-waders that had cracked from age and disuse. The other two stalls were unoccupied until Grant pulled the pickup in.

They were a reminder the house was empty, as if he needed one. That he alone was responsible for the health and welfare of the tiny girl slumped against his side in sleep. And once again, that he was without a baby-sitter.

Frustration swept him, so sudden and strong that he wanted to slam a fist against the steering wheel. What did he have to do to find someone who wasn’t more interested in him than his daughter? Instead of abusing the pickup, he pushed the automatic opener and listened to the door grumble to a close. Taking a deep breath, he gathered Cassie in his arms and made his way into the cool, silent house to her room.

He pulled blankets close up under her chin, then brushed a knuckle against her silken cheek. He had to find another baby-sitter, one who would fill their needs without wanting to occupy his bed. In the meantime, Cassie would keep on going to day care during the day. And he would continue to rely on Sharon for help.

Three days later, Grant learned he needed to go to Southern California for a week. He called on Sharon once again.

“Of course I will watch her,” she immediately agreed.

“I’m sorry to have to be a bother—”

“Don’t be silly, Grant. You needn’t worry about me. It’s Cassie you should be worried about.” She paused, then quietly added, “You’re spending too much time away from her.”

“I have to go,” he said, and wasn’t sure whom he was trying to convince.

“I don’t want you to.”

Cassie’s lower lip was thrust out, trembling, when he told her that evening. Pain squeezed his heart at the sight of tears shimmering in her eyes. “Hey,” he said softly, drawing her to him with a hug. “You’ll get to be with Sharon for a whole week. Plus your buddy Brittany. And I’ll bring you something really special.”

She brightened a little at that, but still cried when he dropped her off at Sharon’s Sunday evening.

Guilt clung to him like a dark shroud as he flew from Valdez to Anchorage, then Seattle and on to Irvine. Guilt that once again he was asking Sharon for help, and once more he was leaving Cassie behind.

Yet his job as construction manager demanded it. This very job allowed him to provide Cassie with anything she needed and then some. He would give his daughter the world if he could, and if that demanded sacrifice, he would sacrifice.

A fact his father-in-law was quick to point out the following evening.

“We both know without question that you are trying, that you are doing the best you can for Cassie…under the circumstances.” Hugh leaned into the restaurant table toward Grant, while the murmur of voices filled the air around them.

“I appreciate that,” Grant answered as a prickle of apprehension raced along his spine. Perhaps it was the way that Hugh reached for Dorothy’s hand, as if to reassure her or maybe gain support. Perhaps it was the way that Dorothy would not meet Grant’s gaze, but instead nervously toyed with the linen napkin. Or maybe it was the unbidden memory of how they had pushed him away during Catherine’s illness. Whatever, Grant suddenly wished he hadn’t told them he was going to be in town for business. He should have dissuaded them from driving up from San Diego to meet him for dinner.

The conversation died, and silence held sway while the waiter cleared their dinner dishes and poured coffee. Then they had to talk, had to do something other than sit mutely, separated by far more than just a table.

Hugh drained his wineglass, cleared his throat. Then he squared his thin shoulders and met Grant’s gaze. “We were wondering if…thinking that maybe Cassie would be better off with us.”

Grant arched a brow, choosing his words with care. “I appreciate the offer, but I think it’s best that she stay home for a while, until we get better adjusted to the situation. Maybe this spring she can come and spend a few days.”

“And how many baby-sitters will you have gone through by then? How many business trips?” Red slowly climbed Hugh’s neck.

Grant stiffened. “I can’t—”

“Son, we aren’t suggesting that you don’t love Cassie. We aren’t suggesting she come for a visit, either.”

He said the words so quietly that for a minute, Grant thought he’d heard wrong. Until Hugh continued.

“I think we can offer her a more stable home than you seem able to do.”

Shock washed through Grant with a coldness that left him speechless. He could only stare at his father-in-law, and feel every ounce of blood drain from his face.

Then anger swept him, so overwhelming he gripped the edge of the table to force himself not to physically strike the man who sat before him. A man he had admired and thought of as being the father Grant had lost to a fishing vessel accident when he was a child. The man who had the nerve to suggest, for even a minute, that he give up Cassie.

He should have expected something like this after the way they’d acted while Catherine was ill, but he hadn’t. He didn’t dare release his hold on the table while he fought to remain silent, to remain seated until he had a semblance of control over the rage roaring through his veins.

Finally, he swallowed hard, then slowly stood until he towered above Hugh and Dorothy. He placed both hands flat on the tabletop and leaned slightly toward them. “Icicles will grow in Hell before anyone takes Cassie from me,” he said quietly.

He turned and walked away without a backward glance.

By the end of the week, the bank lobby was a hub of activity. Customers rushed in to take care of last-minute business just prior to closing. Phones rang; voices rose in a murmur, punctuated by a shouted greeting or burst of laughter.

Sharon looked up from her office and watched with pleasure the swift efficiency with which the tellers handled the customers’ needs. The past week had been good for business, Cassie a pleasure to have, and now Grant was home, a day early.

She frowned. Grant. She worried about him, about the effect his absences were having on Cassie. About—

The phone rang, jerking her from her thoughts. “Sharon speaking.”

“Sharon, Grant here. Hey, I need a favor. I’m in the middle of a meeting and—”

“You’re going to be late—could I pick Cassie up, Sharon quietly finished for him. “Grant, you just got back. Don’t you think—”

“There is nothing I can do about it,” he said. “Can you help me out?”

She sighed. “You know I can, but you owe Cassie, bigtime. I’ll take her to my place and bake cookies or something.”

“Don’t do dinner. I’ll pick up pizza.” He hung up.

“Pizza!” Sharon slapped the receiver down harder than necessary, glaring at it as if she could somehow conjure Grant in its place. She pushed back her anger, then stood and reached for her coat. Cassie was going to be disappointed.

Cassie was nowhere in sight when Sharon stepped into the brightly lit room at day care. Jean Simon, the owner, walked over to greet her.

“Cassie is in the time-out room.”

Sharon’s heart sank. “That’s the third time this week.”

Jean nodded, mass of blond curls bouncing, as they turned toward a small hall. “I tried calling Grant, but he’s been in meetings all day. This has been a bad week, although, to be honest, I almost prefer a Cassie with a temper to the silent little ghost she was for a while. Anything different going on at home?”

Other than an absentee father?

Sharon didn’t say the words they were probably both thinking. Instead, she replied, “Not that I know of. What happened this time?”

“She got into a fight with Johnny Whitaker.”

“He’s twice her size!”

“Yeah, well.” Jean shook her head with a small smile. “All I can say is, she’s got a future in boxing if she wants it.” They paused at the door. “She looks pretty bad, but if it helps, he’s got two shiners. And his parents aren’t going to cause any problems. I think they were both so embarrassed he got beaten up by a girl they would just as soon forget it happened.” She swung the door open, then left.

Cassie sat in an orange plastic chair, shoulders hunched, head hung, legs slowly swinging.

“Cassie?” Sharon walked toward her. Cassie slowly raised her head, right eye nearly swollen shut, circled with black and blue, with a little green and purple thrown in. Sharon swallowed a gasp and forced herself not to rush forward, instead folding her arms across her chest.

“He called me a name,” Cassie said, chin thrust out, good eye narrowing.

“And you couldn’t have just ignored him?”

Silence answered the question they both knew wasn’t really a question.

“Daddy working late tonight?” Cassie asked defiantly.

She looked small and defenseless. Pain pinched Sharon’s heart.

“Yes,” she answered, then opened her arms. “Come on over here for a hug.”

Cassie hesitated a second, then slid from the chair. Sharon squeezed the little girl tight, wanting, wishing, aching. She swallowed the urge to scream. If Grant had been standing next to her, she would have choked him. Instead, she hugged tighter and said, “He’s bringing pizza for dinner, so he shouldn’t be too late.”

An hour later the front door opened and Grant hollered, “Anyone home?”

Cassie rushed from the kitchen, Brittany bouncing at her heels, and Sharon was left to put the last of the cooling cookies away. She forced herself to slowly wash and dry her hands, and carefully compose her face before she turned and greeted Grant when she heard him walk into the kitchen. Cassie walked quietly at his side, clearly suffering from a scolding. Only the pup looked happy, eyes bright, whole body wiggling with excitement.

Sharon forced a smile. Grant met her gaze, then said, “Cassie, go wash up.” He waited until the little girl was out of earshot. “Shall I lie down on the floor so you can stomp on me now?” His voice was quiet, tinged with weariness.

Sharon tried not to notice the dark shadows beneath his eyes, the hollows in his cheeks that had deepened since last week, the way he held himself so tensely, almost rigidly, though exhaustion clearly etched his face.

Anger fled as quickly as it had come. “Oh, sit down, she said quietly. “Stomping is too good for you. Besides, you know as well as I do that I never can stay mad at you. Even when you deserve it.”

A smile curved his lips but didn’t erase the weariness in his eyes. He set the pizza on the table, walked to the fridge and pulled out a soda. Snapping the can open, he turned to face her. “I’m sorry I had to call you at the last minute like that.”

“So am I, but only for Cassie. You know I enjoy having her.”

He nodded, then tipped the can to take a long swallow of carbonated drink. Then he set the soda on the counter he now leaned against. “I don’t mean to take advantage—”

“That should be the least of your worries,” she said.

He paused. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Maybe you should have bowed out of the meeting.”

“I couldn’t.”

“And if I hadn’t been able to pick Cassie up?”

He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and didn’t answer. He bowed his head slightly, and his dark-blue eyes suddenly filled with a bleakness that sent chills along Sharon’s spine. He seemed so very alone.

She stepped closer, laid a hand against his chest in unspoken support. Grant lifted his head, dark gaze intense.

“That is one hell of a shiner she has.”

“I know.” Sharon let her hand slide from him with a sigh and a step back. “I suppose we should be grateful she’s coming out of her shell. But she was in trouble three times this week.” She took a deep breath, then plunged on, certain he wouldn’t want to hear her words but believing a lesser friend would keep silent

“Grant, I know you are doing your best, but Cassie needs more of your time.” She ignored the tightening of his mouth, the narrowing of his eyes. “You work too many long hours, and…well…I wonder if you understand how hard it is for her when you’re gone. And I can’t help but wonder how much longer you can do this alone, Grant. I am not—”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Grant said in a low, hard voice.

Anger blazed in his eyes. Sharon automatically took a half step back at the intensity.

“First Catherine’s parents and now you. Well, you are wrong. Damned wrong.” He swept a hand through his hair, leaving it tousled. “I cannot believe that you are even saying this. I thought we were friends.”

His eyes were glittering, accusing her of betrayal. Sharon mentally stiffened, then lifted her chin and met his gaze without flinching. “You know very well we’re friends, but that has nothing to do with the subject at hand.”

He arched a brow, a dark slash that seemed to accentuate the anger she sensed simmering inside him.

“What exactly are you suggesting I do? If you think for one minute that I am going to hand my daughter over to my in-laws, think again.” His voice turned acidic.

“I have no answers,” she snapped, stung by the tone of his voice. “Nor am I suggesting anything of the kind. All I am saying is that the present situation is not good enough. Okay? Not for you. Not for Cassie.”

Silence stretched between them, fraught with tension.

“I love my daughter. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her,” Grant finally said.

The huskiness in his voice tugged at Sharon’s heart. She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat and ached for both Cassie and Grant. “I know you do,” she half whispered, “and so do I.” Then she cleared her throat. “I am sorry I brought it up. It’s just…well…it is important I’m worried about Cassie. And I’m worried about you.”

Grant tucked Cassie into bed, wincing each time he looked at the black eye. It didn’t take an intellectual giant to see that her temper had worsened since Catherine’s death and that his absences did not help, but what was he to do? His job required a lot of his time. It also provided them with a nice home, and Cassie a closet full of clothes and an overflowing toy box.

He remembered well the sharp-edged knife of need, of want, when others had seemed to have it all and he had nothing. The humiliation of wearing secondhand jeans, owning two pairs of socks and one pair of shoes—the cheapest sneakers to be had—when starting grade school. His hands tightened into fists. Cassie would never suffer that sort of humiliation. Ever.

His mother had done her best, but being widowed and left with three boys to raise had not been easy. He had started mowing lawns and shoveling sidewalks to earn money when he was nine, and had been working ever since.

He shuddered, forced his fists to relax and shook off the memory before it dragged him deeper into the past. After closing Cassie’s bedroom door, he walked to the den, flipped on the desk light and settled into the leather chair.

Sharon’s words haunted him. He knew she’d spoken from the heart with the best of intentions, and that she’d spoken from experience. As a child of parents who were commercial fishermen, Sharon had suffered violent motion sickness on even the calmest of days at sea, so each fishing season she had lived with Grant and his family. She knew well what it was like to be left by her family for long periods of time. Which was exactly why Grant could not dismiss her words easily.

If only his mother lived closer than Seattle, if she were in better health…. He mentally snorted. If only…what a waste of time!

Both brothers lived in the lower forty-eight, thousands of miles from being any help. They had their own families, their own lives. And he knew with chilling certainty that Cassie did not need another sitter. She needed a mother.

A mother could not be had without that woman first becoming his wife.

Wife. He closed his eyes and fought the memories. But the night seemed ripe for ghosts of the past, so they came, stronger than he this time, whirling through his mind with a flood of muted color like old photographs, faded, comers curled.

Catherine, face flushed with happiness on their wedding day. Happier yet with the birth of Cassie. A fleeting happiness soon dimmed, replaced by a growing anger and discontentment She had hated Anchorage and wanted to move back to California, though she had known before their marriage he had every intention of living in Alaska and building a career there. Grant had hoped, as a last straw, that accepting a promotion to construction manager and moving to Valdez, building a new house, would please her, would somehow provide the miracle needed to salvage their marriage. But it hadn’t. She had immediately hated Valdez, almost as much as she did Grant for bringing her there, and was preparing to take Cassie to California and divorce him, when she suddenly fell ill.

He had tried everything he could think of to make her happy and had failed. Nothing seemed able to prevent the downward spiral, the disintegration of their marriage, except illness. Cancer. Frightened, angry and blaming, Catherine had clung to him, though their love had long died. He’d held and soothed her, accepted the blame and watched, totally helpless as death relentlessly claimed her with a swiftness that allowed little time for forgiveness.

Cold washed through him. He sprang to his feet, heart pounding, hands clenched. Sweat dampened the back of his shirt. He snapped the lamp off and strode down the hall to his room.

He would never put himself in such a vulnerable position again. Any love he had left was for Cassie, and Cassie alone.

The last thing he wanted was another wife.