Читать книгу Baby, I'm Yours - Karen Templeton - Страница 9

Chapter Four

Trailed by Gus the Ever-Faithful, Julianne followed Kevin outside, as though she was in one of those dreams where her limbs seemed to have minds of their own. She only went as far as the end of the walk, however, watching helplessly as he continued walking to that pathetic excuse for a truck, only vaguely wondering—or caring—what had happened to the rental car. In the mauve light, an almost chilly breeze rustled the cottonwood leaves, released the broom’s heady, spicy scent. “I swear I had no idea that was coming,” she finally croaked out, hands fisted in her dress pockets.

He turned, smirking. “Even though it was originally your idea?”

So much for hoping he’d missed that part of the conversation. Dear God, if he had any idea what had motivated her initial suggestion…“Only your staying with us. The money thing was all Dad.”

“And right now you’re thinking, Nice to know he can be bought.”

Gus let out a soft, whiny woof. Frowning, Julianne glanced down the street at that woman who clearly used her poor golden retriever as cover for her snooping. Then she looked back at Kevin. “If he’d offered you twenty grand to leave Pip with us altogether,” she said, knowing Ms. Snoop was too far away to hear, “would you have taken it?”

“What?” he squawked. “I wouldn’t’ve left her behind for a hundred times that. Are you nuts?”

His indignation made her smile. “Then you’re not a man who can be bought. Bargained with, maybe, but not bought.”

The truck door groaned when Kevin swung it open. “No matter how you look at it, this is a crappy situation.” His gaze, opaque in the dusky light, drifted to hers, “And nothing’s gonna change in a month, which makes it even crappier.”

“Why do you say that?” she said, propelling herself onto the sidewalk, a thousand thoughts jostling for position in her brain. Gus stayed behind, benignly observing the retriever. “Why couldn’t you find work here? Permanent work, I mean. A place of your own. I know it’s not ideal, but…between what you want and what Dad wants, maybe there’s a compromise?”

A slight smile poked at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe there is. Like you said, I’m a man who can be bargained with. As long as there’s no question about my daughter living with me, I don’t suppose where I—we—live matters.” Then the smile stretched. “But let me get this straight—you thought I should stay in the house, only then you changed your mind—”

“Actually, it was Dad who shot down the idea,” Julianne said quickly, playing the conversational equivalent of three-cup shuffle. “So technically he changed his mind.”

“Man,” Kevin said, frowning slightly, clearly trying to figure out which cup hid the truth. “He really must be desperate. Considering that whole I’m-scum thing.”

“It’s not that bad,” Julianne murmured, suddenly much warmer than the temperature warranted.

“Yeah, it is. But it’s not like I can’t relate. Your father and I might be on opposite sides here, but we both want what’s best for that little girl. If his gut’s churning over this half as much as mine is…I just get where he’s coming from, that’s all. What I can’t figure out, though, is you.”

Julianne flinched. “Me?”

“Yeah. First, why you took my side when you obviously don’t want to give Pippa up any more than your father does. Second, why you looked like you’d just been hit over the head with a frying pan when your father came up with his little ‘deal.’” His eyes turned into slits. “Call it a stretch, but I’m guessing you’re not all that hot on the idea of me being around.”

Not a stretch at all, she thought, then said, “What I want is neither here nor there. I defended you because somebody had to. Because Dad’s grief over losing Robyn has made him completely myopic. He wants somebody, anybody, to be the bad guy here. And unfortunately you walked right into the line of fire. And Robyn…well. We already covered that ground.”

She shivered. “Still. I may be willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, but that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. Not by a long shot.”

Irritatingly, one side of his mouth lifted. “Message received,” he said, then finally slid behind the wheel, slammed his door, drove off. He was all the way to the end of the block before Julianne realized her knees were locked in place.

She unlocked them, went back inside. Her dad was in his office, at his computer. Probably working. He hated being interrupted. Ask her if she cared.

“Geez, Dad,” she said, plopping into the armchair across from his desk. Gus collapsed at her feet, worn-out. “A little warning might have been nice. Twenty grand? Are you out of your mind? Why on earth would Kevin be inclined to leave Pip with us now?”

Her father plucked off his glasses, then leaned heavily into in his high-backed leather chair, rubbing his eyes. When he looked at her again, she saw a weary resignation in those eyes that almost frightened her. “He’s right, you know. As long as he’s clean, I don’t have a chance in hell of winning a custody battle. But there might be a slim chance that your idea will work, that he’ll decide after a month she is better off with us.”

So Kevin was right—her father was desperate. Grasping-at-straws desperate in a way she’d never seen him before, not even right after her mother died. With that, the fight drained out of her. “I wouldn’t hold my breath on that.”

“I’m not. But at least this way our butts are covered. A lot can happen in a month, Julie-bird.”

Suddenly she got it. “You don’t believe he’ll stay straight, do you?”

“You know how many alcoholics actually stay on the wagon?”

“Yes, actually. But why do you automatically assume Kevin won’t?” And why was she still defending him? “He already has a year under his belt. And that was without any outside motivation. Now, with Pippa…” Her eyes got itchy. “I’m just worried you’re setting yourself up for a major disappointment, Dad.”

The sharp ache of failure glittered in her father’s eyes. “We thought we were home free with your sister, too. That even though we’d forced her into recovery, for her own child’s sake she’d want to stay clean. And look how that turned out.”

After a moment, Julianne propelled herself to her feet, dislodging the sixty-pound foot warmer. When she got to the door, however, she turned around, her brow knotted with the effort to focus her thoughts into words. “You know, it’s not exactly in my best interest, either, if your theory about Kevin proves to be wrong. And yet I can’t see myself sitting around, waiting—hoping—for Kevin to fall on his face just so you’ll win, either. There’s something about him…” She shook her head. “He’s not Robyn, Dad.”

Dad sighed. “He talks a good talk, honey, I’ll give you that. But that’s no reason to feel sorry for him.”

“I don’t feel sorry for him, dammit! I’m not even sure I like him all that much, to be honest. I just think he’s a guy trying to fix his mistakes, who wants to be with his own child. He’s not the bloody devil, for crying out loud!”

“Julie-bird—”

“And for the love of God will you stop calling me that? I’m not a freaking child!”

She waited a moment to absorb her father’s stymied expression before leaving the room.

Kevin tossed his duffel onto a plaid club chair in Victor’s guest room, next to a heavily draped window overlooking the backyard. The room was okay, if kinda impersonal. Inoffensive. Like what you’d find in a better-grade motel, maybe. But the bed—queen-size, with one of those fourteen-inch mattresses—was a damn sight better than Felix’s futon. Place was a helluva lot quieter, too.

Speaking of whom… Felix definitely had a lot to say about this most recent development. Tact wasn’t exactly the old guy’s strong suit. Except, Kevin frankly wondered if his friend’s loud objections weren’t due more to his losing what he’d hoped was a buffer between him and Lupe than to Kevin’s moving into Victor Booth’s house.

Kevin unzipped his bag to load his few shirts, a couple pairs of jeans, into one of the cedar-scented bureau drawers. A clotheshorse, he was not. Wear it, wash it, repeat until replacing was the only option, was his motto. Somehow, he doubted the girl child snoozing peacefully next door was going to subscribe to the same fashion philosophy, if the piles of baby sleepers and what-have-you he’d seen Julianne folding earlier was any indication. Not to mention his nieces, all of whom could sniff out a mall from fifty miles away.

“Here.”

Kevin turned to see Julianne standing in the doorway, bearing linens and ambivalence, a grinning Gus at her side. “Thanks,” he said, crossing the springy Berber carpet to take them. The linens, anyway. Man, that conflict in her eyes stung. But whatever was going on underneath that pale blond hair—aside from the obvious, that his being there threatened her status quo as far as Pip was concerned—was off-limits. For the next month he was under her father’s microscope, and he had no intention of letting anything, or anybody, distract him from the task at hand. Which at the moment was to make up his bed. He whisked off the tailored, earth-toned spread to reveal a thickly quilted mattress cover.

“Want help?”

He flicked a glance in her direction. Damn, she looked ready to keel over. “I meant it when I said I could do this myself.”