All-American Father

“No!”

Their family had scraped and fought through the Depression. After Grandpop died in World War Two and left Beverly to raise an infant son alone, Grams had somehow made it by. Then Bailey’s dad had slaved to turn the aging historical building into a thriving bed-and-breakfast, not once thinking of bailing, not even when Bailey’s mom had lost her battle with ovarian cancer when Bailey was still a baby. He’d taken care of what he’d had left—his mother and Bailey, and this house.

At eighteen and on her way to Yale on a full scholarship, Bailey had had bigger dreams to follow than picking up where he’d left off, but she’d stayed in Langston. Making sure Grams and this place kept going had become Bailey’s new dream.

“I’ll just work harder.” Hard work didn’t scare her. Giving up did. “Let me take a look at the returns. Maybe we have room to finagle the numbers, or work out a payment schedule with the IRS.”

“Our bills are already eating us alive,” Grams reasoned.

“There are better part-time jobs than the Stop Right. There’s always a demand for temp work, especially at night.”

“Oh, no you don’t. You almost killed yourself trying to keep up with that kind of schedule last time. You can’t work all night long, after putting in full days here.”

“It would only be for a while.”

“Ten thousand dollars isn’t a while. How much longer do you expect me to let you put your life on hold—”

“As long as it takes.” They weren’t selling their home to some megaconglomerate that would strip the floors and high-end upgrade everything in sight. Bailey refused to give up, no matter how easy an out Grams was trying to give her. “Maybe I can get a raise out of Drayton. I’ve been doing his books on the side for over a year now. He needs me. He can either make me a salaried manager, or I walk and find something else.”

“Excuse me,” a rough voice intruded.

The man standing in the kitchen’s doorway looked even rougher.

“There was no one at the reception desk, and I heard voices back here.” Derrick Cavenaugh didn’t do embarrassed well. He gifted Grams with an apologetic smile. “I know it’s early. I’m sorry to intrude, but I need to speak with Bailey, if she has a few minutes.”

He wore threadbare jeans and sneakers with the same effortless sophistication as the other day’s business suit. His white pullover spotlighted a chest just as drool-worthy as ever, sprinkled at the open neck with dark hair to match the unruly waves on his head. The beginnings of a scruffy beard had Bailey daydreaming about sexy beach strolls at dawn. Warm summer evenings spent on the inn’s wraparound porch, drinking wine and watching seagulls coast overhead on the wind that curled up from the bay…

She headed to their industrial-grade coffeemaker. Being blindsided by the inn’s latest financial black hole, Bailey could handle. Being stalked by Derrick Cavenaugh twice in one lifetime called for a fresh infusion of caffeine.

“Grams, you remember Derrick, don’t you?” she asked as she tripped over the frayed cuffs of her own jeans. The denim practically covered her toes.

Dressed to scrub bathrooms, not receive company, she’d grabbed the first thing she found in her closet. Not that today’s couture was much different than any other day’s. Just older. Not that she normally cared.

But nothing about how she felt around Derrick had ever been normal.

“Of course I remember Mr. Cavenaugh,” Grams gushed. “Everyone in the area followed the excitement of your college career. How you went on to work for one of the top law firms in Atlanta. It was big news, you moving back to the San Francisco area after making such a success of yourself.”

SUCCESS? Derrick mocked silently as he returned Mrs. Greenwood’s friendly smile.

He’d washed out of the career he’d been molded for from birth, and his father hadn’t been able to look at him the same way since. He’d chosen corporate law as his second career, because the high-profile work and the social schmoozing required to retain top-shelf clients were a playing field where he knew he could excel. And success was what he’d let himself believe he’d made, right up until his wife started screwing around with his best friend. Now he was divorced, starting over again, he’d lost complete control of his oldest daughter and he was living on borrowed time with his youngest.

“It’s about Leslie,” he said to Bailey. “If it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t be bothering you again. If you could just give me a few minutes.”

He’d done his research before coming over. Because of Selena’s relationship with the bistro owner and her contacts around the Langston community, Selena had been able to fill him in on Bailey’s battle to keep her and her grandmother’s business going. He shouldn’t be here, asking for an enormous favor. But he had to reach his daughter before it was too late, and Bailey’s help could be too important a factor not to try one more time. Without her, he had no chance of reasoning with the Stop Right’s crotchety owner.

“All right.” Bailey cast a sideways glance toward her grandmother.

The attractive older woman turned to the double range set into the wall and opened the top oven door to check on the pastry inside. Derrick’s mouth watered. His empty stomach screamed.

He’d grabbed a bagel on the way to the office yesterday. Then everything since the call from Ginger Nash’s grandmother was a blur. He doubted he’d even eaten, though he vaguely remembered heating a frozen pizza for the girls.

“Coffee?” Bailey motioned toward the cabinet filled with mugs.

“Sure, thanks.”

Handing him the steaming mug, Bailey motioned toward the dining room that opened off the kitchen. He stopped short of begging for some of whatever marvelous creation was baking in the oven. When they sat and Mrs. Greenwood appeared, laying a plate of sugary pastry beside each of them, Derrick nearly kissed her hand.

“You two take all the time you need,” she said after waving away his thank-you. “Our guests don’t usually make an appearance before nine on Sunday.”

Derrick peeled away a layer of cinnamon, butter and crisply baked dough, then began tearing it into bits. He couldn’t swallow if he tried. Couldn’t look Bailey in the eye. These were good, hardworking people who didn’t need to worry themselves with his problems.

Bailey’s level gaze said she was thinking pretty much the same thing.

“There’s nothing I can do to get your daughter out of whatever Drayton’s decided to do,” she said on a sigh. “I wish there was.”

There was no residue of Thursday’s hostility in her tone. Only heartfelt concern for a child she barely knew.

And that compassion gave Derrick the upper hand.

He shook his head at the smug thought. Lawyers were manipulative bastards, and he’d worked hard to become one of the best.

“I’m not trying to get her out of it anymore. I want to offer Drayton a deal, but the man’s not returning my calls.”

“What kind of deal?”

“My daughter was caught smoking pot with her friends yesterday morning. Whatever phase Leslie’s going through, her behavior’s spiraling more and more out of control, and nothing I’ve tried so far has made a dent. Help me convince your boss to put her butt to work. No salary. The length of time is up to him. I’ll agree to whatever he thinks is equitable, to work off her crime. Leslie has to start facing the consequences of what she’s doing, before I lose her for good.”

CHAPTER FOUR

A LARGER-THAN-LIFE champion becoming a desperate single parent wasn’t an easily stomached sight, certainly not before breakfast.

Bailey didn’t know which made her sicker, Derrick’s heartbreaking concern for his child, or the thought of how Drayton would take advantage of it.

“You and your wife might want to reconsider—”

“My ex-wife’s back in Atlanta with her new husband, sweating the real-estate market, because the two-point-five-million-dollar palace he bought five years ago is in Windward. Seems Buckhead would be better for Amanda. She doesn’t want to have to drive the Ferrari too far when she’s ready to shop. With all those details on her mind, Leslie’s commitment to ruining her life seemed like a preteen phase the last time we spoke.”

Bailey blinked as Derrick pulverized the last of his cinnamon roll, adding bitter and divorced to her growing list of things she hadn’t expected in this grown-up version of her schoolgirl crush.

“I’m really sorry, Derrick.” She shook her head at the memory of the stunning blonde she’d heard he’d married, the cheerleading captain who’d ruled Western at Derrick’s side during Bailey’s freshman year. “I hadn’t heard about the divorce. I’ve been a little out of touch the last few years.”

A tired, defeated man looked up from his plate, instead of the conquering hero he played so well for the rest of the world.

“I don’t remember much about you back in school,” he admitted. “Except you laughing once, when you passed Amanda and me in the hall. Something about hoping I liked hanging out with leeches, ’cause I’d be paying for the privilege for as long as Amanda held on. Looks like you were right.”

“And you’re still paying.” Bailey winced. Had she really been that much of a snot?

“No, my kids are paying, and I haven’t protected them any better than I did myself. Alimony and child support were Amanda’s priorities during the divorce. To get the settlement she wanted, she asked for joint custody of the girls. But ever since she married her NFL superstar, Leslie and Savannah have been with me, and Amanda’s showing no sign of wanting them back.”