Love, Marriage And Family 101

“I know that you’re angry and that it has nothing to do with me,” Hally said steadily. The flare of alarm she’d initially felt at his outburst had been only that—a flare, as quickly extinguished as ignited by the recognition that frustration, not violence, had driven him to it. “And I’m quite convinced now that you care about Corinne…”

“You doubted that?” He pulled back, his tone as incredulous as his expression.

Hally shrugged. “Corinne is a new student with—you’ll excuse my bluntness—nothing much to recommend her so far. And you…”

“What about me?”

“Well, to be frank, everything about you shouts ‘upwardly mobile executive,’ which leads me to wonder just how much of your time you can spare to hands-on parenting.”

“I can spare as much time as it takes,” Mike growled, furious at the implication of parental neglect when he’d been knocking himself out trying to do the right things. “But I do have to make a living, I can’t be in two places at once, and until you finally did your job and notified me, I had no way of knowing that my daughter wasn’t in school when she was supposed to be. Now did I?”

His eyes drilled into her, daring her to refute his logic. Hally couldn’t, but that didn’t mean she was prepared to back down. She stared at him with all the authority she could muster and waited in silence until he sat down.

“Thank you,” she said coolly, much as she would say to one of her students after she’d subjugated them with one of her looks.

So secretly—and unprofessionally—thrilled was she with this minor victory over the formidable Michael J. Parker that she forgot all about the extra inch on her thighs and the fact that her tights offered nothing in the way of camouflage.

She shoved her chair back from her desk and crossed her legs. “Now that that’s out of the way,” she said briskly, “let’s discuss how the situation should be handled….”

Troubled and pensive, Mike slowly traversed the nowdeserted school parking lot on his way to his car. Strange woman, that Halloran McKenzie, he thought. Talk about contradictions—the mind of Dr. Joyce Brothers in Shirley Temple’s head and Marilyn Monroe’s body. Combined, those traits made for a very tantalizing package, however, he had to admit. And he doubted many boys missed her English class.

This somewhat wry reflection abruptly recalled him to his troubles since it reminded him that his daughter evidently did miss English and every other class with frightening regularity.

Grimly, he started the car and pulled out into traffic, knowing he would have to have a serious talk with Cory when he got home. He dreaded it. It seemed not a day went by that they weren’t at each other over something. And, man, he was tired of it. In fact, he was tired period. Being mom and pop, housekeeper, breadwinner and disciplinarian to a recalcitrant teenager was wearing him out.

Cruising the route home on automatic pilot, and removed by time and distance from the dedicated Ms. McKenzie’s ardently persuasive plea for patience, Mike thought that giving in to Cory’s demands just might be the best thing to do after all.

Why not let her go back home? Why not let her go back to Idaho, to Marble Ridge, to Becky’s folks? Lord knew they were at him about it almost as much as Corinne was, if for different reasons. Cory professed to hate him, whereas the Campbells simply didn’t deem any man alone capable of raising a teenage daughter.

And maybe that was why he wasn’t letting Cory go—because his in-laws were right and, aside from the fact that he didn’t much care to be pressured, he needed to prove them wrong.

Mike knew that wasn’t really the reason he had so far hung tough, though. Part of it, sure. But another part was that, while alive, his wife had clung way too tightly to her parents, and even to his, only three miles further down the road. Becky’s dependence had given the older folks the impression they could butt in whenever they felt like it, an attitude that didn’t fly with Mike at all.

But even that wasn’t the main reason for his determination to bring up his daughter himself from here on in. That had strictly to do with himself and Cory. She was his daughter, his child. She was the baby he and Becky had been so happy to have created. And she’d grown to be a stranger.

His fault. Drilling for oil all over the globe didn’t leave a man with much family time. Nor was three weeks of home leave every four months anywhere near enough time for a father to bond with his child. A child who didn’t understand why he wasn’t around like other daddies; who considered his long absences a form of desertion no matter how often he tried to explain the real reason for their lifestyle.

Not that he hadn’t understood Cory’s bewilderment and agonized over her increasingly resentful attitude. After all, what could something as intangible as the dream of a horse ranch possibly mean to a young child? Or for that matter, to anyone other than Becky and himself?

It was their dream. Just as it had been their decision to live as they had—he overseas in his oil camps, Becky home with Corinne in Marble Ridge—to one day make that dream a reality.

Where else could a geologist earn the kind of money Mike had brought home than in those faraway oil fields? Money a fair chunk of which they had faithfully put into savings each month. Watching it grow—every dime and dollar reducing by minutes and hours the time they’d have to wait to be a family again—was what had made it all bearable.

And then, just like that, time had run out

First, Becky had become strange and secretive, increasingly so. And then her illness had taken its toll, draining their savings account as relentlessly as the cancer had sucked the life from her body. And their dream had collapsed like a house of cards in a windstorm with Becky’s death.

Cory’s grief had been as terrible as his own bewilderment. He couldn’t seem to figure out how everything could have gone so wrong. And while the loss should have drawn them closer, it had, instead, driven them further apart.

Cory had been livid, wild, out of control with rage when she’d seen him packing to fly back to Saudi three days after the funeral. She didn’t want anything to do with him, was more than happy to live with her maternal grandparents, but she was nevertheless outraged that he was leaving.

Nothing he or Becky’s parents could say had been able to make her understand the necessity. She didn’t care about Mike’s unbreakable contract, didn’t want to hear that they were practically bankrupt, or that the sizable sum he’d earn in the next six months would allow him to take another position with his company for less pay and with virtually no travel.

That was the position he now held here in Long Beach, California. A town that, in many ways, was as far removed from Marble Ridge, Idaho, as the moon. But even so, it was a community in which Mike had hoped to make a new beginning for himself and his child. To make up for lost time. To become a family.

So far, their month here together had been a disaster.

Sighing, Mike pulled into the lot of the supermarket he’d come to know better than he ever thought he’d have to. Grocery shopping was just one of the many new dimensions to his life.

Pushing his cart up and down the aisles, he hoped to spot the items they were out of since he’d forgotten—again—to bring the list he’d made that morning. Cruising the aisles wasn’t the most efficient way to shop, but what the heck.

He detoured abruptly when he spotted the by-nowfamiliar—and dreaded—redhead who lived two doors down from him. A forty-ish and still quite attractive divorcée, Pamela Swigert had been the first to welcome Corinne and him into the neighborhood. She had two children, both of whom had names Mike considered as strange and outlandish as their mother’s flamboyant wardrobe. The daughter, Latisha, was Corinne’s age, while the poor kid named Warlock was twelve.

Latisha didn’t go to Corinne’s school, but the two girls had struck up a desultory friendship of sorts. Though not sure how or whether to discourage the association of these two vastly dissimilar girls, Mike was nevertheless uneasy about the changes Cory’s appearance had undergone with Latisha’s tutelage. Instead of the preppy, brown-haired young girl from Idaho who favored Laura Ashley, Corinne now dressed in Goodwill castoffs and had bleached her chopped-off hair a sickly white.

As to Pamela Swigert, upon learning that there was no Mrs. Parker, she had taken to unexpectedly dropping in with offerings of food and parenting advice, neither of which Mike particularly appreciated any more than the flirty come-hither attitude that accompanied them.

He had neither the time nor the inclination to enter into any kind of romantic liaison with a woman, any woman. But most certainly not with a neighbor, even if she had been his type, which Pam decidedly was not. Trouble was, he had no idea how to let her know that without hurting her feelings.

Which was why Mike chose avoidance whenever possible, inconvenient though that was. Like right now, with Pam Swigert in the frozen food section where Mike needed to get some things, as well. A pizza, for one thing. It was Cory’s favorite food and Mike figured if they shared one for dinner, the talk they were going to have to have just might go a little easier. Hell, he’d get her Rocky Road ice cream, too. As soon as the coast was clear.

Mike backed up a few steps and peered around the corner. And stifled an oath when he found himself practically nose to nose with a delighted Pamela Swigert.

“Mike!” she exclaimed, fluttering night-black eyelashes that never failed to fascinate Mike, they were so impossibly thick and long. False, Corinne had scornfully proclaimed them. “I thought that was you I saw skulking by a minute ago.”

She tapped him on the arm with a flirty moue. “Not trying to avoid me, were you?”

“Lord no.” Mike mustered a grin. “Just a bit preoccupied, I guess.”

“Problems?” Pam was instantly all sympathetic concern. “Anything I can do?”

“Oh, no.” Heaven forbid. To change the subject, Mike craned his neck to look past her. “This the frozen food aisle?” he asked, as if he didn’t know. “Thought I’d get us a pizza—”

“Pizza?” Pam squealed, pointing to the two large rounds in her own cart. “Can you beat that! Great minds do think alike, I swear. I’ve got enough here for you to join Warly and me. It’ll be fun.

“Come on,” she insisted prettily, gripping his arm when Mike pulled back, ready to say no. “Don’t be a poop.”

A “poop"? Mike shook his head, chuckling a little ruefully as he gently but firmly peeled Pam’s fingers off his arm. Sparkly little hearts on. her inch-long, deep red nails momentarily arrested his gaze before he lifted it to her skillfully made-up face.

“Thanks for the invite, Pamela,” he said. “But I’m afraid it’s just not a good time for us to be sociable right now….”

Pam’s smile remained in place, but one pencil-sharp eyebrow arched. “Since by ‘us’ you obviously mean yourself and Corinne, dear heart, I suppose that means you don’t know after all.”

“Don’t know what?” Anxiety slammed into Mike’s gut like a boxer’s fist.

Pamela’s light laugh held an edge of uneasiness. “About the rock concert at Milton Stadium. I dropped the girls off there half an hour ago.”

“What?” Mike had to hold on to his cart with both hands to keep himself from grabbing the woman and shaking her till her capped tceth rattled. “You took Corinne to a rock concert without my permission?”